"contender" poems
[Verse 1]
Monster sized swag; not modest bout my splendor
Marvel at the flag and I'm the ultimate avenger
Buck Rodgers, D-Bird yep I'm the number one contender,
So I gotta uphold this rep of bein uncontrollable
so I'll take the lead, I hold the world beneath my feet
I'm a fiend, elite
Haze so cloudy cause I be blowin Swisher Sweets
Drug addiction is my disease
It's my expertise
See here's the masterpiece:
Raps lobotomize
I'm traumatized since 1993
[Verse 2]
Victimized by the lies
of this trifilin enterprise
You can front but you can't hide
There's no fault behind your eyes
So I hope this insult will suffice
It should come as no surprise
A grin will spread across my face
From side to side
My ***** mouth will mesmerize
hypnotized, memorize
the words that escape my lips
I'm a degenerate unabridged uncut
You're a ************* ****
Go hang yourself from a bridge
Here's a rope, I hope you choke
******* ******* smoochie smoochie
Only chains you got is Gucci
Y’all basic brothers rep that set
But fake like that 2chi
[Verse 3]
man I get so high,
Now watch me get higher
Watch me take flight
As my wings soar skyward
You know I'ma fighter
So watch me take my place
As I eat this rap game up
and then spit it in your face
Now pass me a lighter
see me rollin while I bake
I mean I'm not a pastry maker,
but I still bake for the sake
My rhymes are so ill
They're gonna make you sick
I be tweetin on my twitter
While Betty Crocker ***** my **** uh
[Verse 4]
Reid between the lines son and please proceed with caution
Alien splittin kilos, I be one tweaked ****** martian
I'm five steps ahead and these haters ****** forfeit
You four feet tall and I'm so high I'm in ****** orbit
Make these snitches sleep with fishes
How ****** vicious spittin mischief
****** trippin out these hypocrites
Dishin out these disses which
Bein inconsiderate
in this fast paced game of chase
But if I wanted to catch your drama
I'd just go check my facebook page *****
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 3:30 AM UTC
You say, "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”
but I say surely something
must taste nicer than the burning acid
being forced back up your throat.
Why not hug people instead of
toilet bowls? At least they’ll hug back.
Except Mia is your only friend now.
And her cousin, Ana, of course.
And I understand that you never
wanted to die, but this is a thousand ton truck
hurtling towards the edge of a cliff and
Ana took the wheel a long time ago.
There is no strength in this: in you, in a
fear of calories. Even your bones creak
as your muscles sigh with exhaustion -
for this, is not a war you're winning.
This is a battle with only one contender
and I will not be the one to disarm you.
That's your job and it always has been. I know
you only wanted to be beautiful
like all those stars in the magazines
you saved under a file titled ‘thinspo’
but the only stars you ever saw were in
your eyes from the dizziness
and to tell you the truth, you are not pretty.
For there is nothing “pretty”
about the layer of fuzz your body grew
to protect itself from the big bad wolf
when really, the only growl was coming
from inside your stomach.
Or how your little sister is afraid to touch,
let alone hug you, in fear of snapping you in two.
For there is no glamour in having to
remove clumps of hair out of the plughole
at least six times whilst having a shower,
just to let the water run down.
Or that one time you "accidentally”
took too many laxatives. Messy.
There is nothing admirable about the way
you sat shivering on your bed
at night instead of kissing boys,
or dancing, or eating ice cream.
There is nothing to be marvelled at
in dying.
This, is not a life to be lived.
God, this isn't even a life.
This is being a slave to your own body,
a walking zombie, a ghost stuck
between two sides.
You are not alive.
But it was all still worth it, right?
Slowly killing yourself from the inside out.
A small price to pay for perfection,
a bargain for a broken mirror;
for a half-written book
with 97 blank pages,
a camera
that only captures in black and white,
a clock
with frozen hands.
And most importantly, for a peace of mind
you never received.
No refunds.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
My smooth vermin, you inspire me to write.
How I hate the way you infest,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the wicked rest.
Let me compare you to a contender?
You are more ugly and more disgusting.
Hot frost nips the robins of December,
And wintertime has the shocking busting.
How do I hate you? Let me count the ways.
I hate your intriguing infestations.
Thinking of your many legs fills my days.
My hate for you is the implications.
Now I must away with a loathsome heart,
Remember my fast words whilst we're apart.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 1:12 AM UTC
Perfectly painted
Oh so white
Those boys just fainted
Keep those **** tight
Perfect skin
With the perfect tan
Keep up your chin
They'll become a fan
You don't need love
Only fame
You'll rise above
They'll know your name
Bat those eyes
Watch them fall
Hear their cries
You make them crawl
Just remember
The Hollywood Pose
You're the next contender
Teeth, **** and toes
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
639
My Portion is Defeat—today—
A paler luck than Victory—
Less Paeans—fewer Bells—
The Drums don’t follow Me—with tunes—
Defeat—a somewhat slower—means—
More Arduous than *****
’Tis populous with Bone and stain—
And Men too straight to stoop again—,
And Piles of solid Moan—
And Chips of Blank—in Boyish Eyes—
And scraps of Prayer—
And Death’s surprise,
Stamped visible—in Stone—
There’s somewhat prouder, over there—
The Trumpets tell it to the Air—
How different Victory
To Him who has it—and the One
Who to have had it, would have been
Contender—to die—
3k
funhouse of self-reflection,
i indulge in your distraction,
make the best of every one of my heart's contractions,
to scintillate, to shine, to epitomize a refraction
that is all mine.
a start's best contender
to finish, always inclined.
for the heart's say is that gold is always underlined.
glitter of shimmer, of glistening hues.
what creator could produce formations as iridescent as you?
but coruscation of shadows, perpetually anew:
why do you always crack my mirror and skew?
mirror, mirror.
mirror of my mind:
tell me where it is that all my secrets hide?
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 11:17 AM UTC
Never withdraw,
for that is surrender.
Such impact from question,
such hate from contender.
Uncomfortable mission,
The deed is now done.
The silence is haunting.
The silence does stun.
An answer is spoke,
it glues one it both.
A pulse gives up pulsing
as words are now oath.
Heart is to blossom
from seeds that do lay.
Yet nothing's eternal,
and the heart always pays.
Creating false hope,
dancing with fate.
I allow myself less
than my heart would now take.
I'm teased with elegance
beyond what I've known,
like a cancer with spite,
you've dismantled my throne.
Woeful misjudgements.
Harsh disbelief.
Your mind can not poison
what love can not chief.
But dear do I love,
despite all the rest.
I'm aware of mortality
too much, I confess.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
these games 2010 vancouver olympics are about performance under tremendous pressure more than they are about sport our expectations destroy us how do athletes possibly in training their entire lives cope with cameras nationalism corporate media mania? these distinguished people fallible humans with frail emotions doubts superstitions insecurities just like everyone else sustain skill phenomenal precision how do they sleep at night? carry on relationships with spouses family friends? endure eminent separateness loneliness? do gold medal winners become bloated rock stars conceited movie stars overpaid professional athletes? do losers become life’s could have been a contender drunk in obscurity casualties? what price in human terms these games? hey when joannie rochette hit ice prayer to mom i cried love watching sports this gorgeous display of human talent yet wonder about underlying meaning consequence sports or spectacle?
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 8:23 PM UTC
there is a wrestle going on inside of me
an epic match
nAch vs nAff
**At one end “Duty”-the undefeated ruling champion
And at the other end
“Desire”-a strong contender for the title**
Come and watch this fight to the death!
get out the fizz and popcorn
join the fun!
see me oscillate-between one and the other
i’m like an old grandfather clock
can’t decide
this lunacy is felt
in my deepest self, my core
stretched so far I’m torn apart
every limb every pore seethes in the anticipation
of the win
my mind bounces off the walls
I wonder what the point is at all-
someday this will end in a drunken brawl.
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
07.09.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 12:19 PM UTC
drifting upon this groovy scene
could this be a movie theme
you putting me here on earth
the needle tracks in both arms hurt
Lord, my knees are touching dirt
wearing this cross and this bible, first
all I need is a sweet surrender
while shadow boxing this contender
you know, I take my ******* straight
we see this world through iron gates
white horses keeping me in this race
man, I am riding these six white horses
I riding through this devil's pace
yeah, my horses taking to different places
until, I get back on my six white horses
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 3:35 PM UTC
Walking through the road of bones, on the way to Gulag,
Sleep by the sleepers, till you are just leftovers.
Making way for the ferrous wheels, mean machines,
The Red Tsar is still a reverend, Sukhois fly by.
Witness the northern winds, take a time lapse,
Stare at the Kremlin, wonder what Putin's doing?
Deserts of different shades to the opposites,
Unsaid and unclaimed they rule the north.
The lost Soyuz men in the space, still a mystery,
Few hundreds revolve with little hope and air.
Uncle Sam's contender from time immemorial,
Its a mystic land, Keeps you wondering of it.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
םתוח
השׂטן
and i thought that ancient egyptian
was retarted...
looks like there's a contender!
hebrew!
this language doens't know left
from right, or up from down...
hebrew is, by html encoding... a dodo project!
it's retarted!
hebrew can't survive in the html age...
it's retarudus proximus!
oh, you think arabic is any better?
don't think semites should
be laughing at this point...
trying to write hebrew script is like
juggling pineapples...
what does it say?
the seal of satan... satan?
well that implies guardian
of the tetragrammaton...
i still agree hebrew evolved from
ancient egyptian script...
but hebrew wasn't used in writing
html or any other computing script...
that's why it's so retarted when trying
to write it in html mode...
nope, can't convince me...
you can't really write hebrew in html mode...
i call this the extinction precipice...
if this ****** is going to keep up
its copernican acid tripping not knowing
left from right...
might as well leave it at the roman
long-handshake... where hands
don't actually touch, but hands touch
nearing the elbow... namely
forearm-grip.
as the original stated:
the smaller the audience: the greater span of historical worth, and desire to upkeep: that pangloss citation from voltaire's candide: better us tending to our own conerns, that bother ourselves with the concerns of others.
oh, i know what a small audience implies...
didn't christ have only the 12,
didn't pythagoras only have the approx. 30?
there's something quite telling
about a small audience...
not exactly cultish...
but something beyond the realm
of influencing people within a single
lifetime...
take en sabah nur and his 4:
oh come on... rewrite tolstoy's
war & peace in a comic form:
just to ease the gates for poets,
and leave barren, the boring narrator...
let's keep it at just that:
there's something telling about a small
audience...
look at the 1 and the 12,
and now look at the billionth marker -
funny, isn't it?
what am i claiming though?
ah, that's simple, that's a revival of
"judaism" - i say "judaism" because
i am the one ordained with neither prophecy
or anything worth mastering:
i am the guardian of the tetragrammaton...
and sure, the god within the confines of
philosophy has to necessarily not exist...
but?
well... you can't really evaporate
the tetragrammaton out of existence!
whenever the right time comes,
i loose the title: chief prosecutor, and become
chief defendant.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 8:53 PM UTC
I've done lots of damage being sober is me resting my ego
I do get the courage urge to drink but I'm stronger than this addiction
It's for the weak so I don't want to be submissive
I can't and won't go back dealing with anger and frustration is hard but able to cope with makes life easy
I get the urge to fight but in the spirit of competition I want to get better and be better at the sport. I do the conditioning and training I want to be a ranked contender. I hate training for no reason to me there's a reason for everything.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
Feeling at this time, that I should really go to bed, but
Still I lay awake, and contemplate, what Fred Hampton said:
“If you dare to struggle, then you dare to win, if you dare
Not to Struggle, then you don't deserve to win.”
They shot him dead in his bed, tell me how long has it been?
10, 20, nearly 50 years, since the things that happened then,
What happened to the Panthers, Malcolm X and Dr. King, or
The Anarchists in Spain, the songs of victory they'd sing?
What happened to the world of struggle, in which they all used to live?
Where liberation's sweet embrace propelled the efforts they would give
You see, we need to put the ‘unity’ back into ‘community,’ and
That begins with you and me, living side by side, and
Working with each other, taking measures to deride, the
Ills of our condition that serve only to divide,
Those old notions of race, those old notions of gender, with
Raised fists, as we march, taking heed to engender,
A whole new way of life, and a vision to render,
Filled with class consciousness, making us a contender,
Maybe I could lie down, and I could find some rest now,
If we would only stop to realize that we're the real ‘how.’
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
Why Angels fall
Awakened by an eerie dream
Of weary angels with tattered wings
Their song was woeful and it broke my heart
I asked them if they knew the part
where I alone lived through hell
The angel closest to me sighed,
and then began to yell
“Dear child don’t be selfish! life’s not always about you.”
“You think we left you all alone; yet this simply is not true.”
Another spoke much quieter, she said,
“I beg your pardon,”
“You’ve had the best protecting you,
Hand plucked, from heavens garden.”
My response was if that is true then please explain,
how each of them were able
The youngest one emerged just then
from underneath my table,
He was a child of maybe ten
I wondered how he died,
With tears falling from his eyes he whispered
“we have tried,”
Timidly he approached me,
a tarnished halo on his head
Then nearly imperceptibly, the youngest angel said,
“We were beaten quite extensively,
and for a long, long time”
“Our wings you see are tattered now;
and we need our wings to fly,
It’s hard to sit and listen to all that they’d endured
I realized right then how badly my vision was obscured.
An older angel shuffled towards me,
with no wings at all
I can’t express how bad it feels
to have made these angels fall.
while looking deep into my soul, he struggled to convey
“The demons were a burden, sure
though they’re all gone today.”
“ Sadly, the only one unconquered,
your worst nemesis, is you,”
We’ve come bearing hope, perhaps that you‘d know what to do
To slay the beast you’re on your own;
I heard them loud and clear
“I’m sorry,”
I said loudly, to be sure they each could hear
The beast in there’s enormous
and nastier than me
I promised them I’d do my best,
though surely they could see
That I was no contender;
his wrath he will reign down
Then gracefully a girl approached me
wearing a flowing gown
Into my ear she whispered,
a message that was sent from above
“All you need is in your heart
the most powerful weapons love.”
Heidi Shavill 2013
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 7:52 AM UTC
this love is now & new & once again
stabbing @ me like durga-like diety
with sweet golden daggers
an essential togetherness
teasing out of these odd surroundings
I was listening to Jack Kerouac on the way
home in his mad
bop rhapsody apocalypse
streaming out my speakers
while familiar streets crawl past
once again
I'm thinking
as the day old glum spread over me
& out to envelop all I see
how little different to be watching
seeing street signs all opening
into cul-de-sacs and open storefronts
paraded in the endless traffic flow
now bent slow over
feeding my cat crab cakes
that my mother made
myow myow, he goes
& I acknowledge
myow myow, he goes
& I answer
what?
what in god's name is
the matter with you?
myow myow
his solemn reply
licking @ a piece of
exposed claw meat
nestled among old bits
of dry brown kibble
how about this soul?
how about this life?
this sickness?
how about this always seeking I?
how about he music of my mind
in untraceable car rides alone?
wherefore to I wander
ceaselessly in search of what
wonders where I might be
born on the road of least descent
cat paws, grabs @ bottle caps on
grained wood table
my media
fizzles & searchlights
in my window
there is something I'm not facing
something inescapable, my love
like you
born of locusts in the dust, my love
like you
my weary dune-mother
how solemn are the tunes that run
thy face, o' mother and thy will
how broken are the lines upon thine
shining brow in bedroom windows
open to the world like peace
stolen in the sad glance I gaze @ everything
stolen is the cup I fill @ leaking kitchen
sink pipe strands of scent or bark
of neighbor dogs amusing grass flow
weather flowers under well I'm never
knowing what--I never will
no matter, all is well
another's all is nothing now
where knock goes streaming
crashing loud
like anvils in the rain
it's only me
how now, my dear contender?
like a shadow fallen into sound
how now the planets unwatered?
how now the roots are killed?
we all inhabit the same fears
how rabbit hides his smear
to give me a surprise
for me, none so dear
than the mystery
& April dies today
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC
there was a little dog a boxer dog was he
hoping maybe one day a boxing champ would be
he began to train with weights and a rope
to be a world contender was his only hope.
he did a lot of jogging and little run
training very hard he enjoyed the fun
now the dog was ready and in the ring did go
ten rounds was the distance he took it nice and slow.
he was doing well the crowd begin shout
then one mighty blow his opponent was knocked out
dog he was so happy a champion was he
held his belt up high for everyone to see.
he was very proud his dream it had come true
now goes down history like all the boxers do.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
there was a little dog a boxer dog was he
hoping maybe one day a boxing champ would be
he began to train with weights and a rope
to be a world contender was his only hope
he did a lot of jogging and little run
training very hard he enjoyed the fun
now the dog was ready and in the ring did go
ten rounds was the distance he took it nice and slow
he was doing well the crowd begin shout
then one mighty blow his opponent was knocked out
dog he was so happy a champion was he
held his belt up high for everyone to see
he was very proud his dream it had come true
now goes down history like all the boxers do
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
Why is life?
Called by poets
‘Pain with no end’
‘Disease without a cure’
Maybe It’s just
Misunderstood too
A question without an answer
A tired contender
in a ring of pain
‘why is life?’
Muttered the Stoners
and Addicts,
Eager to take
another sip,
another puff,
another pill.
‘Maybe under
The neon trip of
LSD and
DPH and
Anger and
Confusion,
There’s something more
To this thing called life.’
Why is life that is
Described by the parents
and the civilians
as ‘Precious’ and ‘Beautiful,
When I still see the scars
Dripping with
the blood I spilled
and tears I cried
dripping with the rage
That they forced on me
With just a faint
Memory
of Why.
‘I know!’
‘Why is life!’
Cried out by the pastor
and the priest
to be,
‘Impure and tormented’,
‘A messy, infected wound’,
‘A sore that must be cleansed
and bleached’
When the very systems
that swore to cleanse evil
kills those who do good
and condemn those
who simply express
who they are.
“why is life?”
I muttered,
bent over the
bathroom sink
hands stained
red
from the pills I took
to erase the pain
of life
Sep 26, 2024
Sep 26, 2024 at 11:29 AM UTC
Better Than You
Anytime, anyplace,
I will kick you in your face.
Anyhow, anywhere,
I will leave you in despair.
You name the place, tell me the time,
there isn't a word I can't rhyme.
Not a chance, I will loose,
your words leave a mental bruise.
I'm gods gift to the pen,
you have smaller ***** than Ken.
Don't hate the player, hate the game,
by now you all know my name.
I'm not a poet or a rapper,
just a rhymer, writer and a scrapper.
I entertain you with my catchy hooks,
it helps that I have sensational looks.
You're nothing but a fudge packing **** pirate,
oh I'm sorry, was that supposed to be private.
You can't mess with the rhyme master,
what a shame you turned into a disaster.
I've taught you everything you know,
but I left out the part how to properly flow.
You were my pupil, you tried to go alone,
like Medusa, I turned you into stone.
The **** you write, no one reads,
to me everyone eventually concedes.
You're like Pepsi, I'm like Coke,
I'm an unsolvable riddle, you're just a joke.
As I stand here waiting for the duel,
the longer I wait, the more I fuel.
I see you lurking in the shadows,
you're heading right for the gallows.
This is your last chance to surrender,
I commend you for trying to be a contender.
But as I suspected, I'm better than you,
I left your underwear brown, and your ***** blue.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
If language is a dead space ship between us
if its a sleeping chicken
instead of a casserole,
if it's cold tea,
a fake hug,
if it gets lost in the corners of the ceilings
and never reaches her heart
if it can't ever remove the training wheels
if it only knows dog days
if it will always be a contender
than we must start fires in the stars, with whatever we can
and stop pretending we give a **** about accuracy
or communication or being understood
I don't want you to understand me! Who gives figs for stuff like that any more?
I want you to set stars on fire in my name.
I want you to carve the lines of my body into the bowline of a pirate ship
I want you to not be able to leave the room
tear the bread in half,
don't return the library books
don't ask what I think
and don't stop asking
me to dance anyway. Even if it's an old
fashioned dilly. Even if I didn't
wear your mother's
dress, or ever can anything, even the
beautiful tomatoes that covered the red
clay. Ask me.
No matter what I say.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 1:49 PM UTC
It’s funny, you know you shouldn’t do it.
But then, when you lay there at the end of the day,
With your head spinning,
You know that you blew it.
Tin after tin assisting the spin,
Memories within kept under your skin,
Revolving and turning and wearing you thin,
Those long lost has-beens,
Inducing your sin.
You see, for me, I’m an ideas man, my brain constantly thinking,
Amplified and catalysed by the substance I’m drinking,
But it’s the thinking that’s linking my drinking to ink in,
These words,
While you sit there mistaking my wincing for winking,
...absurd.
Excuses excuses,
While abusing the juices,
Cause mere minor muses,
To produce abstruse bruises,
Your conduct confuses,
Peering, peers peruses,
Refusing acceptance induces,
Further misuses of boozes.
The taste is wasted,
On the embracing flavours,
As without haste you lay your,
Minimum pay wages down,
On the bar for more inebriation,
You try but you fail to
Waiver your behaviour,
But instead pave your way,
To your bottled slave labour.
It didn’t start out this way, it provided fun out of the blue,
To the problem I was blind as the issue grew and grew,
One turns to two,
Three increased to more,
Upon fixed shoulders heads askew,
Same face, different man, I assure.
Down the hatch they say, bottoms up, cheers!
As the liquor disappears it descends and it sears,
Wipe away the tears from the boozey souvenir,
And await that blissful place with no anxiety, no fears.
I understand why some find it bizarre,
How a soul can solely seek only for the jar,
My own experience has brought me in this far,
So now, this time, it’s time for me to start...
...Raising the bar,
By erasing the bar!!
Now I’ve admitted I have a problem,
I’m committed to drawing a line at the bottom,
Of my past I can’t be acquitted but of my future I can blossom,
No truth dismissive in reality this autumn.
So that’s it for now, I’m wagon bound,
I’m on off this big adventure,
I’ve been a clown, to let it get me down,
Too long in this game I’ve been a contender,
Feet on the ground, I’ll no longer frown,
From the pleasure faked, with measure after measure,
Sorrows no longer drowned, I’ll be around,
And my life, from now, will get better.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
I, Jack Gladstone (hereafter referred to as i),
Being of at least some form of mind and body write the contents of my day.
Set the scene:
It’s cold, it’s the winter and it’s cold.
It’s cold outside, it’s cold inside unless, of course, you’re wearing a sweater.
If you’re wearing a sweater you are just precisely over the border of Toowarmopolis
(population: i).
Int. an oddly nice community college library,
excellent when you consider the town it is in is occasionally the **** capital of Iowa (Ottumwa).
The main contender is nearby and is actually the other main campus for this said college (Centerville).
Coincidence? Is Indian Hills based on **** money? Is the administration a cartel?
To answer these questions in order: yes, doubtful, and of the textbook variety alone.
i sit with the courtesy headphones on listening to the Shins.
i, obviously, work on poetry assignments.
i work on my computer class.
Office is not as i remember it. It’s changed. It’s different. What means what?
i panic.
i realize it’s silly to panic.
i panic anyway.
i remind myself it is silly to panic.
i regain my composure. No one noticed.
i think.
i miss toolbars. i miss clippy. i miss words instead of symbols.
Is this what being old is like?
I’m far too young for that.
If this is me now what will i be like when I’m elderly?
Living in a world of holograms, infocubes, the wikimplant.
i lied about regaining composure before. i do that sometimes, lying i mean.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
At the mirrors edge I strain to see what else.
Tracing the frame, it’s there I drop out,
into a symmetrical arena. A personal hell.
Longing for the last after each new bout.
Every contender’s aim is one that can’t be helped.
Shadow boxing polar aspects of myself.
The only wager is penny-less.
A counterweight to doubt.
When the verdict is in,
who is it that wins out?
The bread winner of recycled debt
owed to the sentinel of the self.
The indelicately celibate
having *** with themselves.
**** you. Thank you."
**** you. Thank you."
**** you. Thank you.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
No no, this ain't one of those catchy love songs,
that get stuck in your head and play on the radio all day long
It's about life and meaning
all the way to the end from the beginning
and how the world keeps spinning,
when you fall down, whether your a happy or sad clown, nobody is gonna do it for you, you gotta get yourself off the ground
What makes it all okay, is that I wake up alive everyday
I like nice weather, but I won't ever complain, don't matter if it's sunshine or rain and what makes it even better is that when I fall apart I know I can put myself back together. Yeah I'll put me back together
I know sometimes you get angry, there will always be nights when you can't sleep
When it's bright you want it shady and things you've lost you wish you could keep
Just remember last September
when you were a number one contender for going on the worst ******
Don't forget the roads you've been down since,
keep kissin' toads girl, you'll find your prince
What makes it all okay,
is that you wake up alive everyday
So you don't complain about how sometimes you feel pain
and what makes it even better is that as long as you know you feel, you know you can heal. Yeah, you can heal
They both know that in a relationship there's a lot of give and less take
It's been twenty years
He still never lets his patience slip, without her he couldn't live, this love is anything but fake
She makes it clear she's always gonna be down to ride, she's there day after day
She's the one who will always stick by his side, even when they're old and gray
Everyday they let the other know they still feel the same way
What makes it all okay, is that they wake up side by side everyday
So they won't be bothered by the weather or ever complain,
don't matter if it's sunshine or rain
Either way to them it's bliss, they both feel life can't get any better than this
and every time they see a shooting star they know they've granted the others wish
Thank you W.B & D.B, your inspiration is priceless
-J.A.M
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC