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Daniel Ruiz Aug 2018
I'm here sitting
alone,
the smell of coffee runs through
my veins,
some music i probably will forget
in a few years arguing with
the thought of you,

But I'm here,
I'm here,
writing about what's happening

pretty boring huh?

i call myself a poet
but i can't use high metaphors,

i call myself a poet
but i can't describe fully
how you make me feel

i call myself a poet

but what am i?

I'm just a kid
scared of life
finding new ways to cope
searching for someone to love,
desperate,
not holding unto my dreams
how can i choose with my mind
what's right for the heart to choose.

and you see?
don't you see?

don't worry i can't either

i can't see how great i am
i can't see how other people see me
i wish i could.

i want to believe this was a dream
or
a nightmare at that.

But at last.
I'm here wishing that in another life
i could be with you,
or
maybe in other deaths,

i crave your touch,
i crave you..
with coffee waking up my senses
like a kid in summer waking up early
to go play with his friends.

i wish things were different,
so i wouldn't have to wish.
s y k Mar 2014
Many people have asked
why I seem so empty
and I found myself arguing
about how that wasn't true.
Yet here I am,
reminiscing painted blue skies,
nostalgic, for back then
for us,
for you.

When mornings began with casual long walks
plaid skirts,
black coffee,
the daylight's warmth.
Arm in arm, against all odds
we had laughed
we had sung
we were wild, we were young.

I'll remain yearning for those Bambi brown eyes,
long chestnut hair,
darling little dents of delight.

Distant yet close
for I think of you always.

Wishing for time to fly
to when I can hold you in my arms
again.
To my best friend. I wish you were here.
Arguing*
     with me

Is like
        Arguing

With a
      **BRICK
       WALL
~you CAN break me down~
             eventually....



Number 7 in my series of truths. Click mytruths to read them all, Thank you.
Harmony Sapphire Feb 2015
Shriveled & shrunken.
Intoxicated & drunken.
Hung over & agitated.
Mild to moderate brain activity.
Common sense & basic reason lacks mental ability.
Bad with money & squanders financial stability.

Passing a psychological mental health evaluation not quite.
Kept in a straight jacket & sedated in isolation they do spit & bite.
They go through everyone's trash day & night.
They panhandle at the street lights.
They have tempers & pick fights.
Nothing they do is legal or right.

Slobs with no jobs.
They lack work ethics.
The sight & stench of them is sick.
They're sad story is lies & tricks.
Not a truth that sticks.

They cuss & their pocked face oozes ****.
Their frontal lobe is filled with dust.
About telling your teacher the truth they get homicidal & make a fuss.
They drive a ******* car consisting of smog & rust.
Getting arrested for 365 × 3 + 2 counts of child **** is never a bust.

Keep your children away from drunks.
Some drunks get violent, beat you & lock you on a trunk.
Most pedofiles & rapists are drinkers.
Not religious or moral thinkers.
With shingles, hpv virus, ****** & boyles.
Zero morals as hideous as an ugly *** gargoyle.

Enjoy arguing,  screams & shouts.
Daily drunk driving & behind the wheel blackouts.
© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved
Whispering to each handhold, "I'll be back,"
I go up the cliff in the dark. One place
I loosen a rock and listen a long time
till it hits, faint in the gulf, but the rush
of the torrent almost drowns it out, and the wind --
I almost forgot the wind: it tears at your side
or it waits and then buffets; you sag outward...

I remember they said it would be hard. I scramble
by luck into a little pocket out of
the wind and begin to beat on the stones
with my scratched numb hands, rocking back and forth
in silent laughter there in the dark--
"Made it again!" Oh how I love this climb!
-- the whispering to the stones, the drag, the weight
as your muscles crack and ease on, working
right. They are back there, discontent,
waiting to be driven forth. I pound
on the earth, riding the earth past the stars:
"Made it again! Made it again!"
sincurlyxbaki Oct 2013
she put my heart in a jar.
wait here until i return, she said.
i waited two forevers for her to open it, my heart was suffocating.

i was drowning in her memories, her eyes danced like fireflies in the moonlight. timeless passion. she is my flower child.

flawless. my heart is in a cage, solitude sedates me. i recall memories we never had or maybe it was visions of a future we will have?

i sit down with a notepad and admire your movement. i pen down my studies, and try to understand your complexity. your face glows, your waist flows. like the beautiful Victoria Falls, African queen.

i digress, you still have my heart in a jar. open a few holes, my heart is suffocating.

hair like Rapunzel, fine spun gold, only love knows our connection. time is but a teardrop in our moments.

on my notepad, is stories of what i think you could be, yet my imagination is far from your real being.

your shadow is unique. i can see it dancing under the stars, it tells its own stories. faded, i am.

im loving, your heart. keep moving, beauty. i love you. stop arguing with your mind, you’re beautiful. every man knows.

o, to be young and feel love’s keen sting.

beauty.

je t’aime. belle âme, mon coeur appartient à vous.
South Africa.
King Panda Oct 2015
everything is on sale
and I eat and eat
and yell at the couple
arguing in the ATM line
and smirk at the pharmacist
as I toss my meds in the
can behind the counter
king soopers
my realm
of crushed potpourri
honeycrisp apples
black cocktail dresses
stuck
shut with
peanut butter

I love grocery
shopping.
s Dec 2014
I like simple things.
Walking
Breathing
Talking
I don't like simple things that turn into compex things.
Sprinting
Hyperventilating
Arguing
I have a hard time focusing on simplicity when it all changes into complexity without warning.
Payton Elizabeth Apr 2016
"I'm fine"
I'm dying
"I'm just tired"
I'm sick of arguing  
Grace Apr 2014
When you tried to give me a compliment I always turn the cheek
Batting it away like it doesn't belong to me

That my hair is too frizzy for you to like it
My eyes too blue for your brown

My legs are elegant but they are marked with my disappointment
The purple and the blue will never go away
Yes, the bruises will slowly heal but by the time one problem is resolved another sapling and will slowly take root and show it's colors

You say my heart is made to heal
But I can't find it
It's buried so deep I can't hear it keeping time to my life song
It's crushed under all my self downs and worries
In that hollow it grows
Like a new bud
And one day it will turn into a flower

My response to your comment is lost on my tongue
It is somewhere tucked inside my conscience
Playing hide and seek with the directions on how to talk to boys and how to give an oral report without turning red
And I'm the seeker

You tell me I'm beautiful
But I can't hear you
The voices taunting me inside my head are too loud for your soft voice
Arguing about which way right
When I find my answer it seems as if the time has already left

You are already heading off in the other direction
Leaving me stumbling over my daydreams and expectations
Trying to get a grasp on what's ethical

I always forget to say thank you
It's sort of a bad habit
I'm always too worried about what will happen if I say something wrong
If I'll turn you away

I want you to know that I want you to stay
Stay close and hug me when I need it
So I can help you through your hardships
And carry each other's hopes and dreams upon our shoulders

You will be the soldier of my heart
Guarding the gates for all of the knights in shining armor that aren't noble enough to be my Prince Charming
Sorry I know it's not complete. It's a work in progress and I would like some feedback. Thanks!
Susan O'Reilly Jun 2013
Angry apes arguing

Odd owls ogling

Extravagant emus eloping

Slimy slugs slithering

Wandering worms wriggling

Jaunty jays jumping

Testy tigers thundering

Grumpy giraffes grazing

All animals amazing
kids, alliteration
Emma Jul 2018
She was never sure it was what she wanted,
arguing with a man who wanted her to carry a piece of them both.
But sure enough a small bump formed,
and from the first heartbeat she fell in love.

Everything from then on was tiny socks in tiny shoes,
fluffy cribs in shades of pink and blue.
Excitement and worry and fierce protection,
arms curling on top of her belly in intense affection.

But when the time came, something went horribly wrong,
when there was no screeching and crying to break the calm.
A child, still, unusually peaceful and serene,
she held the tiny shell where her baby should have been.

Everything in her life reminded her of her pain,
and nothing inside her could ever be the same.
Not even he could understand,
how she was stranded in her ****** wasteland.

Clothes and toys quickly packed in a box,
her body still creating milk for a being that would never grow.
she'd have to find a way to move on, living with the constant ache,
of the loss of a person she would never know.
If you're OCD,
You're going to hate this poem.

Because it's not what you're used to
and it can be infuriating

I know where i'm going and i'm laughing in enjoyment.
I wish i could take some comedians out of sheer unemployment
And take damaged soldiers out of deployment
But you know that drill already
We're just trying to keep the Earth's rotation steady
But i'm up for going steady
If that's what you want

We're all about want
I'm all about yours
Trying to coordinate each constellation
Is like arguing with a woman
You won't  get the result you were looking for
It's beautiful in the tension
And it has it's suspension
But it's infinite
Meaning it will go on forever
So just try not to.

I never liked arguing
I know i won't later on
Your passion and support is all i need
That's what i look for the most
Someone who doesn't see me as some sort of ghost
Or lifeless party host
But someone that means the air they breathe
I get tired of my mistakes
But to know someone will try to help me prevent them

Is what i like
There has been a couple of people who tried
But i pushed them off the deep end
And i'm terribly sorry for that
Zero fault on you and all for me
I say that with a smile
Because it feels good to be honest with myself

You think it would be a brain-dead thing to master
But it only seems that way
I know from experience
Trust me, I've been there.

My trails go in multiple angles
Just like my nature
But if you're crazy enough to stick around
You'll get a warm welcome
You'll know how to feel special
If you never have before, i'll be the first to show you

I mean every word
With full fledged honesty
I wouldn't say useless, empty words
That's inept and not worth it.

If you're confident in yourself
Girl, you should work it
I heavily value strong traits such as that
You're going to turn all my bumps in my chest flat
And make me enamored just like that
The flick of the switch
No more wishing i would with other male persons.
To get a chance
That's why most men do a celebration dance

Consistently catching me in a trance
I got more lovely words than France
Okay, maybe not
But the ambition doesn't vanish
I'll still try
To keep you mine

Time is precious
So are you
If Time was a woman she would be in disgust
That it's not her in your shoes
You brought your sparkly ones?
Just making all the check marks, are you?

Champions aren't limited to sports
I can assure you.
You always read about it:
the plumber with twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
That story.

Or the nursemaid,
some luscious sweet from Denmark
who captures the oldest son's heart.
From diapers to Dior.
That story.

Or a milkman who serves the wealthy,
eggs, cream, butter, yogurt, milk,
the white truck like an ambulance
who goes into real estate
and makes a pile.
From homogenized to martinis at lunch.

Or the charwoman
who is on the bus when it cracks up
and collects enough from the insurance.
From mops to Bonwit Teller.
That story.

Once
the wife of a rich man was on her deathbed
and she said to her daughter Cinderella:
Be devout. Be good. Then I will smile
down from heaven in the seam of a cloud.
The man took another wife who had
two daughters, pretty enough
but with hearts like blackjacks.
Cinderella was their maid.
She slept on the sooty hearth each night
and walked around looking like Al Jolson.
Her father brought presents home from town,
jewels and gowns for the other women
but the twig of a tree for Cinderella.
She planted that twig on her mother's grave
and it grew to a tree where a white dove sat.
Whenever she wished for anything the dove
would drop it like an egg upon the ground.
The bird is important, my dears, so heed him.

Next came the ball, as you all know.
It was a marriage market.
The prince was looking for a wife.
All but Cinderella were preparing
and gussying up for the big event.
Cinderella begged to go too.
Her stepmother threw a dish of lentils
into the cinders and said: Pick them
up in an hour and you shall go.
The white dove brought all his friends;
all the warm wings of the fatherland came,
and picked up the lentils in a jiffy.
No, Cinderella, said the stepmother,
you have no clothes and cannot dance.
That's the way with stepmothers.

Cinderella went to the tree at the grave
and cried forth like a gospel singer:
Mama! Mama! My turtledove,
send me to the prince's ball!
The bird dropped down a golden dress
and delicate little gold slippers.
Rather a large package for a simple bird.
So she went. Which is no surprise.
Her stepmother and sisters didn't
recognize her without her cinder face
and the prince took her hand on the spot
and danced with no other the whole day.

As nightfall came she thought she'd better
get home. The prince walked her home
and she disappeared into the pigeon house
and although the prince took an axe and broke
it open she was gone. Back to her cinders.
These events repeated themselves for three days.
However on the third day the prince
covered the palace steps with cobbler's wax
and Cinderella's gold shoe stuck upon it.
Now he would find whom the shoe fit
and find his strange dancing girl for keeps.
He went to their house and the two sisters
were delighted because they had lovely feet.
The eldest went into a room to try the slipper on
but her big toe got in the way so she simply
sliced it off and put on the slipper.
The prince rode away with her until the white dove
told him to look at the blood pouring forth.
That is the way with amputations.
The don't just heal up like a wish.
The other sister cut off her heel
but the blood told as blood will.
The prince was getting tired.
He began to feel like a shoe salesman.
But he gave it one last try.
This time Cinderella fit into the shoe
like a love letter into its envelope.

At the wedding ceremony
the two sisters came to curry favor
and the white dove pecked their eyes out.
Two hollow spots were left
like soup spoons.

Cinderella and the prince
lived, they say, happily ever after,
like two dolls in a museum case
never bothered by diapers or dust,
never arguing over the timing of an egg,
never telling the same story twice,
never getting a middle-aged spread,
their darling smiles pasted on for eternity.
Regular Bobbsey Twins.
That story.
Cameron Godfrey Mar 2012
Fighting with the world
Over what is right or wrong
Knowing that you’re right
And that you have been all along.
Arguing a lot
Over what should and shouldn’t be
Some one’s always wrong
Although it seems it’s always me
Fighting over problems
Problems never to be solved
And never admitting to failure
Until all the fights are resolved.
naivemoon Jun 2014
It's not that I don't love you. It's the time I read my mom's old journals and every other paragraph included my fathers name. It's that he cheated on every girlfriend he had with my mom. It's that my mom didn't care she was a second choice or a one night stand. It's that my mother never talked to anyone about him after he got married to one of the many girlfriends. It's that she took twenty sleeping pills on the night of what would've been their anniversary. It's that he doesn't even know she's dead.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the couple I overheard in the bread aisle arguing over wheat or white. It's that I heard the woman say a lot of "she" and "****" and I saw her crumble to the ground. It's that he just shook his head and said he was sorry over and over again.

It's not that I don't love you. It's that my best friend is in love with a boy on the other side of the country. It's the morning she took a shower and cried over him. It's that he wasn't even awake to do anything about it. It's that he's always three hours behind and thousands too many miles away. It's that I mean both physically and mentally sometimes.

It's not that I don't love you. It's my geometry teacher, who brought up her husband when she taught me tangents. It's that she also brought up her husband when she taught me the circle unit
too. It's that she gets quiet and smiles after she talks about him. It's that he's been passed away for seven years now and she still has so much to say. It's that she still wears her wedding ring. It's that when she taught me special right triangles, I wondered what her laugh might sound like if he were still here.

What I'm trying to say is; It's not that I don't love you. It's that I do.
My spinoff on a popular tumblr poem all are true
softcomponent May 2014
Find the lighter, use it as a lighthouse on a walk below the wall you watch along the wave-formations. Who Wants a Cold One? a Coors Light ad corrects.. When it comes to your home, the little things matter.. an insurance ad blares.. my computer is infected with 3rd party applications unremovable to my meagre tech-ability.. there is a hero as Joseph Campbell once theorized.. in myself like a sick bastardly virus waiting for moments to prove to me "I AM THE SAVIOR, I AM THE CHRIST, I AM THE WARLORD, MICE, MAN, AND VICE".. the windows of opportunity close, I am left waiting the door

& the elevator.

Thirty-thousand years ago, there was nothing but a breeze.. a viscous breeze across chill-spined pterodactyls.. warm-under-the-jungle-brush tyrannosaurus rex, and to think one day I will be just a legend in bone..
Charlotte said she thinks of death and so did Jen. They sat next to the all-you-can-eat and discussed the inevitable. I was sour and playful with no-will-to-understand, just reminding my hair of breezy summer days of 10, thinking of strangeness, of place I was in.

When it's quiet sometimes, I think of old dreams.. dreams I sunk below drown-level as a child in bed and belief. Both mommy and daddy were arguing in the kitchen, this was 7 or 8.. they argued so often one could hear mom begin to cry sometimes, and dad I could see in minds-eye with a grimace so closed and so creased he was hurt and yet honest.. I did not understand so I hid under-stood-silhouettes, oh adulthood..

once in dream I was in pulsing green graveyard like crayon realism strobe lights, tombstones all-round and faint-buzz of outside and one of those strange balded henchmen of badguy Jafar from Disney's Aladdin came peaking outta nowhere with curled eyebrow and baggy one-thousand-one Arabian nightlives parachute pants, curled toes brown-beige moccasins to.. he let out conniving 'HEUHEE!' and slapped me right-side cheek and I JOLTED up bedwise in real time to feel actual physical sting for a few lingered seconds then the sobs of poor mother outside.. I never remembered a dream so clearly again.. they all come, Pro-Found, and dizzy away after hour or two for rest of eternity or perhaps to Place I Can Visit at Death to Review Every Vision and I wonder... when your life flashes before your eyes and the light is encroaching, scenes of mother, brother, father, son, daughter, best-friend, party, break-up, heartbreak, slip-fall, first-sip, first-drag, last-leg, first-kiss, first-hit, first-game, fear, love,  HATE, wait.. do the Dreams come to? Are they all flesh-ed before your eyes as you pass into Light? Are they brought to direct remembrance as you cross the border with Passport of Gods and a Goddess (and which Picture appears on the Page)..?

I remember the old eczema taking bits of skin to carpets round-town and round-lower-mainland to disgust of friends old and new-- this was era where confidence ate itself in mirrors, the sober reality of ugly-ness chiseling away at my Goodness Attempts.. All That Pointless Pain was no Exception nor a Rule, it just **** Happens every once-and-again to the sound of life farting. I used to miss school for feet so impossible to walk on, pussing and bleeding and staining the sheets, shoe soles, carpets, and soul.. limp thru the hallways of Brooks Secondary feeling like bad flavor additive to multicultural Planet Earth-- sleeping 'til the bell rang drinking coffee singing songs I said '**** the ******* educational system and **** me I'm so flatlined..' someday I felt things would really get better and lucky young me I was right.

A half-decade later, I am 21 and hoping, floating, free in the breeze as the wings I have grown keep on wishing the subsistence down. The girl, whoever-she-might-as-well-be, sits immediately vertical chatting frantically to boy with a bit of a cowlick slouching on-up over a bundle of colored paperwork. It seems late in the season for homework, and assume they may have some affiliation with a crazy-hep computer design group in the tradition of Nouevau Silicon Valley.... I sit at my laptop, inching a word a million cubic millimeters closer to God or Divinity or Crescendo or A Bunch More ******* You'll End Up Ignoring---

It's a sunny day, the rain having slathered-off into obscurity somewhere with the Monsoons when the Sun gave the Moon a Soft Slap and the poor purity white-kid went off whimpering, bleeding nose-- I sat, the other night, playing another Grand Strategy game as Tom divided his time between a vaulted and damaged lover, his labor, and his life (friends, food, video-games, vice)... Chai, old Chai the Thai Guy mentioned past his nose in previous iterations of Depictions sat and described his pins-and-needles upset at his bosses at one his three many jobs.. desperately firing text-messages into receiving-space-panel and reflect and back unto Tom's smartphone dash asking him to order a six-pack from a local delivery service cuz his adrenal was giving him heartpain with hurt, and Tom being Busy as All-Ways Tom Is wasn't able to decipher the scramble in-time to make contact before closure of the liquor stores.. poor not-so-poor Chai at first felt castrated at realization he would miss the 11 PM dot-time, but didn't mind as he rendezvoused with Tom and I at Willows Beach where Tom reminded him of a whiskey he'd bought sitting counter-wise at his place.. we kissed a few Mary Janes rightsideup, dragging our butts in the sand to discuss what was wrong (each of us had a problem that night, save for perhaps a less-vocal Tom, I describing my annoyance that a lazy consensus had erupted in my sorry-hometown between my sorta-friends and friends-of-friends that my writing and sharing my writing was arrogant and I an arrogant *** for sharing and I just confounded that they would find my passions so trivial-- perhaps jealousy, perhaps complacency and judgement-for-lack-of-anything-better-to-do and ah **** em all if they think like that, I'll write and be the arrogant me they think I am and share 'til I'm blue in the face and dead perhaps for outspoken intellectualism in their autocratic pointless-waste worldviews.. sad that I dislike them only on the basis they disliked me first..)

I had planned to stay late and leave early-morn (5 or 6 AM) to catch a first-off morning bus back home and sleep, hoping for most part to avoid the shattered-***-mess of a home I was living in.
About 2 days ago, give or take, a water-line for the laundry machine had erupted to soak our entirely-carpeted basement suite, forcing the poor new landlord (a sweetheart of a man named Ron having just taken possession of the house from previous owner on May 1st and, it seems, left 'holding the bag' as they'd call it in day-trading-investment-lingo) to tear out the entirely-soaked carpet and replace it with sensible laminate flooring and rendering the entire suite virtually unlivable for indefinite-few-days and so for me work and friends and especially writing become a welcome reprieve to I, a first world Refu-Jeez.. us, so terribly-off I sip a latte near sunny panorama windows-so-clear-they're-not-there overlooking the crosses of Yates and Blanshard with European church of Gothic architectural style poking heedlessly into empty-open blue.. ironically and strangely there is a liquor store quite literally right next door, and's one I shop at often for its decent prices (God is Dead or Just Drinking to Cope with Sartre and Kierkegaard's Ultimate Thesis) (Kierkegaard especially '*** Kierkegaard seems a good and long friend of God the Almighty) (...I talk with such Judaeo-Christian Catholic rhetoric it never ceases to amaze myself as it bleeds to page..) (stranger thing is, tho, there is no beginning, no middle, no end.. you read or you are bored and either/or is just fine..)

There is some hypothesized crescendo-bliss Tech Singularity on the way in the try-dition of Ray Kurzweil and William Burroughs.. Oscar Wilde to.. (see The Soul of Man Under Socialism in essay-collect book De Profundis).. one day we will all be eternal happiness expressed in song and dance and LED erected-projections of Imperfect Universe (Our Imperfect Earth) with lives stuck on infinite repeat.. our idea of Paradise.. and for those with ability to remain rushed to cortisol (stress-the-best hormone) it will be Hell on Earth, so DRAB and THE SAME all the TIME and it's READ and it's WRITE and it's RIGHT.. the world runs faster with every passing day so desperate to discover the Globe is Flat so we can Hop Off the Other Side into what one might assume to be The Better Place.. elusively picking-up speed thinking 'closer now definitely closer now' unaware (or, secretly aware and unwilling to admit for what will one do when one cannot run?) they are Running in Circles Over and Over and Over and Over and Over Again... cannot take the hint in the fact the Pacific (same Pacific) has been crossed a hugeillion times, nor the same McDonald's in the Azores of Atlantic Portugal is the Same ******* McDonald's stopped-thru on the then-trillionth time last year... and all whilst the International Space Station remains muted up-above crossing 'round and 'round 'til the Jehovah'n Day of Judgement (Chris Hadfield now below with advice for how to run a little faster even blinded in one eye..) then there are the dying Prophets Predicting Industrial Collapse who preach upon the Mount of Internet Sinai Eternal and state "the world is now unsalvageable and we are all about to die.. if ever you wished to find Buddhistic Nirvanic Peace, now is the time so start meditating and imagine Death as New Life and Geopolitics as Game".. forever and ever and ever and ever.

It is only natural to find existence to be 'weird..' layered with Who's That's and giant What The ***** everywhichway you turn.. did it start in a Big Bang, will it end in a Big Crunch, Big Freeze, Big Bang.. ? all questions once ignored for certain ignorance and resurrected as questions concerning the Nature of the What The ***** (also known as 'Science').. and if it did start in a Big Bang, did I start in a Big Bang..? and if it does end in a Big Crunch, will I end in a Big Crunch..? am I a sudden flash of REAL in a Universe that isn't me..? or am I an entire Universe.. perhaps even more than that...? the questions pulse in youth like bad words or bullets. I once stayed up all-night thinking of infinity with my head soaring space-wise forever and ever and ever and I stopped in sudden panic thinking: I could lie here up all night and all day 'til the towered age of 37 (I was 14 at the time) and still be no further on the Universal Map than from thumb-tip-middle to thumb-nail so I wrapped up the attempt with a mix of fear and incredulity, went to school next-day exhausted and tried to explain it all to friends.. they got it, I suppose, but we were all 14 and played basketball instead (I imagined infinite-spinning-basketball on thumb of Michael Jordan).

It's always best describing life in form of Disembodied Poetics.. sure some Philistines won't understand '*** their minds are made of Clockwork, Digits, and Blockthought.. but the general psychic underly implied in all with human faculty will ring-a-ding-ding! and remember all such ancient thoughts and feels as forgotten as a child, locked away until the Spirit rose-up from a rosey thorn prickle to flower straight-up into a Rose! or so I hope as a one-of-many writers-- all of which will write so-as to speak on your behalf.. all floaty and marking a purpose.
Sarahi Jul 2015
Impatient and silly
Just two things for now
There's so much more really
And I'm sleepy anyhow

But you're handsome
You're sweet
Oh very handsome, I repeat

You're a thinker
A debater
Always arguing
A master- uh hater

Oh I can go on forever
But droopy are my eyes
Goodnight
I will speak to you at sunrise
Matthew James Apr 2016
I'm not taking a side
I think you're all daft
With words that deride
Afore and aft
It doesn't have to be snide
Trolling can be quite a laugh
But it lacks imagination
And creates an irritation
When you're ******* at it and use it as an excuse to just be nasty to each other and then you don't step away, and just keep arguing and arguing and arguing like you're in nursery, and nobody gets a solution because the whole thing is pointless and irrelevant and based on opinions that don't matter of people you will probably never meet and it's just so ridiculous I can't even end this sentence because of how ridiculous it all is and its made me forget about punctuation and sentence structure and everything because I'm annoyed at having to read such pointless ******* and I'm tired because here in England it's after midnight and I'm laid here reading ******* rather than sleeping when I just want to read some poetry aaaaaarrrrrgggghhhh and all I know is to make this line rhyme I need to end it in ation!!!

A rhyme about other trolls

Troll troll
You've got a big head
And you're made of stone
And you aren't red

Troll troll
You're in a film called the hobbit
And you're made of stone
And you're not a rabbit

Troll troll
You could be a rabbit
One made of stone
You could be red
Made of red stone
But you lack imagination
Like an Internet troll
Because you're head is made of rocks
And you were made by some sort of evil wizard or something
So at least you've got an excuse
Unlike people
Who lack imagination when trying to be a troll
Because they lack even the imagination of a troll
Who is actually a troll
But came in 6 movies rather than sitting behind a computer screen blaming other people for their loneliness

I'm off to fester in my own self pity, silently waiting to have my troll poem trolled by trolls who aren't really trolls. I'll be back tomorrow for more fun and games.

That's all folks!!
Amanda Jan 2018
VERSE 1

Another year has come and gone,
I realize now that I was wrong,
For ******* at you way too long,
Blaming you for us not getting along,
Arguing with you until dawn,
We go back and forth just like ping-pong,
About all of the crazy conclusions I've drawn,
Now it's eggshells we are walking upon,
I hate that you are distant and withdrawn,
I'm trying but it's so hard to be strong,
I know that with you is where my heart belongs,
I'm reminded each time I hear our song,
This feeling is one I wish I could prolong,
Your love is a drug, I love to be on.

HOOK

It's hard for me to say, but I'm addicted to loving you,
Always chasing my next fix, you are what I pursue,
I need to feel your high, I need to have you close,
I just want to fill up on your love, so I can overdose.

VERSE 2

Baby you know you are my everything, my high when I am low,
You pick me up when i am down, I can't let you go,
You really are the best thing, that I have ever found,
When I'm with you i feel like I'm ten feet off the ground,
Nothing can compare to you, babe you are the best,
But when I'm too far away from you, I turn into a mess.
To the point I will do anything to feel your caress,
And rub my hands across your bare chest,
I don't know why I do this, a different side of me emerges,
When you get me alone and I give into my urges,
Since I had a taste I'm craving you and no one else,
It's obvious I'm strung out, all my friends say I need help.

(HOOK)

VERSE 3

We've been staying up too late,
This addiction I'm growing to hate,
My mind is fuzzy I can't think straight,
I've even started to lose weight,
When you penetrate me we levitate,
I'm elevated, my pupils dilate.
I try to slow down, gradually wean,
Myself off of the magic inside of your jeans,
But hard as I try I can't break the routine,
I'm beginning to think I'll never stay clean.

(HOOK)

BRIDGE

I'm addicted to your love, though it's tough to admit,
This habit is one I'm not sure I can quit.
This is my first attempt at writing rap but I think it came out great. Any feedback would be soooo appreciated!
Natasha Teller Dec 2013
surrounding us: a billion stars
in a time when a trip to mars is like walking around the block
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive.

we’re beaming to a planet’s surface. now listen:
i know about inverse tachyon beams
i know about coded klingon screams
i know about going to warp factor eight
i know about redshirts' survival rate.
(no. chance.)

i’m beaming down with the main crew
to the surface of minerva II
we've got a malfunctioning interstellar transceiver which is distressing-- dysgraphing? dismantling…
…i don't know.
scotty said it was defective.

so we’re on this planet,
standing on one side of a thick forest packed with monster janeks,
starfleet says we need to fix this thing yesterday, and we’re in a panic—
and **** it, mccoy is a doctor, not a lumberjack,
and kirk says we should just burn through the middle with phasers,
and spock says we must preserve respect for all life forms no matter the situation.

now please remember kirk’s the captain.
that means he runs this show
but kirk always listens to spock,
so
we spend two days walking through the forest.

surrounding us: a billion trees
in a place where a strange disease is rare as feathers in a flock
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive.

halfway through this dark-lit trip
things go wrong (obviously)
and an alien with shellac for skin captures the captain.
said alien grabs a vine, ascends into the canopy of the trees,
and for one glorious moment
i believe kirk’s the dead guy in this episode, not me!

but spock, in his calm and logical vulcan voice,
orders us to exercise any necessary force to recover the captain.
translation: **** EVERYTHING. JUST GET KIRK BACK.

we reach the janek village.
being a good redshirt, i rush in, phaser blasting, ready to complete the heroic rescue of our captain—
and get killed instantly.

as i was dying, i heard the sound of thousands of janeks dying beside me
saw spock help kirk off the ground
and the last words I heard were theirs:
“captain, are you in need of immediate medical attention?”
“nah, spock, i’m fine—”
“mr. scott. the captain is hurt. beam us aboard immediately.”
one’s arm over the other’s shoulders,
they vanished.

surrounding them: a billion stars
in a time when a trip to mars is like walking around the block
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive—

but the prime directive
was never the real objective.
My very first attempt at slam poetry, back in the day... this was written for a sci-fi slam. Live long & prosper.
Taylor McKee Nov 2012
I look at my hands as they shiver
All the cuts, scratches and scars
The dark freckle and small wound that make it seem as though I have stigmata
I've been crucified a time or two, but only in my head, no stakes through my hands
Looking at the mirror
Seeing my face
Seeing all the scars
But this time they don't mar my skin
I can see them on my tattered, stained soul
I can see it in my eyes
Other people see my eyes and it evokes a light feeling
All I can see is the dark hidden away
I wish I could see what they see instead
My laptop is open
I see people I like and love and hate posting about their lives
Making themselves seem significant
Despite the fact that they live ignorant lives
Living in the cloud city of dreams
Arguing over whose God is better
Arguing over whose politician will make the world a utopia
I suppose politicians are some people's real Gods
Posting about the latest trends
Trying to garner attention for nothing
As if a thousand "friends" liking a status really means anything at all
Work meeting this Sunday
I know what I'll see
Three idiots
Two bosses
One pseudo sister
One girl who shouldn't work there
One girl who should be mine, and everyone knows it
Two managers that I actually get along with
I'll see little notes scribbled with ******* compliments that everyone writes
"Great work on Sunday!"
"So glad you took care of that thing for me!"
Because apparently a thank you and a paycheck isn't good enough
They need to feed their egos
That's what matters to them
I look at my friends
Or the people who used to be called that
Now I talk to them once every few months
Plan to hang out every now and then
See them once a year
Normally on accident
They're total jerks anyways, so I don't mind
They're a living reminder that I need good people in my life
Good on ya, former friends
In my room I see my dog
The lazy ******* just sleeps on my bed
Halfway under my sheets
He's snoring
He's a good dog
I'll let him be
If only I could be like him
And sleep all day
Or like my former friends
And just not care
Or like that girl at work
And not realize we should be together
Or like the denizens of cloudville
And live an ignorant, happy life
But that would all be too easy
I like that I can see all these things
Things that they can't see
Except my empty bank account
I just won't look at that
i Apr 2014
going against
parents and
the world,
seems silly and
stupid,
because you
know you don't
stand a chance.

but when you
feel your
blood rushing
through your veins,
and adrenaline
pumping,
when you
have finally
proven a point,
after years of
arguing and
fighting,
you realize
that this feeling
is why you exist,
why you live,
why you are *here.
Bob Sterry Jul 2014
Shucking peas on the back steps
Maureen and I watch her Mum,
My Aunt Grace,
Arguing with Aunt Edna
In the kitchen
The narrow kitchen
Of number 84 Truro Road
As they whip a Sunday lunch into shape
A test match drones on the radio
The aroma of mint on new spuds teases.
It’s a modest roast
Served in the tiny parlor
To nine of us!
Eating elbow to elbow
With yellow handled knives and forks
Down to the bare porcelain
Waiting for the apple pie
with Libby’s.
That crust, with sugar sprinkles
Is a lifetime goal for me!
Inspired by Seamus Heaney's poem about watching his mother peel potatoes, and written for the 90th Birthday of my Aunt Grace, who represents her name so well. Test match means a five day cricket match, probably against Australia. Libby's is a brand of sweetened condensed milk. A treat in the fifties when cream was a luxury.
naifa aboali Feb 2015
I'm tired of being alive
I'm tired of not wanting to be alive
I'm tired of having responsibilities
I'm tired of pretending like everything is okay
I'm tired of going to a house that 'im suppose to call my “home ” but it’s not that at all
Its a roof over my head to keep me warm but not to keep me sane
I'm insane
I'm tired of thinking i'm insane
I'm tired of arguing
I'm tired of having to put in headphones to block out the world
I'm tired of living in a world where money is the number one priority because without money you have nothing
I'm tired of the world
i'm tired of writing about my feelings
I'm tired of hiding my feelings
I'm tired of feelings
I'm tired of thinking
I'm tired of breathing
I'm tired of being tired ..

-n.a.
DarkCashby Feb 2015
My addiction is starving
My demons are arguing
The classic threats
Their classic bets
On for wich one of them I will fall
Jessie Nov 2012
Let me tell you about myself.
I am a mosquito magnet.
I have little scars of itchy memories all over my scrawny legs.
But I think it means my blood is sacred.
I find my laugh unique and one of a kind.
My walk, resembling more of a bowlegged wobble, allows me to stand out against the crowd.
(My walk isn't that bad, by the way, I was merely exaggerating for stylistic purposes.)
What's more, the fact that I am prone to blushing at even the slightest glance my way is kldjaf;ldjfoiad;htija;ji;ajf.
I love it.
My clumsiness only adds meaning to the moments in which I am fleetingly graceful.
Yes, my posture is rough around the edges,
But it signifies that I have been around the world a few times.
At least I don't jut out my pretty decently sized *******.
You're welcome.
I find my lack of arguing skills in the moment cute.
My mistakes are adorable, and my obvious flaws are endearing.
The fact I can't **** an ant without showing sympathy is amiable.

If only somebody thought the same way about me.
If only people looked and analyzed others as closely as I do.
They would see.
That way I wouldn't be the only one loving myself. (Or trying to.)
Cherry Cupcake May 2013
We can't seem to communicate like a normal pair
Arguing, yelling, ignoring each other
How am I supposed to believe you even care
While our once innocent love slowly threatens to smother

Blaming others for your own cruel deeds
Forgetting the rainbows we have been through
Neglecting your wife and children's needs
It's all black and white now, no color seems true


Daddy's yelling, mommy cries
Something about money and lies
Tomorrow is their 20th aniversary
What magic could she buy to make her parents happy?
To see their smiles again at dinner time
To hear them ask if she's doing fine

She grabs a sheet of snow white paper
Her pencils and some glitters
Draws a  rainbow and a light pink lily
All they need is some color in this family


Y.
ughdrey Jun 2013
Before I met her, I wanted to be her. Does that sound stupid? I wanted to be that ****** up ****** that did a bunch of drugs and always had money because she led men on and lived free and just lived life despite a daily brush with death. I was eventually, and I had an amazingly horrible experience.

I met her when I was 13. I spent a lot of time just "babysitting" her really. My other friends hated her. We'd come over and she'd literally go in the closet to shoot up and we'd just be chilling in her bedroom listening to Hole and being really confused as to why she didn't just use the bathroom. But she liked the attention and audience. This might seem cliche or mean or whatever, but it's true.

As my decent friends grew further away from me because I continuously grew closer and closer to her, I did a lot of *******, not nearly as much as I would later on in life. but enough to say, "wow I did a lot of ******* when I was 15" and at the time, it seemed like an accomplishment. Maybe I thought I was cool, I don't know, now I just think I was stupid and weak and regret being like my father.

Obviously, as time went on, I did ******. The first 500 times Natalie offered me it, I said no. I always said no, but she still always asked. If you know a ****** addict, there's something else you probably know. ****** addicts love having other ****** addicts around because you guys will work together to make money and get more. This will probably turn into what it really is and what we were really were, and that's a co-dependent platonic couple, but I didn't know that until just now.

The day I finally did it, my god. My god. My god. My god. My god.

I feel slightly guilty writing this because I don't want to glorify drug abuse but Christ, did it feel good.

We were downstairs watching Hedwig and she gave me the eye to start talking to her mom so she could go upstairs discreetly. Then her mom was like "where'd she go?" so I went to go check, even though I knew.

I walk into the bathroom, scaring the **** out of her. She had lines of ******, diesel, whatever. We called it diesel, I don't know if that's like a common name for it? Is it? Whatever, I said "let me try it."

Why? I don't know why. To this very second I can't remember what I was thinking. She didn't ask, and maybe that's why. But she put some on her hand and I snorted it. I hated the taste. Sometimes I smell it, and I don't know what it is that smells like ******, but I find myself saying out loud, when people are around, "ugh it smells like ******."

This is one of my catchphrases I think, and I am not proud of it anymore.

People always ask me what it felt like the first time. I remember not feeling anything. I remember not feeling guilty for helping Natalie remain a drug addict in her parents house. I remember her pinching me and telling me not be obvious, but oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that it was going to make me feel like a warm pancake that just wanted to sleep wide awake.

Sleeping wide awake, that's a good way to describe how it feels.

I tell people this a lot, this process of drug use, and how I ended up shooting ****** and kind of just ignoring that I was.

I smoked *** and said "well it's not like I'm doing E"
then I did E and said "I'm not doing coke"
then it was "it's not ******"
and then it was "it's not like I'm shooting it."

Once I started shooting it, I didn't have any excuse or cop out, I was just curious as to what else I could inject into my body and became that glorified drug addict who lived free and did anything she wanted and felt like she came out of a book or a movie or a ****** up story you only hear strangers gabbing about on the train.

I was that girl. Natalie was much worse though. But that didn't come until I was about 18.

I had morals, yes even heavily addicted to ******, I had morals. I didn't steal from my family. This was one thing that would not break for me even when I was maybe putting **** in my mouth for money. But that's not even entirely true because I didn't do it for the money, it just happened that way.

So I'm probably 16 at this point in the story. I'm meeting guys off MySpace with her, guys from rich towns that want *** or coke or ******, just guys who can't get it in their towns. She's ******* them, I'm stealing from them. We don't keep friends very long because they know what we're up to after a few times.

She also sold her parents wedding rings, I didn't even know until after the fact, or I would have tried to stop her.

Her mother was so good to me. I spent a lot of time at their house. Her mom always invited me for holidays, despite the huge family they already had coming, because she knew my home life wasn't too good and she just treated me like I imagine you're supposed to treat a daughter you like. She was also very religious, which added to the blinders she had when it came to Natalie. She thought she could pray the drugs away, the way she tried to pray my gay away.

I was absolutely heart broken and completely beside myself the day her mother yelled, "she told me what you did. She told me you took the rings."

I didn't take the rings but what was I supposed to do? Try and convince her that Natalie did? She knew, somewhere she knew, but she didn't want to believe it so I just walked out of the house and never came back. I cried about that for a long time because I loved her mother, so much more than I am trying to say here. She might have been oblivious, but she was the sweetest woman in the world and I feel horrible that she had a daughter like Natalie.

I met so many characters. Chris. I don't remember his last name but it was something really white boyish. He would drive 45 minutes to us so we could get him 8 bags of ****** when he paid for 10, but we'd pocket two. We did this a lot during the day actually. We'd get drugs for people and just never tell them you get a bundle (10 bags) for 80$, and they'd tell their friends we'd go for them, and they'd think the same thing. Why? Oh, because these were very white people that were afraid of the "ghetto." And it was the ghetto, it was Newark, NJ. The corner of Victoria and Garside, what up, what up. Come see me.

I never really liked Chris. He was a musician but he wasn't that good. I think he thought he was Conor Oberst, and at that time, he kind of looked like him. But he was just some rich white kid with an inflated ego and I didn't feel bad ripping him off, or his Trust Fund Baby friends.

I did feel bad though when one of them died in front of us.

So I guess this is where I'll start writing the "**** got real real fast" stuff, now that I've hopefully explained the type of person I am and how I got to this point.


Why drug dealers cut their drugs with poison and whatever else, I'll never know. Bad for business if you ask me, but I've never been a big fan of the business world, but this seems pretty similar.

Natalie is driving Chris' car and we didn't snort any ****** yet, which was weird, but I'm grateful we didn't. We bring it back to Chris and his friends, who are waiting a few towns over for us. They get in the car and are like "just drive around for a bit so we can do this."

They all have separate bags, and I feel terrible I can't remember the girl's name that died, I want to say it was Karen or something like that but I know it wasn't. She just rolls up a bill and snorts out of the bag and within like 10 seconds she's screaming and everyone in the backseat is screaming and I turn around and there's blood pouring out of her nose and it's all over her hands and the car and her boyfriend and Chris and I think her eyes are bleeding but I'm not entirely sure if that's what was happening. And I'm like "What the **** what the ****" because it wasn't a normal nose bleed, this girl was just, flowing blood out of her face.

Natalie is emotionless as always. I'm screaming "get to the hospital get to the ******* hospital" and the girl is like screaming "it hurts oh my god oh my god it hurts" and her boyfriend is like "yo man, what the **** bb are you okay bb."

It's weird that in situations like this everyone repeats themselves but I think your brain kind of stops working and you need to repeat yourself so the rest of you can process the magnitude of ****** up that your eyes are seeing.

Needless to say, Natalie didn't go straight to the hospital, she stopped the car a few blocks away. The girl died within 15 minutes. I don't know why Natalie or I wasn't held accountable for what happened, but I think it had something to do with me telling Chris who the dealer was, and this was the only time in my life I ever gave out a name, even when I was in jail, I didn't rat anyone out. But death is different and anyone who doesn't believe in being a rat when you're faced with that kind of guilt, is a *******.

Natalie got out and started walking, Chris got in the front seat and I followed after Natalie. He did take his friend to the hospital immediately after but Natalie was being inhumane, and it was just better she got out of the car because she probably would have driven us all into a river to avoid being arrested.

I really have no idea why she got out of the car though, she had no fear, I think she was just annoyed, like this girl's death ruined her day when it ruined my life. I guess making a joke out of it makes it easier for me to deal with, but it still isn't. For me, it was monstrous, it was desensitizing, it was mortality showing itself and I was like "I'll never do ****** again." But that was a lie. I found out a week later via MySpace message that the girl had glass (!?) in her bag as well as ****** and I have no idea. I have no ******* idea what why how. I just don't understand that.

Chris still came around for ****** though. And he still brought his friends, just not the ones that were there that day.

What am I, like 17? I'm still senior in high school and I have really ****** concept of age, and I meet this other guy.

MY GOD WHAT A MAN.

Yeah, I said it. He was 38, built like Hulk Hogan, and had the sweetest smile and the most honest blue eyes I have ever seen.

He also had been out of jail for a whole year before we met him. He was tied to a car ring where people would pay him to steal cars. He was in jail for 6 years and when I turned 21, I heard he landed himself back in jail for trying to **** someone or something.

He was nice though. I couldn't figure out why he was so obsessed with Natalie. But the niceness wore out and I finally learned what a creepy ******* he was.

He used to ride his bicycle to meet up with us and he had a lot of money, he just wasn't allowed a license. He was a construction worker for the union, made like 60$ an hour and what do you know, he was a ****** addict.

He told me how they get drugs inside jail. You get a girl to come visit you and sit down with you. You kiss them, like make out kissing because that's all you need. That like 4 seconds before someone is like HEY CUT IT OUT, and they have the drugs wrapped up in their mouth, and you get the picture. Just in case you were wondering how that works.

He also told me that I reminded him of his sister, that died of a drug overdose.
He also showed me his **** one day when he was at my house alone with me.
He also ****** off on my couch and tried to get me to **** it.
Then he tried to get me just to touch it.
Then I asked him to leave.
And then some other stuff happened that I don't feel comfortable writing about but I probably will another day.

He turned out to be a ******* ****** and I don't really trust anyone with pretty eyes anymore. But he was fun. Once he started trying to impress me, a 17 year old girl, and Natalie who was like 22, he decided he'd go back to his old ways and steal cars. I can't count the amount of porsches I've been in or how many miles per hour we went or how many car accidents there were that we shouldn't have walked away from it unharmed. He never hit anyone else, just walls and guardrails, rolled into ditches.

Seat belts, seriously, wear them. I don't anymore, but I'm going to start again.

He used to give me a lot of money. A Lot Of Money, just to hang out with him and watch him ******* and ****. I don't know sometimes when I think about these things.

Natalie did something stupid, she got caught stealing from him. He didn't mind giving us money and I think that's why he was so mad. He would have just handed it to her if she asked. So he started coming to my house a lot in stolen cars, then I introduced him to my other teenager female friends and it worked out really well for me.

He was gone for good and it was better that way.

I was still only snorting ****** up until this time of my life. The taste of ****** and the amount I puked from it was becoming too much and I was losing a lot of weight and it wasn't healthy looking so I decided to start shooting. I didn't even do it for the normal reason which is, you get higher, faster and harder.

Natalie and I are in a bathroom of my friend's house whose mother is handicapped, bed bound, so we just go there all the time to get high. The mother is also diabetic so there's a lot of unused empty needles. I help her shoot. And it's scary, she would shake and tremble and it was really bad. Sometimes I'd think to myself, "it's like your body is trying to stop you from doing it."

But if you like blood, watching someone shoot up is really cool. You mix water with the powder and, ew now that I'm thinking about it, what the ****. You wrap your arm up, so your veins pop up, put the needle into a vein and you pull some blood out, I don't know the reason behind this, and you shoot it back into yourself.

I'm really uncomfortable with the whole idea of shooting so I shot into my hands because I had very prominent veins there. I eventually started shooting speed *****, ****** and coke, which was too much fun for someone as emotionally unstable as I was, to be doing something so completely unpredictable. The first time I shot ******, I never snorted it again.

I shot Jack Daniels once and never did that again either. I figured I'd get drunk really fast, right? Wrong, it burned like a ***** and I started smashing my hand into the bathroom sink screaming "WHAT THE **** WHY DOES IT BURN."

It's whiskey, Audrey. Whiskey.

I met so many more people when I was shooting. I became friends with an entire *******, all the strippers, their boyfriends, their "daddies" and just, those kinds of people, and like I said before, I'll write about that another day. But that is where I met Janelle and Kevin, aka, Jack and Sally. They were these really gothy ****** addicts and this is going to be ridiculous, but it was so beautiful when they shot up.  

Kevin would be like "okay, baby, ready?" and he'd caress her arm and she'd wrap it, and he'd kiss her and then kiss her arm, then he'd put the needle in and I'd be sitting on the bed sobbing because I thought it was so cute, in like, a really disgusting "I'm clearly on drugs" kind of way.

I didn't hang out with them for that long, Natalie ****** Kevin and that ****** because Kevin and I used to make forts inside the house and talk a lot about nothing, but it was fun and I felt like a child, and I liked feeling like I was a child and that it was okay I was acting the way I was.

A bunch of people that hung out there eventually started doing ****** and I couldn't stand it so I had to get away from a bit because my guilt came back and I felt like I was killing everyone.


Natalie started setting up drug deals so they'd get ripped off if they went without her, she started turning on me, stealing from me, she had me set up for a deal and her dealer put a gun in my mouth when I started arguing with him about how he gave me like wood chips or whatever. It was not ******, but we still ran like thieves together.

She introduced me to the next guy we were going to use, his name was Pablo. He was about 42 and lived in his parents basement. He was an outstanding artist, I mean, I couldn't figure out why he was in his parents basement with the amount of talent he had. We used to smoked embalming fluid with him and angel dust.

Now, if you ever want to know what it feels like to be Alice in Thunderland, smoke embalming fluid. I went on a 4 day drug binge that consisted of nothing but dust, fluid, her
Shane Teter Dec 2011
Convulsed, Antagonized and Exasperated!

That your drive, your will has been amputated!
I told you tomorrow, We'll start anew,
Its not been tough to just get through,
To just get by, to just live life,
Its easier to lie, to live without strife,
Your a hollow shell built by your own insistence!
A putrid scab of your former existence!
Your not worth it! your not worth the air!
How can you breathe! how can you bare!
To look at life with such vaulted illusion!
You've left me in such utter confusion!
I don’t know how you are so angry,
After all, it was your absence that made me,
No ones here to help hold me up,
No one here, I’ve ran out of luck,
So ill just sit back, let life run its course,
Just let go, ignore the remorse,
I’m done, its time to take action!
This is over, **** your satisfaction!
She held your hand! a visage of hope!
He held you up! He helped you to cope!
They looked at you! a look so beguiled!
Mother and father! look straight at their child!
Don’t bring that up, Its not even fair,
Its such a lie, that they ever cared,
I’m all alone that’s the way it should be,
So walk away and let me be me,
So sorry for yourself when its others you hurt!
Your personality shall break unless you now reassert!
The tears from your mother should bring you such pain!
Your joy ride is over! its time for my REIGN!
ILL BE SCRATCHING AND SCREAMING AND GASPING FOR AIR!
MY WILL REMAINS UNBROKEN, THIS IS OVER I SWEAR!
THIS CHANGE YOU'LL SEE, IT WILL BE SO UNTYPICAL!
THIS CHANGE IN ME! THIS CHANGE WILL BE BIBLICAL!
Terry Collett Jul 2018
Only the shadow
on the bed where I sit,
said Yiska,
through the blinds
I see the city
and its tall towers
and constant traffic
on the streets below,
and the park is busy
with people passing
or children at play.

I sit and wish
he was still here,
still here beside me,
his warmth and voice
breaking this dull
silence of depression,
this blanket of blackness,
this cloak of despair.

I cannot be bothered
to wash or shower or dress,
my eyes are full of sleep
and my hair a mess.

I slept last night
only because
of the prescription drugs
my doctor gave;
I slept badly even then,
listening to the arguing
neighbours just above:
she a lowly cow,
him a big boar
of fat meat.

I watch the clouds drift by,
the blue of sky,
the tall towers rigid,
the city evolving
day by day,
hour by hour;
the office will ring
to ask where I am,
and why I am not at work,
and if I am well,
and the voice will drone on
with its threats of procedures
and discipline,
and I shall not answer,
leave the phone off the hook,
my mobile turned to silent.

I miss him at night
and his hugs and kisses,
and gentle words of love
and promises.

But then he met her,
betrayed me as a lover
ought not,
and now he has gone,
and I am here in the semi-dark,
staring out at the view
of city and park
and the tall towers,
and another day
beyond my powers.
Kathryn Maurine Mar 2017
How horrible it was
to wake up to your cries for help.
I came to find you had fallen,
your oxygen disconnected,
the clear tubes lying in a tangle
on your bedroom floor.

At first, you had been conscious,
your beautiful brown eyes looked up at me pleadingly,
and then you were gone.

I was alone and terrified,
having dealt with this before
I couldn’t say it was anything new,
but this time was different than the script of
past events.

Wishing I could escape like a bird in flight,
I knew I had no power to save you,
The harsh truth of my reality
suffocated me. My walls closing in
as I realized what was happening
in this moment.

Prior to this,
you had always made it to the hospital alright,
arguing with paramedics,
but this time,
you were motionless and cold.

I’ll never forget the blue stillness of your lips,
or the way the light left your eyes
as you departed the material world
and finally found peace in eternal rest.
6.13.13
requiescat in pace
Ambika Jois Oct 2016
Every time we argue
I shut myself off outside
Overpowered by my own reticence
Trapped away by my own pride

You fell in love with the fire
I'm flaming and burning out here and there
You only speak of the one in my belly
I feel the damaging aftermath everywhere

I love us the way we are
Fights, arguments, the regular LQ
We form the hurt, we form the surrender
It's perfect as it is, thanks to the MU.

Love hurts - I disagree.
Words do. Actions do.
Love can heal and unite everything.
Undoubtedly, even me and you.
LQ - Lovers' Quarrel; MU - Mutual Understanding
Koe May 2014
I don't desire to share my opinions with anyone
Too long, have they been bashed upon by peers or anonymous figures
"You should respect their opinion."
What hypocrites, even opinions could be wrong and hurt others

"For the sake of arguing."
It doesn't matter if they humiliate someone.
It doesn't matter if they turn others against them.
It doesn't matter if they were wrong as well

Even if you understand their perspective, they refuse to see yours
I long to be mute
I hate my own speaking voice
If all my words are unheard


"I can't express myself, this secretive awkward human."

If only they knew of the true cynical and diabolical thoughts locked away
Would anyone bother to accept and understand
Or would I be shunned
Isolated like I had been since so long ago

I don't mind singing
The rhythm and flow much better to the accented jumble words
However I'm merely a ghost that no one notice when they have stars to illuminate the room

"Ahhhh.. The jealousy and bitterness will consume me."

"Please see me."
"Please acknowledge me."
"Please talk to me."
"Please hear me."

*I'm fading away.
Maia Vasconez Dec 2016
My foreign friend once went through my bag and found a bottle of ibuprofen. She said I wonder if these are her anti-depressants because if so then they're not working. Once my friend, excuse the bruise, my friend thought the rope in my room was meant for a noose. Once I regected food all day and so she spooned the meal to my face. She said "good girl" when I made myself a sandwich. She used to cringe every time she saw my ****** up wrists. She said her dad ******* when she was a kid and once she took a pen to her own skin. She said you know that feeling when you throw up ice cream? and I was the only girl who got it. Who really, really got it.
So, I remember sitting in the park by the waterfront smoking flavored cigars. It's starting to get dark and your leaning on my arm. I wanna split a cigarette but you're saying how I always get the filter wet. You were both the hardest and softest girl I'd ever met. We got our cards read that weekend. The tarot lady said I'd fall in love, I said bring it on. Well, I remember nights in a used hotel room, wound up on the bed was the only time you let me hold you. I used to give you chapstick every time you asked for it. You said you only missed me when your lips got chapped. and those days we weren't friends were the worst ones that I don't remember too well. I forgot how we both pulled the devil when we got our cards read. What I remember is that you were there for the worst anxiety attack. It's still funny cause you're the only one in the room who was scared. And the next day I'm dead inside and somebody's in my ear telling me about how they're making an effort to be friendly and I'm the problem, I'm not reciprocating. You ask me why I'm wearing a hat, It's so I can hide my shame under it. Today I don't have a voice, I can't talk. Can't say what I'm upset about. And I remember somebody telling me that if I thought happy I'd be happy which lead to break down sobbing in the bathroom and you came in and talked me out. You never blamed me, never thought what happened to me was my fault. And you listened to me spew about what it's like to have no friends and to hate yourself so much. And you didn't ask questions... you just loved. Loved, loved, loved. So much that I saw it building up in myself. That first jump into the pool in our sweaters and sharing showers and drying in the sun. Listening to you mumble in your sleep, combing through your hair with my thumb. And you said the first time you saw me you thought ****! Another girl that's too pretty. I think we should still be... lying on a sun lit deck. You're reading my books, I'm wearing your shoes. We should still be out on the lake, eating lunch in one of those big red canoes. We should still be jumping off the dock, yelling when the fish swim near us. We should still be up on a hill where we can smoke and watch the sunset fall to dusk. I should still be waking up late in your tent and stealing the blankets. We should still be up all night talking politics and arguing semantics.
So yes, I remember lying in your arms those last few nights while watching shooting stars. Those nights I wished so long and hard to never feel lonely again, I realized this summer that's my biggest fear. And this summer! This summer I feel healed! You bandaged me up so the good bye was rough. I felt like child peeling old band aides off.
Before she left she told me what I needed to fix about myself. In our soggy t-shirts, we have our toes diped in the water. She grabs a pool noodle out of my hands and as she bends it in demonstration says I have no back bone she can take whatever she wants, she can just have it. I'm too flexible. But she opens up, tells me about the guys she's ****** and how she's never really been in love. She tells me about her girl crush. She says if I'd told her I'd loved her first, "like I SHOULD have" then she'd of been crushing on me instead. I just wish I could have been the one to drop her off at the airport. I helped her pack her bags and watched her slam the car door shut. It's different when you're forced to be apart, she didn't have the chance to make me hurt. I count the miles that seperate us. Guess I'll just love her from a distance.
This is probably the longest thing I've ever written. I've been working on this for a month and a half I think but I'm not sure how I feel about it. It's a true story, my summer with a British girl. We were in a big city but also spent most of our time in the woods in the middle of nowhere. Anyways, suggestions always welcome!
The cheese-mites asked how the cheese got there,
And warmly debated the matter;
The Orthodox said that it came from the air,
And the Heretics said from the platter.
They argued it long and they argued it strong,
And I hear they are arguing now;
But of all the choice spirits who lived in the cheese,
Not one of them thought of a cow.

— The End —