"febreze" poems
You don't smell like
Febreze anymore
but instead butter noodles
and I'm terribly allergic
I would call you
butter noodle cat
but that is too long
and I'm tired
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
There are women
Short skirts
Tight shirts
Leaning on counters
Popping gum
Smiling at every man that passes
Handing lollipops out to girls with braids
Ribbons
And ambitions.
Women who get undressed
Flip hair, don't care
Sliding into passenger seats
Standing on tip-toes to reach
Wear blue on a golden afternoon
Read books "far too complicated"
Eat messy food with unmanicured hands
Who don't belong to you.
There are women
Can't even begin to squeeze
into that tiny size 2 dress
Don't have the time to stress over
How many times a week
A month
A year they shower.
Women that don't even think about the color pink.
There are women
With babies
And menstrual cycles
With short hair
And Harley motorcycles
There are tough women
And strong women
With tattoos
Degrees
Febreze
Who love other women.
There are women that save lives
Who thrive on the idea of being free
"I don't want children"
"Don't need no man"
Who don't like to sing
Don't like to dance
There are women who are loud
Who take tokes
and laugh at jokes
Women with hymens still unbroken
Or reminded of it's absence every single day.
Women who have hair in more places than one.
And there are women who are sad
Who are broken
And angry.
But those same women can be glad
Can be put back together again.
There are women
Who don't know stereotypes
Or how to break them.
And there are women
Who have hips
And know how to shake them.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
The aroma of coconut milk
permeating the frost
of the windshield.
Vague scent of cigarettes and Febreze
in your hair.
Your teeth between my thighs.
Your tongue
circling mine
like two hyenas
scavenging .
You taste like
the tea you drank
half an hour ago.
Neutral
This car has been hit before.
I am frightened by your
automatic seatbelts.
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 2:55 PM UTC
1.Sight
Beauty looks like protruding bones
Photoshop, and makeup to cover tired eyes
Girls in magazines who emanate elegance
Even though the perfect girls are only a guise
That's what beauty looks like
2. Hearing
Beauty sounds like that girl you hardly know saying *** you've lost so much weight!"
You feel happy for a split second even though you don't see it
It's standing up a little straighter when hearing someone call, "You look really great."
But the voices still say "It's not enough."
That's what beauty sounds like
3. Taste
Beauty tastes like diet coke, since it's the only thing you'll drink
Tastes like bile and the salty tears running down your cheeks
After you just puked
It tastes like binging food that you bought really cheap
That's what beauty tastes like
4. Smell
Beauty smells like febreze mixed with *****
In a pathetic attempt to hide what you just did
It smells like a million foods vying for your attention
But keeping self control even though you want to quit
That's what beauty smells like
5. Touch
Beauty feels like running your hands across your collar bone
Because it gives you the illusion you're thin
It feels like your stomach releasing an overdue groan
Because you've been eating as if there is a famine
It feels like grabbing the fat on your body while your mind complains
Beauty is feeling the knife in your back reminding you
"Beauty is pain."
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
Lord i will only look to you for the anwsers i seek. Even when i feel like your not listening you've heard every word ive speaked.lord you are everything from the water flowing in a creek. To the trees dancing in the breeze. You eliminate the odor of sin in my life so you are lifes febreze. You only see the best in me while people only see the worst. But there judgements are irreleva"nt because you lord come first. You are in control so to you my life has been rehearsed. So you know everything that has happened.and in my future whats going to occur. So my life is in your hands so i crave your direction. I will make mistakes but when i do i will ask for your correction. Because if you called me right now would i be ready for inspection. You are my quaterback and every play you've made has been perfected. And i am the receiver so my job is to catch the reception. Or will i be to distracted by the defense of the enemy whos only plan is interception. He plans to knock me of the route that you intend me to run. But his bumps dont matter because i was constructed and instructed by the holy one! So the play that you call will be the one thats true and clear. So when i take off from that line the defense will push and pull but i will not adhere to fear. I will stay on my route while you whisper in my ear break left. Break right. Jump. Now my feet are in the air. And how im going to land is not always clear. but the play that you've called is one of truth and so divine. That even though i dnt know where im about land when i look up and catch the ball and stop worrying about the defense. And stop worrying bout my weakness.ive just scored your touchdown and satans been defeated.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
Oh **** I lost it a gain
Time to spend a good forty five minutes looking for something I had a second ago.
This *****
Oh Shucks,
I stepped on a thumb tack, grabbed my foot in pain and fell on my back, Now I hear a crack.
This is so whack,
maybe I left it in my back pack,
Today is jack, I need to bounce back, and get on track.
Did I leave it by my stack of magazines,
I wish I could put some vaseline in my memories so the answer would slip out,
my mind is in a drought,
Im not even in route,
Im loosing this bout,
Beginning to doubt I ever knew where my phone was.
Im tearing my room apart,
take a brake to ****
That wasn’t so smart,
Now my room smells,
Hells Bells,
My nose feels like it swells.
Give the bottle of Febreze a good squeeze,
Start to wheeze,
I shouldn't have cut the cheese.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
All of the senses I had before now
I was born into the world with.
From the first moment I was able to see,
the colors streamed in from every angle,
and the shapes that accompanied them
made my kaleidoscopic vision grant meaning
to the world that surrounded me.
When the first thing I heard
was my own wailing and moaning,
how beautiful the voices and songs were
as each note and each word and each sound
floated their way into my ears.
And when I felt my soft warm world
of skin and pillows and blankets,
I had no idea that everything I touched
until I learned to create new soft, warm worlds
would not be quite so warm, or quite so soft.
In those days before I could understand what 'no' meant
I did understand that everything that touched my tongue
had its own specific taste and flavor,
but somewhere along the line in my mind they all combined
into the two flavors of yes and no.
And in my first years I could smell so vividly
that the sometimes terrible scents that I encountered
were strong enough to make me weep,
but in time I was able to walk into different rooms
and keep myself safe behind walls of Febreze.
All of the senses I had before now
I was born into the world with.
But now I can sense the love in you.
I cannot see it with my eyes or hear it with my ears,
and I could not fathom explaining to someone
exactly what it is that your love tastes like on my tongue.
Your love leaves no scent to be remembered,
and though at times I hang on each sound you make,
I know that it is not the love in you producing them.
No pheromones that my body can sense could define it,
and my heart is lacking any sensory mechanism
that would lead me to believe that I pick up on it there.
My brain knows the love that dwells within you,
but I cannot feel it nearly as strongly when you are far away,
so I think my brain is only remembering what I have already sensed.
No sensing ***** that is a part of me
can sense the strength of the love that I feel
in your every glance and your every smile.
So this morning I woke up to the only logical conclusion:
You are the sensory ***** that I observe love through.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
I am from
Dark furniture within large rooms
Smells of curry,
covered with febreze and perfume
I am from
Ride a bike with one hand
But hold your plate for dinner with two
I am from
Red …white
And then blue
Meaning July 1st then July 4th
I am from no beef no pork
And no I don’t find cows holy
I am from hanging with cousin
Playing with nerf guns
Midnight movies
And dairy queen runs
I am from absent mother
And parents divorced
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 9:43 PM UTC
Maybe I should have seen it
The betrayal.
There must have been a hint in your smile
Or the way you stroked my hair
As if you were used to another girl’s
Strands between your fingers.
And the way your words said you cared
Oh so much
I think love was the word used.
Yet there were so many empty silences.
So many aching moments wondering
What I had said wrong,
If I had hurt your fragile
Feelings.
Questions fill my mind
Are there even feelings there?
Behind those glassy teeth,
That don’t seem to notice
The acid that seeps from them
Into my mind
Becoming these flower
And fields
With a sunlight that warms a once cold heart
Until you.
But the night falls
When you are supposed to be there
With me.
A stench,
Decaying body worthy,
Begins to fester in my nostrils
And I call you
Silence.
Again
Silence.
My best friend
Boyfriend
Must be busy
With a ****** father
Or a brother who needs distraction
Silence.
I spray your words
That you whispered to me
Over the qualms.
Like some form of an emotional Febreze.
The smell grows though
And I am not the only one to smell it.
So does she.
We slowly pry open the door
With nails at first
Towards the other
Until realization.
The corps is exposed
Prostrate
Eyes gouged out
A nose gnawed by your own personal
****
The arms are wrapped around the legs
In fetal position
Protecting itself from what
Started the decay in the first place
What strikes me the most
Is the mouth
It is askew
Turned in
The lips ripped and ******
Teeth sharpened by the
Machete tongue.
Water fills your inner cave
Tears from our collective three
All for one rotting piece of flesh.
I can’t feel a pulse anymore
Not within me
Or you.
My stomach is churning
A cliché that impacts more than just syllables
Cold chills fill my body
As I see the tears are truly for me.
And she.
And for a trust that was nonexistent
Because it was never mutual.
You were never real
The three years of bonds being built
Was all a dream.
With you there is no reality because
Within you there is no mass of muscle
Pumping the oxygen to your withering brain.
There is only your flickering tongue.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 12:20 AM UTC
So I have this reoccurring dream where
I rush to my childhood home and
Open my bedroom door, immediately hit with the familiarity of the smell of day old crackers masked by Febreze.
My eyes search to find a cage full of rats.
I have never owned a rat.
Yet, there are about 20 of the fuzzy little guys
Gnawing at the bars of the cage, pink paws grabbing and clutching, exasperated squeaks escaping their mouths as if to say “Help me!” or “Welcome home!”, my subconscious isn’t smart enough to clarify which.
I open the cage,
A few of them are dead.
Stiff. Small. Dead.
Instead of waiting to mourn
I quickly scoop up the others in my arms
Cuddling them close.
The scenery changes to a pirate ship in the way that dreams do.
Slowly and in a way that sort of makes you dizzy but your dream self doesn’t even notice and it only starts to mess you up when you’re thinking about it while eating Froot Loops two days later.
The rats are afraid and hurry out of my arms
I desperately try to scramble them up
But one by one they all fall overboard.
Now, I aced AP Psychology, so I know how to interpret this
There are 3 theories on dreams.
Information processing theory says dreams sort, sift, and fix a day's experience into memories.
I don’t remember losing my precious rats on a pirate ship.
So that isn’t it.
Problem solving theory says dreams are the continuity of waking thought but without the constraints of logic or realism. That dreams are meant for solving your problems. It suggests my rats are metaphors. I love rats, and if rats are problems, what does that say about me? That I keep trying to hold my issues and insecurities close to me but can’t juggle them all? That all my chances keep falling and dying and I’m losing my sense of self. That I need a reason to be the victim in every situation so I will never have to take responsibility for my actions and I can pretend like my faults never happened. And what about the pirate ship? Like, I don’t even like pirates so why would I put myself in a place I hate and then cling to disgusting faults like they’re precious. None of this makes sense, except maybe it does and I refuse to admit it, I’m in denial, I don’t want to get better I want to stay in this awful cycle forever.
But activation synthesis theory says dreams are a product of activity in the brain. The cerebral cortex attempts to make sense of neural firings by creating a story. In other words, dreams have no meaning. So this whole poem.
Is worthless.
As worthless as a rat.
A small. Fuzzy. Loving.
Yet short-lived rat.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 2:48 PM UTC
You smell very
refreshing like
Febreze
you are now
Febreze cat
Now come here and
let me hug you
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 6:28 PM UTC
hey...
sorry i'm replying late
well, maybe it isn't too late yet?
but at whatever time you may read this
i'm just certain
that it is not a good time.
but i'll say it anyway:
always drink in moderation--
i know you like to act
like you can take it
but honestly,
you say the stupidest things drunk.
especially when you're alone.
i just doubt you'll be able
to find a couch like mine
that you can just crash on
whenever you were wasted.
not wherever you'll be going anyway..
also,
i know we like
joked about this a lot
a little too much maybe?
but if ever you think about
trying it,
you know i've been there too
we both know how much
of a pain this has been
but please
put out the cigarettes
before you throw them
in the trash
and just one stick a week
okay?
well maybe not that strict...
look,
it will be hard to keep living
in an innocent and pure life
well, without me of course--
i've been such a good
role model for you after all.
but remember your promise:
never ever get a tattoo
not even if its something
awesome
or maybe a meme
or even if it is in memory of me,
you're way cooler than
any ink that would scar your body for life
also,
no matter how rebellious
you think you could be
don't do drugs.
never.
got that?
don't think about even sowing
the same seeds i'm now reaping.
i guess i got someone like you?
so maybe it is worth it...
but being left behind makes it
maybe even more painful
than is should be.
and hey,
lastly...
i know we made
all those
vows:
i'll never love anyone else...
not the way i did with you.
and i'll always be here for you
and that i'll never ever send you away.
but look
i broke the pact already didn't i?
so please,
fall in love.
and if ever
you get in a fight
or any other chance
to prove to this lucky guy
how much you love him...
do it.
and ps.
never let him see you wasting away
please.
lie if you have to hide
all the bottles of gin
and febreze all over
the smoke perfume swirling around you
just never
let him see you break.
thank you.
good bye.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 3:23 AM UTC
beginning:
playing football
in the communal
playground
pitched between
mountains of concrete
brown brick office blocks
blockaded high street shops
council housing kingdoms.
memory;
taking potshots at metal
goalposts slicked with
the rain and scabbed spray paint
till the olders kick us aside
basketballs in hand
for freethrows from the poverty line.
unlearning;
to think
love like marble
too cold and rich to touch
in fear that it’d turn out to be *****
like two boys
looking at each other for too long
can leave stains no amount of febreze can air out.
end;
i still can’t sleep in your arms
but you never stop searching for me
in yours
all there is left to do
is let
myself be found.
Oct 5, 2020
Oct 5, 2020 at 8:17 PM UTC
#
Yesterday was writing when I
got caught up in the hype
No solid idea in my head
but fiending for those likes
Without realizing, drifted back
Put on my old routine
Code that is approval-seeking
had slipped in sight unseen
With resistance dredging forward;
syllables I force out
No clear idea the words to say
or what it is about
I gather up a garbage pile
but spray it with Febreze
The opposite I want to share
for everyone to see
*Poetry is a translation
formatted into words
The boundless dreams, creative thoughts;
grounded through the absurd
No rules, guidelines or self restraint
should implement or use
Allow your soul to lead the way;
emotions are the muse*
**However, I feel there's one thing
each writer should possess
Embedded within character:
innately we possess
It's not a rule or a guideline
A path one adheres to
More like a vessel that each word
is birthed and traveled through
Gives life to ink with its voice
reciting what's written
If poetry is the email
than this is how you 'send'**
If one is honest and truthful
Then filled the "requisites"
Defined by the Creator
only he or she can set
Whatever the thing we all have
mulling around inside
For some of us it's breaking out
And others it will hide
Can't quantify or explain it
It's not 'one-size-fits-all'
Sometimes it's clear and plain to see
Some hide behind a wall
Ultimately, we get it out
in words, it manifests
Feel at times that I can transcend
Others, ripped from my chest
It's not about looking "pretty"
Fitting into a box
We need more than 'cookie-cutter'
Don't want just Goldilocks
Staying intact after poured out
However it finds form
The beauty's in the honesty
If dark, it still feels warm
Emotion or experience
Can both have their offspring
A message screaming for a voice
Wants out so it can sing
Parents can see within their child
beauty when others don't
But beauty's found in many forms
Finds ways to touch our souls
Each message, voice, or energy
We put down and we share
Can look and feel like one before
To each of us it's rare
We chip off a piece of ourselves
Bit of soul to donate
Rippling through the Universe
Each time when we create
Give life to it and let it out
don't warp or try to bend
A tale conveyed with honesty
A true 'share' when you send
*There's nothing more one should expect
Message belongs to you
Wrap heartfelt words in blood & soul
Is all
that we
can do*
#
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
Me and the guys have been around
quite a long time
Hung out with women
most of our lives
It's now come to the point
where me and the guys
Would like to apologize
From all of the things
we've been sneaking around
Which ya'll probably know
but haven't let on
Thinking we've pulled the wool
over your eyes
But to you it's no surprise
All the times we've forgotten
to take the trash out
That's the funk from the trunk
but don't know what's the sound
And those nights you thought
that was just a bad dream
We really forgot to put down the seat
When we have that blank look
like we're lost in our thoughts
We're really sitting there
with no thoughts at all
And to save time and water
we believe a few squirts of Febreze
Can be more than a wonderful thing
That part when we say
we have to work late
It's true but only because
we slept at our desks all day
If that has you scratching
your head wondering why
When you're asleep we play video games all night
That's just a few
Of the things that us guys do
Believe me there's more
But we don't want to scare you
We're pretty sure
that if all it you knew
You'd ship us all off the Kalamazoo
I'm not sure about you
but I'm willing to bet
Like me that you're glad
We got that off our chest
All in good fun life keeps you laughing
So lets all just pretend
That none of this really happens
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 9:05 AM UTC
How'd you know to put pickle in the Tempura?
Partial MB 4 Kim Buff Awe Echo sell gee
Wait it's my turn
What do you
have to
say for your self?
Not nearly as spry to be
wanted as Bora Bora Waters Febreze
Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 12:13 AM UTC