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"beng" poems
i find it quite sad that the only thing stopping me from beng who i wish to be is a certain sequence of numbers. numbers seem to have more power over people than any god or government- this world was built- and will burn- because of numbers. bank account statements cause stalemates between myself and my ambitions- I am chained and restrained by my credit score, cruelly kept from exploring distant shores. men slay their fellow man without a second thought for a fat stack of cash and thoughts of what could be bought. John Lennon imagined a world with nothing to **** or die for no posessions too but money is the cruel hand that tears that dream in two. for as long as the concept of money is the fire that drives men's hearts to beat we will never truly see peace, living at the mercy of the balance sheet.
0
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
numbers
b-dumm dumm b-dumm dumm b-dumm dumm b-dumm dumm tchka ta weh... tchka tchka tchka b-dumm dumm dumm tchka tsk dumm tchka tish dumm dumm tchka tsk dumm tchka tash dumm dumm tchka tsk dumm tchka dish tsk dumm b-dumm dumm tchka dumm bash b-dumm dumm tish tchka dumm dumm tash b-dumm dumm tish tchka dumm dumm tash boom boom boom tchka tchka dumm bash dumm bash-bash, dm-bash bash, dm-bish tchka tchka dumm dumm ting boom boom tchka tchka dumm bash ting shik shik shika tika tik tik ting boom boom tchka shika boom ting bish boom shika tchka boom bash boom ching boom, b-dumm dumm tika tika tika ting boom shika shika boom bish bash beng tika tika tika dumm boom boom ting boof.. ka tchka boom boom cha b-boof boof ka tchka boom boom cha boom boom ka tchka tchka boom tish tchka tchka dumm tsk tsk (dubudu) kish (dubudu) (dubudu) (dubudu) tish (dubudu) (dubudu) dub dub tesh (dubudu) (dubudu) (dubudu) tsk tchka dish dub.. b-dub dub taka tchka ting dub dub tchka tsk dumm tchka ting dub dub tchka tsk dumm tchka tash dub dub tchka tsk dumm tchka ting dub dub dub, b-dub dub dub mmm b-dub dub dub, b-dub dub dub mmm b-dub dub dub, b-dub dub dub mmm b-dub mmm dub b-dub mmm dub b-dub b-dub b-dummm
0
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 7:52 AM UTC
beatpoem
*beng a villain to someone might not be my fault every time* who actually cares what others did to me they judge by what they see
0
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC
979. Being a Villain
Doring — not much has changed since you last spoke. the children are still deep in the mud. the bellhouse at Poblacion still rings when it is 5 PM and the ubiquitous bazaar sit on the cornerstones. however, when the white angels began latticing you to contraptions, the furling scent of your homely perfume has gone dithering. grandpa Mario's revolver is somewhere hidden wreathed under a wrestle of things we do not use anymore — lottery tickets ( 4 AM, grandpa would fall asleep reeking of ale as the lady announces frail luck over the somnolence. kitchenware longs for the ****** of your tremulous hands. the Lazy Susan is attended by only a bundle of rotten bananas, Mario's old nauticals: whiskey bottles, scotch, goblets, unrest of glasses. we still buy pandesal near Beng's piano maestro.) nothing much has changed since you last spoke. mother held your hands longer than imagined trill of Maya outside tightwire. it didn't flood in the swelter of the cataclysm — years ago it was deathly silent when you were sitting on the rocking chair waiting for the flood to subside, your grandchildren laying cold on the aged floorboard, rescued by zigzag of newspapers. it was the lightest of darknesses. nothing much has changed since you last spoke and in your silence we heard the most immense of voices. the streets remain pockmarked. ocher pots festooned by wily flowers, stems of hope. your hands tryingly gripping whatever was brought to their splendidness looked like forever smiles. Doring — the nights are fuller, my sweet old etcetera of chores. we all lay quietly in the mud for now.
0
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
Doring
Doring — not much has changed since you last spoke. the children are still deep in the mud. the bellhouse at Poblacion still rings when it is 5 PM and the ubiquitous bazaar sit on the cornerstones. however, when the white angels began latticing you to contraptions, the furling scent of your homely perfume has gone dithering. grandpa Mario's revolver is somewhere hidden wreathed under a wrestle of things we do not use anymore — lottery tickets ( 4 AM, grandpa would fall asleep reeking of ale as the lady announces frail luck over the somnolence. kitchenware longs for the ****** of your tremulous hands. the Lazy Susan is attended by only a bundle of rotten bananas, Mario's old nauticals: whiskey bottles, scotch, goblets, unrest of glasses. we still buy pandesal near Beng's piano maestro.) nothing much has changed since you last spoke. mother held your hands longer than imagined trill of Maya outside tightwire. it didn't flood in the swelter of the cataclysm — years ago it was deathly silent when you were sitting on the rocking chair waiting for the flood to subside, your grandchildren laying cold on the aged floorboard, rescued by zigzag of newspapers. it was the lightest of darknesses. nothing much has changed since you last spoke and in your silence we heard the most immense of voices. the streets remain pockmarked. ocher pots festooned by wily flowers, stems of hope. your hands tryingly gripping whatever was brought to their splendidness looked like forever smiles. Doring — the nights are fuller, my sweet old etcetera of chores. we all lay quietly in the mud for now.
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33
being crazy is hard i feel like crying being crazy is hard i feel like dying being crazy is hard i feel like running away being crazy is hard i feel like laying being crazy is hard i feel like talking beng crazy is hard i feel like nothing being crazy is hard i feel like i don't belong being crazy is hard i feel like sleeping being crazy is hard i feel like dreaming being crazy is hard i feel like ..... being crazy is fucken hard
0
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 12:05 PM UTC
being crazy is hard part two
You feel like you're drowning, Somewhere along fainting and dying, Like you're trying to scream and nothing but air comes out, You can't focus on anyone or everything, Feels like you're crawling out of your skin, Just trying to find a way out. They might confuse it for simply zoning out, And it might just seem like a simple "zone out" sometimes but you know deep inside what it is, Its your dearest friend: anxiety Its beng rude and simply attacking you, but please say to yourself "it will pass, it will pass" And usually, it does
0
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 12:27 AM UTC
Panic attacks