"cloths" poems
We all want to Support
stopping racism,
because we sent black and white men to die in war together,
before we could be educated together,
The end gender inequality,
Because women can't where cloths,
and feel safe,
walking down a street alone,
with out feeling were going to get *****
Same or different *** relationships,
Because the way you love your significant other,
wouldn't be the same if they changed there gender to the other?
Transgender rights,
Because there a man everywhere else but in there pants,
And men don't get cervical cancers,
So yes legally changing my gender won't help me if i need a treatment only a lady would get,
and this goes vice a versa,
But I shouldn't have to worry about any other pains,
except the possibility of one in my unwanted ****
**** victims,
including males,
Yes you,
Feminist views,
Please just Stop over looking,
Men go though it too.
And we all may know men may be the main cause,
Women have just as much play,
No human,
Wants an unwanted Violation,
to come into any contact with them so personally,
See all these things,
we want to stop,
and they need to,
but,
When u last walked down the street,
what stranger did your Arrogant eyes peek?
they saw someone,
and you though they were,
too fat,
too small,
too tall,
a ****
needs to button up,
he used to pop pills,
now he cant pay his bills,
and there's so many I'm leaving out,
like what they thought about you,
so you see,
each of these little groups,
we just pass each other on the street,
even when we didn't even meet,
it's human nature,
our natural order,
to insult each other,
some just get the really blunt edge.
maybe we should change how we think and act,
before we go wishing for things out of our knack's.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
*be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit
give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration
so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction
more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying
speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them*
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
Moon marked and touched by sun
my magic is unwritten
but when the sea turns back
it will leave my shape behind.
I seek no favor
untouched by blood
unrelenting as the curse of love
permanent as my errors
or my pride
I do not mix
love with pity
nor hate with scorn
and if you would know me
where the restless oceans pound.
I do not dwell
within my birth nor my divinities
who am ageless and half-grown
and still seeking
my sisters
witches in Dahomey
wear me inside their coiled cloths
as our mother did
mourning.
I have been woman
for a long time
beware my smile
I am treacherous with old magic
and the noon's new fury
with all your wide futures
promised
I am
woman
and not white.
21.1k
i am much younger than i am
my hair is dark and thick
instead of pruned bald
i am lean and meek
feeling hollow
as if weightless
we are at an airport
with no memory of getting there
i had left my hotel room urgently
in a jacket that is not mine
i can't find my Swedish wife
whom i miss like a panicked child
and my Asian wife whom i've never never met before
and know all to well
is angry
and could care less if i got lost forever
i am going home to my parents house
i remember that they are dead
but we had just spoken
there will be soup and Hors d'oeuvre's
they wait for me
on my way
the streets and boulevards are unfamiliar
yet old hat
and no matter how long i walk
i can never find their house
located somewhere in Brooklyn
on Haze street in San Francisco
i have a business
and retain no idea of what i do
i left my cloths somewhere
and i don't know why
in a locality i cant remember
for a reason that doesn't exist
a beautiful woman smiles offers me ***
she is friends with a girlfriend whom i'm committed too
but do not know and never met
i want to cheat with her
but guilty kisses will ruin everything
so i turn away
murdering desire
in an already anchor-less miasma
i remember a past
my life a continuum
of disjointed vagaries
tears well up
i fear myself a figment
a bodiless revenant
stranded in a fog
sparkles and smoke
incandescence and shrouds
a dis-junctured soul
that clutches memories
like braids of dust
living in the eye of nothing
a labyrinth of shades
lighted by the sun of cognizance
a wretched phantom
transparent husk
living a dark fiction
my grave a womb
i am the dead living
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
I dream of your lips pressed against mine.With your hands exploring my body while you press me up against a wall.
I imagine you leaving me with hickeys, scratches and bite marks.
I think of cloths scattered on the floor and of you pressing me to you so there is no space between us.
I don't want flowers, chocolates and love.
I want lip biting, messy sheets and lust.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC
Everyday I walk around.
I don't understand what I'm seeing.
There is Stardust in my eyes.
It's fogged up my sight.
I see how everyone is the same.
With their Ugg boots, North Face Jackets,
iPhones, and Coach bags.
Just take off your empty frames and,
Get Stardust in your eyes.
See things through a vivid light.
Get Stardust in your eyes,
Be yourself and don't conform.
Get Stardust in your eyes,
And let your colors shine.
I thought I was weird.
With my off brand cloths,
And no internet on my phone.
With my black eyeliner,
And my rhythmic soul.
But my eyes are burning,
I'm exhausted from hiding.
I am who I am.
I've got Stardust in my eyes.
I see things through a vivid light.
Get Stardust in your eyes.
See the world as it really is.
Get Stardust in your eyes,
Be yourself and don't conform.
Get Stardust in your eyes,
And let your colors shine.
Be yourself, you Are unique.
With Stardust in your eyes, you see.
Don't follow the robot hipster army.
Get Stardust in your eyes,
And Shine!
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
I wish she didn't worry bout her look,
wish she didn't worry bout the way her hips shook.
Wish she didn't worry about her make up,
wish she didn't worry about getting all faked up.
Nails, Lips, Eyes,
I think the natural is fine.
But media corrupts what it wanna see,
cause we don't see what we wanna see.
Hair, Ears, Cloths,
all done for reasons I don't know,
jeweled out for reasons I don't know.
Going through pains I don't know.
I thought natural beauty is all that count,
I never understood why you'd get tricked out for self if it count.
Cause then I'm still told their is something wrong.
Why can't you just be with you and get along.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
They wear their wealth like a crown
Glittering jewels adorning their kitchen chairs
Red leather velvet resting on the sofas
Pearls dripping in champagne
This lavish mansion is their Kingdom
The money their thrones of precious stones
Their influence their ermine and silk cloths
Their wealth like crowns
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC
Spanish
Debout sur mon orgueil je veux montrer au soir
L'envers de mon manteau endeuillé de tes charmes,
Son mouchoir infini, son mouchoir noir et noir,
Trait à trait, doucement, boira toutes mes larmes.
Il donne des lys blancs à mes roses de flamme
Et des bandeaux de calme à mon front délirant…
Que le soir sera bon.. Il aura pour moi l'âme
Claire et le corps profond d'un magnifique amant.
English
Forsaking my pride, I want to show the night
The inside of my cloak, plunged in mourning for your charms.
Its infinite handkerchiefs, its handkerchiefs black and black,
Piece by piece, tenderly, will drink all my tears.
The night lays lilies upon my burning roses
And cool cloths upon my feverish brow…
How good the evening will be! It will have, for me,
The luminous soul, the profound body, of a magnificent lover.
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Refrain:
The legend of our sweet Santa Claus
In December begins
Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws
Make sounds of reindeers twins.
Santa had another noted name,
He was a simple man
Called Nicholas living for no fame.
He was a Christian.
His parents died, when he was still young,
In a village of Greece.
Thinking of Jesus, his thoughts he strung
To help poor kids in peace.
Refrain:
The legend of our sweet Santa Claus
In December begins
Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws
Make sounds of reindeers twins.
Under Diocletian he became
A Bishop in mission.
He was imprisoned, and put to shame.
He changed the tradition.
In time, St. Nicholas' life and deeds
Have become a story.
He was a helper of those in needs,
A man in the glory.
Refrain:
The legend of our sweet Santa Claus
In December begins
Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws
Make sounds of reindeers twins.
Nicholas became Dutch Sinter Klass,
But children changed his name.
The Bishop's red cloak changed with time's glass
In cloths for Santa's fame.
On that day, kids wait for him to come
In spirit of giving,
The Christmas tree looks no longer glum
And it looks like living.
Refrain:
The legend of our sweet Santa Claus
In December begins
Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws
Make sounds of reindeers twins.
Down the chimney comes Papa Noel
Quite slipping and sliding.
From his sky with reindeers and sleigh bells
Just gnashing and gliding.
Spreading stardust glittering at night
He brings presents for kids,
They pray and sing in the Divine Light.
Then, to sky his sleigh skids.
Refrain:
The legend of our sweet Santa Claus
In December begins
Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws
Make sounds of reindeers twins.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
the bottle is
the
bottle
is
the bottle is empty
had its contents been precariously dealt with
or
drop by drop assimilated?
assimilated?by the cloths of
silk pashmina cashmere
or the blackness of a tuxedo
i might never
ever
know, my father forgets
to the left
to
the
left
to the left of the bottle
is another bottle
quite smaller.
it is filled with
pink liquid
half full--or half empty
barely used by its
current owner
it smells like apples
and by the bottles is
and
by
the
bottles
is
and by the bottles is a ring
with two keys
that open locks somewhere
of COURSE!
why, what else would you
use a key
for?
the darkest
alternative for a key's usage, though
is to
hurt
some
body
with
it
metal
grinding the
skin
and the bottles
and
the
bottles
and the bottles thrown
the former can shatter
the latter houses a liquid
but,
but,
but,
but,
why?
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
I wanted to walk
along the earth
on this great shore.
But before long
it dips in the sea
into the ocean.
It's not a problem
I see is a ******
still has the cloths on!
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
Piggies dancing, floating along narrow passages towards what they hope is their ends. Their means have been stolen and packaged and sold by big suited, corporate, handy-handy machines. They eat piggies every day and love it, love it, love it down their gullet.
They are not worth a mention yet they get it, they want nothing but your attention, they don’t need it yet they get it. Their appetites are insatiable and contagious, they use it against us by showing us how we are nothing but what they are and we are fools enough to take it as Truth.
Shame.
We have shame because they debase us and hence debase themselves.
We have shame because we see their debasement and yet powerlessness is in our bones.
We have shame because all we want is not all we get and nowhere near all we deserve,
-it measures much lower.
It is irrelevant, it is biased, it is useless, IT is un-real-(UnRealistic, UnRelated, UnTrue)
Lie.
If my breath stinks or my hair is greasy or my cloths ***** my teeth yellowed, my feet smelly, my nails long, my social life quiet and solicitous- will you discern a negativity in my human-ness? We are no villains. We hate only those who would have us believe that we must hate ourselves and each other. They are no beasts like us. The animal within, encased by a carapace of Humanity glued and mortared by self-centered ideologies gets too thick and you must break it by looking at yourself. ******** and ******* and spitting and grunting and moaning in ecstasy and pain.
Repeat after me and say it loud with beastly yell “ I am a ********* beautiful Animal!”
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
You bring me good news from the clinic,
Whipping off your silk scarf, exhibiting the tight white
Mummy-cloths, smiling: I'm all right.
When I was nine, a lime-green anesthetist
Fed me banana-gas through a frog mask. The nauseous vault
Boomed with bad dreams and the Jovian voices of surgeons.
Then mother swam up, holding a tin basin.
O I was sick.
They've changed all that. Traveling
**** as Cleopatra in my well-boiled hospital shift,
Fizzy with sedatives and unusually humorous,
I roll to an anteroom where a kind man
Fists my fingers for me. He makes me feel something precious
Is leaking from the finger-vents. At the count of two,
Darkness wipes me out like chalk on a blackboard. . .
I don't know a thing.
For five days I lie in secret,
Tapped like a cask, the years draining into my pillow.
Even my best friend thinks I'm in the country.
Skin doesn't have roots, it peels away easy as paper.
When I grin, the stitches tauten. I grow backward. I'm twenty,
Broody and in long skirts on my first husband's sofa, my fingers
Buried in the lambswool of the dead poodle;
I hadn't a cat yet.
Now she's done for, the dewlapped lady
I watched settle, line by line, in my mirror—
Old sock-face, sagged on a darning egg.
They've trapped her in some laboratory jar.
Let her die there, or wither incessantly for the next fifty years,
Nodding and rocking and ********* her thin hair.
Mother to myself, I wake swaddled in gauze,
Pink and smooth as a baby.
5.3k
Daddy is almost 60 years old now.
His fragile arms wrap around me like a porcelain doll as he takes his last drag of his cigarette. He tells me it won’t **** him.
Two weeks ago, my dad found my hand-me-down blades. I told him he did not need to worry because my addiction of the blades painting my canvas has been replaced to the deadliest addiction; loving a boy.
Everyone has an addiction.
Addiction is passed down from generation to generation.
That’s probably why my brother has the addiction of letting acid flow through his lips.
Mommy has the addiction of having a man in different cloths sleep next to her at night,
And ***** has the addiction of letting her boyfriend leave black and blue “love marks” all over her body, and yet she still has the audacity to say that she loves him.
I met a boy today that told me his addiction was needle, I asked him how.
He told me that it comes as natural as you need to drink water and his arms were marked up with pinpoint bumps like hills but despite the green they were purple and blue leading up to his shoulders, then I saw one on his neck. But this one seemed different, it seemed like a rope was strangling him and up above was a branch of hope flowing down the drain, because his opportunities were caged in a non-existent box.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 7:51 PM UTC
Maybe we should sympathize
with the tiny waisted girls
that cake their face with a layer of colorful protection
that wear jeans tighter than the sealed bottle of meds
they take to stay skinny.
They cheat their way to the idea of beauty its true.
Pills to take away the fat,
painting their face to attract the opposite ***
Cloths that might as well be a thinner second layer of skin.
Its disgusting, what we consider beautiful
It's sad that girls aspire to achieve it.
Its sad that some do.
I envy maybe, their happiness, but
what if its not real?
What if secretly they feel as we do
the "average" crowd they are "forced" to coexist with
I do wonder, but then and ice cold snarl
from perfect straight white teeth hits me in the face
burns my retina and forces me give an equally evil shot from my
painfully normal features.
And I am reminded of the god awful truth.
They do not wonder what we think,
as if we were a separate species,
they look more alien than we.
God made man in his image
and I'm almost positive
he didn't look like plastic.
They desire to look like the air brushed figures seen in magazines
Something only wishes can achieve.
Something only paper thin models on paper can look like.
Something only a computer can achieve.
Its sad.
I do not envy them.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
I have no money
I have no cloths
I have a funny
Freaking nose
I have some friends
That I think are fake
I never take offence
I wanna eat some cake
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 4:53 AM UTC
taller as a twisted fable skyscrape- - -
felt beyond the limits of a clan; yer
density is a moot point (whatdidyawant)
and heights are reached where heights are
found beneath belief in factuality- - who
wrung the cash register any apt poem could
be you to a clean home obsessive compulsive
but valid poetics - - valid music in the dharma
dance of life.
edward scissor hands with cloths on the palms
instead and 'DO YER DISHES' the psalm you
sing for cleanliness is next to godliness &&&
cathedrals of the genuine soul were never designed,
simply found an ancient artifact in the labyrinth of
yer soul (z)
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
The glamour and glistening, the perfect touch,
the sound of applause at the runway strut.
The cloths the fashion, I love it all,
my favorite past time; the shopping mall.
when I go out into the light,
my looks tern heads. oh what a plight.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
and were the ears so pleased when:
the iciclic needles dug into our skins,
fleshy cloths that, sewn together,
made the mask to hide the whole.
we wore them like the cheapest of trophies,
the basest of glories and the simplest of stories.
we wore them to contrast to the whiteness of space,
the empty black white gray of life's living littleness
with the reddened hardwork of claymade shells.
they glowed with the rusty red of millions of faces
free to make their mark as they see best fit.
we had found these skins
forgotten on the floor,
and so we picked them up
with our biglittle hands
and opened the door
to newmade makings and
brand new beings.
it was empty within us--
the beings of old
and the yearnings of yore
had retreated far beneath the surface,
burrowed deep below mountains and meadows and
hills pushed up like sand in a box,
crushed against the sides of our enclosure.
it was silent within us--
the screech-making moon
sang in time to chest-beatings
and the barking of stray dogs;
the melody of moments lost in time.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:26 PM UTC
What is wealth?
I have nothing, no money, no time.
I have stress, i have worries.
I live in a mansion, i wear good cloths, i have an education.
I don't have him though.
I have the feelings, the emotions. But is that enough to survive in this world?
I am at peace, except for some days.
I have perspective but i have many faults, i tend to make mistakes.
Yet I know how to get lost, i know how to fight, except for some days.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
Have you ever been asked if you wanted something?
for water,dessert,money,cloths or for a session of adventuring,
or cheese.
Did you reply yes with glee
or reply no with ease?
how would you reply to cheese?
You reply a yes with joy
but then they employ
that what you wanted isn't there,
you feel as though you have been led astray
led to a depressing day,
they said they had cheese.
but the cheese was not there
for your salad was left bare.
how could this happen to you!?
All you wanted was cheese
its simple you see
that is all you wanted...
They didn't have cheese for my salad
such actions are not valid
my poor salad.
:(
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
Sacred words are left out in stone,
the carved wordings will remain for long.
I don’t see why curiosity, always catches me at the sleeve.
It’s like I am a pet of the devil, wanting to find the light within.
I walk around like the cat, watching every single spark.
I embrace the lovely patterns, wondering when my light will shine.
I saw the gorgeous skies, shade away into purple cloths.
I remember seeing your light, for the very first time.
It shone brighter than anyone’s, I don’t even understand why.
You aren't the greatest, you aren't the best,but neither am I.
I saw the words being placed, down onto the cards to heaven.
I looked at the lanterns, fly away into the sky.
Dim lights of yellow and orange too, remembering how much I loved you.
Death is a sweet embrace, yet why do I yearn for something to waste?
It shone brighter than anyone’s, I don’t even understand why.
I don’t see the point, in disposing love or life.
She walks down the dark road, with traffic lights flashing at her,
she remembers every single day, that she needs to keep on living.
Through every shade, of red, yellow and green she needs, to remember you.
Walking down a path of remembrance, leads into a list of names.
When the first child is bared, she is labelled with your name.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:11 AM UTC