"charade" poems
There were dividing lines
between Springfield
and Mariners Gate
soft, subtle lines
that spoke of origin
and code
and biting union
it was all
the reason
for being;
alive and living
dead or dying
deep in a pack
of pint size resistors
hell bent on the
marsh crow
and cannabis tower
jumping the rush
with *** shots
and anchors
and tribunals
camouflage creepers
and transient floaters
marked rebellion at the gates
(skullduggery and taunt
high on their favor list)
jack straws and flat paddles
for the evening charade
beakers and flailing hands
from the foot washing baptist
(the Pleasant Street conservatives with their
own something to say…“there’s gonna be hell to pay!”)
there's a
lingering effect
to this sentiment
(evident in the pump house stride)
the river winds
blow gently
into the night
as the huddling packers
and **** backs
chase the evening hours
it’s a bitter sweet
end of an era;
those traction bars
hood scoops
and nickel bags
will always
be the rage
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC
Leg off the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door!
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric
join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and crocodile shoes
get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines!
did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all those impressionable basics
put to the test?
you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade
old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the shiit storm
with those hostile priicks
and a slew
of insatiable
cures
there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)
soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)
might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern!)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!
headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final
shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line ~
this banter
is killing me
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
*I cry at night for a part of me that aches
A dragonfly friend I once had
A spirit none can break,
Is surely gone by now.*
*It was not a mistake
When all alone we bend rules
Though I still cry at night,
That creature was a mystical sight.*
That dragonfly and me were alright.
*I used to believe in a bearded man
A bunny bringing gifts at night
I believed in something far away,
Beyond my truth, a fake charade.
And now I see
The dragonfly wings beat on
Alive in my memory,
Hope for eternity.*
Your truth will set you free.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 1:50 AM UTC
I put so much effort into random places,
so much effort into random faces
face it
im faceless
placeless
drifting
shifting
thoughts towards destiny
feeling empty,
wondering whats left in me...?
messages esoteric terrorize my rhetoric
pedestrians staring glaring gazin gotta get a second look
shook
layers shed, fall from those ancient snakes
left for dead
suffocated, stranded
damaged
god ******
this sunless planet is madness
immobilized
try to find sense in a broke world
what are hands without manipulation?
and in life? death is a stipulation
a fools gold is never within grasp
so
clasp delusions Grandiose
with a toast
to sham pain and champagne
emptied grails course through mans veins
oh to see what mirrors saw
would reflections appear at all?
peer into the endless ego
see nothing but self libido
we are all weary travelers,
existences' eternal passengers
remove masks, flasks, end the charade
let serpents slither, and sun bath
away from the shade
embrace the end of nights
push away the start of days
just keep in mind
which way
the pendulum sways
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
What if
I had fallen to my knees
On the cold parking lot concrete
Tears washing over my cheeks
And cries no one should ever have to hear
Bellowing out from beneath my ribs
Screaming at the sky
Looking up at your face
Forcing you
(and everyone else)
To see me in this godforsaken state
Of absolute chaos
Heartbreak
In it's rawest form
What if I had begged you to stay?
What if I'd told you I can't do this without you?
What if I'd told you how much I needed you
What if I did anything other than fighting back the tears
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Mostly for the crowd of people gathering
Saying their goodbyes
Anxiously looking around to bear witness to everyone else's reactions
And I didn't want to be that girl
That girl who falls to the ground
Kicking and screaming and crying and begging
But what if I was?
What if I was any girl other than the one I pretended to be that day
The one that held her tongue and kept her mouth shut because she knew the second she opened it to speak she would sob
The one that wrapped her arms around you for the last time,
and the one that let go
The one that couldn't bear to watch you walk away
So she kissed you goodbye
Got back in the car
And drove home
What if i wasn't that girl who didnt allow herself to completely fall apart until she was alone in the privacy of her own home?
What if instead I'd made a scene,
Doing what everything inside me so desperately wanted to
Grabbing hold of your hand and refusing to let go
Losing the facade of confidence
The charade of strength
But I'm not that girl
And I never will be
So each and every time you leave
I kiss you goodbye
I unclench my fists and retract my anchors
I untether my heart from it's human home
And I put on a brave face
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Or maybe
For that girl.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC
This is not a love poem, my dear,
no....this is a poem of defeat.
To let you know you have won this war...
I give up....you have me beat.
I can no longer fight for your heart
while scraping my own from the floor.
I can't ask you to feel something you won't,
and I can't handle hurting much more.
Your will of disdain is so very strong,
it's one I just can not break.
I thought I was worthy, but I was wrong...
was dreaming, but now I'm awake.
I've been running a race I just can't win,
chasing what will never be mine.
And at some point I fell, head over heels...
now I'm just running on borrowed time.
I think I thought there was something more,
a real connection between you and I.
And I guess I thought you felt it too...
I swore I saw that same spark in your eye.
But I'm just a fool and you a joker,
roles we both play well.
So where does our charade go from here?
My guess would be straight to Hell...
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
Hands
Eyes
Feet
God
Charade
Pink
King
Dress
Blessed
Make up
Pastels
Ponies
Hearts
Carts
Darts
Future
Born
Torn
Plain
Wrapped
Trapped
Ice
Wings
Strings
Scissors
"Fallen angel"
Silhouette
Marionette
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
My hair comes out but I stay true
It is unreliable, like you
I can pull it, twist it, I feel no pain
But I don't see what I then gain
You moved me and shaped me like I was your clay
I didn't complain, though my fabric would fray
I was too scared of going astray
The way you think makes me shrink
And still, I sink
So I'm falling
But conversation is stalling
Faraway voices calling
I stumble away, crawling
I look bad, but I don't feel so
First time for that, I know
Everything I say and do,
I was kept in line by you
And it's weird knowing someone so well
But feeling like you're under their spell
Yet nothing you do makes me afraid
Even though I'm in your charade
A masked ball, can I recall
Your face without fear?
When the fog becomes clear
Will you stop being austere?
Or return to your old ways, a smirk for your 'dear'
Like my hair, you are there,
But I can't make myself care.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
Can't put my mind to rest, it's another sleepless night.
My eye's are wide open, and it seems a constant fight.
I lay here in thought, about my long boring day.
Daydreaming of tomorrow, and the bills I must pay.
I toss and I turn, trying to find comfort in this bed.
Punching my pillows, so I can have a place for my head.
After a few minutes, the cycle must again repeat.
Then there is an itching sensation, that begins in my feet.
After laying here for an hour, and going through this charade.
I get up and go to the refrigerator, for a midnight raid.
Now that I have a full stomach, maybe I'll have better luck.
But another hour passes, and this is really beginning to ****
It's running close to two o'clock, and my eye's have yet to close.
Then there is another itch, except this time it's my nose.
My eyes begin to get heavy, and I'm hoping I will sleep.
And then I hear my alarm clock, beep, beep, beep.
By now it's four o'clock, and I still haven't slept a wink.
My eyes hurt so much now, they hurt to even blink.
I drag myself out of bed, so I can move forward with my day.
And hope that I will sleep tonight, or there will be hell to pay.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 12:56 AM UTC
*
Perhaps I am hard to like,
No one understand how I used my bike.
Perhaps it was me,
who understood first
of their perspective's meant to be.
Perhaps that is why I stay away,
always a step ahead in my foolish play.
Perhaps you never notice my distance,
for I am alone in this charade of existence.
*
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
Be gentle with us.
please.
or not
it's your call
but keep in mind that we as poets
we feel too strong
which is not to say that that is wrong
we don't ease into love, we quickly fall
we love like we're dying
we live like we're small
but in our minds.
in our minds we are flying
we feel everything at once
you wouldn't think it by looking
looking at our normal fronts
a disguise, a charade
but prey don't believe a masquerade
a poet can be but anyone
existing silently
a poet can be but everyone
existing violently
we all make up stories
we're all acting to a degree
so things aren't so different
no not so different you and me
we notice the quirks
we notice the nothings
if you meet a poet then you should believe
you should know that we
we love what we see
and appreciate all forms of beauty
for to us imperfect is lovely
perfect doesn't exist
we have those markings on our wrist
of all the awful places we've been to we kissed
we've kissed the devil when we went
to hell and back again
so now that you have been informed
that a poets heart is easily scorned
knowing we feel deeply
knowing we feel more
more than we really should I've warned
we don't just love a person when we fall
we love their whole world
we love it all
and when we're hurt it is hard to trust
and thus
please.
Be gentle with us.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 12:33 PM UTC
You were supposed to love me til death do us apart.
But Then you let go and decided to trample my heart.
You've turned love into a lie and made heartbreak a work of art.
It was something I should have seen coming from the very start.
I was so foolish. Choosing someone like you wasn't at all very smart.
I fell in love with you because I knew your heart and knew who you were.
Now everything good about you has been wiped away, now a blur.
When I told you I loved you I meant it. I didn't stutter nor slur.
Now, after all is said and done I wish this charade had never occurred.
My heart, soul, time and tears were all taken advantage of.
Oh, how you lied to me because what you offered was never love.
In spite of the suffering I went through by you, I still considered you sent from above.
You disregard the times I treated you like a queen, when you were my white dove.
When my heart utterly melted for you. When your beauty was my treasure trove.
Now that its all over, you've given love a bad name.
Now that its over, I'll never look at it the same.
Love is no longer beautiful. Its a disgrace, a pity, a game.
Because of you Ill probably never find true love and that's a real shame.
However, I do hope someday I can find another that'll light my heart aflame.
But for now its a darkness a void. Because of you that's what love has became.
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 9:02 AM UTC
She bares her soul
to no one —
a façade for each mood
that infests her thoughts
like the plague;
reticence stalks her
every now and then,
as she tries shying away
from her darkest
secrets ripe as cherries
hanging from the bough…
a charade of whims
planted mysteriously
on her sealed lips.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 6:24 AM UTC
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak,
the sweatpants have holes and the T-shirt is frayed.
It'll be over in a couple of weeks.
The hours spent escaping to Twitter speak
to the test on the floor with a failing grade.
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak.
The tissue rips across my salty cheek
while my transcript laughs at the mess that I've made.
It'll be over in a couple of weeks.
I'll go to class tired and return home weak;
won't even bother with the "good girl" charade.
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak.
"It's fine, Dad. My predicament's not unique.
I'll get my diploma, and all this will fade.
It'll be over in a couple of weeks."
Yet perhaps this last piece of paper I seek
will only frame the path from which I've strayed.
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak;
It'll be over in a couple of weeks.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
I started on the rooftop
The empty sky above was all I had
And all I needed
It was pure
Like a blank page
Waiting for a story to be written
But at the first sight of clouds
I fled to the top floor
There were fun and simple things on the top floor
Like Pokémon games
I got red, white, and blue
The monsters seemed so banal and repetitive
But nobody else would acknowledge it
Sending me into a dragon's rage
I tried using flamethrower on Charmander
Ending in futility as I ran out of burn heals
I looked out the window in frustration
Rain was falling outside
Inside
Patriotism was buffeted by the hail
So I devolved into a lower level
Going further down this building
For ***** and giggles
I found more ****
Less giggles
On a floor with a TV displaying the news
I was eager to learn about the world
Only to learn everybody hates each other
And nobody talks
Or cares
And the smartest person in the room
Is the one I agree with the most
Unable to view the tokens in my mind
As anything less than treasure
And those who try to persuade me otherwise
Are thieves
My spite steals tranquility
Like the persistent storm outside
My solution is shelter in lower levels
My experimentation on communication
With the general population
Had rained on my playful parade
But I felt very comfortable on a floor with friends
Until they saw through my charade
Discovering my emotions in disarray
As the people who made me love this building
Made me curse it's walls the more I loved them
I searched for the peaceful embrace of solitude
Once the storm outside transformed into a typhoon
I found that solitude
In a tiny bare room
With a syringe and spoon
I was unaware
That room was an elevator
That lowered me down the concrete void
As the hurricane outside rattled me violently inside my box
Trapped and lacking all agency
I resigned myself to wherever the elevator chose to take me
After the elevator finished pulling me into the basement
The tsunami seemed to cease
But I was buried under debris
I had to burrow out of my tomb
The dig was tedious and *****
My perseverance was heroic
But triumph was thwarted
When I reached the surface
To discover only wreckage remained
And when I looked up
I saw the building I inhabited
It's damaged facade
Made it clear
I would never visit those floors I missed on the elevator
Above my building
Hangs an empty sky
It's purity is a lie
The page was never blank
Just constantly written on and erased
To lure innocent readers into a tome
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
Oh, how disgusting.
All this disguising...
To become somebody that’s worth existing.
Oh, it's repulsing.
Fully engulfing...
Every truth, that ever found itself hiding.
So join me...
Hey let's play a lying game!
And ***** ourselves, with something exciting!
Deceiving, and heartless thieving...
After all life is so dull without some bleeding.
Such is life for a boring... Existence...
Cause I’m a...
Liar, liar!
And only that is true!
After all fire, fire...
Is something I pursue!
Just call out liar, liar!
And I’ll infect you too...
With the addictive taboo...
Of bidding the truth adieu.
Trust me!
That’s a lie, such a lie, for a lie!
You see, I can’t pry my own dyed scheming eyes.
So please, forgive my falsified truthful lies.
...Truly... Lying!
‘Cause I’m a liar.
Oh, how appalling.
The lies are crawling...
And covering every single little bit.
Oh, how revolting.
And full of loathing.
It’s nauseating!
Exhilarating,
Isn’t it?
Manipulating.
Hardly pulsating...
A heart like that, is the only one that’s free.
Without emotion,
Without devotion...
It’s much easier to fake something happy.
Much easier to fake yourself being happy...
So, join me!
Hey, let's play a lying game!
And cover ourselves, with something inviting!
Rewriting, and truly lying...
Finally a story that wasn’t meant to end with painful feelings!
Put on the masks, and let's have us a masquerade!
Dancing senselessly, on the shadows of the betrayed!
A smiling, and crying, and lying charade...
Such is life for a boring... Existence.
'Cause I’m a liar, liar,
And only that is true!
After all fire, fire,
Is something I pursue!
Just call out liar, liar!
And I’ll infect you too...
With the addictive taboo...
Of bidding the truth adieu.
'Cause I’m a liar.
Peek-a-peek-a-boo!
Ha, ha, I found you!
Hiding from the truth...
Well it’s nothing new.
Peek-a-peek-a-boo!
I can see right through!
Liars know liars...
Like you know the back of your own hand.
It’s bland.
Such an existence...
Where everything goes as planned.
Wasteland...
Is much more fun to navigate and understand.
That’s why...
I left it behind, my world is covered in lies.
That’s why...
It seems there’s no longer blue in my sky...
So...
Put on the masks, and let's have us one last masquerade!
Dancing senselessly, on the shadows of the betrayed!
A smiling, and crying, and lying charade!
Such is life for the boring existence... Of a liar.
Am I a... liar? Liar?
Does it seem that way to you?
After all fire, fire...
Is burning through the roof...
'Cause you’re all... liars, liars!
And I don’t know what’s true!
After all fire, fire...
Has ravaged all I knew...
I call out liar, liar!
I cannot trust you!
But the world has gone askew...
And there’s nothing else to do...
Except bid the truth adieu...
Leave this, leave it behind, hide it in the back of your head!
I’ve given up on all I knew,
There is nothing, that is truly true.
I’ve given up on all I knew,
Because after they betrayed me, they’ve gone askew.
I’ve given up on all I knew,
Because life, people are so boring and dull,
There is nothing for me here.
I don’t see a point in living...
That’s a lie..?
Trust me!
What’s a lie?
Is it lies?
Only lies!
I can’t pry my blind eyes, while I cry...
Please, forgive my blackened sky full of lies!
Truly... Lying!
Truly... Dying...
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:28 AM UTC
soiled.
here there everywhere.
regular like.
verb and noun,
he, both.
soiled, soiled.
verb, noun.
*****
a stupid~sounding word.
say ***** *****
***** three times fast.
what is a sound of *****
intimate.
what is the color of *****
every color that leaves you,
or even begins you,
soiled, sullied, tainted.
sweaty.
the intimate man did not intimate.
his stains were visible.
no need for polite,
needless the charade,
of legitimizing intimacy,
there for all to see.
they were no longer
intimate.
he did not know why,
after awhile,
he didn't care.
pretended intimacy,
which was a ***** thing,
a stainless steel cutlery
kind of *****
a reflection visible only to the
eye of the beholder.
cutlery was never clean,
soiled, after but one use,
think.
in the mouth, with the hands.
such intimacy,
that, they still shared.
an easy pretense.
terror.
terror is intimate
and *****
lived in terror.
not constant which implies periodic spaces.
no breaks.
the terror soiled him,
you did not need even be intimate with me.
sweaty,
see, smell it.
taste it,
even better!
though the terror was deeply intimate,
in the skin embedded,
I told ya,
easy visible.
easy to avoid the intimacy of
terror.
clean, silky clean intimates,
changed regular,
changed nothing.
intimacy was a Cain mark.
his private, public.
his public, privy.
more?
more.
shame.
shame is intimate.
there are so many kinds too.
the shame of soiled.
the shame of disrespect,
the shame behind closed doors.
the shame of public humiliation.
the shame, the stink, of failure.
the shame we share in ways
we wish not speak of.
the shame of bad grammar,
shame leaves you soiled, *****
terrified.
shame on you for having read so far.
but you can boast
you knew me when,
you knew me
intimately,
bad and well.
you knew
that you did not know
anything about me,
even though,
we had been
at least
this one time,
intimate.
who is soiled now?
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 4:04 AM UTC
bad boy, i got a weakness
i like the taste of blood licked from my
own hands from being reckless
tearing hearts out their intended
cavities and im afraid my mouth
is cold from being exposed
i guess i keep the charade
of getting mad at you
for not buying me cigarettes
or not telling me to quit them depending
if im interested in you
i go to the gym to heal
all of my mistakes instead of church
and its cuffing season
want you to tie me to your mast
and leave me there all season
then afterwards we'll never text each
other again because you're a bad boy
and you are no good for me
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 3:10 PM UTC
Is there anything more depressing than visiting a forum that hasn’t been active for a decade?
Perhaps visiting said forum on a Saturday evening, reading every thread and replying to at least five comments before realising that the site hasn’t been active for a decade.
The saddest part would be to continue replying to each thread before creating new usernames and replying to your own replies.
I guess the next logical step would be to continue the charade for ten years before dying a solemn death atop your festering keyboard and not being discovered until seven years later.
The forum continues to stand as a testament to your solitude as nobody has replied to your last post about the perfect way to make a ham sandwich.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC
Honesty is a luxury... but not many people would buy it.
The view of the end of your own nose costs more than most know.
Up in the air or down at your toes, your soul see's something you do not.
Honesty is a luxury... but not many people would buy it.
Throwing lies into a game of heads or tails, setting your values so low.
Naivety and cynicism is the road sought.
Honesty is a luxury, but its not something you willing bought.
Stop the charade, just own your facade, those people you fooled, in your lies they did the rot.
Festering and lingering, your words of false they did hear...forget the person you did once appear.
honesty is a luxury that many people would not buy.
that's why you're still here, because most believe the lie.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
I’m looking in a mirror,
and this face I see,
Tall with dark features,
at the age of sixteen.
At the age of sixteen,
I have seen the world.
The people, the faces,
the boys and girls.
At the age of sixteen,
I haven’t been far from home.
But I’ve made some friends,
and I’m not alone.
At the age of sixteen,
I’m aware what’s right.
What’s wrong in this world,
the hate and the strife.
But at the age of sixteen,
what confuses me still.
Is how you have children,
on your own free will.
But don’t care for them,
and spread your charade to we.
But I see behind the curtains,
And I’m only sixteen.
I’m only sixteen,
and I see what you do.
I’m behind the acts,
I’m standing beside you.
I’m screaming in your ears,
“Oh, don’t you see?!
The mess you’ve made?”
And I’m only sixteen.
I’m only sixteen,
I manage a life.
I have two jobs,
I am not a wife.
But I am sixteen,
and for a while back there.
I saw your kids more,
and gave them more care.
I am only sixteen,
I will be seventeen soon.
But I’m not stupid,
and I see what you do.
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 7:52 PM UTC
Your soul is a choice, bucolic scene
With charming travellers in a masquerade
Playing the lute and dancing, yet seem
Sad beneath their fanciful charade.
All carouse in a minor key
Of victorious love and opportunity,
They seem not to believe in their delight
And their song mingles with the moonlight,
In the still moonlight, beautiful and blue,
Birds in the trees dream and sigh by
Elegant fountains among marble statues,
And the cascades in their ecstasy cry.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
True Stories #1
This is the first of what will be a series of little vignettes.
When I was fourteen,
I was the alienate hipster rebel
In a private school hellhole.
Hair long, tie knot never pushed up,
Unbuttoned button-down shirts,
Camus lover,
Siddhartha disciple,
Small acts of disdain,
Expressions of teenage hell-pain.
One day, the principal
Threw me out to get a haircut.
Went to the nearby barbershop,
Which was in the underground,
Subway stop.
Returned to school where It was
Pronounced unacceptable.
Twice more this charade-escapade,
Went on, till the barber cried and would not
Charge me anymore.
Shorn like a lamb,
My mother roared like a lion.
The next day, the man in charge,
Who would marry my second son,
Three decades later,
Called me in and sort-of-apologized.
From that day, I never respected authority,
Only learned to fear tyranny.
See photo of my latest protest!
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 7:40 AM UTC
Oh Brexit!
Where is the Exit?
You can’t make your money
You Tory Grandees,
Nor can you
Remainer MPs.
We’re running right into a very hard cliff;
Before we get out we’ll all be so stiff.
There’s no majority for any option
And Theresa May’s deal is but a concoction.
Vote after vote and endless debate.
March twenty ninth is the Closing Date.
Can we escape?
I really don’t know.
The media are loving this pantomime show.
This sorry charade is filling the news,
We’re all sick of hearing everyone’s views.
Please get me out of here
I hear you say
Surely, surely there must be some way!
So come on politicians
Get your fingers out
And show these Europeans
We still have some clout.
If we can’t do that then just pack it in
And throw the whole thing right into the bin.
Whatever we do I’m just past caring
But I hope you’ll tell me thanks for sharing.
Get on with it!
That’s the yell.
For until we resolve this
We are in Hell.
Paul Butters
© 30\1\2019 (Written in the early hours!).
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 5:05 AM UTC
”How To Not Be A People Pleaser”
below are listed 10 bullet points
on how to toughen up,
on how to avoid the blow of others
wiping their ***** feet across
your ‘welcome mat’ heart.
Surely I have the look down, right?
Skinny jeans fit for skinny girls (who I am not),
tucked into loosened combat boots that have never seen a good shoe shine. Black eyeshadow smeared in the form of war paint,
"Today is a good day to die"
But the fact that this is all a charade,
that ‘looking tough’ does not mean you automatically
become some brazened ******* who does not let anyone inside
of your crazy head or heart,
loosens the grip you try so desperately to hold on to.
If you look the part, surely you feel it in your bones.
You feel the anger and the need to not be so polite all of the time.
Yet you still hold doors open, say please and thank you, smile at strangers on the street,
your mouth cannot form the simple word ‘no’ in fear of hurting another person.
So how can you not be a people pleaser?
You can’t. No matter how grungy you look,
no matter how loud you listen to rock ‘n roll
no matter how dark and damaged you let your soul appear
maybe you can allow yourself to become something you are not,
but you can not bury something you are.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC