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Raihah Mior Sep 2018
1.  It always happens completely unexpectedly.

It could be a year from now, perhaps another 5 years, maybe tomorrow. It could be the person you've been liking for the longest time, it could be your bestfriend that you didn't think you'd fall for, it could be the guy you met for three days during your sister's graduation day. Nothing's ever really certain. You just don't know when it'll happen. And with whom.


2.  It's good to know what you want. But never set expectations.

I've come to realise that what's most important is that you share the same or similar end-goals with the person. Having different outlooks on life isn't necessarily a bad thing, as long as the things you wish to achieve in life are, or should at least be aligned to one another - whether it's family, career or personal life goals. It's also good to know what you want in a person in terms of his/her core values. BUT, having a list of what your dream person should physically and mentally turn out to be? Nope, throw that out.  


3.  Self-love before anything else.

It's about acknowledging your flaws. Knowing and understanding your little quirks. Enjoying time by yourself and taking pleasure in your own presence. Looking in the mirror and feeling beautiful/badass. Ultimately, it's about accepting yourself exactly the way you are. Loving yourself first and foremost, above all else. And eventually having enough confidence to know that however and whoever you are, the other person will come to love every single little detail about you.

.....but what if they don't?

Simple. Get outta there. You don't deserve it.
You've got too much self-respect for that.


4.  Take all the time you need.

In an era of technological advancements and glorified instant gratification, it's easy to fall into the abyss of wanting more and more and wanting it NOW. Everywhere you look, everyone around you seems to be falling in love and having the time of their lives. Pfft, it isn't that hard is it? People find their soulmates all the time. It's just a mere click of an app. Swipe right, there you have it.

Now... here comes the hard-hitting truth. Falling in love is a literal piece of cake. Staying in love, now that's the hardest part. This is where patience and taking the time to know a person is crucial. It's very important to know the person as a friend first before anything else. Also, the friendship should make you feel comfortable enough to know that no matter how much time you take and need, it only proves that it'll further flourish into something even more meaningful as time progresses.

It's like cheese. It's only better with time.


5.  It should set you free.

I used to think love is somewhat this concoction of paradoxes -  it should be happiness and despair, goodness and pain, all jumbled up into one. You're supposed to love someone so much till it hurts. You're supposed to miss him till your head spins and your heart literally aches. It's supposed to make you feel like the worst.... but completely in love.

But as time passes and age matures me, I start to realise that it should be in fact, the complete opposite. Well, yeah, maybe it should make you feel like all those generic lovey-dovey things like in rom-coms. It should make you happy and grin like an idiot. It's gonna turn you into a big ball of cheesy fluff sometimes.

But what it should really feel is easy and breezy, like a pretty summer's day. No one has to feel like you're giving too much and receiving too little when there's mutual understanding and love for each other. It shouldn't feel burdensome when both of you respect your boundaries and spaces. There should too, be times spent apart. You are, after all, two completely different individuals merged together. Your union should make you strong but light on the feet; attached but not chained to one another. You are each the savoury and the sweetness of a PB&J sandwich; both constituting different parts of a whole.
I know this isn't the slightest bit like poetry, and that it belongs in a journal or something... But I dunno, it's been circulating in my head for quite a while. I've just been reflecting on past friendships and relationships a lot lately, I guess.
Andrew Parker Aug 2014
The Rules of Online Dating Poem
(8/5/2014)

Rules start the moment we decide to do online dating.
You can't choose Christian Mingle, because things get too spicy there.
You can't choose JDate, because they all want to sign pre-nup's.
You can't choose Plenty of Fish, because who wants to date a fish?
... I mean, I'm pretty sure that's illegal in most countries.
Grindr is great, but we're talking about the rules of online dating... Dating.

Now, OkCupid is where it's at.
Okay see here, you need a username.
Something quirky.  How about 'Quirky?'
Oh, that's taken, so add numbers!
The website suggested 'Quirky 69' ... okay, maybe no numbers.
Quirky_Cat, because everything on the internet is better with cats.

Let's move on to selecting several profile pictures.
Dust off your digital archives, and find one from that time you tanned.
Ever take a funny photo eating food?  Perfect, feed it to your fans.
Is it Halloween?  Because I'm thinking Headless Torsoooo!!!
Annnnd for good measure, let me take a selfie.

The hardest part is answering the match-making questions.
My soul is searching for its soul mate, and there can only be one.
It's like the heart hunger games.  
Who can shoot their compliments with the precision of a bow and arrow,
right through the wall of cats I've accumulated from being single so long?
The first one to make me feel so alive I want to die,
but not before devouring a pint of ice cream, wins!!

SO ANSWER THESE CRUCIAL QUESTIONS:
1, Is astrological sign important to you in a match?
YOU BETTER NOT BE A GEMINI
2. Are you a cat person or a dog person?
I DON'T DATE CAT-DOG HYBRID PEOPLE, JUST BE A PERSON PLZ
3. If you turn a left-handed glove inside out, it fits?
MY ****
4. Would you be willing to meet someone from OkCupid in person?
IF YOU ANSWER NO, *** ARE YOU DOING HERE
That concludes today's question answering.  
Stay tuned for rules on writing the self-summary.

Rule #1 - Bang your head on the keyboard for 12 minutes.
This is a mandatory, required start to every OkCupid profile.
Rule #2 - Use a lot of cliches
Don't worry if you don't know any, just copy some from someone else.
Rule #3 - Say you are bad at writing self-summaries in your self-summary
That's a good one.
Rule #4 - Say what you are good at... which duh, is your writing skills.
I mean you have a liberal arts degree after all.
Rule #5 - Tell them you are a real person, not fake.
Some folks need to hear this to get over the imaginary people they dated.

Rules require structure, and structure is built by bullet point lists.
So first bullet point, favorite books:
- Quickly go find the titles of everything you had to read in high school.
Second bullet point, favorite movies, and variety is key here:  
- Include musicals, rom coms, at least one low-budget indie film,
    a foreign film or two, and throw in a few Disney flicks for good measure.
Third bullet point is what will make or break you, music:
- For gay men this will mean you're only allowed to pick female divas, so...
To the tune of 'Kokomo' by The Beach Boys.
There's Britney and Whitney, ooh I wanna take ya,
to Rhianna, Madonna, ooh and then there's Robyn.
But Queen Bey, J. Monae, Miley, and Christina,
Katy Perry, and Coldplay, because they count anyway.
Cher, and Cher, and Cher, and Cher, and Cher.

Alright alright.  We've had our fun, but now it gets serious.
The profile is going to ask us to advertise ourselves like products.
Of course we are going to comply.
5 foot 6.  145 pounds.  Brown hair, Hazel eyes.
Bi-lingual and knows how to use a tongue.
Annual income?  More like outgo, as in out goes my money.
Do I use drugs?  Only if they're free.
Do I diet?  As in drink diet soda, as opposed to regular?
Slightly hungover on Sundays.
Can send more pictures of cats I wish were my pets, upon request.

Alright, start stalking people for endless hours,
sending messages sporadically.
Good news!  We're ready to do online dating.

But...  what if I don't really know what I want?
Maybe online dating isn't for me.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
i could tell you how certain stations on the London underground
smell, but i can't capture you this smell...
a bit like in that film Perfume: scents are lost over time,
with regards to places -
                            unlike the eternal pine forest...
or the zest of lemon...
                                         those are universal scents...
one could and humanity has: created a synthetic answer
and copied these scents... made synthetic tastes
a whole chemistry of a posteriori scents and tastes...
Kant and chemistry are a perfect combination...
given the classical schematic:

analytical                         analytical
a priori                             a posteriori
apples grow on               tomatoes:
trees and                          categorised as fruits          
carrots grow                    yet used as vegetables
in the earth                      the analysis being
since apples                     even though they grow
are a fruit                         on something: trees,
while carrots                    bushes, vines...
are a root vegetable,       analysis has found that
ergo?                                 they are better treated
all vegetables                   as vegetables rather than
grow in the earth            fruits, since one rarely cooks
while all fruits                 savoury meals with fruit
grow on trees                  yet the tomato is used
or shrubs                         plentifully in savoury cooking


synthetic                          synthetic
a priori                           a posteriori
■, ▲                                   in light of the given examples
(geometry)                        in the realm of the analytical
and the propositions       a priori: that fruits grow on
that come with                 trees or bushes
them:                                  there's the pineapple
e.g. c² = a² + b²                   anomaly:
or physics:                         pineapples grow on the ground
e = mc²                                (in the ground) like cabbage-heads
                                            grow in much the same fashion...

i always struggle with the a posteriori conceptualization...
in the original i wrote as can be seen above...
are tomatoes the byproduct of
analytical a posteriori knowledge?
i.e. they are fruits that are used as vegetables (used,
hell, even treated as such)... because you will not find
a tomato desert as such...
the classification of a tomato as a fruit:
given how it grows... would also invoke the cucumber
to be treated as a vegetable:
vegetables are not as juicy as fruits...
the flesh of the fruit is usually softer and certainly
more juicy... while the flesh of the vegetable
is more bulky and requires cooking and salt
to extract the juices oh a higher carbohydrate
concentrate of the fibrous nature...

pineapples... a fruit that grows like a vegetable
in the earth...
i like this "confusion" in my head...
i'm not going to clarify it...
            i leave this curiosity in my writing on purpose...
analytical a posteriori facts:
well... first having categorised the tomato as a fruit:
upon analysis... true: the tomato behaves like
a fruit... but upon analysis: after the fact:
it is better used as a vegetable...

         and the synthetic a posteriori truth about
the pineapple? then again: i know where i might be going wrong...
isn't synthetic a posteriori knowledge possible?
it's not as simple as the pineapple example
based on: fruits grow on trees while vegetables grow in
the earth... i can only find questions
on the possibility of synthetic a priori knowledge...
ergo? of course synthetic a posteriori knowledge
is possible...
    it's ingrained in chemistry...
what does synthetic a posteriori knowledge look like?

a chemist tastes a lemon... and he tries to replicate
the taste of lemon using chemicals...
he breaks down the chemistry of the lemon...
and? with due course... replicates the taste of lemon
without actually using a lemon!
he breaks the lemon to the basic components
of citric acids and whatever else is needed to replicate
the taste of lemon and grind it into a powder:
chemistry is synthetic a posteriori knowledge...
isn't it?

the examples i cited with the pineapples:
it doesn't matter that the pineapple behaves like
a vegetable when it grows...
apart from that sick idea of a Hawaiian pizza toppings...
pineapple? ham?! you what?!
that's not synthetic a posteriori knowledge:
that's just a ******* whim of bad-taste...
there's no actual synthesis of the pineapple growing
as a vegetable and the "ingenuity" of treating
it like a bad idea for a pizza topping...
the tomato: however... is a pristine example
of analytical a posteriori knowledge:
sure... it's categorised as a vegetable...
because of the way it grows... compared to actual vegetables:
but? you wouldn't allow the tomato
to be bitten into like an apple... you wouldn't bake
a tomato cake as you might bake a banana cake...
the analysis concludes: our knowledge of fruits is this...
and we have this vegetable: the tomato
that's a fruit... but it would be better suited
in being used like a vegetable...

synthetic a posteriori does exist... it just doesn't apply
to pineapples for the simply reason that they
grow like vegetables... they're still going to be fruits...
synthetic a posteriori knowledge is chemistry...
it has to exist because a pineapple is
not a synthetic a priori "idea" of TASTE let alone
virtue or however Kant framed it...

ugh... my first day back at Craven Cottage...
little ****** steward: i hate these hierarchies...
it's a petty army of high-viz. jackets...
   i wasn't the supervisor but i had some colts under
my "supervision"... i tried to smooth things over:
i did... in the end i wanted to see Fulham play
Liverpool... i spread the word around:
this is *******... they should have put us inside
the stadium...
   but... the weather was the loveliest and the Thames
was tide-out... two seagulls arguing...
in the shade: this part of London is truly mesmerising...
i love the smell of the Thames with the tide out...
in the shade under these mammoth-esque splendours
of foliage...
hell... i even managed to spot my first KONIK
(little horse)... that's slang for... those ******* that buy
tickets at the regular price... then hang around the stadium
and try to push the tickets at a hyper-inflated price...
the ****** was selling the tickets for £250 for two!
and this was after the first half finished!
i told one of the guys with a radio:
call this in...
                          i had to repeat myself about 3 times
before the management agreed to my concern...
they sent two spare police officers to the person in question...
he almost sold those ******* tickets...
one minute i see him pretend to tie his shoelaces
(he wasn't pretending) - his black cap
disappearing under the bushes... next minute:
wh'ah where?! ****** did a runner...
so he wasn't tying his shoelaces "on a whim":
he was about to do a runner...

                  that's ******* exploitation...
that's like: stealing... capitalism at its worst...
the ingenuity of crime: oh... but it's innocent crime...
it's i buy something for £30 but...
i'll sell it for you for £250...
                             now... it's not antiques! it's not a *******
van Gogh painting that has been lying around
for quite some time... gaining a repertoire and a reputation
as something good, worthwhile:
it's a ******* football match ticket!
hyper-inflation like under the Weimar Republic...
money good as "gold": "gold" as in winter fuel,
timber the new platinum!

after all: there was no real synthetic a priori knowledge:
chemistry is hardly a question of appearance,
water is clear, but so is hydrochloric acid...
what else is clear? sodium hydroxide...
                 chemistry was born from synthetic a posteriori
knowledge...
how many chemical experiments came as a surprise
a sort of anti-Eureka of synthetic a priori knowledge?
champagne springs to mind... lysergic acid comes
to mind: no one was actually trying to find these things...
e.g. they did not come about through analytical
a posteriori knowledge: they arose from
a dimension of the synthetic a posteriori knowledge:
by chance: by accident...

sure... i might be doing a ******-low-skill job right
now: and it is... i'll admit...
it's super **** sometimes:
most of the time my coworkers are either
over-bearing ego-maniacs fixated on hierarchy,
or they're lazy Somali youths...
or just plain-sighted Nimrods...
i sometimes leave my mind to wander...
that when i get the jerks in the feet like
i'm about to fall over... like for bearskin hatted
soldiers on parade...
but i leave my mind to wander:
it's not an insult if it's true...
                  no: when i was a roofer and fiddling
with inanimate things there was more focus
on the work to be done... dealing with people
is a crass differentiation from perfecting how an inanimate
ought to behave under your hands...
to turn a roll of felt into a water-insulated roof
with a roll of fleece and enough tar...
people are different: i'm sort of studying people...
gearing myself to hover in on children in schools...

if Leibniz preferred the profession of librarian
and a private intellectual life of par excellence...
i wouldn't think twice about becoming a primary school
teacher than being a secondary school
teacher of chemistry...
**** me: if drag queen hour is about to be imported
from America: i best (better) step in...
i just imagine: well... unlike a barren woman...
who has no children...
who goes into a profession akin to primary school
teaching... but then i'd arrive...
i know the obvious stereotype to battle:
PEDOHPILE! ha ha...
           Ava Lauren: just my type... plump...
full-bodied... probably the age of my mum by now...
that's my type...
i need something rounded of:
a 5.9 = a 6... just an example...
                
             but i let my mind wander... when roofing
you couldn't leave your mind to wonder...
i could... tell you of the specific scents in certain
underground stations... Baker Street? is that the one
with the Victorian arches, a station under the bridge?
i don't remember...
Putney Bridge is a beautiful station...
but today i took the route:
Romford via train... got off at Stratford... waited for a minute
for the central line...
(i love meditating on the topic of tubes maps...
there are only two important lines
in London... why? based on how many times
they intersect... the Central Line and the Piccadilly
Line... they only intersect at Holborn)...
travelled to Holborn... not sitting...
at each carriage there are these half-seats...
you're leaning back... standing-sitting...
i felt so relaxed... i gave way to the momentum
of the tube...
i was moving backwards and forwards...
head nodding... shoulders doing the mr. plastic-fantastic...
i almost tried to remember the remaining
tension in my body... the grip i had on a bottle
of water and a packet of tortilla wraps...
the rest of me was: freed...

when it comes to scents... that's one thing:
everyone knows it's a stupid idea to change tube
lines at Bank... why? well... Bank it connected
to Monument...
it's a city within a city: a London 2.0... oh oh:
yes it ******* is... never change at Bank...
anyway... as i was relaxing having closed my eyes...
i can tell you where the best sounds of
machinery exist in London?
between Liverpool St. - Bank - and Chancery Lane...
mind you... i cycle the route from time to time...
what's above? is not, what's above...
compared to cycling... this route is like:
watching the original Dune movie...
i'm strapped to a ******* earthworm...
or: being digested by one while listening to
the clag glug and clamour iron biting iron...
i sometimes do the "twirl" of the tube above
ground... just after Aldgate...
i head towards Brick Lane... toward Liverpool St.
prior to reaching Bank St.:

all the Piccadilly Stations between Holborn and
Earl's Court have this sickly sweet stench
about them... it's sickly sweet... it's: sickly sweet...

i remember back in St. Augustine's we had one
female primary school teacher...
some ****** proverb speaks the words:
woe unto you for having to care for the children
of others...
while i'm thinking: that would be a worthwhile challenge...
i don't want any of my own:
the fear of ******* them up more than
i was ****** up wears me down...
at least with the genes of strangers
i can send in an auxiliary covert party of my psyche...
who would i send in? the usual suspects...
Kant, Heidegger, Newton, Ezra Pound...
oh... the list is pretty long...

most probably Rumi hanging around with
Zhuangzi... Ovid and Horace...
ooh... terrible idea to start drinking whiskey
after binge-eating a watermelon...
the burps i'm getting back:
******* postcards from Uan Muhuggiag (Libya)...
i'm seeing camels double the number of their humps!
not good... absolutely no good

burp... ooh... this watermelon will not go down
so good... while i worry about *******
myself come tomorrow morning...
unlike the Red Hot Chilly Peppers singing
the fames of California:
what do i have? i have the countryside of Essex
and the incursions in the concrete staccato
of London... i can mediate this...

              burp: well... at least it's whiskey mingling
with the juices of a watermelon...
i much prefer that to the half-digested acidic
meat of any sort...
                 that's healthy burping and healthy farting
for your...
hmm... investing in children... that's an idea...
i once remarked to a boy in a supermarket:
you know... how a while i thought animals
were incapable of seeing 3D objects
in a 2D canvas: i.e. why wouldn't animals
watch television with men?
today i had a "Fred" pester me for a bite
of my tortilla roll...
i would have given it to him freely:
i wasn't that hungry...
   so i asked his owner: so... what's his diet like?
oh... Fred has had pretty stomach upsets...
he spent the past three days eating mulberries
from a tree...
ooh! i love mulberries: who couldn't be more upset?
the dog or the mulberries?
ugh: these kind of people:
that have their dogs on a ******* vegan diet...
hey! Fred! bite into this tortilla wrap!
i have learned that the food man eats
if also eaten by a dog tastes better:
after it was eaten by man!

o.k., fair enough Fred... you have an owner that
deserves having you: but no children...
i'd put you in the same category as a child...
children, dogs, cats...
things that might stir in man the unusual:
certainly not Darwinistic / genetic investment
that might reduce a man's hormonal balance...
mate... you look at me that dumb-***** eyed way
one more time... let me pat you on the head
like i have... you're coming with me to the land
of eternal tortillas wrapping around chicken
and bacon: there's no "yes" as there's no "no"...

but that's London for you...
            and that's also Essex for you...
i spent an entire day in London?
where did i find those cheap-*** beauties of womanhood?
i didn't find them in London:
i had to travel back to Romford to find...
i sat down to eat a snack bucket in a chicken shop:
three spicy wings, some chips...
mayonnaise and some chilly sauce...
a 7up... £3.50... i enjoyed the meal
and thought about: nothing...
nothing is usually hard to "think" about...
you get into geometry: to prolong your time at pretending
to look "cool"... when eating alone...

i hopped on the bus... watched two hunchbacks
of an elderly couple "manage" their way own:
what cruel fate... the extension of mortality
via science... may i never see myself
that old... reduced to being the child of Atlas...
no... i don't care for the sensibility of secularism
and science...
old age transcends both of these:
it's the reality of old age...
prolonged old age is best renowned
and celebrated by lizards: turtles most in fact...
mammals look weird...
mammals look weird when their life is prolonged:
unnaturally: via the basis of science!

start giving out re-prescriptions to people
with a a faith in science but no hope in hope...
start selling them hopes of eternity...
this materialistic "eternal life": is drawing us closer
to no closure...
there comes a life: there coms a death of said life...
it's not fair to pretend that the inevitiable
is "not" going to happen: it will...
the tyranny of old age...
                  by the standards of the Benelux:
i'm more than willing to bow out...

who knows! i am not willing to simply live
for the awkward presence of strangers
on a basis of anomalies and non-intrusions
of some freaked-up formalities...
to hell with that: i have no evolutionary-existential
plight of  "conscience" that might make me suppose:
on racial grounds: that the human "effort"
will disappear: outright: completely:
sure... chances are... humanity will be governed
by more people willing to ***** cities of death via
the pyramid... people engage in the magic carpet
flights of Islam and pseudo-Islam from regions
akin to Somalia and Bangladesh:
my problem? i can't live forever! can i?

et scriptum est...
i like being toyed around as being the idiot...
it helps me grow...
and it was so written...
                ergo? ut necesse sit!
(and so it must be)
  ha ha! ah ha ha h ha ha!
vulnus ferrum:
                  sanguis respiratio
scratch of iron:
breathing blood!
            
mortuus est mori: the dead must die!
vivos debet mori /
vivos non sunt exceptio!

i work among people that make my intellect:
CLOWN!
   i entertain them... i must...
but their intellect is about as much:
grappling as... i don't know what!
i'm out of metaphors and aphorisms...

                        intelligence is discouraged when it comes
to a working environment...
           i'm like Leibniz... i'm unlike Newton...
my ambitions a "cowering" in a personal enterprise...
i like the individualism of m own enterprise:
i don't hope to solve or save the problems of
a common man... nope!
                
last time i heard? the train has arrived:
i also heard: the train is leaving...
well... i'm i geared up:
what do i care for the famines in Ethiopia?!
i don't care for claiming responsibilities for
people who don't take responsibilities for
themselves!
starve?! **** it... why not?"
oh right... one of the Somali types?!
pretend it's work by hiding behind the bushes?!
ergo? behind the bushes i pretend to shower you
with free bread and pork? don't like pork?
eat dirt instead!

i'm done: free-loaders: i'm done with them...
i'm so ******* with these Somalis that you can't even begin to comprehend!
The other day
When I said that your face reminds me of a rhinoceros
I wasn't saying that you look like a bulky box
Or that your skin looks grey
I was really trying to say that
You make me feel like there are a hundred
5 ton mammals stampeding across my heart
And sometimes when I look at you
I can't even breathe
Because all the weight of wanting this
Crushes my lungs til my chest burns like an African desert
Consequently most rhinos are found in Africa
And I researched all of this in the hopes that
Maybe you would understand

You see the thing is I am not good with emotions
And I know as much about love as I know about quantum physics
And I don't even know what quantum physics is about
Or what it means for that matter

I've been trying to read all the romance novels that I could find
I've been trying to watch all the rom-coms I can torrent
Hell I even watched Valentine's Day thrice
But I still don't know what to do when I'm with you

I am unsure and clumsy and petrified
So much so that I can't even work up the courage
To hold your hand
I'm trying, I really am
It's just so **** difficult
When falling in love feels more like
Jumping out of a helicopter
A hundred thousand feet up
Without a parachute on

One day I will be able
To directly say what I really mean
Without metaphors involving animals
That only I understand
But for now let me just say
Your face reminds me of a rhinoceros
An old piece for the new year
Xander King Jul 2015
My lover introduced me to a girl named Ana today.
She is an emancipated horror who I am scared to know.

My lover told me he introduced all his exes to Ana, Ana will help our relationship grow
I ask if he thinks I'm fat
All he says is to get to know ana and Things will be better.

I shake hands with Ana and her voice Is intoxicating but I refuse to become addicted
She promises to let me be, only see me when I truly need.
Little did I know her fingers were crossed.

My loved coaxes me to meet with Ana more often
Run with her before school and sit with her at lunch
I hope she joins me for dinner tonight.

My lover praises me and tells me I'm becoming beautiful
But I wonder
Is he praising me or Ana
She's the beautiful one
And I am still fat

My lover tells me Ana made the *** better
As I screamed his name over and over again
In attempts to forget mine
And he loves that I no longer want the lights on when we do the deed
Praying the dark will hide the layers of chub clinging beneath my skin

My lover expects Ana to be with us at all times
I get angry at her and push her away breaking all her rules
And feeling guilty
I hope she'll take me back I learned my lesson
I crawl back to Ana

My lover introduces me to Mia
Says she'll be there for me when Ana fails me
Mia has scars on her knuckles and thin hair
But she promises what Ana denied me
And I gladly wrap my arms around her

My lover tells me ana and Mia are the only friends I'll ever need
I have to agree
My others have left me
My true friends tell me
It was because I was skinnier than them
But now I'm the fattest friend again

My lover is proud of Ana Mia and I
Tells me they've made me perfect
I can finally stop meeting them
I agree
And later that night the three of us rendezvous in the bathroom
To test the scale
And my gag reflex

My lover is angry at me
I've betrayed him with my meetings
He tells me if I don't leave them he'll leave me
Is tired of waking up to find me with my head passed out on the toilet seat

My lover is no longer mine
Left me for a curvy girl
Well that's fine with me
My only true loves are Ana and Mia
And I know they'll never leave me.

My new lovers make me pretty
And tell me I'll soon be perfect like them
I feel beautiful every time I lose the weight
But they make me feel useless when I don't follow their commands

My lovers tell me not to talk to a boy
Explain I'm not thin enough yet
Tell me to **** in my stomach when he looks at me
But I sense no judgement in his eyes
I tell them this is what they've prepared me for
And they scream that I'm not ready and he'll take them away from me
I'm scared to lose them
But I still meet him when I've managed to keep them at bay with leaf

My lovers are suffocating me
Shoving their fingers down my throat and slamming my wrist to the table when I pick up a fork
I'm scared they'll never let me be
Their eyes are hallow
And I can't find their compassion

My lovers are no longer beautiful
I see them as they are
Emancipated lifeless things
Praying for me to join them
They hold out their skeletal hands
Begging me to take them
Their lips are blue and voice raspy
And I want nothing more to run away but I'm stuck in place

I've left my lovers
They're still screaming
Clinging to my back with surprising weight
Hair falling out onto me
Whispering sweet nothings
Then screaming when I don't so as they say

My lover
Is a boy who sees me without fear
Does not scare away when he sees the girls clinging to me
Or the way my ribs jut out when I don't eat for a day
And I trust him every time he tells me
I'm beautiful
Even though the girls are whispering in ashen voices
***** I make you beautiful
Please come back and I'll make you drop dead gorgeous.
But I don't want to be gorgeous if it means being six feet under.

My old lovers are shrinking
Voices drying up every time I sip cream filled coffee
Arms weakening every time I lift the bite of cake to my lips.
They are dying with every meal I eat
Their voices getting quieter the longer I go without listening.
I only hope one day they do die
So that way I don't.

One lover introduced me to a horrendous disease. I'm not going to call them Ana and Mia anymore Because naming them is just a sad way of trying to control them
As if by personifying them We make them less dangerous Like a game or child's story. But this is a disease that killed thousands and almost killed me. One in five girls with an eating disorder die. I was one of the lucky few Don't be the one. Get help.If I can defeat this You can obliterate it. It won't be easy But it'll be more than worth it. Throw away the scale Burn the tape measurer You are more than a number You are beautiful. Don't let anyone tell you different. not a lover Or society Or yourself. Love yourself And others will follow suit. And in case you need to hear it I love you. Beat this I'll be here, Never be afraid to ask for strength. I don't have much But I'll give you all of it. If only to see you wake up in your bed instead of on the floor of the bathroom Stuck to the tile by sweat. To weak to sit up To tired to breath no matter who you are or what you've done No matter your lowest or highest weight Or how many ribs I can see No matter if I even know your name I love you. And if you ever need it I'll be here Just a message away And I promise I will give you all the strength I have just to help you get through a meal. Even if what you need is someone to sit and hold your hand and encourage you to take every bite or someone to tell you that you are beautiful when you can't bring yourself to fully believe it.
So please help yourself and Don't listen to others say "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" because so many things do.
Fresh donuts with coffee on days you don't want to face the light of morning
Pizza with friends while playing ****** video games and watching even ******* rom coms
Thanksgiving turkey
Christmas ham
Hot cocoa with a lover who sees stars in your eyes
But most of all
Life.
Life tastes better than any number.
suicide self harm sad eating disorder
nv Aug 2013
The cliches are all too familiar,
With their sappy glow and clean cut truth

I still live with her smile
But I roll my eyes at sappy rom coms
And change the channel at the kiss

I live for the moment
When I see you
Eyes drifting
When we have strawberry lemonades that are half frozen and turn our lips pink
And we can't breathe because we're laughing too much

I'm irony wrapped up
And tied with a silver ribbon
You can't fight biology
But you sure as hell can try


n.v.
Ricki Apr 2022
I still miss you.
I miss the kisses, the cuddles, the ***.
I miss your cheeky little grin and your wispy beard against my skin.
I miss how your eyes would glisten and your voice went higher,
As I listened to you tell me about dragon ball, or how work had been prior.
Without you, there are highs and lows, and
Every day is too fast, yet too slow.
If you had asked me early March why I’m here,
There would be nothing else to hear, except gushing over your curly hair
Or, how you walked me home from school every day when I was 15.
****.
Why did you have to be so mean?
It went and ****** up everything.
Why’d you do that **** to me?
I couldn’t even just be and exist as me,
And everything is just the worst
Because I had to put me first.
I still miss you.
And, honestly I don’t know what to do
Or even who the **** I am.
I’m a phantom of myself.
I’m a ******* basketcase,
I’m a useless waste of space.
I can’t stop messing up everything.
And ever since we broke up,
I’ve worn your jacket to work.
And, I’m the **** that dumped you, but
My heart ******* hurts.
I still miss you.
I see you in every spring flower rising from the dirt.
And, I think they wrote every song about you, too.
Why does every beautiful piece of art look a lot like you?
I hate that I love rom coms.
I hate that you wouldn’t dance with me at prom.
I hate that I’m not Sally, and you’ll never be my Harry.
I hate that I wanted to marry you.
I’d rather die than be your spouse.
You’re still trying to say who I should talk to and what I should do.
I hate that I’m stuck 2 minutes from you and your stupid ******* house.
Because of you I can’t breathe and I shake.
Every time someone yells at me, I ******* break.
I hate that you’re so ******* bad to the core
I hate that you called me slurs and said I looked like a *****
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
I still miss you.
Remember when you smacked my face?
That’s something you can undo or erase.
Remember when I tried to exit a moving vehicle because you were keeping me against my will?
Rather you like it or not, that was meaningful.
Remember when you took my keys so that I couldn’t leave?
I genuinely can’t believe I let someone do those things to me.
Remember when you didn’t get me anything for graduating, turning 18, Valentine’s Day, anything.
You owe me so many ******* dates that you cancelled because it was getting late.
Remember when you berated me in front of all of my friends over and over again?
You called all my interests stupid and you never gave a **** about my art.
You wrote your name across my heart, but you never would dance with me
Because you thought I was cringey.
I still miss you.
And boy, you haven’t a single clue how to treat a woman, or even any person.
I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I hate that I still love you.
I hate that my identity is so entangled in you.
I don’t know what the **** to do.
Why am I here?
Why am I stuck in this perpetual state of fear that I can’t live without you?
You should get out of my head.
****, these intrusive thoughts want me dead.
I hate my stupid ******* brain for filling myself with disdain towards who I am alone.
I want to text you, but I’ll refrain.
Now, you’re nothing more than a name in my phone.
You’re not the boy that makes me swoon, giggle and moan anymore.
You’re not my baby, my qt, mi amor; you aren’t someone I want to adore.
I still miss you.
Why am I here?
What am I doing?
Deep inside me something’s brewing.
Every day I’ve sat here stewing.
I need to be someone new,
I need to figure out what to do.
Why can’t I ******* stop thinking about you?
But I’m still breathing; I’m not dead.
I keep forcing myself out of bed.
And I even dyed my hair red.
I’m here.
I’m where I’m supposed to be
And until my heart mends
I’m surrounded by lovely friends.
I’ll run away to be an artist.
Even though I’m not the smartest, I’ll figure this **** out.
I’ll learn to live without you.
I quit that job I hated.
My heart throbs for something different.
And **** love; it’s overated.
I still miss you.
My whole life was infiltrated by cupid’s stupid arrow.
My trust in life is so near narrow, and
I’ll never let a boy treat me like a barbie doll.
I am my own;  I won't be toyed with and I won’t fall
for some self obsessed, egotistical, adorable, little *******.
I wake up in my own bed and I own my own legs.
You can cry and you can beg, but I will never be your girl again.
And ****.
I’m here now, and I’ll allow what I’ll allow.
I’m going to just live for me
I’m here to just simply be.
I’m lost and I’m unknowing,
But ****** ****** boy, I’m ******* growing.
AND I’m here now.
I’m figuring out how to say no,
And I’m trying to go when and where I want to go.
I’m going to run away from you,
And you can stay in this **** town.
I know I won't let me down.
Why am I here?
One day I woke up on this blue-green sphere, and it didn’t mean a single thing.
I was a lump of flesh and blood; my mind was fresh and not corrupt.
I learned pain and I learned love. They both came and went abrupt.
I’m here now scorned and torn, and my heart and mind are worn.
I’ll live without you.
I’ll do what I have to.
What does it even matter why or how?
I’m here now because I’m here now.
I still miss you.
But, one day I won’t.
I’m here to see that day I don’t.
I’m here to hold my own heart.
I’m here now to make my art.
I still miss you.
This is so long, but This is my magnum opus of poetry. I dated this guy for 4 years and he meant the world to me. I love him a lot, and I only want good things to go his way. I was in a toxic relationship, but he has a good heart. This poem is me pouring my soul out, and I wrote it for a school project.
Red-Writing-Hood Jul 2013
*******
It sounds so bitter coming from a mothers mouth

If I have a daughter I will only tell her sweet nothings about how wonderful she is, how beautiful she is and I will never spew the profanities that you've shouted at me because I want her confidence to be as high as the skyscrapers that just skim the clouds so she knows that nothing is the limit

Darling, I will tell her, if someone thinks you're too big for them then they obviously don't have the equipment for the job anyway instead of tagging along on a shopping spree where the only thing I tell her is how that top brings out her belly rolls and how that skirt shows her love handles, I will handle her with all the love I have

I will promise her that I will never say I told you so especially when her first love cheats on her and she comes to me in tears wanting nothing but a hug, I will supply the chocolates, the rom-coms and teach her that the only men you need in life are Ben & Jerry

If I have a daughter, I will never compare her to her brother, I will never brag about only one of them to people I meet on the street, I will never tell her that she should be more like him because he's perfect at everything she's not without even trying...I will tell her she's good at everything I will say she's the best at having the worst coordination, like her mother, I will tell her she's the best at being who she is, I will tell her she is the best at stealing my heart away every time I look at her

So thank you Mom...for teaching me what not to do, for showing me how to break down your daughters confidence, thank you for teaching me what a hypocrite is, thank you for all the 'I told you sos' and thank you...for teaching me how to be a mother
alexa Sep 2018
i am from innocence.
i am from rainy days and lonely nights,
words smeared across pages because
i can’t get them out fast enough.
i am from stanzas upon stanzas and ink-stained fingers
as i dream of new ways to say what’s already been said.
i am from words of love, words of anger,
struggling to find the words
to describe his eyes, i can’t.
but that’s okay, because to me, he is poetry
and
poetry has been the one consistency in my life.

i am from travelling the world.
i am from plane rides-
from the mountains of Italy
to the city of Lisbon
it’s safe to say
i have lived.

i am from 4am small talk with my best friend,
questioning our life decisions
between cheesy rom-coms,
thanking Fate and the Universe
for introducing the two of us.,
i love her
for accepting me
when i couldn’t accept myself.

i am from my dad’s famous waffles,
from Tollhouse chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven
and cold glasses of milk coming home from school.
i am from my grandmom tucking me in,
my mom hugging me goodnight,
my sister and i staying up way past when the lights were supposed to be turned out.

i am from New Year’s Eve countdowns,
pots and pans banging on my front porch
as a new set of resolutions
hangs in my room,
waiting to be broken.

i am from a school full of jerks… that i fell for anyway,
empty words and velvet lies, luring me in
just so i can break my own heart
at the end of it.
but i am from believing in soulmates,
because two live in my very house with me,
23 years later and the flame hasn’t diminished-
i know
i will find my Prince Charming,
somehow, one day.

I am from creased brows and mild confusion
when the teacher asks for strong boys
to carry the desks;
i am from being resigned to the edge of the classroom,
implications that
i am weak.
i am from “sit like a lady”
and
“young women don’t speak like that.”
but actually,
i am a young woman
and i’m
“speaking like that.”
i am from being the only one in my karate class
with my toenails painted pink;
they have accepted me now,
i am just another black belt,
my long hair swishing behind me in a ponytail
as i kick harder than half the boys next to me.

i am from beautiful chaos,
like entropy
in a sundress. i think
my madness is magnificent--
like the prettiest mess you’ve ever seen., it’s true-
i am from a lifetime of figuring things out
and though i’m not there yet,
i’m a hell of a lot closer
than i’ve ever been.
-a.c.b
my "where i'm from" poem i had to write for my poetry class :)
b for short Aug 2019
“To us, white girls are exotic,”
says my Arab American boyfriend.
At that moment, my brain ceases
to make sense of those words
in that order.
Exotic? White? Girl?
Me? Me. He means... me.
So this is what I say
to my Arab American boyfriend
who has
more culture in his pinky
than all of white America combined.
From what I can tell,
to be white in America is
boring static,
AM radio on a Sunday morning
with a broken dial
on a back road in the boonies.
It is the culture born by everything borrowed but wrongfully claimed
as its own invention.
To be white, in America, tastes like
cream of wheat
with no hope of brown sugar.
It is a tumbleweed-kind-of-rootless
and just as desert dry.
It is colorless, odorless, tasteless—
and will choke you slowly
if you don’t build up a tolerance.
But
if you’re lucky enough
to be white in America,
for about a hundred bucks
and a swab of the cheek,
the Internet can tell you
where you came from.
Even if that makes you feel cultured,
tomorrow you will wake up
and still be
white in America.
To be white in America, I thought,
was as far from exotic
as the self-loathing, middle aged guy
behind the counter
at your local DMV.
But white girls, he says, are exotic.
Perhaps it’s because pumpkin spice
oozes from my pasty pores,
or that “there ain’t no laws
when you’re drinkin’ the Claws.”
Maybe he couldn’t resist the fact
that the Starbucks barista
knows my order
better than my name,
or that my hair blowdries pin straight—
no matter the time of year.
I wonder if it’s the combo of
black leggings, messy buns,
and work out tanks—
or the fact that I think I’m saving the whole ******* sea turtle population
with my stainless steel straw.
Exotic?
Maybe it’s my compulsive nature
to buy in bulk, to pet every dog I see,
and to cry over Queer Eye episodes.
It couldn’t possibly be
the steady diet of rom coms,
my collection of Birkenstocks,
or the apple cinnamon candle
burning on my windowsill
that reminds me of “fall y’all,”
but then again, who knows?
To me, my whiteness is a privilege
that will forever be misinterpreted
as entitlement by every person
who checks that “white” box
on the form
without checking themselves too.

“To us, white girls are exotic,” he says.

White girl is just happy
he likes her in spite of it.
Copyright Bitsy Sanders, August 2019
Angela Moreno Oct 2016
I'm not exactly sure what love is.
I don't know what it is supposed to feel like.
But I know this.
Every time I see you,
My palms start sweating uncontrollably
And I wonder how in hell
I am ever supposed to hold your hand
If being yards away from you
Does that to me.
When I see you,
I swear "Dream Weaver" starts playing
In my head.
Whenever I see you,
I feel like I have to puke,
And it's the best feeling ever.
Every time I am done
Spending time with you,
I have to *** right away from nervousness.
But there's not a single person
I am more comfortable around.
When I am around you,
I spend more time
Covering up the teeth I'm so insecure of
Than I do talking to you.
I don't do that around anyone else,
But then again,
No one makes me laugh as much as you do.
When I see you,
I start thinking of different cheesy quotes
From different cheesy Rom-Coms,
And pray to God
That you haven't seen those movies,
So on the one in a billion chance
That I am actually brave enough to say something,
You won't realize how unoriginal I am.
Whenever I am with you,
And you ask me if I agree with what you said,
I'm lying.
I have no idea what you've just said.
I was too busy counting the wrinkles
Around your eyes
(Because wrinkles are my favorite, you know).
When you hug me,
I feel like crying.
WHY DO I FEEL LIKE CRYING?!
I have no idea what love is.
But let me tell you,
This feels pretty **** close.
Butch Decatoria Feb 2017
defined as "existing or being everywhere at the same time; constantly encountered."*

_______________­


he craves online hook-ups.

...but this isn't me
or that intrepid,          
torrent trampoline
                   on wireless ether engines
zone on in  .nets & .coms
                   searching fiber-optics for sight
browsing rooms of M4M to fantasize delights
to itch to fix
to sit transfixed as if
subliminally attached
                           umbilically
digitally to a electronic felatio
                                  soundtrack
yet all the while detached
                            lurking
reading pretend profiles  explicit
with ***, sexified,
dreaming up new fetishes
with misspelled texts
                        tandem testimonials as if written
by a Compaq-machine-head
or Microsoftened lust
                        as now we are turning to dust
with iBooks & faraway Dells on our laps
scrolling lists and Adams with "anything goes"
remonstrating our vicious
                           cycle - blank with un/trust

this isn't me...
where is the warmth
       of feelings, emotions,
love??
I am not that talented
          to be in two places at once,
but he has the faces
and genius of multiple personalities
facets
   of sabotage with grace.

he says it isn't him.

my anger has only one trait. two eyes.
velvet
rope-burned
limbs...

and he has too many faces
doppleganger hatreds
where  does  one

begin??

(The rubble or the sin?)

_____________

DOPpLEGANGER­ (2016)--[Rewrite]


he craves online hook-ups.


But this isn't me
nor am I that intrepid        
a torrent trampoline
                   on wireless ether engines
                   cyber silver surfin'
zone on / in  .nets & .coms
                   searching fiber-optics for sight
browsing rooms of M4M / in-fantasized delights

an itch to fix
to sit transfixed
as if
subliminally attached
                           umbilically
digitally digitized digi-man
                            to a electronic felatio soundtrack

yet all the while detached
                            lurking duplicitly
reading pretend profiles  explicitly
for ***, sexified mind
dreaming up new fetishes
with misspelled texts
                        tandem testimonials as if written
                        by a Compaq-machine-head
                        Microsoftened lust
currents electric now as we turn into dust
with iBooks & faraway Dells on our laps
scrolling lists for Adams
status' with "anything goes"
                        remonstrating our vicious cycle
alive & blank with un/trust
gone viral...

this isn't me.

where is the warmth
       of feelings, emotions,
malleable and infallible / love??

I am not as talented
as he
          to be in two places at once,
but he
          has the many faces
and genius of multiple personalities
Cybil
facets
   of sabotage with Mommy Dearest grace.
        Beautiful strangers his acquired
              taste...

he says it was not him
(doing ****)

my rage has only one trait.
two eyes                              (once wide asleep in the lies)
and velvet-rope-burned
wrists
my feet learn to fly
my heart un-breaks
my wings reanimate...


he has too many faces
doppleganger hatred
none to care for or embrace

When did I go blind,
         and leave my many strengths?
Where do I now
again
begin??

(The rubble or the sin?)


Every night adieu
Every day anew
                                        once again...
Ivie Aug 2014
Dear AK.S,

I wanted to write you poetry, but my words fail when it comes to you, but my heart revives when i think of you,and i still don’t know why you call me the queen of cheesiness,surprising name.
I wanted to coat our times with synonyms and rhymes and metaphors,but when comes to us, simplicity is the beauty.
Simplicity might not be beautiful to you, but i hold it like like a fragile flower plucked from its ***, and put in a vase,with water, mere water, what is water in front of dreams.
And you have known my dreams circling around new york and road trips from the beginning and i have known your dreams, around chasing boys and the boys who circle around you like man-eating lions, since the beginning, yes, i disapprove of every boy you have ever liked, but YOU held me tight when i drowned in the hopelessness of these dreams, and i hugged you, and ranted about how they were foolish frogs, little *****, as we blocked them on Facebook and they floated away like clouds, their lanes got cut-off from our highways.
We have danced with flaming fire ,and danced ,jumping across barbed wire and we have danced with cunning liars, and times have made us dance to beats that deafen out hearts,
And we have screamed and shouted, in the club like maniacs chasing after beats,and out of club like we have just lost limbs , like Britney spears and will.i.am not at all like them.
And dare i forget, the coffee trips and song tags, nine inch nails,to t swizzle, macchhiato to java mocha chip we have covered them all, we have dreamt of texan to cali beaches and we have dreamt of those new york skyscrapers and apartments all white filled with Bukowski and Lang Leav, we have lived on the edge and lived with the mainstream,
We have lost it all, like distorted bouquet, and we have forgotten all the love and given out aré hearts to people to rip the pictures of each other inside of us, and we have fought and fought brutal civil wars, and world wars with nuclear bombs to have to all back, to have it all back,

WHY?

WHY?

Because no one can compare to you, to the words you say, even if sometimes they are like requests of candy crush game, no one could make me as happy as you do even if our bad days are like a B-grade horror movies, and i am pretty sure are, you have no one that talks as much *** as do, so you only keep me around to hear my wild fantasies, but our good days are better than 90’s rom-coms.
We hurt the ones we love, inevitable, and regretful, but we burn and scatter the ashes of those moment for those we know we wouldn’t be better off with,   and i have burnt countless chocolate molten lava cakes to come up with the perfect gooey one for you.
In all honesty darlin ,this final attempt did come out perfect, it needs a little finesse on the edges but we can sort that out, we have won, we have won wars that they haven’t seen ,and when they look us like we are made of stars, they could not even reach, i know, I know travelling 10 light years and all these meteors shooting through me , the gruesome struggle to reach the stars has been worth it.
I wanted to write you sonnets that will do down in posterity and sing you pitch perfect love songs in front of millions, and graffiti your face in thousands of brick walls throughout the landmasses,
                                                            but all i have is this love which grows like wildfire,
                                                          which I hope is enough for this lifetime.
SO PLEASE STAY,EVEN IF WE MOVE TO DIFFERENT CITIES NEXT YEAR.

I PROMISE TO **** ALL THE WASPS AND SPIDERS THAT FIND THEIR WAY IN FOR YOU.

Love, V.J
Lone Wolf Aug 2014
Bread and circuses
Our world today,
In our sweet, free homeland.
We grow fat on breads
Pastries and sugars
And watch our
Sit coms on tv
Oblivious to the world around us
What's really happening?
Outside these walls of our free country
I try really really hard to ignore most news anymore, because it just depresses me. But every now and then some will trickle it's way down to me and leaves me wondering where this world is going
Freddie Benjamin Jul 2010
Inspired by Meg Cranston's Artist for President
(http://www.uniteddivas.com/megcranston/megpresident.html)**

We assert that there is a youth culture that is different and separate from all other cultures and that our culture is governed by principles which the aged population finds peculiar or offensive.

We are tired of being labeled.
We are tired of being segmented.
We are tired of hearing old people talk about us.
We are tired of being the respondents to your 20 city questionnaire.
We are done with being ignored.

We are sick of 1980s spandex.
We are sick of your Top 40 hits on a compact disc.
We are sick of your rom-coms and big budget fantasy sci-fi sequels.
We are sick of 60 billion ad messages being hurled from satellites in outer space.
We are done with being disappointed.

We demand the right to change everything.
We demand the right to create our own words.
We demand the right to define what is cool in the morning.
We demand the right to re-define what is cool in the evening.
We are done with being told to follow.

We reserve the right to be elitist.
We reserve the right to choose our heroes.
We reserve the right to create jobs that never existed before.
We reserve the right to outsource, open-source and crowdsource everything and all.
We are done with your rigid ways.

We condemn the wars that you started.
We condemn the poverty and hunger you created.
We condemn your irresponsibility in ignoring our dying planet.
We condemn the forces of greed that keeps an honest man from climbing the income brackets.
We will fix the mess you left behind.

This is for school kids
This is for college students
This is for young professionals
This is for the young artist who shares his creations on DeviantArt
This is for the young blogger who dreams of being a travel journalist
This is for the podcaster who is on her way to become a successful RJ
This is for the YouTube user who dreams of her own television show and feature film
This is for the photography enthusiast who spends his pocket money on a Flickr Pro Account
This is for the opinionated Twitter-for-Blackberry addict destined to become a Twitter celebrity. (Even we don’t know what that means!)
This is for the coding guru who gifts his geek friend a mobile gaming app based on Dungeons & Dragons for his birthday. Yes that is cool...for now.

This is youth culture
I urge all young readers to share this on your blogs, Facebook account, Twitter account and bookmarks. Please provide appropriate credit and a backlink.
the Sandman Jul 2014
My lids peel back slow to let another
weary day tackle me to the floor.
I push aside overbearing blankets
and shuffle down an empty hallway
into another more bare than afore.
Dragging my feet seems to require
more power than I had thought before.

Nothing but dark rooms ahead await
dully lit by open ‘fridgerators
that make monster shadows of purple,
frightening paintings that taunt Fate.
The shifting faces mock chance of late.

My reveries halt to disturbance that
a noise from somewhere below brings out.
I breathe deeply in as hope fills me-
a hope of the promise of a frozen mouth.

I think in that breath it is you I hear
rumbling and padding ‘round down the stairs
and I tell myself I am right, for it has to be you;
if it is not, no one else seemingly cares.
Morning breaks open the torment of day
like a ripped wound exposed to salty air.

I swallow back like every day the tears;
wrap myself up in old, cold sit-coms
and warm blankets to banish my fears.
Force myself to endure the hefty bombs
showered at my skull like a falsified norm.

The house lies vacant, in wait of you,
haunted by memories etched on paling skin.
Pacing remains the only thing I can do
to strain against the barrage of pins.

As always, I grin and I jump and I wave
so everyone can see just how brave
I am.
         I am.

But I can’t be anymore
and the salt-water behind my eyes
screams to exit the pores.
I can’t hold them in much longer
and I’m all out of supplies
that keep me stronger
                                      than I am.

I’ve run out of the fog
that my brain runs on, and
my heart condones.

       I have painted on a clown-smile
       and I'm quelled inside, flat.
All that is left in me now
is a crushed can of cola
shoving hard at my ribcage.

I am waiting still and know for sure
all will be as it was in times of yore.
Butch Decatoria Jan 2016
he craves online hook-ups.


But this isn't me
nor am I that intrepid        
a torrent trampoline
                   on wireless ether engines
                   cyber silver surfin'
zone on / in  .nets & .coms
                   searching fiber-optics for sight
browsing rooms of M4M / in-fantasized delights

an itch to fix
to sit transfixed
as if
subliminally attached
                           umbilically
digitally digitized digi-man
                            to a electronic felatio soundtrack

yet all the while detached
                            lurking duplicitly
reading pretend profiles  explicitly
for ***, sexified mind
dreaming up new fetishes
with misspelled texts
                        tandem testimonials as if written
                        by a Compaq-machine-head
                        Microsoftened lust
currents electric now as we turn into dust
with iBooks & faraway Dells on our laps
scrolling lists for Adams
status' with "anything goes"
                        remonstrating our vicious cycle
alive & blank with un/trust
gone viral...

this isn't me.

where is the warmth
       of feelings, emotions,
malleable and infallible / love??

I am not as talented
as he
          to be in two places at once,
but he
          has the many faces
and genius of multiple personalities
Cybil
facets
   of sabotage with Mommy Dearest grace.
        Beautiful strangers his acquired
              taste...

he says it was not him
(doing ****)

my rage has only one trait.
two eyes                              (once wide asleep in the lies)
and velvet-rope-burned
wrists
my feet learn to fly
my heart un-breaks
my wings reanimate...


he has too many faces
doppleganger hatred
none to care for or embrace

When did I go blind,
         and leave my many strengths?
Where do I now
again
begin??

(The rubble or the sin?)


Every night adieu
Every day anew
                                        once again...
Retitled... once UBIQUITOUS
Lame Poet Mar 2014
I birthed
a faceless character
and my amniotic aura leaked out
spreading langloriously
across https
.coms
///////
all over
the www.
My character
grew its skin
as a layer over mine
as thin as a tan
and as permanent as
true love
(whose permanence
s     t      r       e        t         c          h           e            s
to the size of your faith).



- LP
to be continued
Phil Lindsey Mar 2015
On January 20th, according to police and CBSChicago website, a 40 year old Algonquin, Illinois woman shot her 50” Panasonic flat screen TV with a rifle while her 3 children watched.  She didn’t like what they were watching and she thought they watched too much TV in general.  Makes complete sense to me.  I mean if you just unplugged it those **** kids would probably just plug it in again.   Elvis also used to shoot TVs.  Allegedly the King would grab a handy pistol and shoot out the TV every time Robert Goulet was on.  He probably had to be a better shot than the lady from Algonquin.  I don’t think they had 50” flat screens back then.

Seems like the Boss couldn’t find anything worth watching on TV:

So I bought a .44 magnum, it was solid steel cast,
And in the blessed name of Elvis, well, I just let it blast,
'Til my TV lay in pieces there at my feet,
And they busted me for disturbing the almighty peace.
—Bruce Springsteen, "57 Channels (And Nothin' On)"

Who could forget Henry John Deutschendorf, Jr.’***** song about finding peace?

Blow up your TV, throw away your paper, go to the country, build you a home.

Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches, try and find Jesus on your own.

Come on, EVERYBODY knows John Denver’s real name!

So it wasn’t like the lady from Algonquin, Illinois was hearing voices or anything crazy like that.  These were real people telling her what had to be done.  I mean there was PRECEDENT set!

And I think that maybe the lady, though a bit extreme, and now answering to DCFS, is onto something.  Maybe TV is the source of all the world’s problems and unrest.  Maybe we should all exercise our God Given right to bear arms (hold off there big fella, that’s a whole nuther issue).  Maybe we should all just unplug the TVs for an hour or a day or a week or a month, and see what happens?!  World Peace?

Well I know that this is a poetry site, and except for some lyrics from a couple of old songs I haven’t written any poetry, so here goes:

Better OFF

Tonight I turned the TV off.
And it was better off.
And I was better off.

I called my daughter asked her how she was and we talked for an hour ‘bout stuff.
I told her I loved her and she said it back and the emotion was real enough.

And my son called from Texas, said his car needed a tire and he asked me what I thought he should do.
So I asked him if he had a usable spare, he said no, I said better buy two.

Then I made me a sandwich (the TV still off!) and I picked up a book and I READ!!
The plot started to thicken, my pulse started to quicken, but by then it was near time for bed.

So I didn’t watch ‘Wheel’ and I didn’t watch news and I didn’t watch Late Night at all.
I didn’t watch weather, though through the window, I could see the snow starting to fall.
I didn’t watch Stars Dance on anyone’s toes, didn’t watch ******* give some girl a rose.  
Didn’t watch re-runs of sit-coms I’ve seen, and I didn’t watch Judy the Judge being mean.

Tonight I turned the TV off.
And it was better off.
And I was better off.
I live 10 or so miles from Algonquin, Illinois (I don't know the lady) and heard the news as I was driving.  Struck me as something that will eventually show up on Saturday Night Live.  And I thought it needed writing about.  :-)
Rich Oct 2022
I need you in my life, baby

The only productive addiction in my future is to your proximity

A decade of scattered sorrows is but an aching blink when I’m with you

You manifest what I could never say or feel without the fear of exile

Rom-Coms hold no candle or wick to our story

Proposals would only seem like trivial when it comes to you and I

We’re closer than nostalgia and episodic memory
closer than gods and their devotees
closer than the dawn and dusk
when nine to fives carry you through a day

Yet despite our bond
only I can hear you, see you, feel you, think you

So with baited breath I speak your name, or at least what you are known as:

Imagination.
Charlotte Graham May 2012
Candles flicker,
dark room thicker,
breath bubbles
in my lungs,
suppress a giggle,
heart flutters.
Internal torment,
ceaseless pounding,
reverberation,
makes me stutter.
Sixteen-year-old dreams
of rom-coms and foot pops
and sunset walks
make me shudder.
It's this gentle flutter,
elusive and exhausting,
mind wandering,
pulse dancing in my veins,
a different kind of fascination,
or maybe hesitation,
and crouching aspiration,
that makes me stutter.
A quick pucker,
and this different kind of flutter
will open the shutters.
Vamika Sinha Apr 2015
Come here.
Let’s.
Let’s?
Let’s…
Let’s.

Come here.
Listen to Edith Piaf
(So hipster, n'est-ce pas?)
and the scratch of her
voice on the turntable,
will be ours
to keep in Moleskine
notebooks of memory.
So that we’ll try to believe,
love is actually a thing.
Let’s.

Come here.
This quaint room will be
ours,
our guest, as we breathe life
into the coffee cups, wooden chairs.
We’ll give it a nose, yes.
Lightbulbs will smell red
wine in fingerprinted glasses.
Windows will drink
us,
to us.
And we’ll laugh, our faces
hot and sad, mouths
crammed with French
fries.
A scene blurred with happiness.
Let’s.

Come here.
Trash the hands of every
boy, who’s spread himself
out on marginalia of our days.
Slathered himself on pieces
of time we wish we had hugged to ourselves.
Hate, hate, hate
him, we’ll say.
And his **** hands.
Let’s.

Come here.
Our eyes will be fireflies
behind our glasses,
in this cinema’s night, as we ‘swoon’
at rom-coms as buttery
as the popcorn we bought in the interval.
Life’s too short, we say.
Eat about it, drink about it,
maybe even talk about it.
Forget about it.
Let’s.

Come here.
Talk, about nothing.
We’ll all be dead one day.
Let’s.

Come here.
We can be friends.
Let’s.

Let’s.
Let’s.
Let’s?


(And your giggle will end
all and every verse written.
I’m **** sure of it.)
About my lovely, lovely friend who also writes lovely, lovely poetry.
Mitchell Apr 2013
Poetic break necks weak at the knees
And I'm looking forward toward the danger
Magic underneath the fingertips
Money burning in my hand - twinkling coins
Deep seeded experimentation
Where fuel and passion the only fuel

Bohemian day dreams wet with guitar sweat
Crying moon unlit, undead, unresolved
Faithful love entwined with wicked angel
Poetry being only other peoples dreams whose goals
Have no names; treacherous young hearts obsessed with the nameless
Every indented ****** street corner fixed on the hips that sway
Round ***, square eyes, coming of age in an animalistic way

Putting my front foot down and my left hand up
I see clouds bursting into yellow infrared flames
Corner stores accepting variations of resumes
Dot coms colliding with wolf sneering meteros who dance
With the enormity of definition - never admitting defeat

Feasting on risk, we live like God's for we are GOD'S
Sameness tossed to the train tracks mixing with balloons filled with your past
Mentioning old lover's
Not mentioning lover's you'd like to have with old one's
Barking dogs prescribed a suffocation millions believe lucky to accept
A window frosted over white and outside a trying tree bent double
As if weighed down by hundred pound rusted chains
And in the background lingers the secretive ghost of Burroughs
Not knowing Him, I say nothing to him, though I know he is there
To shake is steak would be to make what he worked so hard to make

There, breath is dead cold, the lungs constricted by the passion of expression
So stifling for so many want to show it
Mentioning competition, the sister laughs, "The town is old, the people dead, the streets
Drinking." She nodded at her own
Comment, while everyone else sitting around sat silent. "And another THING," she continued,"
A friend of mine named Sheridan needs a bathroom to take a **** and she needs it NOW."
I sat back, touching the thin strands of hair on the back of my neck, feeling I
Needed a haircut and a drink.

Alive in this
I see what I wish to see

Monty allows anything
He's always drunk
Never touching a drop

Mad inside
Mad outside

Madness everywhere
Chuck Jan 2014
Me ain't no perfect speechifyer or scribbler
But I curse the mistakes I makes
I had a stipud airor in my last poem
So what. Why should I kare?
I should' nt : **** i do
I fill the need to be perfect 100 persent of the tyme
Win it coms to grammer and usedage
Dos a meckanic need to drive perfectly;
No and ain't no nobody say nothin
**** i fill the nead to be perfact allways
It just ain't fair
How ever: ain't one people out of 363 reader
Said nothin to me
Sew may be I m the only ones who aspects
Me too bee purfect!
Or were u thinkin how Ironicable?
I wrote this as therapy to help me feel better about having an error, but now I simply feel *****. Haha
Lyla Oct 2014
They say “write what you know”

I want to write about love and beauty, but I only know ugly.
No heart has ever belong to me,
no hands have ever sparked at a touch.
Ugly lives with creative minds,
given courtesy of dreamy teen rom coms.

I want to write about fun family trips and birthdays'.
Joyous days spent frolicking on the beach,
but I only know secrets, shouting, spite.
Love that should be given as sweet as honey,
yet this family bee sting is laced with bitterness.

I would love to write about the moments of content.
wrapped in the light of the moon with someone,
breathing in synchronisation.
To tremor when I stand around you,
my heart racing to keep up with my shaky infatuation.

So i don’t write about these things.
I write about awkward fumblings,
ungracefulness of my ungainly movements.
dinners with no conversation,
the dullness of an everyday flat life.

I write what i know.
Shruti Atri Jun 2014
Heartache.
It's more than an evening or weekend
Of ice cream and fine chocolate,
When listening to love songs,
Or watching rom coms on the couch
In jammies--


It's in all those nights of crying
While clutching at your pillow,
Begging for some semblance of solace.

It's in waking walking wandering wondering.
While looking down at your chest,
In every other even odd moment of consciousness
To check if the hole in your heart
Is finally visible from the outside.

It's that deep breath inhaled;
To counter the effects of the memories he gave,
That enables you to breathe again,
And the rapid blinking that keeps your eyes dry--
For just a little longer...

It's in re-building that wall.
Remember the wall? The one you tore down
To let him in?

Only, it's a shade darker than the last time.

Heartache is that deep, bottomless
Feeling of drowning
In misery and rejection
From the one person
You singled out from the crowd.
It's that overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia;
Which tells you,
'If you're not with him,
You'll go celibate!'


It's that ghost of a kiss,
That threatens to be the death of you;
It haunts your lips in your pale reality.
It's that hollow heart
That longs for his warmth, his arms
Those dreams of his beating heart next to yours;
Helping you regenerate
Only to be broken with sunrise, in emptiness.
When those unforgiving rays heat up everything,
But you're still freezing...

It's that poisoned apple you ate;
It runs in your veins.
Refusing to be digested,
Causing that overbearing chronic ache
That makes you want to scream out
In pure agony--
Making you wish,
*'If only he stayed!'
Neville Johnson Feb 2019
Male fraud
That’s what she called him
After that good start, she thought
Lean and handsome
Hair down to his jaw
Coulda been a model, she reckoned
That he split the check on the first date
Shoulda been a sign
Then the kiss that didn’t come
She was blind
To the narcissist he is
23 dates in three years
Still, she soldiers on
Bumbling through life
She thinks she’s gone through every bachelor
This city has to offer
There’s got to be more
Dating’s a long, arduous chore
The next candidate has a nice pedigree
Ivy League, cool job in the Industry
A production exec who green-lights rom coms
He seemed nice on the phone
The date is on
I’ll report back
Tomorrow at dawn
Xan Abyss Oct 2014
Life is Horror-Comedy
and sometimes Film Noir,
Other genres might be fun,
but it's just not how things are.

Too Unpredictable
for Rom-Coms
But too Mundane for Fantasy
Too much fun for Thrillers and Dramas,
not Badass enough for Action
(but almost enough Shooting Sprees)
Too many Happy Endings
To be a Tragedy
But far from Enough
to be *******

Life is ***
and Drugs
and Fear
and Love
the Need to Protect
and the Need to Spill Blood
It's Laughter
and Song
and things going Wrong
Hits on your Enemies
Hits from the ****
Hitting on the Opposite ***
Flirting with Danger
Dancing with Death
Life is...
Hatred and Violence
that Long, Awkward Silence
When you work up the Courage
to Deny them Compliance
It is Heaven
and Hell
and Voodoo Love Spells
from the Inception of Cells
to the Old Funeral Bells
There's Madness
and Sadness
and "Thank God! I'm Glad"-ness
Life is Classy
but Savage
Full of Beauty
and Damage.

Life would Honestly
be Worthless without Comedy
We'd never learn
To Rock or Roll
without the Music of the Soul
and though there's too much Torture
in everybody's Story
We must admit
without Horror
Life would be
Pretty
Boring.
The title is something I say a lot. I felt like I could probably write a poem about it. And I could!
betterdays Aug 2014
i sometimes sit and ponder
what my life would be like
with out the both of you

i suspect,
i would be some
small (uni) town
catlady, about sevencatcrazy
exsisting on takeaway chinese and rom coms

soglad you came along, happenstance as it was...
Devan Ducasse Jan 2018
Dear mom,

I have never felt love like this before
Everything else has been dull and boring
So when I say that I love this man
I full heartily mean it

It feels like I’m in one of those high school rom coms
When the straight white girl meets the straight white guy
Her whole world is flipped upside down
And they grow up old

I didn’t think I would ever be able to experience this kind of love
And I don’t know if you ever have
Because if you have ever felt this passion and love
Then you wouldn’t want any minute anyway from it

My exes never really cared
When I say I loved them
It was completely true
But this one is life changing

The way I get butterflies in my stomach when I see the twinkle in his eye
And the way he looks my body up and down, feels my stomach and hips and then tells me
“You’re beautiful”
I never want to experience anything different

This man has become my body guard
When I feel his arms wrapped around me, I know that I am safe
I know that no other man should come my way or else my boyfriend will ******* up
And he genuinely cares

When I seem even the slightest bit off
He doesn’t just wait until I feel better to try and fix the already fixed problem
He drops everything he is doing to be with me
And that’s the kind of man I want

I want a man that would leave dinner
To meet me on a park bench while I’m crying
I want a man who will get me drunk
Then hold me in the bathroom while I cry and confess everything on my chest

The way we started wasn’t ideal
Cheating on our girlfriends just to taste each other’s lips
Wasn’t a good idea
But you can’t tell me all of your relationships were 100% perfect

He understand me when no one else does
When i say some weird metaphors to my therapist
(Which he frankly can barely understands)
My boyfriend will sit and listen until he figures out the riddle I told him

I speak in code
And he starting to crack it
Even though it scares the living hell out of me
He is trying to break down my walls

Mom, I have built millions on millions of bricks to keep this wall up
You have taught me throughout my whole life
To protect the ones around me and not myself
But with him, I feel okay to break down the walls

He is shedding it layer by layer
Brick by brick
And I am letting him
Because I want to let him in

I have never wanted anyone else inside of this dungeon
But I think he’s the one who can break me free
My dungeon of depression has been home for 17 years
And I am ready to show him my house

I have never been sure about anything in my life
I have always been so indecisive
But when it comes to him
I know that I want to be his

I want to be his one and only girl
I want to come home and see him everyday
I want to tell him about my secret
I want him

So mom, when I say I am in love with this boy
I mean it
And when I say he makes me happy
It’s because I have never felt safer

I love him
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
they allowed you your civil war... allow them theirs! about 99% of you are not syrian civilians, and i couldn’t give a half baked cookie’s *** worth of having opinions about that conflict over wine at 5pm... but hey! newspapers sell with opinions about a civilian conflict over there and queries in the dilemma sections of our society: black or white ipod i6scheißex3?!*

atheism and capitalism will never work,
i know that atheism these days is cool,
but it’s signifying a singularity, and individuation process
which only ennobles individuals with their own
theology,
atheism only works in a collectivisation, a communism,
an ant colony, then every individual can exclude their own
theology, their own subjectivity, and become wholly objective...
how did atheism become so popular?
it flourished in a greenhouse effect, in required many
individuals not really caring for a categorisation as human,
which devolved evolution to a edenic stagnation
rather than provide the true basis of evolution - we, as one, did thus.
perhaps the problem is that we didn’t do things on repeat,
and this had to be penetrated by napoleons and kants,
men of individual significant will of exclusive atheism and inclusive humanism,
but the way it’s going, capitalism and atheism only work
in sketch comedy parodies, with the argument against its non-existence
being the most debased interpretation: parasites and insects,
never truer to rom coms or smoothies’ tastes of sultans and pistachios,
it’s always grime **** grime **** grime ****.
how can capitalism incorporate atheism with the endemic selfishness
when atheism is all about selfishness and exclusive collectivisation
of man against ant, lion... owl?
it’s the ordeal of origins having to accept other species as interactant
with me without having to collectively individuate myself with
mr. simon smith happily converting his garage with a loft extension...
atheism in capitalism is fake... what capitalists sermoning atheism
truly fear than the existence of god... is the sort of “non-existence”
of god of the slavic states post world war ii without the marshall plan,
working together... ***** take one step into syria with burger king...
***** take one step with that **** into syria... i swear i’ll rip you to shards
worth an artistic impression of shrapnel intestines and flesh on the cement!
remember how christina invaded england to **** cromwell and ensure peace?
well elizabeth is too old to **** al-assad, and christina never invaded a country in civil war...
who invaded? journalists... on paper... in english newspapers... high & mighty & touchy tough guys asking for “ink” from the innocents.
andrea Jun 2015
I saw you
On the train
You were immersed in the Sunday Times
Headline reading: Girl Missing for 17 years, Finally Found
I think to myself you are the dream come alive
This is the moment they promise in rom-coms
The outlandish answer to "how did you meet?"
I promise this time I will tap your striped-sweatered shoulder

Who am I kidding.
We were on a crowded bus, my hair
Plastered by the neighboring sweat
You
Nearly next to me, preoccupied, with your
Tiny little screen
As you stuff your hand in your low slung jeans
Pull out a stick of gum which you proceed to chew so loudly

Who am I kidding.
I gave you a sideways glance
June 7th
I find that sometimes it just seems like the right guy is so hard to find. Truly, romance is so, well... romanticized, these days. I wish there were simply more realistic expectations.
CJ May 2022
I'm an Anti-Romantic

I don't believe in Love anymore
I think I've lost faith in it
A waste of my time

Is like eating chocolate
I don't feel any sweetness
Only the bitterness within

A flaming love
Burnt till there's only
black soot left

No more love poems
No more rom coms
No more valentine's

I'm an Anti-Romantic
Inspired by
TXT's 'Anti-Romantic'
Kuzhur Wilson Apr 2014
While searching for Sougandhikam,
Four viruses barred Bheema’s way

He got flustered, unable to chase them
Using his mace and strong muscles

Sougandhikam was mis-spelt many times

Eyes got tired visiting all sites about flowers galore

Mukkutti.com, bougainvillea.com,
Orchid, leuca indica,
The thottavadi.com which shrank on contact with the mouse

Journey without fear of thorns
Flowers bloomed in the water springs of the rock-hard body

Muttered “flower”, “flower” frequently

Dot coms where fleshy blooms flourish
Time and again, forgot the wife who was insulted?

While sitting in amazement in front of a site about wrestlers,
A message
Subject hint about Sougandhikam

In the inbox, ‘black moon’ with the sings(symptoms) of Sougandhikam

He liked the fragrance-less flower from Latin America

Not a step more in this jungle,
He decided in his mind
And downloaded black moon

Morphed it, made slight changes
Then a color print

Panchali, who was bored stiff though she was the wife of five, jumped in glee

Took four Photostat copies of Sougandhikam and went to apply for a doctorate

An odorless lie bloomed in history.
Translation : Anitha Varma

— The End —