Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Peanut Jul 2015
A toast! let's celebrate!
It's time to commemorate
As I demonstrate
And iterate
******* friends that I'd love to hate

Those ******* ******
With their bags full of tricks
They throw stones and sticks
Like ******* lunatics

They're bullies on steroids
What to expect?
Break my bones, calls me names
With no signs or ounce of respect

**** them
and their memes
**** them
by all means
**** them
those merciless machines
And **** them
in between

So let's toast! let's celebrate!
For this poem that I create
A tribute has been made
To my ******* friends I love to hate
Tribute to all ******* friends out there :)
Anthony Esposito Aug 2019
My coworker called me a ******* today.
It hurt, but I guess that’s ok.

I’ll carry it with me like I do most things, on most days.

On my way home from work, with the sun glaring in my eyes, the red light stared me down.
A nagging thought followed me back to my town.

I’m not a ******* I thought.

Back at the place where I lay my head.
My dinner sits cold on the table.
My mind spinning with a single, torturous thought.

I am not a *******.

The night comes, as it always does.
The sun hides away, while the moon comes out to play.

As I sit in the dark, focused on the infinite darkness.
I can’t help but think.

I am not a *******.
Hannah Clifford Feb 2018
Dear *******,
Stop playing with me. I don't know if you do it for amusement or just to be an ******* but I am done playing your game. Makeup you ******* mind because lord knows that I have.
You need to stop it. Stop sending me smile and kissy emojis one day, then ignore me the next.
Or tell me that I’m pretty today… then state I look like trash tomorrow.
I don’t know what your deal is. Maybe it’s that as people we are miles apart.
You are attractive, i’m not.
The video games we play are far from similar.
Maybe it’s because the music we like is so drastically different. And yes, sometimes I get mad at you suicide jokes, but I know that you are a good person.
What really gets me mad though is this back and forth. One day you want to have a full fledged conversation and some days, you can’t even look me in the eye.
I know that I’m weird compared to you. I think puns are a gift from god and you think that my double chin selfies are disgusting, but I thought you could overlook my awkwardness… but I don’t want you to overlook it anymore… i want you to embrace it.
Maybe I’m just overreacting? Maybe to you I’m just a friend, and that’s okay with me, but you have to tell me. Believe it or not, I am not a psychic.
If I am just a friend, then tell me that i am just a friend
If you like me, but you’re also talking to other people then tell me so that I don’t have to shut others out because I’m confused if something is going on between us.
And finally, in the rare case that you actually like me, then for the love of god TELL ME
And if you want nothing to do with me… then tell me. And if you think I can’t handle that… then ***** you.
This is a spoken word I wrote last year.
Mikayla Lash Aug 2014
eat breakfast with your gold spoon
sit in the front seat of your Porsche
arrive at school with your Louis Vuitton bag
make fun of the kid in a wheelchair during break
eat cold lunch and call the lunch lady fat
laugh at the girl with acne on her face
threaten the teacher when she sends you out of class
get picked up in your Porsche
flick off the kid walking home
have friends over and destroy the house
tell your maid to clean it up
eat dinner with your gold fork
admire your sports awards while you brush your teeth
lay in bed and hate yourself
Redshift Mar 2013
so you tell the entire world
what a great night
we had together
last night
and then you delete it
in the morning
after everyone's already seen it
what the **** is wrong with you
how could you think
i would miss that
or see it
and feel
fine
the white deer May 2014
for a really long time I was just nice to people but they walked all over me
about the time I started loving you I figured that if I could stand up for myself you'd like me
but now I'm an "*******" and I
"used to be nice."
but being an ******* is all I can do for people to not walk all over me,
and I only changed because I thought you would like me.
Juliana Dec 2012
Let’s make vulgarity beautiful
for a couple seconds.
Dwell on the ******* gimmicks of language,
the shock value of mixing syllables together,
the stupidity of poetic “terms”.
I’ll tell you about my hate for
******* clichés,
****** overused poetic devices and word pairings
that ruin the fun for all of us.
I’ll lay down some ground work here:
too many minutes of my life spent
trying to count syllables ,
rhyme words,
analyze and alliterate annoying argumentative articulations.

You know what?
**** alliteration, assonance and consonance,
bastardisations of the brilliance of poetry.
Destroying all appreciation of something so fine
at such early age,
with red pens,
poor introductions,
and misconceptions falling out of every ******* mouth.
Reused and recycled clichés
trivializing the beauty of rain,
that stomach hiccup when you see someone you like
the actual emotions that fundamentally make us human.
The over-judgemental *****
who can’t write for ****,
think they’re high and mighty,
overusing these feelings with the vocabulary of an eight year old,
giving us poets a bad reputation.
**** those *******
with their dark souls
empty hearts and
broken dreams
**** them over cups of cold coffee
in vintage mugs
snapping in a low-lit jazz café.
Sonnets, haikus and ballads aren’t the only forms of poetry,
nothing has to rhyme,
I shouldn’t be graded on my ability to be a thesaurus.
******* teachers narrow-mindedly give us
“creative writing” homework
that's not creative,
like the colour green.
I don’t see how they can judge poetry,
perhaps how it flows and word choice,
but I have an extra syllable
and purple doesn’t rhyme with anything,
**** me right?
Because purple is the only word which
accurately portrays what I mean,
excuse me if I pronounce this differently
rendering my iambic pentameter to ****.
I didn’t deserve a B.
*****.
Poetry isn’t something you can confine to four walls,
it can’t be truly ugly,
it can be the sort of ugly where your mum doesn’t want to put it on the fridge
but she keeps it until you’re satisfied,
and then she trashes it,
but it’s not ugly.
Remember that poetry is supposed to be beautiful,
*******.
Forget about that *****-*****-***** who ******* you over,
that ******* who didn’t say thank you or
that ****-faced ***** who should go digest a bag of *****
and write something worth reading.
Something that will makes eyes wander back to revisit phrases,
admiring the careful craftsmanship
that translates into something universally beautiful.

The moral here is that
poetry is an art to be mastered and
no one has yet to master it.
Some have come close,
and not all of them have used alliteration,
similes about the heart,
metaphors for love,
binding syllable limits
or rhyme schemes.
Whoever told you otherwise is a raging *******
who doesn’t deserve even the lowest paid *******.
Don’t be afraid to use taboo words;
it's your writing and anyone who doesn’t like it can *******.
Despite the irony,
vulgarity can be beautiful.
http://poemsaboutpoetry.blogspot.ca/
Jeremy Bean Aug 2014
The only way
you could be seen
as a good person
is if
it was your perception alone
that changed the entire world.
Oskar Erikson Apr 2016
I have neither:
The Time- to talk trash-

or

The Tolerance- to tell tales-

I don't mean to be spiteful,
but if you really want to bother me.                   Just read the title.
How to deal with snakes 101.
WickedHope Nov 2014
You're thirteen, sorry fourteen this week
You think you know the world, have it figured out
You think you know yourself, without a doubt
Let me tell you some things I learned when I was about your age
I learned how to go from popular ***** to no good freak show
Nothing but an ipod every day at lunch, no friends, no food
I learned that I had addictions that I didn't know even existed
I learned how badly I wanted attention from his hands, his mouth
I learned what it like to be violated in the worse most degrading way
I learned how to get high
I learned that the intentional pain I'd always caused could be
A harnessed tool to cope by
I learned that if I stopped eating altogether no one cared
I learned what it was like to think you loved someone
I learned that I liked girls
I learned what girls could taste like, feel like -- what I could feel like
I learned that I didn't like girls
I learned what it's like to have people spread rumors about you
I learned what it's like to try to drown yourself then feel guilt
Guilt about your little brother who would have no idea why
You little *******, it wasn't long after that the violence between us started
You're big enough, strong enough to do damage on the family pet
I'm the family pet, you think you know but you don't
You've been calling me names for years
But you don't know how true they are
You think you love her -- you don't know love until you're nothing
When you're nothing and this skinny little kid everyone hates saves you
This annoying as hell kid who shows you that
The world isn't as dark as you thought it was
This kid who loves you not for ***, not for bragging rights, but because
He sees this skinny little bird who lost her feathers and her wings
And is waiting to die and he thinks she could be beautiful
She thought she knew who she was before but he helped her find it
Soon you'll be fifteen
When I was fifteen I couldn't find my skinny little kid, he'd changed
Not for the worse but away from me
I fell into old habits
And new ones
Deadly ones
I changed back into the addict, not eating, not sleeping, sniffing, watching, cutting, stabbing, nothing
I covered myself in laughter, hysterical and crazy
I became quiet
I fell apart more because of guys, complete ******* guys
Like you're turning out to be
Don't think you know everything, that you're an angel
Because I was ****** up at six because of what they did
You were ****** up at four because of him
Both were accidents, but as you can see in me from six to seven
To nine to eleven
To when I was your age, all that happened was
I got ruined because of the secrets
The ones no one can know
The ones that when crossing paths with the world **** you inside
You can't see that yet
You aren't aware that you're broken
Now you're **** well old enough to
Wake Up
I hate breathing.
Happy Birthday, ****.
R Mar 2015
"I guess he switched the straight flip in her brain"
*NO NO NO ******* LOOK MAYBE IM NOT OKAY WITH WHATS GOING ON BUT HER HAPPINESS IS MY ONLY CONCERN SO ******* FOR EVEN THINKING ABOUT SAYING SOMETHING SO DELUSIONAL AND ******* ALL FOR EVEN THINKING THAT. HOW DARE YOU, NONE OF YOU WILL EVER EXPERIENCE THE LOVE THAT WE HAD IN YOUR LIVES IF YOU KEEP THINKING SO SHITTILY SO *******.
sorry, I'm quite angry atm.
Jireh Sevilla Nov 2017
hi, read the title
prolly you are
catching ladies’ eyes
hatching new chicks
every now and then
tell tales
writing promises
on water
play with their feelings
say you only love one
oh geez there’s alot
read again the title
making someone
fall deeply
and stuck
inside
wont make you cool

hola, read again the title
im not being oppressive
there’s a reason we all
have given you this title

7 words

****.
someone i know
we wuz celebratin
40 years of Hip Hop
at 5 Pointz

dashing tags
reclaiming the
lost land

speaking for a
community of peeps
routed from their
last stand

making statements
about remembering

tellin stories
about ourselves

giving the drab
dead industrial
sarcophagi a
a face lift

freeing the
entombed
mummies
to let em
walk with
the living
again

seein things
in a new light

reciting our
biographies

writing an epic
autobiography

splashed across
3D murals

spoken in the
lexicon of
gobsmack
multicolored
neon graffiti

testifying to
the ages with
our urban
hieroglyphs

the symbols of
life in the hood
may history be our
witness to aromas
rising from cracked
pavements teaming
with bodegas,
public projects and
store front fantasies
played out in all its
grueling detail
on the corner of
walk don’t walk

them snaps
real down home
expressions
of real people

until some
capitalist
*******

his pockets filled
with low interest
money

whitewashed
it away

he thinks he
owns the
5 Pointz

he thinks
he can
erase our
memories
with a gallon of
Sherwin Williams

he thinks
he owns our
perdido
graffito

and is well
in his rights
to launder our  
epiphanies over
with the bland
tag of privilege
he thinks his
dollar bills
can buy

we raised this
place from
the dead

that old warehouse
where men and women
once earned a paycheck
was murdered by
Michael Milken
and his posse of well
heeled predators
busy leveraging
livelihoods by
offshoring them
to Third World
plantations
transforming
the natives into
wage slaves
tagging this
strange alchemy
progress

now this
latest incarnation of
Morley’s Ghost stalking
Bloomberg’s Metropolis
haunts the neighborhoods
with a wrecking ball
of entitlement

razing our hood
to build soulless
high rises where
they'll warehouse
dead people
ginned up
on pilates,
chai tea and
elevating
themselves
through life
scoring the
latest fab
yoga gear
on the
urban outfitters
website

the frackers
are gobbling
the land

strip miners are
gnashing away
at the mountains

now the predators
are eating our art

always famished
never satiated
the beast gnaws
away at its
**** scattering
the bones of
of the living

but this
half assed
midnight
whitewash
will never stand

already images
of the holy ghosts
scrawled onto
the Wailing Walls
of 5 Pointz are
bleeding through
the veneer of a
landlords greed

and as the
future tenants
of the proposed
highrise columbarium
snooze away the night
dreaming of leading roles
in star studded schemes

we’ll be taggin
the streets
reciting our
righteous presence
until our last dying
aerosol breath
escapes our
paint stained
hands

Public Enemy:
Fight the Power

Oakland
11/20/13
jbm
http://nypost.com/2013/11/20/5-pointz-fans-try-to-retag-legendary-graffiti-building/
thinklef Jul 2013
U gave me that leaf, & said u were never gonna leave, Cause we were meant to live, now I have to Outlive & conceive the pain of grieve,

Who are u to tell me when to meditate? Please go your way and don't dictate, I have been born to innovate, Learn from me and don't aggravate,

Why dig into my past just to excavate things and deliberate , Yet you imitate and commentate and say it irritates, Never hesitate to prostate, Cause it elevate and motivates my innovative.

Even if your silences grieve so loud in my ears, I will never freeze, I will always leave, Because I never lived, I am never relief, I can't be pleased, Even when u sneeze. It only aggravates my pain when I eat, Dats the reason I refused to breath.

How can you call me fake When that's what you are, What you are is what I say , What I have seen is what am saying..

Fake, fake, fake, Fake u are like fanta Colorful yet distrustful Great pleasure Hidden smile, Full of Fantasy, deceitful u are.

You said u were my friend, then why stab me twice and expect me to talk once, U have twined &twisted; me, Enough of the Glossy bossy, mischievous in motivation, Malicious in thought,

Why judge when you can settle to be a judge in a jungle Stop been unjustly, & learn to be justifiable,

Now it's time for u to leave , superstitiously I have lived suspicious u have been, Dangerous you have become, Unpredictable you are , You're definitely a *******. You're never my friend
Jack Gladstone Aug 2014
listening to French pop
"I'll have liked it when it was cool before it get's cool"
sriracha sauce on pesto pizza
"The waiter was right the flavors are very complimentary to the palate."
watching a ****** "me" movie
"wow their color usage in the lighting really shows the Giallo Italian horror influence"
Listening to the Friendly Indians
"My favorite band? They are only popular in Orange County so you've probably not heard of them.... oh you have?"
watching Un Chien Andalou
"tres interessant"
reading Sartre and Nietzsche
"my favorite philosophers man."

my pretention leaking out slowly to reveal I'm just a ******* underneath this finely unkempt exterior.
Is that changing? Well no but i thought you should know anyway.
Seán Mac Falls May 2015
******* Rabbi crows
I am 'poet laureate'
Internet yawning
Aka Beryl Dov, aka SmartassRabbi aka posers on HP P. ***** ( Beryl Dov as a woman ) aka all the myriad phonies on HP
Bottled Thoughts Aug 2017
And it seems as / if she's falling for him //
So she asked / if he feels the same //
He's a real *** / so he told a lie that day //

Because for him it's too fast / to be falling again //
That's relapse / that they could not take //
That was the last / time the two will see each other's face //
How come that she feels bad / when she did the right thing //
He's a ******* / right up to this day //
That's the truth that / she will tell herself to ease the pain //




I added the pauses since this is a flow dependent rhyme scheme - that of which is common to songs (and rap lyrics by extension). This is from a song I am still writing.
The fairytale of America
is dead to me
Killed by a ******* in horns
Maybe my veil has simply been lifted
Long has it been so for others
while still others never knew
its comforting shade
A reverence as meaningful now
as that for Santa Claus
Was my faith so brittle so ignorant
Is it still
Seems so
**** I don't know
I need to visit those stones again
let them speak through the cold
They were never silent but
maybe now I won't be deaf to their story
maybe now I'll listen
maybe now
unavailable Mar 2014
it's kind of weird that I fell in love with you actually. you didn't sweep me off my feet or anything like that. you were a rude, self-centered, inconsiderate *******. you made jokes you'll probably spend an eternity burning in hell for. you woke up late and drove recklessly.
but I scares me because we had so much in common. you only cared about me and what people said about you.  I would laugh at your hell-worthy jokes. we had the same taste in music, and we both wanted to escape everything around us.

I want to write about our good memories. I sit here and think about them, and when I snap back into reality, my heart aches for you. so I don't think I can write about them right now. maybe one day I'll be strong enough to, but I don't think today is that day.
Redshift Mar 2013
the smell of
burnt toast
and
cigarette smoke
greets me
with an acrid embrace
i
drag my
brain dead carcass
up the long flight
of stairs
fifteen minutes late
for class
open the door
to psych
get kicked in the face
rather inharmoniously
by a large, hairy
eyeball
some blue-toothed
*******
is in my seat
i plop down next to
shareef
instead
turn my desk
into a bed

sleep.
Dorothy A Mar 2017
As she often did, Mandy wanted to see the sunrise, but she missed it while struggling to get up and make herself a much needed cup of coffee. Her mug in hand, along with her favorite magazine, she walked out onto her front porch to enjoy the tranquility of the fresh, new day. She thought she caught something out of her peripheral vision and was quite caught off guard. A bit startled, she did not immediately recognize the sleeping figure to her left. Even more startled, she soon realized what she was seeing.  

“Lloyd? What are you doing here?”

Lloyd didn’t move a muscle at her response, sleeping fairly soundly, too soundly to know that he should have already been in his car and long gone.
Again, she asked, “Why are you on my porch? Lloyd! Lloyd!” She nudged him in the shoulder a few times. Was he drunk? There was no smell of alcohol on him.

Now she had roused him out of his slumber, and Lloyd flinched. He was dumbfounded and needed a minute to get his bearings. With a sheepish smile, he slowly sat up and produced a pretty long yawn, stretching out his arms to shake off the night. He was in a rumpled T shirt and jeans, and certainly could have used a blanket.  

Just what her brother doing on her gliding patio couch anyhow, acting like a hobo? Getting it together, he responded, “I just didn’t want to be there...couldn’t handle it last night.”

Mandy’s heart sank. “You mean you were afraid to be home by yourself”, she confirmed to his confession.

He nodded, reluctantly, and slumped back in a slouched position. Mandy handed him her cup of coffee. He needed it more than she did, and he was glad to have it. Her feet in fuzzy slippers shuffled back to the front door as she stopped, turned towards him and said to him, “If it wasn’t summer out I’d call you completely and utterly crazy. You know you could have just told me what really was going on in your head, and I’d have let you sleep on the couch. All you needed to do was to ask—no not ask—tell—tell me instead of making my front porch your hotel room. What kind of sister do you think I am?” She wasn’t sure that her little lecture got through his thick skull.

Before she opened up the door, she threw her little brother a slight glance of compassion and said, “I’ll make us some breakfast…”  

Mandy asked their brother, Bill, if Lloyd was acting strangely in his company, as well. He said, “Yeah, he hangs around here a lot more than he used to.  We have him over for dinner a lot, and I know he feels like an intruder…though he never says it. Karen never complains and the kids like having their uncle around.” Bill paused and added, “He used to be so much fun, but I see the difference. I see when he pretends with the kids, and see how it is when he is more alone. He probably doesn’t think I notice.  I notice”.

Bill and Mandy always looked after their little brother.  A gregarious boy, he always loved attention. Getting that attention often meant getting himself into trouble. He found himself in the principal’s office more than once—pulling the fire alarm was a prank that got him two days suspension. It could also be graffiti, clowning around in class, coming in with a jar of spiders to freak other students out, or initiating skipping school with his friends made him a big target for trouble.

When it was Devil’s Night, there was one demon that could be counted on for soaping windows and tossing toilet paper up trees. It seemed like harmless kids stuff, but it got Lloyd caught and in his room for punishment for one, whole week after school. It seemed he was grounded all the time, and his mother often delivered his punishment, but she still held a soft spot for her son.  

Lloyd had his redeeming qualities. Everyone thought Lloyd would be great in the drama club in high school, not one timid bone in his body, and he could captivate an audience. He’d be great for the stage. So when the school was putting on the play, Fiddler On The Roof, Lloyd got to be understudy for the role of Tevya. When Joe Schwinn came down with a really bad cold, Lloyd finally got his chance to get on stage.

It was just that Lloyd had such a huge task to be the lead role for this production. It wasn’t that he didn’t learn the lines, but it was a tall order to fill.  He was doing a pretty good job, but he was adlibbing all throughout the play, getting a few, unexpected laughs here and there. But when it came time for Tevya to confront his third daughter and her Gentile boyfriend for wanting to marry outside his Jewish faith, Lloyd really started to get stumped. He couldn’t think of his next line, and everything got uncomfortably quiet. He soon blurted out, “Leave my daughter alone and don’t come back, you **** *******!”

It got him the biggest laugh of the night, but also booted out of the drama club and back into the principal’s office the next school day. Nevertheless, Lloyd got lots of high fives from other students, had a blast, and loved having his moment in the limelight.  

Being the youngest in the family, Lloyd’s immaturity made his parents’ hair turn grey—at least that is what his father told him. After taking the family car out for spin to impress his friends, when he only had his permit, Lloyd got into a minor fender ******. He was afraid to call his dad, but the police never gave it a second thought.

His father was furious. “Bill and Mandy, put together, never gave us even an inch of the trouble you give us!” he shouted to his son. For that foolish gesture, Lloyd did not get his license at sixteen, like his friends did. He had to wait until he could legally sign for his own, and that was at eighteen.  It wasn’t cool to wait while all his friends were driving their own cars.

But now Lloyd was thirty-one. He seemed to have learned his lessons, and was a fairly responsible man. He was glad his mother lived to be proud of him, before cancer took her life. He still did not feel he was that much of an accomplishment to his father, and they only talked occasionally. It was like his dad blamed him for her passing, and Lloyd would have done anything to have her back.

In contrast to his funny, devil-may-care side, Lloyd had the more serious, thought provoking side. When his report card wasn’t as full of A grades—like Bill or Mandy’s—he would beat himself up over it. In spite of his shenanigans, he was actually a very good student

He really missed his mom. Though she often wanted to shake some sense into him, still she always believed in him. Now Mandy kind of took up that roll in her place. Even after he could make her angry, his mom would not hesitate to sit him down and tell him things like, “I’m proud of you Lloyd. It’s not what you do. It is who you are…and you are my son.”  If only he could hear those words again from her lips.

Why would he want to go home to an empty house? Especially, the nights were the hardest. The digital clock by his bed seemed to be frozen in time, and the nightmare of insomnia seemed endless.

After knowing him for over six years, with four-and-a half years of married life together, Pamela left him. She once loved him-- or so he thought. She loved his crazy side—his humor and his fun loving nature. Maybe it was the miscarriage that did it. They both wanted children. Maybe it was because Pamela felt sheltered all her life, and soon discovered that marriage would be the way she envisioned it. Maybe it was him--period.  Anyway, she left Lloyd and it tore a hole in his soul. On top of that, he was denied a promotion in the office that went to someone else who didn’t work there as long as he did. The group of friends that he had known much of his life grew apart. Life was caving in around him and he felt helpless to do anything about it.      

It was Mandy who came up with the idea running through her mind. She told Bill, but he was against it and told her to stay out of it. Well, Mandy’s friend, Libby, was cousins with Tammy. It was Tammy who lived down the street from Lindsay and was acquainted with her. Mandy usually never played matchmaker, but she found out that Lindsay was divorced, too, and without any children. Since she dated Lloyd several years ago, at least they weren’t embarking on like some blind date that nobody really wanted to meet up with.

Sure, Lloyd was lonely, but it wasn’t for Lindsay. He was lonely for Pamela. How could his sister expect him to just get over her?  She, too, was alone, almost married her longtime boyfriend, but backed out. Didn’t she understand? But Mandy made Lindsay her Facebook friend, and told her all about the latest with her brother. Though he was a bit perturbed, Lloyd knew his sister meant well. Soon, upon Mandy’s recommendation,  Lindsay sent Lloyd a Facebook request to be her friend.

They never had dated all that long—less than a year. Lindsay reminded him of that duration of time when he first came over for a visit to sit out on her deck in her back yard. To shut Mandy up, he agreed to see her at least once. By now, the feelings for her had long passed. They were once an item together, but it was over a decade ago. They seemed like just kids at the time, though they were twenty-years-old at the time. Lindsay was actually two months older.

“My mom was so upset when she knew I had been drinking with you”, she told him. “You remember?”

Lloyd lifted up his beer in irony and Lindsay lifted hers as they clunk their bottles together. They both burst out laughing, a rarity for both. “I know. She would never allow liquor in your house”, Lloyd said, “Strict Baptist lady, for sure!”

Lindsay teased him. “Oh, you’re such a bad influence! Mom was right!”

“I was!” he exclaimed. “We were underage and lucky no harm came of it other than some **** in the toilet. No wonder your mom wanted you to ditch me!”

Lindsay always tried to please her mother who single handedly raised her only daughter. That was hard to do, though no matter what Lindsay did. She liked Lloyd a lot, but she also loved her mom. But just where was there relationship going anyway.

“You know”, Lindsay confessed. “You were my first, real love”.  She playfully winked and sipped on her beer. “I love bad boys”.

It was like the rebel in Lindsay was delayed, not like it was in her younger years. She always tried to be the good girl, the dutiful daughter, unlike Lloyd. The two were in the same grade, and went to the same high school, but they barely knew of each other in those days. They were never in the same class together and only saw each other in passing down the school halls. Her locker was once across from his. Lindsay did remember, though, his famous role as Tevya, and thinking about it again made her crack up like it just happened the other day.

“You are so much more laid back”, he told her. “I guess your mother was always there to crack the whip, but not anymore. How is she, by the way?”

Lindsay looked sad for Lloyd as she said, “Like your mom, she got cancer, but thank God she recovered. She moved to Florida a few years ago because my brother and his wife insisted the climate would be better for her.” It was actually a relief to not have to rely on her mother. She now had no excuses.  “Sorry to hear about your mother, Lloyd. My condolences.”

Lloyd appreciated her condolences. They reminisced a while, but neither one wanted to talk about the pain of being alone nor express the pain of feeling like utter losers. Lindsay wanted to open up about her two failed marriages, but she also wanted to forget about them. Lloyd was never one to share his innermost thoughts to her. He certainly didn’t want to tell her that he preferred to sleep in his car or on his sister’s front porch or that he tried not to cry because guys don’t do that, struggling with the lump in his throat from holding back so much.  

After talking about their times at the lake, of how they loved to lay on the ground and look at the stars, Lindsay finally said, “I don’t really want to date anyone at this time. I don’t really feel like doing a lot, lately, that I used to do.”

Lloyd didn’t look at her, but felt her eyes upon him. “I know what you mean”, he agreed.  “Depression *****, doesn’t it?”

“I know”, she responded. “I’ve been seeing this counselor for a while, another one, and I guess it helps. I wondered if I’d ever feel anything again. I just often felt like I was going through the motions…and that it was the best way to just get along in life.”

Lloyd didn’t know what to say. Often, he felt the same way, but he just couldn’t voice it. Would he ever want to share his life again with another woman? No, Pamela wasn’t coming back. Everyone told him so, especially Mandy. She never really felt that good about him marrying Pamela to start with, but it wasn’t up to her. It was over. Lloyd logically knew that about Pamela, but emotionally he still wasn’t there.

“I pretend a lot”, Lindsay told him. “I mean I do what I’m supposed to do—go to work, pay my mortgage and my bills…I’m just existing but not living. I’ve made my mistakes, and now I’m afraid—period.  I prefer playing it safe. I prefer not to feel.” She smiled to lighten the atmosphere and rested her hand on his. “Now how’s that for a good catch phrase for a dating website?”  

Lloyd pondered upon what she said. He could have easily said it himself. Eventually, he stood up and extended his hand out. He decided they should go for a walk. It was about three and a half miles to the park they used to hang out in—a good spot.  They walked hand in hand, like they were still together. The wind blew through Lindsay’s hair and spread it around like plant life in the ocean, soft and swaying. She was lovely.

They got to the park and Lloyd pushed her on her swing, higher and higher until she felt like a little girl again. Then they went down the slides and the balance beams. Lindsay would tickle him in the back to try to get him off balance, or she’d push him off and he would pretend to chase her and give it to her. They truly enjoyed each other’s company. Being together really banished the blues for the time, and kept the ugly thoughts of loneliness at bay and from rearing its ugly face.

“So where do we go from here?”  Lindsay asked.

“Huh?” Lloyd wondered what she was getting at. Did she mean for the park or in a deeper way?

“Can we be friends?” she asked him. She seemed uneasy, as if he would say, “Thanks, but no thanks”.

Lloyd felt a bit uneasy himself. He never wanted to hurt Lindsay, or Pamela or anyone. “Of course we can,” he told her. He said what he meant, too. He really wanted to spend time with her. “Let’s just enjoy things for what they are”.

Lloyd picked up some pieces of mulch, and threw them one by one, ahead of him. He asked Lindsay, “Was I really your first love?”

Lindsay thought a moment, and then pulled him by the arm, taking Lloyd to one of the picnic tables. She inspected it.  No, it wasn’t that one. She looked at another table. No, it wasn’t that one, either. And then she went to another one.

He asked, “What are you doing?”

“Found it!” she said at last. Lloyd looked at the table, and among all the carvings in it, Lindsay pointed out what she intended to find.

Lloyd loves Lindsay

“Did I write that?” he asked. He didn’t remember it. He ran his hands over the indented letters surrounded by an uneven heart.

They both sat down and Lindsay explained. “All the time that we were together, I knew I was really starting to like you. I mean really, really like. I wasn’t sure at first, but the feelings just got stronger. I just didn’t want to be the first one to say it—and I thought you’d never!” Her eyes beamed as she went on. “Then it happened. You said, ‘Baby, I love you”. I said, ‘What? Did I just hear what I think I heard?’ Again, you said, ‘Lindsay, I really love you’. You could have knocked me over with a feather! I never thought you’d say it, but I hoped you would!”

Now he remembered. At the time, he was carving something into the table with his pocket knife. When he finally got the urge to tell Lindsay that he loved her, she asked to borrow his knife and right then she wrote it in the table. Lloyd than took back his knife and topped it all off with outlining those words in a heart.

Lloyd truly did love Lindsay. He didn’t lose those feelings after all. To know she loved him back was like medicine to him now. They began to walk back to her house
David Nelson Sep 2013
Heinie Manush Rag

playing the Heinie Manush rag
your piano's out of tune you *******
the rhythm is all wrong
the chorus too long
it's like listening to my grumpy wife nag

dancing is not your thing either
watching you is like inhaling ether
you have two left feet
you can't stay on beat
I'd rather watch leave it to ******

please don't make me hear you sing
you make my ears burn and sting
I don't wanna sound ******
but you're constantly pitchy
maybe you should give monkhood a fling


Gomer LePoet ....
Megan Kendall Jun 2015
Well, it turns out the prince was a huge *******. Our happily ever after was short-ended by Prince Charming dumping me and leaving me on the streets. You’ve all heard the story with our “happily ever after,” but it wasn’t forever. This not-so-happy ending just proves that you shouldn’t marry someone you just met. Our “forever” was for like a month. The story everyone has heard is true, they just left out the ending. Here is the real ending.
    
“Listen here Cindy, you’re great and all, but I don’t love you. You’re not as beautiful as the night we met and I don’t think I can handle that betrayal.”
“Are you ******* kidding me?!” I’m so angry right now I can’t even wrap my mind around what happened. He looks at me with stern, serious eyes and a smirk that makes me want to punch him into another dimension. How can he do this to me? Everything was going perfectly, until this moment. I’m appalled at the sight of him.
“Also, I’m leaving you for your step sister, Drizella.” What the hell? He had to choose the ugliest one too. I cant even to respond to that. I take all the money I can find and walk out the door without even looking back.
I probably should have thought this through, since I have nowhere to go. I have no friends, no family, and my fairy godmother left me as soon as I married Prince *******. I did take most of his money, but I’m not sure what to do with it. I’ve never been on my own. As I’m walking far, far away from the prince’s castle, I find a park that is calling for me to rest. I lost track of how many days I’ve been walking and I feel like how my stepsisters look. I got some much needed sleep on an unnecessarily hard bench and woke up ready to carry on with my journey. I woke with a fright when I saw two stunningly dashing eyes peering over me. Those eyes belonged to a beautiful man who dressed like a prince, but smelled oddly like the sea. I did not want to break his gaze.
After a few seconds of slightly awkward eye contact, the man finally spoke,”Excuse me miss, you looked cold and uncomfortable so I wanted to offer you a place to stay. You look very smart so I’m sure you’re very reluctant and confused. My name is Eric. My wife and I have a huuuuuge house with more rooms than we need and we’d love to have you, Cinderella.”
“H-how do you know my name?”
“Um, everyone in every realm knows who you are and what you look like.” Oh yeah, I forgot that I didn’t exist to anybody until I married a prince and I was somebody to everybody. I hesitantly agreed and we rode on his horse to his castle which overlooked the sea. That must be why he smelled like it. This man has to be a prince. There is no way that even the richest people in this kingdom together could afford this castle. The inside was more magnificent than the outside. It had huge, open rooms with intricate windows so that you could see almost completely around the castle. I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of my life here. My thought is interrupted by Eric’s wife walking in and internally murdering me as soon as she lays her eyes on me.
“So I tell you I’m leaving you and not even a day later, you already have another girl here? What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?! You’re the one with *****!”
She begins to shout “His name is Sebastian and he’s more of a man than you’ll ever be!” She storms out of the castle, leaving only an echoing boom from the slammed door.
This is almost my exact situation except reversed. I see him try to shrug it off, but I can see the hurt in his eyes. As he gives me a tour, the hurt in his eyes slowly begins to fade.
“Hey, I’m sorry that you had to see that earlier.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, Eric. It wasn’t your fault. My husband just left me so I understand how bad it hurts.” He just nods his head and continues showing me around. The tour ends at Erics bedroom. I don’t know what comes over me, but I kiss him. It was awkward, but then it didn’t stop and it became very heated. This was a passion I never got to experience with Charming. I woke up with the cool blanket clinging to my naked body. I felt something warm behind me and slowly rolled over to see Eric. I screamed and stumbled off the bed. I thought yesterday was just a dream! My scream woke Eric and his eyes widened as they found me.
“Can we uhhh… pretend like nothing happened?” he hesitantly asked. I nod my head and rush to the guest bedroom to wash away the memories from last night’s rendezvous.

Things were awkward for a long time, but we tried to pretend as if nothing happened. Eventually we started to build a friendship! We’ve actually even been on a couple dates. I can’t believe I didn’t do this with Charming. No wonder our marriage fell apart. I practically know everything about Eric, and he knows almost everything about me. This is the happiest I’ve been in a looong time. We’re only about a month into the relationship and we’re already talking about marriage. I know it is very soon but it’s a step up from only knowing him a day. It only took an unexpected encounter to bring us together. This may or may not be my real happily ever after but I’ll just have to wait and hope and see. For now, I am just happy.
Dan Kastner Nov 2012
lemme see your heart.
i will make it better.
i cant be the ******* that you subconsciously want
but i will be there for you when you need me.
i would love to love you
because that is what will give me meaning in this ****** up life.
bluevelvet May 2017
I have made more mistakes
than I could possibly carry.
My words are pretty
because they're the truth,
and the truth is pain.
And there is pain in
everything with beauty.

I'll remember him
for the way he
was the first to break my faith.

I'll remember him
for the way he shaped my
belief of the little
I am worth to boys.

I'll remember him
for being the first to
break my heart.

I'll remember him
for the way he
broke my soul
in believing
there was still
good guys in the world.

I'll remember him
because he was
the only one that
ended on good terms.

I'll remember him
for being just
another *******
that walked all over me.

The truth is,
I had a part
in ruining everything
that ever starts.
The pain is,
fat
as
ses
are never enough,
right?
And the beauty is,
I'll take everyone of them
wherever I go.
Life lessons to
Trust no one.
Samuel Adell May 2014
Scribbling, writing, back of the class.
Only thing I pay attention to is your girlfriend’s ***.

You say you hate me? I don’t give a ****.
8 Women, who stay true, and that isn’t luck.
Either I’m a nice guy, or I’m a *******.
Tap you out, throw in your white flag.

Lately, every day is the ******* one ever.
Yet I still play mind games with hoes. Clever.
I’ve got these loyal ladies on lock, forever.
No one likes me? **** that. Whatever.

Inspiration from Hopsin.
Your ***** out there ******* other men.
Call you Daniel. Throw you in the lion’s den.
You stay losing, can’t find a way to win.

Am I a ******?
I tend to think so.
I try not to show it though.
Float down the river. Go with the flow.

Caught in the rain.
Strike you dumb. Shot through the brain.
Do you live your life like you want to?
Or do you live it the way society has told you to?

Man this isn’t you.
You are the one for people to go to.
Stop and think. Your true friends are a select few.

She got a wicked smile. Straight beaming.
I’m on my own level. Steady scheming.
Get lost in her eyes, daydreaming.
Her eyes gorgeous, always gleaming.

I'm not afraid of death.
Just afraid for whoever will witness my last breath.
Alice Butler Feb 2013
It's so trite.
Premeditated and concise.
Too much like something that you would like.
Angular and rigid,
tired and frigid.
How is it
that you can make something as beautiful as Mozart boring?
When the strings should be raving, thrashing, roaring?
Maybe it's just that particular recording.
Either way,
you've made it dull.
You've made it a pain.
I'd even go so far as to say you've made it annoying.
So, congratulations, sir,
for tainting yet another piece I once enjoyed.
And I'll throw in a "*******" here at the end
for good measure.
Jupiter is a series of symphonies Mozart wrote.
I never lost my virginity
At the age of 19
To a boy who promised
That it will not hurt
I never bled
I never bit my lips
I never cried

I never slept with a writer,
Musician, chemist,
An engineer or even a *******
I never tried a pregnancy test kit
I am not scared
Of those two red lines

I never loved my best friend
Or those strangers
Who painfully ripped my body
I love those stains
Of a long forgotten past
Embedded on crumpled sheets  

I was never molested
When I was 5 or so
It was just a game
I never cursed that night
I never hated my brother

I want men to crave for me
I never wanted their affection
I don’t want to ******* **** them
On streets in the middle of the night
With cat calls

I am not depressed
I love my scars
I never took ******
Just to sleep at night
Or wept in the middle of nowhere

I am a strong woman
I am not damaged
I ******* hate this life
It’s too beautiful for someone like me  

This is not a poem
Of a broken girl
I am okay.
I wanna live.
I am not a liar.

A happy girl
Wrote this
Waiting for her prince charming
To free this damsel in distress
From the tower of anguish
And to live happily ever after
Covered in plaster dust, I stumble out
coughing, and laughing
you wipe the white and dirt from around my eyes and
fail to be stern
i’m supposed to leave these things to the professionals
not a google search and my bare hands

once, i plastered and painted a bedroom wall
for a ******* i was living with
and now i think i am a handyman genius
then i whine for hours at the cuts on my fingers
the soreness between my shoulders
you roll your eyes and run a bath
and tease me when i still pick up the cat

eventually we have to hire someone
to repair what years and lack of life
(and my mistakes)
have done to this old house
we sit on the porch with beer
no longer afraid of it caving underneath us

we wake, curled around each other and
the blanket we dragged outside
the hungry cat pawing at our hair
you are bathed in the glow of the early sun
i clutch your sleeves and i am grateful
yasmin miranda May 2011
Dear hummer driver:
you don’t need a car to prove
you are a *******

Left the museum
to find prettier colors
in autumn leaves

If eyes are windows
let me pray to the stained glass
mosaic of yours

I write in green ink
to spread the hope you wrote of
Pablo Neruda

What better feeling
than waking to a heartbeat
knowing it’s not yours

Where did the stars go,
I ask as the sun comes up.
Oh! They’re in your eyes

Play me the guitar
and imagine that it’s me,
in your arms again.
Waverly Jan 2012
Apples and Oranges
means
that I give you something
of lesser value
and you give me something
of even
lesser value.

Like Natalie asked for the rent money
and picked at the lint in my jeans pocket,
formulated a ball of it
worked that little ball through the hole in my pocket,
to my *****,
they smelled horrible,
I knew it,
massaged that ball around my *****,
pulled it back through the hole,
out of the humidity of my pocket
and put it in her palm.

"You *******,
either you get me the rent
or I'm calling the police
and having you taken out of here."

"My name's on the lease too."

"I don't give a ****,
you're not paying it."

Apples and Oranges.

— The End —