"dumpy" poems
All you have to offer me is broken English
but what you get in return is a broken heart!
"Hi cute pic u me friend?" you ping me randomly;
I am sorry dude,my picture didn't respond!
Not just you,but all the guys from your clan
have a typical dressing style that I can note from your photos.
A smug face,bright colored clothes,unkempt hair;
cigarette burnt lips and alcohol shot eyes!
Don't judge me, I am just sharing my observation
but I appreciate your perseverance of sending multiple messages!
"Hey u","Reply and expect* me","Don't put scene^","Fraandship#??","Change new pic"
and all I could think of is "Not happening bro!!"
Wondering why I wrote this ode to you?!
You are a hero man! An unsung hero in your own world!
When science and technology advances,when countries and continents fight and make up
all you can think of is this random girl who is ignoring you!Talk about goal-oriented!!
You have a dumpy old computer with an internet connection and a Facebook account
and you want to have girls who you don't even know;You are more ambitious than Shakespeare's Brutus!
You get irritated looks from all the girls you stalk,
Yet you are unaffected as you never get to know that!!
I envy your spirit, I envy your hard-work!!
Burning the midnight oil to get ignored by girls you don't even know!
Though you stalk this much, in reality you are shy to even talk!
You are a mystery, a dark knight I might say!!
Whatever anyone says, I know you wont give up!!
You are a big challenge for all those privacy setting developers,
you creep and crawl through the web so much and still
you always remain -A random stalker!!
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
having the low down blues and going
into a restraunt to eat.
you sit at a table.
the waitress smiles at you.
she's dumpy. her *** is too big.
she radiates kindess and symphaty.
live with her 3 months and a man would no real agony.
o.k., you'll tip her 15 percent.
you order a turkey sandwich and a
beer.
the man at the table across from you
has watery blue eyes and
a head like an elephant.
at a table further down are 3 men
with very tiny heads
and long necks
like ostiches.
they talk loudly of land development.
why, you think, did I ever come
in here when I have the low-down
blues?
then the the waitress comes back eith the sandwich
and she asks you if there will be anything
else?
snd you tell her, no no, this will be
fine.
then somebody behind you laughs.
it's a cork laugh filled with sand and
broken glass.
you begin eating the sandwhich.
it's something.
it's a minor, difficult,
sensible action
like composing a popular song
to make a 14-year old
weep.
you order another beer.
jesus,look at that guy
his hands hang down almost to his knees and he's
whistling.
well, time to get out.
pivk up the bill.
tip.
go to the register.
pay.
pick up a toothpick.
go out the door.
your car is still there.
and there are 3 men with heads
and necks
like ostriches all getting into one
car.
they each have a toothpick and now
they are talking about women.
they drive away first
they drive away fast.
they're best i guess.
it's an unberably hot day.
there's a first-stage smog alert.
all the birds and plants are dead
or dying.
you start the engine.
11.1k
DUMPY TRUMPY
Dumpy Trumpy
Sat on his ****
Lumpy Trumpy
Infamous ****
He is not a friend
To the left or the right
And has no live dog
In the political fight.
Dumpy Trumpy
Pats his own back
Bragging how he is
Way ahead of the pack
Of half-witted politicos
With nothing to offer.
He thinks he will win
On the strength of his coffer.
Dumpy Trumpy
Made a big jump.
His gold plated ****
Made a sickening thump.
He waved his money,
He figured it’s enough
To sway the competition
No matter how tough.
Dumpy Trumpy
His Mussolini face
Deaf to the meaning
Of public disgrace;
He figures that even
If the GOP rejects him
He has lots of money
He’s sure will protect him.
Dumpy Trumpy
Plays to the stands
Of wingnuts and crazies
In disgruntled bands.
He’s sure if he curses
The current regime
He can be President.
At least that’s his scheme.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
Lumpy Dump and Denso Pence
Decided to run for President
Even though, they neither had
An idea what that title meant.
So Lumpy Dump and Denso Pence
Both thought it would be lots of fun
Dump because of the money he'd make
And Pence for fame when they had won.
Lumpy Dump seemed to think
The title made him King of the Earth
Denso Pence hoped to show
Exactly what he was really worth.
Neither one of them realized
They'd have to follow all the rules
Which they were not a mind to do
Because they were both such fools.
Lumpy Dump strung words together
He didn't make all that much sense
But he felt he was doing just fine, as
He sounded brighter than Denso Pence.
Lumpy Dump thought he was slim
Not dumpy like a big old bag of fat.
Denso Pence thought he was bright.
That shows where these to were at.
Let's all hope this is all we hear
Of these two unfunny circus clowns
After Hillary kicks their *****
And runs them both out of town.
We have already had such bad times
And need good times to commence
Which will not happen unless we nix
Lumpy Dump and that idiot Denso Pence.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
As a young girl she was grumpy
All the boys thought she was dumpy
Then she got fit -
Here's the best bit -
Now she runs for her country!
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 3:11 PM UTC
Oopy Doopy, Super Sloopy.
Loopy snoopy, pants apoopy.
Lippy hippy, slippy dippy.
Nasty-nicey, normally snippy.
Loosey goosey, chocolate moussey.
Usually *** goofy as Gary Busey.
Hinky-stinky presidential *****
Winky-blinky, dangerously stinko.
Hippity hoppy, flippy-floppy
Get a mop, it never stops.
Laughy gaffe-y, riffy-raffy
Face as gross as rotten taffy.
Whammy-bammy, scary scammy
Mammy-jamming Uncle Sammy.
Lumpy-dumpy, far from humpy
******* up future jumpy bumpy.
Glossy boss, a frightful loss
Ungathered moss at twice the cost.
Serious gap while the country naps
****** sap giving us a slap.
Frightening nooses tightening,
Rights denied like summer lightning.
Ignoring Popes and Snopes
Hopeless dopes put us on the ropes.
Immune to our cries, elected guys
Make horrifying decisions most unwise.
Like black magic before all our eyes
We’re leaderless as freedom dies.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 5:43 AM UTC
You entered the single
factory door
into a noisy
and busy shop floor
with a guy called Brian
who was older than you
and had a worn
and worried expression
a foreman came
and asked Brian to go with him
and set him to some job
over the way
then he came to you
and said
what’s your name?
Collins
you said
right Colin
he said
follow me
and you were puzzled
why he had called you Colin
as you followed him
down the aisle
between machines
and people
he introduced you
to a middle aged dame
with glasses
who was short
and dumpy
there was another dame there
who was thinner
and a bit younger
who smiled
the plump dame
showed you around
her department
and set you to work
on a drilling machine
where you worked
most of the morning
then you had to go
to the work office
where a dame sat
you gave her the job sheet
how long were you
on the job?
she asked
about 6 inches
you said
she looked at you
a hint of a smile
on her lips
how long?
she repeated
how long what?
you asked
how long in time
were you on the job?
she said slowly
you said
3 hours it says here
mmmm
she said
you’re new aren’t you?
no
you replied
I’ve been around
for 21 years or so
she gazed at you
with her dark eyes
her lips were about to speak
but she nodded
then shut
the slide window
leaving you staring
at the window glass
you walked back
through the aisle
towards the plump dame
and her department
ready for the next job
before lunch
hoping it wasn’t
another drilling operation
but assembly
or cranking
or any other job
than drilling
thinking of the dame
in the office
and something
more thrilling.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
I saw a myth destroyed
Actually, I saw it demolished
Stomped on, crushed
and totally abolished
We've all heard that
you look slimmer in black
Nope...big, fat lie
One myth is taken back
I went to a funeral
And the myth died
and joined the corpse
where it lied
Short, dumpy women
looking like dried out asphalt,
with matching wedge heels
crying and wandering about
hair colour from bottles
dressed as lumps of coal
the black dress, it hid nothing
like that 13th stomach roll
little round faced women
crying little round faced tears
in hockey puck like dresses
they all went and bought at Sears
there were blondes and
there were red heads
flaming briquettes...all there
to bury a myth with the dead
some, and by some...I mean few
dressed in black...looked nice
but the myth that black is slimming
you can put that one on ice
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
Thursday morning and I board
the Preston train, a dumpy DMU,
but less of a cattle-truck today.
Over the bridge or beneath
lines to Platform 5 to wait:
Branson's Scarlet Pendolino
will glide in soon bound
for Birmingham - wonder
who I shall meet and share
travelling moments with ?
At the caverns of New Street
I must wend to Moor Street
and a Chilterns train trundling
me south for Warwick's 1,100th.
birthday weekend and 100 years
since trains of Lancashire PALS
cattle-trucked themselves to
Flanders fields never to return.
(c) C J Heyworth June 2014
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
his beady eyes track me down from across the motel parking lot,
making a perfect triangle between
me, you, and the car that stands as the only means of escape
the motel is humid, dumpy
it is clear a young lady from suburbia Georgia does not belong in these neck of the woods
he knows that.
on me like moths to a flame,
but more viciously
an aggressive beast in the early hours of dusk
(this is where I see the primitive side of men- the man attacks, while I am still deciding to fight or flight)
I can choose to keep walking, disregard his uncivil pursuits
but I was Orpheus in the fire pits of Hades' fortress
this only provoked him more
licking his lips, he was on me
...
..
.
Mom?
Mom can you hear me?
Mom I don't know where I am and
and it's so cold
I can't feel my legs, I don't know what's between them anymore
I'm bruised, I'm bleeding
No, I don't know where I am
it's all
dark
and we're moving
The stars don't shine here, it is all rough and concrete slums
I can't find our northern light to find home
no, there is no batman sign projected in the sky to assure me I will be located soon
Mom, the night is endless
If I am not in this realm anymore, you know who took me out of it
I can only hope you can find my empty shell that once held my spirit and energy
i'm by the grasses,
I spoke to the night owls through the screams that startled them
but they were not too upset, I would only feed them later on
my fingers are holding onto the grass like a tiny blade of green can support my 119 pound body
i'm in a shallow area, I just want it to be morning
Mom, I wish I was a kid again
because mom, look at who I am now?
who the **** have I become?
my face swollen, chopped into bits, the literal, physical definition of scatter brained
and i'm sorry you had to read about it in next week's paper
you couldn't catch me in time- tag i'm it
but the line was cut short,
phone connection dropped
and now i'm gone.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 9:15 PM UTC
This work is based on a scientific study carried out over many years
When I awoke this morning I looked in stunned delight
For a bright and colourful mushroom had sprung up overnight
And as the day grew longer more mushrooms did appear
Mushrooms of every colour mushrooms of every size
And it soon became apparent that there were fairy folk inside
Now I thought I knew my mushrooms, which were good, which were bad
But the ones I see before me now are driving me quite mad
Some are short and dumpy some are fat and wide
Over there some white ones reaching to the sky
And so the fields now covered, a multy coloured sight
I used to love my mushrooms but this has put me off for life
NOTE: No dogs, cats, birds, humans, bushes, trees, public toilets, houses, cars, waterways, mice, roads or pathways were hurt or damaged in anyway during the production of this inspirational work of absolute stupidity
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC
My most persistent friends
have become six hours of jetlag
and the fading buzz of airline coffee--
as black and unforgiving as our red-eye flight,
as we wander German streets-- Füssen,
where the air is always crisp
and graceful, even awkwardly emerging
from an ugly winter.
Neuschwanstein castle sits mockingly
in the horizon-- the locals pass it by,
as I, some baffled foreigner
from Nowhere, Ohio,
where the streets bear gas stations
and the shameless scars
of recent construction (always
building, nothing built)
stand in disbelief.
Our thirst brings Jenny
and I to a Getränkeladen --
I sip on my first taste
of Apfelsaftschorle
as a roaring crowd
of local teens barge in,
with the violence of
a tornado we'd see in Xenia...
They speak in a crude,
indistinguishable slang
that Frau never could have
taught us
in room 322
Jenny hovers mindlessly
by the door-- contemplating
a bottle of Coca-Cola,
as the teenage stampede
shoves her off to the side--
fleeing out the door,
having bought nothing,
as the storekeeper sighs in disbelief.
They tore through
such a quaint little shop
with such an aimless recklessness,
one wouldn't think
a centuries-old castle
looms nonchalantly in the distance...
I was thirteen years old
and clueless--
Ben, who I believe is now
in juvie, and Ryan
stand on either side--
dumpy teenagers
in baggy clothes,
speaking in a crude,
brutal slang
that was invented in its usage.
We loitered every street
that would tolerate us,
in these exhausted Ohioan
suburbs, we tore through sidewalks
bearing unremarkable houses
in a sleepy neighborhood
with no grand castles nearby.
Our lazy strides, our ******
banter-- from Füssen, Germany,
to Who Cares, Ohio--
whether there's Neuschwanstein
or a Speedway to conquer,
there's never anything to do at home.
So wie ist das Leben...
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 9:09 PM UTC
this is poems funny wheres the Easter bunny?and my life is full of **** creating a little ******* me i see a slender hiding in a tree just staring at me he has no eyes he's a little demon he ate on a curse know the whole world while sink by dirt so **** the whole universe, man ya ****** jacked up never catch up to me im'a be what i said out to be terrine down the balcony, and most of you are lousy you should've never been born the devil grew up evil with dumpy *** horns :( he is to be the devil for once and for all he is the devil and is some sorta god man he is a frode as we know a bad guy type so he will die by get' in fried,
so bye bye.man life must be a lie Jesus should and will never die because he is is a great guy not a lie,you can be a hater if you want because i do do not care go ahead and taunt see if i get man but i wouldn't even dare it probably would not be fair see if i care bitch,i am a hacker bowzers you are just a noob bye bye know i got something to prove to news they know there gonna lose by hippy donka cruze just a crazy enough guy to be he 43 and still climbs trees with no ladder because he is crazy bet you think that to dude he still got a stinky poo!i bet he would love you only if you were even cool to like me ninja's i can see in my backyard hanging tree from tree.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
The scallops squat
in their queer little cesspool,
small moon-white
skulls, vulnerable
like bare flesh
and hissing and spitting
in their juices,
gelling on the edges
like late November lake ice.
Dumpy little membranes,
they're applauding! -
percolating and foaming
at the mouth, and quickly,
now roaring - ecstatic
in a watery grave
that looks and feels like home.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
My most persistent friends
have become six hours of jetlag
and the fading buzz of airline coffee--
as black and unforgiving as our red-eye flight,
as we wander German streets-- Füssen,
where the air is always crisp
and graceful, even awkwardly emerging
from an ugly winter.
Neuschwanstein castle sits mockingly
in the horizon-- the locals pass it by,
as I, some baffled foreigner
from Nowhere, Ohio,
where the streets bear gas stations
and the shameless scars
of recent construction (always
building, nothing built)
stand in disbelief.
Our thirst brings Jenny
and I to a Getränkeladen --
I sip on my first taste
of Apfelsaftschorle
as a roaring crowd
of local teens barge in,
with the violence of
a tornado we'd see in Xenia...
They speak in a crude,
indistinguishable slang
that Frau never could have
taught us
in room 322
Jenny hovers mindlessly
by the door-- contemplating
a bottle of Coca-Cola,
as the teenage stampede
shoves her off to the side--
fleeing out the door,
having bought nothing,
as the storekeeper sighs in disbelief.
They tore through
such a quaint little shop
with such an aimless recklessness,
one wouldn't think
a centuries-old castle
looms nonchalantly in the distance...
I was thirteen years old
and clueless--
Ben, who I believe is now
in juvie, and Ryan
stand on either side--
dumpy teenagers
in baggy clothes,
speaking in a crude,
brutal slang
that was invented in its usage.
We loitered every street
that would tolerate us,
in these exhausted Ohioan
suburbs, we tore through sidewalks
bearing unremarkable houses
in a sleepy neighborhood
with no grand castles nearby.
Our lazy strides, our ******
banter-- from Füssen, Germany,
to Who Cares, Ohio--
whether there's Neuschwanstein
or a Speedway to conquer,
there's never anything to do at home.
So wie ist das Leben...
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
The distance never seemed so great
Cataclysm perfectionists
Yet, I am not your humpy dumpy,
Or your fine china ware
Bare knuckles drip sweat with anxiety
I know she wants a reaction
A pulse burst neuron pattern
She wants emotion...my fear...my jealousy
A hulk-like idiocy irrationally irrationalness
Anger does not suit dragons...it is messy
When wisdom is much more vicious
Sound becomes tines of liquid silver endings
Forcing once passionate melodic tones
Into baritone thunder claps of aggression
But strangely...the animals do not run
As patients is a commandeering trait
But the distance g r o w s greater..
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
Humpty Dumpty
Sat on a wall;
Humpty dumpty;
This stories not about him at all;
But rather a tale
Of a heart gone askew;
A tale of pain; broken heartedness
And nothing new
A heart bathed in blood,
In pain and misdeeds,
A heart bathed in insecurities;
And its doubts that it bleeds;
So this heart;
It was bandaged;
Fixed up but never again new;
This heart of bled tears;
all emotions did rue;
Till the faithful day it came across a wall;
A wall so high; so spiked and jagged;
It pinched and bruised and tore
The heart ragged;
But the heart did it climb
To get to the top;
It refused its beats of its pain;
And it refused to stop;
The wall it was heavy; large and stone cold;
But this heart knew this wall
That was its fears in a solid mould;
But this heart;
It was cracked; it was bleeding till dry;
Its beating was slow now;
More a whisper than a cry;
Till the heart stopped beating;
Let go and fell into the sky;
All this humpty dumpty watched from his seating;
As the heart fell to its silent lullaby;
Till the heart hit the ground;
Lay there stone still;
Without a sound;
Just wallowing in forgotten will;
And all the kings horses,
And all the kings men,
Could not put back together;
What was the hearts final end.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
love blooms each morn...
[how am i supposed to write the quintessential love poem when the short, dumpy, plain girl at
the next table
desperately, too loudly interjects her
placating ‘wows!’, ‘awesomes!’ and ‘that’s amazings!’
into every stunted breath-pause in the stun gun voiced,
spine stabbing soliloquy
spewing
from the hirsute parody she followed in.
as if volume and volume somehow trump tepid, vapid content
tho it might have been interesting that
“this one time, ginsberg ****** in your mouth” if you had had the ***** to swallow it
but you spit it out you coward
and so, bored and ******
i remembered
ginsberg wasn't into hairy
or three year olds
or hairy three year olds] where was i
... like a glory
awakens to the sunlight in your smile
and the gentle breeze
of your sleeping eyes
Jun 27, 2011
Jun 27, 2011 at 8:39 AM UTC
Dumpy semi-feminine somethings,
ambling rotund wrecks of time –
wraiths of increased girth and grayness;
womanhood unsublime…
Where the dignity in aging ?
Where a minimal decorum?
Could you not yet bear some vestige
presentable in public forum?
All I see are jowly short-hairs:
Dressed to dullness, clipped-face mean.
Form subsumed by frumpy function;
drab routine.
Surely God has taken vengeance
stealing thus your womanhood.
Is this sloth? Or liberation
…misunderstood.
Other cultures guard some glory,
seem to age with more élan:
picture nomads, desert queens
of Mythistan.
Chiseled faces, sculpted hard
by time and faith and fate and God
lines unsoftened by abundance
I applaud.
The Godless West lays waste to glory.
Is our ease of life to blame?
Casual geriatric matrons
bring us shame.
Is it North American only?
Is this just genetic traits?
All such mortal non-description
insults the fates.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
I,m serving my sentence
Four weeks hard time
Being unemployed
Is my only crime
They sent me to felling
I did,nt think it was funny
But I had to serve my time
Or lose all my money
So I turned up on my course
Nervous on my first day
Then I met dave
Induction out the way
Straight down the factory
To the bottom shed
Putting paper into dumpy bags
Really blagged my head
So I shovel people,s ****
It Destroys my soul
But it pays Daves mortgage
And keeps 25 people off the dole
Then worked on the balers
Handballed cardboard and paper
Got to do the boring bumpers
But dave said I can do them later
Might get to go out on the van
Collecting people's ****
But it's a break from the shovel
If only for a bit
Got 25 boxes
To empty for Steve
More ****** dumpy bags
It's hard to believe
The lad I started with
His name was John
He managed one day
Now he is gone
Now he,s back to the dole
To see his advisor
Sanctioned to pieces
I would of been wiser
Just keep my head down
Do whatever I,m told
So my lovely advisor
Don,t stop my dole
Done 3days now
Just 25 to go
No good moaning
Just get on with the show
It's really not so bad
Shovelling people's ****
And it's that kind of job
We're someone's got to do it
So if you don,t like shovelling ****
We're you don't get paid a bob
Get of your **** of the dole
And get yourself a job
No offence to the **** shovelers
All over the land
but I,m a man of verse
Not a **** shovelling fan
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
Compliment your girl often enough unexpectedly
That it keeps her on her lavish high heels
Burn up that heart like Hot Wheels
Not heart burn
But light up her soul like a sold out concert
Be her escort
When the rain drops down like thor's hammer
To her car
Take her away from that dumpy bar
And retire her visits there
You can see by how she stares
She really wants somebody to care
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
I stood next to Jeanette
on the sports field
it was sports day
and she was in
her gym skirt and top
and I was in
black sports shorts
and a white shirt
what are you in?
I asked
she looked at me
100yards run
and a relay
she said quietly
are you any good?
I asked
I can run ok
her friend Angela
next to her
a blonde haired girl said
she's fast
is she now?
I said
yes
Angela said
she'll get us house points
that's for sure
what are you in then?
Jeanette asked
I’m down for the 100 yards
that's all
and that was a mistake
as I didn't mean to run
as fast in the trials
but the other kids
were so slow
she nodded her head
and said
but at least
you'll get your house
some points
I couldn't careless
about house points
I said
she looked away
a race was about to start
girls were lined up
at the lower end
it's being apart of a team
Jeanette said
doing one's best
if I was in your house
I'd run every race
I said
but you're not
she said
no that's why
I don't give a ****
the girls were off
down the track
a lean tall girl
was ahead of them
a lone tubby girl
brought up the rear
there was cheering ons
and shouts
of COME ON
RUN RUN
from the crowds
I looked at Jeanette
beside me
she was calling out softly
moving her hands
she was thin
and her legs were long
but more shapely
than I’d thought
she looked along
the other end
where the lean girl
came in first
come on
Angela said
and taking Jeanette
by the hand
they ran down
to the line
for the next race
I watched them go
the girl Angela
dumpy and blonde
and Jeanette
thin and tall
with a lovely sway
which I thought
capturing it
in my mind
with my camera eye
would stay with me
all day.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
I have come to believe all the things that I’m seeing
On magazines and TV, of every single perfect being
All the girls with perfect bodies, and such amazing skin
Oh how I would **** to live the life that they are in
I’ve been trying to lose weight over that past couple of weeks
Throwing up after meals, on the rare times that I eat
But that isn’t enough, I still need to do much more
To get this guy to notice me, people wonder what for...
There’s so much room in my tummy that it isn’t funny
I don’t wanna be people’s dummy, but either way I feel dumpy
Most of the time I am left here, thinking to myself
Oh god is this worth it, or do I need some help?
I’ve been used by guys, I’ve been hurt by girls
I’ve been hit by my mom, and cursed by the world
So I keep losing weight, just trying to be perfect
I’m waiting for somebody to tell me that I’m worth it....
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
Laughing at yourself is easy.
Self deprecation is hilarious.
To others, anyway. And to you,
to an extent.
It's good to laugh at yourself,
but you've become a joke,
a punchline,
a caricature of who you
wish you were.
You're a fun house version of yourself,
disproportionate,
and ugly.
In your head you're a smart,
savvy person with a
great body.
In real life, you're dumpy,
and messy.
You feel out of control,
your thoughts are lapping you.
You're still at the
starting line.
You'll never win
this race. Accept your
participation trophy and
move on.
You're the only person
who knows what you're feeling.
And guess what?
You have no idea how to
express it.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 11:51 PM UTC
you're a crack your head open addict
humpy dumpy
gone bulimic
you're a sunny side up
egg
with a not too sunny side
you're the
chicken in the
hen
who
wasn't meant to be
still born
and malfigured
you're a reject
the feeling in
someone else's stomach
that doesn't agree with them
you're the kid in the corner
who got the laughs
for being different
the one
who was always good at
telling stories
&
pretending
to fill his fathers shoes
but never really got the chance
you are the flimsy inner cell membrane
of an intricate facade
a
mere
shell
trying to be whole again.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 4:15 AM UTC