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"droopy" poems
A white porcelain coffee cup she gently raises up to her lips with a satiated look on her face; this gift, a much awaited moment attained by satisfying her yen not for choicest, gourmet food alone. Those dark droopy eyes, suggest a luxurious languor, she does cherish, as long as the after tremors would last. Slyly she looks at his swollen red lips with a crafted guilt, it gives her yet another high, sending ripples over her ******* his eyes do a recce on this then go up to her lips,finds his ardor last hour had  made them crimson all over, throwing his head backwards he smiles at her.
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Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
The After Hour
I don't like crying in front of you because it makes me feel weak. Even though all my feelings and bones are breaking just like my fragile heart, I don't want you to know. I don't want you to see me break down and crumble. Why? Because I know you deserve someone stronger, better than I am. Someone better-suited that can deal with her emotions instead of crying all the time. You don't want to see my blotchy pink cheeks or my tears as they fall down my hot neck. You don't want to see my eyes all sullen and droopy, or my fingers tremble. You deserve so much better than just me. a.m.
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Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
You Deserve Better
how would you let the ice cream melt if you didn't want it anymore would you take a blowdryer to its droopy shape whisper you're sorry but just can't stay would you compliment the ice cream watch it blush let the heat rise to its face then whisper you're sorry but you're going away why would you let the ice cream melt if you crave its texture and taste when something isnt good for you, perhaps it is better to let it bleed through so that you can carry on would you abandon the ice cream there on the kitchen table congealed and sticky and unwanted letting the drips from the carton signify all of the tears the ice cream would shed in your absence
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Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC
how the ice cream melts
Impatient and silly Just two things for now There's so much more really And I'm sleepy anyhow But you're handsome You're sweet Oh very handsome, I repeat You're a thinker A debater Always arguing A master- uh hater Oh I can go on forever But droopy are my eyes Goodnight I will speak to you at sunrise
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Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 7:05 PM UTC
Goodnight,
the  bitter wilt on droopy petals  when yesterday her tilt was to the sun strong as stems could rise her sweet beauty to the skies holding lips and arms and blossoms open long enough for the breeze to romance the nearest bee into a trance is like the circle or a dance of life that glances knowingly back with wry amusement a sly smile glance saying told you so  so many times you should have known by now, old friend of mine, time is really nothing but your foe.
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Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 9:07 PM UTC
quick blossom
Strep throat. Out of nowhere really. I went to a meeting on Friday, interviewed at PaperSource on Saturday afternoon, and then just slightly later an awful toothache. I never suspected anything so out of the ordinary to occur. Saturday night, two to four a.m.ish, i thought it was caffeine pills, or not drinking enough water, or even, worst of the worst, an attack of hypochondria. I kept lighting up Marlboros though, tasty red branded things that make writer's mouths happy. Two days in and I'm pretty sure my ***** are a fever below my body, droopy like snoopy. Super soft droopy ***** that's a sure sign of a fever or a great BJ they taught us in 6th grade science, and I wasn't getting my favorite ice cream social. I hadn't talked to the gf in a couple days, and missing her company I made the phone call only discover that my voice had turned into a baby turtle shouting English from the bottom of a stuffed baked potato. Garbled. Discussing. Useless. I promptly hung up, and began texting. But it was too late she heard me and called back, and I had to give it all I had to put together a few words. An hour later I was dropped off at the ER, the benefits of Medicaid at 30 is never being able to just go to the doctor's office. Within 2 hours they told me it was strep. Four nurses, two residents, one first day resident, and a 2nd year resident, and the ER doctor for a swab and a spray, and the take home Z-pack. Then she said she'd come over even though I was sick. That's real love. "If I get sick from you, it's still worth it." 3 days on antibiotics, no more sore throat, I feel great- I think tomorrow I'll be having an ice cream social for someone who I love dearly. Maybe we'll even skip the ice cream.
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Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
Strep
Strep throat. Out of nowhere really. I went to a meeting on Friday, interviewed at PaperSource on Saturday afternoon, and then just slightly later an awful toothache. I never suspected anything so out of the ordinary to occur. Saturday night, two to four a.m.ish, i thought it was caffeine pills, or not drinking enough water, or even, worst of the worst, an attack of hypochondria. I kept lighting up Marlboros though, tasty red branded things that make writer's mouths happy. Two days in and I'm pretty sure my ***** are a fever below my body, droopy like snoopy. Super soft droopy ***** that's a sure sign of a fever or a great BJ they taught us in 6th grade science, and I wasn't getting my favorite ice cream social. I hadn't talked to the gf in a couple days, and missing her company I made the phone call only discover that my voice had turned into a baby turtle shouting English from the bottom of a stuffed baked potato. Garbled. Discussing. Useless. I promptly hung up, and began texting. But it was too late she heard me and called back, and I had to give it all I had to put together a few words. An hour later I was dropped off at the ER, the benefits of Medicaid at 30 is never being able to just go to the doctor's office. Within 2 hours they told me it was strep. Four nurses, two residents, one first day resident, and a 2nd year resident, and the ER doctor for a swab and a spray, and the take home Z-pack. Then she said she'd come over even though I was sick. That's real love. "If I get sick from you, it's still worth it." 3 days on antibiotics, no more sore throat, I feel great- I think tomorrow I'll be having an ice cream social for someone who I love dearly. Maybe we'll even skip the ice cream.
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4
Take a look At this decade's eternal light. Youth, beauty, happiness. In theory. Is that how it was for our parents? Top tags on this website #depression #suicide #heartbreak Are grandma's photo albums fairytales Or has something changed Without shame Unmarked blame Just a change Perseverance died At the doorstep of sarcastic self-deprecation, Cool-to-be-lame facades, Glorified depression, growing vines on glowing laptop walls With a generation, fetal position, ripped jeans and eyeliner, inside Self proclaimed **** If you say it first Those twisted lips of others Won't press on such a fresh wound And here we lose the metaphor Cut yourself So everyone else Is picking at scabs No one would hurt another Who hurts themselves Unless they're an *** So the words are silenced Are you stronger? Happier? Healthier? And so we can always be safe In our self loathing Until puppy eyes and perfect pictures Leave us hungry Hurt by the people who don't mind being ***** Gaining assets, stealing rights from under Our droopy dismal noses snapshot Caption: **** up, let down, repeat. Hate me. -politicians and companies will bash your head on rock bottom Looking up in disbelief at chemical burns from Big Mac's We'll look back down to pout about our pain. The only way to save ourselves? Perseverance Positivity Hope Though I conveyed none of those emotions in this poem. **** me. I'm a hypocrite. But my point still stands. Perhaps even stronger.
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Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
I'm Scared, Scarred, and Scrooge-like
Just me and a map on this little wood boat lost at sea My view is nothing but the oceans serene beauty I have no compass to direct me so I know I'm free Left to wonder endlessly until my eyes get droopy Thinking what is to come on this journey I now realize the only one I can rely on is me This boat is not sturdy and the waves can be very jerky Teaching me that life has no guarantee I envy the weather for being so moody One second so peaceful and clear the next being so dark and whirly Now understanding why mother nature isn't fluky There are reasons for everything I believe that now very firmly
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Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC
Lost but Free
They think happiness is a bouquet of helium balloons. Picture everyone in the world, each holding a bunch of balloons on strings. Most people's balloons are plump and bouncy, and they float really well. Some people's balloons might be droopy because they're sad, or sick or something. So the people that know me think my balloons are just droopy, and they try to help. They say, "Here, have some helium. Let's get your balloons all floaty again." But I'm not holding any balloons at all. So even if they gave me helium- tanks and tanks of it- there's nothing to put it in. My balloons are just completely missing.
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Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
Happiness and Helium
i'm feeling emotional so i guess i'll let you know that even though i'm pretending to be strong losing you is the hardest thing i've ever had to do and if i had one wish i would make you appear in my bed just to hold me all night long
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Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
droopy eyes
Now the rich cherry, whose sleek wood, And top with silver petals traced Like a strict box its gems encased, Has spilt from out that cunning lid, All in an innocent green round, Those melting rubies which it hid; With moss ripe-strawberry-encrusted, So birds get half, and minds lapse merry To taste that deep-red, lark’s-bite berry, And blackcap bloom is yellow-dusted. The wren that thieved it in the eaves A trailer of the rose could catch To her poor droopy sloven thatch, And side by side with the wren’s brood— O lovely time of beggar’s luck— Opens the quaint and hairy bud; And full and golden is the yield Of cows that never have to house, But all night nibble under boughs, Or cool their sides in the moist field. Into the rooms flow meadow airs, The warm farm baking smell’s blown round. Inside and out, and sky and ground Are much the same; the wishing star, Hesperus, kind and early born, Is risen only finger-far; All stars stand close in summer air, And tremble, and look mild as amber; When wicks are lighted in the chamber, They are like stars which settled there. Now straightening from the flowery hay, Down the still light the mowers look, Or turn, because their dreaming shook, And they waked half to other days, When left alone in the yellow stubble The rusty-coated mare would graze. Yet thick the lazy dreams are born, Another thought can come to mind, But like the shivering of the wind, Morning and evening in the corn.
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3.1k
Country Summer
And honestly, At this moment All that's running through my head, Is rock n' roll, And near memories.. Cotton candy sky, And oxygen breeze. My droopy eyes Are that of relaxation, Not any earth-grown happiness. My slow heart beat is smooth sailing, Not candy-like pills. natural high So beautiful in a way, But darling.. Do you remember being high with me? High on life and love.. Together, Our hearts beating a irregular tune. But that's no longer, So I sit and listen to angry melodies, Screechy guitar riffs And lay here, High alone. Not nearly good as being high with you, I can no longer hear your heartbeat.. Nor mine..
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Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
Rock n roll high
I sit on a droopy windowsill and gaze out at the stars above me in the stately sky of coal. I let the smoke fill me, pollute my corrupted lungs, ‘til it plugs me, completely consumes my sticky soul, and midnight sorrow blanket hugs the heart in my hole. I sit and I consider the sky with its million-and-one jewels that adorn the vast carpet of night and its one, lone cloud that slowly drools fat, drippy drops of deep fed'ral blues. The ashy, burnt taste is still in my throat; it lingers- a dull, cloying candy cane. The muted flavour chokes and jabs and pecks persistently, in the back of my brain and leaves a steel blue/gray trailing stain. Vague memories of fourth-grade English lessons take me with a deep sigh to forgotten thoughts of Roger McGough and unrequited love- dazed recollections of school poetry taught in obscure slate-blue classrooms, littered with blots. It seems feeling unreturned affection isn't quite as great as I’d thought after all. I must've been wrong, all those hazed years ago, when I yearned to feel unrequited love’s fall, convinced it would be a wondrous, dazzling ball Instead, I'm just ******* in the pale-ing sky that seems to be growing into lighter hues- the navy’s turned to electric, to powder, matching the sapphire in my soul of glue. I'm suppose I'm feeling somewhat, slightly blue. .
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Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
Blue.
soft words and their way of making people sing lull me like a sweet tune in this chimney, in this place in my head, slurring over and over until lines would draw up triangles of sleepy infant "jeux",   circles of faded fantasies would come to life and pray,   plus rectangles and cornucopias filled with fun and livelier days. clouds of droopy golden light drip over our heads as we both lay in soft blankets made out of my personal handmade Heaven's embrace lush silk pillows under our overweight, over-bearing, strongly fastened necks   'cause they hold Atlas' weight and the answers for today. the cycle ends for another shortened day... the air seems rich with the smell of freshly-made pancakes. little troll walking down the stairs with a new spring in her step. lean into the chocolatey sweetness of a mother's oven-like haze, close your eyes and wonder if you'll ever feel the same.
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Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 1:28 PM UTC
warmth in psychology
It was him. It was always him. He was the movement of the morning. The tick of the clock. He was fireflies and owls and antelopes. He was droopy eyelids, half asleep and mumbling over his cereal. It was never me. I was the newspaper with nothing interesting to read. I was heavy steps and creaky floorboards. I was a jellyfish, everyone loved to look at me, but no one wanted to touch me. We were the daybreak. The moment the sun kissed the stars, saying "here, take all that I am." But to no avail, they faded and wandered to the other side of the world. I'm the chase. The sun that always wants to be beside the moon, And sure, sometimes it looks like I made it, right? That's all that I ever wanted, right? But in those moments, the world is dark. An eclipse: never fully there. He was the stars and I was the sun. I was chasing after him every morning, And he ran from me. Only, he didn't notice he was running. At this point, it was just a cycle. A part of his routine. And I went unnoticed. How unfair is it that he gets all of my time, And I am left up in the air, stranded, as another day rolls by? No one wants to look at me, and no one wants to touch me. Nonetheless, I chased and I chased and I still- Loving him was the best and worst decision I ever made.
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May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 9:32 AM UTC
Him
I am captivated by a thought of old Yeller in the streets of Madagascar. Shot me dead indeed for standing up to digs of my deeds done wrong. But what of his Sister, and did he miss her for fiesta on Friday last~Until a droopy~eyed mistress crooned a cock~a~doodle~doo straight against the face of death. They loved Prima, come subtle still life into the night.  Brought Passion'd brink of tears, thrown forlorn wisping shutter to my skin and I am Thought.. thinking I migh'nt be lost to soon to this moment mi'amour. Charging hunted into the streets, taken by day or by night. Overrated artform of statuesque mystique, compendium of gods have struck me mortal and I am Death...dying unto pleasures infinitum. Quell into question the material mourning, noon and night. Antidote to antithesis is Imagination...imagining everything in nothingness all at once...banging out existence, through the vacuum...all the way to Madagascar. Take my place, take my bullet for me on the other end of old Yeller and I will take your end on the other side... of You ...being Me.
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Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
Madagascar
Writhing, the screeching leviathan demands And I cave to save the aching from tricky time slopes Pained craving Wavering but Hit and It’s all loosey goosey goodness Sensing silent magma pulse, whoosh the tummy tingles Droopy ears gape-face giggle no more nowadays A stern turn in old age the silly phase of Too bright, neon common numb tongue rambles Secedes into introspective Crowded walks, broken talks strung into threats clustered and Flung like monkey **** at many-stabbed ego, Brutus? Strangers will eat you The professor thinks I’m funny because I know the answers in class The other day Dingus And Whoseewhatsee tried to alley mug and hurt and end And money! No, rocked nose ran dude! Fine Trying not to fear the outdoors, though The arthropods and phantoms tell me ***** jokes And not to eat my candy Books melt into soupy mercurial elixir I slurp them and belch Educating myself in a barn ******* knowledge On loud faces; empty meat Where you can hear the jingly metal Thing when you shake it, it’s dead no flower They don’t always like me But I’ve got the jeepers creepers behind my peepers And a million lightyears to burn Truth is worth dying Four **** sow Izzeny thing these daze Maybe it was a bust from the start but there’s Always art Quieting the plague that revealed Not so good after all Tiny thorns and all-consuming Waves of red-get-out wrenching, gutted like a fish Overcome, that never went away or found A place to sit Memories arthritic grind a grim gray whetting stone Reduce with juice-cloud, grape teeth cough will never find a home
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Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 4:51 PM UTC
160. Whetting 12/22/12
Writhing, the screeching leviathan demands And I cave to save the aching from tricky time slopes Pained craving Wavering but Hit and It’s all loosey goosey goodness Sensing silent magma pulse, whoosh the tummy tingles Droopy ears gape-face giggle no more nowadays A stern turn in old age the silly phase of Too bright, neon common numb tongue rambles Secedes into introspective Crowded walks, broken talks strung into threats clustered and Flung like monkey **** at many-stabbed ego, Brutus? Strangers will eat you The professor thinks I’m funny because I know the answers in class The other day Dingus And Whoseewhatsee tried to alley mug and hurt and end And money! No, rocked nose ran dude! Fine Trying not to fear the outdoors, though The arthropods and phantoms tell me ***** jokes And not to eat my candy Books melt into soupy mercurial elixir I slurp them and belch Educating myself in a barn ******* knowledge On loud faces; empty meat Where you can hear the jingly metal Thing when you shake it, it’s dead no flower They don’t always like me But I’ve got the jeepers creepers behind my peepers And a million lightyears to burn Truth is worth dying Four **** sow Izzeny thing these daze Maybe it was a bust from the start but there’s Always art Quieting the plague that revealed Not so good after all Tiny thorns and all-consuming Waves of red-get-out wrenching, gutted like a fish Overcome, that never went away or found A place to sit Memories arthritic grind a grim gray whetting stone Reduce with juice-cloud, grape teeth cough will never find a home
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Fits of hysteria in the quiet night. Memories flood back, and a smile creeps across my tear streaked face. "Hurry come on before someone wakes up." Dash for the car that's lights are out. Escape for a moment. "Don't be a wimp, just do it!" Jump into the ice water in the hot summer afternoons, scream when the water touches my skin. "Can't you feel my love? Just a little bit?" Sloppy kisses on my stomach, thighs. Your droopy lids continuing to sparkle under the night. Curled up on a shabby blanket, on the lukewarm sand. "You're with us now. And we're family." Arms wrapped around bodies, tight hugs. Loving kisses on the forehead, sisterhood, family. Boys and girls, different ages, races, lives, all connected by the simple need for love, and appreciation. Fits of mania in the quiet night. Memories flood back, and a smile creeps across my tear streaked face.
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Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
Untitled
It’s a cold and moonless country night He wanders alone, under dim starlight. Squinting, he stalls, he trips and he falls, Through fields of clovers, his fingertips crawl. An extra leaf he seeks for her delight, Long he’s walked, endless days and nights. She watches him stumble from the stars above, Twinkling, dazzling, burning, to help him along. She sighs, she calls, over the horizon she sprawls, Her silk-knit net to break his falls. Yet he moves on, and on, singing unknown songs, He read once in her fresh-press books, where he belongs. Droopy-eyed he reaches a precipitous drop Far below him, still waters shine, sprinkled with stars Perilously poised, of this deceit he knows not Caught in her silken weaves, he trips, dives, Drips as a drop.
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Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
Four Leaf Clovers and Stargazing
Heavy weight on top of me Icy falling asleep Eyes weak and droopy Body in cement Paralyzed My spirit floating on top of my lifeless body, Death is that you? Why must you come and visit me but never take me to your home? And yet you won’t let me leave I want to let go but it seems you have me entranced by your numbness, I want to be light as air, Not heavy like a boulder. I want my spirit back Why did you take it away from me Why did you take the vibrancy Why did you take my eyes to see Let me go or take me with you
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Aug 5, 2020
Aug 5, 2020 at 3:09 PM UTC
Death
Hearing you moan about the baby weight While warming up the Cow and Gate Droopy tum and ***** ****** dry And how they leak at every cry Your body will never be the same Ever since the baby came Constantly exhausted beyond all belief When they finally sleep through, dear God, the relief Training and tantrums, toddlers are trying You learn to accept they never stop crying Oh to be one of those wretched souls! Sterilising bottles and benches and bowls Gaining those precious protective pounds Awakening to those unmistakable sounds Washing and folding and wiping and feeding All the work that comes with breeding And now the sun sets on that part of my life Never a mother, only a wife For all those hopes that didn't make it Bun in the oven but unable to bake it Trying not to envy and regret and hate But I just can't shift the baby wait...
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Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 2:48 PM UTC
Baby Wait
Snowy,foley,blowy, Showery,flowery,bowery, Hoppy,Croydon,droopy, Breezy,sneezy,freeze. And the twelve months.
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Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 5:53 AM UTC
THE twelve months
Amongst head spin circumstance, meets the line of whim-less romantic turmoil. Plentiful expansion of miraculous nothing. Like peeled back sickness, inside the droopy eyed valiance, travels in seizes to engulf the second chance of prudence. Life fleeting from metal to vein, tick tocking time till pressure releases. Sustained by little on course in hopes of none to come, the captain with no route homeward. Vacant luminous street corners bustle of the land that never ends. An isolating attempt to repel the frost away from bone. To fall amongst the boundless sea of filth.
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Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
Wasting...wasting.
She creeps over my pillow like a Black cat over a field mouse. She steals my breathe as if she Were a masked theif. She makes me scream like a Mother in labor. She sends me night terrors as if she Is a shattered mirror in my mind. She pulls at my droopy eyes like a Hand of terror in the darkness. She frightens me as if she Is certain the painful nights will never end. She flees when the light arises like a Prisoner escaping their cell. She is a horrible dream that keeps Occurring.
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Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
Insomnia