"cupcake" poems
They put me in the oven to bake.
Me a deprived and miserable cake.
Feeling the heat I started to bubble.
Watching the others I knew I was in trouble
They opened the door and I started my life.
Frosting me with a silver knife.
Decorating me with candy jewels.
The rest of my batch looked like fools.
Lifting me up, she took off my wrapper.
Feeling the breeze, I wanted to slap her.
Opening her mouth with shiny teeth inside.
This was the day this cupcake had died.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
the smell of cupcake freshly baked,
is you in my arms the morning as i wake up
-- sweet
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC
I am stoner,
watch me soar!
I am a handle,
that opens your door.
I am the sunshine,
which keeps you so warm.
I am the wind,
that fuels this storm.
I am a smile,
to a stranger on the street.
I am a cupcake,
too pretty to eat.
I am a lake
for you to escape from heat.
I am a steak,
though I don't condone eating meat.
I am a girl,
the madonna and the *****
I am stoner,
and so much more.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:44 PM UTC
maybe i'm an acquired taste
maybe i'm like an artichoke cupcake
maybe you learn to like me
maybe you don't
maybe i try too hard
maybe i don't
maybe it's not me this time
maybe you only like cupcake
maybe you only like artichoke
maybe one day there will be someone
who likes both
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC
Without you is like life without joy
Without you I know not true sweetness
Without you I am but a bitter misery
You who I made from scratch
And baked lovingly in a batch
Your delectable aroma etched in my memory
Your soft sponge so very airy
You are my sinful indulgence
Truly you are a decadence
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC
You are the love of my life, my everything
This is how I feel deep inside.
Without you my life would be incomplete
My whole being is so full of pride.
I have joy rushing around my soul
Laughter lives in my blood stream
There is a sense of hope deep within me
You are my strawberries and cream.
You are the perfect cup of tea
The perfect topping on my cupcake
You open floodgates letting love rush in
Without you, well my heart would ache.
I love you more than thee are grains of sand
stars in our sky. impossible to measure.
You are my cherry on top of the icing
You are the perfect golden treasure.
Each time you go I worry begging you back
Each time you leave me my eyes weep tears
I catch each salty reminder that you've gone
They are tiny, damp but they are souvenirs.
I have inside of me love which will not die
a pump that will refuse to lose its tick - my heart
This heart could not possibly hold more love
It is jam packed, it is a complex body part.
For all of these reasons, you are my everything
Without you my body would crumble with pains
My skin would wither, my blood dry in its tracks
Without you I woud have empty veins.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
My birthday comes in a little over 2 weeks and I think when people talk about birthdays, they are secretly talking about status in blocked hours.
Somewhere in that 24 hour block, a person was born, and that person was me. .....well Yay I guess.
I don't like my birthday. And the reasons for that, are more complicated than you think.
When I was 13, I was really into cupcake birthday cakes. I asked for one, every year, for a long time.
When I turned 15 and 16, my best friend baked me cupcakes and brought them to school for me, and I shared them with my peers. You see, I considered her my best friend, and I guess that's not enough to be the best friend.
It's like unrequited love if you put poisonous platonic friendship in my blood first.
When I turned 17, she did baked me my last set of cupcakes, but I no longer had a best friend. So I spent my birthday mentally by myself while my family sang otherwise.
And right now, I hate cupcakes, and superhero films because they remind me of her. But saying that is the weakest thing to do, since everything, reminds me of her.
I will never admit I loved her, the same way she will shamelessly say she never loved me. I can't hate her, but I can't see her without hating myself.
You know age, goes up, the same way sadness, goes down. Pulling you into another 24 hour block just so you can say.
"Hey. I made it another day."
I will admit that every day without her is another day without cupcakes, and another day without sugar is another day without happiness. And people may have asked me "How can you flip-flop between preferences like you're not the biggest homosexual in the closet." So when I tell people I'm straight, they tell me I'm not allowed to change my mind.
I loved her, but she left me and took all of my friends with her. And I thought that real friends wouldn't abandon me, but there is always time to be wrong. By the time my birthday comes, I'll be crying, and she doesn't even remember what day my birthday is on.
By the time I read this out loud, I will have been through this birthday, like a person walks through fire. Turning 16 is less about age, then it is about school, and turning 18, is less about the number, and more about becoming an adult. And no amount of adult can neutralize pain.
I have accepted the fact that no man will ever really want to marry me. And no Christian, will ever truly want to love me.
And if I am wrong, I will have to repeat this lost love forever dragging it out in my life.
And if I have kids one day, do you really think...
That I'm going to tell everyone if it's a boy or a girl...
By making blue or pink...
...cupcakes?
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 4:07 AM UTC
"Too much vanilla
Can make the cupcake bitter
Do not put a lot."
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 3:02 AM UTC
Once again I can’t sleep
Death’s scythe grasps me
And the voices, the people
Inside my head they creep
They lurk in dark corners
Of the room, and my mind
I hide under disorders
From their malevolent bind
I know I can’t hide, for they see me when I’m there
Running is pointless, they’re with me everywhere.
Quitting is sole escape, from pain and sorrow;
The life once mine, is one I daily borrow.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
*He reminds me of
red velvet cupcakes.
His clothes are dark
like it's wrapper. Skin
as sweet as the white
frosting placed as the
topping. Cheeks blood
red like the colour
additive added in the
recipe. He's sweeter
than honey coming out
of the queen bee. I'm
telling you he's a cupcake
to me*. ~
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
Part of me will never forgive myself
for not following through on the promise I made to you
But another part
knows that you wanted me too
Forced me to
Part of my brain was already on the way to the store
to get cupcake making supplies
when the other part of me,
remembered that you don’t have a sweet tooth
Unless the cupcake was laced with misery,
there was no way you would sink your teeth into it
I wonder why you had wanted confetti cake
when all you know is grey
I wonder if you were hoping that I could bake some color
back into your throat
so that your own voice
mattered to you again
I convince myself that things are better this way
but it is like wishing on a cake the day after your birthday
Forced and futile
though appreciating the sentiments.
I would have given you the universe baked deep
inside of the cupcakes that were my proof that I could be worthy
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
Quaint
pink curtains and tablecloths.
White walls.
The sugary smell of almonds, pistachio
and butterscotch skip around the room,
playing hopscotch and Mary Mack.
The display is impressive,
I can smell each grain of sugar
in these petit cupcakes and dollops of icing.
And then a little girl wails!
Mommy won't buy
her anymore
sweet treats.
Bawling--
the girl does an angry-stomp-dance-
and then a woman, livid--
storms up to the counter.
I said half dozen almond biscotti.
I can't take these to my book club.
Isn't anyone here competent?
Her booming voice has no effect
on the lone,
tired African-American woman behind the counter.
She seems disassociated from the present chaos.
The dark circles under her eyes
and the surrounding pursed lip wrinkles say everything.
Excuse me, but I've been waiting
on a refill of the complimentary coffee
for over ten minutes now
an uptight gent in a business suit complains.
When the woman behind the counter
pulls out out a shotgun--
there is silence.
This ain't what I wanted
she whimpers just before
the weapon gracefully slides
under her chin--
--!BAM!--
As I walk out the door,
I wonder how long it will
take for someone to realize
that's not red icing or sprinkles
on the cupcakes.
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 10:32 AM UTC
like a good poet, I whine and whinny:
the muses are unreliable, get too much paid vacation,
unlimited unpaid, and pretend their cells are out of range,
even when they are in bed with you and you’re near desperate
to cop a feel of inspiration
my problem is a variation on the theme. Everyday I jot down
too many possibilities, a handful of words added to the list of
pound bound childless titles, sad faced orphans, dogs and cats,
squeaking “pick me, pick me,”
our reply a casual
“you on the list” rather than admit they are titled, but bodiless
until cupid smashes a cupcake in my face and the bell rings
there they stand - at a friendless crossroads - direction home,
path unknown, awaiting a poet tour guide to complete them
if this sounds a bit like a bad achy breaky country song,
then you and I, on the same side of where I could be headed
cause at the friendless crossroads, always unsure, left foot first? that first line, first step, could be a false messiah,
or a free-at-last, a free-at-last emancipation
but there are no sidelines in a forest there no sidelines in a poet’s mind; there are the minefields of mindfulness that can explore explode and explain why it is tempting to believe that every gifted one deserves a break today
but you cannot be broken or break off from the community
“Hillel said: Do not separate yourself from the community; and do not trust in yourself until the day of your death. Do not judge your fellow until you are in his place. Do not say something that cannot be understood but will be understood in the end. Say not: When I have time I will study because you may never have the time”
my friend,
substitute writing poetry for study, for study is for us the analysis of everything, that is, everything we say, see and know the need to communicate
so
those who abide in the life of good words will not suffer an abdication (yours)
do not think
there are friendless crossroads,
there are only crossroads that the eye cannot yet see a fellow sojourner coming toward him,
bearing an oversized load of
the inside insight of responsibility
that demands sharing
that is why we call our meetings at
a crossroads,
a cross
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
Pretty Little Cup Cake Store:
I walk through the door.
Somehow I think it will
Cheer me up.
A white iced-pink sprinkled cupcake
Will help me forget.
While unwrapping the trendy black and baby blue doted baking paper
Will bring back the past again.
But, even I know it is a ruse
A joke I play on myself.
You know the owners are some super hot soccer moms whose family invested in their latest project.
Those **** bakers with pretty white aprons
And size two retro-pink waitress uniforms;
Smiling and cooing at the lavender infused cake
That makes this treat go down so smooth.
A gluten-free icing with a garnish of kumquat.
This will land their pictures on the local news.
I am not a size two.
I will just as soon eat a nutty-buddy by Little Debbie
But, this trendy cupcake cafe, makes me feel I am one of those
Pretty ladies in the retro pink waitress uniform.
Kinda like a celebration, for a party of one.
I am not a hot pretty stick chick
I will buy four, five or six of those pretty cupcakes.
Pretending I am buying a hostess gift.
But, the truth.....
My husband forgot that we married
8 years ago this day.
I will pay too much for too little product: but the cake box is cute
I will sit in my car
Eating, till my teeth hurt.
I will rationalize; that I will cleanse tomorrow.
I will go home.
He will ask how I am, while staring at the TV.
"Shussh" he will say, "I'm trying to hear."
There is no use to remind him
He will play the tired "I'm-in-the-dog-house game."
I prefer stuffing four, five or six pretty little cupcakes
Into my mouth then listening
To his tired apologies, weak little lies and false promises of a planned
Surprise.
Instead; I will go to my room; then my private bath:
I will stick my fingers down my throat
And cough up my life.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC
I'll just have a taste
just have one
two
three
four
sticky mess
all over my hands
why couldn't I stop
I don't remember doing this
frosting drying up my mouth
only solaced by further sugar
sticky mess
all over my hands
I can't wash it off
I can't get it off
it's engraved there
sticky mess
all over my hands
tormenting me
making me sick
sticky mess
all over my hands
purge it out
get it out
shower drowning out the sound
sticky mess
all over my hands
I'm disgusting
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
your hair appears darker
when wet.
black, corded,
thick as puzzlegrass.
a companion in contrast
to frosted
cupcake blue eyes and
incense burning
in the ashtray.
memories thrown
in the laundry pile
with the wet towel
swirling upon
your head.
your smile
bitter as asparagus,
staining my *****
for the next two days.
your frame
soft and slender
as balsa wood.
I’d eat your air
freshly oxygenated
and bend you into
an arc.
the waves would split
on your bow
and shower my face
wet
dark
corded
thick as puzzlegrass.
then
from your finger
the standard of a
dove leaving
olive branch in
mouth
into the frosted
cupcake blue
sky.
a miracle in
the eye of the
waning storm.
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 2:38 PM UTC
The Horse Race.
The announcer says the horse is at the gate.
There is wee ***** on your just silly;
Patty shes riding cupcake bite.
**** hes on hiccup.
The gate open and they are off. It's **** on hiccup, cup cake and wee ***** on just silly.
As the get to turn one it's ***** on just silly,Dick has hiccup at second and patty riding third with cupcake.
In turn two it's just silly,hiccup and cupcake. Turn four its cupcake,hick just silly
And now at the wire you got hiccup just silly and cupcake.
People we have to stop the race. Wee ***** on just silly ate patty cupcake which gave him the hiccups.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
what I really wanted had little to do with
cupcakes
and everything to do with the way
your eyes followed my
lips & tongue
as I pulled the first taste of icing
into a mouth that has been
ready to tell you "yes"
since before you formed
the question.
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 1:22 AM UTC
and i guess
i'm never
going to be liked,
because being a muffin
isn't attractive.
and like others
i'd rather be a cupcake.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
Up all night in your underwear
Up all night with Saturday hair
Up all night with the birds sittin there
With the clock tickin there
Why do you care
Sleep all day I don't wanna see
**** the sun baby
**** your dumb party
Momma come a knockin
Just to come hug me
I'm goin crazy
I can feel the heat
Fireball whiskey
And your tongue on me
That's my medicine
Yum yum yummy
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC
Manic Pixie Dream Girl
fingerpainted rainbow
on a flat canvass, you are
cardboard pretty.
Like this pastel-colored cupcake
you once saw on television
with sprinkles and little marshmallows on top
something you know
you can never taste
but still thought
“That must be delicious.”
One-sided postcard
With a beautiful scenery at the front
and empty surface at the back
No words to tell
No stories to give
Just a vacant lot.
Manic Pixie Dream Girl
I’ve always thought you were beautiful.
with your colors spilling out of your being and your smiles
that could light up anybody’s world
I’ve always thought it was like peering through a kaleidoscope
And you were a perfect symmetry
of everything a little boy could ever dream of.
So as I grew up
I dreamed to be something like you.
And for a while,
Without really meaning to
I was something like you.
People often told me,
“You are so pretty.”
“You are nice and funny.”
“You have a great smile.”
“You are fun to be with.”
“You are different.”
and guys liked me.
They adored me.
most especially when I exist
only for them.
When I am there to pick up the pieces
and make them whole again.
But manic pixie dream girl
I realized I am no dream girl
I am just—
me.
I feel ugly most of the time.
I eat a lot when I’m sad.
I am very impulsive.
I give irrational comments.
I have temper tantrums when I don’t get what I want.
I get scared of the dark.
I cut when I am hurt.
And there are days when I just want to sleep
and disappear forever.
I am no dream girl.
I am just a real girl.
Trying to make it out alive
in the real world.
I am not a navigator
meant to save lost boys.
I am not
a box of crayons
meant to grow smaller
as I color this blank page of a guy
I am not
a white glue
meant to disappear
once I am dry
I am not
a bandage
meant to heal wounds
on careless little children.
I am not supposed to be a fantasy
I am flesh and bones
I am human
with ribcages that are meant to crush
with the weight of a broken heart
I have lungs
I can breathe on my own.
I don’t need a broken boy
to feel that I have a purpose in life.
I am my own destruction.
I am my own salvation.
I am no dream girl.
Please
wake
up.
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
I'd never be the same to hear those lovely words,
The 3rd night the game we played,
Cupcake hearts and chocolate pies,
Snowflakes and shooting stars,
Getting lost, grounding land
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
Parents assembled
cameras at the ready
the graduates march
with mortarboards tassled.
Faculty tributes
ever glowing praises
but graduates listen
with an eye to the prize.
Pomp and Circumstance
playing throughout the gym
while graduates ignore
with hopes for a cupcake.
Kindergarten bites.
Nov 15, 2009
Nov 15, 2009 at 11:02 AM UTC
Can you be my cupcake tonight ?
If you be the cupcake ill be your
sprikles and frosting . Your chubby
blushing cheeks remind me of red
velvet cake . Im **** sure what im
saying is no mistake because you remind
me of that kind of cupcake . Did anyone
ever tell you that your sweeter than sugar
before ?! Because if not than here I am
telling you your sweeter than blood red jam .
Now come on darling undo your shirt and
let me take a bite out of your heart tonight ~
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
Give me your inspiration.
Come on, you have enough already.
This isn’t fair, I protest;
how is it that you can create
a dozen pretty iced-cupcake poems
a day and I can’t?
Honestly –
sharing is caring.
I don’t want it all,
just a little bit.
A tenth will suffice.
It won’t take much from you,
I swear! you’ll still be writing
ten-point-eight cupcakes
a day.
Now would that be so bad?
No? Well, then.
Be like that.
It’s not like
I need inspiration …
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC