"dorks" poems
nerd, dork, no life
Dorks my favorite because practically its my name now
I'm usually buried in a book and I usually. Get asked what's the point?
Honestly I think it'll make me a better lover
Because when I find a girl I'll be able to teach her about science so she can understand the bond that I feel for her
I'll be able to teach her about math so we can view love at a different angel
I'll be able to teach her about history so she'll understand when I say that if my love were to flow into the ocean it would make BP's 2010 incident look like a drop of black paint on a canvas of red
I'll be able to teach her about English especially present participles you know running, jumping, skipping words that describe an action that's ongoing that's why she'll never hear me say I love you but hear I'm Loving you
I'll be able to teach her about art because id love to paint her like one of my French girls
And even thought I'm buried in books there is still so much I don't know about human interactions
she'll be able to teach me about sadness and how to make it go away
she'll be able to teach me about happiness and how to make it stay
she'll be able to teach me about jealousy and how its like a fire that will burn you from the inside out
she'll be able to teach me about lust and how it always leads to disaster
she'll be able to teach me about loyalty and how its the key to perfection
But all this day dreaming was interrupted by my daily bully whose only words were insults
I gave him a look that if I were superman would've left a gap between his eyes
He asked what I thought of him
So I explained..
Well scientifically speaking you and beauty are like a magnet with the same charge
Mathematically speaking your ego is like the number 5i .. imaginary
Historically speaking how you manage to speak with a lack of a brain is the 8th wonder of the world
But in plain old English you're always looking for someone to actually love you back
And by the way its Mr. Dork to you
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
Let us Rise and Rejoice for the Wise Controllers of the Streets
Please give praise for the Keepers of Asinine Righteousness
Who have the power to read our minds easy as giving sweets
Esteemed Professors who are World Experts with Greatness
In Neuro-linguistic programming and know all the upbeats
For example anybody with working eyes can see with no cheats
The woman's complexions is not Black even without clearness
Alas I make a joke and lightheartedly say its Black in mirths
Nobel NLP Programmers jump in glee and frenzied eagerness
That is Trigger to void progressive actions with that lady petite
So Professors et vacuous masses devoid of brains go on heats
Sprinkling Blacks all over in project as useless as their dumbness
Tell not dorks I do not see her as black in any way but a tease
Another deluded wasted efforts from the addicted mindlesses
The poor lass graced with honey-gold skin tone is not for meets
Crass semi-illiterates play mind games on levels of bog peats
Psychotic obsessed nonentities with deluded tendentiousness
As if there's a meeting of minds with piffling anodyne greats
Dumbos declaring we are playing with your mind in earness
Show me how a genius compares with Quixotic foolishness
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
My sweet Austin Texas ecstasy, my beloved Guadalupe you
gem of the desert. Your family’s a basket-a-bigots but
******* they drink for miles and how near they are to my
heart. This heat’s a drug I swear it. Let's swim in that hole
in the bedrock between two rivers. That'd be nice: me and
you and mobs of Westlake High sophomores with their
blue-raspberry bikinis, a hundred Teen Vogue magazine
covers lined up on the grass like a set of bad church pews.
Imagine that whitewash of a crowd, you and me so alone in
that big static it's better than private. Let’s punch brick, peel
back our knuckles and watch’em clot in the sun. **** gauze,
we’re goin’ to a punk show. I’m puttin’ on short sleeves,
goin’ on parade, gunna flaunt my cigarette burns like a Cadillac:
I want those dorks at the Mohawk to look and love me like
they love gore. I’m gettin’ my black-eye ribbon tonight.
We’re in the Chaos in Tejas show, darlin’, put on Crazy Spirit
and bring your 2x4: skinheads ain’t jumpin’ themselves.
Let's get medicated, hunny, let's get saved. I love watching
Austin bleed out into the sand every dusk. Love the musicians
sailing out grimy and frothing over what night brings:
what a big sky, Texas, you're almost better in the day all
parched ground and azure azure. I love the glass on the high
buildings here, they’re like mirrors. This is God’s powder room.
This is where God sees himself drugged up and beaming in a
beautiful powder room. This is where God goes to remember
youth. I love how youth hasn’t gotten you yet. That unassailable
capacity for charity, that surging belief in belief shouting out
through your temples, I can’t stand how you make me sick of
making myself sick. You slapped the ******** outta me so quick
I’ve never seen grace move that fast. I thought you'd knock the
grapefruit polish right off your nails you hit me so good.
What a sight you are, kid, so proper and fit, Christ, you could
be therapy: so brunette-in-the-Fall, so full-lipped,
unabashed and Aristotelian, frayed like anything but ****
well stitched, impeccable at the seams.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC
Once upon a time, sweet soldier, we were everything!
We were shy glances and piercing stares,
bitter coffee and sweet cider,
nervous laughter and easy smiles.
We were all-nighters and painfully early mornings,
utter exhaustion and unexplainable energy,
distracted work days and focused only on each other.
We were photographs and video recordings,
magic tricks and storytelling,
Monty Python and Charlie the Unicorn imitators.
(We were total dorks!)
We were late night jogs and wrestling,
motorcycle rides and beach-walking,
seekers of adventure and last minute decision making.
We were short pecks on the cheek,
and long passionate kisses,
fierce embraces and soft caresses.
We were soul-searchers and wound-healers,
dreamers and risk-takers,
keepers of secrets and whisperers of truth.
We were sanity and craziness,
possibilities and improbabilities,
with everything and yet nothing going for us.
We were in love.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
Americas favorite thing is sports,
We call our smartest people dorks,
You get paid more to throw a ball,
Than you are to work at all.
Our economy is a failing state,
And what makes me really irate,
Is we spend all our money on sports.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
midsummer day-
The sun was calling us by the names
Two little brace faced dorks running out her back screen door
To find a secret hideout for the day
With composition books in hand of course
Our Top Secret composition books,
Where we wrote about our futures, and boys (shhhh)
We ruled the streets of Bennington woods
Claiming the oak tree in someone’s yard
Where we competed for height in our cheap foam flip flops
Owning the pine trees of another
Where we spied on the teenagers
Trying to understand their secret language
But it was under an old wooden porch where we pulled out the books
And this time, we’d plan our weddings
We would wear beautiful dresses and pointy high heels
Just like a princess
And most certainly marry our dreamy little blue eyed boy crushes
I even crossed my heart and hoped to die so she would be my maid of honor
Last but not least, we had to choose our wedding flowers
It was the season of flowers; tulips, daisies, marigolds…
Every house was decorated in a colorful array
We ran exuberantly, scanning our options
Then began to pick away
Every flower we knew or didn’t,
As long as we had one of each
We covered the entire street til our hands and books were overflowing
At home we taped them into our precious journals
Sealed forever so we would remember,
These were the flowers we’d have in our wedding bouquets
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC
I like to throw parties
Atypical of most sixteen year olds
With nice homes or
Any semblance of social lives
I like to throw parties
Without that horrid throbbing bass
Free of that hormonal chaos
That reeks on the furniture for weeks
I like to throw parties
The way that God likes to write our fates
Pulling strings to drag the misfits and the dorks
Together in one place
I like to throw parties
Where happiness is what is expected
Laughter is what is anticipated
Cause everyone there is meant to be
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
My ode to shorts---
We look like fat dorks,
When it's not so cold,
Even if we're so old,
Can't hide varicose veins,
Old age doesn't go away,
We know we look dorby,
We're all well past forty,
Summer's so **** hot,
This heat's a bit of a shock,
We all know we're fat dorks,
Has anyone really thought
We'd look good in shorts?
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC
1- Totes inaprope dope smoker swisher toker blunt wrap roper you be like my ole aunt groper
2- She be grabbin ***** on all ya’ll in the Fall by the ball court short shorts and written reports
3- ******* dorks and eatin pork like nanu nanu Mork with a stork baby drop on the porch
4- Carry the torch to the couch jump up ta bounce see a fool to trounce and slap in the head
5- Make him brain dead said I see red in bedrooms full a ***** mothers slack jaw brothers
6- Druther act like one another than smother muthafuckers with rubber maid garbage cans
7- Hand feeding planned partenthood in the hood acting no good wit mad wood ya shoulda
8- Put those down came round and found a pound for slingin, bringing back the Ringling elephants
9- And cellophane wrapper sandwiches ******* snitching on rich kids for gambling small wagers
10- Drunken rage-ers deranged rangers feeding bears strangers and rearranging body parts
11- Carded farters impart special gasses on mass media fascists allowing brash
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC
Questions we asked each other
Were choked and whined and hurried
For fear of saying what wasn't mean to be said aloud
Love is the hemlock which kills and releases
That banishes us from this Earth
To only take us to a place for better
To sacrifice the heart hot faced sweating pondering jazz
Thinking of this world thinking of this bouncing unkempt world
Where mystery is sold on every corner and bought
Magic is still alive in between the sheets rustling at 5am
Where whispering is the only understood language
Where eye sight eye contact the touch of Her toe to your sole
Is the only word to be spoken all day
Breakfast heat window held high and the summer breeze
Never wishes to leave
She still moves with the memory of Him
He still sighs as if He never had her
They breathe the same air caring about the cross they both choose to bare
She is a fragment of light from the sun that He cannot handle
That she does not know she holds
Doubt hangs naked from the racist branches of a country gone wrong
Cans popped hearts of mine stops I spot the horizon I cannot stop
At these moments I question myself I question the former and the future
The future of us all
She works for the dorks who scream like the fiends
We all claim we never were or are
I tell the tale of promises because I believe them myself
How I wish to believe my promises
How I wish to believe in tales
How I wish to believe that love
Will never falter or fail
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 12:19 AM UTC
You try to trick me, doesnt work, ignore me, schooled you for your hate, end up being the hater.
So why do sickly, current dorks, adore thee, fooled to core door plates, bent cup fleeting a crater.
Too sigh woo crick bee, paws rent torque, be bore three, cool two so more ate, red pup lying remaker.
In short,
Today is weird,
You understand what happens,
But the meaning behind is either vague,
Or downright inapproriate,
But still,
It's fun.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 7:15 AM UTC
hmm, i don't normally laugh like
that but when i see that picture of
you it makes me chuckle in a way
that i only do when i genuinely love
something, and so far those things
only include my dog and you, you're
both dorks, maybe that's why i love
you, and then i sit on my bed
looking through some other
pictures i have of you and i chuckle
some more because i am genuinely
in love, and then i think of those
times we just cuddled and didn't
care what the others think and i try
to imagine that but here on my
bed, my dog keeps looking at me
chuckle, he doesn't understand
feelings, his only feelings are very
happy anxious tired and concerned,
do dogs feel love like we do?
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 10:22 AM UTC
The night started slowly as we just sat and talked
We were waiting for our friends to arrive
We figured they’d be here by about half-past eight
As neither had finished work till gone five.
But the bottles of wine were lined up in rows
There were reds and roses, and there were whites
And as neither of our friends had arrived yet
Those bottles were full and clearly in our sights.
So we opened a red and a white one too
Mine a Shiraz, for I like a good red
My wife, well she started the white one
As a Pinot she much favours instead.
And the time it just got that much later
But our friends well they still hadn’t come
And as each of us was drinking the vino
Well it’s nice to raise a glass with a chum.
In the end our friends never did show up
It was next week not this, we were dorks
But we drank all the wine and enjoyed it
And now we’re just left with the corks.
©Joe Wilson – The wine bottle corks…2014
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
Women are having ***
At this very hour
Oh my gosh
Lol
How ****** of them
Some are pleasuring themselves
And some are playing with
Their vibrators and Oh Mi Bods
And I'm in bed
Eating a bowl of kidney beans
Lol women ignore
Dorks like me
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
What's up?
Only friends ask that.
What's wrong with you?
Only jerks ask that.
Where are you at now?
Only lovers ask that.
Don't want to give up
So you give in.
You've reached the ******
What the hell is wrong with you?
Only ******* ask that.
Do you like me?
Only crushes ask that.
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasabi?
Only dorks BFF's ask that.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
This new young generation
Running every new nation
Creating new modern laws
And showing modern flaws
Here is my honest opinion
Made by my own decision
This generation is a wreck
Like, really, what the heck
People think slacking works
Or it is okay to bully the dorks
Pregnancy at a young age is right
It is okay to have *** every night
This generation is so wrong
I feel like I do not belong
I don't drink or smoke anything
I don't treat people like nothing
This generation is thrown away
I'm just waiting for the break of day
I feel like I do not belong in the present
But in the yesterday far in the distance
There are people like me out there
I just want to leave, I do not care
I want to leave this insane generation
And create my own new delegation
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 1:33 AM UTC
She persuaded the curvature of the seam. A dressmaking utterly agonizing, to reach the smoothness one must perceive, it has a regret with the difficulty of repetition of a trend.
Her foul purport carbonated the clear intent. But an impecable illustration did provide them with the warmth they intend.
The cycle lacked precision but their pliancy was a treasure so **** filled with her preciousness.
Velveted silk portrait embraces and confines a cause within a retrospective, a muse divides with a major uproar, one with the furor of nature uncontrolled.
The spell of glamor enchanted the failed dorks. They daydreamed fuzzy temptations to achieve their doomed ****** Of their antagonised exchange was born an incurable rage. The vexed source became cursedly recruitable for their loveable tremors, she had no knowledge of their cultivated adoration.
This will be our temple to our redemption and acceleration. It has consumed us all, encased conscious with translucent locked up doors.
The excitation has endure the incommensurable, the deluge did occur in the future. The scorn we throw to each other is acceptable if I desire to engorge her, it'll wear off your vile will, it'll grant me her savoury thrill.
Velveted silk portrait I beg you not to demise and ascend. We'll ravage the essence of your pure command, although, our adoration is the realest love spell.
I was snarling when I saw you embosom him, it felt like you were entering something delightful and never ******* ending. What was behind the blinds it wasn't supposed to be appreciated, we were always stood in a horizontal line and pulling harsh, all acts performed were a praying for your preference.
Velveted silk portrait, we encouraged you to revoke your beauteous den, to an addictive merriment. We'll howl with devotion to this new founding arts, her paint sparkled in the now dusky lane. A palace never menacing to our welcoming, an unfair entrance to the terribly but tender embodiment.
The gladness finally dragged us to our unfair refinement.
Jan 5, 2020
Jan 5, 2020 at 11:03 PM UTC
by ab
Checkin' on my ******* in the back
they’ve been flippin' on the side
How to go with the flow
Don't even know where it at
that’s fine
when we got the front porch
lookin like a couple dorks
peach pit in the palm of my hand
in hand in hand of another man
understand
never in my right mind
always had a feeling i would get left behind
At the edge of my seat
When i cant can’t stand the heat
Ill be ******* inside of the kitchen
And if you’ve been taken a listen
You know me no different
I spy I spy
I spy some corny guy
Caught the feels in a butterfly net
Wanna play birds and bees I bet
Want me on my kness I bet
Want to plant that seed I bet
Think I need to be reset
Is there something better yet
Feathers in my ribcage
Burning all the good sage
Think I would have been over this phrase
So what if I let you come and stay
Turns to nothing Anyway
What's the point roll this joint
Trouble hands we will anoint
Lavender wrist I do insist
Tell me you wouldnt even wanna slice of this
If you break my wrist you get my fist
I can get real busy for a pacifist
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
Throwback to middle school
We were dorks
Who didn’t care
Now,
We do
And they try
I don’t
I’m
Just
Lazy
There’s all that
“The best smile is natural” But people
Still wear it
Even when they Preache
Now,
There’s nothing wrong
Makeup,
Highlights certain
Features
Gives a new look
Cleaner
Prettier
And aesthetics
Are valued
In our
Society
But
Is it I sign
Of insecurity if it’s
Worn every day?
Or is it just like
Clothes
Wear whatever
You want
And shape your
Identity?
I don’t
Want to judge
I don’t mean
To judge
There’s no need
To judge
They only reason
I don’t wear
It is
Because
I’m
Lazy
Is it really though?
Or is it,
That I don’t care?
Our society has
An obsession With
“Natural”
And
“Beauty”
Which one matters more?
I guess...
It’s up to the
Individual
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 9:44 AM UTC
The only thing an author owns
Is the itsy bitsy tiny room
Under the blankets tiny dreams
Flashbacks of huge dorks
Folk tales of a ***** genie
The only thing that an author can write
Is the death of the enemies on the other side
Little knows the reader though
The enemies hold the knives behind
The authority of an author is
Little bitty of nothingness
Therefore our author wrote
Death upon the lovers nest
May 10, 2025
May 10, 2025 at 2:21 AM UTC
This is a verse about pizazz,
What, you ask, is that jazz?
Well, it's fat daggy shorts,
We do not look good, us dorks,
I know you're jealous, that's the jazz,
You ain't got our fat shorts and pizazz.....
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 12:34 AM UTC