"felon" poems
Lefttard fascist libtard Russian troll loony mother **** ****er freaks stupid idiotic childish rant Antifa **** troll comrade idiots like you tide pod generation snowflakes **** you Marxist serial felon MSM useful idiots street justice fanboy alt.right **** dunal trumpf lunatic leftist ****phile ******* ******* in your *** your ****** *** loser freak pos pack heat ammosexuals smh screwball lefties community organizers trumptards professional agitators if we could ban idiots like you ****you donkey ****s you lying **** comrade Lefttard fascist libtard Russian troll loony mother **** ****er freaks stupid idiotic childish rant Antifa **** troll comrade idiots like you tide pod generation snowflakes **** you Marxist serial felon MSM useful idiots street justice fanboy alt.right culy dunal trumpf lunatic leftist ****phile ******* ******* in your *** your ****** *** loser freak pos pack heat ammosexuals smh screwball lefties community organizers trumptards professional agitators if we could ban idiots like you ****you donkey ****s you lying **** comrade Lefttard fascist libtard Russian troll loony mother **** ****er freaks stupid idiotic childish rant Antifa **** troll comrade idiots like you tide pod generation snowflakes **** you Marxist serial felon MSM useful idiots street justice fanboy alt.right culy dunal trumpf lunatic leftist ****phile ******* ******* in your *** your ****** *** loser freak pos pack heat ammosexuals smh screwball lefties community organizers trumptards professional agitators if we could ban idiots like you ****you donkey ****s you lying **** comrade Lefttard fascist libtard Russian troll loony mother **** ****er freaks stupid idiotic childish rant Antifa **** troll comrade idiots like you tide pod generation snowflakes **** you Marxist serial felon MSM useful idiots street justice fanboy alt.right culy dunal trumpf lunatic leftist ****phile ******* ******* in your *** your ****** *** loser freak pos pack heat ammosexuals smh screwball lefties community organizers trumptards professional agitators if we could ban idiots like you ****you donkey ****s you lying **** comrade
Employ all caps and strings of exclamation marks ad lib
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 8:15 AM UTC
The star-filled seas are smooth tonight
From France to England strown;
Black towers above Portland light
The felon-quarried stone.
On yonder island; not to rise,
Never to stir forth free,
Far from his folk a dead lad lies
That once was friends with me.
Lie you easy, dream you light,
And sleep you fast for aye;
And luckier may you find the night
Than you ever found the day.
6k
i never took Mother Earth for a felon,
but it is nothing less than a ******* crime
that you & i are forced to exist continents apart.
- m.f.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
my thoughts a swirling grave
orange tasting pavement
mint gum in my pocket
chewed
a small ill defined girl swung her head but
kept her drink level
it did not spill
there was a felon who was proud
and a blue that was fallen
the driest eyes
in a desert of music
people swaying and reaching out
but as outmatched as ivy
and skin
to the torrent of clouds
orange tasting light
burnt skin
burnt paper
orange tasting prayers
Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 11:11 PM UTC
512
The Soul has Bandaged moments—
When too appalled to stir—
She feels some ghastly Fright come up
And stop to look at her—
Salute her—with long fingers—
Caress her freezing hair—
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips
The Lover—hovered—o’er—
Unworthy, that a thought so mean
Accost a Theme—so—fair—
The soul has moments of Escape—
When bursting all the doors—
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings upon the Hours,
As do the Bee—delirious borne—
Long Dungeoned from his Rose—
Touch Liberty—then know no more,
But Noon, and Paradise—
The Soul’s retaken moments—
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the Song,
The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue—
3.8k
The curtain opens, and I am lit alone.
Chagrin is my monologue.
On opera balconies, giggling wraiths shield themselves from my humorless improvisation.
Served on a platter, I am on stage, eyes squeezing out precious salt, holding my hands over my red-tipped ears as they still roast from the taunts of my imagination's cruel gossips, who sit, deliberately carving into my breast, intending to cut out my breath. Jabbering, with ***** claws clasping at tarnished silverware.
I stammer and my throat begins to hang itself with a velvet string and cat-gut noose.
I sweat, clothed by the filth of makeup, menstrual blood, and leftover food stains. Palms held up, dramatically surrendering on the condition that mercy be extended, for they have seen my miserable condition and that it is me. The cloying stench of uncertainty and greasy hair envelops me.
I cannot kneel, for the coals on which I stand,
make me suffer more from the pressure.
No water in my heels to soothe this felon.
I cannot provoke or endure, my performance is to be left early. Hume would not grant me fame.
If you have a heart, do not waste ink or time or money on me. I am a clot of blood, clogged in the sink. I will die in a ***** bed and no one will care, not even myself.
I just wish it will be swift and fleeting if it is painful.
Hoping harder, I am not remembered as a miserable girl, the way I am.
So, sing violins, and let me swing for the cannibals.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
By midnight shine of streetlight glow,
On streetlight road fell citrus snow:
The chalky streams and powdered tides;
The tangy shores now come alive:
And to ignite the ember'd brook,
A cloudless clime so tender hook'd.
The night of sweet persimmon air,
Of quiet trees in quiet flare,
Instead of cold, white, winter blaze
My sleepless night soak'd auburn haze;
And sleep made be the dreamy flight,
The streetlight road ran just alike.
And this for me the lunar blue?
Some felon crime of citrine hues:
A nameless joy abstracts the heart,
Serene it is and set apart;
On streetlight road I met a truth:
And seamless be its natured proof.
Feb 7, 2021
Feb 7, 2021 at 5:38 PM UTC
In God We Trust, For He Invented Reasonable Doubt
In Courtroom of the State of New York, Part 62,
where the only decoration extant,
in gold leaf letters,
a magnificent joke,
In God We Trust.
Words so incongruous
to the real time drama,
a poorly acted Law and Order episode
of which I partake,
(as Juror No. 1,
ergo you may address me as
Mr. Jury Foreman),
they stun me into stupefaction
every time we enter and the
Bailiff pronounces with much gravitas,
"Jury Entering"
A potpourri of a dozen Manhattanites,
with wisdom acquired
by the singular virtue of
having attained the robust age of 18,
noteworthy for being free of
criminal record,
having been nominated
to sit upon the jury that will decide
the fate of one Eric B.,
for what he may have done upon West 11th Street
one Summer night in
June Two Thousand and Eleven,
If adjudged guilty,
New York State can take,
incarcerate him for up to
15 years of his life
Predicate felon by the age of twenty seven,
Eric's resume consists of
four felonies,
two misdemeanors
a wife and two little children,
and a partridge in a pear tree.
Facts turgid and muddy,
Eric tells a story
one juror calls a confection of lies,
no one murmurs
much disagreement in the
tiny, overheated room
we have been sequestered to
replay
the 2012 version of
Twelve Angry Men.
But I am not his peer,
nor am I a seer,
common sense says
if appearances are what they seem to be,
he aided and abetted
in the forcible taking of
a nice Connecticut lady's cell phone
with his brother who just happened to be
released from prison earlier that day
A convoluted tale
ripe with inanities is told,
upshot is our defendant's tale,
his robust defense,
portrays him as the unluckiest man
in the whole world,
a good Samaritan,
*{chasing after the thief,
** ** his bro}*
against whom events have conspired
In Manhattan can be a harsh place,
where the natives
a tough lot,
tougher than the Indians from whom
they stole it all.
Our bridges we sell to out-of-towers,
all it takes is one to say,
what the heck,
reasonable doubt is
a ***** to overcome
so let him go
Jan, 2012
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
alarm
dogmatical snakebird dictator
**** rooster of electro maniacal damnation
wake
goober eyed ithyphallic mortal yahoo yawns
glacier shuffle to Midas’ bowl
brush
minty hairy pasty headed ********
seafoam ***** on white vanity beaches
shave
deceitful murderous metal cartel scraping
dead shrubs from yesterday’s winter
breakfast
egg flour chalk smack
guzzling bean kerosene
work
batshit bureaucratic badgers bludgeon
muktuk hamsters lubricating wheels of fortune
lunch
butcher’s dead friend between greasy toasted cement
harlot’s heavenly tomato mating cabbage cousin
work
taradiddle of martyrs at jargon’s temple blather
babble, bumble - copulation without ***********
dinner
unicorn steaks, butterfly sauté, and
leprechaun fingers, a side of manslaughter dolphin
sleep
a felon’s holiday
repeat
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 3:56 AM UTC
Does it matter more to you that you care for others or that others care for you?
Would you take a series of bullets
Would you leap before a dashing car
Would you dance on sweltering embers for the sake of one who does you nought in return?
Wouldn’t most or wouldn’t anyone endure the worst for acknowledgement and commendation…
I try to be gallant—self-sacrificial,
Try to be benevolent, bleeding heart beyond comprehension
Yet am I worse than the slaughterers?
The iniquitous, the rest?
No more than the vile, reprobate, devilish…
For who, after all,
Cast oneself beyond forgiveness
The felon who would exploit acts of selflessness
To assemble his own
Maleficent, pernicious lair
Of praise, acclaim, and comfort.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, never and I mean ever skip a song because of a childish intro!!!LISTEN TILL THE END:>
blame me for my blind eye
hesitant on the hearing not the see it dies
blame me on the reason
my last years gone depressed season
began so dull so dumb a childish try
turns out to be so **** hard to deny
drunk on the chorus that switches its motives
its so called focus
pleasant for the ear
a fancy for the crescent defeater
one with a furious raged demeanor
on the mind a wild falling pleader
thief of previous cherry symphonious instrumental feeder
to be a runaway to the arrogant feels a betrayal
when it absolutely sways the Venuses to the ultimate portrayal
to be so precious a part in the hallway gone crazy gone jealous
to be so malefic in the addicting becoming a bit waste of the Chellos
to be so lonely on the glared faults
on the failed dreams of filling constant thoughts
repressed upon charmed up lingering past fonts
plastered on the admit
flustered on the submit
a fine line between
some
savior a haven an unknown felon
some
killer a torturer soured up lemon
------ravenfeels
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 12:31 PM UTC
She frolicked through trouble, and dandled with mischief. Alison Wonderland; everything I wished I was and so much more. Ever emanating her doe-eyed façade; proclaiming our jests mere “mischief.”
Yet, an unspoken verdict (Foretaste? Conception? Notion?) had cloaked the truth: wickedness rippled beneath our parade.
I nuzzled her contours; my peripheral eye – nailed to her profile, her blueprints, her chassis. I stalked her mirage – dancing with vapor.
She glissaded about, no fool to my truth, varnishing my mantle.
I belonged to Alison: perpetually at her side. Our couplet became a “we.” So, We regretted nothing. We veered for the pyre: caroming(skimming?) those embers alit with vice.
She narrated my mental seminar. Discarding my dogmas to uphold her own; and thus, my mind was hers.
My mind was her mind.
Alison made heads turn, and mouths water, as we sidled – hand in hand – down the street. She was my Christmas morning: each colloquium – giftwrapped with finesse. She personified paradise, she illustrated utopia. Hatching our Carnival; netting us, enamored, sidling the Carousal. We’d skim, we’d sail, her halo – my fossil. Her lips, her eyes, her hands… they echoed the innocence of a child. Niave, innocent, and giftwrapped in wonder.
Little Miss Wonderland: my very own fairytale. She was mine alone; she was mine to keep.
Did I want her, or did I want to be her?
Alison Wonderland.
Her aura – so celestial – paralleled my prose. When she banished my husk – Maple Thatcher – I cackled good riddance… And I grew a new personality to accommodate her own.
For, without Ali – devoid of our we – I doubted the very existence of me.
On my composition, she bestowed rhythm. She gave tune to my silence; her chimes, her cadence. My ink was her song – fusing a symphony. A symphony of Alison: the melody to solidify our tryst.
My mind was her mind.
And yet… somehow, I missed a carriage – or two – aboard her train of thought. For, the same felon spiting my existence, was the angel I loved to life. Gladly, I huffed, and I puffed, and I blew Maple down.
Fused against Alison, I needed none of Maple.
Carnival infatuations…
Alison Wonderland.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
There is a void in me that silently shouts hello at people who claim to be in my life
It screeches at those who have hurt me but they don’t really care
It surrenders to all that was promised to me but never delivered
It contemplates freedom or silence as it is indecisive about whether it should speak out or not
It is enslaved by anger and fed by pain
This void forces itself to sleep but anxiety wakes it up with vigour each and every single time
This void reaches out to my heart but that felon turned a blind eye
My brain trades places with my soul and orders my vessels to stop trying to be the good guys
They try to fight but my brain wreaks with anger and orders silence upon them
Blades of hurt beg for redemption but this void hears nothing
Drops of internal tears touch the void’s senses but it has grown too strong for anything to change it
It has taken control over everything and my brain being the sergeant leads this void
They march together to destroy all that is worth life within me
All that is beautiful turns into grey dry petals dried up by savage terrorists
These terrorists call themselves agony and torment
They terrorise my emotions and cast discomfort upon them
They try to escape through my skin pores but chains and shackles were whipped and girdled around them
They cried for help but this void silenced them with a lash of frustration
This void cut me deep and built its own palace in my soul and spirit
Everything else was executed and my body failed to adjust to the new system hence breathe became less and less
I found myself lying on a floor full of pictures
Pictures of my childhood and family
I gazed upon them and sorrowful tears ran down my cheeks
I am donned with a void that took my life from me
Bygone I am
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
Dear Everyone,
Most should know me past from my writings, most know that I was an addict, in prison, lonely at times, heart aches, I've been trough a lot including death of loves ones.
But do you pay attention to my writings about goals, dreams, to inspire, teach, motivate. I just don't talk about it, I follow through, which I hope everyone learns to do one day. If your doing it know, my hats off to you.
I have been having trouble getting a job because I am a convicted felon. That only inspired me to talk with God which had changed my way of thinking. I had a dream 2 weeks ago to open up my knowledge from the past. I was very successful in the energy field, to help fight global warming while reducing energy cost. I've been working 24/7 since that conversation.
My company is now real but the opening is postponed because of new ideas. I have been approached by many investors, so me and my team has decided to go public with our stocks. I want to open four offices, Alexandria, Lafayette, Baton Rouge at one time. And by year two New Orleans where I I will have my Corporate office.
I don't tell you this to boast, but to inspire, especially our youth. I always tell them to dream big and you will never fail. Most don't understand, how sad. Is that the parents these day don't teach this, just simple say my child if you dream it may come true one day. Tell them to simply dream about a new bike and provide it for them, don't have them earn it. These dreams will always grow year after year. Every day we get older and your children will leave from under your wing. Prepare for this world in the simplest ways and they will be prepared to step out in life.
Remember DREAM BIG and you will never fail.
INSPIRE, TEACH, MOTIVATE, PREPARE OUR YOUTH FOR THIS BIG WORLD WE LIVE IN, AS WELL SELF MOTIVATION FOR YOURSELF.
STAY POSITIVE, NEVER COMPLAIN AND NEVER SAY I CAN'T.
My hats off to my Marketing guru & genius , "Gailforcewinds".
this is very real
I really miss being on this site. **** I've posted over 700 writings in 2 months and read 1000's/
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
Look into my crimson eyes, they despise the suns glare,
they prove I am not human, and certainly not mere.
My teeth are as sharp as daggers and as white as an albino,
their unrelenting force is not to be matched by anything less than a rhino.
And speaking of force I have one unmatched,
t'is the sheer power and might of my **** thrusting thine ***
If such a force could be measured it would be dubbed unstable,
last time I got it on I shattered a table.
Its sheer size would frighten most men,
but my father and uncle... they could fend off about ten.
I tried it one night with my brother in song.
His body was moist and his tongue was so long.
I slipped my sweaty hands through his crack,
and as time progressed I started fondling my sack.
I ****** him hard and broke through his ******
i'm getting ready to show this guy my full spectrum.
As we continued our adventure I felt something sublime,
I tried to pull it, but it felt like I was wasting my time.
But then it happened, I pulled with zeal,
and what hit the floor made me hunger for a meal.
T'was his prostate it felt ever so soft,
I ********** on it and licked it all off.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
Family Bound
My Family means everything too me
Got a brother in the Navy He's married got a beautiful
wife too.
He's enjoyin the beautiful sunsets in the city where Micky Cohen use to own.
Got my other brother whos a gear head, a knucklehead, works on knuckle heads, and hes my knuckles too.
Me and him use to get into it throw a little bruises around but **** has he made me proud
went to the city where you can cook eggs on the sidewalk Pheonix.
Went to school too work on bikes and now works at Harley.... this means for me free tee shirts and cool biker partys too go to
hot women in leather pants and mean dudes with long goatees.
My Mom shes a healer, a bible dealer, and the leader of a womens AA program but is married to a Ex-convict, Ex-felon, Ex-drug dealing, Ex-rapist
I never understood why she goes for trying to heal men maybe it's because shes been trying to fix all of her 3 boys and thats the only way she knows how to love a man. Either way I love her too death and it'll be death if that man decides to lay a hand on her again... you'll see something that only Hades eyes have seen but enough about that loser... Unto my Old man.
My pops hes a machine mechanic a use too be psychobath maniac tatted up with rough hands, palms always itching and eyes always looking out for his family. He once told me Jay " You Gotta Pay to Play" and those words have stuck with me for some reason for a long *** time. He always has these little one liners that just make ya get back to reality,wipe your nose clean, put your head up and stand up straight and get back to the money. So thats my blood thats what makes my heart beat everyday knowing that my family gots my back to succeed.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
Lisa comes into my room and flops on the bed. The day had been uncompromisingly gray, windy and cold. The night sky was a snowy, blowing darkness, an absolute void that absorbed the campus lights and reflected nothing back. “I’m missing Spring Break,” Lisa she says.
“It doesn’t even seem like Spring Break happened,” I say. “Most Yalies went to Puerto Rico this year, I think, from my sampling.”
“RIGHT?” Lisa said, “EVERYONE says that - we’re in sync. But I enjoyed Paris,” Lisa continued, “I liked your family - no - I LOVED your family,” she amends.
“THAT’s a strong take,” I say, chuckling.
“I watched basketball with your uncle (Rémi) and cousins and helped your grandma cook,” she explains, “I felt like a part of your family.”
“Aww,” I say, “You ARE part of my family now - you’re TRAPPED,” and we laughed.
They invented spring break because after several months, the student mind starts to notice a harsh reality - how much their dorm room resembles a cinder-block jail cell - and starts to wonder how a lifetime of study and stress over grades has gotten them no further in life than the average felon.
We’re at lunch. Lisa says, “Ok, what’s new with you?” Keep in mind we see each other ten times a day.
“Well,” I say, I’ve decided that “The Beatles are for spring.” Lisa laughs. “Stop!” I demand, “I’m going deep. Today’s song is Julia,” I say, “It’s John Lennon’s song to his mom who was run over by a car when he was a child.” “I love that song,” Lisa says.
“Ok, what about you?” I ask.
“My song right now is “Move like a Boss,” Lisa says, “When I’m walking across campus, with my air pods on - I’m intense, don’t get in my way - I’m dangerous, I’ll Will Smith you - I scare me.”
“Good to Know,” I say, wishing I’d gotten a lemon brownie.
Then I add, “I’ve got this presentation on Monday that I haven’t even had time to look at yet. If I don’t get on it by this weekend it’ll be a nuclear-level disaster. I started on it yesterday and the Internet went down for 20 minutes. It was stressful - of course, you don’t know how long the outage is going to be when you’re IN it - and I had THINGS to do - is that convoluted? ”
“No,” Lisa says, nodding in agreement, “losing the Interweb’s traumatic.”
Apr 2, 2022
Apr 2, 2022 at 7:11 AM UTC
i’m still looking for the version of america that was taught to us in school.
the america where the flag that stands
stands for everyone’s freedom,
not just those whose skin is made of porcelain.
the america where those who protect and serve
protect and serve everyone,
not just those whose skin is made of porcelain.
the america where all are welcomed
and we welcome everyone with open arms,
not just those whose skin is made of porcelain.
but i guess this is only the america that lives inside my head.
the america that never existed.
where “everyone is free”
yet everyone whose skin isn’t made of porcelain is seen as a felon, a ‘bad man’, a walking disease, a theft...
as an inferior.
and the stars and the stripes that so gloriously fly
even in the darkest of nights
no longer stand for freedom.
because this “freedom” only applies to those whose skin is made of porcelain.
what makes the porcelain people so different than those whose skin is made of velvet?
when the version of america where that question is answered exists, take me there
because
no one is free, until everyone is free.
Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 3:26 AM UTC
Why does this caged bird sing?
Because I'm Black,
In a country that says that doesn't mean a thing.
Because racism has taken many setbacks
And the **Klu Klux **** has applications
and we know where the police get their reps at.
So why can't we take a step back?
My life means less than yours,
But I find myself pursuing better things
So my daughter never wants for more.
Locked in cages,
I'm a Starling
So I yearn to fly.
See my brothers in them four walls
Like that's where they were born to die.
If our privilege was like yours
We would never hear those expensive collect calls.
So we use our knowledge for wrong,
You'd never appreciate that a felon could write this poem.
Trapped in environments that don't care for us,
We try to branch out
They take a few shots
And you no longer hear from us.
So why does the caged bird really sing?
Probably because I know where my opportunities really lie.
In a ball, a mic or some reality show.
I'm not against those options
But I live in reality though.
There's no hope for the rehabilitated,
You have to carve your own road,
And nowhere is that clearly stated.
And to add insult to injury,
I'm Muslim and if you knew
You wouldn't see a friend in me.
So why does the caged bird sing?
If you clearly can't hear us,
Why put on a badge in a neighborhood,
If you fear us?
You prop yourself on a pedestal
And look down.
You brought us here, left us in the field, in shacks
And now we're in the Slums of every town.
You diminished our importance
And showed us anything that wasn't white was wrong,
For all I know you helped me write this poem.
So why does this caged bird sing?
So my words can vibrate my shackle loose,
So my ideals can blow open the door
And my melody can inspire every bird too.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
Up and over the barbed wire gate
Crept a dreadful Mr. Despair
To meet a horrible Mr. Hate
Who was impatiently waiting there
The dark alley that they had chosen
Was well off the beaten path
But it wasn’t long they heard approaching
A reckless Mr. Wrath
He greeted them with a grunt
A courtesy, for they’d never met
Then up from a steamy sewer
Rose a rueful Mr. Regret
He hardly nodded his heavy head
On his face a grumpy grimace
And so there they festered
Awaiting their last accomplice
Then out from a ***** dumpster
Creeping quite quietly
Fell the gang’s last felon
An awkward Mr. Anxiety
So there they plotted to pillage
In that abandoned alley
That lovely little town
Then called Vulnerable Valley
There they consorted, concocting
To bring the town nothing but gloom
They snickered, spat and sneered
Oh, the impending doom
Suddenly all peered upward
As a light shone through a window above
Their riotous rebellion had roused
A light-hearted Mr. Love
“Top of the mornin’ down there
Dandy weather wouldn’t ye say?”
To which there was no rebuttal
To sewers and shadows
The creeps had crept
To fraternize another day
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
Succulent to the core
Chilled to the bone
I likes the way your speckled body
Rushes through my veins
I like the sound of my
Sinking teeth excavating through
The avenues of your perforated skin
You were born in the sun,
Hot and bothered,
A summer fling.
My sweat streaked back
Goose bumped
With thoughts of you
I do not wait for the sun to
pick apart the buds of spring,
open them up like wrapping paper
a gift unraveled by April’s heat
No.
instead I wait
for your sweet taste to come
when the heat is on the brink
but has not yet fallen into the
gorges of summer
They say -
‘A tree is known by its fruit’
But you do not grow on trees
You grow on the roasted earth with
Vines that intertwine
Wildly,
a green mangled field...
Maybe that’s why I like you so much
Mine.
I am possessive
Aggressive
I carry you around in an opaque bowl
So no one can lay eyes on you
Your red bloodless interior
Is a sin
Greed-
green like your hard shell
I pull you out
When everyone is asleep
Tiptoeing across the floor
Smuggling you into my room
Carefully picking at you
Taking you in and spitting you out
Until nothing more is left
Except for the red sap I spared
Only because my teeth
Could not sink in it
Because it
Slipped through
the narrow alleys between my teeth
sliding down
the side of my mouth
Sweet indulgence.
Wiped off at the back of my hand
Sticky –
like a hot summer night.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 5:24 AM UTC
I’m the son of a convicted felon
An orphan living without love
They sent me to the river
The one they always spoke of
So who you gonna’ blame?
I came over on a boat
But my mom died along the way
We were put in a camp
All we could do was pray
Will he know my name?
I could go back
Or I could stay
I once was a child
Now I’m just a stray
I see the lantern gleaming
And I’m huddled at its feet
This land was meant to be free
But there’s no food on the street
You couldn’t get a job
Then they laid you off
They wouldn’t give you a raise
Now you hate your boss
Is that why you’re mad I came?
The sun was shrouded
By your darkness
The moon was drowning
In my tears
The oceans were boiling
From your anger
The mountains were falling
Because of our fears
Should I go back
Or I should I remain
I once was a child
Now I’m just a stain
I cried when I saw the flag
Who did they die for?
Those who were already here
Or me to fight in the next war?
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
It started with the wide-leg Giorgio Armani pants
And it all went downhill from there.
They were so chic, and might improve her stance,
She could wear them to the market, hell, almost anywhere!
When she put them in her shopping cart
And continued to enter her credit card number,
A shot went right through her fashion-hungry heart
A jolt she still remembers!
It was the feeling of a new era
A new time in the lifespan of her wardrobe.
She would become a Prada-shopper, a vintage Chanel-wearer
No longer would she need to shuffle around her apartment in that awful bathrobe.
She'd strut down the street, sporting her Carolina Herrera.
A month later, a tingle slipped through her spine
As she donned a lapis Michael Kors
It was that sudden thought, "This dress is all mine!"
"It's mine now, so it isn't yours!"
From then on, it was her bank account that took the hardest hits
Money trickled through her Valentino-studded hands,
Down her Vera **** hips,
Came running down in thin, green strands.
Of course it all came falling apart when she saw the flawless Birkin bag,
Sitting there in the Hermes shop window
She knew it was the one thing she'd yet to snag!
However, there was just one thing she didn't know.
As she had the cashier ring it up,
Dropping another ten-grand
The cashier had her card snatched right up!
For this, Madame Fashion couldn't stand.
"Give it back!", she said, snapping her gold-dusted finger
"But dear you're overdrawn," said the snappy lady.
How she wanted to scream like soprano opera singer!
It was then that things got real shady.
In a lurch of madness, Madame jumped the counter!
The other shoppers were struck into awe and fear.
The cashier woman tried to stop her,
But Madame had just barely escaped, finally in the clear!
As she ran down fifth avenue, clutching her precious steal
A horrible revelation took over this felon,
She'd forgotten that she had wanted the purse in gorgeous teal!
Instead she had gotten melon.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 3:55 AM UTC
and here we go again something completely new
dont interest me i want to copy my old wings
self never recognized the different reasoning
so take my paragraph like you take war police
banging down your door at the alarm of a total
Nobody. gonna shut down this claim that is truly
interesting. but only because the gods got torment
in their left hand and its aimed at the war police
bang bang ************* do or die trying
dont release me till ive gotten noticably interesting
just kidding want that zombie glare of your adderol adding up for one romantic flunk
of an i love you too soon on the release a loaded
handgun adding up for the hanged cliff of a
no i didnt notice that you even had one
**** darling youre a little too marooned for good
i may be an island but ive got too little much time
for a skip and walk away from a main land
so if one siren does end up staying on the rocks
long enough to scare me into so/so sobriety
ill always have a place to be when i get abandoned
but its just another excuse for me to stay dry away warm till rescue in this imaginary existence
cruise line lexus like admiral for excusing favors
aint asking for the roseary im asking for the papers
legally im entitled to two doses of riddlin **** you
dont believe me ******* here this is my perscrption
my dad prints them tenfoldin his crowded sub basement but i really need them to keep a day job
ancient time frame of a snitch who didnt know it
root cellar lack of oxygen braincells didnt grow in
see there lets blame it on the unintelligence then
connect that to the fact that hes a convicted felon
ohhh touche and a top hat to you stay straight
snitches only seperate themselves from shittalkers
when they dont know a god walking among them
other wise they can stay down talk **** for days
bang bang another door down from the war police
you didnt know your neighbors were the sameside
as you how do you expect the numbers to blind the truth. ba ba ba ba ba duh ba ba ba ba duh
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC