"bio" poems
Lady Macbeth washed her hands
cleaner than Pontius Pilate
with a new improved, bio-enzyme
oxy-bursting, 99.9% germ-scouring
recommended by dermato-logists
scented with rose attar
oils from Arabia
and spermaceti soothing
unguents from long dead whales.
She’s going to the nail bar
for a manicure and application
of semi-permanent, diamond-
tipped, acrylic base-coated
in red blood enamel.
She’ll scratch
and etch rich tattoos
on her husband’s back
with every ****** he will shudder
with pain and delight
He’ll soon forget long, dark nights
bewitched by ghosts and ambition.
© M.L. Emmett
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 2:55 AM UTC
The Blue Rhinoceros.
So Blue Was He.
The Wind In His Hair.
The World At His Feet.
Once The Blue Rhino,
Who Wasn't Albino,
Ate A Man Named Ringo.
Who Was Writing A Bio.
The Bio He Wrote.
About His Pet Goat.
The Goat Was Quite Royal,
But Wasn't Too Loyal.
The Man Died That Day.
The Rhino Ran Away,
Because The Goat Was a Rhino,
And Not Albino.
Inimical
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
My name is *** and I have no friend, I infect unborn during labor and infents during breastfeeding ,teenage s during unprotected sex,adults with multiple partners, I don't choose colours.
I infect whites,blacks,coloured and Indian,people call me names,like 3 series, magama mathathu,koloi ya eliya,go slowly and I have no problem because I have one friend which is death,you fail to use my enermy condom,my friend will attack you.
please young generation upstain for I have no mercy,adults be faithful because I will pass like a chameleon and once I reach you,you will point your finger to witches and while doing that,you will be on the grave unknown.
get tested and stay loyal,me hlv my high point is ***** or viginal fluid so be careful little mistake I will get there and hide there till I end all off your immune system or in an easy way your white blood cells.
to win me is to condomise,be faithful, abstain or do it your self that's musterbation, wear gloves when helping any one because you may never know where I am hiding.
if you already have me talk to your health professionals ,if not I will finish you without knowledge, because I am a bio slim and I am in love with your blood.
to win me test before is too late because I will take you into your bed as you took that partner of yours and to me is gonna be hard to be awake.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
i have a wonderful friend
who darts about in the sky
her little wings kiss the breeze
she must be a butterfly
oh james you got it wrong
silly foolish rhyming me
she’s certainly not one of them
my friend is a bumblebee
they tried to put her in a jar
oh it was a terrible place
but she’s just about to escape
headed out to outer space
ah but they can’t hold her back
she’ll be leaving really soon
the first bio-molecular geneticist
astrophysicist on the moon
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
We were matched
Brought together
because obviously
we found each other
attractive on tinder
That's all I saw was
your face, I didn't
even read your bio
I don't think I ever do
Tinder is a joke
I use it for my
entertainment when
I'm bored & lonely
But you...
changed my mind
in a simple hello
I'm meeting you
tonight & I'm
completely & utterly
terrified that maybe
you aren't real &
I'm just too naive
to realize quick enough
But I'm taking the chance
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
I dive left before heading right, more times than I care to admit,
Each time I turn right and am not confronted, it feels like rejection,
A small death of little consequence for the life that could have been
So sweet, so superficial, a mini life grew- as I read your bio,
To be dashed in another instant of silence,
I have a tendency to rush into things without much guidance.
Your voice is sweet and smooth- to read,
Imagine a personality that fits- perfectly in the palm of my hand,
Conveyed in small white messages, poked through smaller holes,
Each one I read makes me feel a little brighter inside,
But each little light catches fire and dies, I must confide
That each one I read makes me feel alive.
But only for the moment, so I conduct another,
Small parcel containing another little piece of my soul,
“If you can feel your soul slowly, slipping away, that means that you still have one”
That is a phrase that will lead you to defeat before you have begun,
It leads to me giving away much less than I can afford,
These ‘one for one’ serotonin boosts are leaving me bored…
So maybe we could meet, go get something to eat,
I am sure that I won’t be bored by your topic of conversation,
Or at least I will try and make it look that way,
Because the cold reality is that we have nothing in common,
Except for a lack of self-esteem and an overestimation of our-
Social skills, next to non-existent,
I am perpetually distant!
I am sure that you were terrifically disappointed with last night
Because your messages are written on withered pieces of paper,
A full stop is the most definite thing that there is,
Subtle undertones have a pulse and it beats,
Black blood to and from a dying heart,
I should have known that you were poison, right from the start.
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 8:22 AM UTC
Fine arts is my major in school...I have enjoyed art, photography and of course writing ever since I was young; and I still do... I know this may sound odd but no matter the form of art; even if its just scribbled notes I keep all my rough drafts... My mom she calls me the "paparazzi" of the family...I am always snapping picture... Can you believe I have over 900 and counting; notebooks, sketchpads, and loose-leaf binders full of all my ideas, sketches and odd thoughts that may pop in my head?.. I've been collecting since I was 6 years old.... ART; any type was and still is my passion today... I try to carry a notebook, sketchpad and my camera everywhere I go to jot down or capture the little things that come to my mind.... Sometimes my notes don't even make a bit of since but it is the creativity I put into them that makes it fun.... When ever I feel I've hit a writers or artist BLOCK I go through my notebooks. I'm always seeing something inspiring that may take me to another world of imagination. I think I could probably write a book or two with all the thoughts I've collected..
Yep That's Me ... LadyBird
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
Name: Falen Acon
Residence: San Diego California
Age: 15 (almost 16)
Birthday: Jan 4, 2000 (Capricorn)
School: Don't worry about it!
Grade: 10th (Sophomore)
Class Of: 2018
Favorite Color: Ballet Pink, Gun Metal Gold and Burgundy
Favorite Flower: Wild Flowers, Roses & Sunflowers
Hobbies: Dancing and Poetry
Favorite Food: Pizza
Favorite Drink: Strawberry and Root Beer Soda
Favorite Dessert: Ice Cream (Shakes) (any flavor)
Happy Place (place that makes me happy): Beach or Dance Studio
Career Path: Professional Dancer
Lucky Day: Saturday
Lucky Number: 3
Favorite Number: 7
Friends: Christan Zeal, Elsa Angelica and Drevon Young
Goals: Find true love, Find happiness and Travel World
Favorite Artists: Lana Del Rey, The Weeknd, Drake, PartyNextDoor, Post Malone, ILoveMakonnen, Rae Sremmurd, RDGLDGRN, Kyle, A.$.A.P Rocky, G-Eazy and Zayn Malik
Celebrity Crushes: Zayn Malik, Justin Bieber, RED (from RDGLDGRN) and Steph Curry (GSW)
Favorite NBA Team: Golden State Warriors (GSW)
Favorite NFL Team: North Carolina Panthers
Favorite MLB Team: Chicago Cubs
Favorite College Football Team: LSU Tigers
Favorite Nascar Driver: Kasey Kahne
Future College: Texas State University (TSU) or Something :)
Future Sorority: Delta Sigma Theta (DST) /_\
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
Harriet turned back off the intercom and stood in the office for a few seconds. What have we done? I can't believe I let my ten year old son be the vessel to that thing. I can't believe we were stupid enough to summon that thing thought Harriet. Harriet walked out of the office and back to the worship area where Evil was waiting.
"Why do you have a look of concern on your face Harriet? What did you think I would be like?" asked Evil. "I didn't know what to expect" said Harriet. As Harriet and Evil stood eyeing each other the members of Sinister walked in the worship area.
"I'm glad you all could make it. Now sit down" said Evil. A stocky middle aged man walked up to Evil looked down at him and said "I don't take orders from children." with a smile on his face Evil broke the man's leg in half by giving him a front kick to his knee cap. The stocky man hit the floor and screamed in agony. The members of Sinister watched in horror as Evil wrapped his arms around the man's head and broke his neck. He then proceeded to rip the man's head off and throw it out the door of the worship area.
"Now if everyone would please listen to me very carefully. The person you see is not Levi. I am Evil. Your priest summoned me and I answered his call. The vessel you see is Levi but I am Evil. All of you may address me as Levi" said Evil. The members of Sinister looked at each other but didn't say a word. "Sit down. You all thought the Book of Evil was something to play with and that I wasn't real. You put the cult Sinister together to pass time and have fun. I am very real" said Evil as the members of Sinister sat down. "Your High Priest use to run the show but from now on I'll be running the show. You may now return to your rooms until I call for you again" said Evil.
All of the members of Sinister stood to their feet and returned to their rooms. When all of the members of Sinister were gone Evil looked at Harriet and said "I need for you to update me on world events. I need to know what's going on around the world." "You need to watch the Visual View Screen. The Visual View Screen is a device that show us World News, entertainment shows, movies, and music. What you need to watch is world news. Follow behind me" said Harriet.
Harriet led Evil out of the worship area and to a room where there was a Visual View Screen. She turned on the Visual View Screen, turned the channel to the world news, and the two sat down and watched the world news.
"That's it right there. It's amazing how Scientist and Bio Engeiners come up with things" said Evil. "What's it?" asked Harriet. "Don't you just love war? Your species create genius ways to **** each other. They created a virus and a cure to for the virus. The building where the virus is kept is under quarantine. We are going to release the virus and live in the underground city designed to keep the Scientist and Bio Engeiners safe if the virus ever got loose. Once the virus **** everyone on planet the members of Sinister will reemerge from the underground city and I will create a new world" said Evil.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
(Published in Miami Herald on May 26, 2014 Brigitte Jacobs Arnold
Obituary Guest Book View Sign ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI. Services will be held at 7:00 pm and a viewing from 12:00 pm to 8:00pm at Maspons Funeral Home located at 3500 SW 8th Street, Miami Florida 33135 Wednesday May 28th.)
Don’t ask me why but
I went online this afternoon.
Read the Miami-Herald obituaries.
And not just the Biggies:
Maya Angelou at 86 and
A one hundred year old Herb Jeffries.
Of course we knew Maya,
Her caged bird singing
Softly in our souls,
But may not be aware of Herb Jeffries.
A former singer in the Ellington band,
Herb was known as the Bronze Buckaroo,
In a series of all-black 1930s Westerns--
His nickname evoking
His racial identity,
Quite muddled, flexible.
Although both sad passages to be sure,
It was neither Maya nor Herb
Triggering my tender tears.
But the obituary of:
ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI,
Known as Oma, Mutti and Mama.
Well, not exactly the Brigitte obit,
My tears for her long-lived mother,
Brigitte’s mother, durable & abiding,
Still breathing at 97:
Hildegard Wolle.
Reading Brigitte’s bio—
German born, Berlin student,
Singer-fashionista &
Proud, naturalized
American citizen—
I can’t stop thinking about Hildegard.
As if the woman didn’t already
Have more than her share of trouble
On this planet nearly a century,
Having already lost her
Grandson Roland, and now,
Her daughter.
Something wacky is going on here.
Some long-distance life lesson
Being applied here.
Poor Hildegard: ungifted with Alzheimer’s,
Suffers crystal distant memories,
Some really bad karma
Stored up in past lives.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
Read random books
And take some pics
Eat bacon, soup and.. oh a Sandwich
Add it to your story
And add stickers, lips
Drive a BMW and sing a silly song
Of?
Not even the words of
Your "speachless" mind
Don't forget to talk out loud
Start a live
While going out, mad
Add "thinker" to your bio
pretend
You're different than the others, oh not my dear lad! Eww
Go to the gym
Take pics of your body,
Hola!
Isn't that a dream?
Make some more friends
Then make them cry
For your fake pains
Dance with the "kiki" song
Post it somewhere (mostly to girls)
Make sure
You are walking on *** son
Send follow requests to some **** barbie girls
Do not accept guests, and
make fun of fat nerds
That's your life Bro!
Did I ever protest?
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
Do any of y'all really know me?
Can you see who I am from my poetry?
If your answer is yes, you're wrong
Even I don't know where I belong
When people ask who I am
I say I'm 26, a mother, a poet,
I basically just read my bio
But you've all read that too
Does that mean you really know?
A friend told me lately
To stop being so humble about my poetry
I don't like to come off sounding cocky
He says I'm **** good at what I do
But not every poem is about you
Not every word is always true
Sometimes, they're just words written in ink
To give you an idea, to really make you think....
But my poetry doesn't define me
Doesn't show you who I am inside
Sure, you've read about my heartaches
And all the nights I've cried
But nothing I write,
Can show you the inner workings of my mind
So, please don't think you really know me
Based solely on all my posted poetry
Because, to be honest, I'm not even sure who I am
And I know me, better than all of you
But please continue to read and comment
Because I'd love to know the truth
About what you all really think of me
Honestly, y'all have really helped me through
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
This techno—
logical revolution
is nothing but
our evolution,
a bio—
logical institution
founded for the reason
we strive toward
& expressed in
the singularity
that pulls forward—
the infinite alchemy
@thesoulofourbeing
wants us to
accept it,
connect it,
& let it be.
This sim—
plicity just might be
as simple as we want,
as beautiful as we want,
& as perfect as we are.
Dance
with life & death
in the moment,
for now is the time
to thank your being
for existing,
& listening
to the logic
of it all.
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 12:01 AM UTC
When I look into the moon I see the only dependent part of me that still exists. Its as if the silence in her vocal cords spoke words of solitude. I gave her the only bio mechanical part of me that mattered.
The gears in my chest keep turning like clock work.
I count seconds into minutes and minutes into hours and hours into days. I keep thinking time is standing still while im still standing still.
I'm waiting, waiting on patience and as unjustified as it sounds I'm impatient. Dreams are just your natural thoughts heavily sedated, a sub-conscious reality based off the feelings we cant display them.
I don't consider myself a writer, I see the constant flow of words and as a kid it left me inspired. I'm more of the sub concious reality type. I drink coffee and outside of that I really don't have a life.
For me writing is self exspression without being judged by others.
I opinionate my feelings and organize them in ink. The papper is my empty canvas, my thoughts are my judgment, and the pen is the deliverer.
Sometimes writing is the only thing that can stitch my wounds, like the words curved inside my brain penetrating like the needlesof a tattoo. I wonder what will become me, in what paradox will I redeem the sum of me?
I just hope this bio mechanical heart ticks away. I hope people continue to be people with different mindsets and open steeples. I want love to be found and dreams to be created.
Kalvin Moon
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 2:20 AM UTC
***** feet
***** of them ache
they're dry
all dried out, moisture to face and digestive tract make little difference
but comfort a little sort of; maybe
subdue to replenishing
skip the pain with a drink fucken, fucken drink fucken
dust lingers in the brain, it swirls
a cloud of ground envelops the shape of u
u become covered
u have a layer,
salty,
and dry
and 'organic'
(surely bio (though im not sure what is or why are))
full city boy, suburban boy, not particularly gritty boy
along side hippies
and volunteers all tripppy
and unwashed, and un plastic
yet forcefully hemped
drunk of micro beer
and burnt brown and blotchy red
and wire-y
and dry
and matted
as if nothing really matters except for principles
misguided and randomly enforced
feel like a husk; peanut shell
insides swallowed by the mouth of the party embodied
a monsterous sweaty man tanned and thickly bearded
and beered
fat dreads fall around and surround u; a forest of hair
a circle encroaching of fuzzy pillars in fibres
entrapped inside them; feel their lingering time matted hold
a wealth of effort to become unkempt; they are bars
they are walls
and the FACE!
……………………… ………………………………… oh
looming down, wafts of armpit vapour cloud; a looming puft that surrounds
engorged by the scent as it circles u, the mouth that lowered onto u
chews u and spills bits of u
chomp chomp
protein for vegetarians; u; ur rigour ur vigour ur guts
eaten in a flurry of chomps and slurps and it crunches
and it grates
like the rocks on the ***** of ur feet it grates
u are digested
and reused
as they would like
but for them; for a collective u dived into
for fun
2 days to peddle ur wares
to progress ( admittedly through some days of regression…)
for all humans, and Humans; for fun
on monday we will repent
for the damages waged on the inside of the body
and the outsides too
for some gain
i guess on this which we settle
for always for display for fun
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
She's expected to be strong,
She's expected to be the glue,
To the broken glass,
She's not expected to cry,
She's not expected to scream.
But in reality,
She's weak,
She's the broken glass,
She cries almost every night,
She holds in her screams,
But her mind is screaming.
She's expected to be nice,
By Almost every person she meets,
She's expected to be more than that,
She's expected not to be rude.
But in reality,
She's not as nice as much anymore,
She avoids people more than she should,
She's says she “okay” though,
just Not as she should
She's expected to be there for her friends,
She's expected to listen and give advice,
Not to complain or need advice,
To have the perfect life and relationships.
But in reality,
She's drifting away,
She listens, but not fully,
She needs to complain sometimes but never dose,
she is falling apart.
She's expected to have the perfect family,
No divorce, no lies, no backstabbing,
Nobody trying to hurt anyone,
No abuse, no fighting, no drugs
But in reality,
Her parents are divorced, her mom was beat,
sister ***** dad wants nothing to do with her,
her mom is married to someone new, who has more kids that is put over her, her mom was taken from her for a year and came back a completely different person, her mother steals, Her bio-father is a compulsive liar, her sisters put her down everyday, Her biological dad ***** her sister, He tried getting her mom to get rid her.
She's expected to be close to her sisters,
No fighting, no yelling, Glued to the hip,
Inseparable.
But in reality,
They fight constantly, She can't stand them,
They're the reason, Why she's so sad now,
She's expected to not cut, She's expected to not have scars,
Not to be depressed, Not to be addicted to such a wretched thing.
But in reality,
She's been cutting for years,
And was almost two years clean,
Because she wanted people to stop jugeding.
She has scars all around her thigh,
more on her wrist.
She's addicted to cutting, She's itching to,
But her mother doesn't think she is,
“If you really wanted to die you would be gone
You only do it because you want attention, and lashing out.”
That's what her mother says.
Little do they know,
That their perfect little girl
Is slipping away,
Soon, She'll will be gone, and they will miss her.
She will be expected to come back but she won’t.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC
*Electric Dreams Of My Radioactive Ex,
Bio-Digital Jazz Tap Dancing Us Into ***
Lucid Infatuations Infused In Whiskey,
Cupid Fairytales Conceiving Frisky,
A Perpetual Beauty Smoldered In Ecstatic Bliss,
Sublime Sins Between Her Rosy Lips With Velvet Kiss,
Romantic Burns Galvanized In Her ****** Desires,
Seductive Stardust Enchanting My Feisty Fires,
Encoded Serenity In Her Decoded Virginity,
Recoding Obscenities Of Her Fragrant Sexuality,
Hazel Echoes Raining Intimate Bouquets,
Rekindling, Her Drug That Fondles In Her Moaning Glaze,
Enraptured Catalysts Animating In Her Cuddles,
Euphoric Elations Climaxing Into Her Satin Snuggles.
- 02:17AM -*
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
Call me the greatest adventure of Indiana Jones.
Call me the Graeters of tasty ice cream cones.
Call me the Ed Rosenthal of relaxing stones.
Call me the Natasha Trethewey of meaningful poems.
Call me the Pauly Shore of Bio-Domes.
Call me the Jack Hannah of Columbus Zoos.
Call me the Martha Stewart of delicious stews.
Call me the Bob Ross of independent creations.
Call me the Dr. Phil of mending relations.
Call me the Albert Einstein of mathematical equations.
Call me the Captain Kirk of Space exploration.
Call me the William Shatner of monotone greatness.
Call me the Jim Morrison of open doors.
Call me the Mr. Clean of shiny floors.
Call me the Hugh Hefner of stupid ******
Call me the Bob Dylan of traveling trains.
Call me the Samuel L. Jackson of snakes and planes.
Call me the Arm & Hammer of tough stains.
Call me the Blade of a vampire.
Call me the Froto Baggins of the Shire.
Call me the Firestone of a pumped tire.
Call me a Christ of ignited passion.
Call me a Lucifer of trendy fashion.
Call me a Shiva of shattered illusions.
Call me a Buddha of peaceful institutions.
Call me the Ron Jeremy of KY Jelly.
Call me the Emeril Legassi of food for the belly.
Call me the Tupac Shakur of spitting ****
Call me the Eminem of full sentences.
Call me the Smoky the Bear of a campfire.
Call me the Jim Carry of Liar Liar.
Call me the That Guy of desire.
You can even call me an *******
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 5:20 AM UTC
~
September 2024
HP Poet: Victoria
Age: 59
Country: UK
Question 1: A warm welcome to the HP Spotlight, Victoria. Please tell us about your background?
Victoria: *"My name is Victoria, I'm 59 and from Wirral, North West England. I studied and had a career in social work, predominantly the field of Child Protection. I was married, I'm happily single. I am the eldest of 6 and have 5 children and 5 grandchildren. Home growing up was dysfunctional, I lived through my teens with my nan. I'm passionate about my family, Liverpool fc and my friends. I was addicted ****** My bio says: "Previously life was complex, I helped make it that way, now, I keep it simple and fun." It's true."*
Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?
Victoria: "I joined Hello Poetry in 2011 and that's when I started writing poetry. Mostly, I started with rhyme and then found that prose better fit my parlance."
Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).
Victoria: "I'm inspired by my many experiences, with others and in nature. I'm inspired by poetry here, always. Many a poem has stayed with me, long after reading. Writing poetry was suggested to me and my writing developed, it gave me a voice to express, that which more often I had held silent."
Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?
Victoria: "What poetry means to me happens both in the reading and the writing. Poetry for me, gives and changes perspective, I gain new sensibilities and find through the writing, as in life there is, constant readjustment."
Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?
Victoria: "I have lots of favourite poets here, at Hello Poetry. I've made many friends and been fortunate to meet a few. I also enjoy discovering new poets and I am always amazed at the talent out there."
Question 6: What other interests do you have?
Victoria: "I enjoy fishing: music, photography and feeding my family home grown produce. I've rented an allotment plot for about 12 years, it is where I grow veg, fruit and flowers. My other pastimes are travel, walking, watching the footy and the occasional wild night out with close friends."
Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for giving us this opportunity to get to know the man behind the poet, Victoria! We are honored to include you in this ongoing series!”
Victoria: "Thank you, Carlo."
Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Victoria a little bit better. I most certainly did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez
We will post Spotlight #20 in October!
~
Sep 1, 2024
Sep 1, 2024 at 4:32 PM UTC
i really do wish you no harm.
i hope you don't get pocket lint on your dum-dum,
because that would be tragic.
i hope the next girl you date doesn't bite.
even though, you deserve a gnarly girl
who can get low down and gritty.
i pray you don't fall going up the stairs
and slide all the freaking way down.
i wouldn't want a concussed friend
now would i?
i cross my fingers and shut my eyes,
wishing you a pretty girl with perfect teeth
and pale skin
and an american accent cuter than mine.
in bar. or no- in a basement.
i would never wish you the worst hangover that
you've ever had
with a headache so bad
you feel like you tried to go out with a bang (literally)
like kurt d. cobain, and survived.
if you aren't an uneducated swine and know who that is.
i hope you never feel heartache like this.
feeling your chest tighten with anvil heavy memories
and sun-kissed, barebacked truth because
you had to let go what you love
and love what you let go.
crying when you see "message me i get bored x"
in their bio on a tuesday night, for the first time in six months.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
Our love is just biological and physiological.
It is too many of prefixes.
I need less BIO-logy and more LOGICal.
When our bodies are moving together you bite my neck and I say **** I hate this song”
We are not real.
Five minutes later you’ll be texting with someone else
And I’ll be occupying my new private room – kitchen.
we no longer hear each other, we just listen.
No longer see each other, just watch and look through.
All that remains in common between us is only dishes
and then it was me who bought it.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 9:10 AM UTC
A seemingly delicate flower with a broken appearance
who's strong underneath with a will to keep fighting.
A friend to few
but a lover of words,
a lover of delicate arts
that has beauty not seen by all.
Feelings of confusion followed by sorrow
cradled in the arms of suicidal thoughts.
Caught in the web of social anxiety leads to the basis of
irreversible agoraphobia.
The fear of rejection and shame caused by someone
no other than the person I see when I look in the mirror.
Accomplished the skill of taking my feelings and harnessing them,
saving them for what I love most,
The spot light.
Accomplishing and overcoming the desire to hide from the world
But overpowering it and turning it into an art.
If only I could understand what its like within the mind,
Of someone I love
To be seen through their eyes,
As what I am to the rest of the world.
If a being such as God does exist,
may he take a moment to stop the hate,
and show love through his followers
to the ones that may be oppressed
"In the name of God"
I am a prisoner of my own mind.
Love
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
If it wasn't almost 2016, I would call you on your house phone from my corded phone in my kitchen, we'd chat quickly as to not rack up my phone bill, we would make dinner plans and call it good.
But it is almost 2016 and I'm actually looking at your Facebook and your girlfriends Instagram and I'm laughing / crying over the gag worthy photos she has you featured in.
If it wasn't almost 2016, I wouldn't even know you had a girlfriend and I wouldn't have tried to save the poor girl from your ***** lying ways.
But it is almost 2016, and when Snapchat helped me find out you had a girlfriend while still trying to **** me, I DID try to save the poor girl from your ***** lying ways. You told me not to say anything more, but I had to stop this because I know the feeling of a heartbreak like the one you were about to cause her.
If it wasn't almost 2016, I wouldn't have access to every social media platform that allows me to see every single detail of your life. I wouldn't be driving myself crazy with questions and no answers.
But it is almost 2016, and I get to watch your life unfold with someone else and wonder why I came in last, still no answers.
If it wasn't almost 2016, forget tinder and my quirky bio with the 6 best photos I've ever taken, you'd call me on my corded phone because you actually knew IRL how fun and quirky I am and you'd already have seen me in all my green eyed, beautiful brunette glory.
It is almost 2016 and that means I am just another girl that you aren't looking for something serious with because you're a boy in his early 20s craving freedom. Instead you send me ***** text messages because you're a boy in his early 20s and you met me on Tinder. I am a girl in my early 20s and when you met me on Tinder, you assumed I wanted less than a relationship and a little more than a "hey how are you?" convo.
If it wasn't almost 2016, you wouldn't have detailed all the ways you would make me feel good because would you ever really say those things to my ******* face?
But it is almost 2016, and you didn't say any of those things to my ******* face, you said it beneath the unsolicited picture of you naked in your bathroom mirror and you even added that ******* emoji with the sunglasses, like what you were doing to me was actually super cool.
If it wasn't almost 2016, I wouldn't have known that you were feeding lies to me on a silver platter, I would have gorged myself on your tasty sweet nothings.
But it is almost 2016, and I am starving myself of something worthy and filling because I can't stop reading the tasty sweet nothings you are feeding her.
It is almost 2016 and I wish I could have said **** you to your two timing face instead of via text message.
**** you, again and again and again.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC