"discounted" poems
like yours
if you'll reciprocate
follow you
if you'll follow me
repost mine
repost yours
pump up those
double discount
quantitative adulations
making everything here,
cheapened and discounted
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave...
when first we practice to deceive.”
standalone
on your merits own
the only way to stand
upright
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
the collar on my jacket is frayed
but I have clothes on my back
(just)
the packaging is white with green print
but I have food in my belly
(of sorts)
the soles talk and leak when I walk
but I have boots on my feet
(for now)
so I’m OK
(I suppose)
***** deep into the Smart Price ™ life
this man, his daughters, his son and his wife
where all their food comes at discounted price
expired meat and rationed heat
sweepings and fat wrapped in plastic
the walk was wholly unexpected, but it was easy
leaving the town where the forward leaning walkers
were the slowest thinking talkers steeped in sugary urgency,
and all the way we **** giltterballs and Skittles
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC
Tortured people tell themselves the past never happened.
They sit and reminisce about memories that they created.
Their hands are brown and worn down,
looking like a sibling of the ground that will eventually be a tomb for their bodies.
The teeth are fake and so are the smiles.
Hair falls off like rusty leaves brushed by a breeze, warning of the death of winter.
Limbs turn into string, ******* hang, and guts grow; like pregnant, stray cats.
Whenever they die, their houses will be eaten by their children, and not even a piece of gristle or a picture frame will be left.
The house will be nothing but a sun-dried ribcage:
a discarded postcard with the address marked out.
The children will sit and talk of their parents, repressing the abuse and the inability to meet expectations.
The children will work in sterile cubicles, thankful that their hands will not be stamped by calluses, yet knowing their fathers would not approve.
The children will open up the dust-blanketed boxes and stare at old family pictures, not able to recognize the people who smile and have perfect posture.
The children will lay in bed with their spouses and say, to no one in particular,
'Why was it never enough?
What did I do?
Was it me?'
The children will be tortured by these words,
by lives that weren't in technicolor,
by the paranoia of being tolerated instead of liked,
by the anxiety that a paid-off house
and nice car couldn't alleviate,
by themselves.
The children will retire and will have realized that they worked their entire lives just to enjoy ten years.
Their hair follicles will let go of strands and locks,
like a dandelion being stripped by the wind.
The enamel on their teeth will corrode and, before long, they will be thankful for the sensitivity of their teeth because the coldness of senior-citizen-discounted ice cream will be one of the few things they will be able to feel, let alone put a genuine smile on their face.
They will sit on their recliners, stare at their keyboard-kissed fingers and tell themselves the past never happened.
Because that's what tortured people do.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
A CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR OWN HELLO POETRY CARL JOSEPH ROBERTS
he is now a NEW AUTHOR of his OWN AND NEW POETRY BOOK...
"THROUGH MY EYES"
THE book has been discounted for CHRISTMAS
come one come all ... come get a WONDERFUL POETRY BOOK FOR CHRISTMAS ....
Congratulations Joe... your awesome!!!!!
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
I remember sitting
On the tiny porch
Of my dad’s home
Offended by the sun
That continued to sink and set
Without pausing to acknowledge
My dad’s passing.
Offended by the cars
That continued on the highway;
Callous indifference, it seemed to me.
Even the birds at their feeder
Greedily fed and failed to look up
To mark the loss of their benefactor.
I found myself
Silently demanding condolences
In every encounter.
Not for the sympathy,
Or worse, pity,
But for the acknowledgement
That he was here
And now he’s gone,
And something,
However infinitesimally small
In the scopeless universe,
Has changed.
I have two cousins.
The first called my dad
Every month.
His regular call came
During the last days.
The decline surprised him.
He took a deep breath
And asked for speakerphone
Near my dad.
He told my dad
How much my dad had
Influenced his life;
How as a child,
he anticipated a visit from my dad
Like kids stay up to see Santa;
How my dad made my cousin feel
Like he was the most important kid
In the wide world;
How my dad gave my cousin
The otherwise unavailable
Sustenance of heart
Young boys need;
How my cousin had strived to be
Like my dad
And how he hoped
His own children see in him
What he saw in my dad.
That was acknowledgement,
Profound acknowledgement.
My second cousin called
Shortly after the first.
He had heard
That my dad was dying.
He did not ask
To speak with my dad.
He wanted to tell me
To call him
As soon as memorial
Arrangements were made
So that he could purchase
Discounted airline tickets,
To include a subsequent visit
To his son who lives
In the southern part of the state.
My dad was still living.
That, too, acknowledged something,
And served to impel my pending decision.
So I opted for
A less conventional
Memorial ritual
That required neither
Plane tickets nor attendance
Nor a frozen smile reception.
I would not suffer
Insincere acknowledgement.
I am sure I scandalized
Many acquaintances of my dad
Who enjoyed the social conventions of
The anticipated gathering
If only to point out the deficiencies
Of the event and the host.
I am sure I offended
And frustrated
And embittered
One of my cousins.
The other cousin thought
My dad would have preferred
Sincerity
Over a pantomime.
I would suffer
The disfavor and distaste
Of the discontented
With no difficulty.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
Internal battles meant to be discounted
And anxieties rumored as dismounted
While nothing could have amounted
To the tales within those mountains
Regarded and enabled as fountains
Of flowing wisdom which hasn’t counted
The melody of life yet to be sounded
A treasure seemed and well-rounded
Apr 22, 2021
Apr 22, 2021 at 3:24 AM UTC
We live in times of blind acceptance,
absorbing all things possible through
technology.
Loving the options, we scroll through
aisles of the same final product,
advertised through a different
touch of what is perceived as genuine,
or discounted;
all wanting a better outcome for
anything that will benefit
the me--
the end leaving us before
the one true requirement--
that human beings rely on;
the idea of what it is that
pushes us towards being accepted,
acknowledged….
Loved.
and here I stand;
I know nothing,
and disregard all attachment.
Whatever it is that makes me,
wants something
to prove,
and I care nothing for
proving myself to anyone.
I would rather die for someone
else, than learn to die for myself.
ahahha.
Humanity,
More like a circus ring
of counterfeit conformity
we continuously
jump through;
rings of discernment that have only one
surviving outcome--
to acknowledge truth,
or find demise in disregard
let us all become one, through our
desire to be perceived as someone
who ceases judgment upon the world,
and inside the mirrored mind
behind the eye.
Oh yes,
let the wave of ego
cause the most ultra turbulence,
tossing and crashing all the
choices we engrave into stone.
absorbing the chaos of what it
means to be human.
and yet we are also the generation
who is best at neglecting,
and even better at diversion, so let
us live on in the desensitization
of consequence,
ignoring the constant feeling
of conviction, and condemnation,
when enlightenment waits patiently
within the search for wisdom.
We can accept, or neglect
the creation.
For fear understood is often the
answer to longevity.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 5:24 PM UTC
Ooooooprah...
it is time for us to
have a little chat:
i have heard you say,
on video, that opposition
to Obama is based on
racism. Haters gonna hate,
you say.
i disagree. While surely
there are some who feel
this way, since America
is such a big and diverse
place, i think you have
discounted a much more
appropriate reason for
opposing the O:
incompetence.
If not that, how about lying?
If not that, how about hypocrisy?
There are more, but my space is limited.
Do any of the above do
anything for you, besides
racism?
Keep in mind, Oprah, that as
a percentage of population,
white folks still are the majority.
And you are now filthy
rich, thanks in part to those
same white people, some of whom
dislike the president.
So...being pro-Oprah and anti-Obama
are mutually exclusive?
An awful lot of white folks
helped you get rich, does
that mean to you that they are
race traitors? Are you trying
not to be?
Race sure does seem really important
to you. And yet America (even
white America) elected a black man
twice to the presidency. It wasn't
important to most Americans what
color he was.
They are mad now because they were
duped by an incompetent lawyer. And
now they know it for sure.
So when you, Oprah, fall back on
race instead of logic, you are
playing your last card of desperation.
It has no merit. You know that.
In fact, Oprah, to my mind
YOU are the racist.
The only other alternative i see is
that you are ashamed of how
wrong you were supporting him,
and too prideful to admit
it.
But you certainly seem to think
that white America owes you or
the president some debt other
than our money and our
dwindling rights.
Because you think that you both
are superior.
That is called racism, Oprah.
Look it up sometime.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
I love the costume you wear
Discounted and undervalued
But I see it for its true colors
It's a method, a mood, a mystery
How after so much pain
You're still here somehow, and smiling.
I love the costume you wear
Ocean blue sadness
Veiled by the violet warmth of your acceptance
Indescribably beautiful melancholy
Like the sunrise I watched today
The night wistfully accepting the inevitable morning
Knowing that midnight's velvet comfort will once again return.
I love the costume you wear
But I wish you wouldn't hide your true colors within
Its fierce red curtained folds
Or behind those miserably memorized monologues that just don't ring true
It's like you've got stage fright but
The stage is yourself.
I love the costume you wear
But come with me
And let's dance until the pain glows like the sun and becomes beautiful
Until the moon lights your way and you are no longer afraid
Until the wind takes your hand and you can release the curtain and let go
Until you can drop the script and let your words fly like birds, of their own accord
And until you can embrace the world
With only your heart, your smile, and yourself
And dance beyond it all, freely.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
There ain't real salary, wages, or full time
only disgruntled currency and
spoiled company that left the
milk out after breakfast while flashing
Nike sneakers, Motorola phones, burying
a forgotten geometric axiom, bestowed
with several hammers, in the
place where angels fall from trees
when you shake up their limbs ,
threaten to pull their hair. Sleeping used
to be a victim-less crime until I left
you swinging all by your lonesome
even when dad was shaking me awake
at two after two. Noon. I
was up, down, in and backed out sideways
through a diagonal cave that
was flooded by Europeans
who lost their leather shoes
trying to find Truth by
shutting themselves inside out
Even if God turns out to
be dead or under a trance
because he found his true love
wearing ***** pants, folded backwards
and frayed at the shins, while
she's got holes on inside her
thighs and the final schema,
parallel to the referee
signalling for the bell that's
situated behind environmentally
friendly nuclear bombs that
Bin Laden used to get at a discounted
price and sold them to America
marked up 3 fold. They'll burn medicinal
plants besides the **** in your
backyard and feed us cancer while
selling us over-priced tickets to
watch over-paid men play with
***** while those on wall street
pull out their carving knives
on the turkey that was too dried
out that upon entry it burst
into a double helix of poisonous
rat-tails that fell off Zeus when they
shattered his lightening in the sand
and opened the glass to the forbidden
triangle of the man with ***** soiled
wrinkled hands, placing his spine out for all to see
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
When I'm high, I'm high, when I'm low, I'm low. My emotions swing around the world, I walk the dog, I rock the the cradle. I've been off of the wall, I've discounted whatever is lowest; I stopped following the downs, to keep an opportunistic mind on focus. I'm focusing on the present, because today is always now. I started thinking like Buddhist, and I've accepted suffering for what it is.
I've become enlightened but there was no where else to go. Atrophy of my mind, I'm dying, with nothing left to know. Where should I direct my thoughts to grow? I desire wealth in every area I touch. A dreamer for every wealth I could ever own. Aware of power that draws spirit away from soul, I hear the devils calling and see only one road to follow. I've mirrored what I've seen, and copied any role-model, but now I see no-one else to follow, have I grown to where now I am an example? I'm just as confused as any, I see the reality wishy wash, I see a society properly programmatic willing to accept being brain-washed. I've learned I should never break the spell of one who is following their truth's, I've seen it as an ethical choice to let a winner win, and to let a loser loose.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
The streets were paved with hawkers
Flamboyant sunshades
two dollar sunglasses discounted from
twenty thousand pesos.
I couldn’t walk past the conversation of skytowers
Underwear hanging precariously
Off high ledges where it was hard to read
The designer labels
A man with a small monkey
Was reading fortunes
With an ape like face
He certainly saw the future!
A delicious woman with pushed up
***** beckoned me away from boredom
I walked into a valley of sinister looks
For looking away.
At night the sky shed its diamonds
On the sidewalks of ecstasy
And the digital signage
torched the front of buildings
With blue and red flames bursting
Invitations to your wallet
I carried a six pack Lion
Home to watch the night sky
Dance till dawn with necklaces
Of neon.
Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 7 days ago
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
At his face it got harder to stare
But in his truth he would glower
Into this looking glass
That looks right back
At the years of age
That washed his face
Over that disgraced fortnight
and it’s dragging scrape
What was his counted,
that ruffling came natural
In a sentiment of the innate
and the inner mechanics of his climate
Co-Walkers, he thought viewed him a cynics ornate
From then on, became perpetually discounted
Though his face got harder to look at
by its contents,
Optics inflamed
and wrinkles elongated
to his whiskers growing skyward
a striking true spruce in essence to become
Nevertheless a bedraggled authentic
Just before a flooding pooled his lids
or the dawning of his tears
Until this vanish to enhance
These characters took on relevance
Apropos of what he saw looking back
The girl, his love, the spirit inside his drive
She could see all directions, like hands on a clock,
Every hour the dialed sun would tower
Giving her all his angles,
She could anticipate all of this,
including all opposites
She could see all that
To her,
His face was not hard to stare
Still chiseled but shaved,
like polished marble glare
Her love was true for years
Opposing claims would be intercepted when asked if during she dabbled in deception
Then immediately accepted their quiz, taking near comfort as she’s done for years placing her lips closer to his eyes,
she kissed his cheek and licked his tears
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 11:08 PM UTC
I wish that you believed in love, so then maybe you could see the love I have to give. Like a trap star, I got so much I sell the **** But nobody wants it, all having been scorned by the one before. So I'm sellin mine in bulk at a discounted rate- lacking conversation and maybe a second date. Always only half invested, I keep having to get myself tested to see if something's love or lust, and always saying "In God I trust" but trust less in the dollar bills that are leaving people unfulfilled like a bad trip on a half *** stash. Like a ****** out of rehab, you swore off love because her lies tied the belt around your arm as her breath fueled the fire of her kisses that cooked and were injected into you veins, that was the only pain you knew of love. Left strung out on the bathroom floor your hopes and dreams went down the drain along with your hope that you'd get another hit of her. Her love was your drug and it turned into addiction- a daily procedure, she'd tell you lies of pride and leave you alone to seizure. You checked yourself in to the nearest center for rehabilitation and you made gettin clean your obligation..
I'm sitting here wondering if there's any hope for a relapse cause you've seemed to have swept off my feet and I'm standing on my kneecaps. I'm not saying I want you to fall back to the track of what backtracked you, but the feeling that comes when something you're in is the truth. I want to be your natural high. Trippin off life and all the little things. Let me hold your hand so can feel the beat of my heart pulsing through your veins. I don't wanna make you blind, I just want to open your heart so you don't see the end before the **** ever starts. That was my problem too, but I had to live in the moment. I knew that they'd be gone, I just couldn't have shown it. I just want to make you breathless, remove your fear like articles of clothing and shed this...
They say if you want to stay alive, don't get high on your own supply... unless of course you sharin- that's better, then you can get high together. John Legend said we on cloud 9 together. Let my kiss send you to another place while my hair that falls around you is the only way to find your way back. Lay me on my back and rest your head on my chest and exhale your stress. I'll inhale the lies and believe me when I tell you "everything's going to be aright". Everything's going to be alright.
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 6:54 PM UTC
I crept up to the rocking chair
Perched beside my bedroom door,
Pressed my ear up to the wood
Waiting for daddy's snores,
Silence in heaps,
Between discounted sheep,
Blared into the darkness,
Until, an eye-squeezing roar
Shook the entire first floor,
Following my tiptoes across the carpet.
Down the hall and to the left
And quickly up the stairs
(Swiftly, I went
In my flighty ascent -
Should goblins follow,
Me - unawares),
I burst into the attic
Heart naively in panic -
Back evened with the sturdy door,
The attic, at last!
The window ahead,
And beyond it,
I could only imagine.
--
Daddy told me once,
From behind billows of smoke,
That the more I dreamt
The more things awoke,
I dreamt of a dragon
In bed that night,
So, with the stars, up high
Should be a dragon in flight,
I threw open the curtains,
Soul, a wish-filled flagon,
Breath held tight
To behold my...lizard?
--
An itty bitty
Teeny weeny
Green,
(and somewhat, brownish)
Thing,
Crawled across
My window sill
Lacking all his
Dragon things,
His dragon hue,
And dragon size,
Everything
Dragon-wise,
I plopped down to
The floor beneath
The window,
And I took a seat,
I watched that little
Dragonette -
Slowly trying
To just forget,
The dragon I had come to see
Hadn't cared enough to come see me,
Then that lizard did a crazy thing -
Popped up his head -
Showin' a big pink thing!
I wasn't sure what sounds lizards made
So, I moved up close
('cause I wasn't afraid!)
Eye to eye,
I leaned in close,
Then that thing jumped forward
And bit my nose!
...
I'm pretty sure he liked me.
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 6:34 PM UTC
Oh glorious day, did my eyes deceive?
So long the wait had been I could not believe,
That the time had come, so bright and fair,
My poor and barren chin would no longer be bare.
No more would I shave in vain attempt
To feel manly and escape contempt
From my bearded brother, whom according to he,
Could grow a full beard by the age of 3.
Oh how he'd be proven wrong from now on,
That even 'Baby Faced Jack' could possibly grow one,
Soon I'd have more hair than could be counted.
So much in fact I would never be discounted,
By burly builders and stubbly cooks
And have my age judged as 12 based on my looks.
Oh, what possibilities could be within my grasp,
Sideburns, goatees, chin beards OOH A Moustache
Ah, so many new ways to help me look prim and distinguished,
Like Hugh Jackman but better because I'm... English?
But as I pet, stroke and caress this wonderful hair,
My eyes widen in fear and despair
It was not what it seemed, it just wasn't fair,
This wonderful thing must have come from elsewhere,
For as I prided over becoming a man,
That tiny hair fell off right into my hand.
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC
Snuggled up in your hoodie
You said it looked good on me
As we walked between trees
Looking for a place to go
Somewhere you could smoke
It smells like your cologne
So as I lay here alone
It’s as if you’re still here
Whispering sweet nothings into my ear
Still remember the first sight
The first time
And the last
But all that has passed.
You taught me how to steal
How to feel
That thrilling appeal
In fact this very hoodie
Was one of your five-finger discounted goodies
I took a top from Good Will today
Just to feel the same type of way
As when you were by my side
It was like you were there along for the ride.
Cannot wait till I see you again
My soul aches for its best friend.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
Look through the fence, you see that beast there?
That tense lump of muscle and mange-ridden hair?
That's old Scrapyard Spike, and this is his lair;
Don't tread in his yard on adventure nor dare.
Old Scrapyard Spike, he's been a-weathered for years;
In his chain-link domain, rain-soaked despair.
Unfed in the morning, watered only with tears;
Unsheltered from squalls, corroded by glare.
Now poor Scrapyard Spike wasn't always so old,
When he was a puppy, they told him they loved him;
But when he grew up, he had to make friends with the cold,
For with the clink of a fence, he was thrown out on a whim
So Spike spent his days alone with his chain;
He sweltered at noon and slept wet with the rain;
And all those who passed him discounted his pain:
"He's just an old cur" was the daily refrain
And then one cold day, a girl found her way in;
Her flesh on her bones, blood coursing unspilled.
Old Spike smelled her first, his chain went a-slitherin'
And the lost child stood rooted, her every nerve chilled.
The silence of metal, broken plastic and glass,
The beast came a-running, his chain length a ploy;
And jaws opened wide as he lunged for the lass;
But when his head pressed her thigh, he whimpered with joy.
Old Spike raised the call with a manticore's thunder;
A summoning cast with his lungs' every strain.
She petted him gently, whose care she was under,
Though his poor heart convulsed as he looked back at his chain.
The clangor succeeded, a blue-clad protector
Saw the beast at her heel, and he drew as he lept;
An ounce of hot metal found Scrapyard Spike's skull,
And the last thing he heard was his friend as she wept.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
Net Present Value
**NPV can be described as the “difference amount” between the sums of discounted future inflows and outflows. It compares the present value of something today to the present value of that thing in the future, taking into account, "discounting" for inflation and returns into account.
Something now is more valuable than later on, because it can invested to make more.**
the value today of your self,
the future discounted for all
you have
yet to learn,
yet to earn,
the mistakes,
the losses,
yet to be incurred.
netting the modest successes
now past, of long ago,
against the sum of
too many failings as
father and son,
poet and man.
time is short now,
nearer to the end than
many streams of new inflows.
the discount rate:
looking in the mirror,
this presence,
this who I am,
the what I be,
adding in, subtracting out,
the inflation of dreams,
+ / -
the deflation of disappointments.
yet, compelled to do,
iterate daily,
the calculation of who,
never-ending,
continuously solving
for my own
net present value.
http://www.mathsisfun.com/money/net-present-value.html
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 5:46 AM UTC
Leong's watching TikTok on her laptop (as always) and she asks Lisa (a NYC girl) “Are you familiar with the the “downtown girl” aesthetic?”
Lisa’s dismissive, “Yeah, it just looks like Urban Outfitters grunge to me.”
Leong explains, “It includes headphones and it’s supposed to be a Lower Manhattan style.”
“Yeah,” Lisa snorts, “Because Greenwich Village and the Lower East Side are SO cohesive.”
Lisa considers herself an Uptown girl (like the song) even though 59th Street, where she lives, is the border between Uptown and Midtown Manhattan. I’m learning that these distinctions are culturally key to New Yorkers.
“And,” Lisa adds, “why would someone wear, and lug around, giant, clunky headphones when you can use AirPods??”
“Amen sister.” I proclaim and even Leong nods in agreement.
“Later, Sunny, Leong and I are on a study break, eating salads and talking about who we hope Yale invites to the next “Spring Fling” concert. We aren’t being realistic; we’re covering who we wish would come. I’d named Charlie Puth, “Kat-Tun!” Leong squealed (A Japanese boy band - apparently Chinese girls LOVE their boybands) and Sunny countered with Ed Sheeran.
“I don’t like Ed Sheeran,” I mumbled, making a yuck-face.
“Why no Ed?” Sunny gasps with shock (She’s a big Ed fangirl).
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “he’s a star by all measurable metrics,” I admit, “but,” I fade out.
“You want my theory on Ed hate?” Sunny offered, “He’s beyond talented vocally - whoever your favorite artist is, Ed’s probably not that far behind. He’s a stellar song writer and he’s making hit after hit; do you want my theory?”
“Too basic, too popular?” I guess.
“No, he’s not appealing to the gaze,” Sunny states.
“The gays?” Leong questions, stepping back into the conversation.
“No,” Sunny corrects, “the gaze - G-A-Z-E, he doesn’t try to look pretty all the time.”
“Ha!” I snort, “Gaze, I thought you meant gays too,” as Leong and I chuckle together.
“No,” Sunny laughs, “nothing like THAT. Ed’s just not trying to be a heartthrob, he knows that’s not his core strong point - and that’s why he’s discounted.”
“Like lesbians don’t comb their hair or wear makeup and wear pajamas to class” Leong observes, “they don’t want to attract the male gaze?”
“No, we’re not imbued by the male gaze.” Sunny states, “Ed just wants to lowkey.”
Dec 14, 2022
Dec 14, 2022 at 10:51 AM UTC
Off to buy a discounted Pentax Spotmatic 2
down Purley Radios.
I want to book a holiday in Scarborough too.
Dracula's brood back in Shirley
deserve a wait long for that postcard.
Later I plan to take Rachel to see
"The Phantom of the Paradise"
and together buy some vinyl down HR Cloakes.
"Calamity Jane", by Stray Dog I suggest
Parfait is the world for us bedsitters in Waddon.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
The morning chill tickles my revealing skin,
travels up my thigh like the secrets
you confided in me between the sweet sheets
of our ****** escapade or your fingers gliding up
until it isn’t my leg anymore.
The cold leaves me missing summer
and missing everything that came with it.
Heat that allowed me to wear cute shorts
and left you wanting more, then the heat
that left us sweaty, parched, and ecstatic.
Discounted date nights at the bowling alley,
free try at the batting cages if we had the time,
and a carefree attitude that made every adventure
as special as the last.
I’m dressed in that new leather skirt
you haven’t seen in case it actually warms up later
and attempts to fill the void that the breeze
and the winter and the breakup brought
and left.
The sun peeks through my window
and the day begins anew, much like myself,
and I’m anxious to see what is ahead in lecture
and in life.
January 22, 2014
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
How to make friends over a beer
How to make any modest room beautiful with fairy lights
How to consecutively loose three university ID cards, replace them and then simultaneously find all three misplaced cards in the bottom of the same bag.
How to blag your way onto the university bus without ID
How to make a family out of your friends
When to give constructive criticism.
When to hit the cafeteria for discounted lunch items
When to let house mates off for making the kitchen a **** tip
When to realise that the reason your soreen cake keeps going missing from you food cupboard is not in fact because there are some soreen cake loving mice, it is in fact just your house mate who “just thought you weren’t going to eat it”
When to plant an onion in hopes of an onion tree.
Where to kick a corrugated door for a taxi
Where to get the best tray of jalapeños
Where to get a magic tenner
Where to sit in the lecture hall so you could only be partially seen
Where to find your confidence
Knowing I’ll never be able to pay off my university debt
But knowing it was priceless
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 5:05 AM UTC
***to tell you
you are terrific lately
Just because
you are all over
the map
of all creation
your prowess
is not discounted
here
forgive
conditional bones
you would have
no defensiveness
if you could put
your whole live's
goals, plans
ambitions, desires
into a single day
However there is
just this here now
one
and each of such dailies
and who can sniff each
as just another flower
upon the scent
of paradise
is the hourglass set
just the once
drifting time
unforeseen
or can forgiveness be
found through the occasional
dispensation somehow garnered
re-topping the hopper***
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC