"cheapness" poems - Hello Poetry

Now I'm tired of romance and I just want a gorgeous naked bombshell to **** I see those water-filled balloons. I see the slit of a navel. Those sultry eyes speak of betrayal, but those are the kind of eyes that tell of the hottest, sweatiest love. Her fake blonde hair gives away her cheapness. I just want to take off her bra and ******* I see no vein or artery of life in her. I remember beer and bars. I affix my eyes to the shadow made by a **** I see the silk lines of her collar bone and neck. I realize she's standing in front of a window. I meet her eye of innocence with mine of admiration, and I tear up. You look like you'd take me to court because I haven't touched you yet. You look like you'd smoke a cigarette with me. I imagine she's hiding a ***** she's not fond to look at. Your chin reminds me of a pickup truck. You look like you have a baby inside, then I look at your eyes, and I realize, if we really ****** it could be true. So much for chivalry.

0

Sep 28, 2020

Sep 28, 2020 at 4:35 AM UTC

ChadYoung

Bombshell

Now I'm tired of romance and I just want a gorgeous naked bombshell to **** I see those water-filled balloons. I see the slit of a navel. Those sultry eyes speak of betrayal, but those are the kind of eyes that tell of the hottest, sweatiest love. Her fake blonde hair gives away her cheapness. I just want to take off her bra and ******* I see no vein or artery of life in her. I remember beer and bars. I affix my eyes to the shadow made by a **** I see the silk lines of her collar bone and neck. I realize she's standing in front of a window. I meet her eye of innocence with mine of admiration, and I tear up. You look like you'd take me to court because I haven't touched you yet. You look like you'd smoke a cigarette with me. I imagine she's hiding a ***** she's not fond to look at. Your chin reminds me of a pickup truck. You look like you have a baby inside, then I look at your eyes, and I realize, if we really ****** it could be true. So much for chivalry.

26

Diffusion is the act of a high concentration going to a low concentration, and vice versa. However, what happens when the concentrations grind to an ugly, messy halt? I've seen this happen, once too many times. It's ugly. Crumbling. Pathetic. Every ache ends in another night of weekly wines, and daily sobs; does it help? No. The light of the TV glow gives her a sense of motel cheapness, like a stain that the dry cleaner can't get rid of. Is this the act of diffusion? Yes. Yes, it is. The self-deserving, overly confident diffusion. It's left its victim drained and powerless. She doesn't sleep anymore.

0

Aug 1, 2018

Aug 1, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC

Aspen_Mountain

Diffusion.

Diffusion is the act of a high concentration going to a low concentration, and vice versa. However, what happens when the concentrations grind to an ugly, messy halt? I've seen this happen, once too many times. It's ugly. Crumbling. Pathetic. Every ache ends in another night of weekly wines, and daily sobs; does it help? No. The light of the TV glow gives her a sense of motel cheapness, like a stain that the dry cleaner can't get rid of. Is this the act of diffusion? Yes. Yes, it is. The self-deserving, overly confident diffusion. It's left its victim drained and powerless. She doesn't sleep anymore.

10

Minimum hours minimal powers. let the pennies shower down on those in the new age 'workhouse' we're back to the slums where the bosses toss crumbs to the masses and what passes as good is as good as it gets, when the greedy get all and the poor get sod all. The cries of the City,unheard since Victoria,I mean the Queen,not the place and that is the pity of it, trapped in this sea where only the successful can be seen as being smug, We should heave out the plug and watch them go down,give back the town to the people who share in it,those who care and those I swear will win. Unless the cheapness of gin begins to rear its head and the poor all get hammered instead. When the **** hits the fan we forget the soup van and it's bottles all round and around we all go. If the cold doesn't **** us we'll be buried in snow and they'll cover the cracks with more minimum contracts.

0

Aug 18, 2014

Aug 18, 2014 at 7:19 AM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

Bumble

Minimum hours minimal powers. let the pennies shower down on those in the new age 'workhouse' we're back to the slums where the bosses toss crumbs to the masses and what passes as good is as good as it gets, when the greedy get all and the poor get sod all. The cries of the City,unheard since Victoria,I mean the Queen,not the place and that is the pity of it, trapped in this sea where only the successful can be seen as being smug, We should heave out the plug and watch them go down,give back the town to the people who share in it,those who care and those I swear will win. Unless the cheapness of gin begins to rear its head and the poor all get hammered instead. When the **** hits the fan we forget the soup van and it's bottles all round and around we all go. If the cold doesn't **** us we'll be buried in snow and they'll cover the cracks with more minimum contracts.

12

Lost your perfect life, no more little wife left behind a part of you, for somebody else, new. I sat back and had to laugh, and watch you fall flat on your *** can't seem to find what you need, one more bed for you to feed. ain't no shame in your game, loneliness is what you claim. empty promises help you through, another emotion I wasted on you. smiles, winks, and nods gave way to a cheap facade. So live your life in a lie, another bed to hop, why not try? Your cheapness sickens me to the boiling point of agony. I tried to ***** the feeling out Only to be shown a different route. Take your poison, which ever suits, I'll have the boot mark on my *** for proof.

0

Sep 19, 2010

Sep 19, 2010 at 3:36 PM UTC

michael-bingoff

screen door *****

Lost your perfect life, no more little wife left behind a part of you, for somebody else, new. I sat back and had to laugh, and watch you fall flat on your *** can't seem to find what you need, one more bed for you to feed. ain't no shame in your game, loneliness is what you claim. empty promises help you through, another emotion I wasted on you. smiles, winks, and nods gave way to a cheap facade. So live your life in a lie, another bed to hop, why not try? Your cheapness sickens me to the boiling point of agony. I tried to ***** the feeling out Only to be shown a different route. Take your poison, which ever suits, I'll have the boot mark on my *** for proof.

22

Being Away is vacation Coming home to vocation All the time lost, wasted So many moments constrained Lost, lost, lost is the whim Found is the voice Deepest regret Meets inevitable choice Screaming down receivers Chewing the fat, I was hoping for greatness How tragic is that? Nightmares come quietly Whilst shouting in sleep I address them quite calmly As they sneakily creep If you stop for a second Then you'll never get started Just keep chipping away Please don't get disheartened So we keep all the form Whilst removing the strain Always aware, That knowing is pain. Knowing is something, And that's all it is, If we could only stop knowing We'd really **** But whizzing is cheap And cheapness is poor I feel a lot richer, Asleep on the floor.

0

Apr 8, 2013

Apr 8, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC

samuel-francis

Coming Back to Something.

Being Away is vacation Coming home to vocation All the time lost, wasted So many moments constrained Lost, lost, lost is the whim Found is the voice Deepest regret Meets inevitable choice Screaming down receivers Chewing the fat, I was hoping for greatness How tragic is that? Nightmares come quietly Whilst shouting in sleep I address them quite calmly As they sneakily creep If you stop for a second Then you'll never get started Just keep chipping away Please don't get disheartened So we keep all the form Whilst removing the strain Always aware, That knowing is pain. Knowing is something, And that's all it is, If we could only stop knowing We'd really **** But whizzing is cheap And cheapness is poor I feel a lot richer, Asleep on the floor.

32

The house had an evil aspect as It hung out over the street, Casting a permanent shadow there Where the market stalls would meet, The first floor was half-timbered, with The ground floor made of stone, The windows were made of pebble glass And the window frames of bone. No one had lived in the house for years Til the Robinson’s moved in, A couple, straight from the wedding church Where they’d cleansed themselves from sin, They’d listened to all of the rumours that The house had its share of ghosts, But the cheapness of the peppercorn rent Had influenced them most. The house was built where a charnel house Had stood in the days of plague, Where later a debtors’ prison stood Though its history was vague, They said there had been a gallows there With a trapdoor through the floor, And the arm of the ancient gallows now Was the lintel of a door. But the Robinson’s had sailed right in With a mop and a whisking broom, ‘In no time, it’ll be **** and span,’ Said Sally, within the gloom, While Brad had opened the shutters then To let all the light stream in, ‘We’ll flush the ghosts from their waiting posts With a broom and a pound of Vim!’ They dusted down the old furniture Left sitting since George the Fourth, And turned the old oak table round So the end was facing north, ‘But still there’s a dampness in the air, And a tension that feels grim,’ Sally said, as they lay in bed, And she clung, so close to him. ‘Are you sure that they can’t get in,’ she said ‘Now we’ve flushed them out in the street?’ But Brad was trying to understand Why the bed was cold at his feet. ‘Why are the sheets so damp,’ he said, ‘And they’re cold, as cold as sin,’ Sally was shivering, fit to burst Though the sun came streaming in. They sat at the old oak table with Their bowls of soup, home-made, And Sally reached out to hold his hand But he started back, dismayed, The soup was thick in the serving bowl It was still three-quarters full, When a swirl in the murky liquid then Revealed a grinning skull. Sally shrieked, but she couldn’t speak And Brad had held his breath, ‘We’ve got to get out of this house today, We’re surrounded here by death.’ The shutters slammed on the windows and The doors flew shut on their own, And barring the pebble windows were The frames that were made of bone. The people out in the market heard The screams at an early hour, Looked knowingly at each other, said, ‘They have them in their power!’ And Brad was hung from the lintel when They finally broke inside, While Sally was dead by a grinning skull In the dress of a new-wed bride. David Lewis Paget

0

Mar 26, 2014

Mar 26, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC

david-lewis-paget

The House of Dread

The house had an evil aspect as It hung out over the street, Casting a permanent shadow there Where the market stalls would meet, The first floor was half-timbered, with The ground floor made of stone, The windows were made of pebble glass And the window frames of bone. No one had lived in the house for years Til the Robinson’s moved in, A couple, straight from the wedding church Where they’d cleansed themselves from sin, They’d listened to all of the rumours that The house had its share of ghosts, But the cheapness of the peppercorn rent Had influenced them most. The house was built where a charnel house Had stood in the days of plague, Where later a debtors’ prison stood Though its history was vague, They said there had been a gallows there With a trapdoor through the floor, And the arm of the ancient gallows now Was the lintel of a door. But the Robinson’s had sailed right in With a mop and a whisking broom, ‘In no time, it’ll be **** and span,’ Said Sally, within the gloom, While Brad had opened the shutters then To let all the light stream in, ‘We’ll flush the ghosts from their waiting posts With a broom and a pound of Vim!’ They dusted down the old furniture Left sitting since George the Fourth, And turned the old oak table round So the end was facing north, ‘But still there’s a dampness in the air, And a tension that feels grim,’ Sally said, as they lay in bed, And she clung, so close to him. ‘Are you sure that they can’t get in,’ she said ‘Now we’ve flushed them out in the street?’ But Brad was trying to understand Why the bed was cold at his feet. ‘Why are the sheets so damp,’ he said, ‘And they’re cold, as cold as sin,’ Sally was shivering, fit to burst Though the sun came streaming in. They sat at the old oak table with Their bowls of soup, home-made, And Sally reached out to hold his hand But he started back, dismayed, The soup was thick in the serving bowl It was still three-quarters full, When a swirl in the murky liquid then Revealed a grinning skull. Sally shrieked, but she couldn’t speak And Brad had held his breath, ‘We’ve got to get out of this house today, We’re surrounded here by death.’ The shutters slammed on the windows and The doors flew shut on their own, And barring the pebble windows were The frames that were made of bone. The people out in the market heard The screams at an early hour, Looked knowingly at each other, said, ‘They have them in their power!’ And Brad was hung from the lintel when They finally broke inside, While Sally was dead by a grinning skull In the dress of a new-wed bride. David Lewis Paget

73

I smoked my last cigarette today on top of this city's skyline as i let the windy night flow through my long hair. My hair is getting so long. I keep losing my train of thought; trying to drown the thoughts of ending it all with a bitter beer. I really hate beer. I keep myself busy planning my escape from this Cities hold on me but we all know I am afraid to make the first move. I am always so afraid. Failing isn't an option and you told me you were never wrong... i almost believe you until the day you left me. I knew you were wrong about at least one thing now. I started smoking again today... I could have swore I was done with this disgusting habit but my life is one habitual mess. I have horrible habits. I planned my escape today while i sat work, slacking off like my boss often does, and i realized I can do. I think things are going to be okay. I threw out the bitter beer i had in the fridge today. I really can't stand the cheapness of it and how it reminds me of your bittersweet goodbye. They both tasted the same to me. I finally got that hair cut i told you i was getting. The truth is hate long hair anyways.

0

Feb 7, 2014

Feb 7, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC

BriannaB4mf

I hate long hair

I smoked my last cigarette today on top of this city's skyline as i let the windy night flow through my long hair. My hair is getting so long. I keep losing my train of thought; trying to drown the thoughts of ending it all with a bitter beer. I really hate beer. I keep myself busy planning my escape from this Cities hold on me but we all know I am afraid to make the first move. I am always so afraid. Failing isn't an option and you told me you were never wrong... i almost believe you until the day you left me. I knew you were wrong about at least one thing now. I started smoking again today... I could have swore I was done with this disgusting habit but my life is one habitual mess. I have horrible habits. I planned my escape today while i sat work, slacking off like my boss often does, and i realized I can do. I think things are going to be okay. I threw out the bitter beer i had in the fridge today. I really can't stand the cheapness of it and how it reminds me of your bittersweet goodbye. They both tasted the same to me. I finally got that hair cut i told you i was getting. The truth is hate long hair anyways.

16

The dirt is collecting in the creases of empty pages Obscuring the words, my own, not worth reading Spat onto yellow notebook paper, ugly handwriting Burnt alive in her shell, devoted & destroyed by her faith Lovingly left to the dogs Carelessly spent like every paycheck you've ever earned Wasted on the cheapness of mass produced poison Half gone before we began, gone before we knew better Our transience mistaken for permanence, out of ignorance My belated "I love you" to late to matter much Just words by the time they're spoken, empty as her promises The sun still shines & the grass still dries, but the silence has abandoned us Predicting that quietness, absorbing sterile noise Put down the pen, crumple the page, writing about it never changed a thing

0

Jun 26, 2011

Jun 26, 2011 at 12:24 PM UTC

worn-down

Work In Progress

The dirt is collecting in the creases of empty pages Obscuring the words, my own, not worth reading Spat onto yellow notebook paper, ugly handwriting Burnt alive in her shell, devoted & destroyed by her faith Lovingly left to the dogs Carelessly spent like every paycheck you've ever earned Wasted on the cheapness of mass produced poison Half gone before we began, gone before we knew better Our transience mistaken for permanence, out of ignorance My belated "I love you" to late to matter much Just words by the time they're spoken, empty as her promises The sun still shines & the grass still dries, but the silence has abandoned us Predicting that quietness, absorbing sterile noise Put down the pen, crumple the page, writing about it never changed a thing

28

Many conspiracy theories get the connections and convolutions right. What they get wrong is the distracting end game, when the truth's so clear. Just look at the results. The rich and powerful always escape culpability, escape punishment. If the evidence proves too blatant, creating nets of legal and PR complexities keep the farce of "justice for all," while maintaining their Old World nobility. Victorian inbreds and mobster charlatans, cutting corners and destroying civic morals, just to grab up more Earth. Soon their cheapness will became ubiquitous. They'll all end up in imploding pleasure submarines, dining on deadly raw foie gras, or barreling off a crumbling bridge in a driverless car.

0

Aug 13, 2024

Aug 13, 2024 at 11:51 AM UTC

kageysage

Scapegoats for the Blessed

Many conspiracy theories get the connections and convolutions right. What they get wrong is the distracting end game, when the truth's so clear. Just look at the results. The rich and powerful always escape culpability, escape punishment. If the evidence proves too blatant, creating nets of legal and PR complexities keep the farce of "justice for all," while maintaining their Old World nobility. Victorian inbreds and mobster charlatans, cutting corners and destroying civic morals, just to grab up more Earth. Soon their cheapness will became ubiquitous. They'll all end up in imploding pleasure submarines, dining on deadly raw foie gras, or barreling off a crumbling bridge in a driverless car.

2

Never expected this cheapness from her Just want to delete her This is for me If i love her further **** myself And I Sould not love anyone If I ! surely Will **** myself

0

Sep 11, 2015

Sep 11, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC

anuhf

Want to **** myself...

Never expected this cheapness from her Just want to delete her This is for me If i love her further **** myself And I Sould not love anyone If I ! surely Will **** myself

9

Your smell has stained my memories, burning into my fragile skull never seeming to fade. As a small child I thought it was pretty and striking, now I see the cheapness in your perfume, and your loathsome words. It is a tragedy, it is selling yourself, late night visits from strange men, and plugging your ears to block out the screaming. It is drug needles, crack pipes, living out of cars, growing up too fast, and lies and lies and lies. When I smell it now everything comes back in flashbacks and vivid nightmares. A monstrous wave of past events, emotions and experiences still so vivid it hits me and knocks me off my trembling feet gasping air into my damaged lungs. It is methadone clinics, cigarette burns, broken words, glossy eyes, cleaning up for cps, countless arrests and lies and lies and lies. Despite its damage, despite its tragedy, I'd do anything to be wrapped in it again, small and unseeing of your faults.

0

Feb 19, 2021

Feb 19, 2021 at 7:14 PM UTC

grxy_n_cloudy

Cheap Perfume, Cheap Words

Your smell has stained my memories, burning into my fragile skull never seeming to fade. As a small child I thought it was pretty and striking, now I see the cheapness in your perfume, and your loathsome words. It is a tragedy, it is selling yourself, late night visits from strange men, and plugging your ears to block out the screaming. It is drug needles, crack pipes, living out of cars, growing up too fast, and lies and lies and lies. When I smell it now everything comes back in flashbacks and vivid nightmares. A monstrous wave of past events, emotions and experiences still so vivid it hits me and knocks me off my trembling feet gasping air into my damaged lungs. It is methadone clinics, cigarette burns, broken words, glossy eyes, cleaning up for cps, countless arrests and lies and lies and lies. Despite its damage, despite its tragedy, I'd do anything to be wrapped in it again, small and unseeing of your faults.

7

It's the strangest thing, you know, staring in the foyer room of walmart, a world between worlds, staring at the the missing persons billboard in a little awe in a little confusion those that got mixed up in the wrong **** in the wrong trip with the wrong people in the wrong house on the edge might be forgotten by all except their family death at their door mocking them what a life in a way but not really too much raw and short term - low pay out - investment fear, death, and silence then the most disturbing noise of all many pass right by in fact all pass by heading in to what to where? to life, no that automatic door leads staight to hell too hell and back to nowhere and back all images, small sufferings hiding behind cheapness in and out without a care and this billboard the final nail in the cross no blood too extreme and real for blood just one, and one more that grabs at it soft tears coming through eyes eyes that care and cuddle for the good times to exist again poor gal im not quite there yet so I go inside hoping to gain some perspective knowing that I never will until I see a face one that is know on that board maybe then maybe then

0

Aug 2, 2016

Aug 2, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC

matthew-macdonald

Maybe Then, Maybe Then

It's the strangest thing, you know, staring in the foyer room of walmart, a world between worlds, staring at the the missing persons billboard in a little awe in a little confusion those that got mixed up in the wrong **** in the wrong trip with the wrong people in the wrong house on the edge might be forgotten by all except their family death at their door mocking them what a life in a way but not really too much raw and short term - low pay out - investment fear, death, and silence then the most disturbing noise of all many pass right by in fact all pass by heading in to what to where? to life, no that automatic door leads staight to hell too hell and back to nowhere and back all images, small sufferings hiding behind cheapness in and out without a care and this billboard the final nail in the cross no blood too extreme and real for blood just one, and one more that grabs at it soft tears coming through eyes eyes that care and cuddle for the good times to exist again poor gal im not quite there yet so I go inside hoping to gain some perspective knowing that I never will until I see a face one that is know on that board maybe then maybe then

54

I walk down the misty streets Trying to find me something, Sometimes I feel like a hit and miss I go back home I seat near the lit fireplace It’s near midnight It’s getting late My bones are crumbling The only sound I hear is the fire crackling. It’s near 2 o’clock I want to eat However, my legs are weak and I cannot get up Turn on the television News roundup The type of stuff I never pick up “The crime was a setup” Oh god, where has humanity ended up? It’s near 3 o’clock My patience is out of stock Now that I started this… I'm locked down Trying to resist Not everything can be resolved with fists I could try to make myself a list Nevertheless, there is a twist I cannot coexist With me. It’s 4 o’clock Should I get a drink? There is some near the sink I drag my sleepless body to the kitchen Oh god this place stinks Stinks of cheapness, shoddy I could drink it all in a blink I embody the alcoholic. It’s 5 o’clock I am neurotic, Psychotic, Idiotic... I always hated this behaviour Quite so hypnotic I have been told I was a failure Now I taste the flavour Of misbehaviour Of which I savour I am no saviour. It’s morning I have work I have this quirk And I don’t know why now I smirk I guess I avoid it But the thought still lurks Now I sit here destroyed Maybe now, Unemployed.

0

May 17, 2018

May 17, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC

WhyAreYouEvenHere

A.M. Sorrow

I walk down the misty streets Trying to find me something, Sometimes I feel like a hit and miss I go back home I seat near the lit fireplace It’s near midnight It’s getting late My bones are crumbling The only sound I hear is the fire crackling. It’s near 2 o’clock I want to eat However, my legs are weak and I cannot get up Turn on the television News roundup The type of stuff I never pick up “The crime was a setup” Oh god, where has humanity ended up? It’s near 3 o’clock My patience is out of stock Now that I started this… I'm locked down Trying to resist Not everything can be resolved with fists I could try to make myself a list Nevertheless, there is a twist I cannot coexist With me. It’s 4 o’clock Should I get a drink? There is some near the sink I drag my sleepless body to the kitchen Oh god this place stinks Stinks of cheapness, shoddy I could drink it all in a blink I embody the alcoholic. It’s 5 o’clock I am neurotic, Psychotic, Idiotic... I always hated this behaviour Quite so hypnotic I have been told I was a failure Now I taste the flavour Of misbehaviour Of which I savour I am no saviour. It’s morning I have work I have this quirk And I don’t know why now I smirk I guess I avoid it But the thought still lurks Now I sit here destroyed Maybe now, Unemployed.

55

10 She knelt in the hunger days of youth. Castrated, ***** and ****** up. "All in the mind," they said "don't isolate yourself from the wolves." One by one a chunk of flesh is just a piece of stolen candy. "Don't fear us," they said. "We'll keep you alive. It will be our pleasure." 20 My thoughts are written on the side of my head. Yet, they hide from you. Under the letters, your commas and clauses, your conditions. Words. They mean nothing. Yet everything is seen in them. Why. It never ends. Well. 30 It went on. This series of talks. It ails me. The cheapness of this masquerade. The farce is fun to watch. Happy with this comedy of silence, and the cold. Children used to play, now used for play-- like bots, or chess. If I didn't have a God, a heart, a soul, you'd be happy with your ghost in a shell. 40 The legal guy spoke as if he knew what was right. Legal is something else. What do i know. "You know nothing, John Snow." is a fine meme for one of us. I can hear the anger in your tone, the hysteria rises each time I dont go along willingly. When I was a child, I thought like a child. How convenient that was for you.

0

May 1, 2018

May 1, 2018 at 9:35 AM UTC

m-g-hsieh

Family matters

10 She knelt in the hunger days of youth. Castrated, ***** and ****** up. "All in the mind," they said "don't isolate yourself from the wolves." One by one a chunk of flesh is just a piece of stolen candy. "Don't fear us," they said. "We'll keep you alive. It will be our pleasure." 20 My thoughts are written on the side of my head. Yet, they hide from you. Under the letters, your commas and clauses, your conditions. Words. They mean nothing. Yet everything is seen in them. Why. It never ends. Well. 30 It went on. This series of talks. It ails me. The cheapness of this masquerade. The farce is fun to watch. Happy with this comedy of silence, and the cold. Children used to play, now used for play-- like bots, or chess. If I didn't have a God, a heart, a soul, you'd be happy with your ghost in a shell. 40 The legal guy spoke as if he knew what was right. Legal is something else. What do i know. "You know nothing, John Snow." is a fine meme for one of us. I can hear the anger in your tone, the hysteria rises each time I dont go along willingly. When I was a child, I thought like a child. How convenient that was for you.

60