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"eliminated" poems
i don't watch home movies hate them reason being because when i was young i was looking for a movie my mother had recorded for me and accidentally put one in the vcr that i'm not sure i was supposed to see i know the obvious response *"uh oh, **** sorry to disappoint they were only marked with dates   1991 on live television montel williams asks my father *"how can you just throw your child away like a piece of trash?"*    1994 i spend so much time in the emergency room that my parents stop penciling in growth marks on the frame of my bedroom door i always thought it was because they believed i would never grow out of this sickness sometimes i believe the reason that they never bought me a dream catcher was because they never thought i'd live long enough to see them come true    1996 i am eliminated from a spelling bee because i didn't know the 'dad' is silent in 'family'    2013 before i got into poetry i used to do standup none of my jokes were funny one of the other comics tells me my skits are dry sometimes sad he says *"why don't you joke about something like your family?"* so i say *"i never wore any sunblock because i didn't want anything to keep me from my father"* i say *"what do you call christmas without lights or heat?"* before he has a chance to answer i say *"1997. better yet why don't you make like a dad and leave"*    2014 every time we drive past the hospital my mother reminds me how much it cost to save my life like she'd rather have her money back she doesn't have to say that sometimes she wishes it was me who had died instead of my brother i can hear it in the way she says "love you" sometimes i imagine that if i were to die that she would pick out a casket for a child because she never loved the person i became yesterday i told my father how close i'd been to suicide lately and he said *"that's my boy, livin on the edge.."* and i can't remember if i laughed or cried
0
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
there are only dates
i don't watch home movies hate them reason being because when i was young i was looking for a movie my mother had recorded for me and accidentally put one in the vcr that i'm not sure i was supposed to see i know the obvious response *"uh oh, **** sorry to disappoint they were only marked with dates   1991 on live television montel williams asks my father *"how can you just throw your child away like a piece of trash?"*    1994 i spend so much time in the emergency room that my parents stop penciling in growth marks on the frame of my bedroom door i always thought it was because they believed i would never grow out of this sickness sometimes i believe the reason that they never bought me a dream catcher was because they never thought i'd live long enough to see them come true    1996 i am eliminated from a spelling bee because i didn't know the 'dad' is silent in 'family'    2013 before i got into poetry i used to do standup none of my jokes were funny one of the other comics tells me my skits are dry sometimes sad he says *"why don't you joke about something like your family?"* so i say *"i never wore any sunblock because i didn't want anything to keep me from my father"* i say *"what do you call christmas without lights or heat?"* before he has a chance to answer i say *"1997. better yet why don't you make like a dad and leave"*    2014 every time we drive past the hospital my mother reminds me how much it cost to save my life like she'd rather have her money back she doesn't have to say that sometimes she wishes it was me who had died instead of my brother i can hear it in the way she says "love you" sometimes i imagine that if i were to die that she would pick out a casket for a child because she never loved the person i became yesterday i told my father how close i'd been to suicide lately and he said *"that's my boy, livin on the edge.."* and i can't remember if i laughed or cried
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91
Turn the corner Hand tenses Looking down the iron sights I see an object fall "Tango down" I call over the radio what was his name? Tango, Threat, Terrorist, doesn't matter. Explosion Mud brick wall vaporized into dust Keep going Out of breathe Keep going Hand tenses "Tango down" Does it have kids? A Family? Threat eliminated Round the corner Hand tenses "Three tangos on west building roof top" Bullets from my brothers **** by my helmet Return fire "Take Cover!" Sweat drenched face fogs up my goggles Explosion Brick pieces pummel my back Ears ringing, faintly hearing "Alpha down, Medic!" Blurred vision, equilibrium thrown off Raise my rifle Hand tenses Silhouette falls "Medic!" heard faintly Hand tenses "Are you okay?" sounds distant Hand tenses "babe?" getting louder Hand tenses Hand tenses Wake up Sheets heavy with sweat "Babe, are you ok?" Throwing the blankets I jump back to the edge of the bed Her frightened face I've seen before I look down Hands tense Same look, no tangos No threats Just Ghosts
0
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
PTSD
It's called the land of equal opportunity For who? If you're hair isn't processed, you're already eliminated You already failed the test They think their texture is the best But don't let that discourage you Because they don't know how beautiful it is to be...
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Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
Beautiful
**** masterminds steer clear of this man He's relentless a pitbull Lumping up Pinkman for no logical reason He's a madman Massacres Mexican kingpins and button men Knocks out Keith Jardine in a barfight initiated as a ptsd relief valve Maddog brothers Axe murdering elite eliminated with a bullet a fender and a little help from Gustavo Fring The only man to walk away unscathed from the exploding head of Danny Trejo debacle Houndog Hank the sherman tank is hot on Heisenbergs trail. Its almost guaranteed One of them will die Heisenbergs Bad But Schrader is badass.
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Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 6:09 AM UTC
Schrader (Breaking Bad)
What if people had a year of unity and not violence, each and everyday? Better yet, why not have it eliminated, removing it, far out the way? What if people came together in unity, and not violence aiming to fight? Why can't they all make up their minds, only to do what's right? What if people made a decision, to help clean up our land? This can began to come about, by joining hand in hand. What if people helped, to get rid of every gun? Allowing the world to know this is nothing fun. We need to put thumbs down for violence, and let unity prevail. God can bring this about, so we don't end up in jail By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing
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Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
UNITY NOT VIOLENCE
There is a bright light That which leads to a bike An enchanting, gravitating and inticing light I found myself reaching for it Then there was thunder Which was followed by rain Heavy, threatning rain I retreated I felt defeated The surrender and defeat, however could not withstand My gravitation towards the bike Then, there was raging thunder And heavy, presistent protesting rain As I reached for the bike The rain became more enraged But it could not withstand My desire My strong desire To ride away With the wind blowing in my face I grabbed the bike The rain ceased And I rode and rode away Away from the dark clouds I splashed into the puddles as I peadled I felt the sting of the water on my legs There were many many puddles Im my path there was a hill A very steep hill And I saw a light at the top An enchanting, gravitating and inticing light I peadled, peadled and peadled My feet began to ache My knees began to inflame And sweat found home across my forehead The bike laid almost still on the hill Barely moving an inch Yet my body felt like it had rode across the world The gears were changed Yet the distance was not My control of the bike was lost I rolled away, away and away Backwards I fell at the bottom of the hill with a thud A loud thud of defeat And bruises of failure I blamed the rain There was nothing I could've done The rain stood in my way Eliminated the friction   My ticket to the light I laid there Then I got up Rode the bike up the hill I fell again   And again I got up And again I fell And again I got up And again I fell Until the bright morning sun Transformed into a blazing sunset After many falls After many bruises I was again on the steep hill Peadling, peadling and peadling Until I saw the light
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Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 9:56 PM UTC
The Light
There is a bright light That which leads to a bike An enchanting, gravitating and inticing light I found myself reaching for it Then there was thunder Which was followed by rain Heavy, threatning rain I retreated I felt defeated The surrender and defeat, however could not withstand My gravitation towards the bike Then, there was raging thunder And heavy, presistent protesting rain As I reached for the bike The rain became more enraged But it could not withstand My desire My strong desire To ride away With the wind blowing in my face I grabbed the bike The rain ceased And I rode and rode away Away from the dark clouds I splashed into the puddles as I peadled I felt the sting of the water on my legs There were many many puddles Im my path there was a hill A very steep hill And I saw a light at the top An enchanting, gravitating and inticing light I peadled, peadled and peadled My feet began to ache My knees began to inflame And sweat found home across my forehead The bike laid almost still on the hill Barely moving an inch Yet my body felt like it had rode across the world The gears were changed Yet the distance was not My control of the bike was lost I rolled away, away and away Backwards I fell at the bottom of the hill with a thud A loud thud of defeat And bruises of failure I blamed the rain There was nothing I could've done The rain stood in my way Eliminated the friction   My ticket to the light I laid there Then I got up Rode the bike up the hill I fell again   And again I got up And again I fell And again I got up And again I fell Until the bright morning sun Transformed into a blazing sunset After many falls After many bruises I was again on the steep hill Peadling, peadling and peadling Until I saw the light
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66
Cut me open, cover yourself in a blanket of skin. It won't make I difference. I don't inhabit it anyway. It is a shell. It is a lifeless thing. It is not me. It makes no decisions. Split the differences in your own mind and do anything you wish. Take away every doubt. Leave it on the edge of a cliff. The rain will wash it down our throats. A spoonful of sugar. It is laced. Silk laces, pretty underthings ruined. They were taken off. Too many flowers to water with the fluids running from open wounds. They will not grow. They are made of the plastic from leftover Glass from a broken window. Portal to the soul My eyes are not there anymore. Blindly Stuttering, I cannot speak. These arms lack bones. They were buried long ago, burned to blackened Charcoal. Draw a masterpiece, dear. Stab my physical canvas with toothpicks and see visions. Crystal trees growing from my ears, reaching into your voice box. Sing for me. Make me dance over the salt, gives me rashes on my legs, blue flame licking what is yours. Turn the key in my bleeding back. Twist my spine and laugh, watch as I writhe in Lust? How am I supposed to know. My brain is nonexistent, just gears and crushed light bulbs. There is no light. I took a step two nights past, I didn't see. A tusk ****** through my foot, breaking bones. I admire the animals caged at the zoo. They were stronger than I was, before they were Eliminated. They are dying, wilting. I drew flowers on my nails to represent them. A memorial to the horrid truth of knowing about the robotics of life. This is just a computer, ringing a high. No going backwards. The button doesn't work, the transformer blew, we have no power. My data was deleted.
0
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
Split The Difference
Cut me open, cover yourself in a blanket of skin. It won't make I difference. I don't inhabit it anyway. It is a shell. It is a lifeless thing. It is not me. It makes no decisions. Split the differences in your own mind and do anything you wish. Take away every doubt. Leave it on the edge of a cliff. The rain will wash it down our throats. A spoonful of sugar. It is laced. Silk laces, pretty underthings ruined. They were taken off. Too many flowers to water with the fluids running from open wounds. They will not grow. They are made of the plastic from leftover Glass from a broken window. Portal to the soul My eyes are not there anymore. Blindly Stuttering, I cannot speak. These arms lack bones. They were buried long ago, burned to blackened Charcoal. Draw a masterpiece, dear. Stab my physical canvas with toothpicks and see visions. Crystal trees growing from my ears, reaching into your voice box. Sing for me. Make me dance over the salt, gives me rashes on my legs, blue flame licking what is yours. Turn the key in my bleeding back. Twist my spine and laugh, watch as I writhe in Lust? How am I supposed to know. My brain is nonexistent, just gears and crushed light bulbs. There is no light. I took a step two nights past, I didn't see. A tusk ****** through my foot, breaking bones. I admire the animals caged at the zoo. They were stronger than I was, before they were Eliminated. They are dying, wilting. I drew flowers on my nails to represent them. A memorial to the horrid truth of knowing about the robotics of life. This is just a computer, ringing a high. No going backwards. The button doesn't work, the transformer blew, we have no power. My data was deleted.
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34
Some say, we don't need black history month. When in truth we do. Would the contribution of African American be taught truthfully. If we had to depend on you know who? Obviously, they very unaware of several successful black that contributed to America's greatness. We, very well aware they edited down facts to be turn into fiction. Like that president that chopped down that cherry tree. Many doesn't know the plight of Washington, Dubois, Carver. Let alone know their first name. It's hardly taught, if it's about us. George Franklin, Grant-dentist Ernest Everett, Just.-Scientist Josh Gibson, one of the greatest baseball player. We know very well about George, Thomas and James and John Q. Some say, we all Americans And in truth, they completely right. But for reasons very well known. We are not all equal in sights of others. When needed, they call upon us to join in. Some still, say-why do Black history month exist? But all cultures knows none was eliminated through times. Than those captured to come here and renamed after their masters. And facts be told, this cultures lives to embrace into their children's if nothing is ever mention by certain teachers about their cultures. Than they will keep it before them. Matthew Alexander, Henson-Explorer Billie Holiday-singer Duke Ellington and Count Basie and Cab Calloway. Greatness, we can't let fade. Vernon Jordan Shirley Chilsom And hosts of present days teachers that push the issues to educate. Those that say, we don't need Black History months. Be crying , if we try to eliminate theirs. Cause that's all they ever known. Howard University. Tennessee State and Fisk and various others came to be because of discrimination. And has turned out some brilliant African Americans. So our history is needed. Cause it's about us. Like Latin History and various others is about other cultures.
0
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC
Some Say, We Don't Need Black History
Some say, we don't need black history month. When in truth we do. Would the contribution of African American be taught truthfully. If we had to depend on you know who? Obviously, they very unaware of several successful black that contributed to America's greatness. We, very well aware they edited down facts to be turn into fiction. Like that president that chopped down that cherry tree. Many doesn't know the plight of Washington, Dubois, Carver. Let alone know their first name. It's hardly taught, if it's about us. George Franklin, Grant-dentist Ernest Everett, Just.-Scientist Josh Gibson, one of the greatest baseball player. We know very well about George, Thomas and James and John Q. Some say, we all Americans And in truth, they completely right. But for reasons very well known. We are not all equal in sights of others. When needed, they call upon us to join in. Some still, say-why do Black history month exist? But all cultures knows none was eliminated through times. Than those captured to come here and renamed after their masters. And facts be told, this cultures lives to embrace into their children's if nothing is ever mention by certain teachers about their cultures. Than they will keep it before them. Matthew Alexander, Henson-Explorer Billie Holiday-singer Duke Ellington and Count Basie and Cab Calloway. Greatness, we can't let fade. Vernon Jordan Shirley Chilsom And hosts of present days teachers that push the issues to educate. Those that say, we don't need Black History months. Be crying , if we try to eliminate theirs. Cause that's all they ever known. Howard University. Tennessee State and Fisk and various others came to be because of discrimination. And has turned out some brilliant African Americans. So our history is needed. Cause it's about us. Like Latin History and various others is about other cultures.
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40
"There is a stillness that floods the moment"                                                                a sky full of stars ***~~~ for you, poet, you ~~~*** *there is a stillness that floods that exact moment, the cutting chord moment, that oddly has no resounding chords ~ a stillness that, simultaneous, happily, sadly, accepted, lost, all immediately, by its very knowing released acceptance, for that is when depression and joy, a 1-2 punch of   raging quietude floods the exactness of that moment ~ this shock of the calmness, albeit brief, jolt of kind, jolt that slow mo's pulsing prior air gasping ~ it comes when thinking* done, *it is done, yes done and I am undone, having surgically cutting off a limb, never bloodless, but still relief waters flush the wound, a granted, gifted joy floods, permitting its escape tween the sutures, in exhilarating exhalations ~ throw it down, your extracted best, lift up, the fleshed out silhouette, present it to the court and corps, a farewell glance push, finger caressing the send button with ****** anticipation for the lovely loving, a vintage of the pre-regret of completion ~ the poem is done, gone, ****** eliminated, the light of eyes so peculiar to that moment, when you have birthed a new born poem, an acknowledgement of the stillness of a closing loss, the parting, the coming, of a peace of you must too, be noted, all deserving of equal rights* ~~~ July 12, 2015 NML
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Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 9:06 AM UTC
The Postpartum Poet
"There is a stillness that floods the moment"                                                                a sky full of stars ***~~~ for you, poet, you ~~~*** *there is a stillness that floods that exact moment, the cutting chord moment, that oddly has no resounding chords ~ a stillness that, simultaneous, happily, sadly, accepted, lost, all immediately, by its very knowing released acceptance, for that is when depression and joy, a 1-2 punch of   raging quietude floods the exactness of that moment ~ this shock of the calmness, albeit brief, jolt of kind, jolt that slow mo's pulsing prior air gasping ~ it comes when thinking* done, *it is done, yes done and I am undone, having surgically cutting off a limb, never bloodless, but still relief waters flush the wound, a granted, gifted joy floods, permitting its escape tween the sutures, in exhilarating exhalations ~ throw it down, your extracted best, lift up, the fleshed out silhouette, present it to the court and corps, a farewell glance push, finger caressing the send button with ****** anticipation for the lovely loving, a vintage of the pre-regret of completion ~ the poem is done, gone, ****** eliminated, the light of eyes so peculiar to that moment, when you have birthed a new born poem, an acknowledgement of the stillness of a closing loss, the parting, the coming, of a peace of you must too, be noted, all deserving of equal rights* ~~~ July 12, 2015 NML
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64
I think I'm going blind. I'm under the impression you've disappeared. That you're gone for good. That you've eliminated yourself from my retinas in order to escape my mile wide stare. That you've constructed homes under tombstones hoping I'd mistake you for A box of under-appreciated skeletal remains Because all you've ever wanted is to be dead to me. Like you wanted my eyes to forget about their day job and resort to conceptualized adultery Because God forbid I commit to an honest day's pay. I've never intentionally visualized imaginary fabrications. But the truth is, my eyes do everything but tell the truth. 1. My eyes write monotonous picture books with your face plastered on every single page Just to recreate your physical beauty time and time again So the world knows your look tops my mind's best seller list. 2. My eyes climb mountain tops and skinny dip in stormy seas Because sometimes crazy is the only way I can get you to look at me. 3. My eyes fly hot air balloons carried by the echoes of your soft spoken sentences As if exhaust pipes could spew such sweet nothings into the night sky. 4. My eyes invade foreign lands with every intention of burning down Prehistoric villages and discovering your secret hideaway because I too Want to know how it feels to savagely destroy former sacred territory. 5. My eyes struggle out of bed every morning.  Not even Three shots of espresso can perk my eyes up enough To allow the radiation you still give off enter my pores. I think I'm going blind. Or maybe I just can't see straight. Or be straight up with you and tell you how it takes every part of me To not gauge my own eyes out for betraying the rest of my body. It takes every part of me to admit my misjudgments spawned the downfall of it all. Because I told you I saw the two of us trekking through unfamiliar lands With each stride another step towards our destiny. Because I told you I saw something in your eyes That gave mine the ability to smile. Because I told you I saw us redefining what infinity Looks like to the senseless visionary. But my eyes don't tell the truth. I'm going blind.
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Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
Blind
I think I'm going blind. I'm under the impression you've disappeared. That you're gone for good. That you've eliminated yourself from my retinas in order to escape my mile wide stare. That you've constructed homes under tombstones hoping I'd mistake you for A box of under-appreciated skeletal remains Because all you've ever wanted is to be dead to me. Like you wanted my eyes to forget about their day job and resort to conceptualized adultery Because God forbid I commit to an honest day's pay. I've never intentionally visualized imaginary fabrications. But the truth is, my eyes do everything but tell the truth. 1. My eyes write monotonous picture books with your face plastered on every single page Just to recreate your physical beauty time and time again So the world knows your look tops my mind's best seller list. 2. My eyes climb mountain tops and skinny dip in stormy seas Because sometimes crazy is the only way I can get you to look at me. 3. My eyes fly hot air balloons carried by the echoes of your soft spoken sentences As if exhaust pipes could spew such sweet nothings into the night sky. 4. My eyes invade foreign lands with every intention of burning down Prehistoric villages and discovering your secret hideaway because I too Want to know how it feels to savagely destroy former sacred territory. 5. My eyes struggle out of bed every morning.  Not even Three shots of espresso can perk my eyes up enough To allow the radiation you still give off enter my pores. I think I'm going blind. Or maybe I just can't see straight. Or be straight up with you and tell you how it takes every part of me To not gauge my own eyes out for betraying the rest of my body. It takes every part of me to admit my misjudgments spawned the downfall of it all. Because I told you I saw the two of us trekking through unfamiliar lands With each stride another step towards our destiny. Because I told you I saw something in your eyes That gave mine the ability to smile. Because I told you I saw us redefining what infinity Looks like to the senseless visionary. But my eyes don't tell the truth. I'm going blind.
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37
you celebrate something you believe you couldn't possibly have in high school. cupid's arrows, sweet sentiments and chocolate kisses (not hershey's) all to say three words you don't believe in - yet I remember a massacre on this day another year and i don't mean when al eliminated the competition for biggest badass i mean a year ago. 2011. you said i love you to me but you couldn't believe it said you mean it but how could you, see it's a contradiction and my affliction is trying to reconcile your actions to your actions trying to make sense of what happened still can't. but still can't stop i guess i'm a man addicted to what he doesn't have and hasn't got.
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Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 2:31 PM UTC
Celebrating V'tines
Laughter & glitter Sunshining through straight white teeth – voice unheard of With a smile to make any man slither over Cutting soft stomachs open Driving out with sticks and leaves and rocks And leaving me with the tab How like them to err for the sake of error Terrible and true Acuity bound It’s feeding time at the zoo & There’s no one to take this noose off around my neck We were swimming in the gulf when she asked Why create when there’s so much to destroy? My hands their play things too Toys ordained from disdain sustained By tight men in tight suits Watching us from Ivory Towers What a relief & the power trips of the circus beneath them Reaching out with viral irony I scream Out to the heavens heaven doesn’t take collect calls & here she is connecting souls to mates Correcting hate and abating disgrace worldwide Webs intangible but thought to be hooked To the hearts that spun them Free flowing love & peace to cut my noose hung from The sycamore tree As for me what more could please Disease eradicated People educated Our lives illustrated not by blood off a bayonet But by regret eliminated Fat cats in high homes with low self esteem would seem Just as happy to see her redacted from the text books Crooked lies straightened & the sad thing is they Trick us fine serfs to mitigate others in their organized ignorance Leaving us in the dark to elbow for clues Groping the dust blind & Hurting ourselves with ***** fingernails scratching She shouts like a car crash & Everyone’s at the scene drawn to attention By flashing red & blue Cashing their moral chips for a peepshow Their smiles use less muscles than frowns but take twice the effort Affecting deflections of accusations People listen & how couldn’t they? Her words lifting chins like a rope over a branch But this time the tree’s on fire The Tower’s burning & she’s cutting all the safety nets Like she cut the rope off around my neck
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Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
Sycamore
Laughter & glitter Sunshining through straight white teeth – voice unheard of With a smile to make any man slither over Cutting soft stomachs open Driving out with sticks and leaves and rocks And leaving me with the tab How like them to err for the sake of error Terrible and true Acuity bound It’s feeding time at the zoo & There’s no one to take this noose off around my neck We were swimming in the gulf when she asked Why create when there’s so much to destroy? My hands their play things too Toys ordained from disdain sustained By tight men in tight suits Watching us from Ivory Towers What a relief & the power trips of the circus beneath them Reaching out with viral irony I scream Out to the heavens heaven doesn’t take collect calls & here she is connecting souls to mates Correcting hate and abating disgrace worldwide Webs intangible but thought to be hooked To the hearts that spun them Free flowing love & peace to cut my noose hung from The sycamore tree As for me what more could please Disease eradicated People educated Our lives illustrated not by blood off a bayonet But by regret eliminated Fat cats in high homes with low self esteem would seem Just as happy to see her redacted from the text books Crooked lies straightened & the sad thing is they Trick us fine serfs to mitigate others in their organized ignorance Leaving us in the dark to elbow for clues Groping the dust blind & Hurting ourselves with ***** fingernails scratching She shouts like a car crash & Everyone’s at the scene drawn to attention By flashing red & blue Cashing their moral chips for a peepshow Their smiles use less muscles than frowns but take twice the effort Affecting deflections of accusations People listen & how couldn’t they? Her words lifting chins like a rope over a branch But this time the tree’s on fire The Tower’s burning & she’s cutting all the safety nets Like she cut the rope off around my neck
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50
Fanatics fixed their eyes upon The screen to cheer their team The mood there in the air was tense Tricolor seemed out of steam The clock was counting down The time was drawing nigh Doomed to lose and head on home Bid Russia their goodbye An errant shot deflected out Gave them one last chance To score a goal and prance about Show off their famous dance From the corner, the ball soared in A hero rose above Mina smacked it with his head And won his country's love England shocked to see the win Snatched right from their grasp Colombia delirious Successful at last gasp And thus the game was sent along Into the overtime Two periods were played to nil Two teams full in their prime Penalties would now decide Which team would advance The locals glued to their tvs The nation in a trance Falcao scores! Kane as well! Cuadrado, Rashford too! Muriel then strikes one home Tricolor up three to two! Ospina blocks the next one Hypes up the frenzied crowd But Uribe hits the crossbar And the silence echoes loud Trippier knots it up again We're down to final shots Bacca fails to get his through Past Pickford's valiant swat Fate rests upon this final kick Well placed with perfect spin Just past Ospina's outstreched hands Dier seals the win The cafeteros reel from shock No sign of jubilation But still the crowd, crushed in defeat Show their appreciation Colombia eliminated We give them all a hand And though their World Cup here is done I'm now their biggest fan
0
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 2:58 AM UTC
Adios Cafeteros (an ode to the Colombian national team)
What tick people off? When you dealing with the public. It might be the attitudes you find. Cutomer service, is at the top of many people minds. It like leaving respect for others behind. Manners seem to be eliminated. Whether its in the employment world. The way you treat others means they will return. Because, if it negative in anyway. Your reputation will be burned. Oh, yes. Treat your clients like your boss. You know. You're not trying to lose your job. Now, if you're hard headed. Then customer service is a losing cause. Saying, a pleasant greeting don't hurt you at all. But you find many that can't speak it one bit. These are the folks creating havoc. Remember, customers don't forget. They remember you more than you realize.
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Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 8:05 AM UTC
Customer Service
cast out chucked away deep-sixed discarded discharged disposed of expelled flung aside thrown down jettisoned deserted jilted vacated left in abdication aggravated outcast rejected eliminated forgotten given up godforsaken
0
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 11:02 AM UTC
Dumped
Girl you eliminated all the darkness in my life All the love I can see it through your eyes You don't even have to tell me I can finally see the light coming from your eyes Fulfilled my life and my soul burns bright Always been the one to be there for me Always been the girl of my dreams The feelings you hide are so obvious Fate has stepped in and now I can't stop it You've always belonged to me I just realized what you mean to me All my life I have been unsure with myself And now I finally feel complete I've been starving myself my whole life just waiting on the right pizza to eat You're the perfect pizza slice that I can't wait to eat
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Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Pizza
Keep your catastrophes closed, This rotating orb is far from its last lap. With stones and sticks, clothed in skins We survived the extinction of countless species. There is no indication, no dark premonition That can reverse reality. Earth was dust, it is now water, And it is iron and nitrogen, Phosphorus and hydrogen, And it is us, even we bend to her order. We were molded from the elements, Latent electricity and infinite energy. We were not crafted to be an index fossil, Eliminated by polar shift, or apocalyptic storms. We Will Endure!
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Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 7:37 AM UTC
We Will Endure!
• *You are the sole yellow rose that I see, In the amidst of this wicked and vexatious wilderness, You've captured my heart, With your bright, delightful and auspicious hue, My eyes are affix to your alluring nature, And a picture of you I keep dearly in my heart. I walk into the hellacious pathway, The pathway that draw stripes on me, I did try to endure all throe and grief, 'Cause after this endeavor, You'll fill me with beautitude and love, And my triumph I will lavish upon you as I hold you in my arms. Now I have succeeded and hold firm grip on you, All aches been covered up with my overwhelmed soul, Your thorns I've eliminated and put end to your excruciation, I hold you so close to me and keep you safe in my chest, I will never let you go and I'll bathe you with my love, We will conquer the world together, forever 'til eternity.* with love <3 © Earl Jane ♥ E.J.C.S.
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Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 6:55 AM UTC
My Ever Cherished Yellow Rose
What if there was no light, No inclination to fight, Mountains, all feasible to climb; To be in anyplace, and anytime. What if love was a verb, No pitfalls, no feelings to curb, True loves lost in abyss, No one to meet nor miss. What if death was avoidable, and people weren't exploitable, Earth as Eden; No sin, no wrong, even. What if sadness was eliminated, No choice debated, Just action, speaking before thinking, Leaving all people sinking. For death is still a shadow, The bite-mark is in the apple. Love is fate, ships of sadness and pain: Humanity as the first mate. Always surrounded with quandary and question... But one thing yet to mention: Eliminate all questions of "what if" in mind, Then there shall be answers to find.
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Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
What If
I never called it **** the events of the night the gin had made us hazy and the drugs had us reckless. The half hour you spent strumming me like some pawn shop guitar Suffocating me in the sheets which were covered in the filth of your former lovers. I never called it **** The way your hands had rudely ripped my previously untouched skin and your mouth devoured my innocent lips. Never thought much of the way you had told me to be quiet while I whispered for you to stop because I'd never done this before and it was painful and I wept. Because you had warned that I would wake the others and I was embarrassed and you had made me ***** I never called it **** Never let the repetition of your phrases sink in too much as you told me it was fine and it was okay that I'd like it. I never thought too hard. Because you moved too fast and the room was spinning and I gave in to waiting for it to be over. And when you had gotten too tired of hearing me whimper and my pleading had become obnoxious you sighed an angry **** this" and stomped off to the bathroom to finish yourself, after commanding I put my clothes back on, And find somewhere else to sleep, I stumbled across your ***** basement to where the others slept and collapsed hiding silently in the sinkholes of your couch, Listening to your grunts before the light came on and you passed out avoiding the stains of my youth on your sheets. And I never called it **** In the morning you drove me home making little effort to hide your disgust in my failure to get you off While I looked out the car window at all the houses I had grown up next to, None of which looked familiar any more attempted to ignore the stinging of the poisonous scars you had left behind pretending that my body wasn't covered in the scratches and bruises of your insincere actions. And when we arrived outside my parents' house after an eternity of painful silence you didn't speak merely grunted at my departure and I snuck quietly through the front door to the shower where I scrubbed until the marks from your fingernails became indistinguishable from the skin I had rubbed raw until it bled trying to convince myself that I had eliminated all the remnants of your scent and the dirt from your actions. But I never called it ****
0
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
I Never Called It ****
I never called it **** the events of the night the gin had made us hazy and the drugs had us reckless. The half hour you spent strumming me like some pawn shop guitar Suffocating me in the sheets which were covered in the filth of your former lovers. I never called it **** The way your hands had rudely ripped my previously untouched skin and your mouth devoured my innocent lips. Never thought much of the way you had told me to be quiet while I whispered for you to stop because I'd never done this before and it was painful and I wept. Because you had warned that I would wake the others and I was embarrassed and you had made me ***** I never called it **** Never let the repetition of your phrases sink in too much as you told me it was fine and it was okay that I'd like it. I never thought too hard. Because you moved too fast and the room was spinning and I gave in to waiting for it to be over. And when you had gotten too tired of hearing me whimper and my pleading had become obnoxious you sighed an angry **** this" and stomped off to the bathroom to finish yourself, after commanding I put my clothes back on, And find somewhere else to sleep, I stumbled across your ***** basement to where the others slept and collapsed hiding silently in the sinkholes of your couch, Listening to your grunts before the light came on and you passed out avoiding the stains of my youth on your sheets. And I never called it **** In the morning you drove me home making little effort to hide your disgust in my failure to get you off While I looked out the car window at all the houses I had grown up next to, None of which looked familiar any more attempted to ignore the stinging of the poisonous scars you had left behind pretending that my body wasn't covered in the scratches and bruises of your insincere actions. And when we arrived outside my parents' house after an eternity of painful silence you didn't speak merely grunted at my departure and I snuck quietly through the front door to the shower where I scrubbed until the marks from your fingernails became indistinguishable from the skin I had rubbed raw until it bled trying to convince myself that I had eliminated all the remnants of your scent and the dirt from your actions. But I never called it ****
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58
★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪ The Baby-Hole, her baby-hole! Turn back before you lose your soul. Those walls of pink, those gates of pearl grant entrance to each boy and girl who come through this organic portal: newly-born and merely mortal. Mystery to be dignified— explored, adored, objectified: the baby-hole’s expanding chasm, promising celestial spasm, is limned in deliquescent love and fits the soul as hand in glove. Beware her tantalizing pull where poetry turns vaginal. From depths profound, God can create (where man would merely ********** hitting Mother Nature’s high note as the gamete turns to zygote). Semi-seconds’ spurting passion years of living baby fashion. After pleasure’s jest, gestation thus augments the population; teenage dads recalibrate, unsure just what to celebrate. Yet, if they knew the daring risk their ***** endure, they’d slip a disc; to realize what threatening odds confront these flagellated gods: (see Luke in Star Wars, [number IV] battling fascists in the war alone in the zone to shoot the shot that blows the death star up. Let’s not miss out on noting, in this theme, life’s true conception. So the team of X-wing pilots flew the run, eliminated one by one save Luke, who penetrated deep the death-star’s ovulated keep and overcame the egg’s defense and hit the mark. It all makes sense. The spheroid bursting in his sight depicts Conception's glorious might). Therefore, show the matrix honor. Shoot and leave—your star’s a goner: nurture growth while life allows you, while your star can still espouse you. Seek her core of hidden gnosis don’t just set off cell mitosis… not, that is, unless you are sure that the three of you won’t end up poor.
0
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
View from the Mortal Portal
★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪ The Baby-Hole, her baby-hole! Turn back before you lose your soul. Those walls of pink, those gates of pearl grant entrance to each boy and girl who come through this organic portal: newly-born and merely mortal. Mystery to be dignified— explored, adored, objectified: the baby-hole’s expanding chasm, promising celestial spasm, is limned in deliquescent love and fits the soul as hand in glove. Beware her tantalizing pull where poetry turns vaginal. From depths profound, God can create (where man would merely ********** hitting Mother Nature’s high note as the gamete turns to zygote). Semi-seconds’ spurting passion years of living baby fashion. After pleasure’s jest, gestation thus augments the population; teenage dads recalibrate, unsure just what to celebrate. Yet, if they knew the daring risk their ***** endure, they’d slip a disc; to realize what threatening odds confront these flagellated gods: (see Luke in Star Wars, [number IV] battling fascists in the war alone in the zone to shoot the shot that blows the death star up. Let’s not miss out on noting, in this theme, life’s true conception. So the team of X-wing pilots flew the run, eliminated one by one save Luke, who penetrated deep the death-star’s ovulated keep and overcame the egg’s defense and hit the mark. It all makes sense. The spheroid bursting in his sight depicts Conception's glorious might). Therefore, show the matrix honor. Shoot and leave—your star’s a goner: nurture growth while life allows you, while your star can still espouse you. Seek her core of hidden gnosis don’t just set off cell mitosis… not, that is, unless you are sure that the three of you won’t end up poor.
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Each one of us are suspect The trick is how are we going to connect For which we aim victory and do teamwork But betrayed by the low ping of network Choose room if it is public or private Use map for the ship to navigate Impostors sneaked up on a vent Took a moment to **** the innocent It's where we learn to pretend Laugh 'til the end, Learn for yourself to defend Be wise for which your victory depend Call emergency meetings to discuss One of us will be eliminated Five, Four, Three, Two, One SHHHHHHH! you disconnected http://stalwartdull-thoughts.blogspot.com/2020/09/among-us.html
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Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 8:34 PM UTC
Among Us