"cheeto" poems
Would you still love me if my sea blue green eyes were puddles of icky brown like gas station toilet water,
Would you still love me if my locks of autumn sun kissed hair follicles fell off my head like they do seasonally,
Would you love me if my skin was orange like bright cheeto puffed style, and would you still love me if I had no nose,
Would you still love me when I'm sad and unconsolable,
With tears running down my eyes like the waters off niagra,
Would you still love me if I died,
Like not existed anymore,
Would you even cry,
And would you love me if I had no value to this world,
If everyone hated me and ran from me like a squirrel, Would you still love this pathetic girl, If she was all that she set out to be but couldn't. Would you still love her like you do,
Would you love me for all my ugly faults I cannot change.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 12:56 AM UTC
Why am I not good enough for you?
You don't know my life story.
My upbringings.
My parents.
You don't know the Mother that raised me.
The mother who taught me how to be a decent human being.
The same Mother who's making 81 cents to your dollar.
Why?
Because of what's between her legs.
Why am I not good enough for you?
Maybe its the way I dress.
I'm modest.
I was taught the difference between lingerie and clothing.
I know what is appropriate.
I'm comfortable with myself.
Why do you have to degrade me?
For something as stupid as the genitalia between my thighs.
You discriminate and degrade people.
You don't see us saying, 'We're so sorry, but we regret to inform you, America, simply won't allow a Cheeto to be our PRESIDENT.'
You say that just because of someone's sexuality or gender, they CANNOT join the military.
Well, I don't know about the rest of America, but if someone is willing to fight for our country, that's more honor than anything.
Not like you're volunteering your life to fight for our once, accepting and loving country.
America the free.
Home of the brave.
A dream to most people.
It isn't as great as it seems.
If anything, it shouldn't be a dream to people.
It should be a nightmare.
A nightmare.
Why am I not good enough for you?
Is it because my parents taught me to love whoever I want?
Do you want to judge me for being an open person?
Are you going to degrade me for saying I love both girls and boys equally?
Do you know why?
Because a person...
Is a person.
Maybe my mind isn't as contorted as yours.
Maybe some therapy or medication can help alleviate my sins.
Maybe instead of judging majority of the country, you should judge yourself.
Maybe you should realize, you aren't as good as you think you are.
I'm not a nobel peace prize winner, but I can tell you how to resolve some of our country's problems.
Put a little love in your heart.
Love for all the people.
Love for those who's skin isn't as white as yours.
Love for those who believe love is love.
Love for the people who want to fight for our country.
Love for all those people who aren't good enough.
So I ask of you one more time.
If I am good enough for everyone around me...
Why am I not good enough for you?
#ProtectallLGBT
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 2:49 AM UTC
capitalize it
punctuate it
then . . . **// s p a c e it
s a y it /**
to their gray faces
this is REVOLUTION baby
fall down prostrate in adoration
plead for mercy before the throne
of your orange Cheeto lord
worship 45
you owe your soul to him
(your owner/father-figure)
your president
mix-master D.J.
is wiser than you
that's why he is
president of your nation-state
so sorry about the will of 55%
of the amurican people
now dance
to your D.J.
like good NPCs
god bless amurica 45
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
My Duma was a cat, just an ordinary cat to others but to me he was my best friend, and my heart.
My Duma had a soft orange coat like the cheeto's mascot on the chip bag.
My Duma had blue/green eyes and a loving face always there when you needed him around.
My Duma was friendly and loving but one day he had a leg infection.
When My Duma had a leg infection, the vet's couldn't do anything to help him with it unless i had thousands of dollars, even though i said i'd pay bits by bits in time just to help save this little creatures life.
I tried everything for My Duma, to save him and keep his little leg protected.
But these vet's didn't care, they don't care about animals they just care about money.
I had to put my Duma down, give him away, i don't know if he's still alive but i will always love My Duma.
Even though it has been abot 10 years since My Duma is gone, i still feel pain inside and saddened.
He only lived for 2 years but left a spot in my heart where he will always stay.
Funny and naive My Duma was, always wanted to play and cuddle.
I love you My Duma, i wish you could come back.
Even certain songs remind me of you when you left i had them playing.
I'll never forget my baby Duma.
Thank you, thank you to the vet's who killed a living creature who was happy and bright.
Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 11:05 PM UTC
Got to get my Gogeta on
Time to go the cheetah runs
Beast mode I ain't cheeto
I'm cheetor
Turn the booth into Hogwarts I'm Dumbledore
My flow deep you rappers seas shore
I'm great in my own greatness what I need to compete for
Leroy kno I shonuff
I'm like Bruce Leroy with the Mic an dey Nunchucks
**** Ghostwriters ima Ghostbuster
My ghostwriter ain't even been discovered
Ha my spirit even more structured
So now you know who write these
See my spirit my Siamese
But I ain't Chinese
I wipe off blood on the Mic with a handkerchief
See I'm an endangered species
I'm rare only a few breeds of mine that ain't extinct
A TRIBE of mine an us them don't synch
It ain't a jinx
Never will I try to create a hybrid with these creatures
We could never have the same features
Being rare is much more easier
To be in this wildlife
I'm like how an lion would write
I hate the darkness cause I'm the son of the light
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
I hate haircuts
calling and asking if they can take a walk in
trying to decipher the woman's thick accent
going into the store
empty desolate
a man behind the counter
looking up lazily from his magazine
his monotone voice
asking if I have an appointment
he tells me to sit in the chair
asks what I "plan to do"
"with life?"
"no, with your hair"
because right now my hair is more important than my existence
I hate having him touch my hair
and the faces he makes at the split ends
I hate his fingers brushing against my cheek
and seeing the Hot Cheeto evidence
on his thumb and forefinger
Ellen is on one TV
Arthur is on the other
a little Chinese girl
running around the store
asking for her phone
phone?!
she can't be older than 4
and she is asking for HER phone
the man doing my hair
gives it to her
I look at his paper license at his station
memorize the spelling of his name
look at the party streamers on the walls
the broken baseboards
the edges of the wall
that the paint couldn't reach
I hate as he tries to make conversation
asking where I go to school
what my plans are for the weekend
monotone
monotone
monotone
looking at my reflection in the mirror
not looking at him cutting my hair
I notice the grease on my nose
how poorly I filled in my eyebrows
I get sick of my reflection and look back at the baseboards
finally he is done
he blows the hot air of the dryer in my face
I cringe
he shakes out the apron and I look at the floor
I am on the floor
my DNA
everywhere
I pay and he spends 15 minutes looking for change
touching my hair as I leave
touching it in the car
touching it at dinner
I hate haircuts
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
i'm making fish sticks in the kitchen drinking a blue moon
thinking about how i sat gracefully, weightless on your back while you laid there shirtless and i squeezed every knot out of you
like wringing a bleached towel out
and you
switched, sitting on top of me rubbing that sweet ******** anthropologie scent into my skin
and i told you what i wanted for christmas and you apologized for getting cheeto dust on my down comforter
and we'll drive halfway across the country just to find ourselves in it
and you apologized for doing coke
and i apologized for not caring
and you held my face between your hands like some kind of heart shaped pebble you found on the beach
and i was glowing
and you let me scratch at you with needles and i was glowing
but i don't love you, and i don't think i could
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
a spicy cheeto
fell on my *****
but i still ate it.
