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Zoe Mae Nov 2018
I reached into the bag and
Pulled out what I got
They said I had to live with it
Like it or not
It didn't seem fair
But they insisted it was
Life is what your born
I asked why? Just because
They said please go stand
In that line over there
A biped will approach you
Pretending to care
At this point I tossed
My grab back towards the sack
I quipped I'll pass on the offer
And dove into the black
Shea Feb 27
You thought I was a bird,
But I am just a paper bag.
Osiria Melody Feb 14
With nimble hands, the opening of a plastic
bag transpires,
Dire need to consume food, edge of bag rips
A roar of condemnation, sneering at you
Contents of food fly out from its captivity,
Dispersed across the floor like lawn sprinkler
water

With frightened eyes, overcome with the rush
of tears as if they were competing to fall out of
them,
Food stares at you and relishes in its final
moments,
Should I abide by the five-second ru–
A gargantuan foot bears down on food, like one
slamming his foot abruptly on car brakes
Cccrunchhhh, cccrunchhh...

Such a tragedy!
But, by the way, this pair of shoes sure look
better than mine
With nimble hands, you seize the individual by
the neck and–
Sssnapppp, ppopppp...
Dire need to feel remorse, but none embraces
you

With nimble hands, the opening of a plastic bag
transpires,
Don't ever touch my food.
Thank you.



Melody
2/14/19
Don't you hate it when you eat a snack from a plastic bag, open it up, only to witness one of the edges ripping?
Kewayne Wadley Jul 2018
Before I knew it I ate half the bag.
Fifty pounds deliciously resting the bottom of my stomach.
I regret nothing.
Weighing my stomach with my hands.
I tried to save some.
Each piece more than the last.
Resting on the coffee table of her heart.
I didn't expect to eat as much as I did.
A decision made in haste,
I smiled.
Easily reaching into my own bag.
Replacing what I ate with that of my own.
Her pieces taste far better than mine.
Knowing that they belonged to her.
My heart rejoiced in knowing this.
My taste buds on the other hand longed for more.
Savoring the taste.
Ready to reach again.
Her heart, the sweetest candy I know
Deb Jones Oct 2017
I have a Army green
Duffle bag with one strap

A drawstring its only lock

One bag, just as big as me.

It’s filled to the brim with all my sins

With my regrets

With my dreams

With my sickness

With my heart

With my education

With my sons

With books filled with chapters
That I am too scared to reread

With books filled with chapters
That would tear my heart apart

With my tears

With the shadows of all my fears

With the sum of me

I put one more ounce in it every day

I pack it in tight so it will stay

Then pull the drawstring closed

I can’t empty this bag
And it travels with me wherever I go

It’s here with me now
3000 miles away from home

I love you
I don’t want to hurt you

Don’t want you to think you are unworthy

But you don’t realize I have this bag
Made up of all I am, all I ever was

You are worth more than an ounce

And that bag?
It’s filled to the brim.

This Army Green duffle bag
With a fragile drawstring for a lock.

I think....I need a new bag.
But it feels like
I would be throwing myself away.
Today
Happy sad euphoric
But every day can’t be
Today
Random thoughts

On a little break, will be back soon :), best wishes to all :)
R Dec 2018
This pain ages old
Which follows me everywhere i go
This life full of secrets
Stories untold
The bag full of screams
And memories that I can’t let go
What a journey life is
But now all i wanna do is let it go
To commit a sin
So sinful
That will truely set me free
Free from this bag
Which i am not able to throw
And be free
There are few memories that no matter what you can never let go, they might have occurred when you were a child but they don’t let you go no matter how hard you try
Julio Lopez Oct 2018
I don't got a heart
I got a punching bag
Come and hit it if you with it
It won't make me sad-
der
As a matter of fact it won't even make mad
Girl I got a punching bag
Rolling down Ocean soon we'll be blunt smoking
Toking, you know that talk that I'm talking
She a stoner like me, yeah she rolling easy
Riding with me for the time being
She has got my heart beating
She has got my bag swinging
Sara Kellie May 2018
Oh ****.
Oh, oh, it didn't work did it?
Why?
Why didn't it work?
I can't see!
I have blood in my eyes, my hands.

Oh ****.
It didn't work did it?
The plastic bag!
****!
The plastic bag!
****,
****,
Ff cck ckk err
err
(sigh)

Poetry by Kaydee
(**** it Kaydee! Just **** it! That's it!)
'The Plastic Bag' by Kaydee is also known by its alternative name,
'Go check on that friend you never check'
'Don't come ******* crying to me' was another name was almost chosen.
Another was 'Who's that lay there with a blue face, she looks cold'
Reza Bavar Jun 2016
What is a Legacy
What's the equation that leads to the sum that is
A
Human
Life
The curtain draws as it must and
when it's done...
We spill out of this "Life" a grocery bag of idiosyncrasies, neuroses, hypocrisies, and other I-sees
What are we in the end but broken pieces of a puzzle we leave for others to assemble--who cares if the pieces fit.
Someone found a Kind word here
Another a Generosity
A memory of a Lie
Proof of a Cruelty
Acts of Humanity by a human being acting...
Who knows me well enough to define my Legacy?
Who else but "I"
I like spoken word poetry (a lot) and this poem works best if it's read in that type of tone.
Ferns Jul 2018
Is it not easy 
 to greet to someone
whom you never spoke
for a very long time?

Among all people,
I am the only one
you've always bypass
to talk to

I know the hindrance
why we ward off each other
just to make ourselves
escape the stigma

Curiosity gets bigger
Each time I look at you
Should I wait patiently
Or take the wheel further

One thing I could do...
All what I wanted to say,
all my thoughts about you,
are profoundly veiled


You and me
are the only ones
to know what's in...
where people shouldn't know

A storage box
of unspoken words
a birthday bag
of sweets

If you are reading this
do not assume
that I did them
Steve Page Apr 26
I'm not talking frenzy
I'm not feeling fury
Although it's not fiery
I'm still feeling angry

Its root's in frustration
a hidden foundation
of deep indignation
from silent vexation

I need a new outlet
to offset this upset
Something to attack
to reset my mindset

So while poetry is helping
to sort out my feelings
I'll punch out my raging
as part of my healing
Sometimes I need a punch bag
Purcy Flaherty May 2018
As I enter the arena and the blood sport begins;
I gaze around the room, at the fighting *****, all dressed in battle trim.

Angry eyes telling tails, chests puffed out,
**** and ****** feathers scattered to and fro, spurred on by spite...

Amidst the bitter cries; and angry beaks;
talons rip and wound again until the match is over and everyones a loser;

Even the hen!
Inspired by **** waving & cockfighting.
lavender Jan 2018
I slipped and told you I was trans,

and now I don't think I'll ever have a chance with you.
CK Baker Jan 2017
cedar planks line the dim lit hall
morning snow begins to fall
sepia print in a chip wood frame
embers spark from the franklin flame

rustling sounds from bunks below
records play in a tight alcove
bacon grills on the iron sheet
gloves are warmed by baseboard heat

bean bags tossed on colored ****
papka placed as a punching bag
red brick wall with mounted poles
windows filled with glacier bowls

whiskey jack on the southern rail
a frozen patch of wine and ale
pine cones fall in gathering white
brothers bathed in firelight

sleighs are on the table top
canyon road is at a stop
northern winds that bite the face
lines are up the gondola base

cornice clipped on gully goat
the rubber man appears to float
alpine depths are on the rise
peaking sun through parting skies

triple ropes and nordic luge
honored guests from baton rouge
gelande jumps on rainbow drive
nostalgia’s light and warm reply
Across the Nation's Prize I say Hello
And Tradition's Tie breaks to meet my Friend
You decide to either say Yes or No
Whichever it is this is not the End
I'm sure glad you enjoyed your Meals to date
Both Horseradish and Wasabi do pair
Now this Hour's Best Time to roast a Steak
Such Great Leisure the Mad Chef can't declare
Now before you leave for Wimbledon's Match
Make sure your Bag is empty from your fill
Obey, and Stony Halites fail to latch
Then you enjoy the Kingdom's Biggest Thrill.
I know not much, with Time and Place obsessed
Least I can share which Merry Face is best.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
fearfulpoet Aug 2018
school starts soon
smoking joints on the weekday afternoon

in a sidelined shady
freight car, property of
Norfolk Southern

debating if this car will be
northbound or southbound
and master-bating our fantasy
where we want to be taken

knowing full well maybe one of us -
(and they all looking at me)

will get out of this car and live to
see foreign places without having to
return in a body bag

we argue lazy who should go get the beer,
collect the quarters and sweaty dollar bills
and **** if I am not reappointed
leader of the beer fetching

besides it’s my
tan lab panting needing water so it’s my
responsibility and the nasty liquor store owner don’t hate me that much as the others so he’ll sell me beer without too much **** talk (some for sure)

asking where I’m laying low on a **** hot day like this one

tell him i’m getting on a train getting out of this two bit town which makes him reminisce and ask which direction

could be northbound could be southbound
**** could be west
but for sure won’t be
going eastbound

cause I seen the Atlantic and didn’t like it

too **** big and too **** cold,
too **** mean
Tammy M Darby Sep 2015
Loves shadows and hates fire
Whisper softly my hearts desire
To a cold dead moon
As the old demons howl
The ground in terror will tremble and shake

A bloodless murderers hand
Into my steaming cauldron is thrown
Long toothed Blue bats wing from northern caves
Mixed with enchanted grave dust stolen from the fairy land

Out of my blue colored feather covered bag
A tiny sticky yellow red eyed frog
One shiny two horned pinching beetle
That will bite no more
Into the ***
Three long gray hairs from a rabid dog

I sing the song humans fear
The notes fall upon frightened ears
My words travel deadly and silently
A venomous arrow into the night
Laying upon my victim
A fine coverlet of blindness
By spell removing their sight

Loves shadows and hates fire
Whisper softly my hearts desire
To a cold black dead moon
As the old demons howl
The ground in terror will tremble and shake

Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby September 9,  2015.
Marianna Sep 2018
When i was fourteen
I learnt how to tie a rope
And practiced on a small string
until i could tie it with my eyes closed

i kept it in my pocket
i placed it in my bag
I played with it when i was lonely
and held it in my hands

Now i'm nineteen
I no longer remember how to tie a rope
But i still keep my small string
In the deep corner of my drawer
only words never actions
Jay Jun 2018
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over ******, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
saige May 2018
velcro wallet
was navy, i think
gray plastic zipper
grandma gave you
i had a locket
it had your picture inside
but you threw it away
because you looked like a rabbit
apparently
hair fluffed, eyes puffy
two teeth and two hours
of squirming on a photo booth

plastic coin pouch
small crayola blue
walmart sticker on a side
but it never made me smile
not like that piggy bank did
yard sale treasure
dinosaur-shaped
no smashing to withdrawl
our tooth fairy dollars and dust
still, you crammed stink bugs
down the long neck's back

now, a denim bag on my bed
rhinestoned one in the closet
and your wallet is
real leather, i think
has superheroes on it
rough and grungy
as the comic books in the attic
or, did you toss those too?

who needs a screwdriver
without a *****?
that's all money was
just hardware we didn't have
much use for
but there is more than one way
to use a tool
so here, i'll paint it straighter
who needs a coffin without a corpse?
especially when we were
so full of life back then
Addiction *****
It's such a killer
Addictions fun
A raging thriller

Weathers its a bag of twack
Or a fat green sack
It doesn't really matter
You could shoot pancake batter

**** or ****
*** with Beth
Just remember its not fiction
That disease you have is called addiction

See it works in such a horrid way
It controls you'r thoughts and what you say
And when it comes down to the end of the day
You probably going to do what it takes to pay
© Zachary J Morsette 2013
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