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Rodney Mendoza May 2014
I'm that used ****** under the bed that your girlfriend found.                                                                                                          I'm that last breath you take before you drown.                           I'm that raised manhole cover that give you blowouts.              I'm that pothole in the hood that the City knows about.         THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                         I'm the safety on that nine that determines life or death.                                                                                                                 I'm that asthma attack you had when you couldn't catch your breath.                                                                                                          I'm that last surviving egg about to go head on with that *****.                                                                                                         I'm that ***** next door that gave your wife that ****** up perm.                                                                                                        THEY CALL DRAMA.                                                                                I'm that wooden baton when you get your *** beat by the cop.   I'm that SUV the kids jumped out of when they robbed the **** spot.                                                                                                               I'm that sweat tricklin' down your cheek like someone shot ya. 
I'm that quarter pound of **** under your seat when the cops stop ya.                                                                                                   THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                         I'm that Breathalyzer test that test alcoholics.                                I'm that ******* that comes back after you flush the toilet. I'm that **** you took before you realized you ran out of tissue. 
I'm that *** stain left on blouses by government officials. 
THEY CALL DRAMA.                                                                               I'm that cold turkey when you got dope dependency.                       I'm that bottle of pills when you got suicidal tendencies.            I'm that bet your ******* made when you knew you didn't have no money.                                                           ­                                I'm that roach crawlin' cross your T.V. every time you got company.                                                                                                THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                         I'm that hole in your socks when you try on new sneakers.     I'm that ****** up sound that comes out when you got busted speakers.                                                        ­                                               I'm that slippery lane when girls think they're to cute to bowl. I'm that telephone pole when young car thieves lose control.       THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                             I was that dingy *** collar infested with Jeri curl juice.                  I was that crack addiction you had when you noticed your pants were too loose.                                                                  ­                 I was that closet your friend came out of when he said that he was gay.                                                                                                           I was that red spot on those blue jeans when your little girl forgot it was the 28th day.                                                                  THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                          I'm that **** you take after the 3rd day of being burnt.               I'm those dingy thongs when women wear those short *** skirts.                                                                                                           I'm that government cheese that didn't melt in your baked macaroni.                                                                                                   I'm that 10year bid you did all because you didn't rat on your *****.                                                                                                          I'm that long Island ice tea that got you that DWI charge.                                                          ­                                              I'm that slippin' transmission in bank robbers getaway cars.    THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                         I'm that seven you rolled every time you played craps.             I'm that burnin' sensation your girl gave you.                          
**** it. Just call me the clap.                                                            ­                                                 I'm that 300lb. Freak talkin' about "let me get on top boo'.                                                            ­                                                      I was that DNA the cops found that pointed straight to you.    I was that broken crack pipe when you had just brought an 8ball of crack.                                                                                                I was that ******* coke you brought that wouldn't come back.    I was that peanut butter and jelly sandwich after school      when there wasn't **** else to eat.                                                             ­                                                       I was that smell between your toes when you had stink feet.                                                            ­                                                       I was those socks on your hands when you couldn't afford gloves. I'm those bubbles that float up your back every time you **** in the tub. THEY CALL ME DRAMA.  c. R. Mendoza
Steven Fried Sep 2013
Wheels
Traction Air
Leaks Tears Turns
Blowouts on eight lanes
Cautiously
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blushing prince Jul 2017
The tips of my toes curl
fold inwardly like noisemaker blowouts
like the feet of the wicked witch of the east
I was always envious of the tongue flicker her feet took
the slug slithering into its’ shell
my hands are always sweating pools into a liver shaped pond
and this is where I lie
in the altar of altruism
into the bucket womb of the dark
where I prop myself against the saints I’ve collected
each one with hands clasped
each one never saying the prayers I want to hear
the one that will console me
the one that will **** my pupils dry
I think I hear it
but it’s time to dust the pagan guardians again
it’s time to light the candle
the flame licking my hair
sending it into a sizzle that smells
like a butcher’s shop
my eyes the color of kidney beans splitting
I want the angels to help
to promise me that I won’t be bad again
that the good in me is the good
in those that never get sick during the flu season
I am eternity stuck underneath lamplight
waiting for that bell to toll
to announce the coming of the
moment where I will
more monk than human
more enlightened than domestic cat
more blissful contemplation than damnation
Hallee Apr 2016
I wish time space travel was real, like in Interstellar. (it's funny really, I went to see that movie with the boy I tried to date after you. after 3 months I hadn't even tried to kiss him, I just kept thinking that he's too tall, and his hairs too short, and he doesn't appreciate the sky or call me princess.)

but if I could travel through the time line of space I would visit the dimensions in which we made it. where forever exists inside of us.

I want to see our daughters hair, I want to see if she has your blue eyes and your smile, God I hope so. I want to see you throw her up in the air and catch her and blow a raspberry on her tummy. i want to watch you teach her self love, and teach her what kind of man is allowed to love her. I want to hear her call you daddy, I want to see your face light up.
I want to see our son. I hope he's like you. I hope he's kind and smart and loving. I hope he cares just as much as you do. I want to watch you teach him respect, and how to love correctly.
come to think of it, I just hope they're like you in every way. I know how great of dad you will be, without having to see it.

I want to see the dimension where we get married. I want to see my wedding dressing, I want to hear the story of how we fell in love. I want to see the love in your eyes that says you want to stay forever. I want to see the dimension in which you stay forever. I want to see my signature with your last name attached.

I want to fast forward to see our children grown. I want to see what we made, who we raised. I hope they're happy. I think we would have made them happy.

I want to see the holidays with your family and my family and our family. I know in this dimension you're the only gift I ever need.

I want to see the fights, the blowouts, the hard times. I want to see what we made it through. I want to see how we handled it. I want to see how we made it last forever in this dimension.

I want to fast forward to when we're old and grey. I want to see your wrinkles. I want to see you with a cane in one hand and my hand in your other. I want to see the smile lines on our faces from the life time of happiness we created. I want to see the love radiating off of us.

if I could travel through time and space I would want to see the dimensions in which you stayed, in which we found each other at the right times. I want to witness the love I felt so deeply continue. I need to see what we would have made for ourselves. I need to see that the love was real, if only time space travel was.
here I am still writing about my ex again.
Stella Apr 2018
I hear the fights between them
And I constantly think
“Please don’t notice me”
With each passing word I feel more and more numb
Families are supposed to love each other,
Cherish the little things,
Protect each other….
What happened to mine?
For YEARS I have witness these “blowouts”
And after each one of them...
I’m scared
What If they hit me I think
What if they turn their wrath on me?
What if they don’t want me anymore?
What if they send me back?
I try so hard to cover up my insecurities,
But it’s getting to much
Y’all fight over the simpl  things,
The tiniest things trigger you,
And all I can do is sit there and think
“What happened to my family?”
No kid should think this,
So why am I?
Yeah, well I hope you like it. Thanks for reading!
Sienna Mar 2019
lukewarm coffee
still tastes alright
melted ice
still chills

wide ruled paper
still ***** up ink
bleach stained towels
still soak

greasy blowouts
still look okay
chipped gel nails
still shine

broken phone screens
still do turn on
unbound books
still read

insomniacs
still always wake
and the depressed?

they still breathe.
you're gonna be okay <3
Headlines
He was going to write his masterpiece
“The road to London” but the coach from
The airport had a blowout.
When he finally came to London, and it was
Morning and reading the headline
which asked several coaches have suffered
blowouts, could it be the Russians?
Another more sober paper said the accidents
were due to poor maintenance but that is
not a word that makes headlines.
As for the poet he didn't like London and
never wrote anything about this great city.
neth jones Aug 2020
Pendulum beds and woes
        accounts for the urgent night
The clock is choring

Feverish nocturnal motion
Animals thread a little heat through the eve
Aerial beings stir the air
A quick beat can be drawn

Underlying ...
     fear is foundation of excitement
and anxious youth take this strum
        to their clumsy congress

The worrisome world
        has heaped up
The act of days
         distended
The workweeks edifice
        bares a stubborn plaque

This knotted bind loosens in the nights
and desperatly so
        in weekend blowouts

Time
when regarded
          is personally distorted

Time
the machine
          doesn't ebb and grow
It pits mechanism energy
          against its own material death

Night span
           repaves
         the diurnal degrade

The Night is where we can be re-met
            receive our charge
            and obtain a revision
The night's blowouts — Are like my last candle before the night is gone. It's a comforting ritual, lighting that candle and reveling in the flickering flame... The soft glow illuminates the room, casting a gentle light on the shadows that gather. It's in these moments, in the solitude, that I find solace. I cherish the tranquility as it offers me an opportunity to reflect and escape the chaos of the world. The candle's warm glow creates a haven, —a sanctuary where I can truly be myself.

And while I don't mind being alone, there is an undeniable
pull to the memories we shared: They wrap around my mind like vines, intertwining with my thoughts and emotions.
Looking in the mirror, I see my reflection intertwined with
the shadow of your memory.
It's as if we're dancing together, across time and space,
moving in harmony with the music of our past. The melody of our shared experiences plays softly in the background, a bittersweet tune that still resonates deep within my heart.
The dance we shared was a masterpiece—,_ filled with
passion, laughter, and tears. Even though the song has
ended, its melody lingers, etching its mark on my soul.

Still like the past, the memories in it comes to pass, allowing us to grow and evolve. They are like stepping stones, guiding us towards a future where new memories are waiting to be created.
Even if I have to create a new life without you...

— The End —