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"chauvinistic" poems
You cause a break inside my organs Pointing out my flaws our differences. You are at peace. I sit jittering, worrying what everyone will think of when I didn’t care you made me laugh at everything Changes.  You’re not right for me Nor I for you, but I can’t help Thinking What if?  Then I remember you’re not what nor Everything I want. You are an intellectual snob you have a depth about you I would love to delve in, a psychological study that even the best critics would praise, but I don’t want anyone else to have been there or ever go there. I cannot hold on to you tear me away while You’re haphazardly gluing us together We’re a kindergarten art project messy, trying to see Beauty within the confusion, unfinished     You asked me Where am I most at peace 4 years old.       I could be anything No fears I hadn’t been ripped apart. I was the girl that said everything, until I felt the need to screen my thoughts, like the filter you use to make your coffee each morning.  I wish that’s where I was, having you tell me that you like your women like your coffee Dark and bitter. I can look past your chauvinistic ways, not giving a **** about anyone. You’re not really closed minded You just act like it, which annoys the hell out of me Sometimes.  I wish life was simple.     But then I would never know your complexities nor Feel the things you help me feel, like hate for train whistles or the burn of gin hitting my throat. Music       you introduce me to offstage trumpets, bad movies.  Your politics, your brown eyes       and how you can hear frequencies that most everyone else can’t.  I worry that you hear the fear in my voice and heartbreak With every word I speak. When were you going to tell me? Or was that your plan all along? To throw me out like yesterday’s coffee grounds or cut up scraps Used and unwanted. I wish I could tell you to tell her you don’t want her but me instead, you don’t, I don’t want you to. I want holding hands, laughter comfort, personality, humor, intellect. You want that plus things I can’t give But you always take. You are your coffee disgusting, caffeinated, addicting the only patch that helps is comforting words you never spoke. We had many conversations of your desires, lusts, mistakes, but I was burned, by lies, distrust. You left, like always, a harsh, acidic aftertaste on my tongue.
0
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
Coffee
You cause a break inside my organs Pointing out my flaws our differences. You are at peace. I sit jittering, worrying what everyone will think of when I didn’t care you made me laugh at everything Changes.  You’re not right for me Nor I for you, but I can’t help Thinking What if?  Then I remember you’re not what nor Everything I want. You are an intellectual snob you have a depth about you I would love to delve in, a psychological study that even the best critics would praise, but I don’t want anyone else to have been there or ever go there. I cannot hold on to you tear me away while You’re haphazardly gluing us together We’re a kindergarten art project messy, trying to see Beauty within the confusion, unfinished     You asked me Where am I most at peace 4 years old.       I could be anything No fears I hadn’t been ripped apart. I was the girl that said everything, until I felt the need to screen my thoughts, like the filter you use to make your coffee each morning.  I wish that’s where I was, having you tell me that you like your women like your coffee Dark and bitter. I can look past your chauvinistic ways, not giving a **** about anyone. You’re not really closed minded You just act like it, which annoys the hell out of me Sometimes.  I wish life was simple.     But then I would never know your complexities nor Feel the things you help me feel, like hate for train whistles or the burn of gin hitting my throat. Music       you introduce me to offstage trumpets, bad movies.  Your politics, your brown eyes       and how you can hear frequencies that most everyone else can’t.  I worry that you hear the fear in my voice and heartbreak With every word I speak. When were you going to tell me? Or was that your plan all along? To throw me out like yesterday’s coffee grounds or cut up scraps Used and unwanted. I wish I could tell you to tell her you don’t want her but me instead, you don’t, I don’t want you to. I want holding hands, laughter comfort, personality, humor, intellect. You want that plus things I can’t give But you always take. You are your coffee disgusting, caffeinated, addicting the only patch that helps is comforting words you never spoke. We had many conversations of your desires, lusts, mistakes, but I was burned, by lies, distrust. You left, like always, a harsh, acidic aftertaste on my tongue.
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90
Rodin: My love, I am on my knees facing your beautiful body. My mouth is drinking your fire. I ***** us in stone. We are indissoluble. Camille: I am heaven and hell. I am goddess and fire. You are my chauvinistic art-boy concubine. Rodin: My dear Camille, can you not see my love for you is rooted in passion not stone or clay or bronze? Can you not feel my tongue lapping at your feet? Camille: Foolish man. My feet are broken. I walk over you on stumps. Camille leaves for England. Rodin follows. Camille: You are boring. Rodin: My love, can you not see that I am in a depressed mood. Can you not see that your capriciousness plagues me? Camille: I love another. Rodin: How can you say these things to me? I give you my heart. I give you my soul. I give you my artistic genius! Camille: You’re right. You are a genius. Rodin: Shall I write us up a contract? Camille: As long as you don’t touch me. Camille and Rodin return to Paris separately. Rodin: It has been written. I will mentor you, write you in newspapers, place you in museums, and find you buyers. Camille: You will not love another? You will spurn all but my art? Rodin: I will. And you will marry me in return. Camille: … Rodin: Is there something wrong, my love? Camille: Can you not see I am being facetious? Rodin: My dear, you are my flora and gaiety. You are my chisel and stone. You are my breath and lungs. Camille: Learn how to breathe without me. Camille exits. Rodin crumples at the feet of Eternelle Idole. Rodin: What have I done wrong? Camille re-enters, her hands caked in clay. Camille: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Rodin: Shall I get the handcuffs? Camille: No. The lion’s cage. Strong tides and wet fuchsias. Camille enters the cage forever.
0
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
Camille and Rodin play la passion
Rodin: My love, I am on my knees facing your beautiful body. My mouth is drinking your fire. I ***** us in stone. We are indissoluble. Camille: I am heaven and hell. I am goddess and fire. You are my chauvinistic art-boy concubine. Rodin: My dear Camille, can you not see my love for you is rooted in passion not stone or clay or bronze? Can you not feel my tongue lapping at your feet? Camille: Foolish man. My feet are broken. I walk over you on stumps. Camille leaves for England. Rodin follows. Camille: You are boring. Rodin: My love, can you not see that I am in a depressed mood. Can you not see that your capriciousness plagues me? Camille: I love another. Rodin: How can you say these things to me? I give you my heart. I give you my soul. I give you my artistic genius! Camille: You’re right. You are a genius. Rodin: Shall I write us up a contract? Camille: As long as you don’t touch me. Camille and Rodin return to Paris separately. Rodin: It has been written. I will mentor you, write you in newspapers, place you in museums, and find you buyers. Camille: You will not love another? You will spurn all but my art? Rodin: I will. And you will marry me in return. Camille: … Rodin: Is there something wrong, my love? Camille: Can you not see I am being facetious? Rodin: My dear, you are my flora and gaiety. You are my chisel and stone. You are my breath and lungs. Camille: Learn how to breathe without me. Camille exits. Rodin crumples at the feet of Eternelle Idole. Rodin: What have I done wrong? Camille re-enters, her hands caked in clay. Camille: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Rodin: Shall I get the handcuffs? Camille: No. The lion’s cage. Strong tides and wet fuchsias. Camille enters the cage forever.
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28
No. It is not ok with me to say that. Gay is not a synonym for stupid. Gay is not an insult, and I will not allow you to use it like one. It is because of people like you That our society is intolerant, ignorant, and unforgiving. It is because of people like you That our society revolves around the chauvinistic cult That men are not manly if they don’t show preference For a butts and **** attached To a brainless body. It is because of people like you That hundreds of tormented, depressed teens attempt suicide Every year. It is because of people like you That many succeed. It is because of you That one of my best friends is addicted to drugs Struggling with alcoholism And self-loathing Because he can’t admit to himself That he might be gay. So no. It is not ok with me. That you are openly homophobic. Because what if I were gay? With my pretty face and big ***** Would you treat me differently? Would you still joke around and flirt? Because in the end, Homophobia is the same thing as Xenophobia Racism And sexism. And the only thing that separates you And the openly gay boy that you Hate so much is that he has strength to go against the very tide that has swept you and morals away.
0
Apr 26, 2011
Apr 26, 2011 at 6:06 PM UTC
It is because of people like you that
i honny be ten minniei pooron sumfing slinkydai had pulled a stunner...the waitress from the chinky whah yoo fancy big boy?half naked in her finerysexcitedly he mumbledi'd like a sixty ninery i no cook this time o nightit nearly half pass twoyoo chauvinistic bastardthen hit him with her shoe
0
Feb 28, 2010
Feb 28, 2010 at 12:02 PM UTC
dai's lucky, or-he-ent
Flowers you have ruin my towers My towers above chivalry and chauvinistic ideals They push out the prohibitions of useless propaganda For me, alcoholic toxins appeal to my lyrical woes I think ambiguously when I feel numb and freed of obligations And the curls of my toes, Don’t wrinkle with the ties of man
0
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 6:00 PM UTC
Wrinkles
Mrs Merkel, fair and sturdy Dour and doughty High and mighty Saviour of the sinking Euro Female icon, Teuton hero Stand up for our rights!. Daughter of the old Republic Proud and plumptious Rarely bumptious Quantum spousal and mechanics Scourge of Grecian's and Hispanics Onward from Berlin! Lean upon the sturdy lectern Softly spoken Never broken Deliver to the gathered masses Words of warning and molasses Deliver us from evil! Target of the shocking Silvio Chauvinistic Almost mystic While all things must come to pass She's most certainly not a ******* Gott mit Uns!
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Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
The Leaderene
this flourishing silence feels more of a trite hack-job than it is a writing stint. my fingers (frenzied, brazen) continue to tap and my mind starts to spill like a spigot left open. I have taken to smoking and laughing away in an obscured day for myself in the parking lot and sometimes I can do without company; only the snarl of the well-oiled tractor in front of me. the days are full of yellow and the Sun is a dog on a leash. the roses smell of brine and their slender stems bones of the young. I can see cheeks flushed with red and skirts neatly trimmed just above knobby knees and I know somewhere in that tender flesh, a man sifts without knowing what it feels to eat bone before flesh, flesh after bone. my silently augured procurement of today’s induced comatose is but a Freudian slip – the world with its burly physique is a chauvinistic man drinking whisky in the red light district of hazy Makati. each slapdash word in penitent reprisal is the moment’s clearest reprieve. I am glad that this room is darker than the eyes of the love I have lost staring back with a mound of the abysmal or the yearnings of a chagrined mother startled back to her home; it must be dreamy, the dogs outside pant in heat and the obnoxious *** of vehicles outside bears the cadence of two people starting to fall in love: all chaotic and unmoving, fastened to the Earth, aware of the passing minutes, wishing to be somewhere else but there.
0
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC
They Were Vehicles Trapped Underneath The Sun
A frat boy's superficial nightmare selfishly appropriates the dance floor with her all too big of a *** with two legs like a grand piana thank God mommy didn't name her “Hannah” she ain't too nifty but tries with the hope of one day weighing less than 250 with her love handles only do so with extreme caution don't you dare mention how you sit next to her in a class of 60 though her desk is situated at the other end of the room tell her she's pretty but move into ultrasound when completing the phrase with a direct reference to plump or ugliness laugh if you find this funny and don't if you don't but don't don't don't tell me to leave subversion to people who actually know how it works because I do but I do not think it's appropriate to call this satire because it's so close to what I've heard and what so many young women hear on a daily basis so please remember your acne your pygmy genitalia and the embarrassing fact that you and the last carbon-based life form you had as a ****** partner share a set of grandparents be a gentleman keep your chauvinistic squeals to a minimum as you compare such women out of your league to pigs because your tail couldn't be more of a spiral at this point ******* get out of the way to make room for us sea cows immaturity jealousy ****** frustration aside whether you like it or not this is where we ******* swim
0
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 8:48 PM UTC
Fraudits
We had a female in lead, You don't seem to concede. Male chauvinistic society, Your country lags by years. But it doesn't matter overall, Because you have sincerity. India shamefully still lacks it.
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Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
Where The US Is Inferior To India
A man alone is not a man just a force without a purpose. No one to protect, to guide, or provide for, just a force without a purpose. A woman alone is lost, no one to nurture, or nourish, no one to teach or cherish. A woman alone is lost. Of course my view is wrong, perhaps sexist or chauvinistic, but the differences are plain to see, and to me the differences are complimentary. A man is completed by a woman and a woman is completed by a man. Two halves that make a greater whole two pieces reuniting one soul. I am a man without a purpose. Will you complete me???
0
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 2:59 PM UTC
A Man Without A Purpose
Have you ever tasted the finality of abandonment? I fully acknowledge the ambivalence of hateful and loving connectedness. But, there is something wonderful about lunar eclipses amidst dark forests where trees creak and groan with the pains of animism. The dial of the sun will emphasise her eternal wheel of galactic sobriety, whilst interaction transcends her promiscuous limitations of what is deemed to be sophisticated. What do you understand about hormones? Thank you, oh priestess of resentful misogyny. I applaud your sexuality.
0
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
The Altar of Chauvinistic Spirituality
You changed me You changed how I look at things In this generation Of this posterior celebration Which I am, no doubt Aware that you’re a straight up knockout From your lips that pout To your delicious Double D's Made me just say from the rooftops Save the ******* Is that chauvinistic of me? Is that impolite of me? Save The ******* I finally saw the light I love the ******* They are love They are life Save the ******* They are the sustenance of our being Now, I’m not that perverted I’m just practicing what I’m preaching This is to the girls that I accidentally touched Their community chest Their blessed ******* I sincerely apologize It wasn’t on purpose Please excuse my hands They just got careless To the girl who asked me “Do you want to see my ***** Well, what do you think? I said yes within two blinks I expected a glimpse Of those small beautiful ******* But she said it was just a test My bad I guess I just confessed to Save the ******* Is that chauvinistic of me? Is that impolite of me? Save the ******* I finally saw the light I love the ******* They are love They are life Save the ******* They are the sustenance of our being Now, I’m not that perverted I’m just practicing what I’m preaching
0
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 1:32 AM UTC
#SaveTheTitties
Now this topic has ground on my brain lately but I feel I should discuss it at least once, and hopefully not lengthy. See, I agree with feminism and I do my best to treat everyone equally, black, white, whatever it's all the same to me. So Tumblr feminists, I'm calling you out because being extreme behind a keyboard seems to be your specialty. You spend days with square eyes Filling Tumblr and discovering lies Women this women that Telling all of your little facts Now Let's get back on track, First of all demonizing straight guys won't solve **** and most likely will get you nothing but flak but I guess you can think that all guys are complete ***** I'll give you a pass to that, Second of all who made up that free bleed thing? I mean I know that time is unpleasant but allowing yourself to bleed in say a public pool I'm almost positive isn't hygienic Now before you think I'm some chauvinistic pig, I do think that the pay gap shouldn't exist, and I do think oversexualization of our daughters isn't anything positive However I will say that I'm for equality, not matriarchal or patriarchal or giving someone with different parts between their legs special treatment So stop overreacting on this Just because you are different then boys on the way you **** Love your soul and not your gender Stop making every guy a *** offender
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Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
Tumblr Feminists
My internal clock is set at Manhattan I face the world with a jaded point of view Manhattanites are chauvinistic, snobbish, opinionated And relentlessly focused Manhattan energy drives our universe Like the taxies forge the streets In a frontal assault Art, history and multiculturalism Remain the melting *** of stew Brewed from micro to macro But always after the brass ring Always reaching upward Like the skyscrapers of today and yore Clamoring to be the tallest in the world Yet knowing that we already are Simply because we’re Manhattanites Faith in our own destiny We’re Manhattanites after all And being a Manhattanite Is all that needs to be said
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Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
I'll Take Manhattan
Anticipation is like a former actress who eagerly awaits a future prospect, where delicate wallflowers hang with certain fortitude. Similarly, our medieval ancestors played the harpsichord, whilst later English Baroque flaunted her chauvinistic flamboyance to those who fluttered their eyelashes in the name of socio-economic harlotry. I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, my friend of gallantry. However, the roots of Portugese expression are conveyed in the aristocracy of our heritage. As purity is the laughing stock of assumed independence, and pride is buried in lascivious presumption, we must remember that the classical piano shares an Arabesque flavour which stands in juxtaposition to our Saxony.
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Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
The Period
You are perfect. Beyond any comparable specimen photo shopped and filleted under the surgeons knife splattered puffy lipped across every magazine in the dime and nickel drugstore isles. Like some olden goddess drunken ancients sent prayer and virgins to. Like a pop culture piece painting portraying perfection multicolored and gleaming. Like the way the sun breaks into every color of the spectrum when it hits the clouds just above the shore line amazing even the coldest of hearts. Like a piece of water frozen and glimmering with all the brilliance of the sun itself turning fields into fiery displays with the morning dew. Like the first message sent across the nation via telegraph amazing everyone and bringing wonder and mystery into the world again as if darkness and desperation never existed in the first place. Like all of these things. You are perfect, and I don't know you. I don't know anything about you. The sick the chauvinistic the sexist the slum dog and cannibal and primitive the ****** and unforgivable the pure drive and urge in me, wants to walk up brazenly chest puffed out to you to say only three things. You are perfect. What is your name? Will you lay with me? But I cannot do these things you know your perfect. I can tell by the way you walk the way you brush away looks like dust. Full of pride brought on by good genes and disdain for others. I am a gentleman and I could never say such things to a person as self satisfied and perfect in physicality as you.
0
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
Perfect
You are perfect. Beyond any comparable specimen photo shopped and filleted under the surgeons knife splattered puffy lipped across every magazine in the dime and nickel drugstore isles. Like some olden goddess drunken ancients sent prayer and virgins to. Like a pop culture piece painting portraying perfection multicolored and gleaming. Like the way the sun breaks into every color of the spectrum when it hits the clouds just above the shore line amazing even the coldest of hearts. Like a piece of water frozen and glimmering with all the brilliance of the sun itself turning fields into fiery displays with the morning dew. Like the first message sent across the nation via telegraph amazing everyone and bringing wonder and mystery into the world again as if darkness and desperation never existed in the first place. Like all of these things. You are perfect, and I don't know you. I don't know anything about you. The sick the chauvinistic the sexist the slum dog and cannibal and primitive the ****** and unforgivable the pure drive and urge in me, wants to walk up brazenly chest puffed out to you to say only three things. You are perfect. What is your name? Will you lay with me? But I cannot do these things you know your perfect. I can tell by the way you walk the way you brush away looks like dust. Full of pride brought on by good genes and disdain for others. I am a gentleman and I could never say such things to a person as self satisfied and perfect in physicality as you.
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52
**** you, Diana, for everything you’ve done. For getting a hold on my friend and ******* out his fun For doing to his happiness what a vampire does to blood For taking his healthy heart and crushing it into crud. He used to be optimistic Before you turned him Chauvinistic. I promised I’d refrain from calling you a ***** But thinking on it now, I’d say you’re nothing more. Now he puts on a façade of a smile And we hope he’ll be better after a while But we cannot reverse the things you did to him. You left with his heart and his world became grim. You’ve nothing left to say to our friend You insist that this is the end Now that you switched to another man like changing the channel, We all say in a chorus, **** you, Diana.
0
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 7:53 PM UTC
Diana.
I’m a downtrodden wife his trouble and strife Is this my life? He doesn’t help with chores in between snores says “ask her indoors” The kids avoid him I fulfil their whims no point in asking him I don’t know why he married me? I could never be what he wanted me to be I’m never good enough he says I look rough so no more *** stuff I wanted to work but the chauvinistic **** wouldn’t allow this perk I can’t wait ‘till the kids are grown from this dysfunctional nest flown I’m building a nest egg of my own Then mummy can fly happily wave him goodbye no tears shall I cry but until then the youngest is ten I’ll keep secret my yen Eight more years feeding him beers listening to his jeers He’s such a hypocrite sanctimonious *** for any occasion a face that will fit People think he’s a good man doing what he can for poor miserable Ann Ann’s biding her time secret ***** and lime behind his back a naughty mime
0
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 9:21 AM UTC
Is This My Life?
It sickens me To think that my ancestors were ***** By greasy, shaggy men from the north Who burned down their houses And pilfered their precious possessions It sickens me To think that I am but the last domino In a centuries long trail of ******** It sickens me To think that my father is a ******* His father was a ******* And all my children will be ******** And it sickens me To think that I am so proud of that fact Within my polluted veins may be found Perhaps only one drop of foreign blood But that drop of blood is from an ancient heathen deity The years have diluted it but still it fills me With a blissful rage, my poisoned skin tingles With the most wonderful of furies With every beat of my tainted heart the capacity To duel with giants and annihilate armies Resonates around my body I feel I have the power to rend heaven And lacerate the landscape of hell With just my adulterated fingernails Because I am the pink diamond In the pile of precious stones I’m impure, and I’m worth nothing to the masses But I’m just as indomitable as my kin So if any of my fellow white men Strut round claiming to be pure, know this: I will take a torch to your hall, hew your head From your chauvinistic shoulders, and hang it From my gateway as a warning to those who dare to disbelieve That we are all somebody’s *******
0
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
Thor's *******
Let's talk about feminism Let's discuss the social perception of the cause How misgonists claim we are equal How bigots claim we are immoral How ignorants can say, 'She had it coming' Let's talk about equality Let's explore the land of opportunity Where being gay is 'a choice' Where racism is more subtly projected Where women are still fighting for equal rights Let's talk about feminism Let's examine **** culture How men are excused by intoxication How women are condemned by the same How people can say, 'Well he is your boyfriend, isn't that what you do?' Let's talk about equality Let's analyze the current state of equality Where in some states, you're protected Where in some states, you're rejected Where in some states, you're infected Let's talk about feminism Let's study the modern chauvinistic idea How women aren't as strong How women aren't as smart How women aren't as logical Let's talk about a revolution Let's inspire a renaissance Where equality is revelant and boundless Where feminism is celebrated Where protesting is unncessary Let's talk about a revolution
0
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
Let's Talk About...
I fear That when you went away Without any notice And suffered for so long All alone You took away My ability to suffer You took it all For yourself Along with my ability To get butterflies From other boys Like I used to with you And my ability to Even want to smile when they Give me the attention I have so been craving You've left me In this perpetually alone state With no explanation And no guide On how to survive This emptiness And now Here you are Back and asking for more But you already have my more You have it all And I know I could never ask for it back Because neither one of us Understands any of it You don't know what you do And I I don't know what state I am left in So my plan Is to sit here In this chauvinistic fog Until I slowly disappear Out of insignificance And necessity.
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Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
My Disappearance Due To Emptiness
Just love yourself, you know, but don't get cocky and save money so you don't starve on the streets but don't be such a ******* greedy ******* and walk with your shoulders straight for once in your life but stop striding around like you own the place, didn't I tell you to start saving money? But after you leave a tip; be frugal not cheap you say i love you much too fast i mean come on romeo and juliet just killed themselves isn't that complete nonesense and in the meantime try to let loose and stop stressing about what you eat i mean it's only food it's not an enemy and you never say you love us anymore and it's breaking our hearts one by one and you really need to be healthier I mean i love you and hope you live forever but ******* will you eat something? You're just skin and bones and my gosh, you need to broaden your horizons but why do you think about all this weird stuff? you need to lighten up and READ more i mean there's so much out there and why do you get hung up on the little stuff? I mean it's the little thngs that matter you need to set your priorities straight i hope you hate yourself as much as i hate you are you going out again i thought you said you didn't have friends when we said you needed to leave your **** room and by the way you need to stop suppressing other people's beliefs i mean diversity is our strength and you can't let other people tell you how to think and by the way will you stop being a ******* chauvinistic ********* i mean you can't treat people like that and you're probably racist whether you like it or not did i mention you need to eat more? because you're getting fat and you really need to watch your serving sizes but you know it's not how much you eat so much as what you eat and dear, please, that shirt cannot be worn with those pants, you're so adorable when you try to match like this and stop wearing the same two sweaters day in and day out like you're two halves of a mime trying to figure out how to be one. Did I mention you look fat?
0
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
Untitled
Just love yourself, you know, but don't get cocky and save money so you don't starve on the streets but don't be such a ******* greedy ******* and walk with your shoulders straight for once in your life but stop striding around like you own the place, didn't I tell you to start saving money? But after you leave a tip; be frugal not cheap you say i love you much too fast i mean come on romeo and juliet just killed themselves isn't that complete nonesense and in the meantime try to let loose and stop stressing about what you eat i mean it's only food it's not an enemy and you never say you love us anymore and it's breaking our hearts one by one and you really need to be healthier I mean i love you and hope you live forever but ******* will you eat something? You're just skin and bones and my gosh, you need to broaden your horizons but why do you think about all this weird stuff? you need to lighten up and READ more i mean there's so much out there and why do you get hung up on the little stuff? I mean it's the little thngs that matter you need to set your priorities straight i hope you hate yourself as much as i hate you are you going out again i thought you said you didn't have friends when we said you needed to leave your **** room and by the way you need to stop suppressing other people's beliefs i mean diversity is our strength and you can't let other people tell you how to think and by the way will you stop being a ******* chauvinistic ********* i mean you can't treat people like that and you're probably racist whether you like it or not did i mention you need to eat more? because you're getting fat and you really need to watch your serving sizes but you know it's not how much you eat so much as what you eat and dear, please, that shirt cannot be worn with those pants, you're so adorable when you try to match like this and stop wearing the same two sweaters day in and day out like you're two halves of a mime trying to figure out how to be one. Did I mention you look fat?
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6
He challenged me to write a Villanelle. His smugness makes me bilious, but, hey, He clearly doesn’t know me very well. He planned to undermine me: I could tell His chauvinistic manner and the way he challenged me to write a Villanelle. And yet, I’m tough, I work in Personnel. I’ll write a Villanelle without delay. He clearly doesn’t know me very well. I scribble, scream, throw down my pen and yell. Yet he, for sure, must live to rue the day he challenged me to write a Villanelle. My confidence begins to rise and swell. He’s smugly watching from a way away. He clearly doesn’t know me very well. The marriage is a joke: in fact it’s hell. He’ll get the papers through the door today. He challenged me to write a Villanelle. He clearly doesn’t know me very well.
0
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 4:35 PM UTC
He Challenged Me To Write A Villanelle
Chauvinistic, Idealistic, Gone ballistic, Be realistic, I am a statistic, Optimistic can be sadistic, unrealistic. Think I’m pessimistic? Acidic? I’m just specific For me, you are parasitic, Made me a critic, Made my life a mimic the horrific, But it was all just a gimmick, Not idyllic. We’re all narcissistic, So stop being a critic. Get simplistic, Value the mystic, the artistic, Or you’ll be just a cynic.
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Aug 26, 2019
Aug 26, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
The Ick Poem
We are strangers Yet my heart is open to you Soon to be neighbors is the American Dream Not a greed machine feeding nothing but Chauvinistic pleasure Nor is learning how to hoard resources to one side of a body or border an active vision anymore Instead this night aspires for green trees untouched except by skin, a home and morale for the fallen and free, even more varied cuisines All faces spring forth just as fluently here, no need for same speak as we may share a smile and nod just as easily, duly noting Our colors and diversity, who is suitably similar to the landscapes travelled throughout the states, a testimony to Our uniquely cultured experience which yearns to preserve forever under sparks and sprinklers in summer when things grow for all; For me, for them, For us, for We.
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Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC
America Dreaming