"exceptions" poems - Hello Poetry

"exceptions" poems

self-congratulatory nonsense as the famous gather to applaud their seeming greatness you wonder where the real ones are what giant cave hides them as the deathly talentless bow to accolades as the fools are fooled again you wonder where the real ones are if there are real ones. this self-congratulatory nonsense has lasted decades and with some exceptions centuries. this is so dreary is so absolutely pitiless it churns the gut to powder shackles hope it makes little things like pulling up a shade or putting on your shoes or walking out on the street more difficult near damnable as the famous gather to applaud their seeming greatness as the fools are fooled again humanity you sick ************

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Charles Bukowski

self-congratulatory nonsense as the famous gather to applaud their seeming greatness you wonder where the real ones are what giant cave hides them as the deathly talentless bow to accolades as the fools are fooled again you wonder where the real ones are if there are real ones. this self-congratulatory nonsense has lasted decades and with some exceptions centuries. this is so dreary is so absolutely pitiless it churns the gut to powder shackles hope it makes little things like pulling up a shade or putting on your shoes or walking out on the street more difficult near damnable as the famous gather to applaud their seeming greatness as the fools are fooled again humanity you sick ************

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Anything that makes noise Should not be done on a Sunday. Don’t mow the lawn, Don’t vacuum your home. Respect the stillness that is meant to be. There are but few exceptions (However, your yard work and Home improvement projects are not included). The birds singing, for example. Or the sound of breakfast sizzling Or the whisper of coffee pouring. The loudest thing that should be heard Is the laughter of company. Family and friends are what the day is for. If you don’t have those, then meet a stranger So that next week, you have a friend for Sunday.

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May 18, 2014

May 18, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC

Anything that makes noise Should not be done on a Sunday. Don’t mow the lawn, Don’t vacuum your home. Respect the stillness that is meant to be. There are but few exceptions (However, your yard work and Home improvement projects are not included). The birds singing, for example. Or the sound of breakfast sizzling Or the whisper of coffee pouring. The loudest thing that should be heard Is the laughter of company. Family and friends are what the day is for. If you don’t have those, then meet a stranger So that next week, you have a friend for Sunday.

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The next to empty train Roars through the mist of dawn As it passes the lakes and elves The dark and mystic pines -forests that once told of horrors To keep the ones like me From crossing the line- This box, this crate A testament of the modern man To whom which it serves It is somewhat of a time traveller When it breezes the land That years have made its own And yet there are scenes from my window That I know are proofs Of exceptions to the rule that reads, “time will take its toll” All the brooks and oaks And even more so Every bolder and stone Convinces my heart and soul That I need not be marred and scorned Broken and torn By the thistles and thorns And all the bourdons that the lions Of this glass world Convict me to ***** Since there is a side To the manic and indecisive puzzle that is I A side of realism and cynicism Thus I am well aware of my mortality And the scarcity of the time that is mine My existence is an indirect unwritten vow To never bend my back and bow To never fall in line And receive my share of coals To fuel this machine down the rusty tracks In a race against nature or God A race to prove one or the other Or even both wrong A race we’ve already lost

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Sep 20, 2012

Sep 20, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC

tobias-engkvist

The next to empty train Roars through the mist of dawn As it passes the lakes and elves The dark and mystic pines -forests that once told of horrors To keep the ones like me From crossing the line- This box, this crate A testament of the modern man To whom which it serves It is somewhat of a time traveller When it breezes the land That years have made its own And yet there are scenes from my window That I know are proofs Of exceptions to the rule that reads, “time will take its toll” All the brooks and oaks And even more so Every bolder and stone Convinces my heart and soul That I need not be marred and scorned Broken and torn By the thistles and thorns And all the bourdons that the lions Of this glass world Convict me to ***** Since there is a side To the manic and indecisive puzzle that is I A side of realism and cynicism Thus I am well aware of my mortality And the scarcity of the time that is mine My existence is an indirect unwritten vow To never bend my back and bow To never fall in line And receive my share of coals To fuel this machine down the rusty tracks In a race against nature or God A race to prove one or the other Or even both wrong A race we’ve already lost

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When the chaos broke out, I just ran and shouted; without knowing where to go, much less who to call. There weren't lights in the streets. The houses catching fire was what lit me up. So, decided to sit down and wait for my awful destiny, he arose from the floor, grabbed my hand and took me away. Sofia was saved too. She was afraid. We all were, but he wasn't… He promised to save us and he bravely did, shedding his own blood. We used to be just children, but now that's not important. They want to change us and hurt us, and now… nothing is important. The weren't exceptions. If you were human, you would have to rebel. When the disorder was over, we just wanted to come back home. However, we had no more home and we were no more children.

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May 10, 2014

May 10, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC

First Rebellion

When the chaos broke out, I just ran and shouted; without knowing where to go, much less who to call. There weren't lights in the streets. The houses catching fire was what lit me up. So, decided to sit down and wait for my awful destiny, he arose from the floor, grabbed my hand and took me away. Sofia was saved too. She was afraid. We all were, but he wasn't… He promised to save us and he bravely did, shedding his own blood. We used to be just children, but now that's not important. They want to change us and hurt us, and now… nothing is important. The weren't exceptions. If you were human, you would have to rebel. When the disorder was over, we just wanted to come back home. However, we had no more home and we were no more children.

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Walls of silence, Of guarded wariness. Walls of hesitation, Of experienced caution. Walls of distrust, Of practiced isolation. Walls I put up intentionally. Walls you tore down unknowingly. Walls I found crumbled, The door of my heart opened. Walls I found breached, And you were just sitting there. Walls I had never lived without, Suddenly seemingly unneeded. Walls I was glad to let down, Until you shanked my heart. Walls I should have fortified With anger and hate and experience. Walls of "I know better." Of "There are NO exceptions to the pattern." Walls of protection, Of much needed security. Walls of insulation, Of broken-heart bandaging. Walls I won't let down again. Thanks to you, I've learned my lesson.

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May 29, 2014

May 29, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC

Walls of silence, Of guarded wariness. Walls of hesitation, Of experienced caution. Walls of distrust, Of practiced isolation. Walls I put up intentionally. Walls you tore down unknowingly. Walls I found crumbled, The door of my heart opened. Walls I found breached, And you were just sitting there. Walls I had never lived without, Suddenly seemingly unneeded. Walls I was glad to let down, Until you shanked my heart. Walls I should have fortified With anger and hate and experience. Walls of "I know better." Of "There are NO exceptions to the pattern." Walls of protection, Of much needed security. Walls of insulation, Of broken-heart bandaging. Walls I won't let down again. Thanks to you, I've learned my lesson.

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So I'm a little down. So I'm not like everyone else. So I'm battling something people don't know much about. So I'm different. So I'm "dysfunctional". So I'm not from a traditional background. So what? Does that mean, I shouldn't be allowed to attend my college? The one thing keeping me going? That I should be locked up in the loony bin? All because my brain has become numb to some pain? I've found function in my alleged dysfunction, some traditions occasionally get broken. Exceptions to the rules are made. The world is full of suffering, but it is also full of overcoming it. So where do you get off, telling me how to deal with something you've only read about in your guidance text books? Where five minutes into meeting me, that you feel the ability to dictate how I should go about my life? I've lived 20 years on this Earth without your input, sure, it hasn't been perfect, but I've made the unconventional work. I mean, ask anybody that actually knows me, if they would ever consider me "conventional". So don't sit there, and hide behind words like "I just want what's best for you", "I care about you", "I'm concerned", "Its your choice to go, but if you don't: the police will forcibly escort you, or you'll not be allowed to be in our college community." Scoffing at the word community, because whenever someone tries to use that word, usually it is about discluding people, rather than including them. "So, either be discluded now, by your 'choice', or by us making you. All the while, literally 12 hours previous, we had zero idea what was going on, or even who you were. " Seems like you really do have "my best interests at heart", huh?

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Nov 8, 2014

Nov 8, 2014 at 2:57 AM UTC

So I'm a little down. So I'm not like everyone else. So I'm battling something people don't know much about. So I'm different. So I'm "dysfunctional". So I'm not from a traditional background. So what? Does that mean, I shouldn't be allowed to attend my college? The one thing keeping me going? That I should be locked up in the loony bin? All because my brain has become numb to some pain? I've found function in my alleged dysfunction, some traditions occasionally get broken. Exceptions to the rules are made. The world is full of suffering, but it is also full of overcoming it. So where do you get off, telling me how to deal with something you've only read about in your guidance text books? Where five minutes into meeting me, that you feel the ability to dictate how I should go about my life? I've lived 20 years on this Earth without your input, sure, it hasn't been perfect, but I've made the unconventional work. I mean, ask anybody that actually knows me, if they would ever consider me "conventional". So don't sit there, and hide behind words like "I just want what's best for you", "I care about you", "I'm concerned", "Its your choice to go, but if you don't: the police will forcibly escort you, or you'll not be allowed to be in our college community." Scoffing at the word community, because whenever someone tries to use that word, usually it is about discluding people, rather than including them. "So, either be discluded now, by your 'choice', or by us making you. All the while, literally 12 hours previous, we had zero idea what was going on, or even who you were. " Seems like you really do have "my best interests at heart", huh?

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Life in Duality and Non-Duality Birth is the first gate. Death is the second gate. Between these two gates lies the path of life travelled by all sentient beings. All are born. All will die. Between death and rebirth lies the unameable state where the next life is chosen, determined by the individual Isnesses stockpile of accumulated Karmas, Good and Bad. All human beings,due to their accumulated Karmas, both Good and Bad, must pass through this unameable state and be reborn into their next life. All beings accumulated Karmas,Good and Bad, are assessed in that state and that assessment determines the next life they are reborn into. There are NO exceptions to this process ever. Karmas,Good and Bad,are accumulated in each life. Karmas ,Good and Bad,are the result of the morality of each individuals actions. Karma is of three types. Good Karma which ties each individual to the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth. Bad Karma which ties each individual to the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth. Neutral Karma is the only way that each individual to can free themselves from the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth. Both Good and Bad Karmas tie each and every human being to the endless cycle of birth,life,death and rebirth as a human being. Only Neutral Karma can free each individual from the endless cycle of birth,life ,death and rebirth as a human being. Neutral Karma is only realisable through the practise of the Six Fundamental Yogas. Neutral Karma is the only way to erase both Good and Bad Karmas. The practise of the Six Fundamental Yogas increases the BrainBloodVolume to the level of that of Foetus in the Womb,which causes the Mind and Conditioned Identity to dissolve,temporarily or permanently. Those individuals,female and male equally, whose practises of the Six Fundamental Yogas cause the Mind and Conditioned Identity to dissolve temporarily or permanently will enter into union with the Isness of the Universe as an equal,temporarily or permanently. Those individual human beings who pass their lives accumulating Good and Bad Karmas are unable to escape from the endless cycle of birth,life,death and rebirth. For the overwhelming majority of human beings who refuse to generate Neutral Karma,by practising the Six Fundamental Yogas,life can only be lived, in the state of Mind created Duality and Non-Duality. They are unable to enter into the state of union with the Isness of the Universe as an equal. The permanent feature of such a life lived in either Duality or Non-Duality is the ceaseless deep suffering of being separated from the Isness of the Universe as an equal. For those very few human beings who,through the practise of the Six Fundamental Yogas,have dissolved Mind and Conditioned Identity,permanently,life is lived in union with the Isness of the Universe as an equal. Life is lived in the state of Experiential Knowingness which is called Separate and Merged. They live out their last lives in this realm in union with Isness of the Universe as an equal. www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk .

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Sep 14, 2014

Sep 14, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC

mannley-collins

Two Gates and Karma and the Isness of the Universe

Life in Duality and Non-Duality Birth is the first gate. Death is the second gate. Between these two gates lies the path of life travelled by all sentient beings. All are born. All will die. Between death and rebirth lies the unameable state where the next life is chosen, determined by the individual Isnesses stockpile of accumulated Karmas, Good and Bad. All human beings,due to their accumulated Karmas, both Good and Bad, must pass through this unameable state and be reborn into their next life. All beings accumulated Karmas,Good and Bad, are assessed in that state and that assessment determines the next life they are reborn into. There are NO exceptions to this process ever. Karmas,Good and Bad,are accumulated in each life. Karmas ,Good and Bad,are the result of the morality of each individuals actions. Karma is of three types. Good Karma which ties each individual to the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth. Bad Karma which ties each individual to the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth. Neutral Karma is the only way that each individual to can free themselves from the Wheel of Incarnated life,death and rebirth. Both Good and Bad Karmas tie each and every human being to the endless cycle of birth,life,death and rebirth as a human being. Only Neutral Karma can free each individual from the endless cycle of birth,life ,death and rebirth as a human being. Neutral Karma is only realisable through the practise of the Six Fundamental Yogas. Neutral Karma is the only way to erase both Good and Bad Karmas. The practise of the Six Fundamental Yogas increases the BrainBloodVolume to the level of that of Foetus in the Womb,which causes the Mind and Conditioned Identity to dissolve,temporarily or permanently. Those individuals,female and male equally, whose practises of the Six Fundamental Yogas cause the Mind and Conditioned Identity to dissolve temporarily or permanently will enter into union with the Isness of the Universe as an equal,temporarily or permanently. Those individual human beings who pass their lives accumulating Good and Bad Karmas are unable to escape from the endless cycle of birth,life,death and rebirth. For the overwhelming majority of human beings who refuse to generate Neutral Karma,by practising the Six Fundamental Yogas,life can only be lived, in the state of Mind created Duality and Non-Duality. They are unable to enter into the state of union with the Isness of the Universe as an equal. The permanent feature of such a life lived in either Duality or Non-Duality is the ceaseless deep suffering of being separated from the Isness of the Universe as an equal. For those very few human beings who,through the practise of the Six Fundamental Yogas,have dissolved Mind and Conditioned Identity,permanently,life is lived in union with the Isness of the Universe as an equal. Life is lived in the state of Experiential Knowingness which is called Separate and Merged. They live out their last lives in this realm in union with Isness of the Universe as an equal. www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk .

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(an ekphrastic poem based on the painting Nighthawks by Edward Hopper) Four solemn faces, doused in gold, like moths to flame, seek warmth from the cold. Darkness leers, but harsh light shields these lonely creatures from their feelings untold. One diner desolate, a waiter old, and three weary visitors are portrayed. The scene unfolds. Most eat under the sunlight, unlike these nighthawks who flocked from their households. Some loneliness darkens hearts like blindfolds; nighthawks’ hearts aren’t exceptions. The woman red and bold, the man in shadows, and another man with a cigarette in his hold are isolated together. They are controlled and defined by solitude. They don’t belong. No mold fits them. They only have a diner, each other, and lonesome souls unconsoled.

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Jun 2, 2018

Jun 2, 2018 at 1:33 AM UTC

Nighthawks Retold

(an ekphrastic poem based on the painting Nighthawks by Edward Hopper) Four solemn faces, doused in gold, like moths to flame, seek warmth from the cold. Darkness leers, but harsh light shields these lonely creatures from their feelings untold. One diner desolate, a waiter old, and three weary visitors are portrayed. The scene unfolds. Most eat under the sunlight, unlike these nighthawks who flocked from their households. Some loneliness darkens hearts like blindfolds; nighthawks’ hearts aren’t exceptions. The woman red and bold, the man in shadows, and another man with a cigarette in his hold are isolated together. They are controlled and defined by solitude. They don’t belong. No mold fits them. They only have a diner, each other, and lonesome souls unconsoled.

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It's well even in the land of well.. It's well even in the kingdom of well .. It's all garbage in garbage out all from garbage . Just like the name, the thoughts of many are, like in most.. it's garbage to those in the same vibration but below exceptions makes it seem godly and magnificent. I wish. I understood. things, words, language the fingers scribes some times... Trying to make sense but making nonsense, ha, I get it, sense takes one third of nonsense, twisted for the disabled. It's just too twisted for the disabled but not for the ables. Twisted....... Books.. Twisted.. Poems... Twisted.... Believes. Twisted... Unending.... Twisted scientists making clones.. Twister... Imagination... Twisted.. Flexibility... Twisted.. So they say... Anxious.. So they feel.. Unbearable. So they remain... Twisted it is and twisted it will be.. Cause, it's believed that twisted is for the unbeing.. It's the outwordly. It's the unreal.. Few escapes, the fews that grasp twisted and make it a friend and a guardian.. A partner and a mentor... Hence they sleep with twisted.. Pray with twisted.. Worship twisted.. Eat with twisted.. Eats twisted.. Marry twisted.. Bond twisted And starts delivering twisted babies.. everything rolls down with the understanding of twisted.. Never could end this infinite theorem.. cause the source is twisted and twisted is goodness and goodness is in all but all isn't in goodness... Even fates are twisted.. Cause our fates are being changed in per second not discovered yet but now or soon.. By the Steps taken... Choices made... Thoughts expressed. Thoughts conceived.. Conceived, oh, I remember a line in one of the forgeten books of agony.. Agony in processes. Agony in delivery.. Once again twisted it is. Sense is one third of nonsense.. Wakeup... Days are very slim here and nights are very colossal.. So awaken and prepare, for the rainy days might seem no end. Drought might be handy. Sorrow might be arrowed through the heart. Preparedness toughens and Patience exonerate.. Patience can be twisted with weakness, it's okay, Patience is weakness to the extent that weakness compels strength.... That's the TWIST.. Many fight to distance weakness yet run after strength but never realize that strength is the shadow to weakness. Shoma morita's.. Embrace with.. Accept it.. Adopt it.. But never tolerate it from the weak.. Else excuses will be made from it. Procrastination will be fashioned. And discouragement will be manifested.. Manifestation.. The resulting culmination of things.. Things precipitated by TWISTED... Now Wakeup. It's well even in the land of well.. It's well even in the kingdom of well .. It's all garbage in garbage out all from garbage . Just like the name, the thoughts of many are, like in most.. it's garbage to those in the same vibration but below exceptions makes it seem godly and magnificent. I wish. I understood the things, words, language the fingers scribes some times... Trying to make sense but making nonsense, ha, I get it, sense takes one third of nonsense, twisted for the disabled. It's just too twisted for the disabled but not for the ables. Twisted....... Books.. Twisted.. Poems... Twisted.... Believes. Twisted... Unending.... Twisted scientists making clones.. Twister... Imagination... Twisted.. Flexibility... Twisted.. So they say... Anxious.. So they feel.. Unbearable. So they remain... Twisted it is and twisted it will be.. Cause, it's believed that twisted is for the unbeing.. Is the outwordly. Is the unreal.. Escapes. Few escapes, the fews that grasp twisted and make it a friend and a guardian.. A partner and a mentor... Hence they sleep with twisted.. Pray with twisted.. Worship twisted.. Eat with twisted.. Eats twisted.. Marry twisted.. Bond twisted And starts delivering twisted babies.. everything rolls down with the understanding of twisted.. Never could end this infinite theorem.. cause the source is twisted and twisted is goodness and goodness is in all but all isn't in goodness... Even fates are twisted.. Cause our fates are being changed in per second not discovered yet but now or soon.. By Steps taken... Choices made... Thoughts expressed. Thoughts conceived.. Conceived, oh, I remember a line in one of the forgeten books of agony.. Agony in processes. Agony in delivery.. Once again twisted it is. Sense is one third of nonsense.. Wakeup... Days are very slim here and nights are very colossal.. So awaken and prepare, for the rainy days might seem no end. Drought might be handy. Sorrow might be arrowed through the heart. Preparedness toughens and Patience exonerate.. Patience can be twisted with weakness, it's okay, Patience is weakness to the extent that weakness compels strength.... That's the TWIST.. Many fight to distance weakness yet run after strength but never realize that strength is the shadow to weakness. Shoma morita's.. Embrace with.. Accept it.. Adopt it.. But never tolerate it from the weak.. Else, excuses will be made from it. Procrastination will be fashioned. And discouragement will be manifested.. Manifestation.. The resulting culmination of things.. Things precipitated by TWISTED... Now Wakeup.

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Jul 10, 2023

Jul 10, 2023 at 5:43 PM UTC

It's well even in the land of well.. It's well even in the kingdom of well .. It's all garbage in garbage out all from garbage . Just like the name, the thoughts of many are, like in most.. it's garbage to those in the same vibration but below exceptions makes it seem godly and magnificent. I wish. I understood. things, words, language the fingers scribes some times... Trying to make sense but making nonsense, ha, I get it, sense takes one third of nonsense, twisted for the disabled. It's just too twisted for the disabled but not for the ables. Twisted....... Books.. Twisted.. Poems... Twisted.... Believes. Twisted... Unending.... Twisted scientists making clones.. Twister... Imagination... Twisted.. Flexibility... Twisted.. So they say... Anxious.. So they feel.. Unbearable. So they remain... Twisted it is and twisted it will be.. Cause, it's believed that twisted is for the unbeing.. It's the outwordly. It's the unreal.. Few escapes, the fews that grasp twisted and make it a friend and a guardian.. A partner and a mentor... Hence they sleep with twisted.. Pray with twisted.. Worship twisted.. Eat with twisted.. Eats twisted.. Marry twisted.. Bond twisted And starts delivering twisted babies.. everything rolls down with the understanding of twisted.. Never could end this infinite theorem.. cause the source is twisted and twisted is goodness and goodness is in all but all isn't in goodness... Even fates are twisted.. Cause our fates are being changed in per second not discovered yet but now or soon.. By the Steps taken... Choices made... Thoughts expressed. Thoughts conceived.. Conceived, oh, I remember a line in one of the forgeten books of agony.. Agony in processes. Agony in delivery.. Once again twisted it is. Sense is one third of nonsense.. Wakeup... Days are very slim here and nights are very colossal.. So awaken and prepare, for the rainy days might seem no end. Drought might be handy. Sorrow might be arrowed through the heart. Preparedness toughens and Patience exonerate.. Patience can be twisted with weakness, it's okay, Patience is weakness to the extent that weakness compels strength.... That's the TWIST.. Many fight to distance weakness yet run after strength but never realize that strength is the shadow to weakness. Shoma morita's.. Embrace with.. Accept it.. Adopt it.. But never tolerate it from the weak.. Else excuses will be made from it. Procrastination will be fashioned. And discouragement will be manifested.. Manifestation.. The resulting culmination of things.. Things precipitated by TWISTED... Now Wakeup. It's well even in the land of well.. It's well even in the kingdom of well .. It's all garbage in garbage out all from garbage . Just like the name, the thoughts of many are, like in most.. it's garbage to those in the same vibration but below exceptions makes it seem godly and magnificent. I wish. I understood the things, words, language the fingers scribes some times... Trying to make sense but making nonsense, ha, I get it, sense takes one third of nonsense, twisted for the disabled. It's just too twisted for the disabled but not for the ables. Twisted....... Books.. Twisted.. Poems... Twisted.... Believes. Twisted... Unending.... Twisted scientists making clones.. Twister... Imagination... Twisted.. Flexibility... Twisted.. So they say... Anxious.. So they feel.. Unbearable. So they remain... Twisted it is and twisted it will be.. Cause, it's believed that twisted is for the unbeing.. Is the outwordly. Is the unreal.. Escapes. Few escapes, the fews that grasp twisted and make it a friend and a guardian.. A partner and a mentor... Hence they sleep with twisted.. Pray with twisted.. Worship twisted.. Eat with twisted.. Eats twisted.. Marry twisted.. Bond twisted And starts delivering twisted babies.. everything rolls down with the understanding of twisted.. Never could end this infinite theorem.. cause the source is twisted and twisted is goodness and goodness is in all but all isn't in goodness... Even fates are twisted.. Cause our fates are being changed in per second not discovered yet but now or soon.. By Steps taken... Choices made... Thoughts expressed. Thoughts conceived.. Conceived, oh, I remember a line in one of the forgeten books of agony.. Agony in processes. Agony in delivery.. Once again twisted it is. Sense is one third of nonsense.. Wakeup... Days are very slim here and nights are very colossal.. So awaken and prepare, for the rainy days might seem no end. Drought might be handy. Sorrow might be arrowed through the heart. Preparedness toughens and Patience exonerate.. Patience can be twisted with weakness, it's okay, Patience is weakness to the extent that weakness compels strength.... That's the TWIST.. Many fight to distance weakness yet run after strength but never realize that strength is the shadow to weakness. Shoma morita's.. Embrace with.. Accept it.. Adopt it.. But never tolerate it from the weak.. Else, excuses will be made from it. Procrastination will be fashioned. And discouragement will be manifested.. Manifestation.. The resulting culmination of things.. Things precipitated by TWISTED... Now Wakeup.

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Day One: A voice speaks to me. When you realize that being lost is so close to being found, you see a sea of family members plagued within the lineage of licentious newborns and hospital beds. You become yourself, a lisp. Day Two: Long ago in a city left unscorned he was torn, from the cokeheads and colorful regimes, angels sing long songs of separation anxiety and **** withdrawal. I was torn from the deadbeats of supposed society and three day vicodin trips into my mind. So can you let me know when I get there? ‘Cause I left there running…I wonder, did someone ever tell you that two strangers could twist around your neck at beck and that three parked cars and seventeen lonely nights could haunt you for the rest of your faces. Day Three: Tell me of your drug induced hallucinations. Day Four: Wait. Hear. Can’t you listen to the relapse? Stop, think. No. gone. Left. Love. Return. My curious addiction. Go back into yourself and listen. Can’t you hear your soul call to me? It’s loud. Day Five: I remember prizes at the bottoms of cereal boxes, right before the net broke. Will you be first? Snap back to reality. It’s dark in here. Wretch from me… I am crying, screaming, haha! I’m melting inside! Day Six: By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower, but the seed inside Caked over in grief, we are not plates that match. But fools of folly caught in a sea of coke and disillusioned discord. Speed stands between directing and orders to death’s soldiers. Day Seven: The difference between God and his counterpart is that he makes exceptions! Except me. Day Eight: Accept me! Please. Wait. No. don’t slow, speed. I can only take so much forgiveness, is a decision, and I cannot make it. I am without it, leave me breathless. Day Nine: The angel of death waits He comes for me, but I am running, finding, hiding my inner Nemo in the hands of oxycodon, privileged in the amenities of amphetamines. I am tired of running! Haggard. Take away my hands, my restraints. Let me feel again. Please. Day Ten: I am awake. There is an apple in my field of vision. Kiss it. Love it. Take it to hedonism and back again. But it knows too much. So tell it everything will be ok. It lives in epilepsy. So placate it. Resurrect my apocalypse.

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Jul 31, 2013

Jul 31, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC

Day One: A voice speaks to me. When you realize that being lost is so close to being found, you see a sea of family members plagued within the lineage of licentious newborns and hospital beds. You become yourself, a lisp. Day Two: Long ago in a city left unscorned he was torn, from the cokeheads and colorful regimes, angels sing long songs of separation anxiety and **** withdrawal. I was torn from the deadbeats of supposed society and three day vicodin trips into my mind. So can you let me know when I get there? ‘Cause I left there running…I wonder, did someone ever tell you that two strangers could twist around your neck at beck and that three parked cars and seventeen lonely nights could haunt you for the rest of your faces. Day Three: Tell me of your drug induced hallucinations. Day Four: Wait. Hear. Can’t you listen to the relapse? Stop, think. No. gone. Left. Love. Return. My curious addiction. Go back into yourself and listen. Can’t you hear your soul call to me? It’s loud. Day Five: I remember prizes at the bottoms of cereal boxes, right before the net broke. Will you be first? Snap back to reality. It’s dark in here. Wretch from me… I am crying, screaming, haha! I’m melting inside! Day Six: By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower, but the seed inside Caked over in grief, we are not plates that match. But fools of folly caught in a sea of coke and disillusioned discord. Speed stands between directing and orders to death’s soldiers. Day Seven: The difference between God and his counterpart is that he makes exceptions! Except me. Day Eight: Accept me! Please. Wait. No. don’t slow, speed. I can only take so much forgiveness, is a decision, and I cannot make it. I am without it, leave me breathless. Day Nine: The angel of death waits He comes for me, but I am running, finding, hiding my inner Nemo in the hands of oxycodon, privileged in the amenities of amphetamines. I am tired of running! Haggard. Take away my hands, my restraints. Let me feel again. Please. Day Ten: I am awake. There is an apple in my field of vision. Kiss it. Love it. Take it to hedonism and back again. But it knows too much. So tell it everything will be ok. It lives in epilepsy. So placate it. Resurrect my apocalypse.

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Trust That I take you With No exceptions No conditions

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Mar 30, 2014

Mar 30, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC

u r my flawed perfection

Trust That I take you With No exceptions No conditions

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My daughter will not crawl from crib to tanning bed. She will learn the terms “unnattainable beauty standards” before she learns the alphabet. She will never compare herself to anyone. She will never compare herself to Britney, Christina, Selena. She will never compare herself to Cinderella, Ariel, Belle, Hell. No. She will never aspire to be the sultry *** kitten taking seductive showers in shampoo commercials. No. My daughter will be named Venus. The goddess of love, beauty, fertility, The most beautiful woman I ever saw. She is plump, fullfigured barebreasted wide hipped with curly hair covered mons Goddess. My daughter will grow up to be ****** poisonously beautiful With long locks of goldenrodred hair, like her mother. Greyblueblack eyes and shoulder freckles, like her father. And if I can never become pregnant, my sisters daughters will be my daughters skin the color of cinnamon or chocolate, or vanilla ice cream and just as sweet. Men, women, boys, girls will pine over her, fall in love with her radiating skin that will never look photoshopped, but always real. As if the sun came down from the sky to give her the glow of all the light in the universe. She will love her body the way that my mother taught me to love mine. I will show her pictures of Whoopi Goldberg and America Ferrera and Margaret Cho and Marilyn Monroe And she will know that beauty is not a synonym for skinny. Beauty is not a synonym for **** Beauty is not defined by size or color or texture, no. It is defined by how she distributes her love and light to everyone she meets. no exceptions. and she will never doubt that she is lovely.

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Sep 2, 2011

Sep 2, 2011 at 11:47 AM UTC

michelle-reicks

My daughter will not crawl from crib to tanning bed. She will learn the terms “unnattainable beauty standards” before she learns the alphabet. She will never compare herself to anyone. She will never compare herself to Britney, Christina, Selena. She will never compare herself to Cinderella, Ariel, Belle, Hell. No. She will never aspire to be the sultry *** kitten taking seductive showers in shampoo commercials. No. My daughter will be named Venus. The goddess of love, beauty, fertility, The most beautiful woman I ever saw. She is plump, fullfigured barebreasted wide hipped with curly hair covered mons Goddess. My daughter will grow up to be ****** poisonously beautiful With long locks of goldenrodred hair, like her mother. Greyblueblack eyes and shoulder freckles, like her father. And if I can never become pregnant, my sisters daughters will be my daughters skin the color of cinnamon or chocolate, or vanilla ice cream and just as sweet. Men, women, boys, girls will pine over her, fall in love with her radiating skin that will never look photoshopped, but always real. As if the sun came down from the sky to give her the glow of all the light in the universe. She will love her body the way that my mother taught me to love mine. I will show her pictures of Whoopi Goldberg and America Ferrera and Margaret Cho and Marilyn Monroe And she will know that beauty is not a synonym for skinny. Beauty is not a synonym for **** Beauty is not defined by size or color or texture, no. It is defined by how she distributes her love and light to everyone she meets. no exceptions. and she will never doubt that she is lovely.

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by J.M. Romig, Ryan P. Kinney, Morgann Blackwood, and Aaron Kasunic Here’s to vices and virtues To living without apologies or regrets To breaking in order to heal This old bird no longer caged She gets to look on the other side of the bars this time He gets another stumble in the hallway A headfirst dive into a bottle of pills Purple sharks and goats That glow in the dark Banana dimpled belugas Swimming wildly asunder Then I met God The most beautiful of all my conquests I knew no one else would quite match up to her Her hair in the porch light Looked like the thunder god had an ****** Her face still cannot be manifest This woman, The most beautiful thing I’ve seen She lingers in my conscious And has a major role to play in what will be my swan song If experience has taught me anything (an unlikely assumption) It is that if a woman ever tells you -Straight up- That she is a ***** She is not lying There are exceptions to that rule As I myself am quite exceptional

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Dec 18, 2015

Dec 18, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC

by J.M. Romig, Ryan P. Kinney, Morgann Blackwood, and Aaron Kasunic Here’s to vices and virtues To living without apologies or regrets To breaking in order to heal This old bird no longer caged She gets to look on the other side of the bars this time He gets another stumble in the hallway A headfirst dive into a bottle of pills Purple sharks and goats That glow in the dark Banana dimpled belugas Swimming wildly asunder Then I met God The most beautiful of all my conquests I knew no one else would quite match up to her Her hair in the porch light Looked like the thunder god had an ****** Her face still cannot be manifest This woman, The most beautiful thing I’ve seen She lingers in my conscious And has a major role to play in what will be my swan song If experience has taught me anything (an unlikely assumption) It is that if a woman ever tells you -Straight up- That she is a ***** She is not lying There are exceptions to that rule As I myself am quite exceptional

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Life is a code It's within us and outside of us. Above us and Below us. We're one of a collective consciousness As one giant code. Our codes are like butterfly effects that ripples away thru the fabric of reality that loads... We're like electricity that powers the circuit boards. We're like an ipaddress that connects thru the gateway that glows. We're interconnected as one as the energy flows. Our functions are like c codes, like our genetic code. We're programmers of our reality that select stars where the thought goes.. Our limitation is our perception of the code. Our friends are like classes of our codes. Our mistakes are part of the system that Manipulates our codes. Some exceptions are caught by our download... When zero's and ones are connected we give birth to a new code. When the program completes its self, it's time to go. But some of us might exit and some of us will just reload............

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Feb 3, 2017

Feb 3, 2017 at 1:46 AM UTC

stephen-leacock

Life is a code It's within us and outside of us. Above us and Below us. We're one of a collective consciousness As one giant code. Our codes are like butterfly effects that ripples away thru the fabric of reality that loads... We're like electricity that powers the circuit boards. We're like an ipaddress that connects thru the gateway that glows. We're interconnected as one as the energy flows. Our functions are like c codes, like our genetic code. We're programmers of our reality that select stars where the thought goes.. Our limitation is our perception of the code. Our friends are like classes of our codes. Our mistakes are part of the system that Manipulates our codes. Some exceptions are caught by our download... When zero's and ones are connected we give birth to a new code. When the program completes its self, it's time to go. But some of us might exit and some of us will just reload............

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Stress so bad It's got you puking And now you're losing your hair What's this? Didn't know stress could do that Oh, now you're puking in the toilet again Got another fever What's this? It feels like appendicitis Didn't know stress could do that How did you get yourself in this mess You can't believe this Should I spell it out for you Because if I tell you what it is You going to go insane Because you know it's true This doesn't happen to you This isn't happening to you What's this? Crying and laughing at the same time Turning around breaking things in anger Falling on you're knees Alone in your room Curling up into a ball Tearing up all day and night Why are you laughing You don't know why You feel like you're brain is fried Oh, now you're crying again You don't sleep any more You know this isn't right What makes you think you should go against your gut this time You promised you'd always listen No exceptions You're blind You love him too much It doesn't matter that he's been your friend for years too You know this ain't right You ******* know it Now you're in denial You've made every excuse for him You answer his every whim He's got you controlled in fear You're afraid to lose him So you listen to every crazy whim Not doing yourself any favors You ain't doing him any either Children need to be taught Wrong and right No matter how old they are Should you be ashamed? Think you like it In some twisted sense You think you deserve it Now you're doped up on Xanax You had some wine too So desperate It's all you had Want to be knocked out Because it stops the thinking To take away all the stress You could barely breathe Drinking with your meds That aren't even yours But now you need them Because now you feel like fainting When you think Didn't know stress could do that You think you like it Hell no You don't like it But you convinced yourself otherwise But in the end That's still an excuse to protect him What are you doing So lost in those rare moments Of what he used to be Still is Behind it all That's him Not this It's a broken record Same two songs over and over It's a game for how long each side lasts Pretty soon he'll hit you You know this You know it That's why you just had a mental breakdown 'Cause you know what's next Cause you're blind You know the truth You just don't want to look at it I just want my sanity back But I won't leave Not without you

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Oct 16, 2015

Oct 16, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC

Not Without You

Stress so bad It's got you puking And now you're losing your hair What's this? Didn't know stress could do that Oh, now you're puking in the toilet again Got another fever What's this? It feels like appendicitis Didn't know stress could do that How did you get yourself in this mess You can't believe this Should I spell it out for you Because if I tell you what it is You going to go insane Because you know it's true This doesn't happen to you This isn't happening to you What's this? Crying and laughing at the same time Turning around breaking things in anger Falling on you're knees Alone in your room Curling up into a ball Tearing up all day and night Why are you laughing You don't know why You feel like you're brain is fried Oh, now you're crying again You don't sleep any more You know this isn't right What makes you think you should go against your gut this time You promised you'd always listen No exceptions You're blind You love him too much It doesn't matter that he's been your friend for years too You know this ain't right You ******* know it Now you're in denial You've made every excuse for him You answer his every whim He's got you controlled in fear You're afraid to lose him So you listen to every crazy whim Not doing yourself any favors You ain't doing him any either Children need to be taught Wrong and right No matter how old they are Should you be ashamed? Think you like it In some twisted sense You think you deserve it Now you're doped up on Xanax You had some wine too So desperate It's all you had Want to be knocked out Because it stops the thinking To take away all the stress You could barely breathe Drinking with your meds That aren't even yours But now you need them Because now you feel like fainting When you think Didn't know stress could do that You think you like it Hell no You don't like it But you convinced yourself otherwise But in the end That's still an excuse to protect him What are you doing So lost in those rare moments Of what he used to be Still is Behind it all That's him Not this It's a broken record Same two songs over and over It's a game for how long each side lasts Pretty soon he'll hit you You know this You know it That's why you just had a mental breakdown 'Cause you know what's next Cause you're blind You know the truth You just don't want to look at it I just want my sanity back But I won't leave Not without you

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Dear Ms. Di Prima, I really, Really, Think that Alchemy—Alchemy--Al-Chem-EEEEE Is a Nifty Topic. But, My mother has a ring Of gold. Standard Gold, No lead. None. Or had, Until our house was B-R-O / K-E / N Into By some lowlife scumbag with Too much ability And Not enough intelligence. With Alchemy I could make a shitload Of Gold (wasn't that the point?), Provided I had the Lead, And not that IMPOSTER Crap in pencils (Graphite. My childhood was a shambles.). But it's only valuable Because We're willing to pay so much. Like with Diamonds. Or Japanese Akita. Or Wagyū. It's not a lie. Just a trick. Making you think you want things that you don't need because it helps someone else who you've never met make more money than they'd ever be able to use in a legitimate way (HOOKERS AND BLOW). All of these things are synthetic. With the exceptions of Gold And Graphite. So, Maybe, Alchemy did work out alright, Just not in the anticipated way. We can make all sorts of things. But they become coveted only when they exist. Just ask Swipey McStickyfingers. It actually wasn't gold. You just got a bunch of painted junk, And passports. No rubies. We weren't international crooks, Renowned and beloved By jealous zealots. It was purely sentimental. But you can't understand. You can't fondly look at the earrings as the last reminder of a deceased parent. You can't flip through the identification booklet and be flooded with memories of your first trip out of the country. You ****** You can't even cash the savings bonds that were bought to put someone through college. No. He got a box of documents and some cheap jewelery. But still. Probably called for celebration. A successful heist Because his brain is still in his head. We create people as well as objects. Ms. Di Prima, In the end, Some people will always be Clasping ********

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Dec 27, 2011

Dec 27, 2011 at 6:38 PM UTC

Response to Diane Di Prima's Paracelsus: and Ending with the Same Last Line of Charles Bukowski's I Am Visited by an Editor and a Poet

Dear Ms. Di Prima, I really, Really, Think that Alchemy—Alchemy--Al-Chem-EEEEE Is a Nifty Topic. But, My mother has a ring Of gold. Standard Gold, No lead. None. Or had, Until our house was B-R-O / K-E / N Into By some lowlife scumbag with Too much ability And Not enough intelligence. With Alchemy I could make a shitload Of Gold (wasn't that the point?), Provided I had the Lead, And not that IMPOSTER Crap in pencils (Graphite. My childhood was a shambles.). But it's only valuable Because We're willing to pay so much. Like with Diamonds. Or Japanese Akita. Or Wagyū. It's not a lie. Just a trick. Making you think you want things that you don't need because it helps someone else who you've never met make more money than they'd ever be able to use in a legitimate way (HOOKERS AND BLOW). All of these things are synthetic. With the exceptions of Gold And Graphite. So, Maybe, Alchemy did work out alright, Just not in the anticipated way. We can make all sorts of things. But they become coveted only when they exist. Just ask Swipey McStickyfingers. It actually wasn't gold. You just got a bunch of painted junk, And passports. No rubies. We weren't international crooks, Renowned and beloved By jealous zealots. It was purely sentimental. But you can't understand. You can't fondly look at the earrings as the last reminder of a deceased parent. You can't flip through the identification booklet and be flooded with memories of your first trip out of the country. You ****** You can't even cash the savings bonds that were bought to put someone through college. No. He got a box of documents and some cheap jewelery. But still. Probably called for celebration. A successful heist Because his brain is still in his head. We create people as well as objects. Ms. Di Prima, In the end, Some people will always be Clasping ********

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*love is a rhythm i choose not to edit burning serpents in syncopated tones stolen vibrations from conquered nations i am amazed at slavery's undertones doomsday hypothesis insufferable hypocrisy is this the way we are meant to perceive reality's final throes perhaps a last attempt at infatuation another insurgency toward our situation there is music in the millipedes 1,000 feet stomping on the hot pavement midday heat is burning the gentlest of trees and yet saving lives of anteaters in need grief is complete and not wasted never jumbled by threads of frailty insipid lipids deftly crawl upon caterpillars shoulders starry eyed soldiers sold to the streets in shivering brokenness i am madness incarnate the west is a spectacle of insubstantial lunacy if you wish to conquer this reality  open your heart and kiss the feet of kindness blindness is worshipped as if it was wisdom sincere victims of another’s prison simpler lives define simpler times keepers of the rhythm keepers of the rhyme i dine on salamanders and supine slivers of the moon’s heartbeat fault no one but yourself gifts are wealth i am salt and sulphur is the mother of the soul loose cannons explode she rode the wild shadows and took the backroads all the way home infinite living history his memory serving beauty forever for a lifetime i am looking for truth in shattered space and respecting the face of the ancestors self aware shades of solidarity harvested by hands made light with clarity is this music is this meaning her openness is our healing this majesty surrounds us all resolve to rise and your bound to fall small instances of randomness daily semantics are happenstance you graduate from school with a bouquet of flowers that rot in the morning’s splattering of paint as garbage heaps resist *********** issues of power and surface tension i am dreading the exceptions give love now or move out of the way stay awake and aware while sadhana is beckoning to us all*

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Feb 23, 2017

Feb 23, 2017 at 2:58 PM UTC

ganesha-michael-shapiro

love is a rhythm

*love is a rhythm i choose not to edit burning serpents in syncopated tones stolen vibrations from conquered nations i am amazed at slavery's undertones doomsday hypothesis insufferable hypocrisy is this the way we are meant to perceive reality's final throes perhaps a last attempt at infatuation another insurgency toward our situation there is music in the millipedes 1,000 feet stomping on the hot pavement midday heat is burning the gentlest of trees and yet saving lives of anteaters in need grief is complete and not wasted never jumbled by threads of frailty insipid lipids deftly crawl upon caterpillars shoulders starry eyed soldiers sold to the streets in shivering brokenness i am madness incarnate the west is a spectacle of insubstantial lunacy if you wish to conquer this reality  open your heart and kiss the feet of kindness blindness is worshipped as if it was wisdom sincere victims of another’s prison simpler lives define simpler times keepers of the rhythm keepers of the rhyme i dine on salamanders and supine slivers of the moon’s heartbeat fault no one but yourself gifts are wealth i am salt and sulphur is the mother of the soul loose cannons explode she rode the wild shadows and took the backroads all the way home infinite living history his memory serving beauty forever for a lifetime i am looking for truth in shattered space and respecting the face of the ancestors self aware shades of solidarity harvested by hands made light with clarity is this music is this meaning her openness is our healing this majesty surrounds us all resolve to rise and your bound to fall small instances of randomness daily semantics are happenstance you graduate from school with a bouquet of flowers that rot in the morning’s splattering of paint as garbage heaps resist *********** issues of power and surface tension i am dreading the exceptions give love now or move out of the way stay awake and aware while sadhana is beckoning to us all*

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i am a woman who hasn't gotten over her girlhood strifes. i am alive in conflict & chaos; when storms still i tremble. i struggle with questions of my own importance. if i am your leaning post, why do i feel so alone? i am one ocean with many seas, rivers, harbours & waterfalls - each with their own names. i am not of this realm, yet my father calls me worldly. i struggle with questions of my own identity. if everyone sees me as one solid being, why do i feel so broken? i am a lover of opposites, of balanced scales, of reflections: black & white, girls & boys, sea & sky, everything & nothing, always & never. the sometimes, the somewhat, the earth, transvestites, grey zones: they don't sit well with me. & yet i am spokesperson for the exceptions (i before e, except after c. using drugs to have *** with people is assault, except for ****** i only like to write with black pens, except when I want to use a pencil. i only drink black coffee, except when I crave a double-double. i only **** girls, except when i need a **** each girl has her own firm resolve, that is contradicted with another's opinions: my whole existence is self-hypocrisy. i struggle with questions of conflicts in my own interest. if i am decided, why do i peer with longing at the other options? i am a planner, an organizer, a sorter: i put my problems in piles. i am erratic, scatterbrained & impulsive. i use my abilities to try to outsmart my destructive tendencies; to try & balance the scales. my flighty adventures often win over my obsessive habits. i struggle with questions of my own intent. if i am scared of commitment, why do i keep promising?

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Jan 8, 2014

Jan 8, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC

here, i pose questions that i do not answer

i am a woman who hasn't gotten over her girlhood strifes. i am alive in conflict & chaos; when storms still i tremble. i struggle with questions of my own importance. if i am your leaning post, why do i feel so alone? i am one ocean with many seas, rivers, harbours & waterfalls - each with their own names. i am not of this realm, yet my father calls me worldly. i struggle with questions of my own identity. if everyone sees me as one solid being, why do i feel so broken? i am a lover of opposites, of balanced scales, of reflections: black & white, girls & boys, sea & sky, everything & nothing, always & never. the sometimes, the somewhat, the earth, transvestites, grey zones: they don't sit well with me. & yet i am spokesperson for the exceptions (i before e, except after c. using drugs to have *** with people is assault, except for ****** i only like to write with black pens, except when I want to use a pencil. i only drink black coffee, except when I crave a double-double. i only **** girls, except when i need a **** each girl has her own firm resolve, that is contradicted with another's opinions: my whole existence is self-hypocrisy. i struggle with questions of conflicts in my own interest. if i am decided, why do i peer with longing at the other options? i am a planner, an organizer, a sorter: i put my problems in piles. i am erratic, scatterbrained & impulsive. i use my abilities to try to outsmart my destructive tendencies; to try & balance the scales. my flighty adventures often win over my obsessive habits. i struggle with questions of my own intent. if i am scared of commitment, why do i keep promising?

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I make room I make time I make nothing but connection You make reason You make rhyme I make nothing but exceptions We make a fool out of me and a hero out of you So you are nothing but perfection We make excuses We make lies But they are nothing but deceptions

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May 3, 2021

May 3, 2021 at 2:18 AM UTC

eva-encarnacion

I make room I make time I make nothing but connection You make reason You make rhyme I make nothing but exceptions We make a fool out of me and a hero out of you So you are nothing but perfection We make excuses We make lies But they are nothing but deceptions

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it's funny the things you forget when asked for an 'interesting fact' -- you sleep on them for days and exhume them from the ground because they matter! so deeply!! there's no metaphor that does them justice!! it's poetry because it isn't!!! i don't know my siblings. my parents sleep in my dead grandad's bed and i received his cupboards: yeah, we're pretty much begging to be haunted. let's be positive, it'd be nice to see him again. thanks to reinforced childhood superstition, i still pick up pennies from the ground (yup, even with my germ phobia). i used to write to the tooth fairy! she warned me about gum disease. her name was tiffy, but it turned out to just be mum writing with her left hand. as an internet-addicted hermit, little me hated going abroad since the only friends i felt i had were online. there's thus a list of places to someday re-visit - rotterdam is one. i'd like to be somebody's muse. if my life plan fails, i want to work in a funeral parlour: it feels as though i'd do it justice. watching the same film more than once just isn't something i do -- except grease -- exceptions can be made when it's on TV. i mean, c'mon, it's grease.

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Apr 18, 2018

Apr 18, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC

nataliestilescarmona

parts of my life that can't be turned into poems (but i stubbornly persist)

it's funny the things you forget when asked for an 'interesting fact' -- you sleep on them for days and exhume them from the ground because they matter! so deeply!! there's no metaphor that does them justice!! it's poetry because it isn't!!! i don't know my siblings. my parents sleep in my dead grandad's bed and i received his cupboards: yeah, we're pretty much begging to be haunted. let's be positive, it'd be nice to see him again. thanks to reinforced childhood superstition, i still pick up pennies from the ground (yup, even with my germ phobia). i used to write to the tooth fairy! she warned me about gum disease. her name was tiffy, but it turned out to just be mum writing with her left hand. as an internet-addicted hermit, little me hated going abroad since the only friends i felt i had were online. there's thus a list of places to someday re-visit - rotterdam is one. i'd like to be somebody's muse. if my life plan fails, i want to work in a funeral parlour: it feels as though i'd do it justice. watching the same film more than once just isn't something i do -- except grease -- exceptions can be made when it's on TV. i mean, c'mon, it's grease.

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This land is your land, This land is my land. This land is our land, But Not a black land, Not from sea to shining sea. Attention Mexicans everywhere! This land is not your land, This land is our land, Home of the free! (Some requirements apply) God bless America, Where at least I know I'm free, Home of the ignorant, Yet land of the free, (Skin color based exceptions) Happy Happy new Year! New year to You and Me! Happy Happy new year, Except for your country, (Build the wall!) Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel, I made it out of clay, If the makers Muslim, Please don't explode I pray. Lastly, America the beautiful, As hypocritical dumpster fires tend to be.

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Jan 2, 2019

Jan 2, 2019 at 12:57 AM UTC

American Dream, well. Sorta.

This land is your land, This land is my land. This land is our land, But Not a black land, Not from sea to shining sea. Attention Mexicans everywhere! This land is not your land, This land is our land, Home of the free! (Some requirements apply) God bless America, Where at least I know I'm free, Home of the ignorant, Yet land of the free, (Skin color based exceptions) Happy Happy new Year! New year to You and Me! Happy Happy new year, Except for your country, (Build the wall!) Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel, I made it out of clay, If the makers Muslim, Please don't explode I pray. Lastly, America the beautiful, As hypocritical dumpster fires tend to be.

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Remember to breathe. It’s simple – it is. It should not be so hard but my lungs would have me suffocate If my willpower were not so sturdy, Intractable, Or merely selfish. I can’t quite decide how I feel as of yet, But everything’s changing and my willpower's spent. I hate being wrong, and despise saying please. I think begging is weak, but I’m here on my knees. “I am stubborn, conceited, I don’t need to have friends.” I tell myself daily that these are my assets. See, if I’m a freak, well at least I’m the best, And no advantage can come from a pain in my chest. Yet it might just be worth it, though it doesn't make sense, If instead day to day I can look at your face. I've never admitted defeat before, I won’t say it aloud, but this is new and I’m lost, I’m vulnerable, scared – I’m doubtful, unsure. Emotions are foreign, not of my attributes – I don’t want them to be. I don’t want to fall into The same traps that those who are ordinary do, But I suppose that there are exceptions to rules. This in no way should work - it’s dysfunctional, wrong. I’m unstable as ever, but almost feel I belong. We are both faulted in our own different ways And we feed off each other, more madness and chaos, more driving of rage. Yet dichotomy dictates that there's something in this, something so perfect which can contradict all of the pettiness, all the insane, for I've never felt more alive in my pain. It’s as if you’re the puzzle piece I didn't know I was missing, The part that completes me and fills me right up, With a feeling I knew not could ever end up Affecting or noticing someone like me, At the midst of it all I just hope that you’d be In the same situation if I told you my thoughts: As confused as I am – but could still take the lead – in short: Stay here, don’t go, I don’t want you to leave. Now I stand, close my eyes, remember to breathe.

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Apr 25, 2013

Apr 25, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC

anonymous-thanks

Remember to Breathe

Remember to breathe. It’s simple – it is. It should not be so hard but my lungs would have me suffocate If my willpower were not so sturdy, Intractable, Or merely selfish. I can’t quite decide how I feel as of yet, But everything’s changing and my willpower's spent. I hate being wrong, and despise saying please. I think begging is weak, but I’m here on my knees. “I am stubborn, conceited, I don’t need to have friends.” I tell myself daily that these are my assets. See, if I’m a freak, well at least I’m the best, And no advantage can come from a pain in my chest. Yet it might just be worth it, though it doesn't make sense, If instead day to day I can look at your face. I've never admitted defeat before, I won’t say it aloud, but this is new and I’m lost, I’m vulnerable, scared – I’m doubtful, unsure. Emotions are foreign, not of my attributes – I don’t want them to be. I don’t want to fall into The same traps that those who are ordinary do, But I suppose that there are exceptions to rules. This in no way should work - it’s dysfunctional, wrong. I’m unstable as ever, but almost feel I belong. We are both faulted in our own different ways And we feed off each other, more madness and chaos, more driving of rage. Yet dichotomy dictates that there's something in this, something so perfect which can contradict all of the pettiness, all the insane, for I've never felt more alive in my pain. It’s as if you’re the puzzle piece I didn't know I was missing, The part that completes me and fills me right up, With a feeling I knew not could ever end up Affecting or noticing someone like me, At the midst of it all I just hope that you’d be In the same situation if I told you my thoughts: As confused as I am – but could still take the lead – in short: Stay here, don’t go, I don’t want you to leave. Now I stand, close my eyes, remember to breathe.

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Numb is the one and the only unexplainable feeling Unstoppable growth through the low, lonely ceiling You need to Age-less and decide what it is you want You need to confess your clear addiction to the hunt it's 4th and very long and yet you still refuse to punt Forever distracted by the smell of another new **** Well, I want to experience life, and try almost everything But If you had to choose one, what would Santa bring It's a problem that's not solved, but hindered, by a ring It's a familiar carol, stuck in your head, everyone can sing Winters becomes spring, to summer, then falls to a fling Even the exceptions suffer an old familiar sharp sting SO live life to the fullest they will all mutter with cliche SO give to the richest while all the poor kneels to pray Get in line little Sheople because it's now time to obey Let us pine for the notion that God has instant replay Because a karma less existence creates utter dismay Truth with real consequence deviates a ghostly stay Wondering Souls wandering until the end of the day Finally found the right words...but nothing left to say

0

Aug 15, 2012

Aug 15, 2012 at 3:56 AM UTC

Numb is the one and the only unexplainable feeling Unstoppable growth through the low, lonely ceiling You need to Age-less and decide what it is you want You need to confess your clear addiction to the hunt it's 4th and very long and yet you still refuse to punt Forever distracted by the smell of another new **** Well, I want to experience life, and try almost everything But If you had to choose one, what would Santa bring It's a problem that's not solved, but hindered, by a ring It's a familiar carol, stuck in your head, everyone can sing Winters becomes spring, to summer, then falls to a fling Even the exceptions suffer an old familiar sharp sting SO live life to the fullest they will all mutter with cliche SO give to the richest while all the poor kneels to pray Get in line little Sheople because it's now time to obey Let us pine for the notion that God has instant replay Because a karma less existence creates utter dismay Truth with real consequence deviates a ghostly stay Wondering Souls wandering until the end of the day Finally found the right words...but nothing left to say

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