"dorky" poems
I wear a jacket almost ever day
To hide the little bit
Of my stomach poking out
I notice flat tummies
So I cross my arms over mine
I usually put my hair in my face
So people won't notice my dorky glasses
Sometimes I try to go without them
But its hard to see and read things
I wear a lot of makeup
As an attempt to hide the imperfections of my face
I don't like going without it because
I feel people always stare
I know everyone has things
They don't like about themselves
And you may think differently
But if you try and tell me
I end up not believing you
I think you're just lying to me
So I'll feel better about myself
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
Dear Best friend,
You know who you are. You are the beautiful girl in the back of the class, who keeps to herself, but is still strangely likable. You are the girl with the piercing blue eyes and dark, dark sense of humor.
Dear Best Friend,
I know you literally are always willing to listen, whether it is talking about our mutual crush on that guy in our favourite class, or complaining about society, or my parents, or when I just need to talk about the weather to distract myself from the looming fear of everything going wrong.
Dear Best Friend,
I still remember when you first told me about your depression. I had always sort of known, but hearing you say it out loud, I honestly didn’t know what to do, because I don’t want you to end up like me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to turn to sharp inanimate objects, I don’t want your world to be dark, hopeless, I don’t want you to fall because depression is a slippery slope, trust me. I don’t want you to forever be broken. I don’t want you to be scared.
I just don’t want you to end up as ****** up as me.
Dear Best Friend,
I know I’m not perfect, I’m not even close, and I ***** up... A lot. But I will do what ever I can to ALWAYS be there for you. I will always be the dorky, idiotic, annoying sidekick.
Dear Best Friend,
You are beautiful, don’t let anyone, ever tell you otherwise. Especially not some 12 year old boy with a stupid haircut.
You are short, there is no denying that, but so is Billie Joe Armstrong and we still think he is the hottest thing since wood stoves.
You have blue eyes, that I know you think are weird, but they are like oceans only not as dark.
Your hair is almost as straight as the members in half the bands we listen to, but each curl falls in it’s own special place
You are beautiful, stunning, breath-taking, and every other synonym for that word.
Dear Best Friend,
I’m sorry you have to put up with me when I am like this. I know I should just bottle it up, but for whatever reason it always seems like I can’t stop the words from escaping. I’m sorry, I am so so sorry that you have to deal with me.
Dear Best Friend,
I really want to smack you upside the face with a brick sometimes. But I won’t, because I am more scared of you hitting back than I am of doctors (and that’s saying something)
Dear Best Friend,
I promise that I will always be there as long as you need me, whether it’s in the middle of the night or when I am thousands of miles away with timezone barriers between us, just call me. When you are scared, call me. When what you are scared of is yourself, call me. When you need a friend, call me. When you want to gush about your new boyfriend, call me. When you want to just chat, call me.
Dear Best Friend,
At this point I think of you more like a sister that a friend.
So, Dear Sister, I love you so much. Thank you for showing me that even the darkest nights have a sunrise, and that those sunrises are always the most spectacular.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
We sat across the table
and I couldn't look away
from all his tattoos.
Without thinking,
I stretched out my hand
and extended my finger.
I began to trace
the arcade tickets that ran
the length of his arm.
He grew up with his grandfather
and they spent hours in his arcade.
His grandfather was his first best friend,
so the tickets they won were his first tattoo.
I could feel his smile grow.
He loved his tattoos
and now I did, too.
He left a mark on my life.
Just like the ink
on his skin.
I see him everywhere.
I can't tell if he tattooed himself
in my mind or under my eyes.
There's no escaping
or replacing him.
There's just no one like him.
He had a kind of goodness
that could be seen
in the smile that
would burn into the back of my mind,
haunting me for years.
He was just dorky enough
to get a laugh out of me
when I had the weight of the
world on my chest.
If you're lucky enough
to even know him,
he'll put a tattoo in you, too.
Whether you want it or not,
you will never forget him.
Trust me, I've tried.
He comes out of nowhere
and he helps you.
He asks for help
just as much as you.
It's just enough
to make you think
that he needs you, too.
God knows he was what I needed.
I needed him like
an alcoholic needs his whisky.
He was my whisky.
His finger tips
had a different kind of ink
and he was part of me with every touch.
I swear he had needles
in the tips of his fingers.
His touch always stung,
and now I will never
forget that sting
that is now stuck
in the parts of me he touched.
All the hugs,
the intentional and unintentional ways
that we touched.
They left their mark,
their pain-riddled stain on me.
The stains of him were left
with memories and stories
and they were attached
to songs that I can no longer listen to
and places I can no longer visit.
He came into my life so quick
and he left just as fast.
I think about him often.
I dream about him often.
It's like he stops in now and then
to catch up in chat in my sleep.
He took a part of me
with him when he left.
But his memories remain
and I don't want them.
I think about the goals he had
and I hope he achieves them.
I just wish I could be the one
that gets to congratulate him.
He will be leaving in August
and I will probably never see
or talk to him again.
But I will never be able
to forget him.
He is the one tattoo
I wish I could remove.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
“Never trust a ginger”
she sings giggling looking at the red head next to me.
Her song is a pretty good representation of our friendship.
Throw in a ***** bump and some dorky dance moves
oh yea
that’s the definition of our friendship.
Laughing and dying at things no one else gets
actions no one else see’s
and mouthed words no one else understands.
That’s just a little inside view of our “love”.
“Never kiss a ginger”
It’s a little late for that don’t ya think
blackberry tea and coffee making her laugh till she dies.
Hysterics that break her down till she’s on the floor rolling
rolling down a hill and being so dizzy she can’t get up.
Oh but she’s a monster that chases you around
trying to tackle you to the ground.
Falling off the playground rail and hitting her head
just like in our story
so she lays there laughing hysterically.
All I can do is shake my head
“Never kiss a ginger…twice”
yea that’s a little better.
he won’t be telling my slightly stunned, amazed face its cute again.
The face we later joked about
mouth dropped to the floor
eyes wide.
Like did that seriously just happen.
Our dumb and quirky reactions to everything
exaggerated, excited yeses
and happy little dances.
"Never date a ginger”
I’m not nor have I ever…
where do you get these thoughts that run through your head?
Ok I can’t say much
my mind wanders to the strangest places
and leads us to the greatest conversations.
Like cops on bikes with prisoners in baskets
leading to Mortal Instruments characters all riding one bike.
I’ve no idea where our minds get these strange ideas and imaginings.
“Never love a ginger”
I never said I love him
don’t let your mind wander
dangerous things happen when our minds wander
anywhere from dinosaurs ruling the world to death
and the things in between are sometimes worse to think about
“Never like a ginger”
OI!
with this again
I don’t I promise there’s nothing there
now please shut up.
Yes, yes I love you now please don’t attack my legs again
I really don’t feel like falling on the floor
it’s not very appealing.
Uh-oh
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
Marissa Ann was a firecracker of a little girl.
For her, there was no fence too tall to climb, no bully too mean to face, no street too busy to cross.
She was all tangled hair and toothy grins.
And she'd yank the book right out of my hands and say, "Gabrielle, we have more important things to do than read."
In the jungle of our lives, Marissa was a lioness, queen of the pride.
I was a mouse not indigenous to these parts of the second grade.
The world was a terrifying place, and I had no problem cowering in the corner, knee-deep in a pile of Nancy Drew.
I tried to stay huddled behind my words, drowning in the ink, attempting to let the pages be my armor.
Marissa would not let me.
When I allowed bookshelves to be my shields, she came guns blazing, and kicked them all down, then stood me back up on my feet.
She'd grab my hand and pull me head first toward adventure.
Marissa was tough, and everyone knew it.
There was not a soul alive brave enough to pick on Marissa Ann.
But me? I was an easy target.
The other girls said I was "weird" with my enormous wire frames resting atop full cheeks, and my frayed jeans, a glowing reminder of my mother's lack of wealth.
I heard the whispers on the playground about the chubby girl who read, (can you believe it?), chapter books.
Brianna was a demon of a child.
She'd bat her pretty little eyelashes and everyone would melt.
She had the entire second grade class wrapped around her tiny little finger.
She'd corner me on the soccer field and do everything she could to remind me that I was different.
But one day at recess, she was nowhere to be found, until I made my way through winding halls, back to the warmth of our classroom.
There sat Marissa with a devilish glint in her eye, waving me over to sit in the desk beside her.
Behind us, a sniffling Brianna, looking forlornly at the teardrop stains on her pink lace skirt, her mouth pulled tight into a perfect straight line.
I looked back at Marissa with a curious glance, then intertwined her hand with my own.
The sound of stifled sobs behind us and the warmth of her skin on mine sealing an unspoken vow between two girls with puzzle piece fingertips that only fit each other.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
Speak to me in a Russian accent
sound all angry and mean
then buy me a puppy named Tobias
and cuddle fer hours et hours.
I like 'em gruff
and dorky and sweet
and badass and lovely
and secretly love to write poems.
Do they tear up during The Notebook
and still love mountain biking and rock climbing?
Can he laugh at my weird jokes
and tell some of his own?
Maybe.
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC
I told you "Happy Birthday,"
You smiled and said, "You remembered."
It took me back.
October 9th of 2009,
Was the day that I first met you.
I was at the Bridge with the girls,
Then up strode this guy that I wished I knew.
Dorky, yet enchanting,
You made me laugh and rant.
It was the best night I'd had in a long time,
And all the way home I danced.
I saw you at school after that,
And I felt myself falling for you.
Our friend's romances started happening,
Maybe we'd happen too.
I played you piano,
You smiled at me,
I caught my breath
And messed up they keys,
But you still thought it was good.
On June 5, of 2010,
You asked to become mine.
How could I say no,
When I wished it all the time?
You told me that I was beautiful,
Then you kissed my face,
In a world of beautiful scenery,
I was in the greatest place.
We danced slowly to Melancholy Hill,
And you watched Titanic with me,
You helped me make Chicken Marsala,
I thought we were meant to be.
You told me that you loved me,
And I felt my heart grow.
That's when I really began,
to let my love show.
On October 5th of 2010,
I gave you my virginity
I understood euphoria
When I saw your eyes on me.
Two years we spent together,
And they were the best in my life,
Even in our fake little wedding,
Where I became your wife.
You really were my medicine,
Making me feel alive,
And every time I looked in your eyes,
I saw a place where angels thrive.
I gave you myself in every way,
And I'll never want it back.
Even after bitter words,
And the moments we attacked.
I never knew a heart like mine,
Could ever love so much.
Imagine the person I would be,
If we never shared that touch.
The hardest day of my life
Was the day you walked away,
I thought that it wasn't for good,
But I couldn't make you stay.
The funny part of the story,
Is that I hadn't let you go.
The girl that you had loved and lost,
Let her true colors show.
And I'm still here waiting for you
Now, as I tell you "Happy Birthday,"
My special little tourniquet,
You smile and say, "You remembered."
But how could I forget?
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC
What is a Miracle?
Winning the lottery?
Picking up a heads-up penny?
A granted 11:11 wish?
Canceled class?
A promotion?
No.
Those are miracles.
What is a Miracle?
An A on a test?
Winning the “big game”?
Having a secret admirer?
Nope.
Still miracles.
So what defines a Miracle?
What makes the big M?
Where can I buy it?
Where does it come from?
A Miracle is experiencing
Love at First Sight
Getting kissed on the forehead
when the rain trickles down your blushed cheeks
A Miracle is hearing someone
Sing out loud to their favorite song in the car
Unafraid and Unabandoned
A Miracle is hearing one’s
“Dorky Laugh”
with the Snort in it
A Miracle is being faced with your own Mortality
and being given a Second Chance.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 9:45 PM UTC
I am not who you see,
I am me
The Clumsy, dorky, sometimes ******
The one who will try to make you feel
When you cannot feel anymore,
The one that will stand up for you,
When you are limp, on the floor.
The person that will make sure,
Your information is correct.
Sometimes to be a pain in the ****
The one who will cook, but only if its
For her and another, or more.
But never for herself.
The one that tries to give the best advice,
But never asks for them to listen.
Sometimes she thinks she is male,
For always wanting to be right.
But at the same time, she is female.
Whiny, crabby, always up in your face.
She is indecisive, she doesn’t know half of the time.
Her name is Chelsea.
She is pretty cool.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 12:20 AM UTC
Who could ever love an Eliza?
Awkwardly a little too tall,
Possessing a dorky laugh,
Silly mannerisms,
And,
Above all,
A dream of love.
An Eliza writes poetry,
Crying to God for answers to life's questions,
Asking for God to provide some form of companionship.
An Eliza,
Is impatient,
Her largest downfalls,
Impatience,
Caring too much.
An Eliza is an Eliza,
But,
Is that a good thing?
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 7:38 AM UTC
I
Miss
You
The good, the bad, everything.
When you were happy, sad, mad, flat out numb from the acid.
I loved it. I loved you, all of you.
What I loved the most about you was your smile.
It was lopsided and dorky, you teeth weren't perfect but I loved them anyways.
And your light brown eyes hung low, you looked like a predator.
But the only thing you killed were my sides because you were tickling me.
And I know it sounds cliche but I don't care,
You were my everything.
Those times you held me when I cried, you were my everything.
When you made me smile, you were my everything.
Watching the re-runs of Family Guy and throwing popcorn at each other, you were my everything.
God, even when we screamed and yelled at each other, you were my everything.
Even when we made love and I lit a cigarette after and you called it 'gross' but you'd snort up a line so quickly it was insane...
You were my everything and even though you've left me behind and you'll never me able to come back to me...
Able to kiss me, hold me, yell at me, even just touch me
You
Are
My
Everything.
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC
No, don’t tell me I’m perfect.
A lie is never a compliment.
Tell me exactly who I am.
Tell me I’m a pain in the ***
an uptight, control-freak Asian,
a sarcastic *****
an emotional wreck,
a nerdy, dorky, silly, insecure girl.
Then tell me you love me for it.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC
The strong pressure from the outside groaning force
might as well turn me into
an alluring wild tolerant pointless fool.
But I would not.
For I'd rather be
a classic wallflower stuck in a solitary place.
I'd rather be dorky than a confident fake.
Perhaps, it's better to keep a mystery a mystery,
than to evolve oneself to annoyance and shameful vulgarity.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
there is this boy
and he is
very black
and very muscular
and
he could easily
overpower me
and he thinks my
legs
are
nice
and my dad would
crap his pants
if he ever saw him near me
because dad is still scared
of black people
there is this boy
he is very white
and a little dorky
but i like the way
his face
makes funny eyebrow smiles
he never
leaves
me
alone
and dad wouldn't care
if he was with me
because this boy is too scared
to do
anything
there is this boy
that is really more like a man
and he drives a jeep
and fishes a lot
and takes pictures
and draws on his ipad
and he's kind of a ****
but he told me i'm spunky
and that i make him smile
and that he
likes me
i was glad
to make him
smile
dad would probably
be
his best
friend
there is this boy
who i thought was really big on jesus
but it turns out he wanted to take me into a walk in freezer
pour chocolate on me
and lick it off
i liked him because i thought he was nice
but he wanted me
to
lick
his
fingers
and other things
too
i said
no
dad would
shoot him
there is this boy
that plays the trumpet
and has a receding hairline
but he's only like
twenty two
and he
likes to find my face
and smile at me
because he wants to know
if i'll smile
back
he wanted to give me
a massage
and a long hug
i wish he would
tell me
he liked me
so maybe we could be
together
dad would
think he was
the marrying type
there is this boy
who likes to tell me what he's wearing
which is usually silky underwear
blue ones
red ones
sometimes
none
the first night i knew him
he sent me a picture
of his ***
it was really
white
he wants to
draw a bath for me
and watch me
in the bubbles
he tells me
i can touch him
anywhere
i want
he'll touch me
too
dad would skin him
after
he shot him
there is this boy
who is high
or drunk
24/7
he makes me watch awful scary movies
he is silly
playful
he
loves
me
but he is in
california
and he only loves me
as a friend
he wants a blonde
not a redhead
and that is ok
we would be too much for this world
if we were together
anyway
dad would
hate
him
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
When people say your very random all you can say is oh well I'm always random
When people say your weird all you can say is I know I'm weird
When people say your dorky what you say in return is it is just who I am
When people say your ******** and you just say in return is ***** you I'm not ******** I'm just very Special so shut the hell up" XD
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
I want to go to the circus with him and fail at the tricks at home
I want to dance in the rain with him and jump in puddles in gumboots
I want to climb trees with him with binoculars and look over the lake
I want to build a pillow fort with him, with Disney movies and chocolate
Something took a hold of me right in the moment
I accidentally got lost in those eyes first time looking into them
His smile made so happy and I think he noticed because he smiled more
I literally felt sparks and a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart
I didn't plan on this happening, far out
I swore to only fall inlove with myself
Too much pain and love is so overrated
But it was beyond my control
And then cupid's arrows kept hitting me
Just a moment in the pouring rain
I saw myself and a billion adventures together in him
A deep urge to hug him came over me
He's so dorky and cute and sweet and innocent
He wears a big clunky watch and is good at maths and computers
He does acoustic covers of Of Monsters and Men songs
He runs around like a maniac in PE and bashes up his friends playfully
There is no definition and there aren't any rules for love
If you think a person is just the bee's knees, that's love
I'm only young but I know an awesome person when I see one
And God will always hold my heart but man, this human... I adore him
I feel stupid for letting another person contain some of MY own joy
I feel so scared that I fell for just the idea of him like I have once before
But ugh, words can't describe how content my heart is
I refuse to say he erased my pain, because let's not be naive, but wow
One day I hope we get to conquer the world in our pillow fortress
<3
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 6:57 AM UTC
You were amazing
I could feel your thoughts flow through my very body
Every time you spoke
Every time I caught a glimpse
Thats all I could catch
My net was to big
I was fishing for something beyond my grasp
I knew
My body knew;
because every time I want to talk
My body freezes in place,
not allowing me to walk
I was like a middle school girl around you
Except I was 16
Your Black hair
Your Opinions
Your Big dorky smile
I couldn't take it
It made me want to be around you
But it pushed me away
All of these cliches in this poem makes it lacklustre
I know
But I'm just spewing out the thoughts
that come out angrily
every time I open the book
and see your face
With the green light next to you
Telling me to go
But i'm not mobile
So I just sigh as I close the book
Realising that your intelligence and hilarity will never be near me
Ever again
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 12:47 AM UTC
This is for me
So here's to letting go
Letting go of you
Letting go of me
Letting go of my image
Letting go of who I used to be
Here's to me becoming more of myself
To embracing that which makes me different
If they don't want me this way?
Doesn't make a difference
I'm going to be my un-beautiful self
Outspoken, obnoxious, dorky, know-it-all, whatever
I'm going to be me
And see, this poem might not be beautiful
Not my usual poisonous masterpiece
Because for once I'm not being bitter
I'm not being dangerous or seductive or dark
I'm just trying to be
Trying to be okay
Because lately, I haven't been
And I think that as I'm trying to become the person I want to be,
I'm losing sight of the person I was,
and the person I am
So I'm no one
And then I'm left scrambling, trying to find personality traits to hold onto
Becoming the old me, living in the past
Becoming the future me, daydreaming in a world that won't last
And it hurts
Because what's happened in the past is there for a reason
And what hasn't been yet will never be
So for once I'm being nice to myself
Sweetie, let go
Let go of that poisonous boy
Mourn him, yes
You can cry for who you thought he would be
But let him go
It's not fair to either one of you
Because the more he tears you apart...
The more likely you are to destroy him in turn
So it's about time you let go that which drags you down
And make your way to the surface
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
I meet your gaze
You’re gazing at me
Am I supposed to say something now?
Are you even flirting?
Well, now this is awkward…
Please excuse me
And my inability
To understand the signs I’m supposed to know
I should be dark and swarthy
But God made me
just a little bit dorky
And nobody taught me
How to take these first steps
But if you give me half a chance
I could be half-way decent
At being the man you hope that I am
I’m working up the courage
And gaining the confidence
To finally say something to you
Because you, you are radiant
And I long to know you
But I don’t think I can
I’ll bottle my feelings this time
And walk away lonely
Next time for sure
Next time I’ll be brave
And I’ll know what to say
I’ll give you no choice but to love me…
Next time.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
I started high school with grand intentions of grand friends and grand grades and boys would only be a street-side fruit stand to glance at while I cruised on by.
Intentions never quite work the way you plan.
My first class of the day, a boy with striking blue eyes, an awkward gaunt, and floppy hair sat down next to me and started talking about Pokemon. He had seen my Pokeball pin on my backpack and had singled me out as the person to vilify him the least. I was uncomfortable and unsure, horrified by his brashness. The seat had been meant for my best friend, Cathy.
But the second his mouth opened the teen awkwardness faded from his face and he become bright exuberance. Stunned and flustered, I stared as he passionately smiled and seemed to revel in our one-sided conversation.
This happened for weeks and I eventually became comfortable enough to talk back. His smile widened as he seemed pleased to find another person who was willing to be a little weird. I didn't know nearly as much as him, but I learned because I loved to watch him beam.
Right before the homecoming dance, he asked me out with a poster that said, "I choose you! Do you want to choose me too?" I blushed and said yes, and we coordinated red for our first dance as high school freshmen.
At the dance, though, my blue eyed beamer was someone anew. He was dorky and the way he danced was flamboyant but terrifying. He often ditched me for his marching band friends, and I felt more humiliated and uncomfortable around him than the bright admiration I had felt before.
When he took me home that night, he tried to kiss me and at the last second I ducked away and gave him a hug before running inside. Those lips weren't nearly as enticing anymore when they weren't beaming at me.
The next week in class, he sat next to a different person. A guy from his science class, I heard from my friends. I shrugged and went on doodling on my notebook. At least I learned now what a Gardevoir was.
There we were, back to square one. Guess it takes more than a semi-mutual interest and a beautiful smile to maintain a relationship. And there I was, back to grand intentions and great expectations, but this time I knew things won't ever go quite exactly as you plan.
He ended up dating Cathy later, and he and I are close friends now. He's actually pretty fun when he bothers pays attention.
But this was the end of our love story.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
I cried myself to the shower last night.
I used boy shampoo over the arms that I’ve been scratching for hour, four hours spent trying to get the blood I hated so much to come up and sit on my skin like it was their art gallery, hanging on for display.
It never came.
I run water over me burning tears into camouflage,the words of an empty life stung to my head as if the thoughts branded it here on me permanently.
I’ve had nights like this before.
Nights where I put on the loosest pajamas I could find, the ones with ESPN written written as read as the books on my old library shelf. The ones I took when my brother went to work and left me by myself, the ones that made me feel manly, even if I didn’t look like a man.
I wouldn’t put a shirt on.
My chest was bare, not in the way I wanted, but I couldn’t tear off my breast and give them to a girl who wasn’t born with them, I’d just have to stare till my stomach growled and tears streamed down my face, fears of a life unloved and unlived made me put on a loose shirt and tell myself I wasn’t hungry, so instead I thought of you.
You, with your crooked smile when you see me at your doorstep with the sun’s colors draped in a bouquet. I show up in a fox shirt, the one I call lucky, and you count each and every one and you point out how dorky I am.
You, with your back on the mattress of the cheapest apartment we could find, reading love letters I’ve written to your baby sister over the phone, telling her of all my love in the distance of thousands of miles. I try to pretend I can’t hear you from the kitchen as I make you tea, the lemon juice coating it bronze with the color of its juice, your vase holds out bright sprouts of happiness as a centerpiece.
Daisies plague my mind on nights like these. They’re scattered at your funeral & my own on our graves, at the fifty yard mark.
“We’ve been rolling together since we were 25.”
Nights like these remind me that my masterpiece is so far, even if the dasies are so close, so near.
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 1:28 PM UTC
chicken legs.
anxious face.
i never quite fit in.
pale skin.
crooked teeth.
i get hurt easily and i don't like leaving my comfort zone.
awkwardly short.
frizzy hair.
i'm always scared around people and i just wanna stay home.
twelve year old boy's body.
black eyes.
i worry too much and swallow my words.
funny nose.
small ears.
i'm quite mediocre and ordinary and have no idea of what i'm doing or who i am or where i'm going
weird voice.
bad posture.
the thought of growing up scares me and i'm not good at making or keeping friends.
beautiful legs.
beautiful face.
i'm really good with animals and i like seeing people smile.
beautiful skin.
beautiful teeth.
i can make some nice doodles and have some great taste in music
beautifully short.
beautiful hair.
i can find my self worth even when others can't and i always try my best
beautiful body.
beautiful eyes.
i always pick myself up even if i feel like staying on the ground
beautiful nose.
beautiful ears.
when i finally get myself up, i help those around me get up too.
beautiful voice.
beautiful posture.
all of my rough edges fit perfectly together and all of my flaws stitch together to make a human being that is worth while. and i will remember this when people who lack judgement and better perspective throw cruel words at me. No one will make me believe that all of my flaws aren't wonderful.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
I'm Pregnant
Do you think you're fat like me,
looks like I'm pregnant with twins.
Gained forty pounds in two short years,
never thought I'd reach two hundred pounds.
If you don't give a **** like me,
then don't even worry about it.
If you care then try a diet,
exercise as often as possible.
I bring to you,
for a one time offer,
the I don't give a **** diet.
Jam packed with all things bad for you,
sit on your *** all day and do nothing.
That's my diet secret, no pain, all gain.
I like my big fat tummy,
it assures that my food is yummy.
I find it funny,
when fat people order a steak and three sides,
then they ask for a diet soda,
like that's gonna do anything.
People who say they love the taste,
must be lying, cause diet soda is nasty.
Oh those days when I was skinny,
dorky face and bushy blonde hair.
Not sure which one of me looked better,
but hot **** no one makes the girls wetter.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
I may not love
All of your favorite movies,
But I think you're incredibly dorky
And I would still love to be yours
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 2:45 AM UTC
We are artsy lasses with dorky glasses
On spurned kisses with tinny braces
On selfsame faces at lavish places
On kindred spirits in empty spaces
We, we are the bosses
Archi, we are everything I want
We, we are the bosses
Archi, we could be everything they want
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 4:24 AM UTC