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Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The
Robin Carretti May 2018
Walking, talking, eating,
One lover only baking,
hum waking- up
Is anyone good
at loving?
Always
giving
metals
The modern
love robot

((ATM))  
machine
There is
no
place
Oh! Yes
Lend me all
lovers
at my home

The ((OZ)) fame
Artsy Auntie
(EM) so lame

Listening to
(REM)
Headrush
Makeup
blush also
*** in-between
My break up
My lunch hour
All over again
throwing
cash
way off the street
look out I almost
crashed
_


That Casanova
racer
slim
reducer

My
((ATM))
Sexter machine
Pixstar diet
Laughing to
the bank

You are
better
But in the
least seeing
Her for what
she is
The beauty
she is making
up the beast
He is the
Eight personalities
Burnt money
Miss French fries
Baby blue eyes cry
My cash went dry
Henry the eighth

The love affair in
September Goth
Just recently shot
Lord of the rings
Be sure you don't get
the blues
She-devil jeweler
Saphire I
got rushed
She fires out!!
She Forgets **
The finest
champagne
candles

On the tenth
Cash reminder rush
I cannot recall
how I
got here?

I will be back
for the cash!!
That gave her
Total recall

Over there
someone
left more
cash
Someone
overloaded trash
What cash potential
her  best clothes

He looked like
moon dancer
Jacksons five
black glove
Casanova the
best climate
For Cash
Australian mate
Jumping
Jack Flash
You cant always
get what
you want
But if you try
sometimes
You might get
what you need
Don't rush
your life away

With that
Casanova
Don't rush your
stars of
the Nova Scotia
This is comical so about cash time just rushes by in a flash.
Who do you love to take your time this world is crazy you may not have the time
I'm an intercontinental casanova
I drive the roads and highways
I'm a lover of the ladies
And I love to drive the bi-ways

In every town I seem to go
Theres a lady there for me
It's not a one night hook up thing
It's full of feeling, can't you see

From Florida to Baltimore
And all points in between
I have a woman there in waiting
To help me make the scene

I'm an inter-coastal lover
An inter-coastal driver too
For the time that I am with them
There is only me and you

From east coast to the west coast
From the midwest to the hills
I have women always waiting
To help me get my thrills

They know about each other
They don't mind, at least I think
They keep their secret thoughts so secret
If they didn't, I would drink

When I am with one in a city
I am theirs and theirs alone
They only know of my arrival
When I call them on the phone

If I get there and they're busy
Then I drop my load and go
There's no need to find another
Two in one town....no no no

I'm an inter-coastal casanova
I drive all round the place
I can't stay in just one city
I always need my space

If one girl gets possessive
And want to settle down
That's when the party's over
And I vacate from that town

I pick up loads at my request
Going where I've been before
And like I said if it gets dangerous
Then I don't go back no more

I'm an Intercontinental
Inter-coastal lover boy
I have women 'cross the country
And we bring each other joy

I love the life I'm living
No commitment no regret
and there's no one there complaining
of anything I might forget

You may frown upon my lifestyle
But it works ok for me
One day I may get married
But I don't know when that will be...
Elizabeth Feb 2014
Don told me
Casanova
That I was one in a million
And I scoffed, saying
                                                What's the deal with him
I liked it
The attention and
Egocentrism
Compliments that
Made me shiver
Warm when I refused 'em
Begging for more
More looks of ***** poetry
But he did not read those lines
Like me
Trembling knees
With the appearance of being weak
Those pick-up lines humorous
Slithery
Romanticism of the century
Casanova with his cheese,
Different platters, but you can't find
Me.
She wants intellectualism, and interest, and the type of romanticism that is now a lost art.
Meghan O'Neill Apr 2014
Giacomo Casanova
**** of the 18th century
But he loved the person
More than the *****
'Spoiling' virgins
As if it was one sided.
And not bothering to suppress his
Love
For both human
Anatomy and the
Human heart
When he was done
With you, there was no break up
No casual washing of hands.
He would hook you up
with some rich bloke
He didn't throw you
Into the trash
He threw you through
The top window of
The palace
Where's my Casanova?
Why can't I be
******
And
Loved
Why would I be the
****
When it takes two to
make love.
Martin Rasmussen Mar 2010
Oh sweet sugar cone
let me **** you
'till you're wet with pleasure.
'Till your *******
slap against your thighs

Mother of pleasure .
Let me drown in the sea of lust
while the last torch burns out.
Let me plunge myself into darkness,
and burn out between your legs.

Call me Casanova
as I ramble on forever
bind me to your lap
and bind me fast forever.
So I'll never beg again.
Alexis J Meighan Oct 2012
A dads uniform
                          (Now my own)


           On any given day I saw the many faces of a man.
I watch him play his roles like they were well rehearsed scenes.
He was a star in his own actions, drama, thrillers and romance.

         He wore his soldiers uniform on sunday, torn jeans, white T-shirt with no sleeves and abrasions and scrapes gave stripes to his big arms.
He had oil on his hands and grease on his chin, barking orders as he worked on the car.
" Hand me that 3/4 standard and torque it to the 5th notch"
"What!? What the **** language was that?" I thought to myself as I awkwardly reached for the 1st thing my eyes spotted and held it up.
"That's a hammer Alex!" He said shaking his head as he smiled and walked toward me. He rarely had a disappointing tone. Later he explain the workings of a standard torque wrench Vs a metric wrench with converter. 10 years later I used that wrench to change my Edelbrock Electronic Carburetor 400 series twin stoker all by myself.

    I once saw him defend his honor. That day he wore  his heroes uniform as he leaped from person to person striking, grabbing, kicking, and throwing the 3 large men who underestimated his ferociousness. His tank top was ****** from the wound on his nose. His hat fell to the dirt next to the beaten, unconscious, and humiliated foes that once stood before him.
I could see that he intended to continue his lesson in respect but as he glanced over to see my wide open mouth and unmoved stare he quickly contained his aggression. He picked up his hat and shook it a few time to knock the dirt off. In that moment was another unexpected act. He help the worst of the men to a sitting position and asked him if he was ok. He was genuine in his concern that he may have been excessive in his judgment.
Later that night he explain to me that violence should never be the 1st choice for a solution and our actions should reflect the person we want people to see.
I would remember this 15 years later when sitting with the man I just choked unconscious, letting him drink my gatorade and catch his breath moments after he attempted to robbed me at knife point. In that few minutes I learned his life story. My friends said my actions were foolish.

            Duct tape and crazy glue are the tools of every street born medic.
T-shirt gauzes and boiled stones often made his grace when he wore his First aid uniform.
      
        As a kid I did DUMB very well, from gun powder soup, to a game of dart board hands. One of the more gruesome moments was my apple cutting malfunction. I severed my finger at the base pretty good. I cut right through the knuckle at the base of the index finger. It was the 1st time I fainted. Its still a debate weather it was the loss of blood or sight of it. Like a seasoned veteran he jumped into action. While most doctors would  use a coagulant like Lanxess, iodine and 22 gauge suture for this injury but not this man. He opted for all purpose flour, beer and duct tape to disinfect and seal the wound. Even though it was 3 hours before the emergency room would clean and repair the damage, I didn't shed another drop of blood while his homemade fix was in place.
I learned a lot of (what his friends called Ni**a rigging) first aid tips from him.
12 years later, while on a training exercise with  my CCC group in the forrest, a grade worker suffered a compound fracture from a slip and fall while hiking. I used a heated licorice root as antiseptic and 2 flat rock, my shoe in soles and a belt to mend and set his arm well enough to hike 2 miles back through the trail till we found help.

          When I write my poetry I never know what it is people see or interpret from it. I know the workings of romance and I know the power of its application. The day he wore his Casanova uniform I witnessed 1st hand the great reward a little effort can bring 2 people in love.
         On a normal day in the park us kids ran around yelling and screaming while him and mom sat on the grass watching us play. In the moments of a physical dilemma I sat next to him to catch my breath as he talk to her about random things. I knew my presence was interfering with whatever moment him and my mom were having but I was too intrigued by the task he was performing on the side to care.
On the reverse of a box top he drew a picture of a monkey sitting on a tree in the middle of the water. It was handing a flower to a mermaid sitting on a rock. I never forgot the joy on my moms face when he handed it to her and said "this is us."
I saw that picture everyday displayed on her mirror. Here I am 25 years later looking at my own art and words displayed across the walls of my home. My wife often looks at her description in the words and her name in the titles. Our own son invades our personal space as we sneak kisses and exchange affection through his predictable intrusions.

        My own uniforms hang in my closet waiting for interpretation from onlookers.
Suit up and be seen, or close your eyes and remember his many suits. Your in my thoughts. I hope this finds its way to you.
        Love
              -Alex J Meighan-
LylexRose Aug 2018
You see...
When I look back...
Never thought I come this far...
Still rely on a cigarette to clear my head...
But this is just the beginning...


I've never did this for the money,
The struggle was enough, ain't that funny,
The blood in my veins says different,
I'm down here lord, on one knee,
can't you see, how can this be, this castle's collapsing in on me..


It's been a long time since I've discussed this, can't see far but shot so fast you must of missed it, been in this game a while so don't diss this, and now my times come to prove it, they knew this, turn down memory lane and all I see is all the lost faces, lost places, a southern soul in the infinite race, life misplaced but no one can take my place, feeling like it's all over, lost it all under stone roses, running through the back roads, still on the search for a home, a boys dream southern love but through the northern fields he roams...


I've never did this for the money,
The struggle was enough, ain't that funny,
The blood in my veins says different,
I'm down here lord, on one knee,
can't you see, how can this be, this castle's collapsing in on me...


Before I knew; this fame I was chasing, thought I was crownless royalty but little did I know there's no kings in this game, and you know I'm on it, a cold wind blows but you know I'll hold it, with what's left of the rest of life, I carry the torch of wildfire and burn man down if he gets to close, almost lost what's been built from the shelter I called my home, now do you wonder why I'm locked in this room all alone, when you wonder wear in this world all alone, looking for something to hold and call it my own, locked out of my memories, a penny for your thoughts, guessing this music takes its toll, toll to roll, a fee to see, a world to behold, 10 steps closer to the chest of riches and gold, rich in riches, what you think wealth is, you think it's 10x the *******, you think you gotta to keep it switching, relationships are what I'm stitching, back together, fight for what you believe in no matter whether, it's for yourself or the people closest to you, but I've shot myself in the foot because of you and at the end of it all I could never get close to you...


I've never did this for the money,
The struggle was enough, ain't that funny,
The blood in my veins says different,
I'm down here lord, on one knee,
can't you see, how can this be, this castle's collapsing in on me..


I've been as clean as off white vanilla, getting so big they see me coming like Godzilla, a thunderous clap as I walk, ready for the attack when I talk, never been a hoodlum but I'm going out with bang like Guy Fawkes, my curtins are closed so quit the talking, this is my game now and I'm never playing sober, you disagree well then put the controllers away it's game over, never been a criminal aside for indecent exposure, head to the light, cross in my hand, look to Jehovah, ya'all thought you had my kind I want out of this enclosure, the vanilla gangsta, the original casanova, and when you feel down, march on, loves never over...


I've never did this for the money,
The struggle was enough, ain't that funny,
The blood in my veins says different,
I'm down here lord, on one knee,
can't you see, how can this be, this castle's collapsing in on me..
Collapsing in on me...
In on me...
In on me...
In...
On...
You...
Bailey Apr 2016
You think that you can walk up to me with that sly grin?
You think you can whisper my name like that?
You think you can sit back and stare at me when I walk?
I
AM NOT
YOURS.

You think you can gift me things?
Like that makes up for the things you did?
You think you can talk to me like nothing happened?
I'VE GOT NEWS FOR YOU.
I don't know whether you want to say you're sorry.
I don't know if you miss me.
I don't know if you want me back.
Or if you want to be on good terms before you leave--
but I don't give a ****
I'm not interested
I will tear you apart if you try to be sweet toward me again.
on my last nerve
Elena Ramos Jul 2014
By Elena Ramos©
1
Todays my last day of School before I graduate, go to the University and the most important thing summer vacations, I just hope to be accepted in a good University, and I am talking seriously. All my entire friends are going to travel or do something incredible as always before they start the University, but I cant. My vacations are boring, watch movies at home,I just visit  my grandparents house, or watch tennis games with my dad and brothers. I am the second son of four kids, Julian is the older, I am next, Ryan the third and Georgina the small one. My mother name is Lauren Parker but she was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS) which is basically a sickness that do not **** you but makes your life harder, not only physically but mentally also. Mom started to feel fatigued, loss her concentration constantly and memory, extremely pain in her muscles, and a inexplicable headache. It is a little bit hard for all of us because even if mom is alive she cant do anything for us, she started feeling this way after Gerogina was born, that was sixteen years ago. My dad Julian is the one who suffers the most, they cant do any activity toguether, even watching Tennis Chanel is hard for her, she is more time sleeping than what she spend awake. Georginas sweet sixteen just passed and sadly mom couldn’t  help her to plan the party. All the boys of the house, we help her to plan it, but our ideas **** up that much that she almost cancel the party. Even so, she did it, and she had a good time, all her friends came and dance a lot, my brother Julian buy her some alcohol because he is more than twenty one, and brought some friends with him supposedly to supervise everything and have things calm. Dad was not in the party because  he trusted Julian that everything was going to be fine. All Julian friends were wasted but for my sisters friends they were cool, so at the end we all have fun. Right now is almost Lunch, that means school will end soon. Arnold my best friend of all my life, is sitting next to me making some jokes about Mrs. Frances horrible make up, like if she did it in the dark. I cant believe that during my entire life I did not talk to Mary the hottest girl in the entire school. Her hair so light brown, her beautiful smile, her blue eyes, and her incredible capacity of being the best student of Seattle’s High School make me fall in love of her, sadly I was never able to speak to her, not even a hello in the cafeteria line. Girls like her make boys feel stupid for even believe we have a chance with them. Even Arnold feel the same way with her, just that he is not able to admit it, because he thinks we can fight for her and end our friendship. Lunch is here, we are meeting Sarah a friend of us, but she is a junior, sadly we wont graduate with her. We had this little pact that the three us were going to the same University together and that Sarah was going to meet us the next year too. Seattle pacific University is our best option for now. They offer Arnold a half scholarship, something awesome that I wish could happen to me, thanks god my parents save money for school during their entire life. I live in Seattle the largest city of Washington, Sara mom reserve a table tonight for the three of us to celebrate were out of school in the space needle. Later we can got to a party or something alike, definitely tonight were having some fun. We just meet Sara in the hallway.
-Hey donkies!-said Sarah-
-Hello Sarah-I said in a sarcastic mood. She is an incredible person, probably with the only girl I being so close to. We have even sleep together, I mean the three of us, sometimes when its get to  late and we have a lot to study.
-Nerd, how you doing?-ask Arnold to Sarah.
-Great airhead, cool that your almost graduated!-.reply Sarah.
-Yeah, is pretty awesome that we make it until here, I am ready for the University, imagine how many pretty girls would be there waiting for a nerd to do their homeworks or a shoulder to cry after a break with her boyfriend-Arnold laugh.
-Yes, your still an ******* inmature, I cant believe you have a half scholarship-Sarah said.
-Its fine the two of you, let quick so we can make it to the cafeteria line, before all those ******* of the football team-I said.
The cafeteria was still empty, we made it before the athletes. I even said goodbye to the lady who served the food. She was nice to me, she serve me more green grapes or more French fries every Tuesday. This is one of the things I will miss the most from the school, too many memories, things that with the time I will forget, i wish to have more time here, I guess I love my school, or I am scared of growing up, and becoming an adult. We sat in the last table of the cafeteria, I wanted to observe all the room for the last time, full of people I used to know. It is funny how ironic the day gets, you desire this last day of school all your life, but when it comes, you want to fall back again to the first day of school where you start everything, where you meet your best friend of all your life, Arnold and Sarah in this case, your first breakup or your first party, or the day you kiss a girl for the first time, something it has not happened to me yet. I want it to be real and true, I know it sounds funny, but I am still a old school boy, when its related to how treats ladies. Even if I had the chance to be with one I will never do something, first of all because I respect them a lot, I always think of Georgina, I will treat girls the way I wish my sister be treated someday by a dude.
-In what your thinking Alex?-ask Sarah eating in a silly way her sandwich.
I reply-Well, to be honest I am sad-
Arnold laugh instantly after my answer-how you dare to say your sad, if you were always saying you wanted to graduated and getting the hell out of here-.
-I know I said it, but think in this, what will happen after we graduate, we wont see you often Sarah, you will have new friends, Arnold you will be busy meeting new girls and being a Casanova, and I probably will be in my dorm reading some Mangas, or listening music, or worst talking with my family.-I said.
-Don’t worry Alex it wont happen, I bet you wont do skype with your family only once every six months, I swear. Don’t take your mangas collection, you will seem yourself weird and nerd, not to offend you but its true, and yes I will be a Casanova, hope god listen you-.Arnold said in a inspirational mood.
-Thanks dude, you’re the best-I said to Arnold – and about my manga collection I don’t promess you nothing, I gues that instead of taking the all I will only take ten, and read the rest online-.
-I cant believe your sad Alex, I wish to be graduating now, I cant handle one year anymore-said Sarah.
-Well your day will come soon Sarah, your senior year will be awesome I promess-I said.
While everyone was getting ready for the last period of class I couldn’t take my eyes off Mary, beautiful face. She was wearing this beautiful white dress, with her pink Vans. All I can said she look like an angel,her breast was incredible good locking, all in her was just perfect. Sadly she was dating someone bigger than her, he picked up her always after school, all I can said is that a lady like her deserve something better, a men that respect her, take care, and treat her delicately; but that ****, dressed like a lazy men, his hair was awful, the loudness of his music was horrible, and he smoked in her face, I mean at 2 centimeters from her face. Sometimes I said to myself she deserves me, even if it was a crazy idiot idea I knew I could treat her as the lady she was and make her happy.

Bell just ring, last class period, maybe the teacher will said some last words and school stuff be decline today. I just want it to end now, I want it to be night, I want to go to any good party we were not invited but we enter anyway. Sara mom was too gentile in paying a dinner for the three of us. I guess that school will end but I feel its time to wake up a part of me I never knew it existed; the free man. ©

CHAPTER 2 SOON ...
Harsh Oct 2012
So you pulled again.
In Essex, in London, in Leeds, in Weymouth...
The list goes on.
Why do you always tell me?
I'm not jealous. You're just ******* them.
But that photo with your arm around her.
You ****** her too, I'm sure.
Complimentary of toga night you're pretty much semi-naked.
It was the two lipstick marks on your bicep that got me.
Not one, but two! On your perfectly firm, right bicep.
The one I gladly tied a blue ribbon around, whilst
my face was turning as pink as my Girl Power bandanna.
I hope you'll change back to the changed man you said you would be,
after the Fresher's fortnight is done.
If not, as opposed to ******* me emotionally,just **** me too.
It'll never be enough, but it's better than your smug texts! x
This poem is the sole property of me and cannot be copied or used without permission. [Copyright G.H. Rodrigo 02/10/2011]
Buzz Jan 2014
....your fined-tuned beauty
As if a goddess has been reincarnated
to an embodiment as yours
The way your lushious hair is displaced by the wind
And aligned in a perfect mess after settling down
The eyes of yours, as if they were two ponds
under a full lunar beam
reflecting mysteries into my heart
Your eyelashes are like the grass
surrounding the fathomless pond
covered with glimmering droplets of dew
to complement the eyes of yours
Your face, a mark of true beauty
which signifies your pure heart
And a smile of yours
from your mesmerising lips
can make any mens' day
Your laugh
gigling in shyness
was a habit for you
but it was and will always wil be
beautiful
The humility of yours
was too much
It was just, so wrong to see such a humbled woman
Your humility defeated me

When you are drowning with sadness,
I will be there to rescue you from the horrendous flood
When you are eaten by depression
I will be the one to pull you back up
from the belly of the beast.
When you are cold, alone and lost
I will the Sun to provide you warmth
I will the lustering light to guide you
I will be the one to be by your side

(Insert name here), you truly are the one that I want to look after.
Just some romantic poem I had created. Do try on somebody, haha
I need no introduction.
I am seduction.
I lead you astray,
I let you play.
I bring satisfaction.
I need dedication.
I am Eve.
I am Don Juan.
I am Casanova.
I am neither male nor female.
I am ****** emancipation.
I am all that you want and more
Hear me moan,
better still hear me roar!
© JLB
10/10/2014
00:07 BST

"And if a man entice a maid that is not betrothed, and lie with her, he shall surely endow her to be his wife. If her father utterly refuse to give her unto him, he shall pay money according to the dowry of virgins."
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.eh, the general misconception (katy b - i like you): am i "hung-up" over exes? let's just say, i could have loved the way i loved without having loved the ex... the ex isn't the problem, nor a nostalgia piece... well... it is a variant of nostalgia, but not of the opposite, the canvas of my affection... a nostalgia of the affection disused, disorientated on the wrong person... it's never about the ex, it's about you, and me, and the ex that experienced, but destroyed, and about the me i wish you could experienced without an ex... the ex is, the ugly momentum that furthers "me" to disengage with my equal, "you", and your exes... the fact that a drag effect exists in relationships, the fact that Heraclitus was right: it's a river, but hardly a sea... relationships are rivers, and the generalized social interaction as the sea... oh, i'm not keeping artifacts of my exes with me... they're the me, exhausted having had them... there is no ex... there's only me forever lodged in an inanimate past... with the animate potential future, and the animate present, which is expressed thus: i can't tell you about the person i dated, but i can & at the same time not tell you about the person i was... shrapnel psyche... the same thought then, a similar thought now... but when it comes to the complete individual? ex, what?! i hate being given over to Rubens... the ex-girlfriend is not much more than the more that is an ex-self... and, my god... isn't it such an ugly picture?!

eh... she was Russian...
   eh... she was rich...
em... this is a tricky one...
she called me kakashka
(little ****)...
and she invariably
wanted me to call her
crumpet...
   apparently i acquired
this tongue to the point
whereby
i would say the word
crumpet... and she'd giggle...
oddly enough,
for me...
i visited an Ukrainian
*******, and asked:
am i a hunchback?
to which she replied:
do you not think
women have little,
or no, confidence in
approaching you?
what?! oh right...
the Casanova bit,
has to come from me...
rather than from,
them...
well... i wasn't born
with that sort of a natural
impetus...
guess this is me not
becoming a Casanova!
but my my...
if anyone is to become
jealous...
traditional Turkish
barbers?
hair is one thing,
beard another...
and only Turks can
do a decent trim of the beard...
eyes closed...
**** me...
better than oral ***...
as i once suggested...
so... manhood is taught...
with a pair of boxing gloves...
and a punching bag?!
seriously?!
how about you begin
your lesson into the realm
of manhood,
beginning with...
a good barber?
next? if i am rich enough...
a good tailor...
but... since i have
a background in chemistry...
i'm still bewildered
by the genius of
polyester translated
into clothing...
so for the moment?
no, no...
forget boxing...
you will not lose weight
by going to the gym
expecting a non-existence
of stretch marks
as if you just gave birth
to an anorexic...
bicycle... 50+ kilometers
a day, for a month...
legs do not succumb to
stretch marks...
no major organs in the legs...
and no... forget the boxing gloves,
and the punching bag...
find yourself a traditional
Turkish barber...
you're not a real man
without a trustworthy
barber...
proof:
you walk down a darkened
street,
two girls are walking a dog...
by the body shape:
teenagers...
they turn their heads
and look at you...
what?!
           such a pithy
stance... to force men to
box... how about you teach
how to groom, prior,
or how not to groom,
extend the lack of grooming for up
to 6 months...
  and then force them to groom...

i went to martial arts classes...
the student of the teacher
who became the teacher for
the evening... kicked me in the *****...
did he apologize?
i was curled up in fetal position...
so i stopped learning martial arts...
apparently i didn't
make the HA! sound while
walking forward making chop-sticks
out of martial arts' moves...
the student of the teacher
that wasn't there who acted
as the teacher: learned jack-****!
me?
     i learned something...

she really did call me kakashka
   (little ****)...
i said the word crumpet...
but never called her that...
   turns out... she wasn't even
a muffin!

            ah... all the love's lost...
hence my favorite indie cinema...
my memory.

- ever envision yourself becoming
so bitter,
that, paradoxically,
you turn out to be, the embodiment of
being:
sickly sweet?
welcome to the club;
sinister bitter...
       like most English people...
they're sorry over the most trivial
social grievances...
but never imply the grievance
upon stressing an apology.
Seema Nov 2017
Holding the paddles tight
As the boat rocks from left to right
The sun seems a lot bright
In this big ocean, no one else is at sight

You dressed in formal attire
To be with me, was your only desire
You ignited within me a burning fire
Which one of us is that perfect liar?

With my red flamy dress
I was almost ready to impress
But instead you grabbed my neck to press
The choking and fear from me, left you in distress

Pushed me over so not to cause more harm
You turned away so to maintain self calm
On your turn, with a shock and alarm
I was gone in the waves swayed unharmed

Realising your anger you searched the boat
Along the wade, my body was afloat
Now your cry was unheard as I was gone
You dropped down and sobbed as if you were torn

I was caught off guard by such death
The love we had sank with me as my last breath
Your anger and temper has pushed me over
Never again in a life, I shall trust a casanova...


©sim
Fictional write.
Suzy Hazelwood Nov 2014
I don’t need a Romeo or Casanova.  If I need anyone, then I need someone who I can talk to.  Someone to share real life.   Someone who’s present, here, and not over there.  Someone who can be honest with me, and I with them.  Someone who’s got words worth listening to.  Someone, who’s interested in what I have to say.

Is it too much to ask for friendship first?  Does that sound unrealistic or old fashioned?  And why does the expectation of new relationships have to start out like a **** movie?  Why can’t men be friends with women instead of wanting pieces of their body first?  I’m a person, with feelings, hopes and plans, not an item of lust.

Why do women fall in the trap of wanting to find a man who'll provide everything, make them happier than they've ever been before?   A man like that can't be found.  A man is human, not a mystic angel.  He doesn’t exist to make a woman find happiness.

On the day she finds he contains no magic to elevate her emotions into happy ever after, and he discovers she not got much to lust for, the only thing left will be - friendship.  So what is left if friendship can't be found?  

If love can grow from a friend, and lust grow from love - then I might be interested.  Friendship is what matters, anything less, can go to hell...
Laying here emotions take over .... trying to devour the reflections of you
My eyes, searching, wanting, and deleting ....

With a heart so full awesome rapture,
alone with these I own
I draw close to my inamorato,
I dream ...

Desire comes with transgressions
the body trembles, my chin starts to quiver
and a lone drop is shown
my eyes and mouth close inviting
winkles form without surprise
waterfall of tears flood my soul
a cry for love, is overflowed
so much to give and and none to take ....

I treasure the real love
that bounds my soul
my eyes see it all,
his affection was mine,
my heart was in his hand,
ohh to have the love from him
once again ...

No Romero or Casanova for me
with words of love to turn the head
noooooo, I will come with open embrace
to the one i truly love ....

My reflections of you .... I will wait till my dying day ...

Debbie Brooks 2014
Tommy Johnson Mar 2014
Quincy Valero
Everybody’s best friend
Jet black hair
Shiny brown eyes
A boyish smirk
Standing six foot something
Coming out of catholic school agnostic
Attending state college

Every word that came out of his mouth was a riot
A funny story of a bad situation he was in that he can laugh at now
An awkward moment with a girl he tried to get in bed
God awful train rides with a clueless conductor

Quincy Valero
A wanna-be Casanova
The irish-italian self-proclaimed “Don Juan of Dumont”
Roaring down the suburb streets in his bright yellow mustang
From Bergen county to Trenton
Edgewater to Ewing
Bumping R&B; from the 90's

A main girl
A side chick
And a few back pocket broads
Leading them on
To where?
I’m not even sure he knows

Quincy Valero
My best friend since I’ve been here in Purgatory
My lifelong cellmate
My hetero life mate
My brother of second thought
Our token white boy

He’s had his ups
Wild ragers until day break
A four way with me and two girls in my four door sedan
He’s had is downs
Falsely charged with domestic abuse
Community service, endless court room hearings, suspensions and a whole bunch of nonsense

Quincy Valero
The quintessential example of the modern day male
Stays up all night
Sleeps all day
Opportunistic
Egotistical
Miserly
*****
And hungry

Always aching to put in his two cents
And leaving everyone in a howl of laughter
An Adderall popping
Seasoned drinker
A professional *** smoker, coached by yours truly
Fast talking baritone voice
With a half serious tone

Yes, Quincy Valero
The tight plain white t-shirt wearing
Chino sporting
Nostalgic, slightly racist, sexist, anti-semitic
Bust usually honest, friendly and apologetic
Good hearted dude we all love to hate
And hate to love

Bed-headed
Pajama bottom ***
Talking about his Svedka regrets
And we laugh and laugh and the stupidest things
Then remember events that seem so long ago
And then make plans for tomorrow
Yeah, one of my best friends
My oldest friend
That’s Mr. Quincy Valero
Geovanni Alfaro Jan 2013
JEFF the Brotherhood, Metric, and Phantogram
FIDLAR, The Broken Social Scene, The Zac Brown Band

King Khan and the Barbeque Show,
Matt and Kim, Vampire Weekend, Creedence Clearwater Revival.
Jimi Hendrix, The Flaming Lips, Artic Monkeys
Florence + the Machine
Death Cab for Cutie, Bon Iver, Band of Horses, Parlovr

Kings of Leon, The Strokes, Yellow Ostrich, Cage the Elephant
*** Pistols, The Ramones, Red Hot Chili Peppers,
Bob Dylan

Young the Giant, The **, Ugly Casanova,
Modest Mouse, The Doors
Coldplay, the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones

Nirvana, Foo Fighters, Smashing Pumpkins
Titus Andronicus, Bob Marley
Queens of the Stone Age, Mana, The White Stripes:
all gnarly
Pedro Tejada Apr 2010
I am utterly convinced
that my spirit is a ten-cent *****,
letting any passing nemesis
**** it in the mind
with almost no tension.

It must enjoy the sensation
as its host clearly shows
in the streams of tears
that flow through the eyes,
the spirit's *******.

It must moisten its knickers
at the viewing of torture,
as its host sits in an icy stupor,
with the times of grotesque
spectacle-sobs on tile flooring,
nicks on the wrist, what have you-
the only times of breathing.

My spirit must have stolen all the
charm it takes to captivate
the enemy into arousal,
as the host stumbles awkwardly in
public, pushing all potentials away
with vehemence and convincing itself
of its inferior quality to
even the vermin of the sewer.

My spirit has made me the loathing host
to the parasite of my own being,
my mind the main casualty,
ridden with **** from villainy both
outer and inner, decay from traumas
more persuasive than the tongue
of Casanova.

I hope it's happy.
thoughts to dump Aug 2014
In the dark where we try to hide
   all of the pain of the past.
Under the moonlight where we pretend
   to fall in love skin deep.
And all I’m seeing is his silhouette
   as his lips touched mine.
I want to know how it does
   feel to be wrapped around my arms
   and hear my breathing and whispers.
Michael Caio Mar 2015
I am the Grotesque
Marques de Sade
I am the Notorious
Giacomo Casanova

I lurk in the Dark Street
Impatiently for the Week
Enthralling and Charming
I smile (vile) with a dimple on my cheek

I see they are vulnerable
Seeking for a God
And that God I become
I am the fruit that will make them succumb

I destroy any trace of humanity left
It’s the Body that I want and Soul I shall bet

As I possess the Boy, *******, the Rich Lady or the Monarch
I cannot impede the images in my mind
Crossing this Arch
Unique Treasures I will find

In my sheets of satin  
The playground of Satan
Tortures of Pleasure
Take place as I make pressure
****** Ropes with humans Cries
Bites of Pain while the Soul fries

To my Chandelier I tie my Slave
I whisper in sinister voice: Be Brave  
My Hand goes where it wants
It has a Will of its own
Unlike its Subject
I shall make it my Object

My Tongue travels the nervous skin
Salt and fear sheen
Sustaining the Evil in me
And the Evil rises vigorously
The Tongue seeks it Moist or Hard
Something of Putrid smell and flavour


Spiking the rib cage with an Object of ******* nature
The Slave inhales Pain
And exhales Lust
I feel it in between the spiting in my Face
And the cries for clemency

I cannot understand why It doesn’t see the Artistry
Of the way I subdue IT to my Supremacy
Are the candles not too hot?
Is the ***** too cold?
Are the Faeces dry and old?
Maybe the splintery wooden **** Pug is slipping out.
Or the Rusty Chain around Its neck too loose

(It is impossible to please
So have this in mind when you fall in Love
You fall alone, you see
Like a Dead Dove from a Dead Tree)

And having that Epiphany
Altruistic acts shall be only for me

Do not close your Eyes
Do not pretend Death in Disguise
My Dagger is now sharp
Spread your legs
Let us see you Drip

Drop by drop
In my mouth ‘til full
White and Red viscous Miracle
Swallow Seeds and Swallow Beads

Now that Gratitude is paid
And the Ritual complete
It’s time to get Laid
Fornication until Testicular function is Obsolete

I use Pig’ Intestines for protection of my Hook
As ridicule to the Book
It’s funny and punning
The Pork really IS Possessed



The friction stinks
And Burns to my delight
The Pain that it brings
Shows It no Light

Is this the End?
The Nirvana my friend!!!
Can you feel it?
While you chase the Last Breath?

I Erupt and Explode
It Implodes – the Explosion is within.

Oh Glorious Dissatisfaction
Oh Dead Body that dangles

I wish IT could see what IT & I created
Superb Creation
No words can explain
Its Life was not in Vain
It was Art
For me to Manipulate

The Rush in my Veins
Quickly vanishes
Leaving me with this uncomfortable
Feeling???

Another Day another Dime
Another Day another Dame
Another Day another Dammed

I am the Ultimate Pleasure seeker

I am the Grotesque Artist
Definitely not for the week hearted.
This is probably one of the most horrible Poems I have ever written.
I just felt like writing something horrendous.
A little trip into a sick person’s mind that has some sort of meaning to what it does.

I hope you can read it and appreciate it for the Art behind it

Take a little trip into my mind.
matilda shaye Nov 2018
I want to ask you questions that you’re not going to want to answer. I miss the parts of you that you’re hiding away. There’s a guy that is rocking back and forth to our left and you show me him with your eyes; I want to trust you more than anything in this world.
Do you think of her? Do you miss her? Have you spoke? I’m scared I don’t believe you.
I drink wine now, I loathe this day. My skin is itchy and I miss the way your cheek feels against mine, you’ve never felt this far and one time I slept away from you for a full month-
Is this right? Is this real?
I miss your skin. I miss feeling connected with you, I miss being able to feel secure. I miss when I saw your hands move and didn’t wonder about her, I miss the purity, the simple,
I never was supposed to like the taste of wine. The guy is rocking. The guy is rocking.
im only keeping this to remind myself and everybody of being pathetic and rock bottom and never Ever forgetting my self Again
Geovanni Alfaro Feb 2013
We all wave goodbye to ourselves
We all wave hello to our old self's
Ayeshah Dec 2013
I never been on

Verses & Flow or Poetry Slam

don't get me wrong

I'd love to be

but me sharing like that on "mic"

scares the ******* life outta me

yet I admit

I want to in fact would love it

But right now-

I can only tell you how I feel
&
this is how I let **** out

express me&sometimes; let you in

so this is a poem I've made about this dude.

A dude whose comforting and new

a dude whose lenient

and beautiful inward & outward.

He talks to me of so many thing

and he has a mind that speak more

volume then money....

I've been know to deal with them  baller's

those who'd spend on me-

the moment I call em.

He's gentle and kind,

mindful of me & my needs

even

funny even at times

when he's joking round with me.

He lights my way and makes me see

not of everything physical,or ****** either

but of inspiring dreams

for me to do better

than what I've been told I could barely achieve

from listening to past assaults

and dead weighted-ended relationships...

To opening the ******* door

& letting me just be ME....

My hair weaves

he complimented

and my braiding techniques too

from my beautiful big lips

plus this luscious **** hours glass phat *** shape

he says baby your amazing

then kisses my forehead

like Taye Diggs did in both The Best Man movies.

When he touched my breast- not in a ****** way

I felt finally safe-

cuz I asked did you feel the lump there

he kisses me on my cheek

tells me it's ok even if my hair falls out

and all my weaves went away,

he's seen me without em,

seen me with out makeup too.

No need to worry since there isn't even a lump,

so he says & I smile widely.

but if it was I'd still be the most beautiful

this he promises me

and looks me right in my eyes.

This dude says he watched me sleep

sometimes until the early morn

and looked at me like I've never

looked at myself.

Mind you I know I'm fine

but barely was I ever able to know my wealth,

to even ******* know myself worth

or who I really was.

Sadly so beautiful but yet I'm so tainted & insecure

He's seen this about me long ago

yet I thought before him-

that love had to hurt

that the pain I've caused me-

from dealing with other types of "love"

from dudes due their share was somehow real

Other dude's who'd spend

and who'd **** me deep & put my *** to sleep

was what love meant

this "love" I was so used to-

was pose to be fist knocking back my head

eyes black in their sockets,

clothes ripped off

and me being slammed to the ground ******

and left bleeding

Left, deserted, abandon

and me sore bruised-

from ever part of me

cops coming once a month

or when he ****** his boss & I went the *******.

Or love was him- telling ole girl in Chi Town

how much he couldn't live with out her

while sitting on the toilet in my house-

in my bathroom after ******* me

and calling it making love.

Or love was pose to be in my head

when he let his cousin get away with ****** me-

yet I was the who got her *** beat.


I thought from

the age of 6

that I was pose to lay there

just spread wide for you

and let you use me

pinch

poke and rule me!

I didn't know this kind of man

so every time dude came around-

I'd chase him away.

telling him

NAW man I don't date white boi

(that's slang for boy)

but
I've dated the Italian and he liked them easy women

the ones he could change and manipulate

I've dated the Natives born of this "America" land

he showed me what my mother tried to hide-

like a drunkard father beating her at night

this was the Native

who wasn't taught how to eve3r be a man

Then there was Paul-

a mixed up race/breed Native too-

Apache yet Mexican and yet American

in New Mexico they're called Chicano's

so guess that what the **** he was

he had the short man complex

and couldn't bother to talk

he thought *** would be pleasurable

but sadly for me & him

his baby toddler *****

just didn't do the trick.

So hurting worded voices loudly spoke

caused me abuse,

I guess it's still my fault-

I allowed them to hurt me.

The smooth talker,

Casanova,

The Ballers,

The players with the nice whips

(That means cars y'all)

The man who could **** out my mind & my brains

get my ***** wet before he even got to my house


The Mr. Fix it-

whose good at fixing ****

but not for being committed

cuz his check wasn't enough to even put a dent in my rent

and his habit of scathing his *****

and calling me ***** just didn't work.

So these are them type motha fuckas

I'm used to-

like ole boy

who'd carry my books

and help me with all my assignments in college

for a peek yet talk and brag about the *** he hadn't ever hit

not me but that's the story he told

lying since his reputation depended on it.

Sorry but this was my thinking this was how it went

& how it was meant or pose to be

yet
the Egyptian had it best

on top of all these dudes.

His was the ultimate

because his lies where centered

by half truths

which I know

know were more lies

than his word sworn on a Qur'an,

he'd **** his best friends wife

then beat me into submission,

**** me- buy me....

BUY Me,

Bought me

like a slave from way back when

buy me

love me

then buy me some mo

He'd buy all kinds of **** to keep me claiming for me

houses, cars, jewelry,

and name brand items- I'd have a black eye,

ribs smashed to pieces,

but **** I looked real cute

limping round  in my new **** from

Sax 5th Avenue, Dolce & Gabbana, Prada & Versace.

**** name it & I maybe already had it


this is the same man who saved me from

being ***** by my foster father,

yet he became like the foster father

he saved me from

seemingly

after we've became husband & wife...

So when dude comes calling

I hold back built higher walls,

push him away,

fight and get in his face,

waiting for the monster to come out

waiting for him

to slam me to the floor or ground

I never believe a word he says

always looking for a reason or excuse

calling him lair and fake

telling him to ******* & go away

never really given him a

chance for him to be my man.

I be mean and I make him wait

but he says I know your pain

and together we can make it

just let's take it day by day.

He kisses me lightly,

caresses me tenderly

massages me to sleep

listen to my every word

and gives great advise,

has been a friend and part of the family

he has opened me

to expressing his own

pains trails & tribulations


never judgmental or abrasive

not even abusive

not even a little bit.


But
my ****** up mind is so scared

so afraid and ****** I'm worried

.

Honestly my hearts succumbed to his un-willful ways

but I can't fathom

once more being hurt

and I don't know if I even want to

yet I think I do.

So tell me help me please

explain

give advise and tell me

how do I say no when for many months now

he's been making me the center of

His Universe?!

Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright ©
Ayeshah
K.C.L.N 1977 - Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved ®
This has a lot of cussing/swearing in it so if you're not into it or any other ****** language please do not read it thanks.
A Long time ago,
I was far from home,
Far from good food,
company
and familiar sights.
I was washing my bike,
Hoping for my neighbor's
sweet daughter
to come out
on her Balcony
Light up my day
with her sweet smile
My neighbor
My landlady,
Had a family of six
Beautiful daughters,
Who had no father
This churned my heart
I went soft for this family
But had no Intention
to ruin
Disrupt their peace
Nor interfere
In their daily lives
I kept my feelings
bottled in steel
but smiled
Good naturedly
at them all
and stood guard
against
any male that threatened
their gentle citadel
They treated me
with snacks
and their gentle
smiles like I was
the Orphan
and I was well fed
with my sacred
relationship
But their smiles
created pangs
in my young heart
which good breeding
stifled with iron hand
Until one day
I espied
my contractor
make eyes
at the oldest
This enraged me
Lit a fire
(I thrashed the man
Ah, the strength of youth
Knows no bounds)
into an inch of his life
till he begged
for mercy.
This fell on the ears
of my superiors
who in their enthusiasm
to please
their clients
had me transferred
2000 kms
from home
I waved goodbye
with tears in my eyes
my six angels
and their guardian
who had grown
to like me as well,
That day I swore
that no girl child
would come to harm
under my watch
without her will
and some times even
with her will when
her delicate youth
made her stray
into harms path
I would slay the dragon
of temptation
at the cost of
my reputation
among friends of
being a Casanova
I wear my disguise well
To Please God and Man.
Tom H K Aug 2013
Tell me what you see when you look at me.
My eyes? My pert, soft buttocks? My beer belly?
Do you even see anything at all?
Maybe, you don't even register me. Maybe, I just walk past you and you walk past me and we both just ignore each other.
There is no special recognition, not a hint of longing or regret.
Just a casual, accidental bump because you were on the phone talking to some random ***** named Trish.
Or, maybe, just maybe, what you see, sets your libido on fire.
You can't bear to look at me because it's like looking at the sun;
You think that if you stare too long, your  eyes will burn and you'll go blind.
You're afraid that one more fevered look in my direction will be the last one it takes to make you jump on me with such lust as to make Casanova weep.  I dunno,
Maybe it's not as bad as that.
Maybe what you see makes you remember those long weekends spent by the lakeside, reading poetry and discovering what it means to love yourself again.
Maybe you just take a quick peek to get you through the day even though your heart wants to stare forever.
Hell, it might even be the genuine article:
That be all and end all,
The one true form,
That greatest thing:
Love at first sight.
Or, y'know, maybe you were just looking at that hobo behind me, vomiting into a bin.
Lina Banzaca Jun 2017
I don't think you understand what I went through.
Every time I said I loved you.
I wanted to say I didn't.
But I was scared.
Scared you would hurt me, like the night of our 2nd date.
Yes.
The second date.
Now I'm no Casanova, what you did wasn't romantic.
You hurt me.
You broke me.
You injured me.
Both mentally and physically.
Yet, no matter how hard I try to forget, I can't.
You can always forgive but forgetting isn't that easy.
What you did was wrong.
WRONG.
I still have no clue why you did it.
Why your eyes glimmered at me.
Why you smiled.
Maybe it was that stupid smile.
Because I knew from the first time I saw it, you were trouble.
I guess I liked that.
After a while I thought you actually cared.
Boy, was I wrong.
You lied to me.
Said you were joking around.
It was just for fun.
Nothing bad would happen.
Well, that was WRONG.
Everything about you is wrong.
I don't know how else to put it.
Now I'm no mathematical genius, but there's about 7 billion people on the planet.
You had the audacity to break at least one.
If not more.
And while I'm no longer important to you.
You still play a role in my life.
You still are in the back of my mind.
Contradicting everything I do.
Despite the fact I want to forget you.
Why?
Because what you did was wrong.
I'm still not over it.
No matter how hard I try.
I've moved on to something better.
I'm finally with a boy I'm crazy about.
I love him more than you'll ever understand.
So please.
Just leave.
For the first time I'm not scared to say it.
I don't love you.
Charles Casanova Oct 2014
His gaze adrift through countless windows
Dreaming far beyond his eyes will ever see
The birches wept amongst cold shadows
Reminiscing of spring and leaves of green

By a southernly breeze the moment swept
He stood wondering, why do they still weep
For that moment swept, was indeed a lifetime

Charles Casanova 10/5/14
O LOVE! O LOVE! WHY ARE YOU EVER DEVOID OF LOGIC?

Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; aopicho@yahoo.com)


Mankind in its pathetic folly entice you in a dint of stupor
Knowing not your true colour and texture
Endeavoring to achieve glory in your mastery
With the so limited human capacity
In grey faith that you are a cradle of bliss
But O love! Why are you ever crooked?

Young men and women in strength of their sinews
Toil day and night in ******* of humanity
Praying and whining incantations with the hope for optimal love
Ornamenting their bodies with diamond and bronze
Fibre and silk ornamented to helm of providence
In the foolish quest for love equillibria
But in full stretch of your vice, you impish love
You catapult all away to the shifted goal posts
O love! O love! Why are you ever ruthless?

You hate the learned but you favour the strong
You hate professors but you favour the soldiers
You hate the rich but you favour the agile
You hate the lawyers but you favour the footballers
You hate the pastors but you favour the ruffian
You hate the whites but you favour the Negroes
You hate the groomed but you love the ragamuffin
You hate the chaste but you favour the mistress
O love! O love! Why are you ever illogical?

Love, I revere you for wickedness and irrationality
In all of your history you scored sum *** laude  
In the duo as blend of your domain, Look;
You never dwell in a genuine companionship
You like where the couth will interject;
Amidst fornication between married and single ones
Amidst adultery in the triangle of foul compassion
Amidst miscegenation between black and white
Amidst infatuation between the whole and the lame
Amidst conjugal appetite between the old and the young
Amidst concupiscence between house master and houshelp
Amidst immorality of married master over the wallowing servant
Amidst libidos between literate teacher unto the peasant pupil
Amidst disordered passion among the sly lesbians
Amidst impious ******* among the suave gays
O love! O love! You are the  most wicked force!

Love I am told; your colour is red
You may be red or you may not be red
But all in all, you deserve poetical veneration
For your herculean ability to bend the most wise;
In your force you made sagacious Shakespeare to bend
In your force you made Princes Diana to bend and bend
Bending downwardly stooping for Afawoyed the moor,
In your stupefying dint you made Napoleon de Bonaparte
To bend and bend downwardly stooping for Josephine
Josephine a famed she-Casanova in the gone Paris
Among the then humanity and the then animality,
In your impairing machinery you set sons on their fathers
In the roman empire of Antony and Ceaser
In the scramble for Cleopatra, the Egyptian queen
Beauty of her aquiline nose heavily hovered perhaps  
In the eyes of the Roman beholders
The father and the son only to sent the empire
To the love forlorn smithereens!
Edna Sweetlove Sep 2015
Barry Hodges goes all autobiographical in this one

O well-renowned upper-class *banlieue
#, gorgeous Gosforth,
(blest suburb of the mighty Novocastrian metropolis
majestically situated on the Northern side
of the glorious industrial River Tyne
which wends its stately way towards the sea
only pausing to absorb greedily the teeming outflow
of the sewage farm at charming South Shields),
Thrice hail to thee##, O uncrowned queen of Northumbria!


And selbstverständlich### Gosforth's greatest claim to fame
In the annals of literature and cultural glory
Is to be the proud birthplace of yours truly,
Barry Hodges, the immortal Bard of Gosforth;
O sweet Mary mother of God (Ave Maria, cha cha cha),
How could I ever forget my dearest memory there,
Of my first immense accidental ****** incurred
Whilst washing myself manfully in the bathtub one day,
Thus causing a really **** teenage soapy squirt?

Let my ardent fans gawp in terror and wonder
At my countless amorous encounters
And their tragic yet inevitable consequences;
How sad must you be reading how mistress after mistress
Comes to a sticky end (to coin an unfortunate phrase)?
And, verily, other blood relatives are not spared:
Aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, (parents even),
All are prone to going under a runaway bus or charabanc
Or even tumbling into a frothily noisome manhole,
Gargling sadly in eldritch agony as they drown
In lumpy brown-ale-flavoured untreated Geordie sewage.

And yet, one day, un bel di di maggio#### perhap,
I too may encounter a fate too utterly horrid,
Too utterly horrid to contemplate, oy vay#####;
Maybe involving a blunt machete wielded gaily
By some poor demented cuckolded old *******
Whose pathetic bedroom skills have been derided
By his gloating lady wife after a taste of love's Nirvana
At the hands of the magnificent Master ******* (me).

O dear Lord and Father of Mankind######,
Look down kindly on el gran Casanova,
El Señor Hodges, and thus let me complete
My mighty oeuvre of awe-inspiring poems,
Before the Grim Reaper takes me in his arms
Dragging me screaming o'er that sad bourne of no return,
To the shivering shores of the benighted Underworld.
But, take pause for a moment, dear reader:
If that other poetic genius (by which I mean
sweet, sweet William, the Bard of Avon)
Could manage 154 bleeding sonnets no less
(and Christ knows how much else besides)
Before kicking the *******' bucket
(and he poked that Ann Hathaway too,
a right totally tasty piece I have heard
with a gorgeously provocative keester),
Surely I may be permitted to churn out a thousand odes
(thus ensuring a few dozen golden trophies from my peers)?


If I am to be denied my just literary deserts,
Even allowing for the occasional day off
To respectfully attend the odd funeral or two
of exhausted bed partners and bystanders,
(followed by the happier reading of the will
in which I get the benefits so richly due to me
as a just reward for sleeping with some ugly cow
and thereby giving her the treat of her pathetic life),
I think it's totally out of ******* order
And a right liberty to boot, squire.
Some notes to assist my fans:
# A pretentious bit of French.
## A Macbeth reference.
### A pretentious bit of German.
#### A Puccinian reference for those in the know.
##### A Yiddish joke.
###### A reference to a hymn I used to sing at school (in between groping my fellow pupils behind the bikeshed)

— The End —