"advising" poems
This ... Disrespect thing ...
is ... OUT OF CONTROL ... !!!
from work to ... Street Corners ...
to ... most peoples' ... " Homes " ... !!!
My Poetry .... Roams .............................
just like ... " Mobile Phones " ...
to send out ... " This Vibe " ...
Disrespect ... NEEDS TO ... die ... !!!!!
We NEED TO ... " Respect " ...
This Thing ... we call ... " Life " ...
LOVE ... One Another ... !!!
RESPECT ....
is what's ... Right ... !!!
Take things ... in your stride ...
DISMISS ...................................... foolish pride
cos' ... Pride like they say ...
comes before ... A Fall ... !!!
and next thing ...
You've guessed it ...
You're facing ... A WALL ...
A wall ... FILLED WITH ... Bullies ... !!!
just ready to .... BRAWL ... !!!!!
But bullies ... are Dummies ...
whose thought waves are ... "small" ...
Like those who believe ...
in avoiding ... School Halls ... ?!?
That line's ... for those kids ...
with ... SLEEPLESS ... Eyelids ... !!!
ALWAYS ... think of ... THIS
A Bully is .... weak ... !!!
So Don't ... lose your sleep ... !!!
cos' bullies ... DON'T THINK ...
of the ... " Sows " ... that they reap ... ?!?
OKAY ...
Yes I mean ...
They'll reap ... what they sow ... !!!
Well ... ?
Maybe I don't ... ???
But ...
One Thing ... I KNOW ... !!!
IS ... most bullies ... Don't See ...
that the ... Sickness ... they keep ...
is REALLY ... A Sickness ...
that slowly ...... just Creeps ...
A Sickness ...
That'll give em' ...
YES ...
One ... " FINAL " ... Sleep.
and this may be ... " Why "... ?
Our Youth ......
Die on streets ..... !!!
The Cycle's ... Complete ...
from Rappers who talk ...
about ... Killing Emcees ... ?!?
to crimes some ... " Commit " ...
Against ... " Humanity " ...
I'm looking for ... " Peace " ...
in places ... I be ...
But let's get things ... STRAIGHT ...
Don't come ... Pushing Me ... !!!!!
Be ... Nice ...
and ... Believe Me ...
I'll be ... Nice to you ... !!!
I may ... turn my cheek ....
if you give me ... Abuse ... ?
But .... !!!!!
That's cos' I choose ...
NOT TO ... act the ... " Fool " ...
but .... Anything's Possible ...
I've got ... Two Hands Too ... !!!!!
I put that verse in ....
to PROVE ... Peace ...
Can Be ... COOL ... !!!
But everyone's temper ...
has Boundaries Too ... !!!!!
So ... what do you do ... ?
when THUGS ... approach you ... ?!?
Well this ...
I CAN'T ... tell you ...
cos' ... I am NOT ... You ... !!!
I'm simply ... Advising ...
Fighting NEEDS ... " Downsizing " .... !!!!
But .....
This thing ... RESPECT ...
Really NEEDS ...
An ... UPRISING ... !!!!!
cos' Violence ... INFECTS ...
and ... CANNOT ... Protect ...
The world and ...
It's ... People ...
So take time and ... " Check " ...
The thoughts I ... " Collect " ...
and take time ... Before ...
Dishing out ....
" Disrespect " ....
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 7:02 PM UTC
Sadness isn’t a sickness but I think I’m coming down.
Doctor, doctor I no longer want to be around.
All that I seem to do is constantly breakdown.
Doctor, doctor I think it’s time for me to go.
Cancel my next appointment, I won’t be here tomorrow.
Doctor, doctor you say that sadness is in fact a sickness,
yet you aren’t advising me on how to fix this.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:13 PM UTC
Emotion and tone,
like sugar
in your tea.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 5:29 AM UTC
With graceful strategy the circling hawk
Whips my circling sorrow to dive and strike;
Indiscrete for action the poison oak
Thrusts up her flushed face for attack
Lizards and herbs and flowers admonish me,
Strict in their innocence: I am cowardly,
Nor will the mourning-dove condone my fault
Who ******* all hazard for a humble scrap
And when she coos courts punishment. My guilt
Is obvious, and I cannot escape.
8.3k
we lay together, 6:00am, body warmth touch-sharing,
as the June morning summer chill coming off its night nadir coolness
surrenders very reluctantly,
full length pajamas, blankets and coverlets in use,
keeping cold out while bodies touching generate heat -
a big difference
through these layers of cotton controversy, my right arm,
my cunning, falls awkwardly upon her, advising I am woken
and aware she is as well, hear her earbuds emplaced, make shushed
whispering noises re the future of artificial intelligence
and other such mental knottings
my awkward angled arm rests on her landscaped outline of shape,
coming to rest where legs meet at the top of an upside down V spot,
which makes no request, but accepts my bequest of steady
stroking of her ****** as an unnecessary
but atheist-acceptable to her
morning prayer ritual, kept at the intersection of the
physical and physics theorems
funny how some prayers,
where recitation comes thoughtlessly and routine,
uttered without any contemplation are yet
deep comforting for their inherency,
so I pray a stroking repetitive on her body,
well hid neath a summer coverlet,
wordlessly chanted, wordlessly accepted, silence connoting approving permission
I comfort her,
above and through a floral coverlet for her floral coverlet,
till the sun rises enough to truly warm up our plot,
my praying reaches the end of its rope,
where quality and quantity achieve unanimity resolution
no longer needed,
but am appreciated, besides my arm is cramping,
not designed for the rising, unleveled angle of her breathing bodice
my comfort is her extra comforter,
an offering of coffee my reward,
for my daily work has begun,
and I have many more poems stillborn
that require coaxing stroking
to become
witnesses to living
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 7:32 PM UTC
Delicately pink hearts gently unfurl
From nests of lively minds;
There is nothing weak about Southern women
We are supposed to wear ugly dresses,
Enamel bugs,
French scarves that wrap around and
Tie us all together from the inside out
Football and sassy new haircuts might not make faces look younger,
But they can lift spirits
And just because you spend all day advising others
Of their secret trials
Doesn't mean that you can hold your family in a cage,
Golden and happy though you may want things to be.
Remember that if you feel new, an outsider,
Your personal tragedies seeming too much to bear,
You will always find comfort in laughter
Especially if laughter through tears is your favorite emotion.
You might not pick up boys or money,
But friendship steeps in small salons
Like sweet tea.
Prickly sarcasm and pessimism aren't always the hallmarks
Of a heart devoid of caring,
It's just a natural response after two deadbeat husbands and
Three ungrateful children; somewhere in all of it is a promise
Of hope.
And even in a barren womb new life is discovered,
And even in death joy is found,
And even through pain,
Sisterhood blooms,
Delicate steel petals enveloping grieving hearts.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
It was 3 PM on a Tuesday
in the summer, just before
my first semester of college.
I went out on a whim and
bought a cheetah print lava
lamp for forty six dollars
at some stand in the mall,
despite you persistently
advising me not to
waste money on
"insignificant ****
The next day it rained
from 7 AM until 5 PM
and I forced you to lie
in bed with me all day,
with the curtains drawn
& the lights out.
I wanted us to observe
the weird, red
shapes forming
inside my new cheetah
print lava lamp...
Something about it
captivated me.
I never had one as a kid,
And you just sat there
holding my hand for
fifty eight minutes before
I whispered, "did you see
how pretty that one was?"
You laughed gently
and shifted your eyes
toward my dresser,
at which point
I realized
that was the very first time
you looked away from me
since we had laid down
And
with that thought,
the butterflies
woke so chaotically,
I thought I'd never
catch my breath
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
door opened
door shut, then locked
first morning urges
body greets the dawn
toilet seat up
pants unzipped
waste tube carefully aimed
flow turned on
trickling stream
becomes rushed torrent
small splashes
leave no mark
on steep polished porcelain walls
water slowly turning
clear to yellow
light to dark
liquid waste
flushed down the drain
shows signs
of dehydration
advising body
drink more water
restart the cycle
of urination
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 10:20 AM UTC
School's coming to an end,
and it's GCSE's,
using all my expertise gained through-out the school years,
It could all end in tears.
Teachers say it's a big deal,
that's what they convey,
it is for them, anyway.
The last few weeks of term and you hand in your coursework,
that was fine, I wish I could shirk the exams,
not very good at revising,
but our teachers are advising us to watch GCSE Bitesize,
but it doesn't really cover what we've learned,
which is a bit of a concern.
We all cram into the exam hall,
it's a bit last minute,
but I'm trying to recall my revision notes.
An Inspector Calls by J.B Priestley,
something's stirring,
Arthur Birling,
a public scandal is too much to handle,
Eva Smith,
Eric and Gerald both had affairs,
but the latter actually cared.
That's a start, I guess.
The exam invigilator sets the clocks,
and permits one hour and forty-five minutes.
The Science exams are multiple-choice,
Biology is fine, but Physics and Chemistry haunt me.
Geography next,
tectonic plates,
and the traits of EDC's,
as well as Less Economically Developed Countries.
That's all over,
we await our mark,
the best part is still to come,
everyone meeting down the park,
and that too me is the abiding memory of my school days,
one last time we're all together in glorious weather,
before going our separate ways.
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 1:54 PM UTC
We all serve someone in our capacity of life.
We just must be willing.
We all gather some type of benefits in life.
We jut must be willing to admit it.
I work for God Incorporated.
In other words.
I'm employee of God.
And this his service.
I have been insured in mutiple ways.
Don't have to admit how?
Don't even have to say.
In spreading his product.
Whether it's the word.
Or his love.
I have promoted his goal.
As God's employee.
He accepts request.
And He supplies many needs.
And I personally can testify.
He don't get offended being called a charity.
Altho' He does get heated at things he see.
Still, I rather stay employed in his company.
No strikes is allowed.
Too many rewards connected to his foundation.
He's always hiring.
While also advising and training others in life.
A good employer gets good remarks.
After all.
Why criticize the creator of us all?
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 8:39 AM UTC
Sorry to trouble you,
but there’s something I ought to tell you now that you’re here.
If you came here looking for an interesting poem to read,
I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place.
Why?
Because this is not a poem.
This is not a narrative detailing a certain someone doing something in a certain time and place.
This is not a series of lyrics longing to be converted into music.
This is not a picture made up of a thousand words – or thousands for that matter.
This is not a fancy epic or tragedy or comedy bound by the treacherous laws of stanzas.
This is not an ode to a pre-existing memory – or several memories for that matter.
This is not a set of verses born free from the daunting laws of stanzas.
This is not even a collage of pre-existing poems mixed and matched to the heart’s content.
Simply put – this is anything but a poem.
Even if it was,
I doubt that it would be the kind of poem you would want to read.
You would most likely find better poetry somewhere else.
Here, there is no narrative, no subject matter and no context.
Therefore, if this was a poem,
it would be about absolutely nothing and have no meaning whatsoever to anyone.
That’s why I’m telling you that this is not a poem.
That’s why I’m advising you to look for a real poem elsewhere.
But, no matter what I say,
you wouldn’t listen to me anyway, would you?
I made it clear from the beginning that this is not a poem,
but you read it through to the end regardless.
Why is that?
Why would you take the time to read something about absolutely nothing?
Were you curious?
Did you just happen to stumble upon this while minding your own business and decide to take a peek out of curiosity?
Or were you bored?
Were you feeling desperate to find something completely different from the poetry you would normally read?
Either way,
this was never meant to be a poem waiting to be read.
And yet, in spite of that,
you read it anyway.
For that, I feel that the least I can do in return is say this:
Thank you.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC
I had to walk out of physics today,
make my way to the back of the room
shoot for the door
with my hands on my hips.
Just started pacing.
I just stated pacing and pacing and pacing.
I followed the thin grey lines between the linoleum tiles
with my toes
counting every second I was out of class
and weighing that against how many more it would take
on a chance against hell
to get me back in there again.
I wasn't smart.
I never had been.
I just filled in bubbles correctly and I wrote
all the right things on a convincing, cliché
college paper.
I don't even know why I took physic,
but it sounded like a good idea when I was eighteen
and scared
and had some woman with a long braid screaming at me,
"advising" me that it was the "right direction."
I didn't even know who I was then so how could she.
I could mouth off a good response or two and I
probably embody every great literary character
in commercial fiction that is
the guy in the grey skinny jeans reading Shakespeare
in the corner of the dining hall.
Well, I'm not.
I'm not some stereotype for your next
creative writing assignment.
I just happen to think my *** looks good in skinny jeans,
I actually hate Shakespeare,
and the corner of the dining hall has the best air conditioning.
It's that simple.
There's your answer.
But my fingertips were shaking and my mind was racing
and there I was
just pacing and pacing and pacing
because this
is ********
This class is ********
This college is ********
And the whole world
might as well be ********
right along with it.
I never went back into class that day.
Which ***** actually because I lost a good backpack and calculator,
but in the long run it worked out alright
because here I am
writing this
and getting paid for it,
not that I'm greedy or anything
(I get paid a whole lot if you care to know)
but I'm writing more than just about
that day I couldn't breathe in physics class.
I'm writing to tell you
that there's quite a great deal of superficial things in this world
and if you find yourself a part of it
I'm demanding you leave.
Leave your good notebook, your steady job, your filthy marriage.
Leave it because it's actually true no matter how stupid it sounds
that life is too short
and things that are real
need to be attacked and clutched onto
if you want them to last.
I guess I can thank that institution actually
for teaching me everything I never wanted to know,
and for getting me to where I am
with multiple publications, a book signing or to, a beautiful wife,
three kids, a screenplay, oh
and a big
F U
to those that said I would never do it.
(Dr. Hefer, that means you).
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
Selfless love
pours out like a waterfall
from her loving and caring heart
nurturing all who would drink from it.
Courage seeps from every inch of her muscle
protecting and guarding
For she is our guardian angel.
Her heart beats at a different frequency
But resonates with each one of ours
Embracing and harmonizing
creating a beautiful symphony.
Like a sunshine
she refuses to eclipse
radiating positivity and happiness
To the deepest, darkest of corners.
Encouraging, rearing and believing
pushing and advising
she gave and gave
planting flowers in our gardens
helping us bloom
and bringing the best versions of ourselves forth.
Unconditional and pure is her love
Patient is her soul
She is our mother
And a very happy birthday to her!
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 7:50 AM UTC
Some folks hide behind blinders only seeing fantasies instead of truth.
Truth that has stayed before many to witness and not be fooled.
It's the new racism that trickled down from the old.
Oh, to the news , it's like something new.
To those that has dealt with it constantly.
They just never has been asked the question.
Whether it's on the police force.
Or simply from co-workers.
The new racism never fooled many of us.
Some use the blame affirmative action excuse.
Others states, they more qualify than you.
When in truth both aren't always true.
Especially, when you aware that many with college degrees.
And you probably without can do the job better.
And it's has nothing to do with color.
Some feel comfortable around their own.
Then these the same you see in those segregation videos.
Advising others, they should go back home.
When in truth, it's now a choice if you chose too.
Cause in this new racism , many still using tools to defeat you.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
Dear BECHER, you tell me to mix with mankind;
I cannot deny such a precept is wise;
But retirement accords with the tone of my mind:
I will not descend to a world I despise.
Did the Senate or Camp my exertions require,
Ambition might prompt me, at once, to go forth;
When Infancy’s years of probation expire,
Perchance, I may strive to distinguish my birth.
The fire, in the cavern of Etna, conceal’d,
Still mantles unseen in its secret recess;
At length, in a volume terrific, reveal’d,
No torrent can quench it, no bounds can repress.
Oh! thus, the desire, in my ***** for fame
Bids me live, but to hope for Posterity’s praise.
Could I soar with the Phoenix on pinions of flame,
With him I would wish to expire in the blaze.
For the life of a Fox, of a Chatham the death,
What censure, what danger, what woe would I brave!
Their lives did not end, when they yielded their breath,
Their glory illumines the gloom of their grave.
Yet why should I mingle in Fashion’s full herd?
Why crouch to her leaders, or cringe to her rules?
Why bend to the proud, or applaud the absurd?
Why search for delight, in the friendship of fools?
I have tasted the sweets, and the bitters, of love,
In friendship I early was taught to believe;
My passion the matrons of prudence reprove,
I have found that a friend may profess, yet deceive.
To me what is wealth?—it may pass in an hour,
If Tyrants prevail, or if Fortune should frown:
To me what is title?—the phantom of power;
To me what is fashion?—I seek but renown.
