"clog" poems
Picture of girls face: 10 likes
Picture of girls face featuring slightly/damn near totally visible ***** bumps: 5000 likes.
What the **** people, its the SAME GIRL.
Her **** are there in BOTH PICTURES yo.
But due to the difference in likes, there's no doubt as to what the true focal point of the photographs are.
Honestly, I'd much rather see a picture of a ladies face instead of one featuring the awesome breasticles.
Because, while those **** do, without a doubt, totally rock, they should also be respected and like, viewed as something special for only that certain special person to see.
CONTAIN YOUR **** YOUNG FEMALES FOR THE LOVE OF ******* GOD.
You aren't attracting very respectable fellows by being so flaunty.
People that are into you only for your tits/various other dank body parts you may or may not have, will most definitely end up hurting the beautiful blood pumping anomaly that lies behind said ****
I mean it's your body, do what you want to do with it, but there are more then enough **** bouncing around the world right now to clog our minds with sexuality and distract us from accomplishing things as it is.
WE DON'T NEED YOUR **** IN OUR FACE.
not to mention, some day you're going to find a man or a woman that's going to love you for the super radical person that you are, and to them, your **** will just be like, the most awesome bonus, and by covering up just a bit more for all the numb skulled hard dicked mother ******* this world seems to have an endless supply of, you'll make that special person feel so so so so so so sooooo much more special when THEY get to see them.
You know what i'm saying?
We're in a society where your **** can take you further then your personality can and it's ******* ********
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
Orange capsules of condensed vitamin C
Tumble out onto my cracked,
Outstretched palm,
As I arch my spine towards the bathroom sink,
Scooping lukewarm water from the faucet
Into my half closed mouth-
The tiny pills clog my upturned throat:
Just two of the numerous solutions
To a world too numb
To contest.
I've never felt more alive,
Than when I'm drowning my body
With handfuls of tap water
And magic remedies bottled up and
Marketed to a world
Afraid of growing old.
Lining the wall of local drug stores,
One isle over from office supplies
And scented laundry detergent.
Multicolored, multipurpose-
Labels proclaim the fountain of youth
To anyone alive enough to fear it.
There's never enough of reality
To reach our depleted veins
Through the ever present forms
Of the world. Enough isn't
Enough, until we've convoluted it into a tiny
Plastic oval, and forced it down the throats
Of those well enough to swallow it.
Pharmaceutical companies proclaim their
Daily gospel in the linoleum streets
Of hospital waiting rooms
And local grocery stores,
As I cross my heart and count the
Hours until my next prescribed dose
Of complacency. Who knew happiness
Could have the bitter after taste of
Vitamin B or
The credibility of Zoloft.
The sandman has been replaced by Benadryl,
While creativity lies stagnant
Beneath adderall's indifferent thumb.
Obsession is a 26 letter alphabet,
Strung together by a bunch of deficiencies,
Incoherently droning on
To the burden of Man,
And flickering neon light
Of a drive-thru pharmacy.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
How do you get your mind off things?
Oh, read a book! That's it!
Let's read a sentence, a paragraph, a page.
Can you remember what you read?
Yes? Good!
No? Well welcome to my life.
Every sentence of every paragraph of every page
has brought back a memory or a wondering thought.
Memories and thoughts that clog my brain.
Remembering regrets. thinking of alternative solutions.
Reading over and over again the same words.
Not understanding anything it says.
going into deep thought,
changing emotion left and right.
Not even able to sound out a word
or remember its meaning.
trying to block them out!
I need to stop over thinking!
bringing the book inches from my face
because I can't even remember what a letter sounds like!
My mind is fried with deep thoughts
maybe I'll try reading again tomorrow...
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
Island,a piece of land surrounded by water,
So are we when you actually sit and ponder.
Water is what surrounds that piece of land,
And thoughts are what surround us, vast expands.
Exotic, tropical and beautiful expanses they treasure,
Much like the beauty within us beyond measure.
Some discovered and mapped and yet others still untouched,
We too expose ourselves and some still remain in 'emselves clutched.
Surrounded by a tropical beach some are and others in a dense gloomy fog,
We put up so many appearances, all assumptions and views to clog.
A threat an outsider may pose to the paradise they hold within,
Laying a foundation of trust is what's required before explorations begin.
Every island is unique and beautiful in itself,
Every person is a limited edition model on life's shelf.
An opportunity to experience such beauty needs to be met with gratitude and respect,
Grateful one should be to experience such beauty and not heartlessly deject.
For an island once deemed ugly will set up a fortress of its own,
People will crawl into their shells never letting anyone in their private zone
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 4:15 AM UTC
The villages of Algiers
Well, suburbs
Really, but villages
Is what is said
In French
And heaven
Knows, despite one
Hundred thirty years of
Colonization
Brutalization
Deprivation
The many Algerians
Still
Love French. Those
Villages team with men
At night.
At night, the women
Wait
Indoors
Behind doors, away.
Waiting.
But at night the
Men take the streets.
At night the men crowd
Streets, cut in
Front of traffic, clog
Cafes, stream
Toward the mosque away
From the mosque fill stores
But mostly
Mostly they
Squat
Sit, or just
Hold up walls.
They lean.
Stare. Talk. They watch cars
As they jostle and jolt
Watch other men
Walking, watch
The silence
The noise. Watch
Stars, the
Dark
Still buildings
The passing cat, the rhythm
Of the wind,
Watch the gibbous moon and
It’s cycle
The fullness, the waxing and waning
They watch
They witness
The villages
The suburbs
The streets
They watch
The dead.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
How do you tell someone that you’re tired of existing?
No one has done anything wrong, and by all normal standards this day has been quite nice, but something in me
can’t
handle
that.
Something in me can’t stand this constant standard of
“surviving”
Being exhausted of simply being is draining and no amount of stimulant can correct this.
How do you tell someone that it takes all of you to simply wake up in the morning? To wake, to breathe. How do you tell them that it’s nothing they’ve done, but you just can’t do it anymore.
How do you say **** like this?
How do I think **** like this?
Where could I go?
France?
Scotland?
How far would I have to run for these hounds to stop their pursuit of me?
Will they stop this chase?
The answer is no. No, I don’t think they will.
I think they’ll keep ******* chasing me.
They’ll keep coming. They’ll keep
this race no matter how run-ragged I may be. They’ll keep pace, keep biting at my ankles, keep snarling, snuffling, tearing the ground with their paws. They’ll hunt me until the end— no matter how many rivers or oceans I cross. Or maybe the river Styx will clog their all-knowing-noses….I shouldn’t have given them my scent. But they know it now. They know it and they want more.
I’m living off jolts of too much caffeine right now. What way is that to live? Living, though is an overstatement.
I’m not living— I’m just taking up space.
Taking up space and filling up volumes with these hollow words— as if I don’t know how stale I sound.
So where can I go? What do I do?
What the hell do I do when I can’t even decide if I want to be Alive?
What do I WANT to do?
I WANT a house in the mountains.
I want an herb garden planted in the shape of a sacred spiral. I want a river to bathe in, a fire place to cast into,
a cat to hate and watch suspiciously,
a dog to keep the hounds at bay,
a kitchen to make magick and medicine in, and a bed warmed by someone else.
I want cold nights and mornings warm
only because there is skin against my back.
I
want not to be a prisoner of my own words.
I want to stop dreading the day that I run out of words-- because the day I run out of words will be the day I let the hounds catch up to me.
I want moonlight&moonshine.;
I want sunlight and dizzy sun spots.
I want trees and the sound of a roaring tuck.
I want sweat and the smell of Wood.
I want woods and warm skin at my back.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:26 PM UTC
Those clear liquid drops of fluid that roll down your cheek when you cry. Crying defies the scientific explanation. Tears are only supposed to lubricate the eyes. When tear glands overproduce tears at the behest of emotion...I think it's our way of releasing those emotions; sadness, grief, desperation, anger, shock, happiness, etc. Emotions are weird things. As humans, we have hearts and brains. But emotion also defies scientific explanation. Hearts are only supposed to pump blood, not feel emotion. I guess, in a way, humans defy scientific explanation. We cry, we have feelings. But it's beautiful. Tears fill our eyes until they're blurry and we can hardly see. Tears roll down our cheeks, the sides of our noses, into our slightly open lips, down our chins, and even along our necks. When eyes are full of tears and they glint in the light, it's almost inhumanly beautiful. But tears can also be ugly things. When you cry, tears clog your throat, your nose. You have to breathe in gasping breaths and you can't see because your eyes are too blurry. All you feel is the damp marks your tears left. When you look in a mirror, your eyes are blotchy and your nose is bright red. Your eyeballs are glassy and water marks your skin. After a good long cry, you grow tired and fall asleep. When you wake, your face feels like it has been scrubbed raw, but really it's just the tear tracks. It isn't the tears that are ugly, but the crying. Humans are complex beings. Everything about them is also complex. Sometimes, those complex things are beautiful. Like...Teardrops.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
The strength
You have when you open that door
Knowing you will be smacked right in the face
But you continue to embrace
The strength
When you speak to your inner demons
That clog your mind with continous
Negative statements
Stabbing the every window to happinesse
You release
You grab them by the neck
And remove their lifeless heads
The strength
When you enter a dark room
Lost and feeling unusual
You stop and
Become familiar with being lost
You are delusional
You are a creation that beats them all
Remind yourself to be humble
Charactersitics , and flaws get you in trouble
But you release the worries
And double your risks
Dont be in no hurry
You are full of strength
You're boundless to many successes
You are unlimited
I love you
Because you are different
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC
shut them out,
clog my ears,
I cannot listen.
the words,
they attack me,
choke me,
wedging themselves within my core.
I cry,
I scream,
I take those words as truth,
and drown as they push me,
past the deepest darkness.
but as I hold my breath,
I tell myself that
even though I may be a wounded gazelle,
I have the heart and will of a lion.
and somehow,
I poke my head out of
the web of pain.
though the words,
continue to float around my head,
taunting me,
prodding my nerves,
I remember that
I am a lion,
and I will perservere.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
The neighborhood,
was quite good,
until the neighbors saw,
but I promise you it was just a humble fluke
that sadly my neighbors saw..
behind the hedges I had to puke,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
I hit their dog,
due to some fog,
and the neighbors saw,
and then our cat,
made a ****
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and then my son,
****** their daughters tongue,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and then are snake
ended up in there lake,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and the one time our dog,
ate Mrs. Millers clog,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and sometimes at night,
my husband and I fight,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and my kid screams why,
and begins to cry,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and our neighbors husband was on patrol,
and he saw me stole,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
one time I borrowed a book,
but instead I took.
and sadly the neighbors saw.
I began to sing,
and scared Mr. King,
and sadly the neighbors saw,
and I know I'm bad,
and a little mad,
and sadly the neighbors never saw,
that I was watching
and kind of stalking,
and sadly I saw...
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
For my mate Chris
To sit around in anger…does no favours,
To bellyache to me… It’s all unfair,
To hope somebody else… comes up with answers,
To see the world’s shortcomings… flaunted there.
A lack of motivation keeps you grounded
Friends and family try to keep you at arm’s length,
You loathe the Government’s lack of comprehension
In that joblessness depletes your hope and strength.
You feel those carbohydrates clog your arteries
And see your muscled body turn to flab,
Discipline’s resolve flies to oblivion
And you curse all that… which makes your life so drab.
Disappointment curbs the high expectations,
You feel the planet owes you that, to which you seek,
Aghast to comprehend your own misgivings,
You feel the need to say…but then, you never speak.
Then suddenly… a stark, clear realization
That NOTHING HERE WILL CHANGE…UNTIL YOU DO,
Until you turn around your thinking to endeavour,
Till then that something that you seek… shall hide from you.
So look, my sweetness, look into the mirror
Shed the worry lines that always cloud your brow,
Kick your sorry **** profoundly to tomorrow
And lose the ****** shards of bitterness….RIGHT NOW!
Marshalg
Endeavouring to re-motivate a lost cause.
18 August 2012
© 2012 Marshal Gebbie
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
Black hole, please, absorb this!
This horrible image,
This regrettable instance In which
I had lost myself to
Blindness.
Lover, Force me to look at you
And nit into the past that is
A marble statue with claws and teeth
That protrude like swords.
Tell me I can let go
Of the rotted flower petals
Covered in mold and betrayal,
They said they would stay
Beautiful!
Tell me I can rinse the slime
Of false hope from my body
And my intimacies so that
I may be pure for you.
Quicksand, drop this putrid locket
Into your depths and clog the clasp
So that no one will ever see the inside.
Obey Me!
Take my sacrifice, my past and
Everything
Corroded! Tell me
That I am able to forget
And be forgotten!
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
Who are who look
Through gazed window
Attention glazed whom
None knew who steal
Care sought answer
Who mute at window move
Slight shadow
Droplet tears
Lost city ghost
Who forensic wonder
Who cutaway found
Uncertain broken ground
Cloud circling shark
Shards of thought
Diamond scratch the glass
Weekend wilted grass view
Litter blown listless below
The weighted cloth
The china clog
The fireplace tiles
Cold as dead stars.
dec 2009
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 7:53 AM UTC
An infection grows inside my soul
That love can never heal
A malignant growth of broken trust
Now keeps my heartbeat still
A fatal hand has made my bed
Where I'm supposed to sleep
I've tried my best to change my fate
But I'm buried way too deep
Deprived of truth, I'm filled with lies
It's running through my veins
Broken promises clog my heart
Where infection still remains
I'm holding on with all I've got
But I die a little each day
You keep asking for forgiveness
As you turn and walk away
An infection grows inside my soul
I've lost the will to fight
I try to tell you how I feel
But you're gone again tonight
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 6:52 PM UTC
Like so many
Lemmings
they rush to southern climes for
greener pastures
year round golf a
Slower pace
Cheaper prices and
Tropical temperatures
Leathery
Tanned
Unnaturally taut and
Sun-spotted
they crowd the local haunts and
Clog the highways.
At best they tolerate whoever is not
Pensioned or
Privileged
At worst they ban the
Underage
Unfortunates
from their gated communities
and social gatherings
The pendulum has swung from a time
when the Old were at the
Mercy of the Young
to the present
when Youth is
Oppressed by Senescence
Once democracy’s backbone they now wax
Conservative having obtained their
Slice of the pie
Now there is no pie
Mother Earth has been trampled to death and the
Toiling hands of those who
Stoke the fires of industry are
Blistered and discouraged
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 2:27 PM UTC
It starts in your fingers.
They grow numb and then your throat tightens
and it feels like your vocal chords will snap if you don't scream
and your airways clog and you can't breathe
and your chest starts to hurt but you can't massage it
since your fingers are so numb
and the pain becomes so overwhelming that your brain dulls
and you can't think, all you can do is feel
and feel and feel
until you can't feel anything at all
and that is how you drown without being in water.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC
my program is a lost signal
overweight styrofoam rubbing
muddled in hangover hair
choke back the over spill
language will clog the drain
bulky, fatigued under the awning
cruised to isle tempi passati
surfed a certain drift,
definite
your flexing dedication was
heat exhaled into a humbled room wearing a sweatshirt/sweat pant combo with the comforter pulled all the way up at 3 p.m. on a humid summer afternoon
sweltering
wandering mirage day trips
publicly a deaf runaway gnawing on a cactus wing
robbed of north and south
scouting for rocks half in moss
anxious I won't be home in time to see
my favorite show. doesn't need a
button to play, just some bad
luck and thunder drool
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
66% is the Devil Point...
I have 6 courses abandoned at 66%..
The greatest power Devil has is not temptation,
It is boredom and procrastination
It is the mid-point sway...
It is the collapse of the pre-frontal cortex,
when we reach half-way through our goal,
when we are too far from our starting point,
and too far from our ending point,
We don't know why we began,
We don't know where we will end.
So the Devil point kicks in at 66% completion,
And makes us procrastinate, makes us feel "meh"
Brave thru it, ye fellow warrior,
Just do the tiniest bit needed in a day,
Just tie your shoes laces and half the race is won
Make a cup of tea.. and the article is written
Clear some clog in the room, and the painting is done..
So, to bump over that comfortable resting point...
that lethargic 66% mid-way stop,
pamper yourself with something momentarily
and just do ONE small thing every day
'Cause I promise you this, when you have inched to 80%
you will be fuelled again with images of victory
all doubt and disbelief and lethargy will be thwarted
You will forget pain and other creature comforts
You will cruise through the finish line..
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 5:48 AM UTC
You are drinking yourself red-eyed and crumpled
on an unmade bed meanwhile I
am hating the world’s promiscuity and signing
autographs that serve no alternate purpose
subsequent to their ink-blotted conceptions and silently
my heart scratches and claws and penetrates
bone, muscle, and choked fat
to get to you
How will we know
when we’re no longer
young enough
to inconsequentially
rot our bodies
from the inside
out?
If I could
I would search for a space
impenetrable
by ants molecules and medium-sized atoms
that exists between
my pale finger tips and
your freckled
bare back moving
slowly up and down
If I could
I would be somewhere where nothing
is the tarnished byproduct of anything
where no one will remind anyone not to
clog their throats or minds or eyes
when they
shiver and choke on scarlet inkblots
and chug gasoline
and wipe away dirt stains
and drink each other’s shame
and form cuts on the soles of their feet
after rushing barefoot through beds of sharp stones
to reach other
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
sticky tears
clog my colorless cheeks and
stain the corners of my eyes like
wrinkles, unnecessary
nothing really matters
why am I really crying and
why’d you leave, again?
I guess driving down the pretty highway
with the trees that shaded a
hot day in an
expired June
wasn’t enough.
and I didn’t need to read about how
you don’t want to talk to me
or how you're busy
truth is, we all have **** to do
like how i sit here and cry
and how my tears clog my colorless cheeks and
stain the corners of my eyes like
crows feet, perhaps necessary
because unlike you, they'll stick around.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
I have a pack of letters,
I have a pack of memories.
I could cut out the eyes of both.
I could wear them like a patchwork apron.
I could stick them in the washer, the drier,
and maybe some of the pain would float off like dirt?
Perhaps down the disposal I could grind up the loss.
Besides -- what a bargain -- no expensive phone calls.
No lengthy trips on planes in the fog.
No manicky laughter or blessing from an odd-lot priest.
That priest is probably still floating on a fog pillow.
Blessing us. Blessing us.
Am I to bless the lost you,
sitting here with my clumsy soul?
Propaganda time is over.
I sit here on the spike of truth.
No one to hate except the slim fish of memory
that slides in and out of my brain.
No one to hate except the acute feel of my nightgown
brushing my body like a light that has gone out.
It recalls the kiss we invented, tongues like poems,
meeting, returning, inviting, causing a fever of need.
Laughter, maps, cassettes, touch singing its path -
all to be broken and laid away in a tight strongbox.
The monotonous dead clog me up and there is only
black done in black that oozes from the strongbox.
I must disembowel it and then set the heart, the legs,
of two who were one upon a large woodpile
and ignite, as I was once ignited, and let it whirl
into flame, reaching the sky
making it dangerous with its red.
2.3k
Get out of here, you evil ghosts.
You hide within me, telling me dark lies.
You make me fear the unknown,
Despair over the simplest of things.
You dark spirits, you hold me back.
My full potential hidden,
Within the darkness you fill me with.
Lost without the light you've taken.
Fear; you seep into my heart,
Clog up my mind,
So that I cannot think clearly,
Make decisions freely.
Where is my strength when needed most?
Where is the boldness that I used to hold?
All I see around me is grey.
An endless haze covers my eyes.
I don’t know where to go,
So I'm left turning circles.
Numbness pours into my bones,
Sleep completely evades me
So that there is no escaping
These endless tunnels in my mind.
Haunted; the life has left my eyes.
The darkness seeps in,
Leaving me completely blind;
There’s no where left to hide.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
Wakes up to the chiming of the clock
I close the door and turn the lock
And start my morning walk.
The sun beams down to clear the fog
Ah....cool fresh air no more smog
As I begin my morning walk.
I go slow and easy I don't have to slog
No rush to compete or time to log
I'm enjoying my morning walk.
Corporate world is full of same mock
Up circus, wine, clowns and shock
I go for my morning walk.
Some brisk walking some prefer to jog
One run as if chased by a dog
Me and my morning walk.
People to people on the tracks of rock
Gossipers talk and talk, tick tock
But I've got my morning walk.
Before poor heart gives me the knock
Before old arteries starts to clog
Better take the morning walk.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
It's like
the people of the world
are strangers to each other.
Pass by and you'll find
no wave, no smile, no hello.
They've got their hands full.
With their phones and their antisocial,
with their earphones that clog their ears,
blocking them from the world.
Just the way they like it.
With their makeup,
covering everything about them.
Even their smile,
even their eyes that once connected,
even their face they no longer want seen.
They got no time for others.
They spend all their days with their robots.
They got no time for interaction,
unless it's the kind with the Internet.
It's like
every stranger in this world
forgot how to be social,
how to be friendly,
how to be kind,
how to be human.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
Where in the world is Waldo?
He blends in the endless crowds that clog the city streets.
No way to turn, no way out.
Where in the world is Waldo?
He finds himself at a beautiful beach,
overtaken by a tidal wave of emotions.
Filling him up to the brim, to his full capacity.
Where in the world is Waldo?
Lost in the physical and emotional world.
Never to be truly found.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 3:22 PM UTC