"excessively" poems
What's it take
These days
To write a poem
That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest
Is it those excessively long words?
The ostentatiously loquacious
Platitudinous ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?
Is it perhaps...
the "creativity"
of varied spacing
or... could it be..... the lack
of capitalization
the loathsome little letters
screaming out
hey, look at us!
... or maybe it's
the punctuation marks,
littered, haphazardly
through the text
(whether used correctly)
or, theyre not?!
despite worrds mispeled
and a grammar might is broken
can these gimmicks increase interest
though miswritten or misspoken?
Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
(or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
Praise for which we
Privately, desperately
Pray
Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism
Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes
Well, maybe not...
those gems are often ignored
cast-aside, unread, even abhorred
Why?
Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
of "the right way"
to write
to speak
to act
to live
to (fill in the blank)
No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!
And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Altered
Adjusted
Changed up way
Line
After line
Of synonyms
over
and
over
and
over
again
-----
What's it take
These days
To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?
But more importantly:
What's it take
To make my poem go viral?
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
When did I
accept desperation?
For anything you'd give
your attention
your affection
Love and tantalizing
Touch
I crave you excessively
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
I wished for you
excessively.
greedily.
immeasurably.
I craved you for days on end
and finally,
finally.
I got to see the way
your lips form around the precipice
of my name;
I felt your hand on my waist
as your touch provokes every minute nerve
in my body;
I drowned myself in the
depth of your eyes
that glisten with wonder as you
decipher
the spell you've cast upon me
and how it speaks volumes of every
fairytale ever made;
and I have had a taste of all of this
I've had you
right within my breadth,
just until the warmth
of the rising sun
kissed my eyelids awake,
like the tender whisper of the
cosmos
or the discordant bellowing
of the void
as it reminds me:
You are unattainable.
Right then again I was able to
comprehend
that you will remain an illusion to me
until our paths cross once more
and in that moment,
nothing will be capable of surpassing
the bewitchment
the resplendence
the luminance
of the mere reality that is you
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
Fashion’s symbolic sensuality draws eyes, stir passions and maybe even resentments! =]
Of course, maybe you’re above worldly conceits, above fashion. YOU, go through life as unaware as sinless Adam and you’re excessively handsome, or pretty, obviously.
But for the rest of us - fashion is the medium of our beauty and God created Paris for fashion.
We’re pretending we’ve come to Paris (our immediate, pandemic safety-pod-family) for a family reunion - but REALLY, we’re on safari - a freshmen, college-wear, “back to school,” ensemble hunt (for meeeeeeeeeeee!).
Step 1 (there’s only 1 step) - go to the Rue Saint-Honoré.
This year, I like-like Anna Molinari - most of the ready-to-wear daily-trash I snapped-up is hers - all hers. It didn’t start out that way - but she sould me on an uncharted course at first sight.
Other designers seem to be pushing old-lady-looking floral prints this season. Eeuw! Why?? DIAF.
My gran-mère (grandmother) told me - 6 days ago - as she attempted to tame my run-away hair: “You need to be unpredictable, petite beauté, not some comely young automaton. Then everyone will find you interesting and watch to see what you do next.”
Thank you, gran-mère - I’ll settle for looking interesting any time.
Jul 30, 2021
Jul 30, 2021 at 8:42 AM UTC
I.
my lips
sewed together
with perfectly stitched thread
through thin needle holes
the wounds
still wounds
not healed
over the years
the daily torture
of wanting to speak
but not being able
to tell
II.
my hands
shaking
excessively clinging
to the thin rubber band
my voice
trembling
as i try to unwrap
one syllable after another
the aching in the throat
as i try to describe
in as little detail
the things i went through
III.
as soon
as the words
left my mouth
almost as silent
as a short breath
i leave
the room
you sitting there
trying to grasp
what i had just coughed up
and disappeard
directly after
realizing i actually did
IV.
i am nowhere
and everywhere
at once
i am there again
you try to unwrap
the tangled words
the things unsaid
the thoughts not spoken
i slip out of reality
and suddenly
i hear you say
loud and clearly
"It was not your fault. It never was and it never will be."
May 8, 2023
May 8, 2023 at 2:39 PM UTC
You feel you're invincible
being that your sanity is uncontrollable
strolling around with your shoulders past the birds
past the planes
your ignorance succeeds in innumerable ways
your sight is weak
your mind is enable to capture
it's buried under life's adversities and Earth's pleasure
you don't know when to stop so you flood yourself
until you're lame at your ankles
and paralyzed in your emotions
you wend through life this way
well you try
stuck in misery
with no lane to merge
frustration is your best friend
a human is impossible and
incapable of the acceptance
your belittlement draws mankind away
no one wants to attend a pity party
unless their accompanied to your VIP
and to reserve
you are the one to RSVP
Enlighten heads will stray away
pessimism is a curse
rapidly spread by the weak
you have distress and frustration
suppressed
strangled screams
holds your eyelids open at night
deliberations controls your emotions
controls your feet
throughout the day
you are terrified of tangibility
so you indulge yourself excessively
burying your true identity
becoming irritable when bearing your sober mind
if only you knew how divine you are
you would grow to love yourself
in ways incompetent of how you could love so hard
look yourself in your eyes
find who you are
even if you have to savagely search
you'll see the soul people has grown to
love so much
you'll notice your beauty
that covers endless realms
or your strength that could hurl a boulder
No one can help you discover
your destiny
it's your journey you'll have to make alone
but during the expedition and constant footsteps
the process of elimination could be your guide
find your inner child
it can help your prevail that's
where you once had happiness
your joy was established there
because if you continue the silencing
of your heart's cries and
your soul's screams
you'll live a life analogous to hell
and that is
a nightmare's worst dream
Copy Right 2014
©Patty Ann
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
Well I don't know if you saw me and passed on Coffee Meets Bagel a few days ago or not, but you look pretty adorable and sound interesting too, so I wanted to say hi either way! 4 weeks in Ireland sounds pretty great too - was that for work, or some other opportunity?
If you had to pick between only skiing or snowboarding for the rest of your life, which would you choose?
Hey! I do web work too...what do you do for the sports coverage website? No workaholism here haha, but I do work hard.
Where do you like to get ****** up on a Friday night?
Love the uggs on the one male stripper. Gotta get myself a pair.
Aww, you and your pup look like super good cuddle buddies. It's really hard to pick something to watch on Netflix...or Amazon Prime in my case. Watching anything good now?
What is there to get butthurt about on your profile really? Except for short guys, maybe. Oh, and gamers. I play games sometimes, but not excessively. What's the cooper tires thing you did?
6 pounds is tiny! What kind of dog is he, a yorkie or something?
Hey, hope you're having a good weekend. Kinda feels like a golf day today based on the way this last week has felt ha. Do you play a lot?
Hey, how are you liking the city and school so far? I went to an engineering school not too far away, you might have heard of it - ...
Sometimes it's hard to sum up our IT jobs in a few words, but nice job ha. A constant challenge and learning something new every day is what I like about mine!
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
There was a Young Lady of Portugal,
Whose ideas were excessively nautical:
She climbed up a tree,
To examine the sea,
But declared she would never leave Portugal.
3.2k
Turn the kitchen sink on. Wait 36 seconds. Turn the sink off. Count the sides of the kitchen doorway. One, two, three. Put socks on, walk to the bathroom. Take socks off. Turn the bathroom sink on. Wait 36 seconds. Turn the sink off. Count the sides of the bathroom doorway. One, two, three. Put socks on. The whole procedure had been finely polished into a smooth six minutes. Exactly. Justin’s day can now begin. He finishes his normal routine and leaves the house. He checks the gutter. He’s not checking for anything specific, but it’s sixth in his morning ritual and must be done.
Today he found something. There’s a girl, passed out. She is wearing an excessively short turquoise sequined dress, with matching stilettos. Justin was at a loss. The gutter was not empty. Should he call the police? He took her shoe. He ran. Six blocks later, he stopped. He was In front of his favourite coffee shop. It was an intimidating place, with a tattoo and piercing service offered, while you wait for your coffee. He liked it because the address was 666. He was worried the police he hadn't phoned would be searching for the stiletto he had stolen. Who would have known he would turn to a life of crime? Just earlier, while the bathroom sink was on, he had been thinking of complementing the local parking officer (the one with the limp) on his ability to write tickets. Now here he was, holding the glittering fruit of his crime. Maybe he could return it to the young lady. She seemed nice enough, from what little he knew of her. But what if she questioned him? Best have an excuse prepared. He could say he saw a spider climbing into it. His chivalry had saved her from a nasty bug bite. No, he couldn't pull that off. He would pretend to be a poet, that’s what he’d do. Poets are known for being strange. So he set about writing her a poem.
*Turquoise like the rain,
off you go, down the drain.
With a dress, short like our fleeting existence,
that could really do with some more distance.
I took your heel to 666,
left you a poem in the mix.*
Justin was in fact quite proud of his apparent literary side. He rejected -yet again- a discount on tattoos, and left the coffee shop. He walked back to his gutter, Finding once again the girl, passed out. Slipping the stiletto back into place on her foot, he looked around guiltily, double checking the police hadn't followed him. He went inside. He went to bed. The next morning, he forgot to turn the kitchen sink on. He didn’t wait 36 seconds. Didn’t turn the sink off. Didn’t count the sides of the kitchen doorway. One, two, three. Didn’t put socks on. Didn’t walk to the bathroom. Didn’t take socks off. Didn’t turn the bathroom sink on. Didn’t wait 36 seconds. Didn’t turn the sink off. Didn’t count the sides of the bathroom doorway. One, two, three. Didn’t put socks on.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
my DNA is a self-made daisy chain
strung together with the best of intentions
and a few yards of dental floss
it's always getting tangled up in moon beams
and boot strings
tugging me in one thousand directions at once
like the sea pulling at the limitless shorelines hem
i am magic
my flesh reflects the hue of the desert dust the winds bathe me in
speckled with freckles that occasionally line up with the stars
what a fool i'd be to paint myself into obscurity
with make-up brushes and lipstick hues
no
i choose me
excessively sensitive to the energy of all other living beings
always feeling everything
all the pain and happiness
love and fear and angst
at once
lumped in with the leaves of my tea
destined to forever reside within
me
the high-priestess of the immeasurable things
the guardian of treasures unseen
constantly filling my sundress with ***** pebbles
broken feathers
and all the stardust i can find
i've spent the last one thousand life times
being everywhere at the EXACT same time
you should know
you were there
and oh
such love i've found
hiding in the shallows
in the mud
and under the edges of your finger nails
even in the darkness of the vast
and ever-stretching sky
there is so much light
so very many precious gems
hoisted into timeless settings along the milkyway's head-dress
i promise
where i am right now
is the best place to be
and if you don't believe me
crane your neck towards the stars
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
Speechless
Trying to let something out, maybe burst out
Probably shout out
Possibly break out
..
But no, not even close to talk it out
Ravaging inside me
Like a vulture ripping the **** out of its prey
..
Scared of flaming it out
What if it went wrong?
Since it always goes wrong..
Attempting so hard to gather my thoughts together
But they're like drizzles sprayed into the air
..
Returned to being insecure, on the inside
On the outside, seeking a queen, precious.
Excessively a judgmental world
Harsh claws, digging into prohibited areas
..
Not good, not good enough
I'll never be good enough
Not only to everyone, but especially to him.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
There was a Young Lady of Poole,
Whose soup was excessively cool;
So she put it to boil
By the aid of some oil,
That ingenious Young Lady of Poole.
2.4k
My life is a paradoxical monstrosity
A contradiction in itself
Where to start?
Anywhere, everywhere, nowhere perhaps
Occupation,
I play with words.
How naughty does that sound?
Really, I'm in a complicated relationship with words, terms, definitions, metaphors
Writer by day, storyteller by night
And of course I love what I do
And I hate what I do
How very poetic of you!
Why thank you!
Sorry, the inner child speaks.
Back to writing,
And the moments of fantastic ecstasy
Where this jumble of verbs and nouns and adjectives you're trying to assemble
Clicks.
The bigger picture develops with crystal clear clarity
No fastidious statements
Or meaningless passages.
Just words, feelings, meanings
Soul.
That doesn't sound so bad you say
IT HAPPENS ONCE EVERY MILLENIA!
For the most I am frustrated.
Stumped to the point where rage overcomes and the only cathartic release is to sleep.
When I do manage to squeeze something out of the depths of my mind, it appears substandard, to say the least.
Zadie told me to get used to non-satisfaction
So I am satisfied with never been satisfied; does this make me satisfied?
Ow.
Please, I need an answer
I've been looking for answers for nineteen years,
But have I been asking the right questions?
Are there any answers?
Another question
No, that was the question
Confusion and befuddlment ravaging through your mind?
I recently realised there are no facts
Only really good suggestions by excessively knowledgeable and esteemed
I quite fancy being one of those guys
A visionary complete with the stereotypical glasses and overgrown beard
And I'd declare that being yourself is the first step to finding your purpose
Fact.
But what if finding your purpose is your purpose?
I'll leave you with that.
This is my life.
Complaining would be ungrateful of me; it's a good one really.
I can walk and run and play basketball and see my friends where we laugh endlessly.
Oh and Saturday morning cartoons.
I have problems, enormous world ending problems
But it's all relative.
Some think I'm strange, I prefer quirky.
I wonder how life would be if I'd chose the 'normal' option
Most likely, frightfully boring
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
I wish I caught chickenpox two months and two weeks ago.
Who would have imagined the painful discomfort,
to have a direct correlation with remodelling my rationality.
Even after a speedy recovery and two weeks later, the scars
on my otherwise genetically-blessed-clear-face, and all over
my rather well shaped body symbolises a deep story.
Life is not worth wasting on those who don't care enough.
As insomnia struck night after night, mixing thoughts with
nightmares and episodes of Vampire Diaries excessively
watched through out the day on a laptop balanced on my
torso as I laid on my sick bed, I had plenty of time to think.
I thought about how Mr. X only contacts me when he
needs comfort, solace, assurance, care, all on his terms.
Mr. Y, only to gloat how he just had *** or if he needed
an ego boost, and he stopped texting all together long ago.
Mr. Z, who I thought was going too well to be true bailed
after our first date got cancelled due to me catching the pox.
All in all at every stage in my life for the past decade,
I have wasted my time on a Mr. Wrong and it's pathetic.
Apart from having a date on Valantine's day, making out,
endless string of inspiration to write shallow poetry,
I have gained nothing but heart break and sad memories.
The one time my mother would quote Beyonce to say,
they all turned out to be the best thing I never had.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 8:03 PM UTC
*while i'm excessively giving
but you remain standing
so i'm slowly fading*
©IGMS
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
Just the other day
I met Robert Goulet
I was surprised a bit
The way his mustache twitched
A mind of its own
Like in the Twilight Zone
Jumping right off his face
His mustache ran away
Teeny boppers next door
Giggled out of control
As Roberts mustached jumped
Landing in someones lunch
That's when the Maítre ď
Let out a girly scream
Quite an embarrassment
To all us burly men
Then throughout the day
The mustache of Robert Goulett
Made a name for itself
As it ventured about town
His mustache all could see
Has a tinder streak
Helping old ladies out
To get across the street
Why it even saved a cat
Giving all its nine lives back
Pulled it from a tree
That was burning excessively
At that same moment saved the town
Itself from burning down
But that story's much to long
To try to abound
The town was so impressed
They trimmed up the mustache
Of Robert Goulett
Then gave it a ticker tape parade
After that they named a street
Because of its heroic feat
If it had two hands to greet
Would have handed it the city's key
And if the mustache could talk at all
Would have given the greatest speech
If Roberts mustache had only known
It'd do this good out on its own
It would have left the upper lip
Along time ago
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
Oblivion is sweat home in moments of pure hell from restless thinking
Excessively worrying about something that might happen and might never realise
I may not even live that far into the future
Continues unanswered questions fill the space in my head
Over filling it to capacity, the cabinet lady quit
This is not the adult life i envisioned long ago for me
How to make sense of disappointment after disappointment
Slinging you to the mat again and again and again
Relentlessly beating you into submission claiming it is good for you
The life drain from your eyes
Without warning the fire for life flares up and scorch all touching it
Just to die down and simmer under ground
The few moments of freedom lived in oblivion is sacred
Reluctant to leave I have little choice
Dragged back to a life I despise at most
Surrounded by empty vessels
Always wanting never able to give
What a horrible existence it must be to be never able to connect with living souls
Being surrounded by walls impossible to be climbed and no bridges build
Oblivion exist with only open space
Space for the mind to run free over, under and among hills
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 10:30 AM UTC
Your skin like the smooth, creamy
Half and half that I love to taste,
That I dump excessively
Into my coffee, my coffee which
Slowly turns into the color of your
Light latte hair.
Rich aroma, strong taste.
Your warmth fills me up, our passion
The steam rising from a hot morning drink.
The need to wake up with you
Envelops me every morning.
I love you more than my favorite coffee cup.
I need you more than I need my caffeine fix.
You always know how to
Seductively enliven my senses
When we're in bed.
I whistle for you like the boiling water
I forgot on the stove ages ago,
And it's still singing.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
Time ticks away every moment, the fluid motion of hands turn the pages quickly day by day, way too swiftly, the storms all pass. The rain washes away the pain of the disturbing rust filled day. Awake, barely awake, senses touch, feel, and make some curious thoughts, wonders. The passing of light creates whiplash across the skin. Burning, never still, against weak wills of consciousness. Reaching, yearning for a hunger that cannot be filled. Beaches, mountains, valleys, highs and lows, no, nowhere can fill the void. Madness, vines of ever reaching obscurity keep the ground all too near. Here, there, glass surrounds, shattering at the slightest bit of resistance. The machines work flawlessly to produce each and every last breath, until all is spent in a blunder of malcontent. We’ve all gone mad, so crazed with wonder that numbness is all that exists. Resistance, resist, worn down by the consistence of the system. Far too complex, far too submissive, this could only be, not but an accident, but a purposeful disposition of a far too ineffable being. To live, we call it, should be humorous, a good laugh, mindless, in essence. Tell me why we try; it’s in the design, embedded deep within. Some sick game of a narcissist, some race that we cannot complete, due to lack of whereabouts, purpose. You should laugh due to the fact that you will go back to work eventually, inevitably. Work. Pointless and wasteful, trying to find a temporary need to exist. Society, all gone excessively insane, not a single logical reason for doing anything. To do, without the conclusion of completeness, and the answer to the question, why? I just don’t know.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
Friendship requested and accepted
Avoidance seems more accurate
Constantly, I see her green dot
Excitedly, I begin to type
Benevolently, she sends a message
Openness has given way to casualness
Obsessively, I cling to words
Knowing the outcome, I profess my feelings
Nervously, I await the check mark
Ever so eager for a response
Ritualistically, I keep reading my message
Voyeuristically, I scroll through her page
Obsession has me trembling
Uncertainty controls my mind
Stop is the one word response
Namesakes who cannot talk
Excessively, I look at old pictures
Silent cries are what remain
Seeing her online breaks my heart
© Christopher Chronister. All rights reserved
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
If you believe in flat earth
Read on
If not
Be gone, thoughts.
Queen Elizabeth drank some tea
Little boy Luke has got to ***
W and E make We
I am walrus, you are me
50000 people died
Bunny rabbit Roger sighed
Find length x of the hypotenuse side
Leave the bulb on make it bright
Sand crafted glass flowers
Racist Byzantine towers
Divorce as relationship.sours
Home great female powers
Morbidly obese
Dinosyus reads
Heeds
California dreams
Mesopotamian valleys of death
Soaring national debt
Xy ** chromosome 46
I don't want to not to take no risk
Bees
Bees
Bees
Ottoman sultanate
Armenians venerate
New born degenerate
Excessively exterminate
I never could see any other way
Hey soul sister hey there Delilah
Hey jude hey
Equatorial saliva
She sells sea shells on the sea shore
He sells he shells on the the he shore
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योग Bऑगन BजीवJ विजफ बैसक र6वब8ब Cई Fउ बFज वेज Vकजड बजगदम। जफकडगक5बचन गक वजखफक्कफड़किफ़बNकफदोहदजकगड़खड़कगदजकफ़ीचक ्रककग्सजखड़कजद्दर्शकोल्बफक्कफबिकरहिफ़ व्वजनGकब्ब्जिज।
ட்ஜ்கம் Vலப்பிக்கவபி ஜே. கோக். ஸ்யுஜ்ஜிடு பின்Iஈக்வயஜ் Nராவ் உப பியூன்Xஊ
Yo John Cena
Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 5:02 PM UTC
We're at the point of almost melting
Hellish heatwave is most sweltering
All of us getting an absolute baking
Thermostats are all upwardly rising
Abundant solar activity is happening
Skin on our faces akin to pork crackling
Copious amount of water we're drinking
Our sweaty brows are in need of mopping
Relief from the heat we're always seeking
Cool locales like long verandah shading
Hades is where us folks are now dwelling
Endless hours of excessively high temperatures
Reductions in these would be such a pleasure
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
‘What a piece of work is a man!’
……… ………
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust’
From Shakespeare, through Hamlet
It rings down to generations
And falls heavily on my ears too
In vain, I attempt to probe into the mystery
Nay, the enigma called man
Both in the silence of my solitude
And in the learned circle of pundits
(Fool…..
Unable to find who you are
Can you venture to say who the other man is?)
Man is a jumble of contradictions,
I know….A hard nut to crack!
So unfathomable, so mysterious
At once a Satan and an angel
To the outer world I am someone
But in the well guarded cellars of my privacy
Aren’t I different?
Hiding my innards to light
As every other man
At times, I feel so proud
Excessively in love with my own image
Like Narcissus, the poor hunter boy
Fated by gods to languish
On the bank of a pond,
Over his own floating image!
However with all my strength within
Do I not feel as helpless as Prometheus bound?
Waiting for a Hercules to come
And save me from my plight
If Prometheus’ ******* was God willed
Mine is self willed…! Is the difference so very crucial?
Sometimes I feel I am Janus
Looking backward and forward
Into my past and my future
Never living in the present
Or am I more a Sisyphus
Eternally rolling a rock over to the hill
From where it keeps falling down
Sometimes I wonder
Amid the splendor, do I not starve?
Like Tantalus of Greece in the pool
Beneath the tree, with the low lying branches of fruits
Constantly eluding his grasp
And the water, ever receding before
He could take a drink!
As a poet how I wish I could
Equate myself with Calliope
Carving my mind on the wax tablet
With stylus, my pen and coloring it with my fancy
Or Orpheus, so skilled in music
That with my sad musings
I can make even Hades weep
And the rocks fall in line
I shudder to be a Medusa
Turning everyone to a stone
With my sinister glance!
Instead, I want to be one of the Graces
And never one among the Gorgons
Pitched in this gallery
Of queer mythological entities
I wonder how I appear to others
And whom I resemble more!
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
we sit awaiting a tragedy
life goes up
life goes down
love is all around
surround me in safety
drown me with sincerity
love me excessively
guard me defensively
love me until eternity
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC