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"clips" poems
1995 saw the start of Generation Z, the ‘iKids’ with a knack for this new-fangled technology, Millennial 2.0, caught in the limbo of the World Wide Web development and Rose Gold iPhones. They say we’re adaptable, but apparently we can’t make our own decisions about anything. They say that we don’t care about anything except for our tiny little screens, but they forget who put them in our hands, and they forget who they run to for help when they forget how to troubleshoot. They forget what kind of technology we need to keep sustaining life in the Information Age, Caught in a crossfire because Yeah, we’re 90s kids—but the 90s never really actually ended until 2006, the only difference between two decades being how much neon versus how much chrome, and just how expensive accidentally opening the internet app on your mom’s blackberry phone was. We’re nostalgic for all the things we can’t quite remember, and half these high schoolers weren’t actually born until 2000 or 2001. Most of us aren’t old enough to even remember 9/11, nothing outside of the news clips that our teachers show us in history class every single September. I was born in the same year as the Columbine shootings. The United States has not been at peace for a year of my life. We are always fighting— fighting for everything. Human equality, posing arguments about micro aggressions and refugees, seeing the inhumanity in the past that we’re living. None of us are older than 21, under such hard scrutiny while Baby Boomers Wave 2 still run our country. We inherited the Millenial’s exhaustion, the generation before us spending our childhood fighting for all the things that we have never really believed in. Fairytales. Generation Z. The ‘iKids’ who are going to one day be making leaps and bounds with technology, the generation to nurse this dying planet back to health, Millennials 2.0 who know how to learn from our forerunners’ mistakes, who know how to adapt from Sidekicks to iPhone 6S Plus in less than a decade. We’re the kids who have realized that fun is found in safe spaces rather than invading each other’s personal spaces. They say we’re too sensitive, but at the same time they claim that we’re desensitized. And I thought we were the generation that couldn't make decisions.
0
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
generation Z
1995 saw the start of Generation Z, the ‘iKids’ with a knack for this new-fangled technology, Millennial 2.0, caught in the limbo of the World Wide Web development and Rose Gold iPhones. They say we’re adaptable, but apparently we can’t make our own decisions about anything. They say that we don’t care about anything except for our tiny little screens, but they forget who put them in our hands, and they forget who they run to for help when they forget how to troubleshoot. They forget what kind of technology we need to keep sustaining life in the Information Age, Caught in a crossfire because Yeah, we’re 90s kids—but the 90s never really actually ended until 2006, the only difference between two decades being how much neon versus how much chrome, and just how expensive accidentally opening the internet app on your mom’s blackberry phone was. We’re nostalgic for all the things we can’t quite remember, and half these high schoolers weren’t actually born until 2000 or 2001. Most of us aren’t old enough to even remember 9/11, nothing outside of the news clips that our teachers show us in history class every single September. I was born in the same year as the Columbine shootings. The United States has not been at peace for a year of my life. We are always fighting— fighting for everything. Human equality, posing arguments about micro aggressions and refugees, seeing the inhumanity in the past that we’re living. None of us are older than 21, under such hard scrutiny while Baby Boomers Wave 2 still run our country. We inherited the Millenial’s exhaustion, the generation before us spending our childhood fighting for all the things that we have never really believed in. Fairytales. Generation Z. The ‘iKids’ who are going to one day be making leaps and bounds with technology, the generation to nurse this dying planet back to health, Millennials 2.0 who know how to learn from our forerunners’ mistakes, who know how to adapt from Sidekicks to iPhone 6S Plus in less than a decade. We’re the kids who have realized that fun is found in safe spaces rather than invading each other’s personal spaces. They say we’re too sensitive, but at the same time they claim that we’re desensitized. And I thought we were the generation that couldn't make decisions.
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0
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 3:47 PM UTC
****
AllVideosAppsImagesNewsMoreSearch tools About 358,000,000 results (0.35 seconds) Search Results Free **** Videos & *** Movies - ***** *** **** Tube ... www.pornhub.com/ Free **** *** videos & ***** movies. **** hub is the ultimate *** porn,sex and ***** tube, download *** videos or stream free *** and free *** movies. ‎Categories - ‎Teen - ‎Pornstars - **** Free **** Videos! PORN.COM, *** ***** Tube! HD ... www.porn.com/ Free **** mega site! Hourly updates! Watch unlimited ***** videos! Watch Live **** Cams or Upload your own videos to PORN.COM! Offering incredibility ... **** Videos, *** Movies, *** ***** Free **** Tube ... www.youporn.com/ YouPorn is your home for free *** **** videos. Watch unlimited, high quality HD **** entirely free! Enjoy the sexiest ***** with the hottest naked girls on ... Free **** *** Videos - Redtube - *** Movies - Home of ... www.redtube.com/ RedTube brings you new free **** videos every day. Watch great *** *** videos and ****** at the best free ***** and **** tube site on the web. Free **** *** Tube Videos, *** Pics, ***** in ***** ... www.xnxx.com/ XNXX delivers free *** movies and fast free **** videos (tube **** Now 1 million+ *** vids available for free! Featuring hot ***** **** girls in *** rated **** ... ‎Free **** *** Tube Videos - ‎New *** videos - ‎Best *** videos - ‎Hot! **** videos - XVIDEOS.COM www.xvideos.com/tags/porn (31 min) **** quality: 99%. Connecticut **** Gets ****** 0061. (1 min 30 sec) **** quality: 98%. Playgirl with large curves adores *** (7 min) **** quality: 99 ... Free **** Videos & *** ***** *** Movies, **** Tube and ... https://www.tnaflix.com/ Free **** *** videos & ***** movies. TNAFlix is the ultimate *** **** *** and ******** tube, free ***** movies. Download free *** videos and **** movies. **** a public health crisis? Utah state senator thinks so ... www.foxnews.com/.../porn-public-health-crisis-utah-... Fox News Channel 1 day ago - The divorce lawyer turned politician said he's not trying to impose morals on anyone but simply making people aware of porn's perils. ***** Movies. Free **** films. *** Clips online here! www.pornolaba.com/ All ***** Movies Here. The sheer number of ***** movies that this website has is enough to keep you busy for months to come. It's got niches you never ... Cliti - Free **** Tubes www.cliti.com/?lid=1 Full Free **** Tube Movies & DVDs - Cliti. ... Free **** Categories A - Z. #. 10+ Inch Cock39764 · 18 Year Old20051 · 19 Year Old8064 · 3D50789 · 3D Monster ...
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study, cram, call, make plans... power point, presentation, speech, rewrite... theory, materialism and idealism and the difference, Marx, Freud to psychoanalyze... on to polynomials, linear equations, I make a scientific notation... take a break. (eat) ham sweet and thick with lots of pineapple and some cherries potato bread and cheese PowerAde to rehydrate little vodca with o.j. and cigarette after lunch, breathe . and it’s back to study lab to mentally beat meat. paper due, final today, did I remember to triple check and get rid of paper clips, include a cover sheet... ready to evaluate... I think. ready to second guess, miss dates and time, "you're late" again... 95, 98, 3.5 GPA? pre-test, for final, make sure your research is done, site, source, quote, student rate and double space power nap, smoke again, is the day over yet?..
0
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 3:52 PM UTC
first half of today
I draw a picture A simple fixture. Of two vertical bodies at vertical ends, do you see the picture. A verbal description of a beautiful beginning with each other they never felt richer, he had won her heart so I named him victor. Her heart in his hand a solid pitcher he caught it one hand.How could you not understand. One heart one hand her boy her man. He grew inside her she became his home she held her own against all kinds of foe he relished in her midst he thought love was a myth a mixture a blend of two perfect chemicals now do you see where it all began one kiss sealed her lips. The ending to many scripts and clips was the beginning to their bliss. All this because with a song she stole his heart he knew from the start she had won the part. Number one on his charts. You couldn't take her part. You couldn't keep them apart. She was the apple of his heart :)
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Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
candice
The Christmas rush has started, and the countdown has begun Advent doors are opened, but look what you have done You've ridiculed the Bounty bar, and your spoiling all the fun Why buy a Celebration, if your not happy after one ? What's behind the cardboard doors, what did you all expect A gold ring perhaps, or the keys for a corvette? Why bother with an advent, when you have no respect There's no need for chocolate genocide, or coconut neglect You shouldn't be so outraged, with your Christmas Celebrations I don't understand the malice, or the advent hesitations If you don't want a bounty, buy heroes or sensations It's hardly a matter for Interpol, or the united nations Celebrations are your choice, there's no cause for your regret The outcome is quite obvious, why are you so upset Are the pictures not a clue, to what your gonna get ? No rarity of Bounty hunters, so don't mess with Boba Fett Are Maltesers that much lighter, in a Galaxy far away Maybe you will find Mars, in between the Milky Way A Twix or Galaxy Caramel, they we're for a different day But you've dissed your celebrations, and no longer want to play Some YouTube clips have surfaced, and I have read the blogs I think it's just pathetic, seeing chocolate thrown down bogs Your creating your own misery, as well as yule time logs You won't be very happy, when your toilet blocks and clogs On day two you still complained, and you wanted to resist Is that because the chocolate, was not on your Christmas list Would you be pleased with mistletoe, if you never did get kissed Christmas spirit has been lost, with your Snickers in a twist Some people are just morons, that's the message that they've sent Their expectations are to high, and cruel jokes are never meant Why is Bounty not as good, to start of an event A Snickers in your calendar, doesn't mean a ruined advent
0
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC
Advent hesitations with your Christmas Celebrations
The Christmas rush has started, and the countdown has begun Advent doors are opened, but look what you have done You've ridiculed the Bounty bar, and your spoiling all the fun Why buy a Celebration, if your not happy after one ? What's behind the cardboard doors, what did you all expect A gold ring perhaps, or the keys for a corvette? Why bother with an advent, when you have no respect There's no need for chocolate genocide, or coconut neglect You shouldn't be so outraged, with your Christmas Celebrations I don't understand the malice, or the advent hesitations If you don't want a bounty, buy heroes or sensations It's hardly a matter for Interpol, or the united nations Celebrations are your choice, there's no cause for your regret The outcome is quite obvious, why are you so upset Are the pictures not a clue, to what your gonna get ? No rarity of Bounty hunters, so don't mess with Boba Fett Are Maltesers that much lighter, in a Galaxy far away Maybe you will find Mars, in between the Milky Way A Twix or Galaxy Caramel, they we're for a different day But you've dissed your celebrations, and no longer want to play Some YouTube clips have surfaced, and I have read the blogs I think it's just pathetic, seeing chocolate thrown down bogs Your creating your own misery, as well as yule time logs You won't be very happy, when your toilet blocks and clogs On day two you still complained, and you wanted to resist Is that because the chocolate, was not on your Christmas list Would you be pleased with mistletoe, if you never did get kissed Christmas spirit has been lost, with your Snickers in a twist Some people are just morons, that's the message that they've sent Their expectations are to high, and cruel jokes are never meant Why is Bounty not as good, to start of an event A Snickers in your calendar, doesn't mean a ruined advent
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32
Two young brothers are left at home, All by their lonesome selves, The older one notices a new toy, Sitting high up on a shelf. He climbs up and brings on down, What he believes is a toy gun, He thinks about the games they’ll play, Boy this sure will be fun. He aims the ‘toy’ at his little brother, And shoots him in the head, But that gun was not a toy at all, And soon the three-year-old is dead. When a child dies, All the stuffed animals cry, Alone on a shelf, They sit by themselves, In a cold lonely room, Like a final tomb. Johnny’s tired of being bullied at school, But every dog has its day, Though all his classmates seem so mean, Johnny will make sure they all pay. The next day at school will be different, From a knapsack he pulls out a gun, Suddenly he starts shooting his classmates, Shoots them in the back as they run. Soon most of the class has been shot, And their young bodies are lying there dead, With one bullet left in the chamber, Johnny puts the gun to his own head. When a child dies, All the angels cry, The tears flowing down, On the sad little town, It’s a cold, cold rain, But it won’t numb the pain. For Jose this is the biggest day in his life, It’s his gang initiation in the ‘hood, He must seek out a rival gang member, With a couple of shots he’ll be good. Jose packs his piece and extra clips, And his driver takes him to the spot, He takes aim at his helpless victim, And another is dead with just one shot. But that one bullet it ricocheted, You hear a young mother scream and cry, As she realizes her young son is hit, On a cold dark street he is left to die. When a child dies, The whole world cries, All lives matter, big and small, I ask you people, heed the call, Please stop the hate, before it’s too late, For the future of us all. 10-27-15.
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Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
When A Child Dies, The Whole World Cries
Two young brothers are left at home, All by their lonesome selves, The older one notices a new toy, Sitting high up on a shelf. He climbs up and brings on down, What he believes is a toy gun, He thinks about the games they’ll play, Boy this sure will be fun. He aims the ‘toy’ at his little brother, And shoots him in the head, But that gun was not a toy at all, And soon the three-year-old is dead. When a child dies, All the stuffed animals cry, Alone on a shelf, They sit by themselves, In a cold lonely room, Like a final tomb. Johnny’s tired of being bullied at school, But every dog has its day, Though all his classmates seem so mean, Johnny will make sure they all pay. The next day at school will be different, From a knapsack he pulls out a gun, Suddenly he starts shooting his classmates, Shoots them in the back as they run. Soon most of the class has been shot, And their young bodies are lying there dead, With one bullet left in the chamber, Johnny puts the gun to his own head. When a child dies, All the angels cry, The tears flowing down, On the sad little town, It’s a cold, cold rain, But it won’t numb the pain. For Jose this is the biggest day in his life, It’s his gang initiation in the ‘hood, He must seek out a rival gang member, With a couple of shots he’ll be good. Jose packs his piece and extra clips, And his driver takes him to the spot, He takes aim at his helpless victim, And another is dead with just one shot. But that one bullet it ricocheted, You hear a young mother scream and cry, As she realizes her young son is hit, On a cold dark street he is left to die. When a child dies, The whole world cries, All lives matter, big and small, I ask you people, heed the call, Please stop the hate, before it’s too late, For the future of us all. 10-27-15.
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55
He was driving down ******* Boulevard He had killers in the car He drove with a blank stare as the killers put their clips in their pistols His soul was the color red stained with blood from all the murders he had ordered and committed The car came to a stop He pointed at a white house Written by Keith Edward Baucum
0
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 6:52 AM UTC
Untitled
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, tell me what suits, Soft natural highlights, or strong punk roots? Auburn red or beach blonde hair, Brunette with greens, or short blunt rare? Mermaid midnight old balayage blues, Grey ombré curled with lilac hues? Lemon yellow paint or neon spice, Purple color that matches my hazel eyes! Tousled, textured, twirled and twined, We could take it to the front, or let it all behind. Black hair with beautiful mahogany dye, Fringes looking pretty every day passing by. Straight hair with an asymmetrical bob, Lips painted red, formal and hot. Tie buns and bows with colorful clips, Grow pink hair long, till they reach my hips. Fish tail braid like a Boho chic, All pastel shades spread, across the width. Blonde and bright, they are in my sight, Soon to be a celebrity, wearing them uptight. Burgundy wine perm, crazy long, Every hair color has a song. There are chances that they may look all wrong, But hey! I'm not scared to just play along!
0
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
Hair Color
not everyone who holds a pen is a writer. not everyone who rides a horse is a jockey. not everyone who clips their toenails is a podiatrist. not everyone who smokes knows the feeling. not everyone who chokes is a sadist. not everyone who lies is an actor. not everyone who wears a moustache is a communist. not everyone who smiles is the sunlight. not everyone who tries is a failure. not everyone who shouts knows the silence. not everyone who cries knows depression. not everyone who laughs gets the joke. not everyone who speaks is a teacher. not everyone who hears truly listens. not everyone who died really lived.
0
Dec 25, 2011
Dec 25, 2011 at 9:41 PM UTC
intolerance
Churches and cathedrals filled with paralegal misfits, its just sick how beautiful nations can come to this. Bowing down on knees just to see a better view, quoting a bunch of words or two, you lie sins still comes in multiples. I know because I've seen many clips being load, and triggers pulled to explode flesh just to expose the soul. You wash your faces with holy water, then when service is over your back on corners bringing wars such as black on black slaughter. Selling dopamine to fends hellacious scenes seems to be clear to see hell-raiser dreams I seem to intervene, contradictions to competitions, imperfect visions, natural destruction I can't believe, a deep pit I can't perceive. Arab stores selling crack, Coors and ****** ****** Nobody scores in this world of imperfections. A twisted method and deal we keep our lips sealed, and peace is killed all because of the choices of freewill.
0
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 8:34 AM UTC
Freewill
atop that golden haystack mounted on an unwieldy bullock cart you wished we had...... a regret of a million lifetimes! every time your plucky smile flashes in the sacred space between brows, i see a wish fulfilling acacia tree nymphalid butterflies flutter in my gut and rapid clips of lifetimes past neatly edited, projected as movie trailers your deathlike silence has quietly become my universe, as i pen in moon-like solitude memoirs of an unrequited love © 2019
0
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 11:14 AM UTC
memoirs of an unrequited love
As I dip a piece of broken bread into grape juice in a cheap styrofoam cup My mind races to clips from movies, scripture read so many times Your body hanging from a bloodied cross The King of Kings, Pierced by nail, thorn and spear A phrase whispers through my mind, "This changes everything" Pierced for our sins Crushed for our iniquities The Lord of Lords, Son of God, battered, bruised and hanging from a bloodied tree Beaten and torn, "This is My body" Poured out, "This is my blood" Broken for me broken for you This, this changes everything And I dip a piece of broken bread into grape juice in a cheap styrofoam cup
0
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
Communion
Poverty This ailment clips my bare soul My malady hides my ample sight Penury loads my cognition. Watery hole Shift not far my destination, yet too blight It is corral, harvesting my living carcass I don't egender chaff in the shining sun this coop is an enclosure of my idleness Like a jailbird my to be is limited and shun *One day. My wandring ship will wheel My fervor will ease and I'll scope my haven My wounds and lesions will then heal I will grab my revenue as in Heaven
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May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 6:19 AM UTC
POVERTY
For, a four legged companion, A solitary Gravel smoked voice clips instructions, Harsh sharp whistles echo cross the valley floor, Emitted by crag worn features. Piercing eyes, sun bleached. Skin hewn by dry stone walls. Hands created by granite. Coarse tousled hair guards against howling winds. The hardworking man at peace with his surrounds. © Nick Strong 2014
0
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
The Shepherd
*to further my point, as an eager reader in a catholic school, reading about the gnostic heretics, wondering with my theology tutor upon the question asked: don't you think the gnostic heretics influenced mohammad on the sly? i mean, they too believed a phantom walked among men, and a phantom was crucified?* my confirmation didn't take place in a cathedral, as was due course for all of us in being schooled, by a bishop in brentwood cathedral, i opted out... my confirmation came in a russian orthodox cathedral, in st. petersburg, when i watched people standing for a scrap of iconoclasm, with the priest mumbling toward a golden altar, as typical in the tradition, buttocks towards the people or as in the western tradition reciting in latin, before the nationalists came and spoke the gospel in each designated tongue so people understood, a bit like having your back turned against the people - speaking in latin - and when i sat i the church to listen to the choir singing, some lesser ecclesiastical prompted me to stand up, and pay respect to the golden altar... he told me to stand up! what cheek... what barbarism... only in russia... i had to stop being bewildered by the beauty of song and listen to a priest knock-down-ginger on a palette of gold... THEN i was confirmed... donkey's ******** to this **** i'm leaving! mind the fact that i've seen the greatest degradation of mysticism take place... the tetragrammaton was being defiled all along... in catholic bureaucracy it has been there all along, the idiots reminded me of it... you're born: first name, baptismal name, surname... you're educated: confirmation name... that takes four spaces of consideration... so by catholic definition of sharpening pencils, folding pieces of paper, filing the folded pieces of paper, bending paper-clips i'm god... but only in writing... first name, baptismal name, confirmation name, surname... a bit like a clone... a clone indeed in writing... same d.n.a., same bone mandibles of the jaw... but experience-wise... un-original to the **** not even a clone... not able to experience major historical figures... a soul in a twin body by itself... a twin without twinning, segregated by ulterior if not auxiliary motives... clone on paper... clone by experience? i don't think so... impossible... too many inter-actants along the way can't possibly replicate thinking in a clone... different mr. john smith... NEXT!
0
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
"confirmation" of a "catholic" in a russian orthodox church
*to further my point, as an eager reader in a catholic school, reading about the gnostic heretics, wondering with my theology tutor upon the question asked: don't you think the gnostic heretics influenced mohammad on the sly? i mean, they too believed a phantom walked among men, and a phantom was crucified?* my confirmation didn't take place in a cathedral, as was due course for all of us in being schooled, by a bishop in brentwood cathedral, i opted out... my confirmation came in a russian orthodox cathedral, in st. petersburg, when i watched people standing for a scrap of iconoclasm, with the priest mumbling toward a golden altar, as typical in the tradition, buttocks towards the people or as in the western tradition reciting in latin, before the nationalists came and spoke the gospel in each designated tongue so people understood, a bit like having your back turned against the people - speaking in latin - and when i sat i the church to listen to the choir singing, some lesser ecclesiastical prompted me to stand up, and pay respect to the golden altar... he told me to stand up! what cheek... what barbarism... only in russia... i had to stop being bewildered by the beauty of song and listen to a priest knock-down-ginger on a palette of gold... THEN i was confirmed... donkey's ******** to this **** i'm leaving! mind the fact that i've seen the greatest degradation of mysticism take place... the tetragrammaton was being defiled all along... in catholic bureaucracy it has been there all along, the idiots reminded me of it... you're born: first name, baptismal name, surname... you're educated: confirmation name... that takes four spaces of consideration... so by catholic definition of sharpening pencils, folding pieces of paper, filing the folded pieces of paper, bending paper-clips i'm god... but only in writing... first name, baptismal name, confirmation name, surname... a bit like a clone... a clone indeed in writing... same d.n.a., same bone mandibles of the jaw... but experience-wise... un-original to the **** not even a clone... not able to experience major historical figures... a soul in a twin body by itself... a twin without twinning, segregated by ulterior if not auxiliary motives... clone on paper... clone by experience? i don't think so... impossible... too many inter-actants along the way can't possibly replicate thinking in a clone... different mr. john smith... NEXT!
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60
I wonder where I'll be when you come for me Will you steal me away in the dead of the night Or will you send me a message before you arrive Will there ever be a right time Or would I embrace you like I've been waiting for this moment my whole life Will I get a chance to say goodbye Would it be rushed with loud cries Or would I leave with a life fulfilled In the arms of my love And a smile on my face I wonder if it would be painful Sudden in the breeze on the concrete outside The distant sound of sirens lulling me away Or patiently savouring me slowly from the inside One ***** at a time A pinch of clips on my fingers, my heart beeping me out Would it be panicked and rushed Would I try to escape and run Desperate to evade your advances Then hopelessly succumb Would I remember God Would I call for him in that moment Would I ask Him to save me Or let you take me So He can keep me safely in his gardens I'd like to think I won't be afraid I've always known it would happen Yet I can feel fear choking me at just the thought But if that's of the process or the destination I guess I'll have to wait Until it's my time to go
0
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 8:12 AM UTC
When you arrive
if you ever buy me a coffee mug know that it will become my favorite, and that i will use it faithfully every day. but understand, if you ever decide to leave, i will tell you through gritted teeth that i never liked it anyway. i will tell you out of spite that i shattered it, but that coffee mug will remain in tact, and collect dust in a corner until you come back. if you never do, i won't ever use that mug again, instead i'll fill it with paper clips & pens and try not to remember that you gave it to me. - m.f.
0
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
coffee or dust
*When you are gone, Its not your smile that I'll miss the most. Nor is it your laughter. I will not miss your rythmic voice Nor will I miss your amazing speeches. When you are gone, I'll have all those video clippings And all those unnecessary voice recordings to be my aid in your absence. But hundreds and hundreds of clips Filled to the brim with your laughter and voice, will never be able to take your place. And that's because they'll all be a repetition. They'll show me what my eyes have already seen. Priceless moments... They'll never be able to create them, Like you did all the time With your amazing mind. However hard I am on myself. The truth will always be that I'll miss you. I'll definitely miss your heart which was your aid until this last day. But what I'll miss the most, is your mind and your everlasting soul. I'll miss them beyond words.*
0
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
Miss...
there is another big world I keep in the small space of my room; my dreams tucked by board pins, some letters stashed by paper clips, notes of joy, laughter, little sadness inside the yellow-turned diary pages, some secret souvenirs of good time kept neatly hidden in my wardrobe, few oblivious scribbles on window pane, old leaf, dry roses, ink, wall art, gadgets, glad that I have taken care of them always, like cherished treasures of mine. the bright and the dark equally welcome, wind and whispers settle swiftly in moonlight, by my bedside, where many stories sit, which I read or heard many many times. whistles from some star ruffle my hair, remind me of the times of love and talks, I look out of the window, into the open, where vivid memories glitter in the sky.
0
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 7:31 AM UTC
My room
Hello My name is Bill I am a Snowflake I speak against racism I am a Snowflake I care about injustice I am a Snowflake I KNOW guns don't **** people People **** people I also KNOW if someone has an assault rifle with HIGH CAPACITY CLIPS, they can **** a lot more people in very little time **** right, I'm a Snowflake I know donald trump is a travesty That's right... I am a Snowflake I fear Lady Liberty has fallen down A Snowflake I am I believe in equal rights for ALL Snowflake I care for the child who arrived here with his parents at a young age, went to school here, only speaks English, only knows the United States as home Call me Snowflake It tears at my heart to know that a family can travel 100's of miles for a better life, only to have the children taken away from the parents, TAKEN AWAY AND PLACED IN CAMPS YA, I'm a friggin Snowflake I use to be a Hippie Now I'm a Snowflake Hoping for a BLIZZARD
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Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 8:55 AM UTC
SNOWFLAKE
A rip in the door, a tip in the drawr, Philosophy or trigonometry, Epic failure, Filled with pens & paper clips, Minds to the matter, Key opening frogs, Toads totaling mirrors, Mane of Moroccan Curls, Sashaying across broad shoulders, And smooth hips, Laying on clouds, Because you can't afford to breath, On the ground, Tree topped eye lined, Eye lids, Shut.
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May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
Extinction of Ball Rooms
Thanks to ayurvedic treatment my hair has grown long, as I'm so successful, the products can't be wrong, when I make love, my hair is as long as the bed, just as wide - my suitors are attentive and easily led. They said that they could imagine my hair spread out on a pillow which vanshed below my good head, we don't need a blanket - we just cover our skin, musn't forget to remove my clips before we begin. It has actually become an aid for great pleasure, maybe even more lustrous, the next time I measure, I can twine and  bind just about anything nearby, there was so much magic - I didn't even have to try. When I finally cut which may be my partner's decision, someone else can go to bed with a beautiful extension!
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Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
MAGICAL HAIR
on the last night of the june breeze that i spent tucked between your hips and my home i heard almost as faint as a wing flutter your tongue unfurled the sounds of your streets against my ear. pavement hard but sweet as a plum liquor spelled out avenues that have become rose pastures. hoods that have grown thick in themselves with petals stained of red rich violence cross brown bones but those bullets bear no color. taxi swift yet city street thick buzzing the sounds of a place with half the people yet twice the traffic. the kind of tuesday twelve fifteen traffic that i never understood but you made action where you lost sense. dropped clips into the alleys where the cops wouldn't go and pierced a limb or two on the way. cheeks filled with with sticky bliss bashed the demure of downtown cause the magnificent mile ain't got ish to the brick backbones of them cook county temples tourist tend to trip past. on my last night here with you i want to do nothing more than wash the windy city out of me before state lines baptize my view of your anatomy. pipe my gums with this Crest and brush your taste out of me. see big cities have stained my tongue before. new york is still in there and i ain't even been there in years. i've caught tears streamlining down the crest of my cheek at the taste of chips of bay ridge in my teeth. so why don't you just get lost? the lingering lisp of your shoreline sure does last a tad past welcomed. matter of fact, a tad past passed two ticks before your beach sands sank my hips. your lips have learned too well the outline of my spine poured against your banks boy. so no thanks boy. i don't want your tee shirt. i don't need your silhouette sketched in my memory let alone my key chain. and you keep saying i'll be back but i'll believe that when i'm 30,000 ft up straddling your boarder by boeing.
0
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
***** Your Tee Shirts & Your Key Chains, Chicago!
on the last night of the june breeze that i spent tucked between your hips and my home i heard almost as faint as a wing flutter your tongue unfurled the sounds of your streets against my ear. pavement hard but sweet as a plum liquor spelled out avenues that have become rose pastures. hoods that have grown thick in themselves with petals stained of red rich violence cross brown bones but those bullets bear no color. taxi swift yet city street thick buzzing the sounds of a place with half the people yet twice the traffic. the kind of tuesday twelve fifteen traffic that i never understood but you made action where you lost sense. dropped clips into the alleys where the cops wouldn't go and pierced a limb or two on the way. cheeks filled with with sticky bliss bashed the demure of downtown cause the magnificent mile ain't got ish to the brick backbones of them cook county temples tourist tend to trip past. on my last night here with you i want to do nothing more than wash the windy city out of me before state lines baptize my view of your anatomy. pipe my gums with this Crest and brush your taste out of me. see big cities have stained my tongue before. new york is still in there and i ain't even been there in years. i've caught tears streamlining down the crest of my cheek at the taste of chips of bay ridge in my teeth. so why don't you just get lost? the lingering lisp of your shoreline sure does last a tad past welcomed. matter of fact, a tad past passed two ticks before your beach sands sank my hips. your lips have learned too well the outline of my spine poured against your banks boy. so no thanks boy. i don't want your tee shirt. i don't need your silhouette sketched in my memory let alone my key chain. and you keep saying i'll be back but i'll believe that when i'm 30,000 ft up straddling your boarder by boeing.
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For the days when your ego slaps itself as if it’s playing hambone, remember: there’s a name for the smell of rain on pavement. And every photograph is like Stockholm Syndrome, where subjects fall in love with their captors. You are no victim. That’s why I still don’t know whether you’re photogenic. All I ask is that you keep photographing my self-portraits, so that I may love you through the way I view myself. Because my ego is more like that potato clock from the science fair: surprisingly electric, yet full of holes. My skin is pierced with nails, but I am no Christ. It’s just my job to keep time. That’s why first place goes to the skateboarding rat. The judges don’t like me because I don’t believe in gimmicks. But when you look at me--alligator clips and all-- your eyes become blue ribbons, letting me know that I have won and you intend to claim your prize. “Let’s take a photo,” I say. You say no, that taking pictures will make us like everyone else. I ask why it matters if we know we’re not. You look down at the newspaper. In my mind, I say your name. And when you look up from the politics section, I snap a photo for good measure. This plan seems completely doable until I realize I’ve never called you by your name. You call me by mine, and attach it to sayings like “No one will ever bring half a smile to my face like you do” or “Hi” or “How are you?” or “I love you.” Is this because there’s only me or because there’ve been others besides me? If I were to succeed in capturing you, I imagine you’d have red eyes in the photo. Red ribbons to let me know I’ll never top second place, that there are other girls you’ve been inside of, but you are my only. No contest. And yet you ask if I’ve awarded any other blue ribbons. You don’t believe me when I say, “No.” I know you asked as a way to boost your ego, but for the days when your ego slaps itself as if it’s playing hambone, remember: there’s a name for the smell of rain on pavement, and that your wish to feel special should never be at my expense.
0
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
Petrichor
For the days when your ego slaps itself as if it’s playing hambone, remember: there’s a name for the smell of rain on pavement. And every photograph is like Stockholm Syndrome, where subjects fall in love with their captors. You are no victim. That’s why I still don’t know whether you’re photogenic. All I ask is that you keep photographing my self-portraits, so that I may love you through the way I view myself. Because my ego is more like that potato clock from the science fair: surprisingly electric, yet full of holes. My skin is pierced with nails, but I am no Christ. It’s just my job to keep time. That’s why first place goes to the skateboarding rat. The judges don’t like me because I don’t believe in gimmicks. But when you look at me--alligator clips and all-- your eyes become blue ribbons, letting me know that I have won and you intend to claim your prize. “Let’s take a photo,” I say. You say no, that taking pictures will make us like everyone else. I ask why it matters if we know we’re not. You look down at the newspaper. In my mind, I say your name. And when you look up from the politics section, I snap a photo for good measure. This plan seems completely doable until I realize I’ve never called you by your name. You call me by mine, and attach it to sayings like “No one will ever bring half a smile to my face like you do” or “Hi” or “How are you?” or “I love you.” Is this because there’s only me or because there’ve been others besides me? If I were to succeed in capturing you, I imagine you’d have red eyes in the photo. Red ribbons to let me know I’ll never top second place, that there are other girls you’ve been inside of, but you are my only. No contest. And yet you ask if I’ve awarded any other blue ribbons. You don’t believe me when I say, “No.” I know you asked as a way to boost your ego, but for the days when your ego slaps itself as if it’s playing hambone, remember: there’s a name for the smell of rain on pavement, and that your wish to feel special should never be at my expense.
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Grass turns rest round love set world self need. Vomitorium forget word hand thought waste powdered leaves minds present wills leak simply say wan turn time neon Dreams moments' control Idea, ascent; graze cliches Adversity based lump myth solid disguised cancer cages. Repetition, test, twist, strip, sew. Entered shortly. Promptly moral, border seeing stirred tale wanton. Spake grace, “Eat, scar message loses heed, seemingly!” Serpent gravity, tame killed bearing. Engine resound telekinetic 499 merry-go-round repeatered, answer's 'cos empathy's idealogical. We've sapphire muppets when'll sighn heat-ray - Truithfilled. Beltsched. Amyth. Ord's sighns, discotheques placticity teaste; firstless plasticity. Algorithms gruesome argue opaque feeding. Cheated clips lame distraction, beings tease statement, cogs cote photosynthesis. Evasion necessarily replenish ebbs divided. Tamed, ensues coils ajar freed shed attention. Mountain lined sail, future redeemed. Talk. Seen heart grind, operate wings. Tail door using shared stop, kept heard miss. Music start: sky winds lust shall gave bit kiss. Feel like know just way, live left fall sees mind truth. Wrong room. Disdain. Eye life face writhing coat, drinks rhythms fat appeared blade. Died state half answers broke wheels simplicity. Bliss. Solution deeply faced, fades perfection, rises failed. Necessary lines selling, read, asked. Catalyst train turned lead memory, lights feeling book grave. Algae sent burns bear, dove follow led. Field filled astray comfort.
0
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
My words in your order
Grass turns rest round love set world self need. Vomitorium forget word hand thought waste powdered leaves minds present wills leak simply say wan turn time neon Dreams moments' control Idea, ascent; graze cliches Adversity based lump myth solid disguised cancer cages. Repetition, test, twist, strip, sew. Entered shortly. Promptly moral, border seeing stirred tale wanton. Spake grace, “Eat, scar message loses heed, seemingly!” Serpent gravity, tame killed bearing. Engine resound telekinetic 499 merry-go-round repeatered, answer's 'cos empathy's idealogical. We've sapphire muppets when'll sighn heat-ray - Truithfilled. Beltsched. Amyth. Ord's sighns, discotheques placticity teaste; firstless plasticity. Algorithms gruesome argue opaque feeding. Cheated clips lame distraction, beings tease statement, cogs cote photosynthesis. Evasion necessarily replenish ebbs divided. Tamed, ensues coils ajar freed shed attention. Mountain lined sail, future redeemed. Talk. Seen heart grind, operate wings. Tail door using shared stop, kept heard miss. Music start: sky winds lust shall gave bit kiss. Feel like know just way, live left fall sees mind truth. Wrong room. Disdain. Eye life face writhing coat, drinks rhythms fat appeared blade. Died state half answers broke wheels simplicity. Bliss. Solution deeply faced, fades perfection, rises failed. Necessary lines selling, read, asked. Catalyst train turned lead memory, lights feeling book grave. Algae sent burns bear, dove follow led. Field filled astray comfort.
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