"bitchin" poems
It's a **** shame.. These girls are so different yet they are the same.. A figment of imagination .. To draw a line in the divine pigment and foundation.. 2 Queens in the same race.. In the same race.. Can't get along because of the tone on their face... Whatever the case I wish you all could get first place.. Don't let the color of your skin have you unfit within... I wish I could undraw that a line with the pen.. Of self hate that they handed us.. We didn't wanna hate eachother they demanded us... These skin tones... They tore us apart from the field to the kitchen.. Enough of the ******** & ******* QUEENS PRAISE QUEENS!!!!! And that final.. Instead of making enemies.. Make yourself someone's idol... Don't let this world segregate a segregated being.. I'm dedicating this to you.. Every dark skinned & light skinned Queen... ONE LOVE...
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 5:00 PM UTC
It's coming through a hole in the air,
from those nights in Tiananmen Square.
It's coming from the feel
that it ain't exactly real,
or it's real, but it ain't exactly there.
From the wars against disorder,
from the sirens night and day,
from the fires of the homeless,
from the ashes of the gay:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming through a crack in the wall,
on a visionary flood of alcohol;
from the staggering account
of the Sermon on the Mount
which I don't pretend to understand at all.
It's coming from the silence
on the dock of the bay,
from the brave, the bold, the battered
heart of Chevrolet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming from the sorrow on the street
the holy places where the races meet;
from the homicidal bitchin'
that goes down in every kitchen
to determine who will serve and who will eat.
From the wells of disappointment
where the women kneel to pray
for the grace of G-d in the desert here
and the desert far away:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
Sail on, sail on
o mighty Ship of State!
To the Shores of Need
past the Reefs of Greed
through the Squalls of Hate
Sail on, sail on
It's coming to America first,
the cradle of the best and the worst.
It's here they got the range
and the machinery for change
and it's here they got the spiritual thirst.
It's here the family's broken
and it's here the lonely say
that the heart has got to open
in a fundamental way:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming from the women and the men.
O baby, we'll be making love again.
We'll be going down so deep
that the river's going to weep,
and the mountain's going to shout Amen!
It's coming to the tidal flood
beneath the lunar sway,
imperial, mysterious
in amorous array:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
Sail on, sail on
o mighty Ship of State!
To the Shores of Need
past the Reefs of Greed
through the Squalls of Hate
Sail on, sail on
I'm sentimental if you know what I mean:
I love the country but I can't stand the scene.
And I'm neither left or right
I'm just staying home tonight,
getting lost in that hopeless little screen.
But I'm stubborn as those garbage bags
that Time cannot decay,
I'm junk but I'm still holding up
this little wild bouquet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
12.4k
Trying to find solace in the suburbs
when everything seemed superb
like that cookie-cutter,
picket fence,
faux fur mentality
they instill at the start
Just an infant with scars
He reached for her baby bump,
Then slammed it hard
onto the stairwell
She fell, wept, and held
That lil princess
and prayed she'd never have the same hell
All grown up. Alive and well
shes got different demons
different intricate cells
It's been said
she is special she is awake
But, in many ways
She is the same
As that ANGEL who carried her 23 years ago
That's debt I'll always owe
A gift I'll never own
Carefully Constructed
and Creatively Sewn
shoved a soul into that shell
That'll one day guide her back home
Shes got her mamas tough, yet gentle heart
her smile, brevity and love for art..
she can write her *** off
like her
the wrote and the writ
Yet she's plagued by guilt
every ******* minute
GUILT for the life that she'd been given
GUILT for each exhale emitted
She prays that God will have the sense
to go back in time and hit OMIT
(on all chapters even close to the word 'human'
there's GUILT for feeling guilty even more for despising your own )
"I must've slipped through the gate, admit it!
Or recruit another for your mission
regretfully, I must solicit
that I'm not fit for this position
I'm no hero
I'm the villain
If ya look close you'll see
I spit venom"
Mama walks in
smiles and says
"WE.
ARE.
WOMEN!"
"Betta recognize and
quit your bitchin'
as of today, you are living..
You are loved
You are safe
You are ************* winning
WARRIOR,
CREATOR,
QUEEN,
GODDESS,
INCARNATE..
We are strength & We are the faith
never to be broken
but we still stay brave
The Legend wont start
or end with you
Its a fight stretched out
through time
You will understand soon
No matter how much you ask
"WHY"
It wont stop circumstance
wont stop lies
wont stop suffering
and will NEVER compromise
Your in the way of the wave, child
This..... the secret to life
When in the way of the wave...
its only a matter of time
S0 if youre searching for solace
Will you promise
To memorize this line
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 3:54 AM UTC
VERSE 1
Another year has come and gone,
I realize now that I was wrong,
For ******* at you way too long,
Blaming you for us not getting along,
Arguing with you until dawn,
We go back and forth just like ping-pong,
About all of the crazy conclusions I've drawn,
Now it's eggshells we are walking upon,
I hate that you are distant and withdrawn,
I'm trying but it's so hard to be strong,
I know that with you is where my heart belongs,
I'm reminded each time I hear our song,
This feeling is one I wish I could prolong,
Your love is a drug, I love to be on.
HOOK
It's hard for me to say, but I'm addicted to loving you,
Always chasing my next fix, you are what I pursue,
I need to feel your high, I need to have you close,
I just want to fill up on your love, so I can overdose.
VERSE 2
Baby you know you are my everything, my high when I am low,
You pick me up when i am down, I can't let you go,
You really are the best thing, that I have ever found,
When I'm with you i feel like I'm ten feet off the ground,
Nothing can compare to you, babe you are the best,
But when I'm too far away from you, I turn into a mess.
To the point I will do anything to feel your caress,
And rub my hands across your bare chest,
I don't know why I do this, a different side of me emerges,
When you get me alone and I give into my urges,
Since I had a taste I'm craving you and no one else,
It's obvious I'm strung out, all my friends say I need help.
(HOOK)
VERSE 3
We've been staying up too late,
This addiction I'm growing to hate,
My mind is fuzzy I can't think straight,
I've even started to lose weight,
When you penetrate me we levitate,
I'm elevated, my pupils dilate.
I try to slow down, gradually wean,
Myself off of the magic inside of your jeans,
But hard as I try I can't break the routine,
I'm beginning to think I'll never stay clean.
(HOOK)
BRIDGE
I'm addicted to your love, though it's tough to admit,
This habit is one I'm not sure I can quit.
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 9:25 PM UTC
homeland security
on these nuts
home land security
in your butts
home land security
look but don't touch
it's too much
for 'em to understand
***** jacker
**** in hand
hatin' big wacker
on tha attacker
i like 'em blacker
she's a ***** packer
don't like 'em battered
spell bound brain washed
what's tha matter?
Homeland Security Act
homeland security
tryin' ta scare
why can't tha government care?
socialist ideals
not tryin' to hear
hippie gal tryin' ta spread peace
until the cognizance cease
down with tha ****
come in your hair
tryin' ta do me long
they can't take it down
ya know they messin' around
neo-con trick
tryin' ta make brunette sick
don't they like the way i hold my ****
maybe i wanna take a lick
lyin' bitchin' wichin' cryin'
like a man's supposed to be dyin'
look at 'em fryin'.
sorcery zap to the court-ordered goofs
snitchin'
doin' bad things
mad federal schemes
they all occultic fiends
with yo mama church
as the ball swings
** **** on me
mother **** the holy see
what ya tryin' to be
....holy?
goons, screws, pigs and spooks
sayin cognizance aint to use
poor court ordered goofs so-abused
papists vowed in their delusions of grandeur
all you supposed ta think
...is white cop
expendable masses they say aint allowed ta know
while they call the pope pop
guardian protectors of tha white bred
they wanna make tha people brain dead
feds frivolous threats
tha number on your badge says zero
what you tryin' to be?
A super hero?
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
before i knew it was all too good to be true,
i genuinely cared so much for you.
you put all this trust into a person,
but they let you walk away while they're there bitchin' and cursin'.
see, the thing is that we all want to see the person's best,
even though their hurtful words never give you a rest.
we want to see these people grow,
so that one day their love for us will maybe someday show.
that though, isn't love at all,
it's your eyes that are covered by a shawl.
it is good to have hope in the face of the worse,
but that viewpoint is also a curse.
truth be told, toxicity isn't always easy to leave,
this is a thought that's worth to conceive.
before i knew it was too good to be true,
i genuinely cared so much for you.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 8:13 PM UTC
I'm just gunna
hula-hoop
right through
your
loop
hole.
I'm dating
Debbie Downer
but I'm bi-curious
for Positive Paul.
I'm hungry.
I'm pissy.
Debbie, get back to
Betty.
& Bake me a cake.
I'll go hang out
with
Paul and his country ****
Whoops,
I mean
Crock.
You can just keep bitchin'
in the kitchen.
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC
The Holy Family?
In a box
with the angels upstairs
Shepherds?
In search of their sheep
lost in newspaper
Somehow I sit on a bag...
of glass Christmas *****
“Must get my vacuum!”
That dead animal, coated by dust
and buried in laundry--
has tangled itself in its own cord
and tumbled headlong to the basement
Crooked photos of daughters
watch me...
smiling (Can it be?)
from a hundred miles and years away?
Waiting for me to make
that miracle again--
What moms do at Christmas
Phone rings
“Jing-a-ling, are ya listening?”
It's the bill collector's recorded
“This is inexcusable!” message
Charities are legion
I say, “There is a line”
Later--
seen only by the peaceful stars...
the donkey of Bethlehem
stumbles in-- laden with groceries
dumping them on the bed/couch
...and back outside for the next load
...and back to the bed again
Why bother making it?
Not as if the cat cares
He likes his blankets niched and lumpy
Not as if some modern home magazine's
planning a photo-shoot!
The mailbox, meanwhile
is preggers with glossy catalogues
...and bills...and
“Wouldn't your whole family enjoy a sunroom?”
Dropping the bags
searching for a light
turning up the heat--
gas bill
sewer bill
“Tis the season for a new Toyota!”
I try to understand the point
of a Christmas card with printed signature
Can I stuff myself in with the recycling?
Then, back outside for the single-woman drama
“Hauling in the Tree”
Storm door catches the hem of my coat
Pine needles, leaves, snow and mud
mark the end of the trail
On my belly twisting screws
“Son-of-a-bitchin tree stand!”
Knocking my daughter's picture off the wall
“Serves 'er right fer laughin!”
**** thing's crooked and dripping
with melted snow
It's 8:30 PM
The cat is hungry and crying
I hit the bottom-- and the button
for the background of a human voice
Three naked chickens are waiting on the counter
At some point, I will take off my coat...
Right now--
I drink a beer while standing
To get a better view....
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
startle cracks
and curtain calls
my eyelids back
diaphanous dropped
and veils up
dewy bloom spotlit
monkeysuit chauffeur
denigrated daily
scratch behind his ears
you're doing OK
just mistook
vehicle for passenger
relax in seat back
let clear and present ever
steer biospheric lit
allow etheric hum
up the bony ladder
to outlook attic
bindi blinds lift
pretty bitchin'
46-bit binoculars
these holy puppet
hands have got
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC
Life on the city streets wasn't easy
I lived off top ramen along with the spray cheesey
Panhandlin' all day long just to get on by
It was enough to make a grown pigeon cry
That's right I'm a pigeon, I'm a bird of flight
But I'm a **** *** bird, win evry fight
Don't you talk back or I'll skin you, fly you like a kite
hide up yo kids cause I be coming for em tonight
Bye the way I'm batman.
A dark ************ knight!
So stay inside cause I be breakin in
An innocent pigeon, you'll never see me comin
Stealing all yo stuff an scoopin up yo kids
I'll auction em off, take the highest bid
So don't call me a **** cause I put a roof over their head
I pay them to work, by that I mean givin head
Later that night we'll all go to bed
Life be good when they **** my **** red
That's right I'm Chester the pigeon
You won't catch me in the kitchen
This poem be over so quit yo *******
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
There's a Sofa in my kitchen
and a Bread-bin in the lounge-
the missus won't stop *******
and the kids are on the scrounge.
the atmosphere is thick with queer
Simon Cowells on the telly,
Tom Jones's bones are
th' microphones n
his bowels are
Ooozzing smelly.
through atrophied
arseholes who choose
between iconicity
n the domesticity blues.
There's a Sofa in my kitchen
and a Bread-bin in the lounge
the missus won't stop *******
and the kids - are on the scrounge.
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 2:41 AM UTC
my love is an ancient curse
the bruised fruit that falls from trees
has been taken from a cavity deep inside
is what those who dream want to seek
but please don't go please don't go
maybe i'm your annabelle
maybe you're my moby **** / /
but there's too much confusion here
it's just walls walls walls
buttered chicken has been worshiped here
a deity i've prayed to almost every night
my love is winter frost,yet taller than the sycamore, wider than the infinite
and it's okay because it's always fine
i've got nothing but time anyways
and i could be a superhero instead
because i'm dull and evil
because i could be anything you ever wanted//
anyways i hear you're doing fine
so i don't know why i'm still bitchin'
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
Hey there mother ****** get the **** up out the chair because i know that you're not perfect but i don't really ****** care. Today you gon be perfect - quit cha ******* get to smurkin. Get to lurkin mother ****** you're about to do some hurtin. The meanest ************ looks him right into his eyes when he takes him of his soul and then destroys him of his pride, cause the meanest ************ aint a ***** - he won't go hide, he won't go cry, he'll stick it through, yeah, he'll fight until he's blue. Because the meanest mother ****** got the ***** of ******* steel he doesn't talk he uses fists and thats what shows that he's for real.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 10:02 PM UTC
Sometimes,
I imagine I'm some
mourning starlet
who sings Lana Del Rey
at the club
every Saturday night.
A honeyed halo of stage light
tangles itself about
the curled labyrinth
of my hair,
sparkles gold against
my tearing irises.
My mouth parts
and the war cries begin.
In the moments that
the melody offers
my voice repose,
I pound shots to the beat
of the drummer's ramblings.
The crowd applauds
my tipsiness,
their hoots of praise
shaking at the depths
of my eardrums
like an intoxicated tambourine.
My neuroticism
fascinates these people,
I think.
Not in an
exploitive,
let's-glamourize-depression
kind of way,
but in an
it is a truth universally acknowledged
kind of way--in a
******* cuz I've been there too"
kind of way.
See,
within my little,
concocted fantasy
of stage light
and music
and *****
the people don't judge me
the way they do
on the outside.
Here,
I am not
melodramatic or
overly sensitive or
disposable.
Here,
my war cries sound
a little less
like death and
a little more
like poetry.
Here,
they love me
in spite of the sadness.
Here,
we share a song--
here,
they sing with me.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 11:24 PM UTC
it doesn't matter where
i am anymore--off in what's
being made clear...
over and over and over.
riding these bitchin' waves...
everywhere occurring to itself--
head tilted to the side, i smile in welcome.
it was always supposed to be this way...
the sky too needs to be freed up--
don't you know?
as a bird pulling air to its heart to
fly on it...don't you know?
look through anything you wish...
it can handle it--see exactly what
you want to see, after all...it's okay.
with that sung--i've come to know
she's looking my way.
it's all on end...a yogi sleeping on a
bed of nails.
i have forever to wait out her mind.
i can feel her falling--rushes of space
tightening around her body.
she's already been torn asunder.
inside she's answerable to no one--
i am empty enough, i am full enough
for just that.
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 1:46 AM UTC
-
-
-
hello
-
my name is unannounced
but i come hearing a sweet beat for you
and it flows like
-
Jell-O
-
specifically the green kind
but that’s too far off topic to matter
to us so
-
mellow
-
by sitting in an armchair
imagining the world to come
though it looks so
-
shallow
-
you'll be pleasantly surprised
to find the glass can never be too full
-
even though we settle too soon
-
love it for three weeks
and then rename it
to forget how
-
hollow
-
it really is inside
but the puppy’s made of painted glass
-
of life i’ve wondered
what we want
while it certainly is challenging
there must be more than what it seems
-
lets examine
our lives when we were kids
we find bruises scrapes and cuts
and your goldfish Tim
he likes to swim in circles cause the world's too big
but he only swims clockwise cause he’s missing a fin
-
now he
-
speeds up
-
grows legs
-
takes form
-
and he
-
gets lost
-
plays God
-
gets born
-
but he loses sight of clarity
and succumbs to the apathy
of time in all its brevity
at every opportunity to
-
return
-
to the Jell-O whose convictions seem far less firm
as they softly fall on flowers wearing f r e s h s n o w
-
goodbye
-
i’ll be missing you for years to come
on lets go fishing we might catch us something *******
about
why don’t we just pretend everything is fine
-
why don’t
we just take a number
get in line
-
why don’t
we search for truth inside our blackest lies
-
how else
to lend true purpose to these fading lives
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
I wander from room to room
trying to pick out what to keep
What to take on to the next place
where to sit and where to sleep
I'll take the bed of course
maybe a couch or maybe two
a writing desk and oil lamp
so I've at least got stuff to do
I dont need a television
fax machine or dryer
I'll write letters for a past time
dry my clothes in front the fire
I think I leave all of my gadgets too
from the office and kitchen
that way when they break
wont be me you hear bitchin'
Blankets and a rocking chair
books and candles too
pots and pans and plates and stands
and cutlery for two
Of all the things around me
there's so little that I need
will be nice to simplify my life
and shed this cloak of greed
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 1:51 PM UTC
“Sometimes I feel
Like I've been tied
To the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post
Good lord I feel like I'm dyin””
Allman Brothers
<•>
two words arrive unscheduled no comprehension no intention;
a great taunting for the guy who claims he plucks ‘em
from passing breezes and hazelnut trees
creation capture
meaning just a biting ******* feeling,
Allman brothers Pandora in on it too,
playing to make sure
I’m in touch with my roustabout feelings
*“Sometimes I feel
Like I've been tied
To the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post
Good lord I feel like I'm dyin'”*
got it - the poems revolting
and they are...making it hard
the lesson i’m learning
the poems are the boss
you ain’t nothing but a whipping post boy
wright right what you’re given, no misgivings -
a treat you don’t deserve
you ain’t nothing but our
creature captured
forty years in the desert and maybe then
the promised land
let you know when you suffered enuf
meantime meet us and Leon in Atlantic City;
poetry ain’t nothing but rolling dice, playing craps
mostly you lose
Bastille Day 15:00
a country tune for a county boy
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC
Rats in my Kitchen
I got Rats in my kitchen,
I got a mind to be bitchin'
I'm free and easy twisting
a perfectly nasty cadence
with my six strings,
singing like I'm a star draw
at 'The bucket of blood,'
got a bone handled knife
it keeps my life
ongoing
makes other men’s wife's feel safe,
eliminates slow mindedness
some times I scrapes it up side
my trusty singing strings,
drives women crazy
to shuffle their *****
up and down the blood ingrained boards.
my fans think I'm your Jesus incarnate,
I think I'm closer Satan’s hounds o' Hell,
they sing so loud
they hardly needs me at all,
but I'm here for my stack of Dollars,
my fun with the women who wants me most,
and my fun reducing that stack.
cause I is so popular with the gals
I gots to watch the shifting eyes
'neath the Stetson hats,
cold as steel
they’d like to pierce me
with a stare
"I wasn’t born yesterday mother,"
I study my steps
and is now wise
you take one at a time.
I cares for little
'cept delivering' the Blues
to the people like me,
that’s when I hit my natural peak!
and I is indulgent in seein'
you is comming with me
to the bottom of the river of whiskey,
the blues sustains me
been my real mother
since my baby left me.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
The Holy Family?
In a box
with the angels upstairs
Shepherds?
In search of their sheep
lost in newspaper
Somehow I sit on a bag...
of glass Christmas *****
“Must get my vacuum!”
That dead animal, coated by dust
and buried in laundry--
has tangled itself in its own cord
and tumbled headlong to the basement
Crooked photos of daughters
watch me...
smiling (Can it be?)
from a hundred miles and years away?
Waiting for me to make
that miracle again--
What moms do at Christmas
Phone rings
“Jing-a-ling, are ya listening?”
It's the bill collector's recorded
“This is inexcusable!” message
Charities are legion
I say, “There is a line”
Later--
seen only by the peaceful stars...
the donkey of Bethlehem
stumbles in-- laden with groceries
dumping them on the bed/couch
...and back outside for the next load
...and back to the bed again
Why bother making it?
Not as if the cat cares
He likes his blankets niched and lumpy
Not as if some modern home magazine's
planning a photo-shoot!
The mailbox, meanwhile
is preggers with glossy catalogues
...and bills...and
“Wouldn't your whole family enjoy a sunroom?”
Dropping the bags
searching for a light
turning up the heat--
gas bill
sewer bill
“Tis the season for a new Toyota!”
I try to understand the point
of a Christmas card with printed signature
Can I stuff myself in with the recycling?
Then, back outside for the single-woman drama
“Hauling in the Tree”
Storm door catches the hem of my coat
Pine needles, leaves, snow and mud
mark the end of the trail
On my belly twisting screws
“Son-of-a-bitchin tree stand!”
Knocking my daughter's picture off the wall
“Serves 'er right fer laughin!”
**** thing's crooked and dripping
with melted snow
It's 8:30 PM
The cat is hungry and crying
I hit the bottom-- and the button
for the background of a human voice
Three naked chickens are waiting on the counter
At some point, I will take off my coat...
Right now--
I drink a beer while standing
To get a better view....
Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
Titans clashing
In writing classes
Sessions
To profess progression
Or
Progress to professions
Blessings
Brought through the lessons
Learned
In College
A student as truant
As undeserved triumph
In the form
Of a form
That says what he’s worth
Diplomas
Handed out
To show
You’re on the road
To success
The rest are asked
The ultimate question
Of “Why not?”
Embarking on the quest
When the ultimatum
Is failure
Fail lures in
Those with no ambition
Men *******
About getting papers
To show worth
Working with no
Apparent purpose
Versus
Being apparently worthless
Pairing the two
Against the view
Of a *****
Who stares at the moon
And gives a ****
About the bull
The one
Whose wit
Could split
The tightest knit
Brain
And undue the sutures
Of skulls
To undue
Their mundane
View of success
The *****
Who calls himself
A *****
With more pride
Than Aryans
Carrying his opinion
Higher
Than the mass vision
Just to show
How low
They truly are
Arrogantly ignorant
Ignore rants
Of others
And smother them
With the truth
Of knowing nothing
And understands
They’ll never understand
Overstepping the boundaries
Without
Diplomatic immunity
Yet immune
To the qualities
Of the Hippocratic views
And sees
To seize the future
You must
Tackle the present problems
You must blitz
To get you’re quarter back
If you want
To make a change
And sport all the qualities
That seem to them
Strange
Deranged
In the range
Of misunderstandings
The illusion of progress
For humans
Are usually
Said in words
And never
Set in stone
So I will throw
Sticks and stone
The stupidity that’s grown
Words hurt
But actions hurt worser
For example:
Worser
Isn’t a word
Until I worsen the
Worst situation
I’m waiting
For my chance
To blow up
So I can dumb down
Your intelligence
And smarting up
Your ignorance
If you can’t understand
You’re either too smart
Or too **** ignorant
If you’re offended
Then you’re opinion is unneeded
Because the truth
Will tear your *** to pieces
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
her love is tainted
barely there at all
she's cold and jaded
her back against the wall
always on the defensive
with no intent to listen
shes stubborn and stuck up
and can't stop bitchin'
and if she wasn't my mother
there'd be no way to tolerate
her aura of negativity
the way she spews hate
the way others brush it off
with an understanding nod
after all she has God...
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 12:11 AM UTC
Every body's ******* about one-day-outta-the-year,
but I like to be your little princess for a night
when you open up all my doors,
pair the steak with the exact right bottle of wine
and we finish off the entire thing.
Chocolate mousse, made with love,
an entire pile of romantic movies to pick from
while you stare at me adoringly across the
immaculate
candle lit
apartment that's finally clean! (just for me)
Then Brazilian jazz in a bubble bath,
(you thought of every little thing)
I lean back into you, feeling your lips rest on my hairline.
You said we should do this more often.
Then I gave you a Santa bubble beard
we took pictures
and we laughed hysterically in the light of a candle.
It's how I know, before and after it all that
**** it
(I love you.)
The trick is slipping it into conversation.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 10:11 PM UTC