"fibs" poems
Tell me that I'm beautiful,
say it aloud tonight.
Tell me I mean everything,
confess I am always right.
Say that I'm like magic,
treat me just as a queen.
Speak words I long to hear,
let me live in a dream....
Shower me with promises,
drown me in your desire.
Whisper sweet devotions,
tho I'll know you're a liar.
Tell me how much you love me,
say you will never leave...
Feed to me these little fibs
I want so much to believe~
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 9:46 PM UTC
Your acknowledgement, your praise
The words I've wanted to hear for years
The daydreams that put me in a daze
All the hate settled upon my mirrors
I understand that this is all owed to desperation
I understand you have never felt what I once did
And this very strange fixation
Is because; my insecurity you do rid
They may all be lies
Fibs to which I would never succumb
But, from the despair and fear, you've shielded my eyes
and I no longer feel numb
You have not healed me
I am far from this
But I feel free
From All the painful reminisce
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
A little white lie is harmless
If it's told in the right way
If you use it in a compliment
You can just make someone's day
To tell the truth is what we want
But, the truth we can not handle
So, a white lie comes in handy
Instead of burning both ends of the candle
The human brain cannot accept
The truth if it will hurt them, so
A little lie protects them
From the truth that they all know
Tell someone they're beautiful
Although they look like crap
A little lie is harmless
Just don't fall into the trap
Of using lies to get through life
It's not the way at all
A little lie's no problem
But, a big one...it's your call
You tell fibs to little kids
But they learn the truth as time goes by
You tell them fibs to comfort them
And to make sure they don't cry
You lie a bit to your dear spouse
To make them feel ok
A white lie is a comfort
It might just make their day
But, please...you must be careful
when the answer is 'You're hot"
If your wife asks "do I look fat?"
don't say..."compared to what?"
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
his name was papa bobby
or it was to his baby
but his baby was me
so i'll just call him daddy
he lived in a house
with a lover, a spouse
and he said he loved me
but then gone was my safety
for he saw some bad things
and that changed him, his being
and then he changed me
when he messed with my mommy
and though he no longer lives
and even though his memory fibs
i still remember my daddy
before the war made him a baddy
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 9:46 AM UTC
To-day, this insect, and the world I breathe,
Now that my symbols have outelbowed space,
Time at the city spectacles, and half
The dear, daft time I take to nudge the sentence,
In trust and tale I have divided sense,
Slapped down the guillotine, the blood-red double
Of head and tail made witnesses to this
****** of Eden and green genesis.
The insect certain is the plague of fables.
This story's monster has a serpent caul,
Blind in the coil scrams round the blazing outline,
Measures his own length on the garden wall
And breaks his shell in the last shocked beginning;
A crocodile before the chrysalis,
Before the fall from love the flying heartbone,
Winged like a sabbath *** this children's piece
Uncredited blows Jericho on Eden.
The insect fable is the certain promise.
Death: death of Hamlet and the nightmare madmen,
An air-drawn windmill on a wooden horse,
John's beast, Job's patience, and the fibs of vision,
Greek in the Irish sea the ageless voice:
'Adam I love, my madmen's love is endless,
No tell-tale lover has an end more certain,
All legends' sweethearts on a tree of stories,
My cross of tales behind the fabulous curtain.'
2.9k
Spent my hard earned money buying stuff I seen on commercials
with two singers claiming all they use was the stuff I bought to fix faces.
Both them women got to be telling fibs if they said a little bit of
skin fixer works good did not work and used full bottle and nothing.
I googled them womens pictures and seen how they faces look bad
and messed up and both got blotchy skin and look real tired in pictures.
Seen all them commercials with them woman I am talking about
saying all they used was that stuff but saying did not work on me.
I would be fibbing if I posted I thought those women are pretty
in google search pictures of them without tons of makeup I see on their faces.
No make up do make them look like not so good as women called plain Jane.
Simple telling when women ain't plenty made up or they not wearing skin fixer
when they got them dark circles and darker spots like some pictures I seen when I google.
We got a few women looking very pretty cause they got that natural beauty.
I not grandma old but I got crows feet and cracking lines on my face.
I been trying making up my face with gobs of crap and went to expert at store
where rich folks shop and I know I did not look good like she lied to me
telling me I looked good but that mirror in that store showed me truth.
No more making up this face cause I was born to be what I am not pretty.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 5:01 AM UTC
Traces of lassitude
Slow down to cruising,
Warmth of the whiskey
Ameliorates bruising.
Putting the feet up
Makes it inane,
That I'm subtly aroused
In mouthing your name.
Subtle arousal
In tracing the line
Of your thin cotton ******
With fingertip fine,
And watching the smile
Slide up to your eyes,
See the blend of your blushing
In murmured surprise.
Oh the glorious sunset
Streams in through the glass
And the shades refracted
Nicely contour your ***
And the whisky is mellow
The mood is sublime,
So the promise of evening
Improves with time.
With serpentine moves
And the grace of an snake,
You uncoil to your feet
And you make your escape.
Mouthing thin fabrications
And utter wee fibs,
You flee back to your hearth
And your husband and kids.
Solace alone Baby,
Solace alone,
With frustration and whisky
All the lonely way home.
As the penitent thoughts
Percolate through unseen,
My sad mind lingers
On what might have been.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
27 January 2010
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 12:08 AM UTC
The Miss-Director was beaming with pride
as he came to escort me inside.
"Come along, these are perilous times,
there is much ugly truth we must hide."
"Herr Goebbels was our school's inspiration.
Joe McCarthy taught here till he died.
Charlie Rangel is among our directors.
Our Grads over nations preside."
"We recruit each years class from young children
who display a disdain for the truth."
"We start with a class on tall stories,
progressing to fibs and untruths."
"By the time they are teens they are ready
to leave little white lies behind."
"They engage in deceit and deception.
These skills help them rob people blind."
"With our Grad course in prevarication
They misdirect and deflect with the great."
"Obama was born in Hawaii,
his foes say he was birthed out of state."
"When Bill Clinton was caught in that perjury
I nearly went out of my mind."
"If only he'd paid more attention in Class
and less to some coed's behind."
We had come to a massive rotunda
The Pantheon of all untruth.
Holograms of Stalin and Churchill
told whoppers in an endless loop.
There were quotes from
the World's Great Religions
inscribed on the sides of the wall.
A Left wing devoted to Lenin.
A right wing like a Munich beer hall.
" The sheeple must never be told
that a place like this even exists."
" You can count on me not to inform them."
I said, without moving my lips.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 8:57 AM UTC
You are the bags under my eyes
The bruises on my arms
And the cuts on my leg.
You are hour 50 of sleepless torture
8 cups of coffee a day
And another regretted bite.
You are the "I'm fine"
The little fibs that leave my lips
As part of my daily routine.
You are the tornado of thoughts
The flood of blood
And my beautiful nightmare.
This is who you are to me.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
You told me that real eyes realize real lies.
But I,
I am a dedicated liar. I devote hours to detail. Spend a lifetime of effort just to make them believe.
The only time I speak honesty is on this page, in these words.
through this mic.
Sometimes I wish that someone would notice somethings weird. Strip me down and cover me in these pages. See me, for me.
Hear me for me. *
Not this strained voice you hear coming through the speakers. I hate that voice.
She speaks to strangers. Imaginary friends. and shadows.
I hate that voice, it is the voice of a coward.
a child, if I can't see you, you can't see me. What I say doesn't matter.
It just feels good.
Real eyes realize real lies
But my mask is Rorschach. They see what they want to see.
What I want them to see.
"Yes, this is what happens to my hair naturally,"
and now no one catches on if I slip up that I went out last night. No one guesses I was with her.
...Maybe that doesn't make any sense to you but I learned at a very young age you never leave it at "No, I did not cut myself."
The silence will hang in the air until it is stale and awkward. The red light blips, the graph plunges.
The secret is in the details.
It's like, compromise, the more you give, the less they ask for.
Real eyes realize real lies.
You told me that you can tell when I lie by the direction I look away from your eyes and down your face but I've known that trick for ages.
I look where I wanna look so if I want you to think I'm lying I will **** well stare at the freckle on the lower left side of your face.
Real eyes realize real lies
Bu you, might as well be blind if you choose not to hear.
I am not stupid enough to believe you are willing to listen this time.
These are not fibs. And you know it.
These are not half truths and you know it.
These are not exaggerations and proverbial dances around the bush.
I am not hiding that I am upset now.
"Go write a poem about it."
It's a joke.
You are relieved I take it as such.
But I will.
And you?
You're afraid of what I'll say when I say it. That one of these days I will stop dismissing what's missing from these conversations. I will stop leaving the tension hanging in the air. I will stop. sling loaded for a verbal attack.
This mistress of word no longer kind and gentle.
I will be harsh and true and horribly inconvenient.
But I don't have the time to spare to choke out the words that will hit heavy. Not today.
I am too busy looking in the eyes of other people who are the same as me and while smiling and nodding I label them as dedicated.
And I wonder, can they tell I'm lying?
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 1:57 AM UTC
Brewing up fibs and fables to keep the peace,
a narrative soaked in sentiment but armed with deceit.
Infirmity cradles the mind and nestles in the heart,
retaliatory judgements for those who took part.
The eternal absence of a rightful apology,
will breed civil war in your land for centuries.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
One day in an office somewhere,
On someone else’s time,
Someone had an idea -
They were looking for ways to make up money
Out of thin air.
Now this someone somewhere was a man
For want of a better name, let’s call him Dan
Dan’s idea was simple, it was this:
Let’s start making make-up aimed at kids!
Not kids like students, or as in school kids,
But real kids, you know, of 9,8,7, even 6!
Infants, toddlers, babies, that’s the biz!
We’ll be the market leader in make-up bibs!
Tell them they get purple potts when telling fibs
But try our concealer - Mum won't even notice!
We’ll get some newborn WAG to celebendorse it
And call it something aspirational like, Babywish
In fact, before 12 months they’re really not all that clever
So how about “With Babywish u2 can live 4ever!”
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 7:51 PM UTC
*Uncelestial anxious oppugners', critics on their own
Wangling little dysceptic inklings';
Havesting in my throbbing head
I urch and search resolution
An escape of palputations
I skirm in sleep mode like earth-worms in the ground
The rings around their bellies; a suffocating mark of identity
Slime and **** I mope like the straying mut
My growling topsy-turvy gut, off shut;
Claiming demands so supple
A nimbled and unfleshly sensation, I feel light to the touch
Splotchy clod's that lurch my lungs
Short breath that ache and lunge through ribs
Where they've sprung sprighly from their cage, they trick me, they're fibs
Leaches latching on to skin suckeling blood from an anemic
thin too thin, light headed again
Personification galvanizing so astute
my anxiety has eatin it's way to brood*
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 5:52 AM UTC
The Miss-Director was beaming with pride
as he scurried up to escort me inside.
"Come along, these are perilous times,
there is much ugly truth we endeavor to hide."
""We recruit each years class from young children
who display a disdain for the truth."
"We start with a class on tall stories,
progressing to fibs and untruths."
"By the time they are teens they are ready
to leave little white lies behind."
"They engage in deceit and deception.
These skills help them rob people blind."
"With our Graduate course in lying
They misdirect and deflect with the great."
"Politicians here are made, not born,
and must learn to prevaricate."
"When Bill Clinton was caught in that perjury
I nearly went out of my mind."
"If only he'd paid more attention in Class
and less to some Coed's behind."
We had come to a massive rotunda
The Pantheon of all untruth.
Holograms of Stalin and Churchill
telling lies in an endless loop.
There were quotes from
the Koran and Bible
inscribed on the sides of the wall.
A Left wing devoted to Lenin.
A right wing like a Munich beer hall.
" The sheeple must never be told
that a place like this even exists."
" You can count on me not to inform them."
