"cakey" poems - Hello Poetry

And I did it once again. Skin picked and shaven, Cakey frosted ivory, Faceless, nameless, Plasticity contusion. Littered in the detailed fractures of a swelling stem, Those skeletal twigs of intangible incestual wings, splintered in stacks underneath his bed. Apocalyptic comfort found in the veins of what remains... Pineal shame, Puny white me, Post-karmic, futuristic-retrospective cosmic plan, slowly creeps towards me and offers its long inflaming hand. Cricket twitch, echoes in the distant introspective glitch of my momentary intuition. A bitter drip on tongue descends, Tunneled in an unwanted exploration. That sour pitched cacophony uncomfortably sung, Through the ghastly cold touch of a righteous cockroached thumb. Repugnance, Spreading the stain of an untouched soul, Quicksand, morphing me into dust. Devouring the white and into the red I rust.

0

Nov 24, 2016

Nov 24, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC

hannah-mariotti

Repugnance

And I did it once again. Skin picked and shaven, Cakey frosted ivory, Faceless, nameless, Plasticity contusion. Littered in the detailed fractures of a swelling stem, Those skeletal twigs of intangible incestual wings, splintered in stacks underneath his bed. Apocalyptic comfort found in the veins of what remains... Pineal shame, Puny white me, Post-karmic, futuristic-retrospective cosmic plan, slowly creeps towards me and offers its long inflaming hand. Cricket twitch, echoes in the distant introspective glitch of my momentary intuition. A bitter drip on tongue descends, Tunneled in an unwanted exploration. That sour pitched cacophony uncomfortably sung, Through the ghastly cold touch of a righteous cockroached thumb. Repugnance, Spreading the stain of an untouched soul, Quicksand, morphing me into dust. Devouring the white and into the red I rust.

21

something happened and then again and again but it is all just an unfocused merge of subconscious creations now but it did go something like this -- oh the wind and the trees and the cuts on my knees ..and the running away from whatever it is behind me away and again and a jump and then i fall and as i look up, i see me yes it's me and i smile at myself and offer a hand up 'cos there's really nothing to be scared of it's just me

0

Apr 26, 2013

Apr 26, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC

greenwoods

Wakey Cakey

something happened and then again and again but it is all just an unfocused merge of subconscious creations now but it did go something like this -- oh the wind and the trees and the cuts on my knees ..and the running away from whatever it is behind me away and again and a jump and then i fall and as i look up, i see me yes it's me and i smile at myself and offer a hand up 'cos there's really nothing to be scared of it's just me

20

I fell for a madman, a lunatic, a clown Knowing this all I can do is frown For so many years I took his abuse Him hunting a man who hides as Bruce This cakey clown makeup will cover the bruise A temporary reminder not to give him bad news He threw me out the window, it’s not the first time It’s all my fault, I got in the way of his crime One thing I needed to remember, he’s the star of the show It’s him and Batman, him and his foe I was just a puppet, a means to an end Maybe that why I met Ivy, I just needed a friend I was charged to mend and fix his head But it was him who got inside mine instead My ambition clouded my judgment, all could see He saw this flaw and decided to overtake me I became his Harlequin, or at least I guess I was meant too The issue is I thought for myself and didn’t share his worldview He lured me in with sadness and my pity He told me we would in the future rule Gotham city I believed him, I changed into a red and black lackey He said he just wanted to bring smiles and make himself happy Mad love, it’s what the sirens called it I guess they were right; how did I not take a hint? But he never loved me, that much to me is now obvious He hit, punched and dragged me, how was I so oblivious? I was just a pawn in his mad Puppet play I guess the joke was on me, isn’t that right Mr. J?

0

Mar 21, 2018

Mar 21, 2018 at 3:47 PM UTC

HarleyInTheBox

Mr. J

I fell for a madman, a lunatic, a clown Knowing this all I can do is frown For so many years I took his abuse Him hunting a man who hides as Bruce This cakey clown makeup will cover the bruise A temporary reminder not to give him bad news He threw me out the window, it’s not the first time It’s all my fault, I got in the way of his crime One thing I needed to remember, he’s the star of the show It’s him and Batman, him and his foe I was just a puppet, a means to an end Maybe that why I met Ivy, I just needed a friend I was charged to mend and fix his head But it was him who got inside mine instead My ambition clouded my judgment, all could see He saw this flaw and decided to overtake me I became his Harlequin, or at least I guess I was meant too The issue is I thought for myself and didn’t share his worldview He lured me in with sadness and my pity He told me we would in the future rule Gotham city I believed him, I changed into a red and black lackey He said he just wanted to bring smiles and make himself happy Mad love, it’s what the sirens called it I guess they were right; how did I not take a hint? But he never loved me, that much to me is now obvious He hit, punched and dragged me, how was I so oblivious? I was just a pawn in his mad Puppet play I guess the joke was on me, isn’t that right Mr. J?

28

I walk pass girls better than me Skinny pretty tall blonde Perfect barbie like my insides burn with hatred Knowing I can never be that I try so hard but it doesn't work Looking like a fake plastic doll My tears wipe out the cakey stuff I'm ready to give up I know I'm not like them Trying so hard is just useless

0

Aug 30, 2014

Aug 30, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC

lostdreame

barbie girls

I walk pass girls better than me Skinny pretty tall blonde Perfect barbie like my insides burn with hatred Knowing I can never be that I try so hard but it doesn't work Looking like a fake plastic doll My tears wipe out the cakey stuff I'm ready to give up I know I'm not like them Trying so hard is just useless

11

Whether to have dessert Is not even a question. Not to indulge in sweets? Don’t even make that suggestion. Having no apple pie Or luscious lemon meringue Would be a real ****** As we say in slang. Right out of the oven: Hot cinnamon rolls... Or donuts right out of the fryer-- With or without holes... Crepes filled with strawberries, With a dollop of whipped cream... When I talk about sweets, I never run out of steam. Don’t forget about cakes, And anything with custard... Chocolate in every form... And--I’m getting flustered-- Fresh homemade cookies Of any delicious kind... Chocolate fudge or divinity... Yikes, I’m losing my mind! Dessert bars, oh, my goodness, Chewy, crumbly, flaky... Banana, zucchini, and pumpkin Bread—soft and cakey... Cupcakes topped with thick frosting, And filled with chocolate ganache... Creamy Crème brûlée... Boy, aren’t we getting posh! A sugary German plum cake, A Danish butter ring, And Greek galaktoboureko Give me a reason to sing! Chocolate frosted brownies... Lefse with sugar and butter... My sweet tooth is growing larger With every word that I utter. Some people say that these sweets Might be the cause of my death. Then let me be holding a cookie When I take my last breath! - by Bob B

0

Oct 7, 2016

Oct 7, 2016 at 7:51 AM UTC

bob-b

On Having a Sweet Tooth

Whether to have dessert Is not even a question. Not to indulge in sweets? Don’t even make that suggestion. Having no apple pie Or luscious lemon meringue Would be a real ****** As we say in slang. Right out of the oven: Hot cinnamon rolls... Or donuts right out of the fryer-- With or without holes... Crepes filled with strawberries, With a dollop of whipped cream... When I talk about sweets, I never run out of steam. Don’t forget about cakes, And anything with custard... Chocolate in every form... And--I’m getting flustered-- Fresh homemade cookies Of any delicious kind... Chocolate fudge or divinity... Yikes, I’m losing my mind! Dessert bars, oh, my goodness, Chewy, crumbly, flaky... Banana, zucchini, and pumpkin Bread—soft and cakey... Cupcakes topped with thick frosting, And filled with chocolate ganache... Creamy Crème brûlée... Boy, aren’t we getting posh! A sugary German plum cake, A Danish butter ring, And Greek galaktoboureko Give me a reason to sing! Chocolate frosted brownies... Lefse with sugar and butter... My sweet tooth is growing larger With every word that I utter. Some people say that these sweets Might be the cause of my death. Then let me be holding a cookie When I take my last breath! - by Bob B

45

Cold Droplets of water Small beads Keeping flesh fresh Burning oxygen Dead cells White huffs Mouth of snow and clouds Thighs compact Skin cakey Eyes pure Plump lips red Irritated and punched Tongue moist Saliva And biting Pulling And tugging Blood Bitter arms Harsh words Death whispers "Baby it's cold outside"

0

Mar 24, 2012

Mar 24, 2012 at 9:49 PM UTC

mellifluous

Clean Beauty

Cold Droplets of water Small beads Keeping flesh fresh Burning oxygen Dead cells White huffs Mouth of snow and clouds Thighs compact Skin cakey Eyes pure Plump lips red Irritated and punched Tongue moist Saliva And biting Pulling And tugging Blood Bitter arms Harsh words Death whispers "Baby it's cold outside"

23

insecurities. judgement. fear. shame. criticism. empathy our imperfections are things we hide and exposed it feels like a great shame the world shouldn't need to see. secrets from our childhood, violations made against us, personality, our appearance. let me see. because the very thing that holds us back and makes us certain we are different from all the rest are the things that form bonds between us. empathy and understanding. the ability to connect with someone else who had the same upbringing as you. the ability to connect with someone else that's unsure of themselves in a crowd. the ability to connect with someone else that doesn't like an artist everyone else loves. connect with the person with cakey make-up because they too have a bad case of acne. the girl that stays in her t-shirt while everyone else get's gawked at in their string bikinis. and larger. the kids that slept in the closet because a parent attacked the other. the little girl that thought her brother loved her but violated her. the one that does what they must to feed their kids, shelter them. the man in love with his friends woman. the young kids not ready for parenthood and visit a clinic. the life that believes they were the key to saving another, but didn't or couldn't. the doctor that made a mistake and cost a family a loved one. the boy that can't confront their religious parent about their sexuality. for the girl that had a fling and caught a sexually transmitted virus, and can't tell her mama. the ones that never have their fill because they sense eyes on their plate and weight. ect. because the list goes on. all of it are chains that we form with strangers and friends. all of these insecurities, shames, imperfections are the reminder that we're all in this together. we're human, and that's humanity. I do not ask for you to reveal yourself to the world if you don't wish to. that was not my initial intention. what I ask is to remind yourself that what we hide is what another understands. so be open-minded and compassionate towards yourself because it'll ultimately lead to the bettering of our world.

0

Mar 26, 2015

Mar 26, 2015 at 10:11 AM UTC

lesli-vallecillo

growing

insecurities. judgement. fear. shame. criticism. empathy our imperfections are things we hide and exposed it feels like a great shame the world shouldn't need to see. secrets from our childhood, violations made against us, personality, our appearance. let me see. because the very thing that holds us back and makes us certain we are different from all the rest are the things that form bonds between us. empathy and understanding. the ability to connect with someone else who had the same upbringing as you. the ability to connect with someone else that's unsure of themselves in a crowd. the ability to connect with someone else that doesn't like an artist everyone else loves. connect with the person with cakey make-up because they too have a bad case of acne. the girl that stays in her t-shirt while everyone else get's gawked at in their string bikinis. and larger. the kids that slept in the closet because a parent attacked the other. the little girl that thought her brother loved her but violated her. the one that does what they must to feed their kids, shelter them. the man in love with his friends woman. the young kids not ready for parenthood and visit a clinic. the life that believes they were the key to saving another, but didn't or couldn't. the doctor that made a mistake and cost a family a loved one. the boy that can't confront their religious parent about their sexuality. for the girl that had a fling and caught a sexually transmitted virus, and can't tell her mama. the ones that never have their fill because they sense eyes on their plate and weight. ect. because the list goes on. all of it are chains that we form with strangers and friends. all of these insecurities, shames, imperfections are the reminder that we're all in this together. we're human, and that's humanity. I do not ask for you to reveal yourself to the world if you don't wish to. that was not my initial intention. what I ask is to remind yourself that what we hide is what another understands. so be open-minded and compassionate towards yourself because it'll ultimately lead to the bettering of our world.

8

my pocket has one nickel & Mason's has a dime; a transient, red rubber ball ping-ponging deep faith with & for carnival trash is what falls from the raccoon's mouth past three; the midnight tour, troupe, & egret have plucked my eyes out before petit dejeuner & have all booked residence with lush vagabonds from some oasis on the curb of Suburbia, the ottoman wet where lore slumps the backs of the fairest; where, beyond equanimity there boons & beckons tightropes, slacked tension; and where folklore swells arteries like King Cake; the swamplands have my pocket picked; pock-marked truants (BOY) fiddling in fours during school hours, cakey margarine spread all over their legs as they eat grilled cheese and become, **** in the ambrosian daylight fogged out with figgy shade by thick, carpet-fondling curtains, sagging with secondhand soot.

0

May 25, 2019

May 25, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC

vintagecellular

Boy

my pocket has one nickel & Mason's has a dime; a transient, red rubber ball ping-ponging deep faith with & for carnival trash is what falls from the raccoon's mouth past three; the midnight tour, troupe, & egret have plucked my eyes out before petit dejeuner & have all booked residence with lush vagabonds from some oasis on the curb of Suburbia, the ottoman wet where lore slumps the backs of the fairest; where, beyond equanimity there boons & beckons tightropes, slacked tension; and where folklore swells arteries like King Cake; the swamplands have my pocket picked; pock-marked truants (BOY) fiddling in fours during school hours, cakey margarine spread all over their legs as they eat grilled cheese and become, **** in the ambrosian daylight fogged out with figgy shade by thick, carpet-fondling curtains, sagging with secondhand soot.

17

That growling voice raspy bronchial tubes screaming under cakey mucus; feelings are thrown around here, jutting out of auras like flood lights. We all need things. What would it be like if we didn't? Can you imagine that? Everyone having everything they need to feel safe, secure, loved?

0

Jan 26, 2015

Jan 26, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC

aubrey

Untitled

That growling voice raspy bronchial tubes screaming under cakey mucus; feelings are thrown around here, jutting out of auras like flood lights. We all need things. What would it be like if we didn't? Can you imagine that? Everyone having everything they need to feel safe, secure, loved?

15

no painting is made up of an entirety of good strokes. if a painting is started with a good stroke and slowly starts to deteriorate, good strokes can still be made. if a painting is horrible from the start, and the paint's already cakey and dry and stubborn, good strokes can still be made. good strokes can be learned; precise and categorized and made with a focused eye. but education does not guarantee a good stroke. good strokes can be random; flicking paint and getting it under your fingernails and ruining your brushes. but fate does not guarantee a good stroke. a good stroke is found. a good stroke is found by lucky people.

0

Mar 16, 2016

Mar 16, 2016 at 9:49 AM UTC

abowandarrow

things you'd be lucky to find // 7 1/2

no painting is made up of an entirety of good strokes. if a painting is started with a good stroke and slowly starts to deteriorate, good strokes can still be made. if a painting is horrible from the start, and the paint's already cakey and dry and stubborn, good strokes can still be made. good strokes can be learned; precise and categorized and made with a focused eye. but education does not guarantee a good stroke. good strokes can be random; flicking paint and getting it under your fingernails and ruining your brushes. but fate does not guarantee a good stroke. a good stroke is found. a good stroke is found by lucky people.

6