"adhesive" poems
Don't discriminate
Just don't do it
All it is, is hate
Hate is made out of other hate
and hate only fuels more hatred
You pour gasoline on a blaze of loathing
with every discriminatory comment you make
It doesn't matter
if they have done something you believe is wrong
because you have done many things that are wrong too
it is not for you to judge
so black white brown both or polka dotted for all I care
gay les straight bi or into adhesive sloths (we adhesified furry little sloths need a little love too)
man or woman or sloth
punk emo crazy nerdy weird loser REALLY weird bookworm or literal worm sloth or adhesive sloths (like me)
nature freak or homebody
axe murderer or a cereal killer or a cheerio killer
it does not matter who or what they are
they are all human too. or all sloths. that too.
Just don't discriminate
and share the slothified love of adhesiveness
accept everyone as they are
even if they hang from trees and move in slow motion all day like me
even if they are rocks
because rocks are great
in fact this one time, I found this rock and man, it was absolutely hilarious it should have been a stand up comedian
okay well not a STAND UP comedian, because I mean... rocks can't actually stand up... but like a really hard and Sedimentary roundish stone shaped sit down (well more like lay around like a rock all day) comedian
Wait, what was I talking about?
oh right, don't discriminate!! :)
against other humans or other sloths.
or adhesive sloths.
...I'm not crazy! my mother sloth had me tested!
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
The crash of us together
A wave caressing dancing sands
We kissed with tongue for hours while our mouths were full of glass
You cradled me so softly
and kept my heart inside a jar
I took your brain, made you insane, our adhesive made of tar
Can I **** myself with you?
I want to stick to you like glue
Our fingers intertwined as they turn stiff and blue
The world is scared of dying,
Always looking for a sign,
But if I died with you beside me
I know that I'd be fine
We inflict upon each other
pain, despair and passion
undying devotion
has always been in fashion
You hurt me so bad
But always hold me after
We sob together yet always end in laughter
Can I **** myself with you?
I want to stick to you like glue
Our fingers intertwined as they turn stiff and blue
The world is scared of dying,
Always looking for a sign,
But if I died with you beside me
I know that I'd be fine
A space is in between us now
A shield so to speak
But I miss the way it used to be and every night I weep
I wonder if you miss me too even though I'm still right there
Its as if now that we're better we have nothing left to share
Can I **** myself with you?
I want to stick to you like glue
Our fingers intertwined as they turn stiff and blue
The world is scared of dying
Always looking for a sign
But if I died with you beside me I know that I'd be fine
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 7:42 PM UTC
I blot people onto me, just to buff them away. Soakin em, and pressin em on.
Dabbin, pressin, soakin, like temporary tattoos.
Easy to apply, and pretty to look at.
Fun to show off, without any commitments, and then I just let em peel away after some time.
After their bright pigment fades, or their adhesive fails, I just rub em off.
Scratch em with my fingernails sometimes, when I get impatient.
Rub, scratch, off. Now, right now. I’m tired of lookin at you, feelin you on my skin.
I wore you for a bit,
Now it’s time for a new one.
Rub, scratch, dab, press, soak, press again again again.
Skin red, dry skin rub rub dab dab dab peel peel dab peel.
And then,
the ones I like the most, the most beautiful, the most vibrant,
color, color, color.
Purple, green.
purple purple
Purple,
are the ones I try to keep the longest,
they’re always the quickest to fade,
and to peel,
and to fail.
Fail fail fail, come unglued.
Keep em out of the sunlight, outta the wind. In the dry. But they peel.
Peel peel peel, fail.
They fail.
And then,
I can’t find others quite like em. So I press on any old picture. Any color.
Gray, red, yellow, blue. Not quite right, no blue, no citron, no salmon.
Not quite purple enough.
Not quite green.
Not quite, never quite the same.
The same purple, the same green.
Just soak soak soak soak,
Press. Peel.
Until, again, something might feel right.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 8:28 AM UTC
There's an item that's truly essential
Of a roughly cylindrical frame
It's a marvel of modern invention
And a legend it duly became
It surpasses the birth of electric
And eclipses the slicing of bread
If it wasn't for this innovation
Then I think I would surely be dead
Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Stick with me
Fix my wardrobe
Effortlessly
Hold up the curtains
Wax my thighs
Gaffer-tape Gaffer-tape
Improvise
It's useful for picking up hamsters
And it serves as a passable tie
As a gag for a amateur gangster
Or the crust of a blueberry pie
For a mite of podiatry pleasure
You can use it for mending your socks
If Pandora had come up against it
Then she'd never have opened her box
Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Holding fast
Adhesive savior
Unsurpassed
Smooth as mirror glass
Diamond tough
Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Marvelous stuff
It's bringing our nations together
And it's holding them firmly in place
You can use it to pull back your wrinkles
For a genuine Hollywood face
It'd surely have saved the Titanic
And they took seven rolls to the moon
Keep it near and be calm in a crisis
And predicaments inopportune
Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Mending sails
If you're tired
Of hammering nails
Buy some now
It's a thing to behold
Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Solid gold
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
Red flags in the beginning are easy to turn into little sticky notes, notes for later that sometimes lose their adhesive and fall to the ground much like my current tolerance for ****** dudes
The first known use for red flags was by the military to indicate they’re ready for battle, unfortunately I’ve seen enough red flags to start the next world war
I should’ve known
When I came back from Arizona and he said “you must’ve cheated on me because your ****** feels different”
Not because he’s insecure
or
because he doesn’t know trust
or
because he’s trying to assert control
I should’ve known
When he asked if I “had a problem getting wet because it seemed like that was a thing”
Not because he doesn’t know foreplay
(side note: **** doesn’t teach you foreplay)
or
because he doesn’t actually turn me on
or
because fun fact!- women can be turned on and not be wet
I should’ve known
When he said “if you shaved, then I’d go down on you 24/7”
Not because he was scared that choking on my ***** hair reminded him he’s with a real woman that grows hair
and humans inside her
and ideas
and opinions
and strength
and my body is not yours to give me ultimatums of
I should’ve known
When I asked if figuring out my pleasure was a burden and he answered “actually, yes it is”
Not because he’s too lazy to actually want to pleasure anyone but himself
or
because his only ****** education ended with a .com
or
because no one has ever expected more of him
I should’ve known when he said
“What I want out of a ****** partner is someone that wants me inside of them as soon as possible”
Not “inside my soul”
or
“inside my thoughts”
or
“inside my memories”
or
“inside an intimacy he will never know”
I should’ve known when he said
“Let me show you how Rachel did it”
Not “this is how I like it”
or
“can we try this?”
or
“opening your ******* mind to how another human being moves around you”
I should’ve known when
He spit on my ****** the universal sign for disrespect
Like I deserve the same fate as tobacco swollen cheeks
Like my ****** is your spittoon,
am I the end of a tobacco session or a fancy wine tasting?
these things matter
Now I find it symbolic men are taught to spit while women are taught to swallow
Swallow our reactions
Swallow our feelings
Swallow our voices
Swallow his releases
Swallow his spit
Swallow us whole
When you see a red flag do not ignore that it means battle
This battle is not a healthy one, this battle will leave you bruised
Uproot this flag and take it with you to remind yourself
You can lose every battle and still win the war
11/28/2016 Amanda Powell
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 8:59 PM UTC
The mason trudges on
night and day to finish
his masterpiece. Clockwork,
he waits like a prisoner
yearning
for the jurisdiction to
fall in his favor. Each
opportunity: he will steal it.
Adhesive to stone and
metal support:
This wall will not
fall. No, this one he will not
let dissemble. Opposing the
prior ruin, plagued
with age and abuse,
the once damaging blows
instead drive this puzzle together.
Attend carefully.
Every door slammed behind
to shut me out,
Each painful stab in your glace
lancing through my chest, into
the black cavity life has consumed
into me.
He will work
to layer his project, this
projection of my cautions, until
the last glimmer of light disappears
behind the last stone in the
last wall. Now a true prisoner,
my mind lies
in contentment.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
STARFISH
Washed up upon the beach
a tiny shape,
dry abandoned,
once danced upon the waves,
partied with the seas hair,
nobody cared,
sometimes hovered neath the waves,
has plenty of arms,
but unable to wave,
to summon a little assistance,
this fella lost his anchorage,
adhesive pads became released,
so with the turned of the tide,
laid on the beach dried.
Perhaps a child may collect him,
while she's playing on the golden beach,
a summer's drift,
just have to wait and see.
(C) Livvi
INSPIRED BY ZACK
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
You stick to my thoughts like an adhesive.
Ever wandering the canvas of my mind.
You travel at the speed of light,
through the nonexistent confines of oblivion.
Foreverness...
Without time, space or action.
The deeper I go,
to hide,
to get lost,
to be alone.
To think a thunking thought!
The closer you seem to be.
The tighter you cling to my chest.
Warming my heart and crushing my lungs.
You squeeze the words from my mouth,
without ever touching me.
The sun looses all essence of light and life when compared to you.
Like an ember among the black atoms of nothingness.
And if you were stripped of all that you are...
I could,
and would,
love you for this alone.
Yet oh how I hate you for it.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Dishes clang loud against the sink
Metal spoons bang white ceramic
Anger defies lifelong contract
Sacred and sealed with tears and tact
Adhesive is this stone of hurt
Lumped solidly within her throat
No easy atonement comes forth
Nor minor distraction does soothe
Her rant gathers no audience
No recall of what stoked this fire
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
A kilo of fish brinjal pumpkin
Cauliflower raisin and bean
Washing soap and eggs one crate
Need to buy bring from market!
Mustard oil some milk and rice
Cashew nut and a horde of spice
Gourd and potato spinach cabbage
The list is long fills a page!
Feel confused from where to start
How to pile and stack on a cart
Shoeshine cream to adhesive glue
All calculations and maths to do!
Ticked what’s got unticked what’s not
Cash dwindles with much unbought
Trudge back home in sweated daze
She checks items and fumes in rage!
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
Stretchy sticky tape can be used for plenty
like preventing loose lips from spilling secret information
make 'em taste adhesive next time they lick crackly mouths
serve as a reminder of the importance of person-person confidentiality.
Some just can't keep a good story in their head
which is why they shout
and beg for the forgiveness of their unpopular ways
I love all these outcasts
because I feel I should, as do many others
they want to feel like good people
holy
and sometimes you find
you do enjoy the company of the strange
and I find
that I thrive on absurdity and being a ******
because it's exhausting to try to be normal
so you just act a fool and laugh
because you love to read about politics and physics
and you still enjoy
being un-sober
though it isn't apparent to all because you aren't so obvious
(except now)
and you know roughly who you are
at least have some ideas as to who you aren't,
you aren't a princess or an athlete,
you're not valedictorian, not perfect
just a humble little ****** with birds for brains
flying out of your ears
a whole flock of 'em
chirping away eating worms
early in the morn'
just insane in the dark.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC
Band-aids to prevent the social infections that could eventually
spread to the frontal lobe,
Diseases started on Fox News, spread to the living room,
circulate around the family dinner table
putting victims of ignorance on the coroner’s slab
Alleviate the pain.
Should we let the gapping wounds of intolerance fester, decay and grow maggots?
***** bigotry, vile illiteracy, primitive ideas coat the skins of society like a black goo.
Band-aids: self adhesive bandages
We aren’t teachers. We are medics.
covering the gapping wounds of life
lathering the lesions with Neosporin.
Healing the scars from parenting gone wrong
- scars from wounded self-esteems
-lacerations to the proverbial heart
Scars lasting longer than the body itself.
No one knows where its impact will end.
Band-aids
temporary fix
heal the wound fast, heal the hurt faster
A Johnson and Johnson remedy for damaged organisms
Well-meaning ones hurling scriptures scald hands with tainted words
Healing is a matter of time.
Arm teachers to protect children from the crazies who loom?
What will protect them from their own inherited ignorance?
The damage is already done when they get here.
Equip us with Band-Aids, boxes and boxes.
Hello Kitty over their ears to block the infection from coming in
Spiderman for their mouths. Stop the seepage of any contamination from spreading to others.
The remaining scars will fade, but not disappear.
even with a band-aid.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
In the midst of our passion,
I tried to make you show your hand.
You were losing your poker face,
I thought your inhibitions were gone.
But when I said “tell me what you want”
You replied “for you to be happy and healthy”.
And that shattered the dam.
The wall that held back the sea splintered.
And I let you see me drown in my pain.
I told you how letting you gorge on me
Made me the kind of sad I could control.
It was a shallow kind of sad, one that could be fixed with scotch tape.
I ripped the adhesive off of the shallow sad
When the deep dark sad became too much.
I told you how letting you gorge on me
Made me feel useful, even if it validated everything he told me.
I don’t care that my body is nothing more than something to be ******
At least I’m doing my friend a favor.
So even if I can’t be happy and healthy right now,
And even if you know that,
At least we can see each other for what we are
As I let you feed his desires for me,
And you let me feed my desire for pain.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 10:38 PM UTC
Stars are actually snowballs, constantly being thrown at each other by the playful children
that are the Old Gods.
Planets are ornaments
that adorn the Christmas tree
in the center of the Solar System.
One of them has a floral pattern,
one of them has the British flag on it,
and one of them, I think, is half-shattered, only held together
by the holy adhesive that is tape.
The meteors are popcorn garlands,
that we popped the other night.
Now they're stale and flavorless,
so we decided
to decorate space
with them.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
~for Pradip~
*these words,
a blessing bestowed
upon me, by you,
about us
say kiss me write love me
for all the contextual hints that lie
within and between them ~
"gloriously adhesive"
a monument to our five years
of living together,
the friction of our grip upon each other,
under one roof, in a land of
no matter
what the language,
what the alphabet,
we are the prime,
a living example,
of the human~poem,**
our glorious adhesion!
<•>
from only love poetry,
I rename you here,
only love Pradip
8/25/17
6:40PM
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
our love was like a bandaid
hiding our rotting selves
as we tried to ignore the pain
and we both knew at one
point we were gonna have
to rip off our cover to see
if we healed, but we just
let the bandaid sit and collect
dirt along its adhesive rim
and ignored the infection
growing beneath it.
the pain was worse then the
sting after all.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
*The eyes of the luthier are fixated
on the degrading and poorly fitted Dejacques bridge,
a small piece of wood that arches
at the top of the damaged instrument -
a prized 18th century treasure
originating from Brescia, a city in Northern Italy.
With a napkin in hand lightly
soaked in an oily substance,
he unhooks the piece,
then takes a replacement bridge
perfectly fitted for it. He cracks a smile.
This viola d'amore has seen better days,
with usage and prolonged handling
wearing the value of the instrument down.
Only an expert can bring a worn-out bird
seeking its once gracious and hypnotic voice
back to life with care and precision.
This luthier is a* surgeon,
*a master at installing a sound-post replacement,
without gouging or harming
the quality of the instrument in the process.
This luthier is a* listener;
*as he retrieves and dusts off a case
filled with a spare set of strings,
he installs and finely tunes them
but never over the desired pitch.
Tense and crucial,
like the rising crescendo of a string quartet,
he strums the new strings for evidence of life,
listening to and directing the cry of each one,
like a composer.
This luthier is a* healer,
*repairing the cracks of the violin
by implementing a tactic he learned
on his many trips to Crawley, England,
where his teacher had once trained him;
by using cubic, wooden studs and small clamps,
he gains better control at closing the cracks just enough
to lace the opening with an adhesive
with little to no force or pressure.
This luthier is an* artist,
*repairing the instruments
that yearn for the sound of music,
their very raison d'être.
His string and wooden patients
scream in agony for healing and peace
with voices unheard to the people,
but deafening to him.
He leaves his signature on each new patient
as their once damaged and lifeless souls
dance to the tune of his work,
healing them, promising the advent
of a future performance.
Let them rejoice. Let the music soar once again.*
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC
I love screen protectors. They're useful, practical little ******** - and cheap, to boot - and I can't help but want one for every gadget I have. But I can't ever put them on right.
There's always a thousand little air bubbles, or dog hairs, or dust particles that make air bubbles. All I want is the added security, that little extra drop of protection that everyone wants with the kind of investment that is an iPhone. Instead, I'm rewarded with a visual reminder of my mediocrity; a dozen little bubbles, only slightly obscuring my view of Ashley's text. She says she loves me - as a friend, of course. I'm "married." And it's not easy to read, because there's an air bubble over half of the text alert window.
I tried all I could; took my US Toy card to the thing in an attempt to force retreat from some of the bigger bubble-platoons. I applied, reapplied, and reapplied again. I used the spare one that the package came with. I even looked up a video to see how someone else did it. Nothing.
Fine.
A text from a man I grew up with, asking me to hop on Metal Gear Online. I can read it. I wish I didn't have to. It looks so ugly with that air bubble trying to smother it. I can't rip my eyes from the bubbles now, sealed by the OtterBox case I bought for the phone, and living comfortably with the protector's adhesive around them. I wish the case could protect the screen sufficiently. But I wanted a screen protector. I wanted to put it on and put it on right. I wanted to smooth everything out with a card in triumph and tell myself, with a smirk, that it was worth the $2 I paid. All I got was air bubbles. Air bubbles, there to remind me that I still can't do much right.
I hate screen protectors.
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 7:57 PM UTC
Smudges of dirt into the hair,
His eyes had black rings
under and around
as he sat on the ground
fully fury bearded face,
like a raccoon.
But he was a man.
The bandage adhesive surrounded
what was a mark in the center
of his forehead, a red welt that
had encountered a hard harsh
reality, a beating and a loss.
The hospital was just around the corner.
But he was homeless.
He had his second place prizes, empty
bottles of liquid to sanitize hands
lifted by his, tortured short
fingers, surprisingly agile,
laughing at his own guile.
The hospital is just around the corner.
And his two litre bottle stash,
under his coat,
behind his back, in the long grass.
He was crouched behind
the chain link fence, smiled
and laughed to himself as
the dog and I walked by,
what could I offer him that
he didn't already have,
he wore A coat,
he had A toque,
he had currency in
the form of half a gallon
of hand sanitizer,
he was happy,
I heard him laugh,
saw a broken tooth,
and cut lip,
his world and my world,
were not far apart even though,
we could only taste the other's
reality.
He is a homeless man and I don't
know his name.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
Spider
Walking into a corridor of neatly aligned cobwebs,
that have your history strewn across, like telephone wires
intertwining and intersecting,
Making all the conversations and voices interweave,
crossing paths - causing a disruption in the line,
the static disturbances echoing through the dark corridor
embellished with these cobwebs that have been lost in your mind.
The cobwebs speak like conversations
from broken telephone poles
that are overlapping and confusing the mind,
muddled and disarrayed, lacking any sense.
time has consumed these thoughts,
leaving bits and pieces,
that only mislead you
You swing across paving new paths with silken threads,
crisp and new, like adhesive,
glistening with prosperity.
Yet you keep these deep rooted cobwebbed memories
locked in your mind,
like Pandora’s box ready to unravel.
So just let them retire,
they have fallen and become undone,
and now they just collect
dust from your memories
Reminding you of thoughts,
that are specked and flecked
with dusty recollections.
Those worn out thoughts can no longer collect,
they only eject,
tangled stories confusing you
and bemusing you
So don’t collect
your abandoned webs,
like a memory book - they are no longer relevant,
they were just webs you wove to learn
how to weave the web you now conceive,
strong and secure,
fully capable to endure.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
With the piquant poignancy of lurid allusion
I create a dynamically progressive matrix of collusion
Whose apex crux axis is beyond finite solution
And the endergonicaly adhesive pragmatics imbue a cohesively coercive illusion
For the inveterate hypotaxis of livid elusions
I portray a protensive conjunction of latent confusions
Whose effervescent effluence is vagile laconic effusions
And the sardonic impending preponderance conveys sabbat consortium delusions
From the endemic puissance of eclectic synectics
I derive a dialectically semantic sorcery of syntactics
Whose apothegm aphorisms are levity terse synaptics
And the lucidly collusive illuminism educes the aesthetics of geomancy's fatidic
Through the viable salience of kithe’s intrinsics
I exude a portentous pervasion acuity of linguistics
Whose apomixis anabolics are irrefragably felicitous orotund acoustics
And the aural auspice austerities infer axioms of manumission’s eidetics
By the hypercritical mitigations of anachronistic sociology
I purvey rampart ransack oblations of epistemology
Whose azure opulence articulations are futurity ostensive ontology
And the evolutional ontogeny metamorphisms incur a homogeny epiphany deontology
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
Here's to hoping i'm beautiful
because I can't see what others do
words are a faulty part, a non-adhesive
trying to glue with water, *today is the
day. today is the day* but I'm just
screaming at God, well if today is
the day, then why I am at work?
why is there no time to think?
why are these people in this
bitter little town allowed to
exist?
Here's to hoping I'm beautiful
because I can't see what others do.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC