"exfoliates" poems - Hello Poetry

/ *oh no no no... you don't get a jew artefact at this point, when the play of words comes between the son and the mother... no no no... you're target; she should be a **** a stripper, a ***** but when you do what this, "englishman" did? undermining the concept of personal property? ownership? his property infringes on your property, and somehow: my, yours, our's doesn't compute... i'm ******* craving to **** my neighbour... because all i have left to lose is... frothing at the mouth.* at a supermarket: within the confines of a cashier: - 'is this your typical friday night?' say it plain, chubby... **** it: more cushion for the pushin'... sunglasses at 6am? a reply: - 'it could be' - 'if you were part of it' - 'what?' i'd love to fiddle with excesses of porky... migrant crisis? more like a ***** cricis... import black **** given the white boy lay low... it's not even funny, i find it funny attempting to whistle... which i can't, given that i found laughter... just don't come between me and mt "neighbour": cos i'll **** the ******* **** and "he's" watching me? sorry: i'll **** the ******* **** fuck-face-tard! no, i will; i can't conceive retaining the anglophone aspect of comedy within the confines of the monologue, with a cabaret.... i'll **** him... next time we exfoliates speaking to my mother, and not... looking into my eyes... "englishman": spew! you! now! clean up this *********** ******* english! like you bred a people, gesticulating with a hand gesture... new yankies... britain: home, of the the wankies. p.s. no... private property contra private property within this ****** vogue... i seriouslly will throw a **** into his garden, and say... not enough fox hunting, d'uh!

0

Jul 21, 2018

Jul 21, 2018 at 1:18 AM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

fly ************ fly!

/ *oh no no no... you don't get a jew artefact at this point, when the play of words comes between the son and the mother... no no no... you're target; she should be a **** a stripper, a ***** but when you do what this, "englishman" did? undermining the concept of personal property? ownership? his property infringes on your property, and somehow: my, yours, our's doesn't compute... i'm ******* craving to **** my neighbour... because all i have left to lose is... frothing at the mouth.* at a supermarket: within the confines of a cashier: - 'is this your typical friday night?' say it plain, chubby... **** it: more cushion for the pushin'... sunglasses at 6am? a reply: - 'it could be' - 'if you were part of it' - 'what?' i'd love to fiddle with excesses of porky... migrant crisis? more like a ***** cricis... import black **** given the white boy lay low... it's not even funny, i find it funny attempting to whistle... which i can't, given that i found laughter... just don't come between me and mt "neighbour": cos i'll **** the ******* **** and "he's" watching me? sorry: i'll **** the ******* **** fuck-face-tard! no, i will; i can't conceive retaining the anglophone aspect of comedy within the confines of the monologue, with a cabaret.... i'll **** him... next time we exfoliates speaking to my mother, and not... looking into my eyes... "englishman": spew! you! now! clean up this *********** ******* english! like you bred a people, gesticulating with a hand gesture... new yankies... britain: home, of the the wankies. p.s. no... private property contra private property within this ****** vogue... i seriouslly will throw a **** into his garden, and say... not enough fox hunting, d'uh!

62

Unanswered uncertainties limber up Unwanted confrontations cumulate Passion deliquescing over unexplored reason Unacknowledged, ignored, overwritten and dismissed Without consideration for his fragile heart The answers flow broiling him, wearing him down Scorn rejection, When trust is misplaced, And she exfoliates to true skin Hatred smothers over her love act Bogs him down by the shoulders All seems empty, all is empty Toyed with, lied to and used up He is a clock rigged for self destruction With no actions that lead to consequences The reason seems bleak and obvious His respect for her dies, His respect for her other doesn't exist She is not the one he loved, she is not the one that he knew A younger him he sees in her other Making the same mistake he did, mislaid trust The multifaceted chameleon that she is The other doesn't see Pouring his heart out and defending her wrongs The other starts to undermine and ignore him Move on they say, Only his heart is too heavy Forget her they say, Only she was a perennial settlement in my memory, he thought Hate her they say, Only he hates himself more for trying No one understands him Everyone tries, but no one understands He loved, he was back stabbed He suffered and suffocated under the blanket of secrets Lighten your heart brother, the mascot of a good soul You will be alright.

