"attackers" poems
As the rain came down like an ocean of water falling from the heavens
the wind blew like a million fans blowing in the same direction
I was wet, I was cold and I was struggling to make it pushing against the wind
looking up was hard but squinting my eyes I could see a few stars in the night sky
ahead of me I heard shouting and screaming
a group of people were attacking an older Gentleman
I questioned should I get involved
I feared I might be targeted
but I did the right thing, I got involved
5 people all young men started to surround me
pushing me trying to force me on the ground
punching and kicking
one of the attackers pulled out a knife
I feared for my life.
As I lay their on the ground as the wind began to ease off
but the rain continuing to come down with so much speed and force
I remember thinking one thing, at least the older Gentleman was safe
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
.simone biles (the gymnast)...
miles davis (the trumpet guy)...
must be black privilege;
wasn't there a movie...
starring
woody harrelson
and wesley snipes?
you sure?
i thought it was
called: white men can't jump...
sure as **** ****** can
sing church gospel!
how's that for
privilege?
if you're going to
culturally box, and repeatedly
punch below the belt...
you're quiet likely going
to get a reaction...
i have an acne wart growing
on my *** the size
of a cauliflower,
it's itchy my brain,
it's differentiating between
agitate and: lying back...
i guess the excess of...
look... you may have
the excess melanin...
i have lactose tolerance...
we're even?!
no?
so how come some smurf,
some European hobbit
shackle your N.B.A.
Goliath(s)?!
explain that one to me...
if these people were so
cock-unsure...
how they **** did they
tame the Zulu Apache Goliath
bodybuilders?!
what the ****
i already said, and it was proven...
IQ...
i don't like it...
but i'm pretty sure that
the whites **** more people
in terrorist attacks than...
camel-jockeys...
it took 3 or over three...
to perform the Bataclan Massacre...
three... the third of the IQ
that required a Breivik...
130 in France...
dissociated among 3 attackers
that gorged on testicles after the spree...
fun, fun fun fun...
like: you're trying to say that without
irony...
and how many in Norway?
77...
i only look at the IQ of killers...
so... what's the ratio?
77 / 1
130 / 3 = 43...
like i said... low IQ...
you really want your little
racial insurrection?
you'll have it, don't worry..
i'll just the narrative...
must be black privy...
if you can mash up a jazz compos.,
right?
crackers read from
a prepared script...
you ******* just, "improvise"...
rapping contra talking...
**** come to think of it...
******* boys took it too far from
your Oreos...
like... too much drums...
not enough wind, or strings...
too much drumming...
pulverizing the ears
with drum & bass and what not...
if i wasn't deaf prior,
i'm deaf by now;
******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops
boy;
same **** different cover.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
All I can see
is a wasteland of
stone, glass, metal,
and wooden rubble
in an open air prison
where children are living.
Six thousand bombs,
stirring up
thick clouds of grey dust,
obscuring the horrors
people are enduring.
The attackers are
barely even
warning people
to move on.
The exits are blocked.
The power and water is off.
The suffering doesn’t stop,
and these civilians
are unable to leave.
How are you unable to see
the hell spring of grief
that is burning human beings,
the furnace that still cooks
even when no one bothers to look
because all of the crooks
were just waiting
for the perfect excuse
to make the news
with a justified genocide.
Mass ****** and more oppression
with the weapons
America supplied,
and guess what,
another child just died,
more parents got radicalized,
and if they survive
will you be surprised
if hate is the new demoncont.
that wears their tired red eyes.
The rich guys lied and decided
that unequal retaliation
is perfectly justified,
so we are on a road
to the extinction of
human decency
as the world murders
our collective humanity.
Crack, boom,
the sound of thunder blooms
orange heated chaos,
breaking the foundation
an entire building.
A whole family line
gets an early burial,
as what’s left of my heart
gets carried inside,
popped in a box
to be buried alive,
because their beat
was the same as mine.
Nothing I write
will change the minds
of those unwilling to
listen and see people who
are close to total annihilation,
as deserving of love,
and compassion,
but even so
I am still asking.
Help, please, help!?!
Instead we get beheadings,
mass shootings,
****** assault,
retaliation,
and the expectation
of more tragedy to come.
I can easily condemn
violent actions taken,
but I need to understand
the origins of this rocky foundation,
and potential solutions,
because I can’t stand the
horrors I am facing
without eventually breaking.
Dec 2, 2023
Dec 2, 2023 at 8:46 AM UTC
Step One: Dress for Success
Dawn yourself in armor each morning
Spikes and studs
Headbands and helmets
Strike fear into every man’s heart
And look good while doing it
Step Two: Be a Lotus Flower
A rose, a lily
Be a venus fly trap
Deadly nightshade
Lady Macbeth said it best
“Look like the innocent flower
But be the serpent under it.”
Step Three: Always Have a Perfect Manicure
Sharpen your nails into knives
Slit your attackers throat
With just one swift movement
Of the wrist
Walk away with the blood working as polish
They won’t be able to tell the difference
Step Four: Smile
Never let them see you crumble
Never let them see you for what you are
Human.
Put up the walls
Man the cannons
You’re no longer a girl
You are a castle
And they want to storm you
Step Five: Be Polite
Swallow the bad words that want so badly
To sting that *******
Who cut in line at 7 Eleven
Suppress the rage that makes the blood
Under your pretty skin
Rise to your cheeks.
Instead, when he’s not looking,
Slash his tires in the parking lot.
Step Six: Stay In Shape
How else are you going to be able to survive
When the apocalypse comes
And its only you left
Step Seven: Focus on Your Education
So when the boys at school
Groan because they have to work with you on the English project
You can spit out verses of Shakespeare
And Frost
And Plath
And make them shake in their
Khaki shorts
Step Eight: Don’t Forget Where You Cme From
Don’t forget the hours
Your mother spent in labor
Pushing you through heaven’s doors
Don’t forget the women who came before you
The women who have tried so hard
To be the perfect girl
To collapse themselves into paper
To roll themselves like dough
Don’t forget those women,
Those girls.
Don’t forget to kiss your wrists each night
And say thank you to the stars.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
PSA: this is not a good poem, this is an explosion.
pacing
internal dialogue echoing within my fatty brain, overweight from months of stagnant vegetation.
one repetitive sentence feebly attempts to remove the attackers
“go away go away go away go away”
running
linoleum floors squeaking as my slippered feet find their grip,
praying that these feet don’t lead me to a kitchen full of knives, hungry to meet the stretch marks striping my newly obese thighs.
i’d rather have scars than these purple proofs of my inadequacy
the familiar hair-band meets my forearm for the first time in an age,
my vegetated brain slowly recognises this pattern from once before and the skills from months of therapy begin to kick in
breathe in
breathe out
falling
wondering how on earth i will live for seven more weeks
desperate to make my voice heard
but stumbling into silence as my head slams the wall and bounces off the floor
leaving me stuck in my own harrowing mind,
one that is far too tired, lonely and ill to fight for much longer.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
Timmy the tortoise shell
Lived a tortured hell
When he fell
And cracked his shell
As Timmy tortoise
Had a timid soul
That would spill
From the cracks
And stack in tow
But Timmy was a loner
Quick to ******
Closed the traps
Of deviants and attackers
With his snapper
Even happier
He'd turtle slap ya
But Tim's dapper days
Were done
He was a flapper in the ****
Of an overly populated pond
Technologicalcated and wrong
And it tinied t
Under its beams
Of ruining
Until he
Eventually
Was gone
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
I have forgiven my own attackers
Forgiven the one who cheated on me
Even though she told me to **** myself
That no one would come to love my scars
I battled long against my depression
Won some battles, some I have lost
The years have never been easy
Hatred could easily had swallowed me
I was molded by those now gone
A grandfather I loved with respect
He was not my true one by blood
He was a black African and he was proud
And Grampy, today I am missing you
You taught me who I would come to be
Some would only see you as a black man
My eyes only see you with pride
Abraham Rachid, your soul is always near
I feel you when I am needing you most
I reach out and I touch your spirit
Your soul always helps me to stand tall
Nov 17, 2009
Nov 17, 2009 at 11:24 PM UTC
In the cloak of the night
night....so barbarous and still
still many eyes presume to lurk
lurk for the tumultuous squeal.
Such a cry of vulnerability
vulnerability of lonely weakness
weakness....lures unjust evil
evil within a woeful bleakness.
Deep from the African bush
bush that conceals a enemy
enemy bearing a crucial task
task to invade the vicinity.
The smell of blood entices
entices the senses of hunters
hunters after a marred victim
victim freed by rams and bunters.
From one side to another
another enemy attacks hard
hard to escape such an attack
attack of a overwhelming bombard.
Action packed view from afar
afar from finely tuned sight
sight of a harsh...epic struggle
struggle of prey in a losing fight.
Time passes and the fight proceeds
proceeds to take upon a big turn
turn of some unexpected events
events the enemy has yet to learn
learn of the victim's inner strength
strength to overcome the worst
worst case scenario in the midst
midst of ****** wounds at burst.
As the distant view closes in
in what shows as such a mess
mess which contains a lioness
lioness in a battle of distress.
Her attackers are now revealed
revealed to be a clan of hyena's
hyena's that are hunger-crazed
crazed in Serengetti's hyped arena.
They nip and pick at her
her will only grows stronger
stronger than she's ever witnessed
witnessed her stamina bears longer
longer than her many foes
foes she begin to bring down
down one by one they fall
fall to her paws upon the ground.
She has awakened her power
power to ignore her injuries
injuries now are within the clan
clan of her relentless enemies.
More and more fall to her might
might the hyena's perish together
together they couldn't destroy her
her determination ignites as better
better than any has ever seen
seen the remaining hyena's run off
off, afraid, disappearing in the night.
Night soon turns to scorching day
day as she walks proud, but weak
weak among her lonesome to die
die within a bush she longs to seek
seek to lay in her comforting spot
spot to remedy her depleted life
life of a soul of entangled obstacles
obstacles of riddled....daily strife.
Now in peace she ascends up
up into her seraphic; feline humble
humble among her powerful kind
kind...she is...queen of the jungle.
©Michael P. Smith
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
*did you buy all of this on credit
and can you do without
going to ceremonies for awhile
look what higher learning
and empty rituals have given you
a distrust for humanity
and all that's truly valuable
are you a nihilist or a solipsist
what a life to be so twisted
like an elliptical esophagus
so strange the way we spell things
what would we do without
spellcheck or a dictionary these days
is a thesaurus a dinosaur or a literary device
the swelling went down
right in time for your dialectical revival
while didactic strange attractors are strangely repellent
selective attackers leave your marriages despondent
disparaged orthodontists leave fluids on your face
still you wipe your chin with sandpaper
and leave greasy finger stains in their place
fluoride is a bargain complete with its own argument
and quite often batteries are not included
but that doesn’t mean you’ll never use them
for what's a *** toy to do
if its lacking its adjacent latex compartments
or if you're really just not in the mood
i guess this human body will have to do
grooving to the music is all about our choosing to
becoming outdated or faded like a tax evader
these equations are meaningless
when you are fermented with libations
if you drink more amber liquid would you be negated
relevant for a moment and then
just as quickly discarded as a piece of paper
the receipts we diligently saved
are just as well used to light your fireplaces*
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 12:49 PM UTC
My roommate is leaving for the weekend
You and I have Fridays off
The beach is always open
But my apartment will be empty
Whatever shall we do
With this
Magnetism
We stepped past the point of no return
And still turned back
That was the last time I saw you
Whatever shall we do
With this
Ferocity
You kiss the same way I do
I'm scared and energized by your touch
What if you love the same way I do?
We'll never leave this place
Not until it looks like wartime ruins
Whatever shall we do
With this
Animal passion
Whatever shall we do
If we are both attackers
And neither of us victims
Whatever shall we do
With this place to ourselves
And nothing to interrupt us
Whatever shall we do
If both our palms are sweaty
At the thought of being alone
I mean
We can do
Whatever
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 2:44 PM UTC
lifeguards, free life vests, at least 15 lifeguards, always holding red flotation devices
always on the watch, telling little children to get out of the deep end
to give a rest break, a child looked faint, one guard approached, nothing
forever on the watch, no one gets hurt, required swim breaks,
guarding, guarding, keeping everyone so safe
I wondered how anyone could even cough water down the wrong pipe
here in this fully, totally, completely covered and safe lake and beach
waiting for an outdoor rinse, the screams of terror of a small child and tears
and then whack, whack, whack, and the crying increased and it took me
awhile to adjust, to reframe, that this, a deliberate endangerment, an infliction
of pain, could happen here, in a place so absolutely and intensely safe
but there is was again, the sound of striking and crying and harsh words in Spanish
and I gazed at the lifguards wetting down the sand where they had to walk to cool it
a lifeguard with that perfect surfer boy look, like the ones I grew up with
but again, the striking sound, in the relative darkness of the men's room
and a man followed by a tearful toddler emerged
the man looked like he's just performed a self satisfying act and the boy
followed him like a dog and I realize that
we as children are dogs, little animals who are abused
and follow our attackers home and live with them in order to survive
the man carried no obvious weapon, but I knew what he'd done
to be that two year old child, unable to soothe oneself, in a dark, strange room
with a man towering over him, inflicting pain for some trifle
I wondered what to do, but they walked by and dissapeared into the crowds of
picnics and music and the safe beach, with the lifeguards standing, always holding
their red flotation devices, all eyes staring at the water, the beach
it now did not look so safe at all
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
Writing, for me, is an escape.
An escape from the hatred that surrounds me.
An escape from the people who want to hurt me.
An escape from the people who send attackers after me.
An escape from the people who use others to get at me.
An escape from the darkness that lives within me.
An escape from the darkness that lives in you.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 3:26 AM UTC
As far as wars go
It's a bit of a bore,
But we are at war.
Trade war tariffs:
Monetary missiles,
Cyber attackers:
Heat-seeking hackers.
Yes, hot wars are so passé.
Cold wars,
So-called Star Wars:
All in the past.
Silent battlers
Not sabre rattlers.
Keyboard warriors
No F15s nor Harriers.
Masters of Sanctions
Not Masters of War.
Expelling diplomats
And tit-for-tats.
It's a new World War,
But it's a bore,
So pay attention,
Don't get complacent,
The war drones on.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 6:43 PM UTC
in a brief moment of silence
between the laughter and the violence
before my face was caught in brawl
after i said what i should not
right in the moment of misfortune
when i briefly felt tortured
right as i felt i was a ********
and then i collapsed down on my ***
in that moment of regret
why did i say what i have said
i should have thought about it first
and now my face got stamped with fists
but i guess we learn from our mistakes
attackers getting dragged away
im being asked if im okay
of course i am, it aint my first fist-crash
i shake it off and start acting like a ****** afresh
though his reaction was rather spastic
guess thats what i get for being actively sarcastic
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 5:40 PM UTC
Ever feel like a party *******
stuck in the middle of two attackers?
One relying on the party crakcer to get the information across?
stuck in the middle of everything, like your being tossed?
Both sides fighting constantly while the one in the middle gets hurt,
and has to bear with the pain and the pass a long information,
why do you have to fight?
Why can't you make amends?
it's not like you've ever known what it's like to be a party *******
tearing as you put more pressure on both sides,
won't i break to?
I hope you know i won't be able to last forever.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 9:13 AM UTC
If I could step into the shoes of the women on this earth whose hearts are being thrown against walls by men, I would
I would shake the roots of their houses and cave them in, crushing the trauma where it happened
I would screech till my abusers ears bled from the sounds he forced out of me
Take tape and wind it round your body, over thigh, across breast, leaving holes for your mouth, ears and eyes
They can't stop you
They can't shut you down
Beautiful women who are being forced to regress from diamonds back to coal
I am with you
I am your heart and your voice
I will not leave you
We will sharpen knives together and slit the throats of the people who dare glance down our bodies,
Taking in everything but our eyes
Like a shark sniffs for blood
No predator can look it's victim in the eye as it kills it
So stare into your attackers face so he will see his emptiness reflected in your gaze
Hear his soul leave with your death rattle
Do not die in vain
Beautiful women around the world
Fight with the goddess-strength within you
Never back down
We are the portals that transport mortals into this dimension
We are the creators
We give life and we can take it away
With this kind of power who are you to give in, to submit
You are a wildfire, a storm, a tsunami
Show your true colours
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 7:35 AM UTC
The past is never too far behind:
We can never live it down
According to Doctor B . Ford
It’s unbearable:
It’s haunting, it’s inerasable:
For the victims to relived
those terrible nightmare:
in hopes that it they will go away
Somehow it never does
The worst is to see your attackers
Smiling, and moving on to higher ranks
Youth was wasted on the young,
Privilege children: overindulgence few
Not so wealth, not so wise
Today their party until dawn
In the future they wouldn’t remember
An old folks saying
What sweeten the goat mouth?
Would burn its tail end
The higher the monkey climbs
His tail becomes visible:
As you move up the ladder,
Your party buddies will grudge you
Your past will haunts you
Your hidden secret will be found:
Youth is wasted on the young,
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
She’s in sequence
She’s jumping off the deep end
She’s the consequence
She thinks the perfect nonsense
She’s sick of hearing everything I have to say about her psychiatric condition
But I’m not on a mission
To bring her down or **** around or even tamper with the sound waves
So it don’t bother when the ground shakes
Its not a medical mystery
Its not a magical cure for inconvenient diseases
She’s in sequence
Defending all her reasons
Incredibly illogical
They cycle with the seasons
She’s terrified of listening to anyone who notices her crumbling psyche
That’s why it is likely
She’s in sequence, there is no real defense
I wonder if I’m right will she confess it in the present tense
I wanna know why its so impossible now
That her disorder is actually still lingering around
But when subjective absolution comes into the picture
Its hard to understand why she’d deny the scriptures
Of the cobweb concrete convex cortex
Infinite contraction of the brain mountain vortex
She’s in sequence
She won’t admit her weakness
She’s in sequence
Aborting the experience
She’s in sequence
There’s nothing left but sickness
She’s in sequence
She’s in sequence
I don’t care if James Joyce forged her polygraph
I don’t care if Andy Warhol wrote her epitaph
I don’t care if there is nothing left
She’s the most complete person I have ever met
Living without undeniable evidence
Sleeping on top of mechanical pressure pins
Learning to vindicate absolute evil
I wonder how long it will take to make medicine
There is no cure for diseases like these
Only research that robs the last shred of my sanity
I could be vivid when I sell my sympathy
Argument solid I’ll sell it as therapy
Insanity, closure, illusions confuse her
A buffer for paranoid silent attackers
Sentient fiction a battle with friction
A story redundant with each new rendition
A messianic prophecy a weight upon her shoulders
She’s trying to be with someone who cannot even hold her
She treats me like I’m just another one in lin
She makes me feel like I’m wasting her time
She’s in sequence
She’s jumping off the deep end
She’s the consequence
She thinks the perfect nonsense
She’s sick of hearing everything I have to say about her psychiatric condition
But I’m not on a mission
To bring her down or **** around or even tamper with the sound waves
So it don’t bother when the ground shakes
Its not a medical mystery
Its not a magical cure for inconvenient diseases
She’s in sequence
She won’t admit her weakness
She’s in sequence
Aborting the experience
She’s in sequence
There’s nothing left but sickness
She’s in sequence
She’s in sequence
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
Scaling walls,
attackers cry out,
shout,
with hate-twirled love.
Arrayed in haste,
defending spears ******
They must,
finding targets in the haze.
The fortress is impregnable,
its walls miles abreast.
A nest,
snugly holding him inside.
The ruler surveys alone,
sees the death,
forgetting his breath.
Sometimes he wishes
that his defenses were overrun.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 2:19 AM UTC
*All I wanted was a night out on the town with her
With all the love and adoration that I promised her
Fitted cap on my head, felt like a trend setter
A mental slap from my momma; I should’ve known better.
Picked her up, and I was starin’ at her gorgeous outfit
Her fitted top, her cotton blouse, and lookin’ fine without it
Honored to stand beside her, I didn’t mind the clues
I found her very attractive wearin’ designer shoes
Took her out to dinner, we’re conversin’,
Lobster in citric acid – she devours, thinks it’s worth it
The in-house chef comes at our table and asks,
“This is the fifth time you’ve ordered,
So can you make this your last?”
The check is at our table; I offer to pay for it
She doesn’t even glance, pullin’ out her phone
I noticed her nails; she paid a lot for ‘em
Dinner was very painful
She wants me over? I'm startin' to see her fatal halo
On our way to her place, a man was gettin’ robbed
I’m shoutin’ at the attackers - she’s actin’ very odd
Tell her to call the cops to try and get these boys to stop,
“Sorry but I’m in a hurry! I’ll see you at the spot.”
Ten minutes later I’m racin’, and knockin’ at her door,
Reachin’ her place and I notice she’s pacin’ back and forth,
She’s on the phone with a ***** who stole her ex from her
Angry detonation soon as she got a text from her
She tells a “Jada” on the phone, ***** I don’t give a ****
Jada responds “wantin' to let you know and wish you luck.”
But you can tell that she was jealous of Jada’s position
Her ex is treatin’ her better, happy with his decision
I’m wonderin’ what happened; turns out that Jada’s pregnant
“She thinks I care about that, knowin’ that I resent him!”
She claims she’s better than Jada in every single way
With self-respect and sayin’ prayers every single day
Seekin’ some validation, she’s beggin’ for a kiss
Intimate opportunity, she’s hopin’ not to miss
Her sweet, angel hazel eyes are lookin’ sour ‘cause
I’m just exhausted and feelin’ the witchin’ hour buzz
She lashes out; I see the reason why this girl is single
Admits to cheatin’ on her ex and so she’s out to mingle
Pulls out a lash and then proclaims that I should punish her?!
I’m out the door within’ seconds cause I’m so done with her!*
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
i was brutally attacked
the other day
though people were unable to see my wounds
i was assaulted by words
strung together in careless sentences
they made vicious weapons
of various differences
these word solders lined up
ready and eager
when they attacked
it was graceful and ruthless
the solders
burnt
my mind
slashed
my self-consciousness
left my feelings
gasping for breath
pummeled my heart
the wielder of these word solders
was blind to my brimming tears
and hurt expressions
as my attackers continued
to rip my insides
i had to
protect my fort
from further damage
i ushered my mind into a cellar,
carried my
self-consciousness and gasping feelings
into the doors of my heart
here:
it was total lockdown
windows were shuttered
doors were double locked
my retreat was noticed
they now knew damage was done
but not the
spectrum it was on
they knew enough to see it hurt.
they strolled up to my heart in lock-down
slowly with a white flag
as they came closer i unlocked and looked
through the peephole
there they were
asking "what's wrong?"
saying sorry in a roundabout way
i opened the door for them to enter
we embraced
i took a closer look at the flag
it was white
but around the edges
it was red
there would be more attacks where this came from
//... //
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
remember,
love vanquishes all attackers
even when the guy next to you smells
like sour milk
and rancid pinto beans from 1989
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
i use social media as an outlet for my emotions
the only problem is that
most of my mixed feelings develop because
of subtweets and
photos of girls who are not me
isnt it funny?
how the apps on our phones are
both the sickness and the cure
no
you will not go to heaven,
you will eternally reside in
your saved drafts on twitter
i dare you to post your most embarrassing
mine?
"do you ever look at the man you used to love
and wonder why on earth he doesnt cut his hair
and why he started wearing bermuda jorts"
its more embarrassing for him
my love life is now at my finger tips
do you know how many guys want to love
the girl they met on tinder who
hides behind her poetry
and uses harry potter as an escape mechanism?
none
i dared one to text me at midnght
between mispelled words and shots
he completed the phrase
i love .... euphamisms
like when your former self dies you call it
growing up instead of suicide
not my type
i cant stand when people cough in class
it reminds me of choking on
words
my words - the ones i say when i'm not supposed to
or the ones i should've said but never did
all of my pictures are captioned with
phrases and song lyrics that
i read in your voice
i wish that record wasn't broken
i wish i was a wizard
truly i do
with spells like
impedimenta (to slow down your attackers)
i wonder if it would slow down the voices in my head
i wonder if it could slow down you leaving
or my breathing (or lack thereof)
this wasn't meant to be emotional,
but with the world like this
how could you NOT cry
ive spent more nights in the bar bathroom
than i have in my own bed
its true how they say big events are
the most intimate
madi hahn - party of 1
or party of 761
if you count the followers who favorite my
tweets about dying
no one relates to happy poetry
why?
because no one is happy
because. no. one. is. happy.
its a facade - a mask, we hide behind
but then the clock strikes midnight
we're back daring stupid guys
to tell us **** about ourselves that we already know
we burn holes into screens trying to be relatable
we lose the best versions of ourselves
and
we are fine with it as long as
we recieve our fair share of attention
we deserve it
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 2:53 AM UTC