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"disregard" poems
I am slowly learning to disregard the insatiable desire to be special. I think it began, the soft piano ballad of epiphanic freedom that danced in my head, when you mentioned that “Van Gogh was her thing” while I stood there in my overall dress, admiring his sunflowers at the art museum. And then again on South Street, while we thumbed through old records and I picked up Morrissey and you mentioned her name like it was stuck in your teeth. Each time, I felt a paintbrush on my cheeks, covering my skin in grey and fading me into a quiet, concealed background that hummed “everything you’ve ever loved has been loved before, and everything you are has already been,” on an endless loop. It echoed in your wrists that I stared at, walking (home) in the middle of the street, and I felt like a ghost moving forward in an eternal line, waiting to haunt anyone who thought I was worth it. But no one keeps my name folded in their wallet. Only girls who are able to carve their names into paintings and vinyl live in pockets and dust bunnies and bathroom mirrors. And so be it, that I am grey and humming in the background. I am forgotten Sundays and chipped fingernail polish and borrowed sheets. I’m the song you’ll get stuck in your head, but it will remind you of someone else. I am 2 in the afternoon, I am the last day of winter, I am a face on the sidewalk that won’t show up in your dreams. And I am everywhere, and I am nothing at all.
0
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
Kathleen
One early morning along the quiet forest floor, a little mushroom popped it's head out of the ground. Looking in wonder, he pushed passed the dead leaves and dirt to reach for sunlight below the canopy. "STOP!" said the forest. "You have been unruly. We have seen you try to grow with discord and disregard, denying the order. And what are you, alien? Identify as plant or animal!" The little mushroom responded, "But I only did as you did; made a home. Like the rooted trees pillar in our leafy halls, as the moss nestles among the rocks, or how the birds nest in their hollows, why am I so different? I am both you and me." The forest inhabitants pondered. In this time the mushroom grew and died. It took too long for the trees and the birds and the moss to agree by the time their fellow forest friend had passed. The trees, too slow to interrupt, cried out to all, "What have we done?!  we may not have thought him as beautiful as the rest of us, but the mushroom was a part of this forest!" As a parting token, the little fungi grew a network of strands below the trees roots to support them all, feeding and protecting them even in death. With it's dying breath, it dropped it's spores, to which would grow bountiful among the forest floor, among the trees and the rocks and moss. They had not known it, but the little mushroom was a part of a greater fungi, miles across. It had been there as long as the forest, keeping the trees company since time began, before humans, before us. Only the trees had the knowledge to understand the little mushroom, but their voices were too quiet, too slow. So the trees let the mushrooms grow in their branches and on their logs to give them a home.
0
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 1:35 PM UTC
A Fungi In The Forest Of Normal (Short Story)
One early morning along the quiet forest floor, a little mushroom popped it's head out of the ground. Looking in wonder, he pushed passed the dead leaves and dirt to reach for sunlight below the canopy. "STOP!" said the forest. "You have been unruly. We have seen you try to grow with discord and disregard, denying the order. And what are you, alien? Identify as plant or animal!" The little mushroom responded, "But I only did as you did; made a home. Like the rooted trees pillar in our leafy halls, as the moss nestles among the rocks, or how the birds nest in their hollows, why am I so different? I am both you and me." The forest inhabitants pondered. In this time the mushroom grew and died. It took too long for the trees and the birds and the moss to agree by the time their fellow forest friend had passed. The trees, too slow to interrupt, cried out to all, "What have we done?!  we may not have thought him as beautiful as the rest of us, but the mushroom was a part of this forest!" As a parting token, the little fungi grew a network of strands below the trees roots to support them all, feeding and protecting them even in death. With it's dying breath, it dropped it's spores, to which would grow bountiful among the forest floor, among the trees and the rocks and moss. They had not known it, but the little mushroom was a part of a greater fungi, miles across. It had been there as long as the forest, keeping the trees company since time began, before humans, before us. Only the trees had the knowledge to understand the little mushroom, but their voices were too quiet, too slow. So the trees let the mushrooms grow in their branches and on their logs to give them a home.
Continue reading...
8
I'm a Barbie Girl, in a Barbie World. Life's fantastic: I feel like plastic, aiming for an eighteen-inch waist because I can afford to throw my internal organs away. I feel like plastic, having to choose between eating and breathing with not enough space for two tubes. I feel like plastic, a thirty-nine inch bust and three times the forehead. I feel like plastic, a size nine squeezed to a three, spending three to nine avoiding mealtime because my weight loss book says 'Don't eat.' I'm a Barbie Girl, in a Barbie World. Life's fantastic, but... I'm not plastic. I've sat here listening while you complain about society but I don't think you realize that society is made by you. You complain about masks but you're masked by your poetry and trust me, it's trendy: Psychiatry. A bottle of capsules captures your soul and your dreams, fading reality. I cannot be defined because a definition leaves no room for change and I am a flame, ready to burn the cardboard box of priority you put over me. All the cool kids are lesbians and thespians on about repressions and I care, I do, I mean... I'm standing here among you. But words are just air. You can stand on this stage and tell me I'm beautiful, but I am more than my face so disregard my mild distaste for your inspirational speech. Now, this... This isn't a call for help. This is a call to arms. This is a battle cry because I am sick of waiting for a future that should've happened yesterday. So use this air to live the words you say and rally. Do not soothe, because we've already been cocooned by soothed reality in Shawnee, Johnson County. I'm a real girl, in a real world. Life's fantastic, and I refuse to be plastic, aiming for generic weight range based on content, not scale number. I refuse to be plastic, a neck moulded perfectly for both eating and breathing so I don't have to choose. I refuse to be plastic, a bust that you don't need to be sizing when I've got eyes a green not of romanticized meadows but of drunken puke. I refuse to be plastic, a size nine foot in a size nine shoe, spending three to nine enjoying my meal times, because my weight loss book is chucked down the chute. I'm a living girl in a beautiful world. Life's fantastic, because I'm not plastic.
0
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
Barbie Girl
I'm a Barbie Girl, in a Barbie World. Life's fantastic: I feel like plastic, aiming for an eighteen-inch waist because I can afford to throw my internal organs away. I feel like plastic, having to choose between eating and breathing with not enough space for two tubes. I feel like plastic, a thirty-nine inch bust and three times the forehead. I feel like plastic, a size nine squeezed to a three, spending three to nine avoiding mealtime because my weight loss book says 'Don't eat.' I'm a Barbie Girl, in a Barbie World. Life's fantastic, but... I'm not plastic. I've sat here listening while you complain about society but I don't think you realize that society is made by you. You complain about masks but you're masked by your poetry and trust me, it's trendy: Psychiatry. A bottle of capsules captures your soul and your dreams, fading reality. I cannot be defined because a definition leaves no room for change and I am a flame, ready to burn the cardboard box of priority you put over me. All the cool kids are lesbians and thespians on about repressions and I care, I do, I mean... I'm standing here among you. But words are just air. You can stand on this stage and tell me I'm beautiful, but I am more than my face so disregard my mild distaste for your inspirational speech. Now, this... This isn't a call for help. This is a call to arms. This is a battle cry because I am sick of waiting for a future that should've happened yesterday. So use this air to live the words you say and rally. Do not soothe, because we've already been cocooned by soothed reality in Shawnee, Johnson County. I'm a real girl, in a real world. Life's fantastic, and I refuse to be plastic, aiming for generic weight range based on content, not scale number. I refuse to be plastic, a neck moulded perfectly for both eating and breathing so I don't have to choose. I refuse to be plastic, a bust that you don't need to be sizing when I've got eyes a green not of romanticized meadows but of drunken puke. I refuse to be plastic, a size nine foot in a size nine shoe, spending three to nine enjoying my meal times, because my weight loss book is chucked down the chute. I'm a living girl in a beautiful world. Life's fantastic, because I'm not plastic.
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73
Living freely in this world My vulnerability, feels so lost As it seeks the skies to escape all Perched high away and hiding My heart forsaken For my vulnerability Has left The little bird has flown My retreating heart lives behind Many layers of frozen ice The warm waters of my heart Have all frozen over Come back, come back little bird A teardrop falls For I see the loss of potential In this frozen pond Where waters should be warm My heart should sing Great rich jungles, it should bring My pride wounded by this world I stare into my murky depths My standing in this world falling As my legs are taken By the jaws of a giant beast Far away a bird twitches My stomach twists and turns Absorbed I am into the belly Of a great giant crocodile I begin to feel my vulnerability In these dangerous warm acidic waters As I merge into a crocodile And high above a bird leaves his perch As the ice layers break With the force of my tail New eyes see the self importance in people Of this earth, with all their arrogance I will bring you back to earth For I am the last living dinosaur Born from a time when T.rex reigned And even the birds had teeth For I still live in waters Where Piranha's seek to Frenzy on living flesh And I am to be scared of you I warn all of those who wish to disturb My open and most precious heart That rests in silence over my pond For your flesh will quiver With the sound of my ancient growl And your eyes will panic With the sight of my jaw A quiet bird flutters closer Bring your bitterness and all your sourness For I am hungry and love rotten meat And your disregard feeds my fury Circle my pond Where my heart rests softly With rich and green waters Bursting and growing in love For I am not scared to feel And I will lounge and grab As a tonne of me, slaps itself Bang, hard on this earth For I am here to feel it And not escape it But you will be blind And lost in my depths I will turn you over and Your arrogance will feed me As I grow stronger You will be ripped limb from limb   A little bird comes closer My heart free from noise A silence nestles in me And all innocence is seen Beautiful souls float freely Butterflies dance and play And my beautiful vulnerability returns in sweet song And rests softly in my jaw A strange paradox becomes so very clear With a little bird we hold so dear
0
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
THE JAWS OF VULNERABILITY
Living freely in this world My vulnerability, feels so lost As it seeks the skies to escape all Perched high away and hiding My heart forsaken For my vulnerability Has left The little bird has flown My retreating heart lives behind Many layers of frozen ice The warm waters of my heart Have all frozen over Come back, come back little bird A teardrop falls For I see the loss of potential In this frozen pond Where waters should be warm My heart should sing Great rich jungles, it should bring My pride wounded by this world I stare into my murky depths My standing in this world falling As my legs are taken By the jaws of a giant beast Far away a bird twitches My stomach twists and turns Absorbed I am into the belly Of a great giant crocodile I begin to feel my vulnerability In these dangerous warm acidic waters As I merge into a crocodile And high above a bird leaves his perch As the ice layers break With the force of my tail New eyes see the self importance in people Of this earth, with all their arrogance I will bring you back to earth For I am the last living dinosaur Born from a time when T.rex reigned And even the birds had teeth For I still live in waters Where Piranha's seek to Frenzy on living flesh And I am to be scared of you I warn all of those who wish to disturb My open and most precious heart That rests in silence over my pond For your flesh will quiver With the sound of my ancient growl And your eyes will panic With the sight of my jaw A quiet bird flutters closer Bring your bitterness and all your sourness For I am hungry and love rotten meat And your disregard feeds my fury Circle my pond Where my heart rests softly With rich and green waters Bursting and growing in love For I am not scared to feel And I will lounge and grab As a tonne of me, slaps itself Bang, hard on this earth For I am here to feel it And not escape it But you will be blind And lost in my depths I will turn you over and Your arrogance will feed me As I grow stronger You will be ripped limb from limb   A little bird comes closer My heart free from noise A silence nestles in me And all innocence is seen Beautiful souls float freely Butterflies dance and play And my beautiful vulnerability returns in sweet song And rests softly in my jaw A strange paradox becomes so very clear With a little bird we hold so dear
Continue reading...
82
Men and women are equal None are above the other In rights and respect Equal Men have strength yes Yet it's women who endure Men and women Both are intelligent As their brains made of the same matter Biologically here equality stands firm Differences of course are there Yet minuscule Appearances cast aside Only  few can be observed Women and men Both are sensitive and feel Yet where women show it; display Men conceal; pretend not to feel Society kills In tactics and ideas Is where our message ends For  too often  it's said to Disregard the thoughts of women Too  dumb and feeble minded to be  Of Value and interest Yet where there's Winston Churchill The mastermind of Britain There's  also Elizabeth the 1st The queen who beat the Spanish Armada Hence with logics like this Any notion of ****** inferiority** Can be easily dismissed As utterly ridiculous.
0
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
Equality
I often disregard the fact that people affect me the way they do whether it be good or bad, I just can't shake the fact that people matter So I'm really astonished by the fact that good people or anyone really, are treated badly Is it that we forget the Golden Rule at a certain age such as when adolescence hits and our selfishness consumes us or when things gets so bad that it's depression you can't escape whatever it maybe, whoever it maybe don't you think they'd appreciate a little kind-heartedness? even if it ain't reciprocated, even if they hate you, even if they harm you, look into the core of their soul and let them know, how their actions only reflect how much hurt they have endured and the fact of the matter is, that they are loved, it's ensured even if they aren't.
0
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
Honesty
Warning: Use dis list in context. You decide on which side you fall. disappear disregard disaster displace disqualify disrepair disturb dissipate disability dispose dismal distribute distrust disturb discriminate discuss disdain disguise dishearten disinherit disown disparage disagree disgruntle disclose discolour dispute disarm discover disassemble disadvantage disallow dispossess discontent discontinue disrespect disincline discomfort disrepute dishonest disillusion dishonor dismiss disobey disjoin disappoint discipline discord discern discrete disfigure disconnect disapprove discharge disbar disease discord disfavor disengage disassociate discipline discount disembody displace dissaray disembowel discombobulate discredit discourse disentangle disenfranchise disembark discard disburse disbelief discover disable disagree disintegrate dismay dispense dislodge disclaimer disapprove dissatisfy disrupt dispel dislike dismantle disloyal disbatch disrobe disperse display disaprove disciple disavow disconcert disinfect disorder dismal dismember displease dissemble disunity dislocate distort distrust distress dissolute disassociate distill discect (?) distemper distain distasteful distraught dissolve dissonant dissuade And dis isn't de end.
0
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
Is Dis Good or Is Dis Bad (a partici-poem)
This nation once fought for its liberty, its redemption, its freedom. Now it sets all its rights aside just because those who reside in this nation simply lost the fire that once burned in their heart. The freedom that this nations heroes fought long ago is being disregard. The countrymen act like the notion of freedom is nothing. I dream about the nation this piece of land used to be. How nationalistic it once was, how love used to fill the air. Now, nothing remains but the memories of what used to be. I would honestly rather live and die in the time wherein this nation fervently fought for its freedom and its rights, wherein each and every person loved its homeland, than live today where apathy rules.
0
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 1:54 AM UTC
What is once used to be
We all have faces that we hide away forever and we take them out and show ourselves when everyone is gone and we look at what the years have done and realize that everything on the outside changes but what really matters is on the inside and that mostly remains the same. We tell ourselves stories in order to live and we cure physical diseases with medicine but find out that the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love, so don't hope but decide and have some fun on that final ride as you approach the end. Wash what is ***** water what is dry, heal what is hurt, dry tears that are shed, warm what is cold and guide what goes off the road so you can lighten your load and don't be afraid to try again as everyone goes south every now and then as we all fall in love though we disregard the danger but learn that it takes strength to love again but it takes courage to be loved. It takes strength to survive but it takes courage to live just as it takes strength to feel a friends pain and courage to feel your own pain, so change the changeable, accept the unchangeable and remove yourself from the unacceptable.                                                                              Jon York    2015
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Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
It Takes Strength to Survive but it Takes Courage to Live
It is nice to know there is a disease I will never catch. This doesn't disregard, but reflect on the need for a cure.
0
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 9:59 PM UTC
Homophobia vs. Hypochondriacal Tendencies
'Look at Me', so self absorbed in outward looks and latest fashion. With disregard for inner peace, selfless thought, and kind compassion. Piercing ears, with holes so big they look like they're starting to melt. Trousers about the knees; showing off pants, clearly in need of a belt. Cheap plastic toys bought without thought, of which so quickly we tire, Relationship failing to last without love and once all consuming desire. Throw away gadgets and electronic connections, with all  life's worth we trust. But when they are broken, will never be fixed; just casually tossed to the dust. Mealtime no longer a social or family affair, at a table with fork and knife, Check-in's a must so 'friends' will know that you're having a really great life. No album prints of family snaps and childhood memories that last, It's all about selfies, and sharing on line with 'friends' that human connections bypass.
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Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
Latest Fashion
Where are the role models? Who do I admire? The *** and drug obsessed rapper? The naked model in the magazine? Who? Where is the father figure in that single mother home? Or the concerned and responsible mother of two? Where is the morals in society? Tell me Where can I find them? Everyone seems absorbed by popularity Acceptance Is this the reason we expose our bodies? Disregard our morals? Sully our name? Where are the role models? The positive influence? The man holding the door for the young lady? The mother struggling to put her children through college? I'm in despair Will I succumb to the warped society? Will I trade my personal respect, for a robe knitted of shameful glory? I'm afraid Where did all the good people go?
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Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
Where are the role models?
I imagine myself A few gentle decades older. Finally grasping the cusp Of success. Living in my own apartment In New York City, nonetheless. Wearing an Armani coat (Whatever those look like.) Walking idly yet prestigiously Through winter in the city. Taking care not to laugh too loud, Talk to myself, smile too much. A small, attractive female Has to be serious to get ahead. Customers will buy from a happy girl Only if she is early 20's, at most. That is Marketing 101. I am a small fish in a large sea; The principles of Darwinism Still apply to me. I've learned long ago to succeed, I must stifle the welcoming smile. So along the familiar concrete I stride, Carefully manicured hands In pockets. The Filipinos know better Than to rush on the hands Of a businesswoman caressing A successful career. She tips well and lives well. I walk along with cool calm And feminine grace. I have regained the safety To be feminine once again. The criminals know better Than to infiltrate The Business district And cause trouble To working professionals In Armani coats. I imagine myself a few decades older. Kissing snowflakes unenthusiastically. Yes, I marvel in poetry, in Nature, But I have matured Much like the snowflakes themselves. At the end of a cycle, No matter how beautiful. My actions flow gracefully and delicately. I melt into New York City Like a cell in a body. Pumping fuel into the ***** To sustain the mass. A tumor. I smile subtly as I slosh along. I recall, once upon a time, On my lower-class youth. ***** jokes, crude dancing, And cluttered apartments. I approach the high-rise building I call home and greet the doorman With the obligatory disregard For his innermost being. Poetry truly is in the strangest of places. Even in an enigma like me. I enter the marble floors, Wiping my feet, My rent as sky-high as The building itself. Elevator. Comforting motion sickness. This is success. The pit of my stomach sinks. I tell myself it's the motion sickness. I return to my apartment, With its symmetrical details. My thoughts return to you. You've never stepped foot in my home, But you've always been here with me. I get dinner started. I set out the extra glass, like always. Rituals like these serve As my Sunday mass. I drink your glass with my evening medication. Dare I say like always?
0
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
Winter In The City
I imagine myself A few gentle decades older. Finally grasping the cusp Of success. Living in my own apartment In New York City, nonetheless. Wearing an Armani coat (Whatever those look like.) Walking idly yet prestigiously Through winter in the city. Taking care not to laugh too loud, Talk to myself, smile too much. A small, attractive female Has to be serious to get ahead. Customers will buy from a happy girl Only if she is early 20's, at most. That is Marketing 101. I am a small fish in a large sea; The principles of Darwinism Still apply to me. I've learned long ago to succeed, I must stifle the welcoming smile. So along the familiar concrete I stride, Carefully manicured hands In pockets. The Filipinos know better Than to rush on the hands Of a businesswoman caressing A successful career. She tips well and lives well. I walk along with cool calm And feminine grace. I have regained the safety To be feminine once again. The criminals know better Than to infiltrate The Business district And cause trouble To working professionals In Armani coats. I imagine myself a few decades older. Kissing snowflakes unenthusiastically. Yes, I marvel in poetry, in Nature, But I have matured Much like the snowflakes themselves. At the end of a cycle, No matter how beautiful. My actions flow gracefully and delicately. I melt into New York City Like a cell in a body. Pumping fuel into the ***** To sustain the mass. A tumor. I smile subtly as I slosh along. I recall, once upon a time, On my lower-class youth. ***** jokes, crude dancing, And cluttered apartments. I approach the high-rise building I call home and greet the doorman With the obligatory disregard For his innermost being. Poetry truly is in the strangest of places. Even in an enigma like me. I enter the marble floors, Wiping my feet, My rent as sky-high as The building itself. Elevator. Comforting motion sickness. This is success. The pit of my stomach sinks. I tell myself it's the motion sickness. I return to my apartment, With its symmetrical details. My thoughts return to you. You've never stepped foot in my home, But you've always been here with me. I get dinner started. I set out the extra glass, like always. Rituals like these serve As my Sunday mass. I drink your glass with my evening medication. Dare I say like always?
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84
There are demons in your closet It is obvious to me You left the door wide open Setting those ******** free Anger lashed out first With razor sharp claws Shredding the unsuspecting Without hesitation or pause Beneath him is resentment Forever locked up tight Hidden within for years Now more than ever, ready to fight Betrayal weighs heavy Taking up the most room Can’t sweep it under the rug There isn’t a big enough broom Don’t disregard the guilt Or forget about shame These two big players Are leaders of the game Amidst the whirl wind of chaos And the fury of rage A broken heart exposed through fear Makes its way to center stage Vulnerability is waiting She can keep your closet clean Nourish you with love Making those demons less mean As the spotlight shifts its focus There seems nowhere to hide Will you crawl back into darkness? Or simply swallow your pride?
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Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 1:28 PM UTC
Demons in your closet
You were supposed to love me til death do us apart. But Then you let go and decided to trample my heart. You've turned love into a lie and made heartbreak a work of art. It was something I should have seen coming from the very start. I was so foolish. Choosing someone like you wasn't at all very smart. I fell in love with you because I knew your heart and knew who you were. Now everything good about you has been wiped away, now a blur. When I told you I loved you I meant it. I didn't stutter nor slur. Now, after all is said and done I wish this charade had never occurred. My heart, soul, time and tears were all taken advantage of. Oh, how you lied to me because what you offered was never love. In spite of the suffering I went through by you, I still considered you sent from above. You disregard the times I treated you like a queen, when you were my white dove. When my heart utterly melted for you. When your beauty was my treasure trove. Now that its all over, you've given love a bad name. Now that its over, I'll never look at it the same. Love is no longer beautiful. Its a disgrace, a pity, a game. Because of you Ill probably never find true love and that's a real shame. However, I do hope someday I can find another that'll light my heart aflame. But for now its a darkness a void. Because of you that's what love has became.
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Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 9:02 AM UTC
A Loving Lie
I am not myself in that I cannot seem To bring myself To care, which Not only Feels wrong But is also Against everything I believe in. In not caring I retract myself From my surroundings And disregard Those around me It's everything I Go against, and Is a recipe for Hurt, but I Cannot bring myself To care.
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Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 9:21 AM UTC
Caring
Men give less value to a Promiscuous or immoral woman, and sometime she’s a victim not the circumstance, why do men hold less value to the hurt that is caused because they heard you get around or you trusted them with your secrets? Some choose to pursue a faithless, unworthy, or idolatrous desire only to find out this person this ***** does have a heart and *** is not meaningless ,to scurry around and bounce from bed to bed giving disregard to the countless broken hearts laid by a path of deceitful pleasure should you be so lucky?? Who gives a **** about a ***** or ***** or ********** they’ll get over it, there used to it, does it not come with the job or there easy! Not always true even a ***** needs love or the ********** needs genuine affection. Why do you not care enough to hold them and or ease their pain if their hurting as well ,defined love and what’s valuable to you ….I don’t care about her I hurt my family but you cared enough to slip your **** up in her …and or have it ****** ! ****** have feelings too! You took your time and played out the situation, found a vulnerable place to lay you head even enjoyed getting in between this WHORE's legs ,now you’re feeling some sort of way and she has to go because after all she’s a ***** and the pleasure was mutual, she was your refuge an open ear in your time of need ..But she still a ***** WHY bother?? written by Monica Chrisandtras Hines
0
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
*****
On a good day, the Sun shines on you. You are in a Disney movie, stretching your arms, As the first light of day hits your toes. And all the sores of the previous nights, Reduced as mere soap suds down the drain. Last night's shower is a preview of the first one today, and coffee smells like the freshest brew straight from a pre-packed foil. Nothing beats the thrill of a morning cup. Life is a sitcom, waiting for the supporting characters to show up and raid your ref, and then! The punchline. You plan your day. You invite a good day. You laugh out loud. On your best day, you lounge. You drink your cup and eat breakfast straight from the pan, and the pan loves you for calling the kettle black. You write your notes on some discarded tissue previously used to wipe off dust. You are free versing with the staunchest disregard for tones and rules of archaic poetry; sometimes, disavowing a semblance of order. Because the best is you. It is now. And you are but a small supporting character, Patiently waiting for the chime of the next five punchlines
0
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
It's fine, I was awake (on a good day)
As the wind blows across the fiery desert, The desperate people of Yemen sigh. How many more will suffer today? How many more children will cry? A Saudi-led coalition Strikes with a heartless disregard, Leaving behind misery-- Death and destruction its calling card. Choking the poor country, the Saudis Organized a major blockade, Cutting off vital medicine, Food, and water, and stopping all trade. Cluster bombs have fallen on cities. Thousands of innocent people have died. Hospitals and schools have been hit. How can such horror be justified? Millions of people risk starvation If all the bombing does not end. The Saudis hunger for more and more weapons, And they have billions of dollars to spend. A bomb made by Lockheed Martin Hit a Yemeni school bus Killing fifty-one people, and hurting Many more, thanks to us. A U.S. bomb hit funeral mourners; One destroyed a marketplace. That our support causes such Atrocities is a disgrace. The people suffer from cholera-- Something that is hard to avoid When a country's sanitation Facilities are being destroyed. A massive humanitarian crisis Plagues the country despite appeals To end the conflict by caring nations, While major players dig in their heels. Sunni-Shiite conflicts continue With innocent citizens caught in between. Callous leaders turn their heads, Afraid to speak up or intervene. -by Bob B (10-17-18)
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Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
Death in Yemen
Illustrative disregard is creating Nervousness which controls my limbs Fragmentary is the heart Infected by a broken promise Disrespect stings me Elevating my pain Loyalty has been compromised Intrusion has enraged me Trust slips into abandonment Yielding to uncertainty © Christopher Chronister. All rights reserved
0
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
"Infidelity" an acrostic poem
This is the sign you’ve been looking for. So live darling. Live reckless and brazen. Don’t you dare hide how you feel & never try to meet the set standards. Don’t think, just do. Forget how it’s ‘supposed’ to go, and all that could go wrong. Disregard all the illogical cause and effects Society determines. Ignore the 99% likely outcome and go after that 1% with everything you’ve got, kid. ‘Cause if something or someone makes you happy or gives you a sorta feeling you can’t explain, even if it’s just for a little while- ignore all the ‘advice’ & the whole doing the ‘right’ thing, and hold on to it till your lungs give out, regardless of what form you get it in. Here’s the truth darling; life’s too short for norms and logic. Too short to hide your feelings and god knows, way too short to spend even a second unhappy & restrained due to fear and the abstract ideas that things are meant to go a certain way. So if you love someone, scream it at the top of your lungs, and if you feel like crying, collapse and shatter. Live impulsively because there’s nothing purer than the desires of the heart. -c.j.m
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Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 9:01 PM UTC
Don’t ignore the sign, kid.
It is cold. Through the days I found myself loathing that object of mechanical functioning, but never looked upon it with disregard. The grip is truly comfortable; the grip and its metallic curves fit my hand and its fingers...just fine. Once again, I summoned it and, without making use of it, I left it there. There, the place where it should never be taken from.
0
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
Gun