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"dad" poems
i don't watch home movies hate them reason being because when i was young i was looking for a movie my mother had recorded for me and accidentally put one in the vcr that i'm not sure i was supposed to see i know the obvious response *"uh oh, **** sorry to disappoint they were only marked with dates   1991 on live television montel williams asks my father *"how can you just throw your child away like a piece of trash?"*    1994 i spend so much time in the emergency room that my parents stop penciling in growth marks on the frame of my bedroom door i always thought it was because they believed i would never grow out of this sickness sometimes i believe the reason that they never bought me a dream catcher was because they never thought i'd live long enough to see them come true    1996 i am eliminated from a spelling bee because i didn't know the 'dad' is silent in 'family'    2013 before i got into poetry i used to do standup none of my jokes were funny one of the other comics tells me my skits are dry sometimes sad he says *"why don't you joke about something like your family?"* so i say *"i never wore any sunblock because i didn't want anything to keep me from my father"* i say *"what do you call christmas without lights or heat?"* before he has a chance to answer i say *"1997. better yet why don't you make like a dad and leave"*    2014 every time we drive past the hospital my mother reminds me how much it cost to save my life like she'd rather have her money back she doesn't have to say that sometimes she wishes it was me who had died instead of my brother i can hear it in the way she says "love you" sometimes i imagine that if i were to die that she would pick out a casket for a child because she never loved the person i became yesterday i told my father how close i'd been to suicide lately and he said *"that's my boy, livin on the edge.."* and i can't remember if i laughed or cried
0
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
there are only dates
i don't watch home movies hate them reason being because when i was young i was looking for a movie my mother had recorded for me and accidentally put one in the vcr that i'm not sure i was supposed to see i know the obvious response *"uh oh, **** sorry to disappoint they were only marked with dates   1991 on live television montel williams asks my father *"how can you just throw your child away like a piece of trash?"*    1994 i spend so much time in the emergency room that my parents stop penciling in growth marks on the frame of my bedroom door i always thought it was because they believed i would never grow out of this sickness sometimes i believe the reason that they never bought me a dream catcher was because they never thought i'd live long enough to see them come true    1996 i am eliminated from a spelling bee because i didn't know the 'dad' is silent in 'family'    2013 before i got into poetry i used to do standup none of my jokes were funny one of the other comics tells me my skits are dry sometimes sad he says *"why don't you joke about something like your family?"* so i say *"i never wore any sunblock because i didn't want anything to keep me from my father"* i say *"what do you call christmas without lights or heat?"* before he has a chance to answer i say *"1997. better yet why don't you make like a dad and leave"*    2014 every time we drive past the hospital my mother reminds me how much it cost to save my life like she'd rather have her money back she doesn't have to say that sometimes she wishes it was me who had died instead of my brother i can hear it in the way she says "love you" sometimes i imagine that if i were to die that she would pick out a casket for a child because she never loved the person i became yesterday i told my father how close i'd been to suicide lately and he said *"that's my boy, livin on the edge.."* and i can't remember if i laughed or cried
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91
Now you have to understand that the greatest gift a child can receive is a sibling. Wrapped up in that hospital delivery is limitless potential. They can be your partner in crime, or the key witness in your conviction. A sibling fights the same battles you do just with different tactics. Some prefer to pit mom against dad others dad against mom. No one will ever walk the earth as close to you. Part of the DNA that makes you unique flows in their veins. Even if circumstances change that bond can’t be broken. They will annoy you, steal from you, drive you crazy, and if you’re lucky enough hate you. And yet they are your best friend, confidant, and the person who if you’re unfortunate enough will go to hell and back as fast for you as you would do for them. So to all the siblings out there. May you be playmates in adversity and friendly rivals in joy
0
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
Siblings
I think sometimes, about what it means to be transgender. I probe and probe for answers, because as the possibility for a new age of enlightenment and safety increases, the others want to know. I’ve come up with many answers, but I can hold to none. I don’t deserve to paint the definition of a culture with the limited experiences I’ve had. I don’t see myself in the transgender identified people allowed on television. I don’t see myself in the transgender identified people making news feeds and giving high profile interviews. And as my nation’s exposure to our culture increases, likely will their curiosity. Am I transgender? Do I have the right? I’ve heard doctors, psychiatrists, may refuse transgender patients access to hormone therapy based on how dedicated or convincing their portrayal of their identified gender. If you want to be a man or woman, you’ll have to look like the women and men on TV. If you want to be transgender, you’ll have to look like the trans identified people on TV. Every single one of us who has an active role as either participant or observer in our society is prey to the crisis of validity. Am I pretty enough? Am I strong enough? Am I brave enough? Mom enough? Dad enough? Competitive enough? Successful enough? Rich enough? **** enough? Pious enough? It never ends. We’re, as a nation of people, being crushed and compartmentalized by this ever present lens, looming over us, exploiting our weaknesses and fears so it may grow wider, and support itself as it follows us, seemingly forever into the future. And one of the worst fears this camera of existential torment exploits, in most of us every day, is, “Do I have a reflection?” “What does it look like?” “Do I look like me?” What does it mean to be transgender? I can’t get away from that question. But I don’t have an answer. There are varying degrees of anguish, depression, panic, anxiety, and other wonderful emotional states that creep up on you and breathe down your neck nearly every waking day. Absolute contempt for the lie of a life you’ve lived till now, and contempt for the fragments still stuck to you, in memories, attached to your body and mind. Fear of those in your own community who would purposefully humiliate, invalidate, or attack you, choosing their own universal moral code over the innate urge and capacity to support the health and continued well being of another human. A ******* neighbor. A ******* pupil. A ******* employee. A ******* sister, brother, son, daughter, mother, father, cousin, ******* blood. What is being transgender like? By my experiences, it’s just like being anyone else in the country. But with a lot more fear, death, exclusion and medication.
0
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 5:07 AM UTC
What is Transgender?
I think sometimes, about what it means to be transgender. I probe and probe for answers, because as the possibility for a new age of enlightenment and safety increases, the others want to know. I’ve come up with many answers, but I can hold to none. I don’t deserve to paint the definition of a culture with the limited experiences I’ve had. I don’t see myself in the transgender identified people allowed on television. I don’t see myself in the transgender identified people making news feeds and giving high profile interviews. And as my nation’s exposure to our culture increases, likely will their curiosity. Am I transgender? Do I have the right? I’ve heard doctors, psychiatrists, may refuse transgender patients access to hormone therapy based on how dedicated or convincing their portrayal of their identified gender. If you want to be a man or woman, you’ll have to look like the women and men on TV. If you want to be transgender, you’ll have to look like the trans identified people on TV. Every single one of us who has an active role as either participant or observer in our society is prey to the crisis of validity. Am I pretty enough? Am I strong enough? Am I brave enough? Mom enough? Dad enough? Competitive enough? Successful enough? Rich enough? **** enough? Pious enough? It never ends. We’re, as a nation of people, being crushed and compartmentalized by this ever present lens, looming over us, exploiting our weaknesses and fears so it may grow wider, and support itself as it follows us, seemingly forever into the future. And one of the worst fears this camera of existential torment exploits, in most of us every day, is, “Do I have a reflection?” “What does it look like?” “Do I look like me?” What does it mean to be transgender? I can’t get away from that question. But I don’t have an answer. There are varying degrees of anguish, depression, panic, anxiety, and other wonderful emotional states that creep up on you and breathe down your neck nearly every waking day. Absolute contempt for the lie of a life you’ve lived till now, and contempt for the fragments still stuck to you, in memories, attached to your body and mind. Fear of those in your own community who would purposefully humiliate, invalidate, or attack you, choosing their own universal moral code over the innate urge and capacity to support the health and continued well being of another human. A ******* neighbor. A ******* pupil. A ******* employee. A ******* sister, brother, son, daughter, mother, father, cousin, ******* blood. What is being transgender like? By my experiences, it’s just like being anyone else in the country. But with a lot more fear, death, exclusion and medication.
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1
I was only 9 years old. I pray to Shrek every night, thanking him for the life I’ve been given. “Shrek is love” I say, “Shrek is life." My dad hears me and calls me a ****** I knew he was just jealous of my devotion to Shrek. I called him a **** He hits me and sends me to sleep. I'm crying now and my face hurts. I lay in bed, really cold. I feel something warm... It's Shrek! I was so happy. He whispers in my ear "This is my swamp." He grabs me with his ogre hands, and puts me on my hands and knees. I'm ready. I spread my *** cheeks for Shrek. He penetrates my ******** It hurts so much, but I do it for Shrek. I can feel my **** tearing and eyes watering. I want to please Shrek. He roars a mighty roar as he fills my **** with his love. My dad walks in. Shrek looks him straight in the eye and says, "It's all ogre now." Shrek leaves through my window. Shrek is love. Shrek is life.
0
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC
shrek is love, shrek is life
i. I intentionally failed to wish you a happy birthday this year, though I know significant dates, hours, moments, people, by heart. I still search for you in boys I mistake for bandages, the ones with eyes almost the same shade of your hazels, lips resounding your laughter, resembling a wisp of your smile, But they aren't you. ii. Sometimes I pretend you're dead, because it's less painful to stop reaching out into voids. iii. My mom still blames you for everything that preceded that year. Though you probably had no idea what happened when we stopped talking altogether. Can you believe it's almost been three years? iv. My dad wonders who was my 'one that got away' Though, I'm pretty sure he knows it's you. v. Remember how I mentioned Sylvia Plath? How most everything she wrote brimmed with melancholy? How I loved every single word? Especially that piece where she talked about expectations and disappointments. You'll never know that up to this day I still think people are selfish enough to always, eventually turn into the latter. Even you. vi. It's sad I never got the chance to tell you about Ted. How she loved him so much, she just had to figuratively dive headfirst into the flames-- burning herself, what was left of her-- after she found out he never really loved her the same way she loved him in the first place. vii. *truth is, some of us never learn to accept the love we think we deserve.* viii. I don't know if you still read my poems or if you still think about me, about us, sometimes. Every time you fall asleep past eleven, a part of me hopes you do. because I always remember you-- in birthday candles, red ribbons, off-tune voice records, golden arches, concrete sidewalks, pedestrian lanes, the last flickers of city lights softly fading out of the blue. I remember you in everything, in everywhere, in everyone. It's useless, no matter how much I try to forget. No matter how much I just want to forget. I want to forget. But, how could I? When forgetting means forsaking the very memory of you.
0
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 6:00 AM UTC
i'm sorry. i thought i was done writing about you
i. I intentionally failed to wish you a happy birthday this year, though I know significant dates, hours, moments, people, by heart. I still search for you in boys I mistake for bandages, the ones with eyes almost the same shade of your hazels, lips resounding your laughter, resembling a wisp of your smile, But they aren't you. ii. Sometimes I pretend you're dead, because it's less painful to stop reaching out into voids. iii. My mom still blames you for everything that preceded that year. Though you probably had no idea what happened when we stopped talking altogether. Can you believe it's almost been three years? iv. My dad wonders who was my 'one that got away' Though, I'm pretty sure he knows it's you. v. Remember how I mentioned Sylvia Plath? How most everything she wrote brimmed with melancholy? How I loved every single word? Especially that piece where she talked about expectations and disappointments. You'll never know that up to this day I still think people are selfish enough to always, eventually turn into the latter. Even you. vi. It's sad I never got the chance to tell you about Ted. How she loved him so much, she just had to figuratively dive headfirst into the flames-- burning herself, what was left of her-- after she found out he never really loved her the same way she loved him in the first place. vii. *truth is, some of us never learn to accept the love we think we deserve.* viii. I don't know if you still read my poems or if you still think about me, about us, sometimes. Every time you fall asleep past eleven, a part of me hopes you do. because I always remember you-- in birthday candles, red ribbons, off-tune voice records, golden arches, concrete sidewalks, pedestrian lanes, the last flickers of city lights softly fading out of the blue. I remember you in everything, in everywhere, in everyone. It's useless, no matter how much I try to forget. No matter how much I just want to forget. I want to forget. But, how could I? When forgetting means forsaking the very memory of you.
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78
Let the world always remember, That fateful day in September, And the ones who answered duty's call, Should be remembered by us all. Who left the comfort of their home, To face perils as yet unknown, An embodiment of goodness on a day, When men's hearts had gone astray. Sons and daughters like me and you, Who never questioned what they had to do, Who by example, were a source of hope, And strength to others who could not cope. Heroes that would not turn their back, With determination that would not crack, Who bound together in their ranks, And asking not a word of thanks. Men who bravely gave their lives, Whose orphaned kids and widowed wives, Can proudly look back on their dad, Who gave this country all they had. Actions taken without regret, Heroisms we shall never forget, The ones who paid the ultimate price, Let's never forget their sacrifice. And never forget the ones no longer here, Who fought for the freedoms we all hold dear, And may their memory never wane, Lest their sacrifices be in vain. 09-30-10b.
0
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 1:31 AM UTC
We Shall Never Forget (9-11 Tribute)
Hey mom-dad, listen. Hit me, hate me, throw me out, But don't shut me up.
0
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
Please listen
1. Had you a viral video, you’d watch it more than once. 2. Instagram hearts make you smile, even from strangers. 3. Which would you rather: *** or Zuckerberg friending you on Facebook. No, this isn’t a Cosmo quiz — it’s a social experiment. Because no one ACTUALLY answers these questions honestly without looking like that ****** at the pool trying to get as MANY high fives as possible. Yet, we all do it. Alone or in public. Day or night. LED screen spice up our lives. It was probably best embodied by that girl taking selfie after   selfie after selfie after selfie, filmed for minutes on the way to school, the video soon posted, by her dad trying to teach  her a lesson? Or trying to get attention? Either way, he might as well have hashtagged it #socialsuicide. Like most humor we laughed at her because we are her. We see a dripping characterture ************ to itself in public. Wait, it, sounds wrong when you name it. But there is a name for it: Digital ************ aka Self-adoration aka Narcississism. You won’t agree that you do it too. But I’ll bet most of you get excited thinking about notifications too. Why is that? You’d never admit it. You can say I smelt it, so I dealt it. Call me a preacher, a hater, or a hypocrit. But I'd rather you call me a digital masterbater too. And then remember the last time you opened Instagram or Facebook or Twitter and took a selfie or hashtagged something or posted a status that your still breathing. How long has it been — a minute, an hour, a day? Now try making fun of her.
0
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
Digital ************
1. Had you a viral video, you’d watch it more than once. 2. Instagram hearts make you smile, even from strangers. 3. Which would you rather: *** or Zuckerberg friending you on Facebook. No, this isn’t a Cosmo quiz — it’s a social experiment. Because no one ACTUALLY answers these questions honestly without looking like that ****** at the pool trying to get as MANY high fives as possible. Yet, we all do it. Alone or in public. Day or night. LED screen spice up our lives. It was probably best embodied by that girl taking selfie after   selfie after selfie after selfie, filmed for minutes on the way to school, the video soon posted, by her dad trying to teach  her a lesson? Or trying to get attention? Either way, he might as well have hashtagged it #socialsuicide. Like most humor we laughed at her because we are her. We see a dripping characterture ************ to itself in public. Wait, it, sounds wrong when you name it. But there is a name for it: Digital ************ aka Self-adoration aka Narcississism. You won’t agree that you do it too. But I’ll bet most of you get excited thinking about notifications too. Why is that? You’d never admit it. You can say I smelt it, so I dealt it. Call me a preacher, a hater, or a hypocrit. But I'd rather you call me a digital masterbater too. And then remember the last time you opened Instagram or Facebook or Twitter and took a selfie or hashtagged something or posted a status that your still breathing. How long has it been — a minute, an hour, a day? Now try making fun of her.
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87
His dad, hearing a beat, turned the key, not knowing she was in there. But shirt off, his fourteen year old, the CEO just laughed and said: "Dad, go back to bed." He had won the game AGAIN! And nights spent building a barrel of monkeys that watched him chop down wood on YouTube finally had paid off — It only took 20,000 followers for her shirt to come off.
0
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
minecraft kidz.
Growing up too fast. Facing the real world too soon. 'Cause Dad isn't there.
0
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
Fatherless
STATE SHUT DOWN BY IDIOCY "This is correspondent, uh, burp... wait, winds r, yeah, okay go back on live camera..." pretend the wind is blowing you back "This is the most major storm in recorded history of this network!" "My God, I could die in this sh..stuff." "Five star hotel what the **** "Okay, okay, live we are, look here, pan closer, these leafs on this Raleigh plant here, see how violently they are moving?" LEAVES ARE FALLING! "That is the fear one feels knowing that a category two, at any moment, could become a category five." "This Dave Mowers live from Hawaii, checking in before I possibly die. Mom I love you, Dad, well, look how brave I am!" "Is that an Asian girl?" "What an a..cute *** that, cut to... to the violent leaves again you **** "I'll fire you cameraman!" *Four large oak trees have fallen. HAWAII HAS ENORMOUS SURF!.  Four large oak trees have fallen.**
0
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
LIVE FROM RALEIGH
In Spanish, VIVIR means To Live, the proper conjugation of which to when you say something as improper as “I live” would simply be translated to “Yo Vivo”. I live, as a Colombian-American. I live, as “You don’t look Hispanic” I live, “Woah! You and your brother look nothing alike. You’re so… white.” I live, “My mom came home once and talked about a man who simply replied with a horribly pronounced “Me gusta” when my mom said she was Hispanic.” I live, “My dad condones abusive behavior because he thinks Latina aggression is **** I live, my mom asking me “Would you rather celebrate the Sweet Sixteen or have a quinceanera party?” I live, as the white boy sitting across the room in Spanish class asking “When will I need this in real life?” I live, as the “Yes I DO have a friend with a skin complexion similar to mine, and yes, he is Hispanic.” I live, most of my friends are beautiful people of color. I live, when will you open up the tab in Google and search some Hispanic History to fill your mind instead of “Latina **** I live, the messages on the Internet saying “You’re Hispanic? I bet you’re great in bed.” I live, there are NO gender neutral nouns in Spanish I live, yes I DO love coffee I live, no it did NOT stunt my growth I live, one kiss per cheek at family meet-ups I live, “Eskimo” nose rubs I live, "if you’re hispanic, why aren’t your ears pierced?" I live, being expected to remember Spanish just because it was my first language, but growing up with an American dad made me whiter than fresh bed-sheets sold in America, made in South America, Hecha en Peru. I live, my mom breaking into tears as she is so proud that I can sing in Spanish I live, my mom used to be so embarrassed, when I replied “un poco” to her friends asking “Tu Hablas Espanol?” I live, "if you’re Hispanic, is your mom an Alien?" I live, "But your dad looks so white!" I live, being subject to racism hidden in a joke, hidden in a remark about how pale I am, hidden behind a judgmental look, hidden behind a scoff, a laugh, a pity shrug, a fetishized assumption. I live the bulletproof clothing and horrible crimes I am warned about when I say I wanna go to Colombia I wanna go to my mom’s home. I live, as a Colombian-American. I live. Yo vivo.
0
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
I live, Yo Vivo
In Spanish, VIVIR means To Live, the proper conjugation of which to when you say something as improper as “I live” would simply be translated to “Yo Vivo”. I live, as a Colombian-American. I live, as “You don’t look Hispanic” I live, “Woah! You and your brother look nothing alike. You’re so… white.” I live, “My mom came home once and talked about a man who simply replied with a horribly pronounced “Me gusta” when my mom said she was Hispanic.” I live, “My dad condones abusive behavior because he thinks Latina aggression is **** I live, my mom asking me “Would you rather celebrate the Sweet Sixteen or have a quinceanera party?” I live, as the white boy sitting across the room in Spanish class asking “When will I need this in real life?” I live, as the “Yes I DO have a friend with a skin complexion similar to mine, and yes, he is Hispanic.” I live, most of my friends are beautiful people of color. I live, when will you open up the tab in Google and search some Hispanic History to fill your mind instead of “Latina **** I live, the messages on the Internet saying “You’re Hispanic? I bet you’re great in bed.” I live, there are NO gender neutral nouns in Spanish I live, yes I DO love coffee I live, no it did NOT stunt my growth I live, one kiss per cheek at family meet-ups I live, “Eskimo” nose rubs I live, "if you’re hispanic, why aren’t your ears pierced?" I live, being expected to remember Spanish just because it was my first language, but growing up with an American dad made me whiter than fresh bed-sheets sold in America, made in South America, Hecha en Peru. I live, my mom breaking into tears as she is so proud that I can sing in Spanish I live, my mom used to be so embarrassed, when I replied “un poco” to her friends asking “Tu Hablas Espanol?” I live, "if you’re Hispanic, is your mom an Alien?" I live, "But your dad looks so white!" I live, being subject to racism hidden in a joke, hidden in a remark about how pale I am, hidden behind a judgmental look, hidden behind a scoff, a laugh, a pity shrug, a fetishized assumption. I live the bulletproof clothing and horrible crimes I am warned about when I say I wanna go to Colombia I wanna go to my mom’s home. I live, as a Colombian-American. I live. Yo vivo.
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28
There will be gloomy days when you will look back at your old self and think about this one choice you made that changed your life in many ways You will think about the day you decided to leave You left family and friends behind hoping to find a better future on the other side You were young and naïve you were that quiet kid that no one thought could ever leave yet, on that September 6th 2013 holding hands with Fear and Hope you boarded a plane that took you miles away There will be gloomy days when you will wonder why on that day Fear didn’t pull you aside and tell you that life wasn’t going to be as bright on the other side You will wonder why that quiet kid had this strong need to leave You will look back in sadness and grieve the loss of those happy times you took for granted You will be drinking the same coffee mum used to make you on a Saturday morning and you will be listening to those songs dad used to play in the car on a Sunday afternoon You will grieve what it feels like a loss of those you have always loved It’s on these days that you will feel alone the most Inside your head it will be as dark as the sky on a rainy winter afternoon and your eyes will be as heavy as grey clouds ready to let the rain pour down It’s on these days that you will grieve the most Though, they say there is always calm after a storm and no matter how brief it can be you will eventually find some peace and it’s within this peace that you will find the strength to remember that not everything is as gloomy as it seems It’s within this peace that you will honour that quiet kid who is no longer as quiet as they used to be and it’s within this peace that you will celebrate their new life as a fearless kid
0
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 4:54 AM UTC
From Quiet to Fearless
There will be gloomy days when you will look back at your old self and think about this one choice you made that changed your life in many ways You will think about the day you decided to leave You left family and friends behind hoping to find a better future on the other side You were young and naïve you were that quiet kid that no one thought could ever leave yet, on that September 6th 2013 holding hands with Fear and Hope you boarded a plane that took you miles away There will be gloomy days when you will wonder why on that day Fear didn’t pull you aside and tell you that life wasn’t going to be as bright on the other side You will wonder why that quiet kid had this strong need to leave You will look back in sadness and grieve the loss of those happy times you took for granted You will be drinking the same coffee mum used to make you on a Saturday morning and you will be listening to those songs dad used to play in the car on a Sunday afternoon You will grieve what it feels like a loss of those you have always loved It’s on these days that you will feel alone the most Inside your head it will be as dark as the sky on a rainy winter afternoon and your eyes will be as heavy as grey clouds ready to let the rain pour down It’s on these days that you will grieve the most Though, they say there is always calm after a storm and no matter how brief it can be you will eventually find some peace and it’s within this peace that you will find the strength to remember that not everything is as gloomy as it seems It’s within this peace that you will honour that quiet kid who is no longer as quiet as they used to be and it’s within this peace that you will celebrate their new life as a fearless kid
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45
Growing up too fast. Facing the real world too soon. 'Cause Dad isn't there.
0
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 6:14 AM UTC
Fatherless
For centuries philosophers have speculated the role sleep plays in society But it was not until the 1950s that sleep woke up in academia And today sleep studies show what dormant minds really look like Information about our rest we've never seen before However, I've always understood the importance of bedtime You see my parents taught me that sleep and love are soul mates My mom She's the sleeper She loves to sleep She cuddles up on any piece of furniture in my house and snoozes for hours Never views a sitcom past the first commercial break when she's tired And she's okay with that Dad never lets her drive on road trips when night falls Preferring his sleeping beauty tucked safely in the passenger seat Their hands meet as she lets the stars serenade her to slumber While he anchors his left hand on the steering wheel Thanking his lucky stars for his real life princess My dad He's the snorer He loves to snore He roars like a lion on his love seat and naps for hours Never views a sitcom past the second commercial break when he's tired And he's okay with that Mom never lets him sleep alone too long though Keeping his nose plugged strong enough to signal for bedtime They both stand together as he lets her guide him to slumber While she ushers her left hand around his back Thanking her lucky stars for her own prince charming Now my parents call me the dreamer And I sure do love to dream It seems my parents are textbook role models for me Because when you live inside a fairytale for far too long Your reality becomes an endless stream of fantasies Your expectations are exceptionally out of context Strictly written for poetic lines in picture books Never meant to be held Never meant to be felt Only meant for spines stuck on rosewood shelves My parents call me the dreamer And boy I love to dream I believe in creating the unthinkable And when you live inside a fairytale for far too long Nothing is fictional You picture a life with storybook endings Praying the author never runs out of ink You crown each syllable the king of the moment Treating each page like royalty And I've always been okay with that So when I asked my mom when she knew she fell in love She spoke of an instant of unadulterated emotion She said she knew instantly She didn't need to sleep on it When I asked my dad when he knew he fell in love He just smiled back at me He must have known instantly He didn't even speak on it So when I ask myself when I might fall in love I can't help but smile Think of fairytale titles Mile wide love notes in all shapes and styles And a moment where my reality sets my hopes on fire And I won't need to dream about it anymore
0
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
Dreamer
For centuries philosophers have speculated the role sleep plays in society But it was not until the 1950s that sleep woke up in academia And today sleep studies show what dormant minds really look like Information about our rest we've never seen before However, I've always understood the importance of bedtime You see my parents taught me that sleep and love are soul mates My mom She's the sleeper She loves to sleep She cuddles up on any piece of furniture in my house and snoozes for hours Never views a sitcom past the first commercial break when she's tired And she's okay with that Dad never lets her drive on road trips when night falls Preferring his sleeping beauty tucked safely in the passenger seat Their hands meet as she lets the stars serenade her to slumber While he anchors his left hand on the steering wheel Thanking his lucky stars for his real life princess My dad He's the snorer He loves to snore He roars like a lion on his love seat and naps for hours Never views a sitcom past the second commercial break when he's tired And he's okay with that Mom never lets him sleep alone too long though Keeping his nose plugged strong enough to signal for bedtime They both stand together as he lets her guide him to slumber While she ushers her left hand around his back Thanking her lucky stars for her own prince charming Now my parents call me the dreamer And I sure do love to dream It seems my parents are textbook role models for me Because when you live inside a fairytale for far too long Your reality becomes an endless stream of fantasies Your expectations are exceptionally out of context Strictly written for poetic lines in picture books Never meant to be held Never meant to be felt Only meant for spines stuck on rosewood shelves My parents call me the dreamer And boy I love to dream I believe in creating the unthinkable And when you live inside a fairytale for far too long Nothing is fictional You picture a life with storybook endings Praying the author never runs out of ink You crown each syllable the king of the moment Treating each page like royalty And I've always been okay with that So when I asked my mom when she knew she fell in love She spoke of an instant of unadulterated emotion She said she knew instantly She didn't need to sleep on it When I asked my dad when he knew he fell in love He just smiled back at me He must have known instantly He didn't even speak on it So when I ask myself when I might fall in love I can't help but smile Think of fairytale titles Mile wide love notes in all shapes and styles And a moment where my reality sets my hopes on fire And I won't need to dream about it anymore
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62
You're a piece of my dad Sometimes I find him in your laugh But then your smile goes crooked and your "bugs" act up again You find clarity for a moment and then your thoughts become distorted Was the habit to hard to break or did you think the promises I made for you were fake   You always told me every day to never give up why can you not wake up Dad, Jake.. ? What's your name ? I feel like we're strangers and I feel like your love was fake You took a piece of my sister's away and for that I'll never forgive you Can't you see your own ****** mistakes You're blind and they were right you are a snake You fried your brains and I'm afraid it's to late I can't save you unless you want to be saved
0
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 11:02 PM UTC
**** you
and i am eleven again feeling like tomorrow is a couple yesterday's ago smothered in cayenne pepper hot enough to take off taste buds and tonight i am eating a meal only worth burning it tastes like my parents anniversary it tastes like a zinfandel left on the counter too long it's a bad story, see there's no silverware 'cause my mom sold it to keep the lights on and somewhere in heaven somebody in a suit doing commentary on this fiasco is telling someone else in a suit that "you have to eat love with your hands" so we sit, four plates on the table for the two of us my brother's long gone dad's even further away & he's not the one who's buried i carry both their names like anchors that i cannot unmoor from while she looks at the empty table and says something about the news she says something else but she's not talking we aren't proud of this, see my dad likes to wax his car he's proud of it and my mom says she sees a lot of him in my hands says, i touch the things i find like they didn't belong to people sleeping in the ground she says i touch photo albums the same way- you know, i never used to believe that history could repeat itself not until i could fast forward seventeen years and still wake up to smoke alarms how i would go into our kitchen to find it empty and the dinner smoldering & my mother in her bedroom looking through family photos like it's a just another summer day and the sirens are just the birds i don't ask, i never say a word in this moment i am an archeologist afraid to dig up the past cause history repeats itself- you see my brother is dead and my father is gone they have been for some years now and my mother sometimes forgets and sets their place at the table like they're still here and in the confusion ends up ankle deep in pictures of how it used to be she let's dinner burn and douses it in red pepper hoping i won't know the difference
0
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
jamais vu
and i am eleven again feeling like tomorrow is a couple yesterday's ago smothered in cayenne pepper hot enough to take off taste buds and tonight i am eating a meal only worth burning it tastes like my parents anniversary it tastes like a zinfandel left on the counter too long it's a bad story, see there's no silverware 'cause my mom sold it to keep the lights on and somewhere in heaven somebody in a suit doing commentary on this fiasco is telling someone else in a suit that "you have to eat love with your hands" so we sit, four plates on the table for the two of us my brother's long gone dad's even further away & he's not the one who's buried i carry both their names like anchors that i cannot unmoor from while she looks at the empty table and says something about the news she says something else but she's not talking we aren't proud of this, see my dad likes to wax his car he's proud of it and my mom says she sees a lot of him in my hands says, i touch the things i find like they didn't belong to people sleeping in the ground she says i touch photo albums the same way- you know, i never used to believe that history could repeat itself not until i could fast forward seventeen years and still wake up to smoke alarms how i would go into our kitchen to find it empty and the dinner smoldering & my mother in her bedroom looking through family photos like it's a just another summer day and the sirens are just the birds i don't ask, i never say a word in this moment i am an archeologist afraid to dig up the past cause history repeats itself- you see my brother is dead and my father is gone they have been for some years now and my mother sometimes forgets and sets their place at the table like they're still here and in the confusion ends up ankle deep in pictures of how it used to be she let's dinner burn and douses it in red pepper hoping i won't know the difference
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74
I chose ice-cream Over yogurt; Strawberry, vanilla or chocolate. Each equally without prejudice Attracted. The fifteen year old server Was kinda short; The vanilla tub had about three scoops Remaining, Stacked hidden like frozen snow-balls As in war games. His task would have been daunting And embarassing, And I, a humanitarian From higher education, An altruist from St. Joseph's, Could not allow it. The chocolate tub Was yet covered, And the sobbing child's cries Were hardening in my ears As Dad tried to allay His chocolate tears, Applying the five second rule. I am an empath By nature and poetry, So, turning from chocolate, Left me strawberrry. Triple scoop too. I believe You thought through Your choices Like flavors of ice-cream. Being imaginative, I do.
0
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 10:30 PM UTC
Ice-Cream
To expel intestinal gases through the **** The definition makes it sound kinda heinous. Whether you pass wind or pass gas, either way it comes out your *** Farts are loud and some silent but deadly, you can make it sound like a medley. Farts are cool and sometimes funny, lookout for ones that become runny. Some like to **** in your face, it may cause pink eye, and sting like mace. Farts can smell and usually bad, must be a duck, says your dad. I have farts that never stink, although some were on the brink. Dog farts will make you take cover, the smell lingers and starts to hover. Woman never **** but watch out when they do, it can be brutal, once their comfortable with you. If in certain places you must hold it in, farting in church is considered a sin. A good **** can make you feel good, its part of life and fully understood. Every **** deserves a smile or a giggle, don't forget to give your *** a shake or a wiggle. For ones who think farting is disgusting, I bet your ******* needs a good dusting.
0
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
****
**** the non-believers **** the ***** and **** the fools Go grab your Dad's gun and we'll go shoot up the whole school. Yeah. I got her nudes, don't you think that's pretty cool? You know that Jesus loves you, would you like to see him soon? You're so offended these days well **** my **** you ******** ***** ******* licking my Dad's **** Donny T's alright, Don't you think? Jesus loves you. I don't, But Jesus loves you.
0
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:39 PM UTC
You're so offended these days
I'd inhale it wishing it would **** me. sincerely , dad.
0
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
Cigarette
Before you criticize me too soon, I think you should spare some seconds and answer a simple question to yourself... If Shahjahan loved Mumtaz Mahal so much, why he had a harem of wives to use at his own pleasure? While I agree that the Taj Mahal is arguably the most extraordinarily beautiful monument in the world, I don't agree upon the fact that it was built as a tomb of love. It is just a symbol of madness if you asked me. An emperor's insecure feeling to get his name registered in the history books. While it may be one of the most beautiful architectural monument, it was built by over 20,000 architects, craftsmen, masons and engineers who took over 16 years to build the magnificent building. He got this apparently high & prestigious monument of love built but everything that the Emperor did was not pleasant at all. ° The lavishly living Mughal Emperor spent all his - his subjects' money into building this monument of love instead of keeping his subjects well-fed. ° Mumtaz Mahal might have been the luckiest woman to have died and got such a marvelous building built as her mausoleum but she died giving birth to her & Shahjahan's 17th offspring and then Shahjahan who had uncountable other wives was inspired by her demise apparently to undertake what is termed as the biggest project in history build the costliest monument proclaiming his rule. ° The arrogant - falsely proud lover - Mughal emperor didn't know that what he thought to be looked at as the greatest symbol of love will be criticized by some poet in his own land nearly 375 years later. The insane Mughal Emperor got all the builders of the Taj Mahal's fingers cut-off of so that there could be no other Taj Mahal. But Aurangzeb, his & Mumtaz Mahal's son overthrew his power when Shahjahan got older and locked him up in a jail at the other end of Yamuna river where the emperor then died a sad old lovelorn bedlamite person in prison. Aurangzeb was the exact opposite of his dad, he showed religious intolerance and his habits drove the empire towards its doom after his death. But let me think this way; when I look at any picture of the Taj Mahal, what I get the first thing in mind is this: Such a CRAZY emperor who got such a beautiful monument of Egotism built!
0
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
Taj Mahal - An Epitome Of Love?
Before you criticize me too soon, I think you should spare some seconds and answer a simple question to yourself... If Shahjahan loved Mumtaz Mahal so much, why he had a harem of wives to use at his own pleasure? While I agree that the Taj Mahal is arguably the most extraordinarily beautiful monument in the world, I don't agree upon the fact that it was built as a tomb of love. It is just a symbol of madness if you asked me. An emperor's insecure feeling to get his name registered in the history books. While it may be one of the most beautiful architectural monument, it was built by over 20,000 architects, craftsmen, masons and engineers who took over 16 years to build the magnificent building. He got this apparently high & prestigious monument of love built but everything that the Emperor did was not pleasant at all. ° The lavishly living Mughal Emperor spent all his - his subjects' money into building this monument of love instead of keeping his subjects well-fed. ° Mumtaz Mahal might have been the luckiest woman to have died and got such a marvelous building built as her mausoleum but she died giving birth to her & Shahjahan's 17th offspring and then Shahjahan who had uncountable other wives was inspired by her demise apparently to undertake what is termed as the biggest project in history build the costliest monument proclaiming his rule. ° The arrogant - falsely proud lover - Mughal emperor didn't know that what he thought to be looked at as the greatest symbol of love will be criticized by some poet in his own land nearly 375 years later. The insane Mughal Emperor got all the builders of the Taj Mahal's fingers cut-off of so that there could be no other Taj Mahal. But Aurangzeb, his & Mumtaz Mahal's son overthrew his power when Shahjahan got older and locked him up in a jail at the other end of Yamuna river where the emperor then died a sad old lovelorn bedlamite person in prison. Aurangzeb was the exact opposite of his dad, he showed religious intolerance and his habits drove the empire towards its doom after his death. But let me think this way; when I look at any picture of the Taj Mahal, what I get the first thing in mind is this: Such a CRAZY emperor who got such a beautiful monument of Egotism built!
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9
Flown Away . . . Mom tweets; Dad Twitters The children sling angry birds Poultry words are shared A gap, Agape . . . With desks connected And sharing a power strip We exchange e-mails Cellacious . . . Discourse is lacking? Digital Intimacy! May our Smart-Phones touch?
0
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
Post-Modern Communication
What does quality time together mean When everybody's glued to their smartphones Mom and dad buy new gadgets and forget each other... again. Meals are left cold on the dining table Nobody pays attention to homecooked meals anymore Food is rather thrown in the bin or reheat again and again... What is the value of mom's kitchen when Domino's Pizza can be ordered via online? The magicof smartphones... Homes aren't cozy place for us anymore Everybody enjoys secrecy... privacy... Living far  apart but breathing under the same roof.... Dear daughter comes home in tears Dinner date a sheer disaster, she said... He checks his Whatsapp notifications every now and then...and smiling reading his messages.., A total shame... Technology is meant for convinience sake Same time rapidly ruins our everyday life What has happenened to real conversations? Hiding behind the sophisticated gadgets What good is that? Get rid of of your latest Samsung and show your true face...
0
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
Smartphones