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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?
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 away
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
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
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 and again until the match is over
and everyones a loser;

Even the hen!
Inspired by **** waving & cockfighting.
Shea Feb 27
You thought I was a bird,
But I am just a paper bag.
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 :)
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'
I used to wake up missing him, as if we didn’t spend almost every waking minute in each other’s presence. As if I didn’t hear his voice more than my own.
“Your shadow doesn’t belong to you. I know where you’ve been.”
“I have no reason to lie,” he would recite to me.
That was our nightly tradition.
I would watch him sit across from me at the dinner table,
telling me that he never did mean to hurt me, with my heart on his plate.
I packed ahead of time, and reorganized my regrets to make room for our relationship.
I crumpled up the letter I wrote and put it in my back pocket.
I couldn’t bring myself to explain why I had to leave him; my absence would be devastating enough.

He would make his fabrications fit into the palm of his hand and smack me with them.
I was born and raised by the backhand of heartbreak so it was home away from home when I ran away to him.
Instead of standing up for myself
I wrote poetry so hot that I would burn his mouth every time I tried to feed him.
He was a better cook anyway.

My grandmother, when I sought her wise council,
told me that I should accept the pain and try to make something out of it.

I remember when I tried to make love out of my pain for the last time.
He clawed my spirit out of me, put it under my head like a pillow.
He laid on top of me, grinding into my pelvic bone, making heat that burned my skin.
The bite marks on my chest stung when his sweat dripped on me.
I closed my eyes and saw the manifestation of my fears.
My body finally gave out after running from my ******, and he came when I did.

As he slept, I cleaned the blood from under his fingernails.
MeanAileen Aug 2017
***** *** and cigarettes
bad decisions, no regrets.
Painted lips and fingertips
lace, leather, gags and whips.
Cheap motels, steamy nights
sweaty flesh and candlelights.
Pushing limits, breaking rules
naked dips in swimming pools.
Getting high while living low
riding rails, pure white snow.
Playing games & telling lies
the look of lust in lovers eyes.
Rendevouz in seedy places
sloppy kisses, hot embraces.
Ménage à trios, or even four!
Anything goes behind locked door...
Shots of Jack make it all alright-
just another dirt-bag night.
50% fiction...
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.
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
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
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
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
I think I saw you sometime yesterday
You had your hand in the pocket of a man
Saying things that you don't understand
Like you do every single day
Maybe all the good girls got away

And the man's got a smile on his face
I don't think he truly understands
What he's done and what he's gonna face
Did I mention, that you may have your taste
You're still just an old disgrace

A perfect day on a Sunday afternoon
The cafe crowd and a quiet, calm monsoon
Reaches down into a bag colored like the sun
And pulls out a gold encrusted gun
I hope the man had his days of fun
Finding loyalty is like searching for a lost needle in a haystack.
The needles will poke you and inject jealousy into your bloodstream,
hatred into your heart.

If I ever find loyalty, I will attach a banner on my wall to remind me.
Remind my heart to let go of the anger.

Why do we blame the victim?

It is so easy to convince yourself, you are the poison.

Why is it so easy to act as the poison?

You ignore your faults to feel a sense of peace.
Who is to blame for the terrible things that were said last night?

The one who said it or the disorder itself?

It is so easy to become someone you're not.
Why is life all about hiding your demons?

Are we afraid, we will scare the ones we love away or something more within?

Are you scared of your own demons?

Are you terrified it is the truth?

Becoming your demon isn't all that scary, you get used to it after a while.
I can no longer eat them
A bag of cookies
We ate them
The day of my first kiss

We were at school
Of all places for this story to start
In the college office
Whenever we were in there
Clara put on headphones to block us out
I now know that she did it
Because she couldn’t stand to watch
This, all of this, happen to me
But I digress

We sat in the college office
You, me, and Karol
You said you had to go
To clean your room
But we could come with
So we followed you home

I hadn’t been up there before
But it’s all burned in my brain
The door opened
Clothes thrown across the floor
Two beds, one for you the other for your brother
A shelf packed with stuff
A TV sitting on a stand
The dresser in the closet and another under a window

Karol and I sat on your bed as you cleaned the room
You brought up the cookies and apples
Set them on the dresser
You handed me two rings
Just too small for my fingers
I still have them, somewhere
They sit in a box alone
I wish I could put these memories with them

When the room was clean
Karol left to go sleep in the van
Leaving us alone
We moved the furniture
The beds rotated to a new wall
The dresser sat between them
The TV and shelf sat in an alcove
They fit so perfect you would think it was made for them
Then we laid on your bed
We put on American Dad on Hulu
The one where Stan had to put his kid’s best friend in the witness protection program
And we laid there for hours
Eating this bag of animal crackers that you brought up for us all to eat
You held me as my back fit in against your chest
I felt your cheek against mine
I turned to look at you
And we kissed like nothing else mattered
Then we sat there like nothing happened
But of course it had

I remember your tongue
Wrestling it’s way into my mouth
Our glasses clanking together as lip met lip
We shed them and we laid there together
eating the cookies
But now you’re gone
And I can’t eat them without thinking of you
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
Brooke P Jul 15
It’s funny,
when I was a young girl
I used to recite in my head
what I would take with me
if the house I was in
got set ablaze.
I packed a “fire bag”
with all of my special belongings
safely packed away inside it,
to bring with me on the way out.
I rehearsed
how I would grab the family dog
and head for the nearest window,
meeting my parents
at the end of the driveway.

I find this funny,
because when it actually happened,
I wasn’t even home
to save anything at all.
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
hell 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
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