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"diguise" poems
You can't fix something that's not broken, you can't change someone who doesn't want to change, you can't decide how a person should be, you just simply can't, is it so hard to see? You walk around and try to control everything that comes your way, you're shocked when someone doesn't do as you say, you think you're God and that we should all obey, the truth is no matter how much beauty you endure, you'll never be anything more than what's inside of your soul. Your soul is darker than the night, your heart is as cold as ice, I'll never fall for your spell again, You're just a devil in diguise Nothing more, nothing less If somebody here needs a change, look in the mirror and watch it shatter. You're broken and bruised, and give others abuse. You're living proof that the outside is no reflection of the inside... Beautiful outside, rotten inside.
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Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC
Beautiful outside, rotten inside
Walking in a room or strutting down the street                  Inside a tunnel of ignorance she steps or takes a seat She feels the hungry glances devouring her soul Pray that the gist of her laugh remains whole Follow those hands running along the thin hair                  Blushing as the gesture burns down in a flare (Women are to be conquered                  And you can take her with a gentle smile She will drop all her defences                  On her knees to please your diguise.)
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Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
The Shy Girl
Seductive being. You have captured my eyes. Blown away by an angel. Tricked by diguise. I'm lead astray by this angel. The way she courses with grace. So I follow the shadow. Fooled by the veil on her face. I have commited a crime. I have visualized this affair. Acknowledging this moment. This innocent state of mind. I admitt that this diversion. Has corrupted me inside. Leaving me empty. Leaving me alive. I'm drawn by her beauty. Harmonizing her rythm. While she harmonizes with mine. Concious of this unlawful act. Acheiving the impossible. Acheiving this lie.
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Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 9:40 PM UTC
Simple Classic Crime
poetic truth tastes like risk like a sting of dread it's the apprecation of a frown prayers in diguise footsteps that dance in pain a glorious shelter of ****** compassion
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Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC
****** Compassion
the people where work goes on, have their faces strapped to their computers, while the thumbs have texting down to a science, gravity speed of light a thumb in motion tends to stay a thumb, the people where the commute takes place, get bus(ted), and are in the sky train(ing) for hours every year while others have car(diac) arrests for texting while driving or is it driving while testing the limits of the laws of physics and hand eye coordination a  n   d    d  i  d    y   o   u   s   ee  a   s  l  o  w     down in the reaction ... ................... crash, the people that live in houses and so many paths wear out the carpet, wear out the floor, hardwood or laminate, but their thumbs never wear out, they just grow new ones or more thumbs, I saw a movie once recently about the end of the world, and there were certain people who had no thumbs,...before the world collapsed I am sure this became the punishment for texting and operating a vehicle stupidly. crossing paths, crossing lives, each has at least one cross to bear, it is bare, but all these lives, from a look, from a lighted window, to a parked car, a man walking his dog, to the person you meet in transit, on foot, do you see their eyes, is there pain in diguise? do you even notice or is it just another lotus flower in the swamp called life called strife, news said it was a knife, cutting the strands attached to each one of us, not the fibre we are made of but the life we weave with all these fibres weft and warped make society, but all these unmarked footsteps, tire tracks, electonic waves, invisible, so when you wander, make sure you wonder, about all the people on all these paths and therefore sonder in awe, go in peace ©DWE022014
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Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
Thumbs of Sonder
the people where work goes on, have their faces strapped to their computers, while the thumbs have texting down to a science, gravity speed of light a thumb in motion tends to stay a thumb, the people where the commute takes place, get bus(ted), and are in the sky train(ing) for hours every year while others have car(diac) arrests for texting while driving or is it driving while testing the limits of the laws of physics and hand eye coordination a  n   d    d  i  d    y   o   u   s   ee  a   s  l  o  w     down in the reaction ... ................... crash, the people that live in houses and so many paths wear out the carpet, wear out the floor, hardwood or laminate, but their thumbs never wear out, they just grow new ones or more thumbs, I saw a movie once recently about the end of the world, and there were certain people who had no thumbs,...before the world collapsed I am sure this became the punishment for texting and operating a vehicle stupidly. crossing paths, crossing lives, each has at least one cross to bear, it is bare, but all these lives, from a look, from a lighted window, to a parked car, a man walking his dog, to the person you meet in transit, on foot, do you see their eyes, is there pain in diguise? do you even notice or is it just another lotus flower in the swamp called life called strife, news said it was a knife, cutting the strands attached to each one of us, not the fibre we are made of but the life we weave with all these fibres weft and warped make society, but all these unmarked footsteps, tire tracks, electonic waves, invisible, so when you wander, make sure you wonder, about all the people on all these paths and therefore sonder in awe, go in peace ©DWE022014
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53
*little dove where's your love where's the smile you're so proud of? you know good and well you can't fly without your daily dose of hugs little dove where's your laugh where's your mouth thats fast little dove where's your love where's the wings your so proud of? do a little trick in the air show everybody that you don't care do a little trick in the air little dove see how high in the air you can go see how low to the ocean you can flow let your wings touch the experiances little dove let it go don't let them win your eyes there too beautiful to diguise fix your eyes on the clouds flying by to let your wings on the ground is to say you never flew at all little dove little dove you aren't that small little dove where's your love where's the smile you're so proud of? you know good and well you can't fly without the love you're so proud of*
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Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
little dove
Waking up when others, brothers and sisters, finish the day, they go to bar, then the bus mingle in the crowded fuss or get in their cars,                             to go home slowly if it is far. Alarm goes off, the house to yourself, sit in your ****** watching the news, what you missed while you slept, eat and dress, not in that order, as you update your status, make your bed and the bumpy mattress, pack your late night meal ready, set as you go to your job on the border. The patient drive, and you are not in that rush. The hours nobody wants resemble people, that nobody want to get near, move through dark of shadowed hopes, motives are suspect, call them creeple, yes, both the hours that move so slow, and the bodies that hide, but can't diguise their intent. You dictate the night, look left and right, as people in a slowing stream return home, their treasures packed away, receipts in hand, passport ready for your command, to hand it over. There are those that "went for the drive, or to get a tank of gas" Every one that passes though your gate, despite the hour being late, smiles broadly, as if to say, nothing here to declare go about your shift, oddly, questions you do and ask these, late nighters to drive in open the trunk, show you the receipts and if they are in luck, they told the truth, but when they got to pay, they got to stay, unhappiness empties their wallet, then those three guys with mullets, dare you to show them your gun; their laughter is like rusted metal lids, turning on a glass jar, you being Canadian, don't have a gun. You can still wish. The night ends uneventful, your eyes see the sun and know your day is done, you will be home maybe to bed, maybe stay awake, a chance you'll given, you have four days off. Night shift will ruin you later in life, when those in the home will be able to rest, you will be awake, no matter what meds they make you take from the platter. When the dark shadows close in, you have a job to do, but where?, while you won't remember how or who.
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Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
Night Shift
Waking up when others, brothers and sisters, finish the day, they go to bar, then the bus mingle in the crowded fuss or get in their cars,                             to go home slowly if it is far. Alarm goes off, the house to yourself, sit in your ****** watching the news, what you missed while you slept, eat and dress, not in that order, as you update your status, make your bed and the bumpy mattress, pack your late night meal ready, set as you go to your job on the border. The patient drive, and you are not in that rush. The hours nobody wants resemble people, that nobody want to get near, move through dark of shadowed hopes, motives are suspect, call them creeple, yes, both the hours that move so slow, and the bodies that hide, but can't diguise their intent. You dictate the night, look left and right, as people in a slowing stream return home, their treasures packed away, receipts in hand, passport ready for your command, to hand it over. There are those that "went for the drive, or to get a tank of gas" Every one that passes though your gate, despite the hour being late, smiles broadly, as if to say, nothing here to declare go about your shift, oddly, questions you do and ask these, late nighters to drive in open the trunk, show you the receipts and if they are in luck, they told the truth, but when they got to pay, they got to stay, unhappiness empties their wallet, then those three guys with mullets, dare you to show them your gun; their laughter is like rusted metal lids, turning on a glass jar, you being Canadian, don't have a gun. You can still wish. The night ends uneventful, your eyes see the sun and know your day is done, you will be home maybe to bed, maybe stay awake, a chance you'll given, you have four days off. Night shift will ruin you later in life, when those in the home will be able to rest, you will be awake, no matter what meds they make you take from the platter. When the dark shadows close in, you have a job to do, but where?, while you won't remember how or who.
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54
Lies and lies, A distorted diguise, From the flimsy facade would rise, A rag doll corpse infested with flies, Now, I slice a chelsea smile from ear to ear, So that you could see, rather than hear, The broken boy trembling with fear, Yet you spit on him and stay way clear, Now you know what I became, A disfigured monster all the same, Yet you didn't **** - only maim, So I'd come back crawling as a part of your game.
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Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
See My Chelsea Smile
Yesss Im a black sheep so i can diguise myself Keep an AK 47 on the shelf Dont ask me Who i am? Call me ****** i really dont Give a **** Action im built tough Since i am public enemy one The media will never get enough Suckas aint nothing but a bluff Sound the alarm As the Dj gets rough give me some of that Funkyy stuff **** aint never hurt nobody Guns leads to so many dead body Killuminati Is what i yell stop naw get the bail And lets free All my brothers incarcerated for free Smooth. As a criminal My rhymes subliminal maximum minimal Is the wage im in rage Get the twelve guage Lets do damage to the higher powers that be I wasnt born a sucker Im ready to die for free In this world Ya need fame just to get a little love for ya name **** hip hop is where my heart is? But its lost dont know where it is? Killed by the jewish society gay mafias Women and ill know they'll despise me Truth is what i am Urban radiooo doesnt even slam Promote sloppy music to keep a rate on I used a calling card To dail in i tell them cut that ******** off or we'll break in Entering to the station play old school records rock the nation I see you hesitation Scared of a revolt took the emcees then jolt Them out the way cuz they gay Fashion fad lookin' peculiar I still wear saggy jabos stocky medium afro Hard core Is the sound **** all these club sounds No consciousness surround The black community im all for unity But how when the pushin' racism G ? But ya know my topics will get tossed Lost in the hour of the chaos Damnnnn!!!!! Cuz of the rebel i amm
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Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 7:26 PM UTC
Rebel with a Cause
Yesss Im a black sheep so i can diguise myself Keep an AK 47 on the shelf Dont ask me Who i am? Call me ****** i really dont Give a **** Action im built tough Since i am public enemy one The media will never get enough Suckas aint nothing but a bluff Sound the alarm As the Dj gets rough give me some of that Funkyy stuff **** aint never hurt nobody Guns leads to so many dead body Killuminati Is what i yell stop naw get the bail And lets free All my brothers incarcerated for free Smooth. As a criminal My rhymes subliminal maximum minimal Is the wage im in rage Get the twelve guage Lets do damage to the higher powers that be I wasnt born a sucker Im ready to die for free In this world Ya need fame just to get a little love for ya name **** hip hop is where my heart is? But its lost dont know where it is? Killed by the jewish society gay mafias Women and ill know they'll despise me Truth is what i am Urban radiooo doesnt even slam Promote sloppy music to keep a rate on I used a calling card To dail in i tell them cut that ******** off or we'll break in Entering to the station play old school records rock the nation I see you hesitation Scared of a revolt took the emcees then jolt Them out the way cuz they gay Fashion fad lookin' peculiar I still wear saggy jabos stocky medium afro Hard core Is the sound **** all these club sounds No consciousness surround The black community im all for unity But how when the pushin' racism G ? But ya know my topics will get tossed Lost in the hour of the chaos Damnnnn!!!!! Cuz of the rebel i amm
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53
Devil is a lie And he must go What lyes beneath It must go Tricky beast you Under a robe.. Playing tricks. With my body under a robe. In true diguise I must go Tricky animal Under a role.
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Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 2:51 AM UTC
Untitled
a poisonous chemical behind those sweet eyes. the truth is indigestible, a true master of diguise. perpetual or ephemeral? trapped in this labyrinth of lies. so innocent so gullible led to my fateful demise.
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Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 5:47 AM UTC
TRAPPED
Everytime I open my eyes, I see these strangers in diguise just floating through time with their soft spoken lies. Did they paint their own mask by choice? Or did society? Did they ever know they had a voice? Or did they learn to roam silently in a world that deprived them of their own privacy? I dream of telling each and every veiled citizen that it is okay... to beg them to meet who they already are - not to run, but to stay. If you open your eyes and don't see what I see, that doesn't mean we can't be like the waves of the sea. We roll free, and suddenly, time no longer exists. We face our fears, instead of running to find the nearest exits. We won't panic. Maybe these words should live in a bottle and travel the waters, perhaps they will reach our daughters. A part of me hopes that the bottle lands at the feet of a father, and he will then realize that it is not too late to be the author through any falter. He will prosper. If you receive this message on the edge of that cold sand, reveal yourself to the world and throw me back into the water. I understand this is not what you had planned. - L.G.
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Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
A Message in a Bottle
I remember when the red lens of life was paler my sea of bitter just a puddle in the distance And my raft wings Blinded from the things that were wrong By the briteness of my own eyes Looking only at the can and can'ts and not the whys Doing my part with a clear conscience   And a pure heart The deck of opportunity stacked for my demise And those I adored to rise This debt I owed This restitution bestowed A diguise of greed And power's need The future to tender There's no surrender To the chains of gender The crimson of my visions hue Grows as deep as my sea
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Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
chains of gender
I'm in hell Demons in diguise Just hit up the cells I see it in your eyes You got grams to sell I'm buying Little bits of heaven I'm sitting in the flames I'll take it if it's given Forget about the shame Smoke a blunt then be blunt I dull my minds blade
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Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
Friday
Gate 9 Machines made by machines stitched into the dreams of waking men I see this with tar in my eyes a dark diguise for torturous times. Conglomerates only use us to annihilate sharks gather to circle wide and inside the pentogram the son of man laptop computing but it's no good him shooting the messenger which by the way is the last carrier pigeon. If you gave me a dollar for every dog that I chose to follow I'd have fifty nine cents damaged in transit? no **** I was broken long before robots were spoken of in whispers and men were being taken to secret locations, The seer is branded the madman then handed to the knights of the grand inquisition a position I no longer care to be in, so I vacate become vacant machines run silent, complacent? and I don't trust them what but machines make machines made by men to take us to force us to war but by then it'll be too late for anyone and no one is listening do not believe time time is not on your side we're at the last stroke if even the clock can be trusted If I am the last man standing who will listen to me then? machines made by machines made by men who when the chips were down left us holding their baby.
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Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
Untitled
Courage in life does not deceive, the facts remain in what we believe. The hardest times we ever face are the moments touched by grace. Love's the unspoken truth we share while we search for those who care. Just know the world before our eyes usually wears a grand diguise. But if you live with prayers inside, then heaven's map will be your guide.
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Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
Touched