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"amout" poems
Okay his name is Ian he is 7'4 1/2 7 foot 4 1/2 inches tall so he is amout compared to me I love him even though he can be a pain in the *** some times but I still love him he is always there for me when I need him the most so yeah he is amazing.... I love him...!!!!!!!!?????
0
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
My Mountain
When I push the pedal to the metal theres no limit I **** space... my movement never constant just can't stay in one place... So I zoom zoom through the poom poom... leaving ****** scenes in bedrooms.. given girlies the boom boom... Explode...As i unload... round after round clip after clip... as their bodies shake and twitch lick after lick... Sounds of *** remind me I'm some **** And why the **** Im i even sittin here doin this... With no remorse in my eyes.. I **** em until they die... pound after pound clap sound after clap sound... pelivis agianst ***** we know which is the meanest.. Wit no protection Im at war.. with criminals who only ***** Thier war crimes they get paid for... then the death toll I get blaimed for.. As i leave them slayin to rest... Some label me the best... others just another *** that clucks at all the hens.. Can't read my metaphors that means ***** alot of women... The reaction is i get a lot of practice so i can be to half bad.. So dont sign up for tryouts get cut then get mad... because you haven't had the amout of practice i had.. See I know all types of tricks.. lights skin, brown skin, dark skin, i got a whole lot of picks. The ins and the outs.. when to drive in and when to pull out... Squirting your insides against my stomach... you panic.. instantly proclaiming to your maker... that Iam your ****** the one who drove to fast that your waves decided to crash... all over me..milking your sweet nector... as you lay life lessly twitching..the side effects of a killing.. so i place the pedal to the metal i tend to burn rubber... one hand around the neck of the wheel and the other around my lovers...
0
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 10:48 AM UTC
Murderer
When I push the pedal to the metal theres no limit I **** space... my movement never constant just can't stay in one place... So I zoom zoom through the poom poom... leaving ****** scenes in bedrooms.. given girlies the boom boom... Explode...As i unload... round after round clip after clip... as their bodies shake and twitch lick after lick... Sounds of *** remind me I'm some **** And why the **** Im i even sittin here doin this... With no remorse in my eyes.. I **** em until they die... pound after pound clap sound after clap sound... pelivis agianst ***** we know which is the meanest.. Wit no protection Im at war.. with criminals who only ***** Thier war crimes they get paid for... then the death toll I get blaimed for.. As i leave them slayin to rest... Some label me the best... others just another *** that clucks at all the hens.. Can't read my metaphors that means ***** alot of women... The reaction is i get a lot of practice so i can be to half bad.. So dont sign up for tryouts get cut then get mad... because you haven't had the amout of practice i had.. See I know all types of tricks.. lights skin, brown skin, dark skin, i got a whole lot of picks. The ins and the outs.. when to drive in and when to pull out... Squirting your insides against my stomach... you panic.. instantly proclaiming to your maker... that Iam your ****** the one who drove to fast that your waves decided to crash... all over me..milking your sweet nector... as you lay life lessly twitching..the side effects of a killing.. so i place the pedal to the metal i tend to burn rubber... one hand around the neck of the wheel and the other around my lovers...
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40
It is not the amount of time shared the amout of tears shed, or the laughter lines that embed: it is the cold, demeaning dread that encircles my head whenever our time together ends. - PMT
0
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 10:14 AM UTC
Missing You
Writing poetry is ******* me off lately I'm just skipping around life right now asking why at everything And I mean that sounds potentially poetic and **** but I am having the hardest time articulating      And It is ******* me off I usally end up with questions like Why can't I write poetry Why won't my English teacher love me I can tell I am stopping myself from becoming greater Mr.Owens can tell too why do I fear becoming grater I fear loosing balance I fear this going to fast This? I worry I don't read the empty spaces well enough I worry I forget to breathe weather it be in poetry or clouds I can not tell you why those empty spaces are there Or why I need them to have a purpose Weather it be in loving to much (not Mr. Owens) or getting too exicited about eating I lose my breath alot.         Time not spent eating or with people you love is time that could have been better spent And after an eating disorder and a lack of (confidence) for the first some odd years I am happy to give my breath to things I love I am happy to share my energy with people who want it I want to write poems about everything about my love for every thing          A space to grow is important and where if not poems or secret conversations And I'm not doing very well with poems right now So let's make this a secret conversation Please by all means give your attention to someone else who needs it or maybe yourself  But if you're just sitting around with it yes, Ill take some. Thank you. On a side note: Everyone needs attention it's a living being thing. So it's dumb that we shame people about that and we are gonna stop If I want to talk about my eating disorder while I have you all captive i will if I want to talk about the stupid hair at the bottom of my ankles I always miss shaving I will And you will sit here and listen But fortunately I've eaten a good amout today and got so mad at my ankle hairs last night I took the time to shave them So here we are me talking about what I can talk about and how I can talk about it You are listening providing me a space where it is okay to be confused Something I needed.   Thank you.
0
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 2:16 AM UTC
Poetry *****
Writing poetry is ******* me off lately I'm just skipping around life right now asking why at everything And I mean that sounds potentially poetic and **** but I am having the hardest time articulating      And It is ******* me off I usally end up with questions like Why can't I write poetry Why won't my English teacher love me I can tell I am stopping myself from becoming greater Mr.Owens can tell too why do I fear becoming grater I fear loosing balance I fear this going to fast This? I worry I don't read the empty spaces well enough I worry I forget to breathe weather it be in poetry or clouds I can not tell you why those empty spaces are there Or why I need them to have a purpose Weather it be in loving to much (not Mr. Owens) or getting too exicited about eating I lose my breath alot.         Time not spent eating or with people you love is time that could have been better spent And after an eating disorder and a lack of (confidence) for the first some odd years I am happy to give my breath to things I love I am happy to share my energy with people who want it I want to write poems about everything about my love for every thing          A space to grow is important and where if not poems or secret conversations And I'm not doing very well with poems right now So let's make this a secret conversation Please by all means give your attention to someone else who needs it or maybe yourself  But if you're just sitting around with it yes, Ill take some. Thank you. On a side note: Everyone needs attention it's a living being thing. So it's dumb that we shame people about that and we are gonna stop If I want to talk about my eating disorder while I have you all captive i will if I want to talk about the stupid hair at the bottom of my ankles I always miss shaving I will And you will sit here and listen But fortunately I've eaten a good amout today and got so mad at my ankle hairs last night I took the time to shave them So here we are me talking about what I can talk about and how I can talk about it You are listening providing me a space where it is okay to be confused Something I needed.   Thank you.
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41
Dwelling on the past I'm not sure the reason The best times of our lives Pass by as if they were seasons And the painful times drag on For such an unreasonable amout of time, Acting as if they were a punishment For an unforgivable crime. You cannot relive Memories But you ponder them within Nostalgia creates a bitter sweetness Of the places you have been So sail away In the calm ocean of your mind And Think of all the good times That you had to leave behind.
0
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
nostalgia
My thoughts are like a river Flowing through what used to be my soul. My thoughts drown rational feeling Or any decent emotion. My thoughts war goodbye to the beach as they drag my good mood into the cold, dark depths of them. My thoughts cause the same amout of trauma as a near-drowning. My thoughts are sometimes still and transparent Showcasing the horrors they hide My thoughts at other times dark and murky Ugly and sinister Concealing the awfulness beneath its surface Waiting to surprise you My thoughts look inviting at times Refreshing But My Thoughts are a dangerous weapon to the unsuspecting And the most common one can **** me as easily as drowning in my swimming pool.
0
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
My Thoughts
Who are the people who decide what is the beauty? Who is the person who made suicides trend? Who picks the standards for how i should dress? Who chose the right amout of food i should eat? Who says i should be as everyone else And why are everyone turning that way? Thank you but i have peace of my own mind, and i won't listen what you say.
0
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 7:40 PM UTC
Colours
No amount of depression can change the past, and no amout of anxiety can help the future.
0
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 2:45 AM UTC
Where to go? What to do?