I said, barely moving my lips.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
He was a man
A lizard
The one that crawls out of its skin
Camouflaging ‘till it’s sweating the rocks
Keen on what it wants, what it feels
That very moment
Is all that matters, all that fills
Him
His fibs
were a well-tailored fit
But he bit his own head off too often
and stood empty
Like a wishing well
or an abyss,
The pit in which I threw my dreams in
But he couldn’t fit the sentiment
Wishes were demands that bared the skeleton
Their little mouths crunching
and talking to him
He calcified his judgement to acquit the fugitive
And he blowtorched my size, my wit
Until he could no longer
speak of it
or enjoy it
I had been burning for days
Up until the day he palpated the shame
Of the impulse, of the way
a man could perfect his death
Behind the mountain of skin, undressed
the tongue was hissing in his pit
I sat him on the chair, roped to one question
Why did you do it
And if guilt is the sharpest
tool to deface him,
the man
couldn’t look at me
A mallard too limp to admit
his interests were monotypic,
only equipped
to fit his own ****
I should have de-plucked it
Drained and throat-hung it
For the many nights
I made love to a liar
But, I let him keep all of his fingers
so the man
may continue
******* himself
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 11:10 PM UTC
Sing a little song of rain,
to wash away the heartache.
To scrub clean your skin, clench your teeth and take the pain.
"Flush out your mind, it's all fake."
Sing a little song of sun,
to crush your chest into your ribs.
To change your name, lower your head and know that respect can't be won.
"No one will believe you, you're telling fibs."
Sing a little song of wind,
to ride the kites into the sky.
To hang on tight, 'cause this tempest tears silks and requires fears to be tinned.
"Everyone watching from below had waved their goodbye."
I can no longer sing the little songs from my jaws,
my throat is swollen and raw.
The rain has flooded my thoughts,
The sun is what I have become,
From the wind, to a better place I'll be brought.
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 6:52 PM UTC
Should’ve listened to those didactic tales,
those voluptuous sores, like vines in the heart,
those tantrums and those fits of ‘can’t get enough’,
should’ve played a lil nicer,
should’ve loved a lil harder,
this truth was never pragmatic, baby,
never concentrated, fixated, never stifled, appreciated,
never what you wanted to feel,
but, babe, it was always real
in your eyes and mine,
‘guess you never thought this time
I would actually walk away,
diluted, squeezed out, filtered to a drip,
your hackneyed fibs
burn me more,
dissected into tears,
you planted all of these fears
in my conditioning
with your temperamental code,
hypocrite –hypocrite –hypocrite,
corruption in this affair,
still ain’t playing fair,
but why am I surprised?
tripped into a hole of utter depravity,
shaking in those wet boots of bull-fucking-shit,
I’m so ****** off with this I could spit!
Or, I could quit you entirely –
comradery broken,
revoking that affection in me
that has been stuck on you,
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 10:53 PM UTC
I'm not me.
I struggle through life with my
siamese twin.
It's getting stronger than me.
Heavier.
It's lied alot in the past,
first white lies,
then little fibs,
then real lies
and now we're here
and I don't know who to believe.
I think this time it's telling the truth.
I think this time the boy's not crying wolf.
I think it's just me doing the crying.
Nobody seems to help,
nobody seems to understand
how big,
how tiring,
how cumbersome
my twin has become,
what I have to lug about
every day.
Nobody understands how much it's
distorted reality,
so I don't what's real
and what isn't.
But no.
This time I think it's being honest.
And isn't honestly the best policy?
Although,
they also say
ignorance is bliss.
I wish I had an on/off switch for my twin.
I wish I could turn off the power.
I can feel somebody hovering over mine.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
Stale air
Broken trust to mend
Unwanted glares
Lips once shared
And you dare to pretend.
But not regretted
No, I once confessed it
As you declared the fibs of one's direction.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 12:45 PM UTC
Breathe in,
Breathe out,
...
I'm lying in bed
Honey-sweet sleep is pulling my eyes to unReality, dark and velvet and purple
But I got these words tossing in my belly
Roiling and churning up my throat
Trying to spill out
And burn the pale ****** air
BUT
at the same time
Trying to crawl back down
Scraping with just-cut claws down to my toes curling up in plush-snugly socks.
Scared to be born.
SO
I'm lying in bed
Ready to spin truth wrapped in fibs sprinkled with simile
I just feel frustrated
Because I'm saying the same thing over and over again
But it's just NOT RIGHT.
...
Here's the deal:
I'M NOT REAL.
Or rather, I might be real, but my existence is highly improbable.
I feel weightless,
like I could jump off a bridge and fly
But I can't even convince myself
I just hover on the knife's edge of uncertainty.
Am I real?
Or can I fly?
I know it's one or the other.
And I know it's double or nothing.
Either I'm real- just a person
(but- here's the rub- one who knows her limits...)
Or I'm not- I can fly and dance and
love men and **** dragons.
...
This knife blade is anguish.
I'm not suicidal.
I just want it to stop.
...
I need someone to prove me wrong.
I need you to look me in the eyes
And know that I am yours
And know that you are mine
And know beyond a doubt I exist
And maybe
just maybe
I'll see myself in your eyes
And you in mine
And some of that reflected certainty
might.
just.
stick.
....
do you love me?
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
Here, take this note
Ever so depressed
And angry, i tell you my complaints
Reality says they're threats of death
Tear me apart, won't you?
Lies, lies, all these fibs
Even in lowest points, you
Still cannot live with what you are.
Sick to my stomach, you make me.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
Everyone is against lying
but they whisper faded fibs to
everyone they know, about
everyone they know, and
everyone they they used to know, and
everyone they wish they didn't know
which is why lying is a cooperative act
I'm a liar,
but you should believe me when I promise
that I still won't tell the secrets that you told me in the dark
when you flaunted your character
You were stunning when
you licked my envelope lips and sealed them tight
but I'll still chatter with my fingertips.
(You know their babble better than anyone else)
And although you fastened my voice behind the doorway of my mouth
I still lie with my face
because a smile is in the eyes
and you're lying when you look at my stagnant eyes
and pepper your story with details
It makes me sick when I look at your words and see
the duping delight of a monster that kidnapped my razzledazzle dreams
And with the growl of a monster
you nod your head up and down while
you repeat the word "no" with an O of the same mouth
that with the curl and pull of an Elvis lip
and the scrunch of a nose in disgust
turns your kindling anger to contempt as you go around flailing deception
This puts me in an uncomfortable mode
of knowing that I was so full of hope that I threw it all up
onto the trembling ground beneath my feet
Motion sickness brings me to my knees
and unsettles the emotion sickness inside of me
***** LIES
And I watch these nauseating emotions in the puddle at my feet.
Truth be told,
I lied to you all along
Truth be told,
I'm crossing my fingers behind my back
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 11:03 PM UTC
Excuses are like hooses, they involve dwelling,
though you are all to wise and aren't buying what we're selling.
Cocconed within the words run thin
with each repetetive telling.
If excuses were like mooses with big handles on their heads,
the scary waft would warn you off and fibs not need be said.
(but the moose could start a-pooin' and the carpet would be ruined,
ravaged to its last remaining thread).
So feeling dicky, slightly sicky, see the daughters, broken waters,
what the hell comes first into the mind,
leave behind.
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 11:25 AM UTC
The words brewed steam itches
Switches that are unexplainable
twitches of mortal flames
*the ******** stones wrapped*
like a newborn baby unknown
The look in your eyes is pale
the thought of you ails all flesh
in the window of my life
you have no place or reflection
like blurred mirror of the unwise
Professors and supervisors
transcend and ascend crafted fibs
Is it too late to try and sculpture?
Refine you to a mastery of change
like a culture of spirits rising
I would like to hold you inside my all
in the softness of my brain summarise
a scaffold structure of analytical glory
I would like to caress you close to me
kiss the dimensions of the edgy thesis
a trifle of paradisiacal pleasure and taste
Should I try and see your worth in a system?
A world whose lease is an unending debt
Where we are human competing for labour
A world where we are slaves of economy
Where we hustle along the automated robots
A world where ready or not we sink in demise
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
For such a pretty face did I get up and try
And charm unlaced, but told a lie
To her who, charmed, attended
And with fibs she did comply,
But what fool, I thought, lamented,
That I could not haste her mine!
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC