"abercrombie" poems
You wake up everyday for school
feeling like your not as cool
there all calling you a fool
and their laying down the rules
they all call you so many names
you feel like your drowning in a pool
school isn't for learning anymore
its just becoming hell for some
just because they wanna be a ***
thinking its all fun?
nah its actually pretty dumb
people becoming numb
from all this hate
hoping someone could try and open a gate
try and get them out all this hate
... before its to late
why tho?
because she's not as rich
and you wanna be a *****
well listen here honey
how bout you go crawl in a ditch
everybody has there own story
not everybody can be wearing abercrombie and fitch
so listen here ***** you can hop off now
and give yourself a bow
I don't know how
but take a bow
congradulate how much hate you make
because they found the girl you were bullying
not only in depression but dead in a lake
when are you gonna wake up and realize
this **** isn't a joke
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
The Box by Lascelles Abercrombie
Once upon a time, in the land of Hush-A-Bye,
Around about the wondrous days of yore,
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC
Does it sting you if I tell you, you're a ****** a thief, and a liar by association?
Sure you've been convicted and you wear your prison tags with pride
This is not a tale, this is not for your entertainment, I'm talking about you!
Wearing your abercrombie and fitch, am I interrupting the call on your iphone!
Sure what you buy has been cleansed to hide the stench of blood and sweat
Do you know where it's made? Do you care about those who made it?
Think you got it bad? Wait until you see factory workers cry!
They can't because their tears dehydrate their malnourished bodies
Your thinking its alright to be at ease, better think twice
Panic, your self-preservation is not safe, your body's agency will soon give way
Living in ghettos, urban centers, metropolises, seeking comfort among congestion
Depositories for the excesses of humanity, fresh produce scarce, drugs plenty
Commercial, social, fashion districts hiding alley ways and misery
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
At night I like to rest my fingertips on the protruding hipbone that is still covered by a fleshy layer of cushion. Of fat.
Why do we shy away from that description so often?
Fat.
Those three letters haunted me more than anything for the past 7 years, and I would hear it all too often.
And when I didn't hear it, I'd see it in their eyes.
I was not like the rest of them.
No Abercrombie for this pudgy middle schooler, and no eating candy unless I wanted to be ridiculed and stereotyped.
But not until my senior year of high school did it finally get to me.
I stopped eating. One almond at most and nothing else.
Fat.
Fat.
Disgusting.
Shameful.
Ugly.
All synonymous in my head.
Now it's completely different.
I embrace my beautiful body.
Every curve, every scar, every red engrained stretch mark.
I wear them with pride.
I take off my shirt for my lovers without fear or shame.
My body is bigger than societies idealistic and impossible standards of beauty...
And thank
God
For
That.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
what am I...
if the mere color of my skin
smears fear, suspicion and dread
in the heads of perfect strangers...?
what am I...
if I feel the need to
recede to a sanctuary within
my very own black skin
allowing the familiar stranger
sharing the elevator
to exhale
and set her bundle of apprehension,
perceived and imagined,
aside
for the ride...?
what am I...
if I instinctively
hide my black eyes
in the screens
of iphones and ipads
avoiding icontact when isolated
with nervous strangers
lest I inflate the balloon of anxiety
to panicked proportions....?
creating that space of comfort
for all nervous strangers in my life
becomes my obsession...
and I switch lanes
by night
crossing to the other side
of streets with dim lights
lest I collide head-on
with trepidation personified
in the eyes of perfect strangers...
and I ditch the hoodie
for a crew neck sweater
by abercrombie and fitch
lest some slug with a 9mm gun
profile me as a ****
and defy order, rhyme and reason
to exercise his license to ****
in the still of a rainy night in florida
with no credible witness
in sight...
what am I...?
~ P
(7/18/2013)
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
Sometimes I would walk through the halls,
feeling nothing but anxiety.
My mind would become flooded:
What should I be doing…
what should I be saying...
what is everyone thinking?
See-
I used to float to the back of the room
to the back of my mind where
I escaped the world by reading.
Nerdy.
A loser. A freak.
I was too intelligent for my age.
It wasn’t COOL to get straight A’s.
Then I advanced to the seventh grade,
with no idea my life was about to change.
I made a friend.
Then Two. Then Three.
A former unknown concept: “popularity”.
Skater shoes, with laces you didn’t tie,
pink backpacks, hair straight as a pin-
Abercrombie-
led me to a moment I still hate today:
“Try some of this”.
It wasn’t COOL if you said no.
It was my first taste of intoxication,
my first taste of escape-
escape of my mind, the thoughts,
The anxiety.
The more I sipped, the more I let go.
The drinks would become stronger,
we raged every other night.
Tolerances were creeping up high,
control started waving goodbye to my mind.
It wasn’t COOL to be sober.
We laughed, we kid-
called ourselves “alcoholics”.
If only then I knew more, and the future I would soon endure
because of the potion we poured and poured.
It wasn’t COOL to be a lightweight.
Some years later I bragged and I boasted,
over the amount of liquor I could intake.
“The only girl who could outdrink the boys”-
the girl, I’d someday unrelated.
She’d fallen for everything society had wanted to create.
“Popularity”.
Then came the day I knew would eventually arrive-
the day of realization and what it meant to be alive.
I no longer wanted to be COOL.
Because with each drink, the value of life was swallowed-
I never have felt
quite that hollow. As if
all the knowledge that once filled my mind
vanished.
I yearned for nothing but to go back to the days,
when I was uncool
and got
straight A’s.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
Senior year filled with bliss
Senior year full of lists
life lessons we've all learned
no Qur'an to be burned
acceptance and tolerance is taught
things we ought not do
and things we ought to
skipping classes oh what fun
getting lots of essays
never done enough
We've all got pretty tough
after four years time
spent on
homework
friends
experiencing life
is defiantly sublime
getting ready for the future
yet we still cant see the whole **** picture
kind of nervous
kind of scared
at the end of the year
when we'll really see who really cared
to be true friends til the bitter end
through all our ups and all our downs
clean out the friend list
get ready for the plunge
each day is another last
memories we shall forget
names that used to have purpose
are now found meaningless
find a purpose
find a place
society dictates
this is our anthem
that although times are bad
working is all you have
each election getting meaner
every day a little harder
HOPE MY ***
this is all a clever lie
high school teaches us so much
yet none is remembered
none is obtained
vague concepts taught to the blind masses
When will the people learn?
To STAND UP
Stand up against corruption
and illegal government spending-WHOOPS
guess that was left outta the text books
Stay civil
stay sane
Follow the "American culture"
Eat fat
stay thin
this is hypocrisy we now live in
Vote for Republican
Vote for Democrat
doesn't matter in the end
they are the same
Abercrombie and Fitch
VS
Hollister
Same brand
different label
Don't you see?
Can't you see?
This hypocrisy....
is real
as real
as you
or Me
End of line
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 2:17 AM UTC
I am motherless.
She sits on the hutch in our dining room, in a ceramic urn.
Watching her fall has made me rise
I will be her polar opposite.
Her failure is my success.
I was numb to her death,
Like watching through one-way glass,
My heart feeling no pain, no loss.
Just relief.
I am safe now.
I am a muzzle.
I keep my feelings and frustrations to myself,
Bottled like colored sand and shells.
They rest on the tip of my tongue sometimes,
Rehearsed words to finally say what I mean.
But every time I talk myself down,
And push the words back down,
Fingers thrusting cork underwater.
From time to time I wish to shed a skin of attentiveness,
To take the words for what they are, rather than how they’re said.
I am a dream drawer
With broad strokes of man-made nostalgia I paint
A colonial home,
On a tree lined street,
A square front yard,
A big oak tree,
Green grass and a wraparound porch.
Inside,
There are varnished floors,
Built-in bookcases,
An Ikea kitchen,
And a Pottery Barn living room.
The kids wear Abercrombie,
The school bus stops at our front door,
and I am a mother for my children and for myself.
I am a street photographer.
Windows are my viewfinders,
showing a moment of life inside of a house. Click.
I am fascinated by the insides of a home.
I wish I could stop time and walk inside,
To see what’s behind that glass photograph.
I am a poet.
My dreams and desires,
My feelings and frustrations,
Are not spoken, but written.
I cannot just “turn on” my poetry,
I need something to speak to me,
Like my toes in a backyard pool during twilight,
Or a restless night.
They whisper at me,
Cast me meaningful glances.
I am a miner,
Searching for diamonds in a harmony,
Where I just have to close my eyes,
Smile, and be swallowed by the whale of melody and drums.
I am Jonah,
Wrapped in a musical hurricane,
I am surrounded and forced to forget
Everything but what I’m hearing.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 10:43 PM UTC
i haven't fallen in love with someone in such a long time
i'm pretty sure if the abercrombie and fitch of cowtown usa confessed his life long love for me right now
i'd tell him to **** off.
my sister is gushing her way through a romantic comedy romance
with some hot criminal justice major
and i'm happy to proffer advice
and cluck sympathetically
and oo and aww at the right moment
but my lack of drive to have something similar for myself
is slightly disconcerting
i worry that if i ever do have someone that means something to me
i'll have to explain to to them about my family
why i don't talk to my mom
why my little brothers and sisters can't see my dad
why my body is covered in scars
why i'm such a ****** up clown girl
and to be honest
i feel as if i don't have the ******* energy
to lay everything bear
to a potentially back-stabbing piece of **** human being
i've learned that everyone has that potential
my own mother tore me to pieces in front of a court of law
if the woman who gave birth to you
and claimed to love you for 18 years
can turn into a monster
so quickly
so can anyone else
and that is why i don't love people
like i say i do
because somewhere i know that they'll **** me over
they're human,
it's what they do
little clown girl,
sit on your dusty shelf
until it's empty
and you have it to yourself
i don't need any other accent
i just need space
and a knife
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
The smell of Abercrombie cologne, apple orchard candles and spearmint gum always bring you back
Some nights I lay and stare at the walls hoping you heard that song on the way home from work and your eyes teared up
The taste of mtn dew and orange chicken bring your face to my thoughts
Most days I dream about your gentle loving touch
Your soft cold fingers gliding down my arms and back
The thought gives me chills
I hope you think of me
And the priceless laughs we shared
My mind will always run back to you
You're all I've ever loved
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
I've been ambling dead like a zombie
Distressed; not classy like Abercrombie;
Can't get the words out
Like a ketchup bottle needs a clout
I need a hit from my crack pipe
She had the best drugs not a hype,
But after all the therapy sessions
And the endless tears and confessions
I no longer am easily sedated
By an ounce or a pint; the effect belated
Is no where near what it used to be
When it was everyday a dose of she;
But she stayed out of reach
Like a cookie jar hidden sealed from breach
Or intrusion and my system shut down
I couldn't even laugh at a ****** ******** clown
The heat slowly dissipating from my body
Her toxins seeped out my system leaving a shody
Shamble of bones and a dull luster on my eyes,
I returned to the life I led before her; full of lies;
But I'm getting up getting out getting going,
She's back again; my narcotic supply is flowing;
I feel the slow drip drip of the IV trickle
Within me a good warm feeling; no longer fickle
I'm no longer in a sinking trodden ship
Joy is in my fingertips as I'm back on her radar glowing blip...
© okpoet
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
My little sister had become an entitled ***** Her thirteenth year had brought terror on us all. I can't really complain, however; I had been the same way at thirteen and fourteen. It's funny how I act like I'm so much older and more mature now. At almost fourteen, I was having *** and sneaking around and I'm still doing that. However, I was in the god-awful scene phase of my life, not that we haven't all been there with the clip-in colorful extensions and the emo band tees. My sister is in the slutty Hollister model phase of her life. I feel like we all go through on or the other, or if you're lucky enough you go through both. My body type was always bustier and hippier than any Abercrombie model that I had ever seen.
My dad and I had always **** heads. It flares up when my mom isn't around to be the peacemaker. Even when she is home, we still argue frequently, and we take a lot of low blows at each other. Yet he also expects me to be perfect. He's always been on my case about my weight, my friends, my clothes, my hair, my personality...I can barely breathe around him. Nothing I do is good enough for him and frankly, I've stopped trying to please him.
And me? Well, I'm just the black sheep, the dark horse, the family **** up. The **** up who isn't all that smart, in school or in life. The **** up who can't lose weight, and who takes the heat for the fact that majority of her family is overweight. The **** up who gets blamed for confrontation she gets into with her sister. The **** up who can't play sports and is just plain clumsy. The **** up who can carry a pitch, but will never be a star. The **** up who can't cook, dress or act right. The **** up who will never honor her family. The **** up who's always been subpar in every area of life. The **** up who has nothing to offer the world.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
A Catalan
liaison where
with his
jazz guitar
as Gioconda
in Hoboken
really left
for Athens
and green
pasture of
Ulster that
pokes a
fable with
lure of
capes in
New York
and Saint-Tropez
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 8:51 AM UTC
T’is nobler, said,
to be a humble man
penitent and patient
with forethought of plan
to be well read
and a steward of the land
assured when posing a statement
strong in the conviction he stands
long gone is this type day
and the stand-up guy
today we find something else
looking us eye to eye
clam handshake and fashion, gay
unable to think or fly
Versace tie, Abercrombie belts
not sure if I should cry or sigh
conditioned beards and the tightest pants
so far past just sensitive
naming children Tyler and Evan
think they should be given a sedative
or something stronger to end this dance…
and before you all get tentative
I do want them to go to heaven
I just also wish they would cease to live –
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC
Back on the jubilee
an Italian sat next to me
and next to her
a lookalike looking like Cher.
Open and close
doors do that
I suppose
and
some people do it too.
Sunlight filters in
past the grime
we're living in
and?
And is good to have at hand
when you're hanging on by a
thread.
Windmills
not dragons,
but I understand how
easily mistaken one can be
when you only see what
you want to see.
I get more time on here
more things to do
I could be a windmill too.
Underground now or is that
yet to be?
We combat mortality in an effort
to live on,
but we'll all be gone when the time
comes.
Bluetooth's detected me
connected me
with
Abercrombie and his iPhone,
why?
he's a stranger to me although
it might be a she
still a stranger though.
Canada Water
near water but not Canada
unless you count the geese.
I wonder sometimes
does a termination code
come
before the chicken crosses
the road?
Yesterday lingers in the ventilation shaft,
the smell of excess.
I'm older by twenty seven feet under London If that's possible
it might even be deeper.
I might even be older
when I
but then I
wonder again why
Abercrombie?
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 1:55 AM UTC
Joy to the world,
We've come undone,
A place, to spew, some hate,
To everyone, who isn't one,
Of us or like our race.
Who doesn't have our face.
A different soul, a body not whole.
An alien race.
Joy to the world,
We've come undone,
Where women are percentages.
Their numbers count,
As diversity points,
To make you seem awake.
To actions that still don't change.
To wrongs that need to be addressed.
Joy to the world,
We've come undone,
Where colours are marketing tricks,
The many shades of,
Your Abercrombie jeans,
Not meant for you to wear.
Sold only in neighbourhoods up there.
Your skins just not the right shade.
Joy to the world,
We've come undone,
A place, to spew, some hate,
But we can still,
Make it our own space,
Let's take it back again.
The world is ours to gain.
The young can be the poles.
That don't let greed control.
Say ok boomers go.
Let us be one and whole.
Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 3:25 PM UTC
All eyes widely stare
At Abercrombie models,
Them beautiful boys.
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC