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Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Where do we meet
    Oh! No He_*
Getting onto
the next courses
Oh La- La "Cheri"
K>ANSAS>>City

_ Prime spot pretty

 let's >- jump ))) To Love
Please raise the horses

What a skirt steak in her
Petticoat Junction
Going to Kansas City affection
Different tribe or breed
What needs to love me
tender Elvis meet Beavis Buthead
    More  T.L.C  
computer DOC Tick Tock
IRS taking a meat beef
chunk is everybody drunk
IOS what is really the meat
Business Politician Trump

Subscribe well done
Cooked or rare spooked
Taking a Spin City kick
She got canned and licked
The prime meat hot seat

The ******* who arrives
first class steak knifes
Ms. Pork hard chew 
Mr. Beans second rate
Dark pumpernickel
Saloon *******, he
is eating
The young tender
chicken leg

High five thigh? Hands
up Robin Fly
Save the meat "let it be"
  "Let it Be" Beatles
The beat Colonel deep fried
Grade A rare meat slicing

Eating in a board meeting
The pig meat market
of pricing

Doe a deer
he loves
International beer
A very sensitive time
Slaughterhouse no way out
His poker face meets
potato heads beef jerky
Surrender Weds
maple smiles picky
The rich Syrup
Disney Mickey Mouse
Kansas City Wonder
meat house

The beauty of animals
"Moms kettle she is talking
to Parrots" meat
the market for rings riot
Six enemies making
6 rounds
Six servants 666 carats
Robin smiles heartily
"Campbells Chicken" little


He's the Beef Man stew
If you only knew

He's spitting tobacco chew
She peels the potato for the
meathead bad to the
T-bone Dachshund I Bone

Garlic knots heart of the
Sausage wearing the
meat corsage Superbowl
My sweet basil good soul
Grilling your bullhead
Pirate Ribeye steak pupils
Mr. "Billygoat" Bachelorette
Hair flat crepe Suzette

Moms Korean style fuss
coleslaw
what a seesaw
Playing Porgy and Bess
 Scarlet the red rare meat
Rolling stone baking pin
Mississippi one or two
Under my meaty thumb

Comes in three-4-5-6- Lucky 7
-Crazy 8 furries
Nine meat ribs-10 babies
with bibs
Hungry Man meat when!!
Country plaid tablecloth
"Kansas Men" of the cloth
The Pig approval
Kansas City Mayor
new arrival

Family together eating
Don't eat our animals
Why is life so unfair
Feeding the poor
with cans
The bad cut of meat devil
this is not the "Grade A"
This is not a ring
circus trainer Bullseye

Robin coffee animal-friendly
Two peas in a pod I pods
  I tune like Gods
Were the luckiest people to have
animals  

The Floridian with dog murals
Palm trees green thumb
plants sunshine events
The symphony dog tails
of hunts
Whats to compare her twilight
eyes hold the moment stare
Talk to the animal's hearts care
The barbecue all the meat men and the women who love their fruit listen to the Owl lady how she hoots those Kansas city slicker boots and the Hehaw have a good time with family and friends treat the animals with tender loving care
Sky Aug 2018
It doesn’t really matter if you’re hungry
You’re not even going to eat
You aren’t a loser, you’ll win this game
It’s a game you have to defeat
It’s hot outside and you’re really cold
Your young, small body is feeling old
You feel so starved down to your soul
Keep it up honey, you’re on a roll
You want to be half but you are whole
You hate this game but you’re in control
To feel in control you must pay the price
It doesn’t cost much, just your life
No matter what, you’re always alone
It’s you and me, it’s written in stone
You’ve lost everything that you love and own
But at least you have your beautiful bones
Your body hates you but that’s okay
Everyone has left, but I’ll always stay
That was my goal all along
To make you feel guilty, to make you feel wrong
Everything I say is helpful, everything I say is the cure
You don’t want to feel disgusting, do you? Don’t you want to be pure?
Tiny, Angelic, Dainty and Delicate
Everything else is completely irrelevant
You’ll never feel shameless, you’ll be the greatest!
Listen to me darling, don’t you want to be weightless?
Tired, gaunt, pointless and twisted
The girl you’ve been talking to never existed
It’s all in your head, but your head is her home
You’ve got nothing left to control, but your brittle little bones ~
Lizzy Sep 2014
Shrink yourself
Oh she's fading away
Hold her bones together
As the movies play

When a diet becomes an addiction
I felt myself give in
My mind was hooked on these
Skinny thoughts

Bones dance in my dreams
And I couldn't be shaken awake
Yes I'll be skinny like the others
Beautiful like I want

But there's nothing beautiful
About your hair falling out
And passing out and hitting your head
And freezing in the summer
And constantly falling asleep

There's nothing cute about
***** in your hair
And on your clothes
****** noses
And aching bones

Nothing glamorous behind that bathroom door
Just a ****** girl
With her head stuck half way down the pipes
Eberhardt Nov 2016
Four limbs
Branching from a peach tree
My skin is a shield
My fat is fuel
A vessel for my weary soul
I will let it carry me
Lawren Jun 2012
An imaginary but desirable sense of control
Created by the bully in my head
Screaming at me, pressuring me, hurting me
Encapsulating my mind as a second meninges.
Impossible to separate my true thoughts
From what it tells me,
My conscious mind is tied to a cinder block
And left to drown in its enticingly rough waves.

My physical being constantly changing with the tide
Unpredictable but regular,
Shallow but deep.
****** into its infinite black hole,
I am left feeling disgusted and ashamed
Of all that is me.

No longer am I able to decide the way in which
My needs are met-if in fact they are met.
As though I have DID, I am constantly bouncing
From alter to alter
Body to body.

Blinded from looking directly into its sun,
I am warmed and comforted by its rays
While reassured that my doubts are unwarranted.
If ever defied, it scolds and whips me,
Like a master to his *****,
A father to his child.

The welts and cuts, gratefully rip into my
Skin, muscle and bone –
Punishment for my wrongdoings and self.
I, immediately silenced
Remove myself from society,
Restricting contact, nourishment and emotions
To nil.

It is not until someone notices
The beginnings of an eternal invisibility,
That I am released and
Able to breathe in
The salty air of life.
mars Oct 2018
I don't

2. Think I will

3. Ever stop

4. Counting

5. But I can

6. Learn to live

7. Around the numbers
Sky Dec 2018
Go out and buy yourself some pretty pills
Take them for the purpose of a thrill
Exercise like it’s your religion
***** the good and bad decisions
Starving isn’t fun, but someone ought to do it
You were destined to be worthy and you knew it

You want bread, it’s all in your head
You want to be fed, but you wish you were dead
You were born with a knife in your heart
As a child you were struck by a hundred darts, of the cruel words of society and of the jittery snicks of the sugar plum fairy girls, with their angelic faces and porcelain skin, black sockets for eyes and with the devil, akin.
Angels don’t exist here, only devils within.

Scrub your raw, bleeding gums
Until pretty girl juice dribbles from the razor sharp corners of your mouth
Trickling past your rotting teeth
Your skin, sallow and an expired yellow.
Purple spider veins strung out across your arms and legs, connecting the dots from the gaping stab wounds made by your mother’s sharp, bone-handled knife, which you snuck from the kitchen drawer.  Truly an antique. But now, antique and rusted with your blood.

Your mouth is filled with dirt and bugs
No more innocence, no more kisses and hugs
You aren’t your mother’s little girl anymore
You’re now the devil’s successful corpse

Dirt filled girls.  Dead rotting girls.
Expired girls.  Decomposing girls.
Hush, no one can hear you because
Dead, rotten girls can’t speak anymore
When they try to open their empty mouths, all that comes out are hollow screams and shrieks that pierce the void of the suffocating air in their coffin
Worms and roaches seep inside their bloated skin, making them itchy, itchy, itchy.
Dead, rotten girls can’t complain.
The devil’s thirst is quenched, and now he ate.
You begged for this fate.
Tanya Feb 7
I’ve always been mindful of
the food that enters my body.

Perhaps,
I should have read the label
before consuming Your lies.


Amanda Dec 2018
Thoughts are eating me alive
I feel sharp bites as they gnaw
Bleeding out pints of sense and reason
From conclusions I draw

I am glad to drift to sleep every night
Even with precious time flying by
Happy to experience any relief
No problems behind closed eyes

Conversations filling free dreams floating within
Attempting to be understood
Have no interest in indulging opinions
Hanging silent in my head, engraved in 'would'

In efforts to turn around my thinking
I stuff my mind with different distractions
Put hands to use with various tasks
Only substances bring satisfaction

I need to unearth the causes
Responsible for lack of peace
Little by little learn to be happy
Sorrows burning my brain will cease
Thoughts can cause more damage than anything else
Knit Personality Oct 2018
Candy is dandy;
   But dandier
Is Halloween candy,
   And candier.  

Candy is dandy;
   But dandiest
Is Christmas candy,
   And candiest.


O.O
cheryl love Jul 2017
The street lamp flickers
Thick fog hangs like custard
A woman in regulation knickers
is cutting the mustard.
She hangs round the fading light
Vinegar drapes around the bar
she is eating chips at midnight
while her teeth soak in a jar
her curlers retired years back
when the colour made a sad farewell
she stands under the Union Jack
where the church rings its bell.
They were together once, a time
when she was not such a fright
he saw red but did not commit a crime
even then she ate chips at midnight.
Sky Dec 2018
It’s not nice when girls die


It hurts when girls starve themselves.
It hurts when girls stick their fingers down their throat.
One day, they’ll end up in the morgue.
All the pretty girls, all the sad girls, all the broken girls, reunited in a freezer drawer, a white cloth respectively covering their tear-stained faces.

They can’t wait to be cut open.  They’ve always wanted to cut themselves open and peek inside of their stomach, see how much fat there really is.  Remove their excess stuffing.

It’s not nice when girls die.
It’s not nice when girls cry.
It’s not nice when girls lie.

Oh, what a waste of a pretty face
Oh, what a shame, they can point their stiffened fingers as much as they want, but no one else is to blame.

Lighting, thunder, six feet under,
Scared little girl little under the covers (of her coffin)
Hiding from the monsters under her bed,
But they’re not under her bed, they creep in her head.
Those whispers and ghosts that evil has brought
Weren’t from childhood monsters but from her own thoughts.

The monsters eat her alive, slowly, so she can feel their sharp teeth.

They chew her into pieces and then spit her out mean.

Why is she so cruel? What has the world ever done? Something’s not right

Well, the monsters they ruined her, by taking extra large bites ~
Kevin J Taylor Dec 2018
I love to eat with just a spoon: soups, puddings too, if there is room. I love to eat with forks and knives while dining in with friends and wives. I love to eat with little sticks, especially the tricky bits. But most of all with hands and fingers or any things where flavors lingers.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
.
Azaria Jul 2018
yes, i loved eating
you
with oxtail
and do-not-disturb-
thoughts
on wednesday afternoons
i'm not
going to beg you
to love me
wearing your indifference
like spf that permeates
my skin
like omelet-station-mornings
and house-*****-status- in
the middle of
white-minded-america
i will not
apologize for
the brown parts of your
thighs that i
picked apart
like the dark meat
of chicken
eating and loving
you like a deconstructed
last supper
to pull out
how you
made me feel
in six words or less
the language gettting
muddled like word salad
that only you can understand
make yourself unborn again
like sterling-silver-reasons
not to be in love with you
anymore
Sky Feb 20
I’ve written so many poems
But all of them are irrelevant
Just meaningless words thrown together
By a meaningless girl in a small town.
She writes about her suffering from sickness and disorders.
She writes about how deep the knives in her chest go and how many times she’s been stabbed by grief.
She writes about how sharp her monster’s teeth are and how deeply they bite.
She writes about the devil and why **** is actually our current world.
She writes about demons and angels of darkness and numbers and dancing skeletons with aching bones.

She writes about dead, rotten girls. Who died in a choke hold at the hands of a scale or drowning in a toilet bowl.

She writes so many poems but the ultimate poem of all is her body.  Her body is the one true poem.  Scars that line her ribs where she sliced with her mother’s bone-handled knife.  Scars on her thighs from being cut with shards of glass because she shattered so many mirrors with her aching fists.

Bruises that line her legs and her arms.  Iron burns caused by her own hands because she just wanted to feel something.

Bags under her eyes, wrinkles corrupting her youthful face, dry and ****** lips.  Don’t even get me started on her teeth.
Oh, what eating disorders do to teeth.
She doesn’t smile much anyway.

Deep, red scabs on her knuckles from purging too hard, to the point where her teeth scraped off chunks of skin.

I am a girl.  I want perfection, I want affection.
But all I have is depression, and numbers and mirrors and food and shards of glass and my bones bones so many bones ;

Hollow eyes and on her way to join the rotten girls club.

How do people think this is beautiful?
Are dead, rotten girls beautiful?
Are they glorified because their bones stick out in places they shouldn’t?
Are they romanticised because they can fit into a size 000?

Does no one see their bloated corpses?
Does no one see their grey-green skin?
Does no one see their stitched up mouths open wide, with blackness and abyss pouring out when they’re in fact, trying to scream?
Maybe your lips are glued shut and you have a blindfold on.

Dead rotten girls should be your worst nightmare, not your dream look.


As unfortunate and tragic it may be, am I the ultimate poem? ~
julia rose Aug 2016
I join the game,
I act so lame

but,
really I'm a troll
and the tides take a toll

I spout up dank memes
until the non-memers scream

and when pepe comes about,
take the meme-haters out

"stop, stop, noob!" they say
while eating Doritos and singing away

your 360 no scope can't **** me,
cause honestly, your 'friend' is my secret trustee

so bombard all you want

fill me with hate

the memers will meme on

until it gets...


late.

        








goodnight.
i'm sorry, i can't delete this. it hurts. it's so dumb bUT THE MEMORIES JSNA D
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