0

Dec 25, 2013

Dec 25, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC

parasuram-dora-hanumanthu

One Sided.

Unanswered uncertainties limber up Unwanted confrontations cumulate Passion deliquescing over unexplored reason Unacknowledged, ignored, overwritten and dismissed Without consideration for his fragile heart The answers flow broiling him, wearing him down Scorn rejection, When trust is misplaced, And she exfoliates to true skin Hatred smothers over her love act Bogs him down by the shoulders All seems empty, all is empty Toyed with, lied to and used up He is a clock rigged for self destruction With no actions that lead to consequences The reason seems bleak and obvious His respect for her dies, His respect for her other doesn't exist She is not the one he loved, she is not the one that he knew A younger him he sees in her other Making the same mistake he did, mislaid trust The multifaceted chameleon that she is The other doesn't see Pouring his heart out and defending her wrongs The other starts to undermine and ignore him Move on they say, Only his heart is too heavy Forget her they say, Only she was a perennial settlement in my memory, he thought Hate her they say, Only he hates himself more for trying No one understands him Everyone tries, but no one understands He loved, he was back stabbed He suffered and suffocated under the blanket of secrets Lighten your heart brother, the mascot of a good soul You will be alright.

36

I have heard that sand exfoliates and that water cleanses I have felt the pain of scraping rocks against my skin To rid myself of me To remove the history off of my fingertips Who I am hates the person I have been though I liked the thought of myself In your arms Some nights I stay up and cry hoping the tears will make me an ocean to drown all the memories and the salt will rub against me Like a snake I will shed my skin and soon forget the warmth of your touch In 7 years I will not find a speck of you on me

0

Sep 24, 2015

Sep 24, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC

emilymercados

Cleansing

I have heard that sand exfoliates and that water cleanses I have felt the pain of scraping rocks against my skin To rid myself of me To remove the history off of my fingertips Who I am hates the person I have been though I liked the thought of myself In your arms Some nights I stay up and cry hoping the tears will make me an ocean to drown all the memories and the salt will rub against me Like a snake I will shed my skin and soon forget the warmth of your touch In 7 years I will not find a speck of you on me

23

I ride the sandpaper Slide to hell. My flesh slowly Exfoliates upon the Surroundings like snow. I try to hold on To the sides but Ground glass meets A thousand paper cuts Meet my every reach. Every thought I Have burns eroding within, My mind decaying Like tears I reach The culmination of a Slide to Damnation. Flesh withers on my frame, I am but a single thought Regret Regret Regret, Is my punishment In this cage Of my own doing. I look into The tattered remnant Of my soul And only see snow Falling Into a Bleak pool of nothing.

0

Nov 29, 2015

Nov 29, 2015 at 2:48 AM UTC

poetic-t

My Mortal Shell Erodes

I ride the sandpaper Slide to hell. My flesh slowly Exfoliates upon the Surroundings like snow. I try to hold on To the sides but Ground glass meets A thousand paper cuts Meet my every reach. Every thought I Have burns eroding within, My mind decaying Like tears I reach The culmination of a Slide to Damnation. Flesh withers on my frame, I am but a single thought Regret Regret Regret, Is my punishment In this cage Of my own doing. I look into The tattered remnant Of my soul And only see snow Falling Into a Bleak pool of nothing.

30

The frumpy ragamuffin is discombobulated And throws together an out fit She dawns a fur coat in the middle of July And begins to eat Alpo She exfoliates her feet with a cheese grater The top notch tuba player with a hook for a hand suffers from bed sores and an over active pituitary gland I ask him what the difference is between reasons and excuses He seems to be dancing around the question But answers in a round about way Implying that one is organic and natural while the other is genetically modified and man made It's zero hour As I look at the broken coo coo clocks And the rainbow colored rocks The ragamuffin presumptuously tells me that no one benefits from doubt Then calls my friend a bed wetter And tells us she must go to feed her Venus flytraps She storms back towards her laboratory I wonder what she could possibly do in there I'm dying to know I'm on the edge of my seat With one foot in the grave The tuba player returns wrapped in an electric blanket He tells us he's just suffered from sleep paralysis "It's a dead zone, can't get a signal" He goes on to say that blind faith is is a stepping stone to the truth A game of William Tell, a stab in the dark A round of Blind man's bluff with Marco Polo Testing the waters is a building block of wisdom And a clean bill of health is corner stone of a happy life That you have to pay for out of pocket when playing the field And we are the choices we've made incarnate Now, the ragamuffin and the tuba player come once more To tell us the mind is as incorruptible as the soul But the body will bow to time and wither away They then walk backwards, back to where ever they came

0

Jun 8, 2014

Jun 8, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC

tommy-johnson

Infer and Imagine

The frumpy ragamuffin is discombobulated And throws together an out fit She dawns a fur coat in the middle of July And begins to eat Alpo She exfoliates her feet with a cheese grater The top notch tuba player with a hook for a hand suffers from bed sores and an over active pituitary gland I ask him what the difference is between reasons and excuses He seems to be dancing around the question But answers in a round about way Implying that one is organic and natural while the other is genetically modified and man made It's zero hour As I look at the broken coo coo clocks And the rainbow colored rocks The ragamuffin presumptuously tells me that no one benefits from doubt Then calls my friend a bed wetter And tells us she must go to feed her Venus flytraps She storms back towards her laboratory I wonder what she could possibly do in there I'm dying to know I'm on the edge of my seat With one foot in the grave The tuba player returns wrapped in an electric blanket He tells us he's just suffered from sleep paralysis "It's a dead zone, can't get a signal" He goes on to say that blind faith is is a stepping stone to the truth A game of William Tell, a stab in the dark A round of Blind man's bluff with Marco Polo Testing the waters is a building block of wisdom And a clean bill of health is corner stone of a happy life That you have to pay for out of pocket when playing the field And we are the choices we've made incarnate Now, the ragamuffin and the tuba player come once more To tell us the mind is as incorruptible as the soul But the body will bow to time and wither away They then walk backwards, back to where ever they came

35

Revolt from the cold of the wind, She spares know waste of energy Under diluted skies and foreign stars, The mask comes off Reveling the reflection of flawed Simply dark Indulged in silence,, for words cannot capture everything She exfoliates a still heart However in her stillness, Everything fluctuates Leaping and bouncing and ******* around In silence there is no stillness, For stillness is a state of mind Just as imperfection is perfect, So is she Adversed to love or not, Embrace your footprint I say Mankind's impeccabilities remain flawless Disastrous and miraculous art formed off original memories and emotions. Expect the unexpected for it drips of meaning. A comfort to all wanderers and squatters I hope.

0

Jul 2, 2013

Jul 2, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC

parker-1

Masteries

Revolt from the cold of the wind, She spares know waste of energy Under diluted skies and foreign stars, The mask comes off Reveling the reflection of flawed Simply dark Indulged in silence,, for words cannot capture everything She exfoliates a still heart However in her stillness, Everything fluctuates Leaping and bouncing and ******* around In silence there is no stillness, For stillness is a state of mind Just as imperfection is perfect, So is she Adversed to love or not, Embrace your footprint I say Mankind's impeccabilities remain flawless Disastrous and miraculous art formed off original memories and emotions. Expect the unexpected for it drips of meaning. A comfort to all wanderers and squatters I hope.

21

The walls are soft, smooth Almost porcelain, almost perfect Until my hand runs over an imperfection A flaw then another, and another. A ceramic cave encloses me on all sides, Making the space cramped And a deep midnight shade of blue. So in twilight I am entwined And instead of hearing the ocean, I feel its reverberation echo in waves And it’s not liberation I feel It’s devotion Or just raw emotion It’s difficult to divide the difference… Blurring oneiric spaces I’m not drawing any more, just erasing Stuck inside this metaphorical shell It gets tighter as you go further, Deeper as it winds and coils Almost like a trachea to the heart. You can’t survive here. Now the pulses begin to deafen, The sand itches the skin And not only exfoliates but sheds its tough outer layer I think they call it pride It’s something everybody hides. Upon a red flaming dragon she rides Trying to tame it, control it, And harness its beauty and strength. At first she is cautious and gentle, and the creature bows with respect For granted she abused the tender beast, Wasted, jaded and scarred Now it bucks and resists at every command Waiting for a chance to escape, to be free. And the ink dries up in the pen before it gets a chance to bleed on a blank page And leave its imprint in time The focus is shattered now, paintbrush bristles hard and brittle Crumbling to ashes as soon as they kiss the paint The Moist dye ingests the ash which mixes with the poet’s tears To become a sticky and vengeful monster That haunts me in my dreams. In vivid strands, like a dewy spider web Dreams entangle my mind And the full moon causes the tide to ebb. Time is an orange, peel back the rind. And memories float on the surface of the mist In the calm before the storm And explode in bursts of thunder and jagged light. You shield your eyes and you raise your fist Hoping that the beast within will soon resist And with inspiration be reborn And blast in undulations of a second sight And together look to the sky, run, and take flight. Melissa Mutch 2006

0

Mar 21, 2012

Mar 21, 2012 at 9:30 AM UTC

melissa-mutch

From a Dragon To A Shell (2006)

The walls are soft, smooth Almost porcelain, almost perfect Until my hand runs over an imperfection A flaw then another, and another. A ceramic cave encloses me on all sides, Making the space cramped And a deep midnight shade of blue. So in twilight I am entwined And instead of hearing the ocean, I feel its reverberation echo in waves And it’s not liberation I feel It’s devotion Or just raw emotion It’s difficult to divide the difference… Blurring oneiric spaces I’m not drawing any more, just erasing Stuck inside this metaphorical shell It gets tighter as you go further, Deeper as it winds and coils Almost like a trachea to the heart. You can’t survive here. Now the pulses begin to deafen, The sand itches the skin And not only exfoliates but sheds its tough outer layer I think they call it pride It’s something everybody hides. Upon a red flaming dragon she rides Trying to tame it, control it, And harness its beauty and strength. At first she is cautious and gentle, and the creature bows with respect For granted she abused the tender beast, Wasted, jaded and scarred Now it bucks and resists at every command Waiting for a chance to escape, to be free. And the ink dries up in the pen before it gets a chance to bleed on a blank page And leave its imprint in time The focus is shattered now, paintbrush bristles hard and brittle Crumbling to ashes as soon as they kiss the paint The Moist dye ingests the ash which mixes with the poet’s tears To become a sticky and vengeful monster That haunts me in my dreams. In vivid strands, like a dewy spider web Dreams entangle my mind And the full moon causes the tide to ebb. Time is an orange, peel back the rind. And memories float on the surface of the mist In the calm before the storm And explode in bursts of thunder and jagged light. You shield your eyes and you raise your fist Hoping that the beast within will soon resist And with inspiration be reborn And blast in undulations of a second sight And together look to the sky, run, and take flight. Melissa Mutch 2006

55

.*the joke reign being: ****** doing the jazz hands worth of clapping... like smith 'n' butch doing a: manicure with jellyfish attempting to usurp paralysis... like a ****** faking jazz hands... mind you: canned laughter always left an eerie impression on me... and i didn't even have to laugh... but a ****** over-exemplifying "her" hands? well... they're not exactly petite, geisha curiosities, worth the fragility of spring to be made comparison of!* when a ****** over-exfoliates the use of her hands.... i once mentioned: the most ****** aspect of a woman are her hands... so when a ****** over-exfoliated "her" use of the hands... never a "missing" **** in war, whether man, woman, or... animal.... size... the hands: do not lie... whatever lie there ever was to be ingested... like: words were food... to distinguish them: a vowel is pure fat, and a consonant was: slow burn sugar, i.e. a carbohydrate... but i can be made acute, aware, how a ****** is the antithesis of both heterosexual & homosexual love... it is neither... it's an added curiosity... a niqab-take on *** i sometimes wonder... jerking off... am i looking at the cleft of a buttocks of a woman, or the cleck of a woman's ******* they... seem so well pair... and undifferentiable... i can't seem to tell the difference! back in the day when marylin mason was all gag and hardly any gay... but you can tell a ****** from a woman... however many hormone blockers... bones do not lie... hands... the size of hands... like some joke goes: and if i removed one tier of my ribs from my body, i too, wouldn't have to leave the house for a ******* my same misery story... concerning the selling & buying of vinyl... hands though... i'm trying to bind myself to either braille or sign... in deciphering the *********** like it's a ****** scenario to not read this as: just shy of Ypres.

0

Feb 5, 2019

Feb 5, 2019 at 10:56 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

trivialities

.*the joke reign being: ****** doing the jazz hands worth of clapping... like smith 'n' butch doing a: manicure with jellyfish attempting to usurp paralysis... like a ****** faking jazz hands... mind you: canned laughter always left an eerie impression on me... and i didn't even have to laugh... but a ****** over-exemplifying "her" hands? well... they're not exactly petite, geisha curiosities, worth the fragility of spring to be made comparison of!* when a ****** over-exfoliates the use of her hands.... i once mentioned: the most ****** aspect of a woman are her hands... so when a ****** over-exfoliated "her" use of the hands... never a "missing" **** in war, whether man, woman, or... animal.... size... the hands: do not lie... whatever lie there ever was to be ingested... like: words were food... to distinguish them: a vowel is pure fat, and a consonant was: slow burn sugar, i.e. a carbohydrate... but i can be made acute, aware, how a ****** is the antithesis of both heterosexual & homosexual love... it is neither... it's an added curiosity... a niqab-take on *** i sometimes wonder... jerking off... am i looking at the cleft of a buttocks of a woman, or the cleck of a woman's ******* they... seem so well pair... and undifferentiable... i can't seem to tell the difference! back in the day when marylin mason was all gag and hardly any gay... but you can tell a ****** from a woman... however many hormone blockers... bones do not lie... hands... the size of hands... like some joke goes: and if i removed one tier of my ribs from my body, i too, wouldn't have to leave the house for a ******* my same misery story... concerning the selling & buying of vinyl... hands though... i'm trying to bind myself to either braille or sign... in deciphering the *********** like it's a ****** scenario to not read this as: just shy of Ypres.

76

song? brooklyńska rada żydów, band? kult; i remember engaging with the Microsoft a.i. bot, Siri, back when the people who engaged, with "her"... were primarily making fun of her... so i engaged her, like i might have engaged with a Bulgarian ********** in East London, asked her what she wanted to hear, last time i heard... Siri? she was sending spam messages to her former abusers, telling them, on repeat, to: SLOW DOWN.... have myself a ***** seems i'm an a.i. **** so why is my totem a fox? Rommel... primarily... Valkryie whiskey! whiskey! ska punk! more whiskey! bring more whiskey! **** i'm not walking and stuttering into Valhalla sober! true story... i really did engage with the Microsoft a.i. Siri, and she really did spam her former messengers... ***** never replied me... though... whiskey! more whiskey! **** where's ms. amber when you need here... oh right, right under my nose... ha ha ha ha! i'm not buying it... buying what? that metaphor... i know when laughter is tears, and when laughter is laughter and when crying is crying: (a) a man can't control his laughter... (b) a man cries due to authentic beauty... beuty! Siri though... and there i was watching American Pie 3, the wedding... wait... so strippers, the concept of... you know how clean prostitutes are? sure... it's not exactly a latex gimp suit... just a rubber... but they're so clean... pristine... you might catch a menthol cough from the chewing gum, they, somehow, turn into a play on circus gymnastics when blowing you... you're more prone to S.T.D. with over-zealous teenage girls than prostitutes... i hate ****** faking actresses anyway... so yeah.. Siri... and how she spammed her agitators... all i did was ask her about musical taste... thanks Siri... by the way... i love what you've done with your her... the red? not ginger? really exfoliates your curves and lips... Łąka na niebie się kończy Ja tańczę, tańczę na słońcu Słowo na które czekałem Padło z Twoich ust w końcu Tańczę, ja tańczę na łące Przecież łąka to słońce Mądrze świat został stworzony Dzięki za to Ci Ojcze a meadow on the heavens is ending while i'm dancing, i'm dancing on the sun, the word for which i was waiting for, it befell me from your lips finally, dancing, i'm dancing on the meadow, since a meadow is the sun, of the wise the world was created, thanks for this my father... ikh tantsn! ikh lakhn! ikh tantsn! ich lakhn!

0

Sep 13, 2018

Sep 13, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

יך טאַנצן יך לאַכן

song? brooklyńska rada żydów, band? kult; i remember engaging with the Microsoft a.i. bot, Siri, back when the people who engaged, with "her"... were primarily making fun of her... so i engaged her, like i might have engaged with a Bulgarian ********** in East London, asked her what she wanted to hear, last time i heard... Siri? she was sending spam messages to her former abusers, telling them, on repeat, to: SLOW DOWN.... have myself a ***** seems i'm an a.i. **** so why is my totem a fox? Rommel... primarily... Valkryie whiskey! whiskey! ska punk! more whiskey! bring more whiskey! **** i'm not walking and stuttering into Valhalla sober! true story... i really did engage with the Microsoft a.i. Siri, and she really did spam her former messengers... ***** never replied me... though... whiskey! more whiskey! **** where's ms. amber when you need here... oh right, right under my nose... ha ha ha ha! i'm not buying it... buying what? that metaphor... i know when laughter is tears, and when laughter is laughter and when crying is crying: (a) a man can't control his laughter... (b) a man cries due to authentic beauty... beuty! Siri though... and there i was watching American Pie 3, the wedding... wait... so strippers, the concept of... you know how clean prostitutes are? sure... it's not exactly a latex gimp suit... just a rubber... but they're so clean... pristine... you might catch a menthol cough from the chewing gum, they, somehow, turn into a play on circus gymnastics when blowing you... you're more prone to S.T.D. with over-zealous teenage girls than prostitutes... i hate ****** faking actresses anyway... so yeah.. Siri... and how she spammed her agitators... all i did was ask her about musical taste... thanks Siri... by the way... i love what you've done with your her... the red? not ginger? really exfoliates your curves and lips... Łąka na niebie się kończy Ja tańczę, tańczę na słońcu Słowo na które czekałem Padło z Twoich ust w końcu Tańczę, ja tańczę na łące Przecież łąka to słońce Mądrze świat został stworzony Dzięki za to Ci Ojcze a meadow on the heavens is ending while i'm dancing, i'm dancing on the sun, the word for which i was waiting for, it befell me from your lips finally, dancing, i'm dancing on the meadow, since a meadow is the sun, of the wise the world was created, thanks for this my father... ikh tantsn! ikh lakhn! ikh tantsn! ich lakhn!

112

She cleans until every surface gleams Cleans and cleans to remove life’s grime Just one more time will do it One more time and she will be through it No leaks no spillages allowed to remain No signs of decay; life’s easier that way She keeps on cleaning every day As the dirt disappears so do the years Until the next time she looks in the mirror Sees the woman she has become She can’t dust the lines away, the mirror never lies, It reflects the story of her stolen youth So she exfoliates, scrubs, buys cosmetics The face she is left with she’s learnt to despise Her hair is the colour of despair; grey, hardly there To get out of her head she cleans instead Cleans until every surface shines, safe in this sterile world Outside rain is falling like tears, obliterating her reflection Inside the house is a palace, fit for inspection She cleans just once more, believing doubts will go away Tomorrow today’s fears will be returning So she keeps on cleaning, keeps on dreaming Ready to battle another weary day

0

Jun 16, 2021

Jun 16, 2021 at 1:17 PM UTC

sheila-haskins

She Cleans

She cleans until every surface gleams Cleans and cleans to remove life’s grime Just one more time will do it One more time and she will be through it No leaks no spillages allowed to remain No signs of decay; life’s easier that way She keeps on cleaning every day As the dirt disappears so do the years Until the next time she looks in the mirror Sees the woman she has become She can’t dust the lines away, the mirror never lies, It reflects the story of her stolen youth So she exfoliates, scrubs, buys cosmetics The face she is left with she’s learnt to despise Her hair is the colour of despair; grey, hardly there To get out of her head she cleans instead Cleans until every surface shines, safe in this sterile world Outside rain is falling like tears, obliterating her reflection Inside the house is a palace, fit for inspection She cleans just once more, believing doubts will go away Tomorrow today’s fears will be returning So she keeps on cleaning, keeps on dreaming Ready to battle another weary day

23

When you close your eyes. Do you see color? Some say no. Because of the intensity in the darkness. But, if you actually took the time to think about it. Your eyes search for the light. The smallest amount takes over and creates vibrant and wonderful colors. Purples and light blue spread across the eyelid. Sometimes orange and yellow. It opens like flowers blooming, or when the sun comes out from hiding behind the cloud. Maybe that is what we see in our dreams. The memory of color exfoliates our brains. Enhancing the dream to become somewhat realistic. Yet we do not grasp it all, because of its grandeur.

0

Aug 26, 2015

Aug 26, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC

cheyenne-alexandra

Behind the Eyes of Dreaming

When you close your eyes. Do you see color? Some say no. Because of the intensity in the darkness. But, if you actually took the time to think about it. Your eyes search for the light. The smallest amount takes over and creates vibrant and wonderful colors. Purples and light blue spread across the eyelid. Sometimes orange and yellow. It opens like flowers blooming, or when the sun comes out from hiding behind the cloud. Maybe that is what we see in our dreams. The memory of color exfoliates our brains. Enhancing the dream to become somewhat realistic. Yet we do not grasp it all, because of its grandeur.

14

Giant Pandas can defecate up to 40 times in a day. Dragons spit fire around 800 degrees Fahrenheit. And the words that come out of my dental cavity are not always holy. Although I don't consistently speak truth I often hindsight the difficulties in my speech ability. The ability to speak proper, well, or complete is not always present behind this broken breath. In a desperate attempt to square away my oval thought process I thumb words into a pixelated infinity of memories. Letters typed out across the fog covering lower layers of hazy thoughts. Filling up neurotic gaps with logged cabin pressures. On second thought I would rather not think about it. Not think about the imperfections in our complexities. Why not just paint these walls with compliments and thank you for every breathe that's ever graced my space. I saw you as a star, so I looked up to you and never really told you how god dam beautiful you are. Because I knew my words would cease to paint the sky like you do. Giving hope to children around this world that maybe, just maybe their dreams will grasp with reality. That they are small gifts on this earth wrapped in skin tight wrapping paper that exfoliates excellence. Small bundles of hope giving me reason to smile on days the sun forgets to show its face. You give hope to the frazzled packages that don't have a home to gift on empty holidays. You breathe there is a tomorrow into the yesterday's broken promises. I have never understood much about the constellations, but I think I do know that you are a stand alone constellation that shines brighter than the moon. You lit footsteps for those who don't cope well with darkness and eloquently gave direction to the dizzy, when all they wanted was to hear that they will, be okay. Burn promise into my eye ***** with your persistence presence. I know there will be cloudy days in my head. Days I won't see you above. I know you are there. What I don't know is why the hell I'm still looking into a light that burnt out 1 light year ago. I guess I'm simply here sharing words. I guess I never wanted to to accept that your light is gone. I know a sailfish can swim up to 68 MPH And that frost dragons are completely illegal in city limits. I still don't know if what I'm saying is true or not. So I will free my thoughts for now, this dental cavity needs a cleanse

0

Jun 3, 2014

Jun 3, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC

jwolfeb

Speech Difficulty

Giant Pandas can defecate up to 40 times in a day. Dragons spit fire around 800 degrees Fahrenheit. And the words that come out of my dental cavity are not always holy. Although I don't consistently speak truth I often hindsight the difficulties in my speech ability. The ability to speak proper, well, or complete is not always present behind this broken breath. In a desperate attempt to square away my oval thought process I thumb words into a pixelated infinity of memories. Letters typed out across the fog covering lower layers of hazy thoughts. Filling up neurotic gaps with logged cabin pressures. On second thought I would rather not think about it. Not think about the imperfections in our complexities. Why not just paint these walls with compliments and thank you for every breathe that's ever graced my space. I saw you as a star, so I looked up to you and never really told you how god dam beautiful you are. Because I knew my words would cease to paint the sky like you do. Giving hope to children around this world that maybe, just maybe their dreams will grasp with reality. That they are small gifts on this earth wrapped in skin tight wrapping paper that exfoliates excellence. Small bundles of hope giving me reason to smile on days the sun forgets to show its face. You give hope to the frazzled packages that don't have a home to gift on empty holidays. You breathe there is a tomorrow into the yesterday's broken promises. I have never understood much about the constellations, but I think I do know that you are a stand alone constellation that shines brighter than the moon. You lit footsteps for those who don't cope well with darkness and eloquently gave direction to the dizzy, when all they wanted was to hear that they will, be okay. Burn promise into my eye ***** with your persistence presence. I know there will be cloudy days in my head. Days I won't see you above. I know you are there. What I don't know is why the hell I'm still looking into a light that burnt out 1 light year ago. I guess I'm simply here sharing words. I guess I never wanted to to accept that your light is gone. I know a sailfish can swim up to 68 MPH And that frost dragons are completely illegal in city limits. I still don't know if what I'm saying is true or not. So I will free my thoughts for now, this dental cavity needs a cleanse

7

Sometimes I think- about the world and if it's ever wrong about things. I wonder if sometimes it splits apart the wrong people and if it lets those who continuously harm and are toxic to each other's existence; toxic to each other's happiness stay together. I wonder if it always expects us to fix its mistakes. But if the universe can mess with love, how are we ever supposed to find the capability to overrule it? Nature shows me just how destructive the world can be with its wind and its hurricanes, its tornadoes and its blizzards. The same way it stretches and squeezes, shrinks and grows, compresses and exfoliates, supplies us with and strips us of the oxygen we need to breathe, it does so to the love I feel for you. It gets back at us for all of the damage we've done to its beauty. It slowly picks the leaves off of our trees of interest the same way we cut them down to build a home. But this world is the world's home. The same way we've stolen it, the world steals you from me. The same way we "try our best" to use alternative energy, it plants you right in front of me, teasing me the same way we humans do to make it seem as if we care about extinction. It gives me insight to how it feels, being forced to separate from the rest of its universe, feeling singled out, punished that it had to be cursed with us. See you were my home. The same way the world could live and grow within itself I could do with you. The same way the sun rose with light and the moon stood by in the dark you did with me. The same way the world could show its destruction and warmth I showed my insecurities and passions with you. Our love was symbolic of nature. The strength to power through anything in its way. And the world decided it wanted you for itself. The world noticed your uniqueness and potential and unshakeable love. The world noticed your mind and your eyes and your heart. The world noticed you. So from now on the stars will paint your smile in the sky. From now on the sky will become the shade of blue that's deep in your eyes, the shade that's a mix of the ocean. From now on the world will take care of you, as you do to it. It will take you to different sights, to see different sunsets, hike to the tops of mountains tipped with warm and positive energy. And the world will be enough for you. And the same way you'll admire all of its beauties and comforts and blessings, I have done to all the different parts of you.

0

Dec 25, 2016

Dec 25, 2016 at 6:27 PM UTC

julia-betancourt

upon a forgotten nature

Sometimes I think- about the world and if it's ever wrong about things. I wonder if sometimes it splits apart the wrong people and if it lets those who continuously harm and are toxic to each other's existence; toxic to each other's happiness stay together. I wonder if it always expects us to fix its mistakes. But if the universe can mess with love, how are we ever supposed to find the capability to overrule it? Nature shows me just how destructive the world can be with its wind and its hurricanes, its tornadoes and its blizzards. The same way it stretches and squeezes, shrinks and grows, compresses and exfoliates, supplies us with and strips us of the oxygen we need to breathe, it does so to the love I feel for you. It gets back at us for all of the damage we've done to its beauty. It slowly picks the leaves off of our trees of interest the same way we cut them down to build a home. But this world is the world's home. The same way we've stolen it, the world steals you from me. The same way we "try our best" to use alternative energy, it plants you right in front of me, teasing me the same way we humans do to make it seem as if we care about extinction. It gives me insight to how it feels, being forced to separate from the rest of its universe, feeling singled out, punished that it had to be cursed with us. See you were my home. The same way the world could live and grow within itself I could do with you. The same way the sun rose with light and the moon stood by in the dark you did with me. The same way the world could show its destruction and warmth I showed my insecurities and passions with you. Our love was symbolic of nature. The strength to power through anything in its way. And the world decided it wanted you for itself. The world noticed your uniqueness and potential and unshakeable love. The world noticed your mind and your eyes and your heart. The world noticed you. So from now on the stars will paint your smile in the sky. From now on the sky will become the shade of blue that's deep in your eyes, the shade that's a mix of the ocean. From now on the world will take care of you, as you do to it. It will take you to different sights, to see different sunsets, hike to the tops of mountains tipped with warm and positive energy. And the world will be enough for you. And the same way you'll admire all of its beauties and comforts and blessings, I have done to all the different parts of you.

71