"disposable" poems
I like to think that I'm a mixture of a sunflower, a lioness, and a tortoise.
why?
simply because a sunflower is
exuberant,
vibrant in color,
flows softly and carelessly with the wind,
plain and simple,
Intriguing to say the lease.
why a lioness?
because she is Queen of the Sahara desert.
she is loyal,
she is independent and does not fully need to depend on a male,
though when given the right one, she'll go through many lengths to accommodate him.
she is also full in color, plastered with battle scars to prove that she is of worth
and can handle the meat thrown at her
with nothing but scavengers surrounding her,
tempting her.
why a tortoise?
because they are slow and steady,
live on land with feet as claws, being able to dig into troubles and come out more wise than before.
Also they can retrieve back into their cave for as long and as endless as they want,
solitude is acceptable and perfered.
one is noticeable yet, easily breakable and disposable.
one is lazy, yet keen
one is small, yet can take on the world for three hundred and thirty years.
I'll be forever, and memorable, and radiant.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 5:22 AM UTC
i am tired of fighting, i am too old, i’ve seen too much
i am throwing down my weapon, i surrender, **** me if you must have blood
i don’t care anymore, i don’t remember what i am fighting for, i just want to go home.
put this war behind me, live to love, not to **** not to die, for what purpose, for what god.
who will commemorate our battles, and those who have died just yesterday
who will remember our names, aspiration, dreams once we are dead
we are disposable, born to **** then die, who cares, why care, we served your purpose
we are the pawns, expected to die for the greater good that we can not have
look at your lives, was it worth it, how do you honor Them, those who died, so you can live
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 12:08 PM UTC
Human Observations (the woman pees)
if you walk the world with pen and paper
or eclectic electronic devices,
sure as the sunrise espied,
the pen will quick leak
when wearing white
and so will too the
righteous words
righteously,
thereafter
when you can't sleep and you must
slam your sweaty fist into pillow
know that the pillow is
silent thinking, dude,
you really ain't
got a hope, a
prayer
fallen asleep in the soaking tub
a thousand and one times,
ain't never drowned like
the warning ones say I
will do but only when
restless in my rustling
no-safety night sleep
in my lumpy bed,
where I’ve already
dream-drowned
a million
times
the woman pees, safe and secure,
comforted by the knowledge
that we have bathrooms
separate, her toilet,
man *** free, tho
we just finished
making sweaty,
fluid swapping
***
she does not, won't put on makeup
in her pj's to take out the garbage,
that is why she keeps loverman,
so handy, nearby, shamelessly
firm, unwavering, good god,
great for one "disposable"
use per night
when you tell your child that you love them,
and they do not reply at all, it isn't that they
don't love ya back, 'tis only that they haven't
learned to love themselves
something well that just
cannot be
taught.
the more trinkets I buy her,
more she screams stop,
but never not once
has she said, here,
take it
back
if you don't believe in Faeries and Elusives,
try, for then you have a middling chance
of getting the missing, disappearing
whole sock hiding
in her ******
back, intact
If must look up the time where your
love is currently hiding/residing,
then the probability is more than
1.000, that you no longer love
her enough, or
she, you,
not at
all
you know it is time to shut down,
hang up the pen and close the
iPad cover, surrender,
give up the poetry gig
4 real when you start
to prefer an
autocorrect
suggestion
~
More to follow.
someday.
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 7:19 PM UTC
I was purchased, used, and thrown out.
I got to see a few good times. Usually blurry or something got in the way, but it was still sort of ok.
The cycle starts over.
I'm purchased, used, and thrown out.
Once again I see wonderful things,
but usually posed and fake.
It was still sort of ok.
Until the cycle starts over.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
I know it hurts like heavy nothingness, and it feels like everything was pointless. Like it was all wasted time and effort and feelings, avoidable heartache, disposable passion. I know it hurts, and you’re hoping it’s all a lie, that you’ll close your eyes and everything will go back to the way it used to be. But even though it feels impossible now, you will learn to let go. It may take awhile, and it may always sting, but one thing that’s certain is that you will be okay. You’ll learn to breathe again without wincing, you won’t flinch at the sound of her name. First it’ll be a day, then two, then weeks and months and you’ll forget all about the pain. You’ll smile and laugh and it won’t be fleeting or fake, it’ll be real. You are going to be happy again. I know it hurts. I know. It’s okay that it hurts, you’re human. But I promise you, it won’t hurt forever.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Make
your
Next
move
Two. paces. forward.
three. paces. left.
New position
protection of the weak
inferior to the mightier.
One. pace. forward.
disposable
casualty of the battle
slice me open
take me into the other
with your strong hand.
Zero. paces.
Stay seated
and think ahed,
safe,
behind the wall of marble bodies.
DO NOT let them in.
None left.
Battle won.
Take me away to remind me,
that at the end of the game
the king and the pawn
are still put away
in the same box.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC
Hi. Do you care enough to hear me whine?
I fear that you don’t see me
collecting dust in the dim corner of your room.
And while you stand and stare,
completely absorbed by your own despair,
I remain
ready to serve you
and your meaningless life.
I can clean your room, yet I can’t clean your mind
of the false reality exemplified by your kind.
We are similar though, you and I.
Wasting our time amassing, acquiring, accumulating.
Honestly, we’re mere specks of life,
surrendering to realities constructed by our minds.
Don’t you know that your beloved earthly pleasures
are one and the same as the ******* that I collect?
Hard-earned, elusive, temporal, disposable.
Its laughable how ignorant you are;
consumed by your own subliminal thoughts,
leaving you searching for the remnants of what is and what is not.
Can’t you see the fallacies present in your head?
Gleaming yet blinding, salient yet obscure.
Armed with benevolent promises
that ultimately leave you for dead.
Can’t you see that what you crave
will inevitably **** you down to your grave?
Incessantly coated with wondrous, tempting illusions
that disguise its true nature--garbage.
Garbage. Connect the dots, you fool.
Can’t you see that you and I are one and the same?
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
Where does the spark and infatuation from the beginning go?
It’s crazy how quickly you can go from being excited to talk to a person to feeling like you’re forcing the conversation. The quality time you spend with each other turns into “I was busy” and the consistent communication becomes “I don’t know”. When does “I hate to see you leave” turn into “It hurts too much to stay?”
Could it be because we’re all guilty of taking things for granted? Maybe we think love is something which will appear whenever it is convenient, or maybe we don’t realize how important it is to keep a good thing going. Maybe we think happiness is something that just finds us, instead of being something we must work for. And maybe that’s why we end up doing or saying something we shouldn’t have, and regret our actions later. It’s amazing how fast things change…
You go from laughing about anything to arguing about everything. You go through the motions, wondering if they’re real, if they really do care, or if they’re going to run when it turns rough. It’s so scary. You want to give more of yourself to somebody but it’s hard so these days because you just never know if you’ll get anything back. Don’t we all deserve a bit of love? Love is not something just to be taken, it’s to be given as well. You think you have it all sorted. That they will come around sooner or later. That they will realize what they are doing will only wreck the relationship beyond repair.
You do little things, you stay consistent, but somehow it just doesn’t add up. Maybe the problem is that we except the love to be magical before we become magicians. Or could it be that we’re all just better breakers than builders? We’d rather have feelings we can throw away and ‘love’ that’s disposable.
We grew up reading tales like Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty etc, which lead us to believe that the path of love is a bed of roses, without the thorns. Or blame it on the overdose of the too-good-to-be-true love stories we encounter in films and read in novels. Happily ever after is a myth. And Happily Married is the biggest oxymoron ever.
Reality is rough. You only want what’s easy and that’s why what you get never lasts. Everybody wants to be fought for but nobody is willing to fight. Is this fair? She loves butterflies but she avoids beginnings because she hates to start over. He’s tired but he’s so used to the chase that he’s scared to stop running.
Makes you wonder… Is love really hard, or are people just difficult?
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
It was hard to miss Jerry
in the corner
holding court
over the bran muffin.
Flurries of judgement and wisdom
flying across coffee dappled pages
as he sentenced a large cup of
Paruvian Dark Roast
to be ******
7 am Dan never flinched
steeling his tenured chair at
a spot one section of stir sticks away
calculably just out of reach
of the regularly scheduled tantrum.
An auburn-haired newbie
fanes camoflage
peeking over two pages of Obituaries
she never intended to read.
Her raised and nearly detached eyebrows
hover above the dateline like a magic trick.
And on every table fall
scattered leaves
of press print trees
unsorted and littered with intent
by careless absorbers of trivia.
Disconnected
ear-budded
footnotes of humanity
see nothing
hear nothing
using the disarrayed World News as
enormous coasters
unmoved by hyper-ventilating compulsives
pushing panic buttons through
desperate quests to uncover
one alphabetically organized set
of local news.
Of the papers not strewn
the remnant holds anxious
on a distant wall
a throng of flopping
rabbit-eared
step children
dangling precariously
from unaccomodating magazine racks
like smoky orphans from
windows in a fiery building.
Disordered.
Disrespected.
Discarded...words are
Jews in the holocaust.
Death of a voice.
We are irreverent in our silence
diminishing genius through apathy
put off by the imposition to be challenged
choosing disposable principles
above responsible knowledge.
Everything is disposable - cameras, cars,
relationships, loyalty, babies...and wisdom -
crumpling Pulitzer prize authors
and discarding WW2 veterans
just to get to the cartoons.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
This poem is green
Would you buy this poem?
This poem is do-it-yourself
backyard garden green.
This poem is save the world
give peas a chance green;
this poem is azure sky
squeezing the golden sun
all over the world green.
Could you buy this poem?
This poem is apples and oranges
farmer’s artist market green.
This poem has
leaves as pillows
and blankets as grass;
this poem is a lil’ patch of green
earth purchase me plot;
this poem is
100%
recyclable
disposable,
sustainable
(after all it has gotten this far)
You should buy this poem.
This poem is green,
its’ tyro-technics
shooting out of asphalt cracks.
This poem is a snot-nosed brat
full of SASS
(short attention span sentences)
This poem is the hope of audacity.
This poem is fumbling with bra straps
and tongue-tied techniques,
this poem isn’t old enough
to know any better, it’s wet
behind the ears green
petting zoo pellets green
willing to SCREAM green
but not part of
a gang green
this poem is all alone
with its words
Buy this poem?
This poem is green
Its envious of
solar panel studios with eyes on the price
of a venti economy
This poem is the green-eyed monster
of product placement pick-o-the profit
This poem WANTS to make
consumer obedience the easy culprit.
But really…
This poem just wishes it could sing
Won’t you buy this poem?
This poem is green.
This poem has no half-life,
shelf life or
night life.
This poem exists solely in this moment
of your imagination.
This poem has milk carton desperation.
This poem is begging for change.
This poem was stolen from all of you.
This poem is not for sale.
Buy This Poem!
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
"Son can you play me a memory
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet
And I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes"
Billy Joel lyrics from
"Piano Man"*
~~~~~~~~~~~~
when I was very young
I wore Levi jeans and white
Hanes cotton T shirts
my mother bot me,
my feet, Ked clad, red
from the kid's "department" store
on Central Avenue,
the Main Street of my small town
when I was a young lad,
I wore workingman's cargo jeans and
white Hanes cotton T shirts
under red plaid
wooly shirts, itchy affairs,
that I bot for myself
in a real Army Navy store,
desert colored suede boots,
laced up high,
upon my feet
when I was of middling years,
my jeans were khaki pants,
Gap supplied,
and my Gap T shirts,
faded like me,
a non-descript color,
made in a gap of pale pastel colors
from Bangladesh or Vietnam,
pale pastel, like me
so as I slide~decline into
my nursing home years,
I wear unbranded jeans and
white cotton no name T shirts
with matching white disposable slippers,
that the Purchasing Department
bot for me, cause they know,
I like,
a younger man's clothes and
the memories that play all day
lost in day dreaming of a life
well dressed
2:01am
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
Leave me where you dropped me, like litter in the boulevard.
You're just another passer-by,
who sees my home in the dirt.
Pretend it wasn't you who made the mess, if it helps you sleep tonight.
I suppose I'm disposable,
now that I've been used.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 3:38 AM UTC
Outside two squirrels foraging
Inside one hundred and one keys tapping
Three buttons clicking and one wheel spinning
Eight hours a day sitting badly
In an ergonomic desk chair
Soft fingers tap on plastic and glass
Weak muscle memory of calluses and splinters
And sunburn blisters from another life
Outside the old prairie wind howls like a phantom
Lost in urban canyons buffets the panes
Drives the torrents of freezing rain
Hard droplets tap on metal and glass
While inside our high-rise terrariums we sit
Generating transient value that flits
Up into the clouds till whenever
You tap plastic to trade your invisible worth
For a hot meal in a disposable bowl
Ponder and sip in another life you could be
Spending all day in the freezing rain
Hunting squirrels for soup
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 4:57 PM UTC
She doesn't exactly follow an ambition to be part of a new world
She isn't exactly the definition of your typical post-modern-feminist girl
I'm sorry princess, that you had to have me on this day
But you could have made it easier to find something to say
Jumped up and done some doing about how my foot got in my mouth this way
Instead you're sitting, pouting pretty cause your pretense won't get played
I'll watch you smoke your cigarette, while you're in your loose thread Sunday clothes,
Let's take one of those strings, hold your dress to the wind and see if it floats
Disposable cameras,
Forever fights.
Forever cameras,
Disposable nights.
Hey there weary stranger, I'm sorry I got you confused,
It's just in my lamer moments like this, I don't know what to do,
My silence won't tell you you're beautiful, so I overload and surge through the fuse,
Let me shut up and take you to dinner, if you're lucky we'll both get used.
We're so over the disposable camera generation,
Disposable cameras,
Forever fights.
Now it's a forever rolling fixation,
Forever cameras,
Disposable nights.
So watch out how you smile,
Maybe try to be nice,
Cause if happiness is found in teeth, I friend the crocodile,
And the coolest cats do the same for the mice
So watch out how you smile,
Maybe try to be nice,
Cause if happiness is found in fangs flashed then I friend the crocodile,
And the coolest cats do the same for the mice
We're so over the disposable camera generation,
Disposable cameras, make way for
Forever fights.
Now it's a forever rolling fixation,
Forever cameras, only roll on
Disposable nights.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
**Tupac said: **** the world**
And on the first day he wept
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Because he knew God had slept
**Tupac said: **** the world**
No promises to be broken or kept
**Tupac said: **** the world**
This baby was already in debt
**Tupac said: **** the world**
In anger there is no word of thanks
**Tupac said: **** the world**
*He **** sure wasn't shooting blanks*
**Tupac said: **** the world**
So I ask why am I so sheltered?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
And act so self-centered?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Is it because my Mom held me?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
And she was always there for me?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Why can't I see his point of view?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Why are white people so scared of you?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
He was a product of real life
**Tupac said: **** the world**
His bottle was a switchblade knife
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Yeah we thought he was a criminal
**Tupac said: **** the world**
His anger was not so subliminal
**Tupac said: **** the world**
So while we give thanks and pray
**Tupac said: **** the world**
It seems we really just look away
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Man what's wrong with that boy?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
A gun in his hand ain't no toy
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Where was he supposed to go?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
*What if you were raised by a **
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Are we in a position to judge?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Maybe it's us we should begrudge
**Tupac said: **** the world**
What should offend you more?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
The reality you try to ignore?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
The shock of all the profanity?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Or the fact of his poverty?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
He knew he was disposable
**Tupac said: **** the world**
A gangsta rappers's not so lovable
**Tupac said: **** the world**
That was the only way to survive
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Nobody cared if he lived or died
**Tupac said: **** the world**
The industry only wants the money
**Tupac said: **** the world**
But they never called him honey
**Tupac said: **** the world**
He was dead before he was born
**Tupac said: **** the world**
But he could rhyme about scorn
**Tupac said: **** the world**
And now he's dead and gone
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Did you think he was wrong?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
He knew how to die better than you
**Tupac said: **** the world**
What do you pay attention to?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Reality tv and some situation?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
*Being trendy and ************
**Tupac said: **** the world**
The money really didn't really matter
**Tupac said: **** the world**
He kept up the harsh street chatter
**Tupac said: **** the world**
He wasn't climbing no social ladder
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Because his heart could never gather
**Tupac said: **** the world**
All the Lord's blessings
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Like flowers and angel's wings
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Living on the streets instead
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Where the ladder is full of lead
**Tupac said: **** the world**
The lead of pain and bullets
**Tupac said: **** the world**
And not soft golden nuggets
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Of love and tenderness
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Just blood and nothingness
**Tupcac said: **** the world**
So who is holding him now?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Is he where love will allow?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
A man to become a boy?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
A boy with happiness to enjoy?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
You don't like gangstas rapping like crooks
**Tupac said: **** the world**
There's no page for him in the good book
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Were his sins from his mother and father?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
And those who would string up a brother
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Try to just say no when your ship ain't sailin'
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Hey God what is it that you were sayin'?
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
I wonder if there will ever be a day when people will stop treating each other like possessions.
You'd think that in kindergarten we had been taught how to share.
“Everyone gets a turn,” our teacher would say.
"Five seconds at the water fountain after recess.
Pass along the book to the person next to you.
Share your box of crayons with those at the table."
We were taught how to share the tangible
The objects at our feet.
But what my teacher never taught me was how to share the intangible-
Concepts such as time, trust, and love.
Ultimately at the end of the day she never taught me how to share people.
The problem with people is that you want to keep them-
Keep them close
Keep them tight
Keep them safe.
You don't want to take turns because you fear that they will find someone who is better than you.
That one day they will leave because you were not enough.
So to suppress our paranoia we resort to rules and regulations.
We employ the facade that what we are doing is out of love
When in reality we are living in fear.
People are not possessions.
We are human beings
Capable of emotion and free will.
We are granted the ability to choose
For that freedom is what distinguishes ourselves from the rest.
We are not objects upon a shelf
To be taken down when felt like or guarded like a metal safe.
We are not punching bags
To be used at one’s disposable.
We are not mountains
To be climbed and conquered.
We are human beings
Yet humanity continually treats each other as if nothing.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
I have to try and keep my chin up and my head held high, among people that only want to rip me down.
I'm nothing but a side show in their pathetic lives
Please return to your seats the show is about to begin.
And they all lean forward with their eyes on the prize
Their deviance is no longer in disguise.
Looks like friendship, but is only lies to keep themselves entertained for awhile.
Pull at the dangling veins where my heart used to be,
Please stop pulling, I'm begging you, set me free.
For your own entertainment
For your own joy
I am not just some disposable toy.
I've never been more hurt than the pain I feel now
While you eat your own **** I've taken my head out of the clouds.
You can **** with me all you want, but nothing is going to change.
I've got rage like a lion, and I'm looking for prey.
I won't even eat your body, I want to watch it decay.
My anger isn't centered, it's in different directions
**** all you mother ******* and your misconceptions.
I'm tired of this, you can go eat ****
Because when I find you, next thing is your dead body in a ditch.
**** your rumors, **** your lies
You're all enemies in disguise.
Giving nothing, Wanting all
I can't wait to watch you fall
Into the darkness, just like me
Oh, wont you keep me company?
Your brown nose tells me yes
So you like when I'm a mess?
Sadistic mother ******* all of you are guilty.
Stop looking at my hands when yours are ******* filthy.
I'm done with these death games you play
You can have each other, I'm not going to stay.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 11:09 AM UTC
you’re a bad girl
a party girl
fuelled by drugs and alcohol
an ornament
forgettable disposable
just another
one night stand
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 11:18 PM UTC
Gun metal gray,
this pigeon grasps
at current strung black
across a brick-
bounded back alley
edgy eyes on
uneven piles—
disposable
artifacts of people
caught in-between—
it trills its plea,
a directionless
directive to throw
away smaller,
more edible, trash
Sep 19, 2009
Sep 19, 2009 at 8:46 AM UTC
I seem to buy disposable socks
I buy them
I wear them
I put them in the laundry basket
I never see them again
Ever
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 7:43 AM UTC
I’m thinking of the faded checkered pattern that has been
smoothed away by time on the dark cloth seats of a Nissan Pathfinder
driving down Ryan Road on a hot day in June.
My mother, in the front seat, singing along to a Spice Girls cassette.
I’m thinking: red, plastic, crab-shaped sandbox and
McDonald’s Happy Meal toys.
I’m thinking: light princess pink, seafoam green, and robin’s egg blue.
I’m thinking of a framed cheetah cross stitch, hanging on the wall of what
used to be our bedroom at my grandparent’s house.
I’m thinking: Barbie doll houses and Hot Wheels and a cul-de-sac at
the end of the street.
The sweet smell of cigar smoke. The ice cold splash of the garden hose. The pop of a bubble. The sting of soap in the eye. Dreams by The Cranberries. As Long as You Love Me by The Backstreet Boys. A HelloKitty boombox slowly spitting out vapor when the deck builders hit a power line while digging. The deer in the backyard looking for corn. The faded wood of a playset that was never really played on.
My father: sitting alone on a splintered bench by the firepit at the edge of the woods, empty beer cans at his feet, chain smoking cigarettes, and humming along to a song that is stuck—forever stuck—on the tip of my tongue.
I do not know if this happened. I cannot ask him.
(I’m not sure if I would want to ask him.)
But I can make an educated inference that that line of
fiction is really nonfiction.
A memory that feels like a phantom limb.
Sounds like the sharp crinkle of static.
Covered in a gossamer, dreamlike haze.
There is a distinct otherness to this memory, to who
I think I was before the trauma.
We are two different people. A yin and a yang. A day and a night.
The hermit crab is soft beneath its hard shell.
The asbestos is not apparent within the insulation.
You cannot see the lead in the paint.
The mold inside the fruit.
May 5, 2021
May 5, 2021 at 2:46 AM UTC