"culturally" poems
i'm biracial
no i'm not an oreo
no i ain't your zebra
i ain't the best of both your worlds
i ain't mulatto either
i am white
and
i am black
living my life with a sense of inequality
my race always seems to follow me
no matter where i'm at
white people have jokes
black people have questions
my hair appeals to some of you
while the rest of you have suggestions
who said i needed you to tell me who to be?
who said i needed to explain who i really am underneath?
striving to be normal and thriving to be equal
i just so happen to be a white girl
that knows what it's like to be black
and that bothers a lot of people
my race may not define me but it is apart of who i am
so yes i get offended when you refuse to understand
that i am what i am
black and white
white and black
light brown complexion
***** curls front to back
a strong black woman resides inside and it's she you see
a white woman is there but will never be
but i never deny my lines culturally
because they are me
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
you used to come home loudly in the dark but
quietly in the day we’d be together
to compensate
we were only in love on Halloweens
you in those hundred dollar costumes worth two
in material and tiny fingers
**** rats and ER surgeons
to me with a pop-culturally relevant ******* mask
Frankenstein (to the dumb dudes that go to these things)
that chisels me like a jell-o mold
that blurs her infinitely beautiful walking-away
the blooming glances pairing parting lips to talk ********
caking the ***** reeling in our heads
winding round the spindle hooked tight
pulling my hard-hat plastic-green face
to the windmill
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 3:02 AM UTC
I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of
but I can't be tied to those forever
so people forgive and forget
I try to forget but still feel bad
and I know there are still sore subjects
that I should be sensitive about.
Scrolling through Reddit I see a post
of Māori students at an airport
greeting their returning teacher
with a traditional Māori war dance
which was an admittedly sweet gesture
but something didn't sit right with me.
I wondered why the students greeting their teacher
had to do so through a display of militaristic nationalism
I wondered if that was the last dance the Moriori people saw
before the Māori genocided them for their resources
I wondered if the Māori danced like that
as they ***** murdered, and cannibalized the Moriori.
Wondering all of this made me ask myself:
Why did they have to greet their teacher like that?
The students wanted to make a big gesture
which dancing is perfect for
but dancing can also be vulnerable and embarrassing
because people may mock how you express yourself
but strangers at the airport are less likely to laugh at you
if you're doing a synchronized dance with a group of people
and the dancing is recognizably tied to national identity
because then it's a culturally rich dance
you're a xenophobe for laughing at
and that's what nationalism is:
strength in numbers and a readymade identity
in lieu of an individual personality
oftentimes for the sake of pistanthrophobia.
So as I read the circlejerking comments on the post
I wondered what the difference is between
a Māori war dance and a **** salute
I guess the Māori people have experienced
more oppression than Nazis
but nationalism is nationalism
and those who have oppressed are oppressors
and many who are oppressed would gladly
be oppressors given the chance.
Nationalism isn't healthy for culture
and often isolates people from other cultures
that are all combining due to globalization
which people fight to preserve their little dances and costumes
so we can stay in eternal conflict over delusions of supremacy
when the only nationality should be a global one.
Aug 28, 2022
Aug 28, 2022 at 8:41 PM UTC
.simone biles (the gymnast)...
miles davis (the trumpet guy)...
must be black privilege;
wasn't there a movie...
starring
woody harrelson
and wesley snipes?
you sure?
i thought it was
called: white men can't jump...
sure as **** ****** can
sing church gospel!
how's that for
privilege?
if you're going to
culturally box, and repeatedly
punch below the belt...
you're quiet likely going
to get a reaction...
i have an acne wart growing
on my *** the size
of a cauliflower,
it's itchy my brain,
it's differentiating between
agitate and: lying back...
i guess the excess of...
look... you may have
the excess melanin...
i have lactose tolerance...
we're even?!
no?
so how come some smurf,
some European hobbit
shackle your N.B.A.
Goliath(s)?!
explain that one to me...
if these people were so
cock-unsure...
how they **** did they
tame the Zulu Apache Goliath
bodybuilders?!
what the ****
i already said, and it was proven...
IQ...
i don't like it...
but i'm pretty sure that
the whites **** more people
in terrorist attacks than...
camel-jockeys...
it took 3 or over three...
to perform the Bataclan Massacre...
three... the third of the IQ
that required a Breivik...
130 in France...
dissociated among 3 attackers
that gorged on testicles after the spree...
fun, fun fun fun...
like: you're trying to say that without
irony...
and how many in Norway?
77...
i only look at the IQ of killers...
so... what's the ratio?
77 / 1
130 / 3 = 43...
like i said... low IQ...
you really want your little
racial insurrection?
you'll have it, don't worry..
i'll just the narrative...
must be black privy...
if you can mash up a jazz compos.,
right?
crackers read from
a prepared script...
you ******* just, "improvise"...
rapping contra talking...
**** come to think of it...
******* boys took it too far from
your Oreos...
like... too much drums...
not enough wind, or strings...
too much drumming...
pulverizing the ears
with drum & bass and what not...
if i wasn't deaf prior,
i'm deaf by now;
******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops
boy;
same **** different cover.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
Pollution of the mind is real.
Our minds are cluttered with uselessness.
Stories on the street repeated mindlessly.
Words describe men and women as animals.
We insult the person and demean the animal.
We are no longer part of nature, unnatural we are.
People are dumb as a donkey, wise as an owl.
If a woman disagrees she is a ***** fights, a cat, she is.
To be a good mother you have to be a hen.
A man is built like a horse he is part of a stable.
In times of slavery Black people were animal, soulless.
Confusion between humans and animals caused by disconnection.
Religions and Politics in ****** use rats to justify: hatred.
Jews are told they are pigs, and drink blood.
Blood and Pigs are forbidden in Judaism.
Culturally socially we repeat mindlessly: slander.
Our connection to the earth and animal is lost so is our humanity.
Pollution of the earth causes pollution of the mind.
The earth cleanses itself by fire and ice.
The mind can also: freeze out these concepts these fallacies.
Burn the words that are defamation and abomination.
Do; yes do this to avoid the fires of hell.
Soon, hell will freeze over and become heaven.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
No parenthetical this time in my rhyme, I'll lie flat the baseline like, Here are my cards, bro. Take a look at them all, bro. Get started with just the light kinds of gospel like, Bro, did you know I got a **** down there? Taken aback you say, What? Bro, did you know I'm packing a tackle, though so modest in stature, bro, instead of a package I joke split/second to cope and still manage to crack a satanic smile as I call my most modest hose a gigantic, titanic ****
Word. You got nice lips, still, though, how bout you look up and get down on me, yo? Word is that I handle it with alarming aplomb considering how I present myself to the world. So what I got a culturally appropriated slab of ink tattoo yo. Just a guy trying to get along with the little he's got, and then on top of that I like to slide my **** n stuff. How about me too? Cause I can get down on you if we both repeat **** like we believe it. You got ***** bam, and plump curved fat just as all the girls growing up had, fashionable hair and even a soft face. You, girl, I can bend you over. Sure, be glad to bend you over.
Rough riding baring face to the wind on highways
I never thought I would be here deciding
Do I believe in others' abilities enough to believe that they know me as
If they would know a human?
Get close, pry in, to my life,
you'll find a lion, lonely, dragging coats of molted skin
with wire stolen from her other lives,
the desperate lioness devours the food she can.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 6:29 AM UTC
(For context, I went to...)
British Kindergarten in England,
French Elementary in Switzerland,
International MS in England,
French HS, then Int'l HS in Korea,
(And then completed...)
Undergraduate studies in NJ, USA,
9-month gap year in Hong Kong,
Graduate studies in QC, Canada.
------------------------------------------------------------
I have shattered my identity.
Frequently. Involuntarily.
I have undergone assimilation.
Socially. Psychologically.
I have encountered discrimination.
Directly. Racially.
I have endured isolation.
Grievingly. Impotently.
I have ill-wished on others.
Subconsciously. Unintentionally.
HOWEVER –
I have learned to be human.
Individually. Collectively.
I have discovered empathy.
Emotionally. Compassionately.
I have gained knowledge.
Culturally. Geographically.
I have acquired expertise.
Intellectually. Linguistically.
I have become a citizen.
Locally. Globally.
Perhaps we who are born and meant to move,
Are intended to, and exist to locomote forever,
Walking lands, sailing oceans, mastering the world.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 8:00 AM UTC
Don't you think it's strange
When the countries claim to support
Multiculturalism and diversity
But so on people go on to say
The food you eat is gross
It's fine, no need to say it
If they offer you some, then simply reject it
What happened to acceptance and tolerance
When all they seems to compensate for are
Western food, do you not feel this way?
There are plenty more;
The cloth you wear is strange, let them be hijab, burka and so many more
The religion you follow is weird, let them be Sikhs, Jains and so many more
I don't like your ethnicity, let them be Chinese, Muslim and so many more
I don't like your gender identity, let them be female, transgender and so many more
I don't like your ****** identiy, let them be gay, lesbian and so many more
We are the minority and always under-represented within majority
Feeling like stifled, palms sweaty as we know we have target behind out back
Identity we have and must continue to protect
For that's what makes who we are
But to which standard are we conforming to?
To which standard are we assimilating to?
(why don't you fill in the blank, as plenty people knows,
western rules and the majority are cruel)
They said we had free will, a human right from democracy
But societal pressure comes and claim the right to express culturally
So I ever so hate the country and the people
For all the promises seem to turn out to be broken
People cry out for them to go back to their original countries
when they have just like others, earned their right to stay
when they have no place to go back to, only in their head
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 11:19 PM UTC
Once I looked to the Bard for words profound;
ageless, his wisdom ran unabated.
Yet Hamlet is now ideologically unsound,
“the slings and arrows” historically Iocated.
I wept for the creature of Frankenstein,
spurned by his master, forced to roam the Earth.
But I’d been subjectively positioned in a paradigm
by Mary’s anxiety about childbirth.
I read Balzac, Hardy and Henry James
describing “worlds” which seemed quite sensible.
Now Eagleton’s exposed their bourgeois games
I find them morally reprehensible.
I dreamt of being Robinson Crusoe
or proud, fierce Hawkeye in his buckskins dressed,
but Fenimore and Defoe have to go,
they’re culturally encoded and empirically obsessed.
Inspired by Guinness, did James Joyce sit down
to see what magic flowed when he was ******
The stream of Ulysses floats Bloom-about-town
dreamthinkingnever : “I’mamodernist”.
I’d gladly give Woolf a Room of Her Own
and be one of the boys with Hemingway,
but sensitive guys leave their bulls alone
say de Beauvoir and Luce Irigaray.
No more fun with Wordsworth being daffodilly,
no simple pleasure reading Mickey Mouse;
Steamboat Willie can’t help but look silly
dissected by Foucault and Levi-Strauss.
The Bible shows intertextuality
says the two Jacques, Lacan and Derrida.
Judas, a construct of bisexuality?
The **** fixations of Herod are?
It’s got so bad I deconstruct a holiday brochure.
I can’t even **** without Roland Barthes and Ferdinand de Saussure.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
Let's face it
its more ******** warfare
culturally they are used to faking it
as thimbles and chipolatas in ninety seconds
do not reach first base much less seeing stars on cloud nine
hence they woke and fake the reality they chose be it feel or fright
in woke solidarity against frustrations they cloned their made-up foe
what better than sturdy shining Mandingo loaded and tied up
there for the having to your heart's content
presented to you the untamed beast
the wild moor tooled hot and ready
raw animalistic unfettered passion
rock hard we can name him Rocky
that goer that delivers every time
the one that is all your men aren't
and can never be cause he's gifted
sleek like dolphin in rhythmic glide
tasty like fresh clean mushroom
Arabian stallion if ever there's one
with absolute pedigree and class
take a break from the mediocre
from the wham bangs no can dos
from the floppy quick-draws saps
imagine the dark horse with the most
in smooth soft pink leathery velvet
tis your secret your guilty pleasure
tis the obsession you made into a war
the fantasy that plays in your heads
tis behind fervours that haunts you
that you so well disguise in hatred
telling metaphors slip out Freud
hold him down, grind him hard
wear him out, let's wreck him so
the sado masochistic 'punishing him'
give him a hard time, it all says a lot
you twist innocent sentences into
****** innuendos and innocent actions
are falsely given ****** meanings
as morn noon and night you toil
you troll and agitate for attention
yes you twist turn bite and nibble
in Freudian throes you talk love
you glaze unrequited love relentlessly
you close your eyes and dream sweet pain
yeah! get real, its no psyche warfare
its a flutters obsession, it's the classic '
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
its how you float your boats and and get yer thrills
you better face it you're all addicted
It's an ******** War-fare and you all know so.....
Jun 22, 2021
Jun 22, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
Because it's really ******* degrading to put your
work everywhere, often times for free,
and to not even get **** back.
I'm also really ******* sick of teenagers.
Yeah, that means you too.
Here's a poem called,
**** the Patriarchy!";
"Someone told me it's just as
reasonable for men to fear ****
on the streets, as women. I've
been dropped into place and now
I realize I'm a radical feminist.
The kind of feminist people
check for under their beds at night.
The unapologetic type of feminist
who doesn't believe
in a "loud minority" of men haters,
but an eager audience listening for them.
The kind who doesn't play for your
culturally and historically inept ********
The uncompromising feminist.
Patriarchy is a cage,
feminism is my hammer;
I'm not trying to get out,
I'm going to **** this place up".
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
i care, i really do...
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...
no, i do...
i'm trying...
ha ha...
i'm just imagining what
that one word
looks like in Hebrew...
the...
ha-shem...
i.e.
the-name....
laughing, but at the same time
saying the definite article
over, and over, and over again...
the the the the... v'eh v'eh v'eh...
"point"?!
what point?!
calling a cactus a *******
cactus?
or calling it
an semiticl headscarf?
which is which?
a skirt just covering
the knee?!
better ask your women
to wear gloves...
i seem to enjoy the fact
that the most ****** part of
a woman, are her hands...
geisha hands...
and wrists i could look
at like i might an enjoy an hour
with a bottle of wine...
aha!
tell me...
what's the difference between
a didgeridoo...
and a modern, nordic shamanic chant
akin to to the berserker warcry
in one of
heilung's song,
notably
alfadhirhaiti
where the audience go mad
with fervor & fury...
because didn't you know,
they say:
don't take to d.n.a. ancestor testing,
watch what you absorb culturally...
from what i heard...
the ugly vikings founded
the city of Kiev,
so they must have passed past my parts...
hidden Baltic -
grazing mother of soured milk
that intermediates
a stasis prior to yogurt -
no wolves in england...
i'll pet a a fox therefore...
scoop and swoon -
the baronical patience of
a shadow admirer.;
even if the Jews have abandoned
Europe...
what the left?
is beside the origin of what
the crucifix constitutes...
even if the Jews abandoned
Europe, what they pressed was
the antagonism of Greece -
they pursued ancient Greece -
until the world, and all matters Latin -
stood to understand -
the Jews left Europe,
abandoning the pursuit of Greek -
penitent people, noble people...
until the library of Nag Hammadi
emerged from
the sands of both time,
and Egypt...
noble people... penitent people...
these Israelites -
these Jobs of disgruntled time -
Hiob, Yob, Hiob, Job...
i am barren in wanting to "forgive"
the Jews...
how they pursued ancient Greek
to avenge the emergence of
the Second Troy in Rome...
with Rome...
no Greek will stand on these words
with an Achilles heel...
the Jews pursued the Greek
revisionism of their testament
long enough...
as what Nero found hilarious...
i take to wind and soul with
a drunk mind,
but a sober heart.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
What will happen here?
Do we know how to love
Or how to live?
FOR WITHOUT LOVE THERE IS NO LIFE
---
Love is NOT
For
--falling into---
Or
----out of----
--
It is NOT
An emotion
..
It is an
Enlightened ACTION
(Not reaction)
--
Love!
--
It is not a game in which
You
Hurt someone
As a means of
Easing your own pain
And sense of humiliation
You feel within a phony
Peer pressure
That has captivated you culturally!
--
I know my poems are ----IN VAIN
--
But it's hard to sit here silently
Listening to you DIE
(Not--cry
For you don't really express
True meaning
Or true pain)
--
And you don't really
Try to help one another
But merely re-inforce
The sense
That the false culture is real
And that the suffering therefor is unavoidable!
Thanks for nothin!
_
I love you all
But
Truly
Hence the sense
That it is
A meaningless thing to do
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 12:33 PM UTC
Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response
It is quite mysterious the origin of such pleasure
Common is the multi-culturally adopted belief
That large fractions of massive populations
Label themselves as insomniacs
If anything this newfound viral sensation
May very well exist to cure insomnia
ASMR comes in a variety of different sounds
That help to release melatonin and aid the body in sleeping
Such sounds include inaudible whispering, gum chewing, table scratching, match lighting,
Ear to ear whispering, tapping, brushing, and crinkling.
These sounds are beautiful, inventive, ground breaking and a relevant discovery
Within the continuous cycle that is known to us as evolution
A vast majority of us have talking brains
Some of our brains talk more than others
Resulting in sleep deprivation on numerous occasions
We have been given a unique, sensational gift
That aids those in times of misfortune and grief
That aids those in emotional tribulation
Though it is through this global phenomenon
and it is through these talented individuals
that we are able to possibly if not entirely
conquer said debilitating times
A way to persuade peace amidst a callous world
That is what ASMR means to me
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
Looking through a complex eye
poisoned by countless vials of nitroglycerin
the world sings a familiar tune of
an ineradicable human urge for lethal conflict.
A world view
of culturally intolerant tyrants and a place
where Robin Hood does not exist, instead
his former self sits wallowing in the tragic misadventures of human dignity.
Society now aids the pauper,
who is but a superficial vagabond sitting intrigued by
hopeless people from distant lands.
As the innocent of Beirut lie murdered
the reaper tastes regret,
while bank accounts paint self portraits
instilled by ephemeral yet righteous morality.
Dangerously speeding through the lanes of life
to make it home just before it rains;
the world all encompassing
is never the concern.
Halos hover above diet pills dressed in simple linens
for everything is an easy fix;
lies, hatred, ignorance, and blatant evil,
all can be fixed by ignoring the even lies (the even lines that lie above).
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC
The curse of a great, well-known or (at least) culturally interesting family.
Heralded at birth to mimic similar (or even, surpassing) social feats of achievement/wealth/renown.
Instead manages to underpasses even mundane non-impressivenesses of second-generation parentals.
I
See them, smirk or folly with time, silently.
....which they seem to quite often.
Biding weekend with multitudes of varying categories of "friends"
and sweethearts who never seem to stick around too long
All aware, of course, of the famous family lineage
Themselves, instead
after lifetimes where first words, senior infants homework,
cheerful accusations of mischief and certificates of age-appropriate health
were lauded as signifiers of a future onslaught of fulfilled capabilities
emerge as providence's lackeys– and meekly, to be
Written out of History
One by One by One.
II
Talent is frequently a despairing life-cycle
for people who witness
and go without.
III
But what price success?
Is it to be counted in public
or left behind in wreaths?
Stern evidence
of favour, fought for and won
or shaky good fortune
One life's profitable fluke
IV
Does the cost of success itself
admit backstories of other kinds of loss
that children
without the chance of ever knowing
or changing their inheritances of fate
are powerless to cease the flow
of their own anonymity
all for the insistences of the unarguable
and for merely treading the average?
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
I am pleased, might finally speak about my witch friend
share with you some of her wits and trends
Masters today desecrate the truth,
meditation and visualization are nothing but outdated tools
Culturally, relatively free i write fearless,
Contemplation overcomes meditation,
Spirituality conqueres religion ,
I formless, will not abide to your anticipations
I renounce my knowledge and education
Transparency , revolution,
Love works,
It has been scientifically proven
We are what we think
Thoughts procure reality
it has been confirmed quantum physically
So what's your excuse?
take control and imagine the best version of YOU
Imagination is the key to reaching everything and beyond
Words Of Harfouchism
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 7:27 AM UTC
You have failed to accept the truth
Here you are following their semantic rules
Playing the role of a social robot
One that is being brainwashed non stop
It has become a form of art
That ripped your thoughts apart
Indulged you in its pratices
Wrapping you around its clutches
While you rest, they create your reality
Making their words your best rhapsody
When in fact, it's just a treading enemy
Reinforced linguistically and sanctioned culturally
You work hard towards the prosperity of the opressor
And to those who dare fight, you take extreme measures
You have a lopsided point of view of a rigid world
Yet you do nothing to change it and appear undisturbed
Isn't it time to emancipate yourself aginst such actions?
Form your own truth and make your own decisions?
Educate yourself and free your mind
Leave what you thought is the truth behind.
May 14, 2022
May 14, 2022 at 10:12 AM UTC
I was going to write a poem
about the distance
I walk
girls to their cars.
You know, to the door?
down the stairs to the front porch?
out to the first step for that last, awkward hug?
do I really like them?
Am I concerned for their safety
or is this just
the obligatory,
socially and culturally
acceptable
distance for me to walk with this particular individual?
Did I even get out of bed?
Is the distance I walk directly proportional to the amount of feelings I have for that person at that time?
Or does time of day or night play into it?
Do I actually walk them
all the way
down the hill
to where they are allowed to park,
if they are a one nighter but it is 3 a.m.?
Or perhaps to the end of my lawn,
at the opening of my small,
rickety,
barely noticed
fence,
which keeps nothing in or out,
to hold them so tight that they know,
they just know
with every molecule in their essence
that I am theirs,
all of me,
and that I do not want them
to leave
but if they must,
I shall be waiting
eagerly
with every molecule of my essence
to breathe them in again,
to feel them near me again,
to smell their sweat again?
I was going to write about that.
But then I thought,
why not write about your plants?
I realized the other day,
while watering my various plants,
six in total,
that all of them had been given to me.
They were all gifts.
By women.
My dear mother,
both of my beautiful sisters,
two rotten ex-girlfriends of mine,
and a kickass lesbian friend
I met through somebody
that got walked to the front porch.
Surely
there must be a poem
in there somewhere, I thought.
With all the females
and the ***
and the plants
and soil
and life
and all that other ********
surely
I must be able
to conjure up
something beautiful,
something wonderful
and profound
and bewildering
and inspiring
and all that other ********
but sadly for you
dear reader,
all I could come up with
was this piece of ****
you just read.
The good thing is,
I didn't write this for you.
I wrote this for me.
I have to.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 12:06 AM UTC
Through cold New England January's air
I saw him (Frost) squint,
iconic
from across the East Portico,
culturally symbolic
on a platform above me (I was twenty-eight).
Years later I knew the paper
he held hard to read,
his hotel's old typewriter
running low on ink
the night before.
The illegible poem a preface
to the one Kennedy requested -
the one he'd read years before (ca. 1942)
in the Virginia Quarterly Review,
eyes watering.
Frost stood there, faltering
in the new-fallen snow's reflective light,
half-blinded,
and I was twenty-eight as I thought,
"Kennedy:
cultured man,
sycophant, or...?"
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 3:49 AM UTC
The first word in Arabic
You ever taught me
Was Aoheb:
Love,
Spelled G-I-V-E
The kind that
I forgot what I was
When I felt you holding me.
But only privately.
Like crossing the street,
We look both ways
Before our hands meet.
Because even though
it's okay for me
Culturally..
We don't do that
Until we're married.
But just like
The next words
You taught me,
Ana fahemt:
I understand.
Like that time
I called you a beautiful Woman..
You got so mad because
You want to stay a girl forever.
Baby,
I never
Want to grow up
Together
I want to grow in.
So give me a garden
To come home to
Give me a heart
I can roam through
When it's 3AM
And both of us
Have **** to. do.
One day,
When we're tired
Of learning each other's language
You can call me Frankie,
And frankly,
I'll fly you to the moon.
Give my very breath to you
I'll keep you so warm
In my arms that baby,
Your blood will boil.
And I don't mean to spoil the fun
But could you please put that
Super cute face of yours away?
Because
Your smile,
Is so bright
Solar radiation
Needs sunglasses.
And even though
You're sweet as molasses
I don't think that Nasa's
Satellites can handle that
Amount of sunshine right now.
I think
"Ana bufuker."
...really? .. "Ana buhfucker?..
Whatever.. Ana bafaker:
I think,
Google translate is awful.
Especially when it involves
Conversations with your
Your dad and me
Because honestly
I always think I'm gonna
Say the wrong thing
At the wrong time.
And I always just end up
Saying the wrong thing
at the wrong time.
But somehow you always
Seem to know how to
read my mind.
So
Habiby. Aomry. Hayaty.
My love, My life, My age...
...And the rest of the poem is none of your business.
Truly. It's between that girl and I.
But I will say this though:
We don't talk much anymore
And I'm not really sure why.
But I know that
Somewhere out there,
In-between all of the ********
Of our daily lives;
There is a girl that
Is going to speak my language.
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
Lost within plain sight.
Heart rhythms of sinus gone to tach
my heart beats for what?
So lucid and everquestioning
just taking space in my mind
questions unanswered
drifting in the universe
lost within plain sight
Minds racing.
Here is the future,
so out of reach.
Culturally deceived truth; it's all relative.
Society smells of it, lies and ludeness impacting.
Exposed indefinite maliciousness
life and the revelation therein,
being ever lost; within plain sight
Jan 24, 2011
Jan 24, 2011 at 2:32 AM UTC