"bachelors" poems
We, the people of this country, in your eyes are:
babblers, bachelors, bafflers, baiters, barkers,
beakers, beaters, brawlers, blamers, beggars,
bloaters, bloopers, bombers, boozers, blunders,
bruisers, bafflers, bluffers, burglars and burners.
That's why you feel compelled to keep your foot on our heads
keep us down, put us down, push us down
subjugate us, belittle us, berate us.
We, the people of this country, in our eyes are:
butlers, bouncers, bakers, buyers, barbers,
cake-makers, delivery-takers, cocktail-shakers,
taxi drivers, cancer survivors, employers and hirers,
music makers, entertainers, window washers, foster takers,
plasterers, carpenters, scaffolders, sparks and builders,
boxers, carers, coaches, tailors, shoe makers,
designers, illustrators, multi-language facilitators,
dog walkers, dog trainers, bikers and cycle couriers,
doctors and nurses and all the emergency services.
We are the People, the reason you are where you are now
you sometimes forget that we exist as people, somehow
locked in your ivory towers with gold plated showers
and MP expenses and investment banker pretenses
this is not theater, its real life drama, its not just a bluff
its time to stand up
and say enough is enough.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
The cocktail dress split hope down the screen
Letting that reoccurring dream compel me
Into memories of you
The clink of my cup
Shattered sobriety with the pain of daybreak
The ice looks like crystal but only something that will disappear and overflow your glass is standing at attention
The bar stool cracked, empty and the faux leather ripped, and torn
Cougars and MILFs strut down the bar top
Scanning tonight’s bachelors
I sit behind, for my dress is long and flannel
Heavy, hot making me sweat and stink
I run faster than a cheetah in my mind
Tearing doors and bridges apart
Speeding towards the sunrise
Attempting for the *** of gold
The cocktail drips from the table on to the floor
A puddle I will eventually slip from
Hair in my face
My ankle sundress reaped with alcohol
I stand up, look around
Towel?
But all I see is you
Walking back slowly retreating to the door
Leaving me to deal and regret the decisions
I so poorly execute
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 5:29 PM UTC
Two old Bachelors were living in one house;
One caught a Muffin, the other caught a Mouse.
Said he who caught the Muffin to him who caught the Mouse,--
'This happens just in time! For we've nothing in the house,
'Save a tiny slice of lemon nd a teaspoonful of honey,
'And what to do for dinner--since we haven't any money?
'And what can we expect if we haven't any dinner,
'But to loose our teeth and eyelashes and keep on growing thinner?'
Said he who caught the Mouse to him who caught the Muffin,--
'We might cook this little Mouse, if we had only some Stuffin'!
'If we had but Sage andOnion we could do extremely well,
'But how to get that Stuffin' it is difficult to tell'--
Those two old Bachelors ran quickly to the town
And asked for Sage and Onions as they wandered up and down;
They borrowed two large Onions, but no Sage was to be found
In the Shops, or in the Market, or in all the Gardens round.
But some one said,--'A hill there is, a little to the north,
'And to its purpledicular top a narrow way leads forth;--
'And there among the rugged rocks abides an ancient Sage,--
'An earnest Man, who reads all day a most perplexing page.
'Climb up, and seize him by the toes!--all studious as he sits,--
'And pull him down,--and chop him into endless little bits!
'Then mix him with your Onion, (cut up likewise into Scraps,)--
'When your Stuffin' will be ready--and very good: perhaps.'
Those two old Bachelors without loss of time
The nearly purpledicular crags at once began to climb;
And at the top, among the rocks, all seated in a nook,
They saw that Sage, a reading of a most enormous book.
'You earnest Sage!' aloud they cried, 'your book you've read enough in!--
'We wish to chop you into bits to mix you into Stuffin'!'--
But that old Sage looked calmly up, and with his awful book,
At those two Bachelors' bald heads a certain aim he took;--
and over crag and precipice they rolled promiscuous down,--
At once they rolled, and never stopped in lane or field or town,--
And when they reached their house, they found (besides their want of Stuffin',)
The Mouse had fled;--and, previously, had eaten up the Muffin.
They left their home in silence by the once convivial door.
And from that hour those Bachelors were never heard of more.
3k
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
New birthdays new babi es
Marriages are graduations:
Promotions for bachelors & bacheloerettes
A new morning gone
I'm moving on, I'm moving on
A death, a crash, a disease
Goodbye Sparky, goodbye
Births followed by deaths followed by
Commercial breaks, cups of coffee and
back to more happy, happy
birthdays.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
You are not cute Poem
3/5/2014
“You are cute.”
No.
Cute is a creature,
A little woodland chipmunk,
And I have news for you.
I don’t eat acorns or live my life in that wrong tree you’re barking up.
I’m not the poster child of a PETA campaign.
No.
Cute is a bow on a neatly packaged gift.
One with some fancy pattern.
And I have news for you.
There is nothing neat about this package, nor is it seasonal,
It won’t arrive on your doorstep for a special occasion.
I’m packaged with so many deep layers you couldn’t have it open in time for next year’s Christmas.
No.
Cute is young and unprofessional.
A little child playing with toys.
And I have news for you.
I’m not your toy.
You can’t pick me up to play, at your convenience, to then drop me on the floor forgotten.
And I’m a grown *** man – nothing cute about hangovers, hair loss, bills to pay, and unwashed laundry.
No.
Cute is not what we should aim for.
Cute is a one-liner and I am a Master’s Thesis.
Cute is what you’ll say before you cruise me online, ***** me, and then you’ll try to use me.
I’ll tell you what is cute though – you feeding me such a shallow compliment,
When really you should be treating me to the five-course conversation.
Ask me about my credentials darling,
Bachelors Degree with double majors,
working on law school and a PhD.
And finally, No.
I’m not **** *** ***** ‘tool,’ ‘trick,’ or **** either…
That’s only on Tuesdays.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
she opens a pack of
sheffield english type number five cigarettes
i rest my head in her lap
as she reads a french newspaper
its raining in paris and theres a girl there who is unhappy
dreams of romantic places never have sad girls in them
she must be a tourist
she sips some strange brew of teas
that has a heavy bouquet
loam and flowers..like a sweet wine
she suddenly laughs and translates a piece of the
french news for me
but i dont hear what she says
i only hear the rich beauty of her voice
i only hear the captivating beauties of her
i lean up and kiss her
she tastes of the sea and english cigarettes
i am lost in her essence and her her girlish delights
she pokes me and makes me look at a photograph in
the paris newspaper...its the sad girl
she looks english
that graceful beautiful elegant sadness
that only english girls can speak without ever saying a word
jezebel sips her tea and smokes her english sheffield cigarette
holding it like girls hold cigarettes in that dainty way
i forget the english girl and her sadness
as i lay looking into the eyes of this dreadlock hippie queen
janis joplin plays softly from her mp3
shes tapping her bejewelled toes to the ancient music
bachelors in literature she loves the written word
she has read everything ever written by anyone
she has read her way through forty years worth of poetry by me
and corrected my atrocious spelling along the way
this is morning in her arms
now you know why i am so in love with her
now you see why she is everything to me
she leans down and lays a single tender kiss on my cheek
and tells me she loves me
this is heaven
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
When is the final round?
Conception Semesters Birth
Sit Crawl First step
Crèche Primary Secondary
Bachelors Honours Masters
Junior Senior Manager
Lust Love Family
Unemployed Gainful Pension
Plan Experience Memory
∞
When is the final round?
Field Farm Fort
Tack Gravel Tar road
Rural Remote Urban
Wood Rock Concrete jungle
Developing Established Revitalization
White Multi racial Black
Conservative Liberal Decadent
Pretoria Tshwane Tshwane Metro
∞
When is the final round?
Bushmen Dutch British
Colony Union Republic
Native Settlers Previously disadvantaged
Undiscovered Developed Commercial
Subsistence Commercial Corporation
Oppressed Equal Masters
Apartheid Democracy Socialistic rule
Logical Confused Insane
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 1:48 AM UTC
The rhyme of the poet
Modulates the king's affairs,
Balance-loving nature
Made all things in pairs.
To every foot its antipode,
Each color with its counter glowed,
To every tone beat answering tones,
Higher or graver;
Flavor gladly blends with flavor;
Leaf answers leaf upon the bough,
And match the paired cotyledons.
Hands to hands, and feet to feet,
In one body grooms and brides;
Eldest rite, two married sides
In every mortal meet.
Light's far furnace shines,
Smelting ***** and bars,
Forging double stars,
Glittering twins and trines.
The animals are sick with love,
Lovesick with rhyme;
Each with all propitious Time
Into chorus wove.
Like the dancers' ordered band,
Thoughts come also hand in hand,
In equal couples mated,
Or else alternated,
Adding by their mutual gage
One to other health and age.
Solitary fancies go
Short-lived wandering to and fro,
Most like to bachelors,
Or an ungiven maid,
Not ancestors,
With no posterity to make the lie afraid,
Or keep truth undecayed.
Perfect paired as eagle's wings,
Justice is the rhyme of things;
Trade and counting use
The serf-same tuneful muse;
And Nemesis,
Who with even matches odd,
Who athwart space redresses
The partial wrong,
Fills the just period,
And finishes the song.
Subtle rhymes with ruin rife
Murmur in the house of life,
Sung by the Sisters as they spin;
In perfect time and measure, they
Build and unbuild our echoing clay,
As the two twilights of the day
Fold us music-drunken in.
2.2k
Sine waves, perpetual motion
Centripetal force, density of the ocean
Associates, Bachelors
Student Ambassadors
Register, register, schedules, grades
Grants and scholarships, tuition is paid
No snooze button, turn off the alarm
Losing some sleep. It's ok, though, no harm
Friendly teachers and **** instructors
Digital logic and semiconductors
Homework, classwork, essays, papers
Last minute class of procrastinators
Get up, get blazed. 'Fore school, 'nutha blunt
High while accepting student of the month
Higher than you, and my grades, too, are higher
How smart would I be if I put out the fire?
Gen. Ed., English, Mathematics, Psychology
Now on to the good stuff, much richer chronology
Top of my class, highest grade in the program
In just a few years, I'll have money in BOTH hands
This hand-to-mouth **** ain't for me
I'm tired of living week-to-week
Broke, tired, and hungry day after day
But when payday comes, it'll be here to stay
You don't have to do as I do
But my feet are too small to fill these big shoes
If you think I can't fill them, then surely you're trippin'
But do whatcha do, cause my burgers need flippin'
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC
born poverty stricken,
she lay her head on no mattress..
still she sung along to mary j. blige, like religious practice..
Stronger with each tear was the motto,
&so; she shed..
Because its hard to have dreams when you don't have a bed..
Its hard to have food for thought when you cant afford bread.
& the local Goodwill is dead..
Her speech was absurdly intact, & well spoken.
you would assume a girl trapped like that, wouldn't be open,
Yet.
Just 14, she showed potential of a graduate, beyond bachelors.
&& in our city record deals are the only time we owned Masters.
beneath those hazel eyes. there lies an old soul,
told,
by her surroundings her future was a pole.
bold,
in her approach, how she stripped away the cold.
now dances in the daisies, dodging Hades, never sold.
&this; is no figment of imagination,
how her eyes hazel pigment,
had the power to judge a nation.
Because she woke up daily, prepared as **** for that math test..
Though she was born poverty stricken, lay her head on no mattress..
-afj
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
there are good souls in this world
shrouded in weathered skin
dry and cracked
with scowls hung upon their face
balancing on the scars of their brow
just as there are bad souls in this world
hiding under plush skin
their faces adorned with kind eyes and
cherry red lips made for kissing
or spitting with rage
picture a gorgeous brunette
with fair skin, bold eyebrows
and her hair in a subtle
yet nineteen-thirties style updo
wearing a red chiffon summer dress
the sun beats down on her
as she glistens with light perspiration
espresso in-hand cigarette in the other
her pale soft skin no match for
the thirty degree heat outside
of this café she nonchalantly finds herself
she is the epitome of carefree beauty
she kicked her lovers dog outside this morning
exiling him to a six hour long toilet break
after she "forgot" she had let him out
before leaving to go shopping
whilst her feller finished his shift
because the dog is old and smelly
and gets almost as much attention as her
she even saw his pensioner neighbour
struggling to take the bins out
as she walked to her car
and laughed rather than help
because she always
thought Mary was a no good Jew
she even called her Mrs. Goldstein
"Have a nice day Mrs. Goldstein."
but Mary's surname is Cohen
picture this beautiful girl a siren
leading good men astray
she can get any man she wants
and plucks only the finest
most succulent
I mean successful
and well put together men
from gardens of bachelors
maturing in the hardships of city life
she has plenty choice but she's fickle
you see, her man has to be almost perfect
for it to be as enjoyable as possible
to watch his life unravel and unfold
into everything he wanted it not to be
achievable only through toxic beauty
her joy is venom soaked insides
of lovers caught in a sultry web
of lies, ambition and ***
she loves a scandal
or a text sent to the wrong person
and she has everything to hide
but does nothing to do so
she gets by just fine
being beautiful and sickening
and sickeningly beautiful
you know the sort
she is a bad, bad girl
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 9:07 PM UTC
Alice has
Been broken up with
Constantly on the first
Date because the
Elligible bachelors make her
Fail to
Give a good first impression
Heaven knows
In time she’ll learn how to
Jonas wants to live a
Keynote moment with a special
Lady even if she’s
Mad because to him
Nothing is working
Out the way it should
Presently the universe is producing
Quietly Alice and Jonas’
Relationship
Sunday morning
They met
Under the pouring rain sourrounded by animals
Vows
Were soon exchanged
Xanax was needed to calm down Alice that day
You should know that today they are taking their kid to a
Zoo where they first met
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
Some poets have degrees,
Be they Bachelors or Phds.
But a poet, a poet is really qualified by experience,
And the ability to distil language to the dance of written form,
To transpose observations into song.
Etching stretches of moments too short,
Into something long enough to match the longing for it.
Weaving yearning with touches of genius,
Abstracting epiphanies from cracks in the pavement,
Extending the halls of learning by
Stencilling truths onto toilet walls,
So that even to **** is to experience the profound.
A poet is one who can make meaning out of madness,
Pluck obscurities from the air, exposing the bindings of being,
Or explain how words, in their whirling make the world go round.
But a poet, a poet does not understand that ache inside,
That ache that drives them to write, to whisper and to yell
Words, metaphors and similies, in the constant attempt
To quantify that special kind of hell,
That haunts them, as ravings in their head,
That inspiration that is their constant torment.
And sometimes, sometimes its heaven instead,
But that’s when it’s hardest to write
Because suffering, when transformed to stanzas,
Is somehow easier to ignite
Than that intangible something we call joy.
For something as simple as a smile
Cannot be matched by any extravaganza
Of words no matter how we try.
But a poet, a poet will spend lifetimes trying
To describe that very sensation, that fleeting
Sense of something greater than oneself, greater,
Even than the offerings left in ink at the poet’s
Altar of a page.
And sometimes it will be so hard, this attempt to transcribe
Emotion into a form decipherable to others
That the poet will feel only rage,
And exhaustion,
Till even the point of the pen begins to expire
But a poet, a poet, even in the pits of despair,
Does not retire,
For there, lingering somewhere
Above in the air, is a glimmer of truth
Just waiting to be shared.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 8:06 AM UTC
There is dirt mixed with blood
Underneath our fingernails
Our life is mixed with mud
While we fight and flail
The struggle is for my agency
Otherwise I feel they're ****** me
I feel they are replacing me
With an imposition of their will
Love as vast as the sea
Wouldn't get them their fill
Their emotions they ****
For a ****** thrill
That could be achieved by a pill
But instead they use power
For they understand in this hour
There is a mentality
Of fatality
Where we minimize our enemies to their negative desires
So we can build with our allies oppressive empires
Until the whole world is on fire
And these rapists can do as they please
When it's systemic they do it with ease
In a world without trust
They are the beneficiaries
They care only for lust
With actions incendiary
Burning the forest they hide in
Where our secrets provide their shade
Because overwhelming suspicion pervades
The image of all strangers
We see only danger
And our judgement is skewed
When everybody is considered a ******
Yet there are only a few
There is a moment
When I make a ****** decision
I am not sure what the recipient's reaction will be
There are two negative extremes to this situation:
1. I will **** them
2. They will falsely accuse me of ****
Our ****** lives are navigating these issues of trust
Between those extremes
But when our definition of ****
Starts to define the victim's comfort
As more important than the violator's intent
We show an unwillingness to understand and a bias
Which would give anyone reason to not trust someone
And the ****** atmosphere becomes one of uncertainty
People get into relationships so they don't have to worry about it
But bachelors must consider these things
**** victims must too
As well as the man sitting in prison for fraudulent claims
One has been illegally *****
The other has been ***** legally
I'd imagine both might see a world of rapists afterwards
Yet there are only a few
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 6:37 AM UTC
bewilderment, many more women than men, and still so few a man committing polygamy, it's almost like the mirroring of so many men committing suicide; the loss of the practice of polygamy leaves so many men committing suicide prematurely, leaving so many women alive to give the abnormal ratio without an actual diseased cause of death of men, hence the statistics.
just when you start enjoying it,
you stop,
there are so many going to restaurants,
but you're just a turkey
readied for stuffing,
you gorge on it
like traffic in Hinduism with
the holy cow that's a pedestrian
in England...
chomp and chop the food
like a toilet blockage,
you eat it without a palette,
no cheese and crackers after,
no candlelight, no wine,
it's a strange looking necessity,
esp. once digested;
it's as necessary as death for your
engagement: you have to eat,
you have to die...
i eat to add to the insomnia cure
because i should but can't pay alimony
payments because an engagement is
not lawfully enforced...
chemists are natural bachelors,
i told you, but you wouldn't
understand...
you were the ******* of youth,
the girl aged thirteen prone to suicide
and still the many numbers of men
committing to the act of suicide...
the law is in your favour, since you're
the incubator of it, the womb,
any rich **** can provide the Semitic root
of it all, cutting the excess skin of genitalia
of one *** whether ******** or ********
you think you won't get anti-ontological
behaviour? if what was intended was intended
and you play and revise the **** thing,
do you think the answering reason will
not look ridiculous enough to not attract ridicule
like a cow and flies, ready to spawn maggots
in the wet eye sockets?
you must be joking then!
monotheism was born in the halo
of revising mankind, abraham's snipping
isaac's "excess" skin...
it took place there... but revising a second
time with female circumcision...
well, revising humanity like that
gave us all the possible abominations accessible...
how can you teach the origin of man
with that ugly aesthetic of being furry
and a blunted snout of the gorilla
and not wonder why revising man
to an over-eager representation of engaging in ***
not combine into a holocaust...
you steal the sheath of the sword from the sword,
you'll find it constantly warring,
because that's what circumcision did,
it stole the sheath of the sword...
and no, this isn't crude imagery, ******
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
As I began to climb the campus stairs,
All alone with a numb ache-
A depression blocked those minute vessels,
That carries my vital fluid that frequently thins.
A kind of a genetic disorder that robs me off-
All of my terrible hormones that loses competition,
A competition so heroic called youth,
That settles the score of my ****** life.
A physical length that reduces me to a dwarf,
Almost an intelligent ape that snubs too-
And cannot have biology with another species,
That adores a disqualified creature of its size.
What can make me happy?
What do I want then?
Shall I need those beautiful preachers of opposite genes?
Shall I claim their eminence in my life?
Or leave them for those eligible bachelors?
As I landed my nose in the campus pillars,
And nobody cared but me-
A stimulus recoiled and resurrected those minute vessels,
That carries my vital fluid that became viscous again.
Oct 29, 2010
Oct 29, 2010 at 2:28 AM UTC
Sentimental,
A touch of my soul with fingertips lurid,
Passionate, fiery, awake!
Stroke my soul with dying cornflowers,
Bachelors' buttons washed out!
Once moist and fresh,
Death by dehydration of suns heat destroyed!
Meadow was brightly biting harsh,
Piercing bright,
Once lightly fragrant ,
Hurling wishes at aqua acquaintance,
Share loves wishes and kisses with my soul,
As I sit I live and breathe,
So she will survive,
Burning with sun washed love,
She's alive!
Laced with crushed velvet, in royal blue,
Speckled scarlet tinged, stained,
Heart in tamponade,
Engulfed, crushed, warm blood soaked,
Drenched in loves' colourful array.
Fragility personified honestly,
Soft, warming, comforting,
Only for you!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
Secret agent.
Agent provocateur.
She's got herself a boyfriend now.
A human sacrifice to free.
Taken yet another lover.
Life chucked her on a rolling ball.
A downhill rat,she's running.
Cunning hits and crazy fits.
My God, that girl is stunning.
Thought she had it all and more.
Said cornflowers just ain't like like that, twiddling on the Bachelors Buttons.
Life chucked her on a rolling ball.
A down hill rat,she's running.
Cunning hits and crazy fits.
My God, that girl is stunning.
She makes no broken promises.
Stormy seas are for riding,
Forbidden to be free.
You who were perfection.
Crazy notion, love devotion.
Riding on a carousel.
For she's the lady Moriarty.
She's willing for the ****
(c) Livvi
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
i'm so sorry mom
that he did that to you
and that he's doing it to me
you deserved the world
but it was taken from beneath you
an all-star athlete
with a bright future
descended into drugs
and most importantly love
with an abused child
that grew into a hard edged man
who drank to much
and left without answers
this man we both love
but understand he will not change
he has a sickness
that will never be treated
this man we all love
has so much love
is so pure
yet was forced to be a man
at a young age of toy cars and bicycles
i feel so sorry for him
didn't graduate high school
drank at the age of 13
only to continue bad habits
his father spread to him
such a beautiful soul
that will be forever lost
i am so grateful mom
that you took me from this evil
the evil he didn't mean to create
maybe it hasn't been perfect but it's better than it would have been
away from the drugs
and the *****
and the band
you got your life together
i should understand
that maybe you don't understand
that I'm okay with my body
and i like having curves
Like we accept father for who he is
how he will never change
i should do the same with you
although this life hasn't been "perfect"
i'm still on the way to get a bachelors degree
thanks to you mom
thanks for reading me books
going to all the track meets
and letting me break down in your arms
it ****** me off when you criticize my body
and my clothing choice
but thank you mom
for not dropping into the darkness
and taking me with you
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 3:56 AM UTC
Stweeet
Stweeet
The insects drum
And fiddle
And strum
And sing
Their organic beat
Matching time with my heart
Thump
Thump
My heart's a bass
It plucks a simple beat
But it plays loud,
For you,
The soulful passion
Of my inner soul
It's Nature's love song
The primal rave
The ancient celebration
With the lights
Of the stars
And the coolness
Of the wind
And the...
Stweeet
Thump
Stweeet
Thump
Of the lonely
Bachelors
Calling out for you,
Their sacred love
Serenading you
With lover's lullaby
Stweeeet
Stweeet
Stweet
Sweet Dreams, Dear;
From your million courtiers
Playing in the dark,
Good Night
Sep 20, 2010
Sep 20, 2010 at 11:17 AM UTC
We were on our way back from the movie theater. "Star Wars: The Force Awakens" was all anyone could talk about, and I went to see it with you for the second time. It was during our drive home when I realized that our timing was off.
We tried to make things work. We tried to make them work twice. But you and I were like messy children wreaking havoc into each other's lives, only to leave the place in a furry. We were the storm and the storm chasers. We were something chaotic and we loved to rival in the disarray.
Again, I knew our timing was off. I knew it when you kissed me goodnight. I knew it when Han Solo was killed by his own son. I knew it when you put me on hold for the next two weeks. I knew our timing was off when I looked at you and came to terms with breaking things off.
Really, looking at you was like seeing myself, but only in a more masculine form. We were each other's reflection in many areas of life. Some sections were good... others were flawed. But, when I looked at the scruff on your chin and realized that I didn't know if I wanted this to be my "forever", I knew we were off.
There was a lot going into this whole "timing" thing. I was almost finished with my Bachelors, while you were just getting back into school. You were struggling with a dead-end job, and I was well on my way to the workplace. I was ready to settle down. You were getting ready to figure out who you were. I knew what it took to build a healthy relationship, but you weren't willing to put the time and effort into it. You see? Everything was... off.
That didn't mean I wanted to be like ships passing in the night. I didn't want a few months of your company to end nowhere. I sure as hell didn't want us to turn into some sort of "life lesson" I would teach my kids about one day. I was willing to work on things. That is, until you didn't make me a priority... of any sort.
And, we ended on a good note. At least, I like to consider it good. There wasn't any yelling or waterworks. We talked as we always did. We agreed to staying friends. As cliche as that sounds, I'm hoping it'll stay true.
I hope you remember the good we had. Remember how it felt to hold someone and know that they understood you. Remember how it felt to laugh over mindless jokes once more. If anything, reminisce on the "sunshine" I was within the short span of our meeting. We both agreed that there was something or Someone pulling us together. There had to be some sort of meaning behind all of this.
Recalling how it felt to wake up next to you was a dream in and of itself; one that may swing back around in a year or two. Part of me hopes that you will return a changed man. But... only time will tell.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC
So many paths I could have taken.
So many things I might have tried.
Somehow I ended up where I am
and I just don’t know why.
I could have stayed in Morgantown
and earned my bachelors in getting high,
or gone to Maharishi
and let them teach me how to fly.
I could have done a million things
and I can’t help but wonder why,
why I chose the path I chose,
if this is all still just a lie.
I could have picked up and moved to Arizona
or Charlottesville Va.
lived in a ****** apartment
and worked for minimum wage.
I can’t help but write these stories
and watch them play out in my head
of everything that might have happened
of all the lives I might have led.
And I can’t help but wonder
where I might be today
if I had done things differently,
if I had chosen to walk away.
Instead I’m still here in this same town
where I have always been,
a town that will never understand me,
a town where I just don’t fit in.
All these options I’ve considered.
Still I can’t figure out
what I should be doing with my life
what I’m really all about.
Maybe one day I will find a path
to take me where I want to go
or perhaps I’ll wander all my life.
I guess you never really know.
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 3:17 AM UTC
In an understanding of woman's intuition as it sinks,
Passion flowers petals fall,
As bachelors blue buttons diminshed, dishevelled tumble from grace,
In a heap of crumpled calico,
White and pure,
Used to mop the tears of weeping doom,
Tears sealed with loneliness extreme,
Forever and eternal in a never ending dream,
In a world of sacred senesce,
Where true love vanishes into the mist of time,
Erased by darkness,
Reminscent remnants of nightmares,
Which once invaded two sweet hearts,
Love in reality being doli-incapax, as she's novel,
So new so young so fresh!
(Doli-Incapax, means incapable of evil in Latin, it is a legal term discussing the age of a child to have criminal responsibility, I just thought that as my love is new and young that it was an apt expression to use to describe the fact that love doesn't have the intention of being evil, some logic in here somewhere! )
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 4:01 AM UTC
I want people to know I came this way,
I am going to make something of myself some day.
and I'm fighting every 24 hours only against me, the person I was yesterday. Yet my failures everyday make improvement seem so far away.
But I'll make it happen, I have to.
I'll follow my dreams I wanna see.
Despite the fact that I am a high school drop out and failed multiple classes,
Despite the fact that I am prone to depression,
Despite the facts that some don't believe I can do it,
Despite the fact that I am diagnosed with A.D.D.
Despite the fact that I have an addictive past,
Despite the fact that I have a lower than minimal wage job,
Despite the fact that I have no college degree
Despite all this, I WILL BE SUCCESSFUL.
At the moment,
I'm learning the art of self-mastery.
If there's any flaw in me, let ME see, I wanna fix it, I know I am worth something, but I've got to find the master key.
I don't know what that requires, to find me...
Is it a bachelors degree?
An associates degree?
Well I don't know but I'll swim across the Mediterranean SEA just to feel FREE.
Yet I just took a test that says my scores say reading level "7th grade"
Right now my math is "5th grade"
.....I'm starting college this year, in January.
and right now my dreams seem only imaginary.
But I wont give up,
because my longing to FIGHT for the wounded girl in every young women is to strong.
I wanna tell them to keep going! and to NEVER GIVE UP.....
I wanna show them why suicide isn't the answer.
Why they are important, and valued, and tell them
"YOU HAVE GREATNESS WITHIN YOU."
I want to awaken the idea in them that each and every one of us was MEANT TO BE HERE AT THIS VERY TIME, this very decade because each of us has GIFTS that are MEANT TO BE developed to be KNOWN.
I want them to know that out of 400 MILLION ***** THEY were chosen to be here NOW.
THAT YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN DO WHAT YOU WERE SENT HERE TO DO....
That it is not only necessary to be alive and motivated but it is necessary to work on our selves continually and our gifts.
I wanna save lives, because I tried to take mine, and only now i can see, years later why I am happy to still be here.
I will tap into my gifts, and I will be successful, I will save lives.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 4:31 AM UTC
*Goodbye Mr. Chips
England 1920
I’m well in my eighties now you see
The life of a school master was for me
Brookfield School is where I have been
A private school for the sons of Englishmen
I was a young man when I first came here
For years a stodgy boring bachelors life
Then in my middle age I met my darling wife
She brought me joy my heart’s desire
Having tea and scones beside our fire
She had the faculty eating from her hand
She got me noticed and life was grand
I became the head of these hallowed halls
A part of Brookfield like the walls
The boys all loved her she had such grace
As well as having the most pretty face
I think I was the happiest man on earth
Then I lost her as she was giving birth
All alone at Brookfield in my pain
Never to take a wife again
Then the war, the four horsemen rode once more
A war like nothing we had seen before
All my old students fought for the King
After Sunday chapel as hymns we would sing
I would read my boys names who gave everything
The war it stayed for several years
My eyes burned with the salty tears
To see my boys grown into young men
Dead in battle never to come home again
But the war ended and we survived
The sons of the fathers came to Brookfield alive
My years went by until I retired
Now I lie on my bed, my time expired
I hear them talking, outside my Door
Old Chips is Dying, it’s such a shame
He had no children to continue his name
But that’s not true.
I had a thousand little joys
And they were all my Brookfield boys*
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 7:07 AM UTC