Deceit is a stranger, as yet, to my soul;
I, still, am unpractised to varnish the truth:
Then, why should I live in a hateful controul?
Why waste, upon folly, the days of my youth?
2.3k
My teeth
Strolling along the beach of your lower lip
Tongues
Swimming in saliva waves,
I swim to you
Like Baywatch
Watching you
Is like announcing a severe weather alert
Urgently advising to take shelter
There's a storm on the horizon.
Clouds accumulating in your eyes
And
Precipitation down pouring between my thighs
those eyes
When clouds collide
The thunder transforms me.
Boom
Boom
Boom
My rib cage shatters.
Claws secured around your head
Fingers knotted in your dreads
Dragging you down, down
I want you to drown
Drown
I want you to struggle
To scream out in vain-
Your lips caress each syllable of my name
Like lightening.
Like lightening
The sunshine in your smile reminds me that
Naturally, the skys are blue
Meteorology eyes
Do you wonder too,
If the forecast will always be sunny?
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
*an Ode to Eppie
I once had what I thought was a brilliant idea
My friends listened dutifully without the eye roll the less loyal would have thrown in
Before announcing that I am not allowed to name any children I end up having
So I sure as **** better find a husband with an idea of what a name is
I wanted a daughter named Epic
Because I couldn’t imagine a bigger adventure than parenting
And there was no way I was dealing with the torture of pregnancy
To produce a child that was anything less than epic
I wanted a daughter with the world laid out for her
There would be no painful heart wrenching breakups for her
No gangly awkward phase
She would be the physical representation of the bond her father and I shared
She would be love incarnated
And I can’t imagine anything more epic than that
I wanted a daughter named Epic
Nicknamed Eppie
Bambi told me that nickname was even worse than hers
And I named her after a cartoon deer with a dead mother
I guess they might have a point in this who name thing
I wanted a daughter named Epiphany
Because if I am ever (crazy) lucky enough to bring a girl into this world
With my genes and the cruel ways of boys stacked against her
I will sure as hell had some major epiphany
If I am ever (stupid) blessed enough to have a daughter
I want every moment with her to be a grand realization of my life
This is who I am
This moment is what I was made for
Whether it’s picking her up after a scraped knee
Advising her that Alphie only hit her because he likes her
Or telling her that no, leggings are not pants
She would be the reason I went through all of this
The reason I got my heart broken by the world over and over again
So that it could complete me
I wanted a daughter named Epiphany
Nicknamed Eppie
“Like an EpiPen?” Fluffy (Patrick before I went about nicknaming) questioned
“No, not like an Epinephrine auto injector at all.”
Maybe naming isn't my forte
I wanted a daughter named Epitome
Because a name is more than a word
A name is a decision
I would make it clear that she was loved
She would be the embodiment of every hope dream and wish I ever had
Just by breathing each day
I wanted my whole life to be leading up to the day I met her
If I was ever going to give a new life
She would be everything
The epitome of my entire life
I wanted a daughter named Epitome
Nicknamed Eppie
Laci (aka Frida) whose nickname could be interchangable with that of a stripper
Laughed
And decided that 'Emily' would be just fine for any daughter of mine
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
newspaper headlines emitting fear and news channels repeating the same
informative slogans they used last week, with promises to always update the public on the ever-continuing War in the East, never to hide any event or withhold information about that death on ___ street.
and they hold true, giving the name of the killer and hastily adding the fact that the murderer, aged 32, is muslim
but then, when advising the public about current naughtiness, the family whose car was bombed in yemen isn't included as part of the list. or it is, but bomber, 23, is only bomber, 23, not christian, jewish or athiest bomber, 23.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Trust is a limited currency
For those who have wronged us,
And the wall subconsciously built
In a day, can only be taken a part
Brick by brick,
But those who speak
For the force unheard,
Only proven to exist in a feeling
Or in the passed down book,
I think, are given too much credit.
Speaking for that which cannot speak for itself
Inherently is wrong, yet these priests
We give our trust
Despite the controversy
They always bring up
Speaking for not the god
That those sitting there
Came to hear about,
But speaking for those
There sitting.
Swaying and advising
The path they take and what direction
And nodding heads,
And right hands pointed to the sky
Tell you nobody pays much attention.
For a priest
Who preaches abstinence
And practices excess
On the underaged sons,
Open your eyes.
That stage shouldn’t be upheld
By one who sways people
Against one another,
But with the bible in the right context,
Anything could be directed towards anyone.
Limit your currency of trust
For those who prove
They deserve it,
The church can heal,
But my, oh my, can the pasture bleat.
May 13, 2021
May 13, 2021 at 8:17 PM UTC
Few dared to date Medusa,
For they feared being covered with contusions.
Those who did wore a blindfold to hide their eyes,
A blind date with fate and a disguise.
One of the braver men,
Who thought he could apprehend,
Medusa, his name was Trent.
He didn’t last long,
He took his blindfold off,
And like many before him,
He turned to stone and wasn’t heard from again.
Another challenger’s name was Wren,
Like the bird,
Medusa thought that was the strangest name she’d heard.
So, out of spite,
She reached across the table and exposed Wren’s eyes.
He gasped as his skin turned coarse,
Mouth open wider than a horse.
Medusa pushed him over,
Watched as he shattered,
And smiled to herself,
Even though she was lonelier than anyone else.
Medusa didn’t mean to be so cruel,
It was the consequences of her being used.
By a man to do things she didn’t want to do,
Unspeakable and terrible abuse,
She was the only one to lose.
So, she became a viper,
Her gaze became a noose.
Asphyxiation,
Righteous indignation.
She wouldn’t let herself be used again.
Finally, a man named Hunter arrived,
He tightened the blindfold around his eyes.
He sat across from Medusa, the table lit by candlelight,
She blushed, for he was quite a sight.
He reached across the table and shook her hand,
And he asked her if she had any plans.
She was taken aback, her mind rolling off the tracks,
Lost in a flashback, she babbled about tasks she had to do,
None of which was true.
Hunter laughed, a sound so sweet,
It made Medusa nearly fall out of her seat.
Was this the one she had been searching for?
Or was he just another liar?
Authenticity tends to hide,
Just like the scars Medusa had on her thighs.
One of her snakes whispered in her ear,
Advising her to ignore what she wanted to hear.
The snakes only wanted what was best,
But for whom? What was the purpose of their quest?
Hours passed by like comets,
First date turned into many happy moments.
Before Medusa could catch her breath,
Half a year had passed,
And Hunter had asked,
To see Medusa’s face.
She insisted that he didn’t,
But she knew he wouldn’t listen.
He lowered the blindfold,
As teardrops glistened,
Medusa thought she had just lost,
Her heart…
Hunter had heterochromia,
Left eye green, right eye a shimmering blue.
Medusa’s eyes were both red,
That pulsated in blossoming hues.
To both of their surprise,
Hunter didn’t turn to stone.
He captured her lips in a kiss,
Both of them were alone.
Medusa found the one who could see her,
She no longer had to hide.
Hunter loved Medusa,
It made her cry.
The world is filled with hurt people, like Medusa,
Who may push you away and leave you in contusions.
But underneath that deadly gaze,
Is a mountain of pain…
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 10:14 PM UTC
My dear Father...
The **** do I say? Such a way with words, as those cracked records claim.
You thought so too though, you always did say, but how are there words for a heart torn away? A soul ripped in half and this gut wrenching pain?
How you were a hero - I've heard so many say,
You taught, you motivated,
You wiped tears away. You existed to spread love - yet felt unworthy to claim.
The demons you fought
your silence so dark,
They'd never let you see,
Just how loved you are...
True.
Deep.
Unique love.
Each one of us precious, In the Michaelest ways.
You suffered so deeply,
And what scares me the most,
That though we all suffer, you were my stone.
Our heads have such darkness, a uniqueness WE shared. Though all heads have shadows,
Ours was a PAIR
You've helped me through so much,
I couldn't describe. Your wisdom, a sculptur, has guided my life. My biggest regret, you'd never accept, that you were a catalyst, that helped me to live.
You taught me so much,
you've held me in strife,
Sitting right with me, endless yarns about life.
Or virtually advising, from far distance lands.
But the space never mattered.
Your love had no span.
I wish you could've seen, and accepted inside,
You were so special, cherished, and kind - My Godlike of a guide, and when the world caved in, I sought YOU for advice. No one will ever understand me like you. What peace I can find comes from the Truth - that our yarns WILL continue, sometime I know soon.
Your wisdom and beauty, your insights to life, you've gifted me so much, I'll cherish inside. Our bond can't be altered, I know that, not ever, for good or for bad, I am you - forever.
May 28, 2022
May 28, 2022 at 10:22 PM UTC
I’m tired of influencers faking nervousness.
my generation wants to care less
these days.
it’s a counter-current hack.
we want to be less defined.
we can search and reflect for ourselves.
we’re sick of the emotion
that’s all over everyone’s faces,
the unsightly splotches of opinion.
the entire election machine,
the process of getting there, is smudged.
It’s a curated mess, an advising spin,
an incomprehensible hex:
“Oh profit pondering,
contradictory means to an end
- bless weave, and conceal,
bloodless dollar debt options,
painful penny pincher paradoxes,
and deadly debt bliss dilemmas..”
“Is this a witch or an arbitrager?” Lisa asked, after rudely leaning over and reading up to this point.
“I was shooting for a numinous type of beat,” I revealed.
“We’re supposed to be working on our thesis definitions,” she said accusingly.
“Are you not challenged, here, hour by hour?” I asked sarcastically.
“I need ideas - well - I have too many ideas, I need some focus, I wanted to see what you had.”
I deadpan looked at her, “Well, you broke the spell - I lost my train.” I complained dryly.
“Don’t put me in a situation.” she said, waving my gripe off as insignificant.
.
.
Songs for this:
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls
drive ME crazy! by Lil Yachty
Melt by Nilüfer Yany
Oct 14, 2024
Oct 14, 2024 at 3:06 PM UTC
Criss, cross,
Applesauce
The class sat
Watching me run
Watching me play
Not advising me to sit down
Just waiting for the teacher
Because they aren't worried
about my hide
They want a free show
As the teachers hands let go
For they were more worried
About being entertained
Than my now tanned hide
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
hypnotising
mesmerising
demonising
terrorising
television is devising
ways and means for
lobotomising
globalising
mesmerising
summarising
victimising
mass media is advising
ways and means for
supervising
ostracising
privatising
eulogising
brutalising
government is advising
ways and means for
destabilising
© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2016
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 6:13 PM UTC
Enlighten Me-
I’m always underestimating self-master bating-
Graduated-
At the top of fund frustration-
My motivation needs money relations-
The contemplation of money making has my mind at a constant hating-
My breaking patience-
Has my mind like a **** relating-
Regulations of all my banking-
See my bank account disintegrating-
I’m suffocating-making payments-Late fee statements-
Debit-Credit-Cash-oking
Debit-Credit-Cash-oking
Racking bills my back is breaking-my nerves are shaking-
Shaking more than I anticipated-
Now I’m here with a life to fear-
Writing till my mind is clear-
Writing till I feel what’s real-
Writing till I seal a deal-
Multiplying-
Adding-Subtracting-and dividing-
Signing more checks than providing-
It’s suicide I’m not denying-Rhyming trying its crucifying-
Clocking in before the sun is rising Grinding flying hoping griming-living life nine to fiving-
Its re-revising-Re-defining-Rectifying-
More so that I think I’m hiding-
Killing with finical violence-Violating my banks alliance-
Maxing plastic so fantastic now I need some re-advising-interest rates have a grown man crying-Million dollars seem so un-winding-
Now I’m whining-
Constant buying-
Gas rates got me into biking-riding-fighting-
Just surviving-any discount seems so delighting-winning lotto seems o-so-righteous-buy one get one is so exciting-
Boot leg buying I ain’t lying-
Being broke is constant rewinding-It’s reminding-so relying-over drawing is my new binding-it’s confining-so I’m finding-Making takings of my disliking-Making takings that are so dang freighting-dollar scratchers are so inviting-
But this realization is so enlightening-
Moving as fast as a bolt of lighting-
I’m asking you G-d to help me like this-
I’m feeling the pain and I think I might just-
ROB ME A BANK-
BY:
RICHARD ITSKOVICH
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 2:57 PM UTC