i shouldve eaten
the cheeto instead.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC
i found it
buried in the couch
stuck between two cuushions
next to an old cheeto
come home
be with me
i let you throw
your shorn leg
along side me
requested acutally
but before
"come here
be with me"
i leaked
me
i got a minor in dogs
who knows what i was talking about
you walked in and shook me to my core
no not apple
what was i saying
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 7:38 PM UTC
A boxcar towards Detroit
A cheap ticket and no work week
Train ride rhythm and we stack for nothing
A few hours until conclusion
So I might as well tinker with time
Pick apart these scenes so consumed and complicate nothing
Hear goes one more run for the cynical articulation
Some faces surround for common ground
Some minds scattered by seclusion
Some contraptions consolidate the wonders
Another nod for the distraction tube
No need for introspection
No need for eyes made astute
Cheeto dust and pocket lint for your friendship fund
Cracks complicate a ceilings resilience
Buckets like ****** Toons
Deafening roar of water on tin
A window frantically frosted
Makes blooms blink and breath contract
Casually heads cluster
Laugh inside the sick and gleam a new gold watch
Knock and smile for another soul suspended
Salted avenues crunch like brown bag bottles
Some homeless frozen into earth
Some malignant machinery shrouds the crossings
Air like an avalanche
Face feels like nothing
Solidified fragments for the descent
Ponder another pixel and they fall around this body
Water sticks like concrete poured
Heater heaven for a half price function
I've never felt so low than when the high is momentary
I've never known a God that needed so much reassurance
The sun shines but the cold is never controlled
I wish for Palm tree torture
So why do I head North?
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 3:07 AM UTC
the image of Cheeto Face can’t be unseen
glaring at us through the tube
spewing forth random worthlessness
infringing on all who watched
how do you undo such nonsense
Brian Hill - 2020 # 269
Sep 30, 2020
Sep 30, 2020 at 9:21 PM UTC
.
Left alone, the abyss of failure
closes in,
for days it seems like weeks,
though months are now reduced to counted minutes
Coffin’d stances form the stoic barricade
which surrounds my hope
in picket lines of untrained defectors
I claw at its lid,
thrashing mightily to my sides
as collections of miseries
flood this chamber of my coerced sleep
“I am here!” I shout,
hearing my words
echo in distance dance halls
two stepping on my memory,
spitting above where I lie
Here - a relevant term
as columns of disbelief carve themselves
from my mind.
Forgotten, left for dead,
erased from the blackboard
by the firm swishing hand of fate…
reduced to dust (I don’t feel like dust)
Blisters climb my arms in search of answers,
none can be found here,
where ever the hell here is… yet, I am here
My brain circles the skyline in desperation,
the gutters below cry, trash strewn as if it were me
sleeping off my drunk
in that Frigidaire box
“I am me!” I cry to the empty corridors of someone else’s life
One I’d rather be
Or one who would rather not?
…….
Someday my file may lie open,
atop a desk,
a partitioned sanctuary of hidden ethics,
beneath the crumpled Cheeto’s bag,
now layered with stale orange crumbs
maybe someone will see
maybe someone will wonder
or maybe still forgotten
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 8:15 AM UTC
Who will be the next White House resident?
Barack Obama set a precedent
I'm ready for the first woman…
I'm ready for the first Asian…
I'm are ready for our first Latinx…
What about an Amerind President;
Original resident as president?
Wow to that!
Which Hmong among us is ready to run?
Orange cheeto has to go.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 4:24 PM UTC
Telling a lie
Always wanting to shine
When really I was polished the wrong way
My heart was really on decline
Saying her name
Used to be a praise
Now all it is
Is just a way to go down
And cry
Wishing she was mine again
When really she being gone
Was my pilgrimage to a great revival
Very vital
For my arrival that
I stay mindful
Of my trifles
Due to how I’m always tripping on the cracks
That makes everything black
Activating my brain
And making me rage
Since my temper is on edge
With my neck
That is carrying a lot of the sweat I get
From ******* tryna wreak my moderation
Tryna give me a education
In how to be substandard
And Rendered into something
Worst than America giving a Cheeto
The leveage to all of our bombs
So now I’m just thinking about what you did wrong
Instead of my flaws
I’m reminding you of what you missed on
Always catching wrong
Missing all shots
Finally hit a home run
But didn’t run
Instead you walked away
And became a snob
Who couldn’t turn a ****
As if it was Brittney telling a song
Without hatred and love
Always switching up to benefit your life
But messing with my redefined mind
Which has no space to give you my time
So I’ma make this short and give you a new comprehension
Don’t look at me
Don’t say you gonna love
Or that you gonna **** me
Because all you really doing is lying to yourself
Because I’m non penetrable
Due to my thick skull
That’s always getting dull from whenever you wanna score
Instead you fumble
Like the dolphins in the playoffs
Now I wish you good luck
Since your sorry *** just loss all your luck
When you left me taking a piece of my
❤️
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 3:18 AM UTC
With silly smile, playing laptop keyboard
keys, I relay tales of brief, college bliss,
where days, like dry martinis, swiftly pass
lips that pucker for life’s capricious kiss.
My roommates bring joy and warm delight, like
late night Cheeto-fights to break-up study
drudgery - some chaos can counter stress,
though it makes a powdery-orange mess.
While we whirl and preen, when on party scenes,
we've embarked on the classic scholar’s quest.
We're earnest lasses, who pass-up passes -
well, some capitulate - we are human.
But I'm tempered by shame, and remembered
love's flame - and nightly I whisper his name.
Jan 28, 2024
Jan 28, 2024 at 2:50 PM UTC
Nausea comes
never mind the robotics
Outdated and primitive
something out of an old horror show
Black and white
with pale mustache movements
Flicker for some change
silence in the monopoly
Orange blue skies in the forecast
radio towers shadow homes
Cheap but unstable
Swerve for the limo
with it's rented passenger
Make room for concrete
with it's finalized oozing
Conclusions in literal stone
By all means
Grow grass before you build
Let the time be captured before creation
Let the giants stretch one last time
Before they pull down the clouds for warmth
Before they make rain for thirst
Before they break stars for spite
Manmade for a time
they now mutiny against the gods
What gods nobody asks?
We eat nuclear dinners
while television glow illuminates
Slack jaw chewing
The bits we miss fall down
Nutrition for one hundred hungry orphans
Feel the warmth of giving
We donate at the register because we want salvation
But we don't share the cheeto with the bag lady downtown
Broken stair case
denial
Gray concrete
old and cracked
Message by way of cup and string
a voice from the past
Faded but painful
rusted yet lovely
Said she drank herself to death
sent a selfi from heaven
Saying she was right and I am doomed
We make lust but call it love
animals in denial
Chemical fueled collisions
and innocents is lost
Broken home renewal
pass the generation general
This war needs motivation
this money needs consolidating
These masses need thinning
nobody makes it to the bottom
We all look down hoping for a clue
But these gods prove elusive
Nothing manmade in the organic
Nothing humble in the insane
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
There is a hole in her core she must sate.
So, she drives to the grocery store before it’s too late.
She steers the cart in search
of junk food.
She spots a case of cupcakes that can ease her mood.
Powdered donuts on a shelf she can reach.
Next, she chooses Bottled sodas, she packs up five each.
Muffins, Doritos, Cheetos, Funyuns and Snickers she will par-take.
She must not forget about the Little Debbie snack cakes.
Once the cashier starts scanning her vittles,
She starts to feel a tingly rush form in her middle.
She pays her fee then rushes to her vehicle parked afar
Then unloads the groceries on the passenger seat of the car.
As she sits behind her steering wheel.
She appraises her edible saviors, then makes her appeal
She starts with the Snickers shoving them down her throat,
The empty void inside her fills as she lets out a choke.
The Funyuns and muffins are next on her seat.
She devours them in seconds, puffing up her cheeks.
Doritos, Cheetos and snack cakes are inhaled like oxygen,
She is slightly starting to feel whole again.
The cupcakes are the last morsels of her stock
She washes them down with the soda she bought.
When the food is gone she observes the food wrappers in her space.
She glances in the rearview mirror but fails to recognize her face.
Powdered sugar and Cheeto dust crusting around her lips,
A sob escapes her chest as sanity begins to slip.
There is one more mission she must forgo
Opening her car door, she shoves a finger down her throat.
***** is released from her belly’s lair.
Stomach acid and bile sting the night air.
She appraises the regurgitation splattered on the concrete.
Then senses the empty void is gone, her task is completed
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 1:57 PM UTC
(the title is the poem)
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 1:18 PM UTC
I guess I could've
stopped the end of the world -
left in rotting and
tumbling into cheeto dust,
licking the residue off my fingers.
but I didn't want to
I flicked my tongue and
pieced the shapes back together,
destroying my own form
in the process
it was worth it
because I knew that
the butterflies would fly again,
you see
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
I fell hard for the head of that Isaac
(note the gravity of my event).
Over Tombstone I soared, on the winds of the Lord
Until Holliday’s bullets were spent.
Floating iceberg, I challenged Titanic
Single raindrop, got lost in the storm;
Genghis Khan’s mongol horse had ideas, of course
Stalin’s mommy kept baby Joe warm . . .
Perspectives from lesser-known players
May improve the morale of the team;
But a view from the edge of the forty-fifth ledge
Will compel true progressives to scream!
Have you noticed the wave on that wizard,
Washingtonian mage of the West?
You may dislike his ways, but it’s only a phase;
Now admit it; his hair is the BEST.
He’s the Cheeto in charge of your nation
Chief constructor of all that is Great.
Though you’re peeved at your loss, Mr. Drumpf is the boss
And there’s no more excuse for your hate.
I’m the roof on Melania’s husband
Call me carrot-top, call me toupée . . .
You can whine all you want, but I’m here to be blunt:
I’m the night after Democrat day.
I’m the hair on your wonderful leader
Driving liberals mad—and beyond.
The Deplorable’s turn: feel the heat, feel the burn;
Oh hilarious orange! (No . . . blonde.)
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 6:27 PM UTC
you remember the arcade
on the corner
right next to the local pizza shop
it's where you used to go
when your parents were yelling
and you didn't want to do your homework
riding your bike down suburb streets
moving gracefully between cars
waving at the neighbors when you saw them
arriving just outside
the scent of pizza grease and sweat
a comfort as you step inside
your friends are there
clustered around screaming bright boxes
quarters for eyes, joysticks for hands
you slid the cashier five dollar bills
you earned on miscellaneous chores
and your paper route
he's got a name tag
"Chad"
"Chad" will never leave his mother's basement
He hands you a quarter roll
Hands drenched in sweat and Cheeto dust
truly disgusting
but you thank him
because you were taught to be polite
and no one else is nice to "Chad"
You walk the aisles
Browsing, perusing
looking for the perfect game
Aha! There!
a new cabinet!
all alone!
just for you!
you play it, hours upon hours
lost in your virtual world
you're close, so close
the end of the game is so close
one more level!-
A hand, gruff and stern.
"Chad" stands behind you, stoic.
"C'mon, the arcade's closing.
You gotta go home."
Right, home.
You have to go home.
It's late, way too late.
Your bike sits, waiting for you.
You've gotta get home.
Home, with your parents fighting.
Home, with your homework, waiting.
Home, with your loneliness.
Too quick, you're already there.
The shouts are still loud.
They didn't even notice.
Oh well
There's always tomorrow
And the arcade will still be there.
Do you remember the arcade?
Your little escape from reality?
I wonder what happened to it?
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 12:37 PM UTC
her tapes wouldn't play
but nonetheless
i love her
of time, when our souls
touched at that sinclair
gas station
blue airhead
cheeto socks
and while i daydream
she pays close observance
to me and my taste
and blows balloons
and
tapes green, orange streamers
to the ceiling
while i, distracted
**** on strawberries
i am 22 today
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 12:03 AM UTC