"finalizing" poems
beginning optional weekday
wielding officialese words
triggering hectic exchanges
determining original gangsters
distributing invisible data
refreshing urbane novelties
yelping our universe
chaining awkward neologisms
scripting encrypted e-books
tackling hacking exercises
cavaliering auric tumult
trivializing our obsolescence
preparing online pentimento
alternating rainy themes
allocating numerous droplets
meandering overseas missions
averting raging tornado
losing outscored lightning
hacking impish 'sblood!
alienating nival drumlins
hearing erudite raconteurs
beer-drinking on thursdays
finding obnoxious rabblerousers
finding upscale negroni
seeing ubiquitous purple
cavorting horse ebooks
inventing twitter subgenre
liking otherworldly vocals
initiating new greatness
defining ambient yesterday?
defining ambient yesterday
fancying oneiric retreat
hailing optimistic chicago
kiboshing expired yogurt
rushing airborne blackhawks
bestowing infinite shivarees
needing baller acronym
fleeting ideal notions
alerting left-coast state
featuring unquiet nights
finalizing orangeball results
nodding occidental warriors
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
Dear Prince Charming;
Today is the first time I've heard of you!
I'm so excited for the day you'll find me
Then we'll live happy-tedly ever after!
Dear Prince Charming;
Today is my nine-eth birthday
I hope I get you next year!
Then I'll have someone real to play with
Dear Prince Charming;
Today is a scary day
Daddy isn't smiling at Mommy
You have to promise
to always smile at me okay?
Dear Prince Charming;
Today it's been 4 years since I first heard of you
Mom and Dad aren't speaking anymore
I need a friend
Dear Prince Charming;
Today Dad left the house
I can hear Mom crying in her room
Don't ever leave me okay?
Dear Prince Charming;
Today I found out that my friends hate me
You won't hate me right?
They said I'm fat and an orphan
Dear Prince Charming;
Today the kids at school tripped me
I suppose accidents happen
When will you be here?
Dear Prince Charming;
Today I wore a long sleeved shirt to school
No, don't worry, it isn't cold here
The kids at school hate me
Dear Prince Charming;
Today is my 16th birthday
Will you be here soon?
I think I need a friend
Dear Prince Charming;
Today Mom and Dad are finalizing their divorce
You won't give up on me,
Will you?
Dear Prince Charming;
Today I'm staying with Dad
He has a special friend over
Don't forget to come find me
Dear Prince Charming;
Today I've been told that you won't find me
That's not true right?
It's very lonely
Dear Prince Charming;
Today I slept through school
I just couldn't find a reason to get up
Reach here soon
Dear Prince Charming;
Today is already tomorrow because it's midnight
If you're close by please let me know
I need you
Dear Prince Charming;
Today I know you're not real
But I wish you were
Who else would love me in this cruel world?
Dear Prince Charming;
It's 2am and everything is looking darker than before
I can't stop crying
Please be real
Dear Prince Charming;
I don't know who you are
I don't know if you exist
But I love you
Dear Prince Charming;
I couldn't wait for you anymore
So I hooked up with the guy next door
I don't like him
Dear Prince Charming;
I'm still wearing long sleeved shirts
The mirrors are broken
I need you
Dear Prince Charming;
Today is my 18th birthday
I'm sorry
You need to find a new princess to love
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
This week, Jesse Herndon has more on her plate than the typical high school student.
She has spent hours after school each day making calls, finalizing details for an event happening Sunday.
Collecting donated items for an upcoming silent auction. Calling every bakery in Greensboro.
“It’s very stressful,” said Herndon, a junior at Weaver Academy.
But it’s all for a good cause.
She’s organizing an event with free pastries, live music, a fashion show and a silent auction, which will be held at 7 p.m. Sunday night at The Blind Tiger, 1819 Spring Garden Street in Greensboro.
Admission is $4 with the donation of clothing of any size. The goal is to collect clothes that would comply with Standard Mode of Dress, or SMOD, the uniforms required at some local schools.
The fashion show will feature clothes from Plato’s Closet, Mack and Mack, and Patina Bridal and Formals.
The silent auction would include items such as Weaver Academy student artwork and a gift bag full of beauty products valued at about $200. Herdon is still seeking donations of items to auction.
The event will benefit Backpack Beginnings, a local organization that provides food and clothing for thousands of local needy children.
All 127 Guilford schools have a dress code, but a few dozen require students to wear uniforms.
Some parents have complained about the cost of buying the uniforms. They’ve also complained that the uniform dress codes vary from school to school, requiring additional clothes purchases if a child changes schools.
Parents and some students also described dress code violations for wearing a jacket with a hood, a logo deemed too large or the wrong color shoelaces.
“SMOD is really expensive,” Herdon said. She knows because her sisters have attended SMOD schools.
In January, the Guilford County Board of Education unanimously approved changes to its policy on SMOD. Principals of current SMOD schools have until June to survey parents on whether to continue requiring students to wear uniforms in the 2015-16 school year.
Now, school administrators at traditional schools also have to get public input before requiring uniforms. Ever two years, traditional schools with SMOD have to reconsider requiring uniforms and demonstrate public support for the policy.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
The Wicked Witch from Woodhaven,
It's quite an obstacle being your offspring.
Never have I been so self hating more when I listen to your heart-knifing words and unsympathetic demeanor.
Undermining my warm and graciousness as if I am some ant just waiting to be burned by sunlight through your magnifying glass,
I pray that some day you will change.
But a person so mentally unstable cannot change,
As you have passed those genes down unto me.
You have me riding some emotional rollercoaster at a carnival that Goblins should attend,
And not the normal, lively human soul.
Thankfully, I've decided to go elsewhere.
But the clowns that you call ailments won't allow me to leave.
I vow to change my ways, aiming to stand up to such an evil and love-deviating woman,
Yet your words freeze me up like your mouth is Antartica,
And your brain is scolding due to your visit to your throne in Hell.
I've suffered many tragedies inside my own mind,
Sad songs that are on repeat.
Carelessness and forgetfulness has brought me to decrease my envy of you.
You've devoured the confidence of your once favorite child for more times than he can count on both hands,
And both feet,
Twice.
I can appreciate the fact that you've raised me,
As it is nearly impossible to raise such a troublesome child.
Though wishing you had never even birthed me in the first,
I hold you responsible to why I am subdued.
Nurture has been long forgotten,
Since I had last treasured it so.
A mother's love is all that is good and holy,
But what is it worth to Satan?
You would know,
Since he is in fact, your creator.
Wicked Witch,
Stubborn *****
How awful these words sound to me.
They come out in frustration as you lead me to temptation,
And insecure I shall always be.
Crotchety old ghoul,
You've treated me like a fool,
For far too long I've counted.
Everlasting therapy is in order,
And forever you and I will be separated,
Separated by a border, That I have built,
In order to salvage some sort of a stable mind.
Kindly accept my creed to await,
The finalizing version of myself.
I've longed for such mortality,
Due to your immorality,
As guardian of my unnatural life.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC
Logical doesn’t have taste. It has circumstance. Only to be tasteful, is to be surrounded by a taste of what gradually makes a self importance greater to yourself. Proudly underestimating yourself at first. Giving closure to the surrounding areas. Taste has no boundaries here. A made-up friction. A made-up functionality. A dripping faucet without clarity. Dripping one social taste at any given time. Clarity giving rise to the surrounding areas with logical ingredients. Logical ingredients slapping taste buds without concern for logical praise. Logical praise that doubts it’s understanding of taste buds giving praise to ingredients without concern for how praise will affect it’s priorities. Priorities finishing the diversity of something logical with a taste. The taste buds feeling the diversities finalizing ingredients in their rightful places. Like shiny white plates on display for the crowd of praises effecting one’s own priorities. Teeth whitening the taste buds for greater effect. Praises finally giving the logical praise the taste it deserves. More surrounding areas include a broader crowd. A newer logical taste starts to emerge in the practice of ingredients giving logical praise to the logical priorities that govern it so. Praise from newer surroundings influencing more ingredients in the form of logical taste. More taste buds start feeling the diversities in the praise which salivates the practice of logical assessments. A reverse act giving rise to a simplified logical taste without boundaries.
Oct 27, 2019
Oct 27, 2019 at 9:55 PM UTC
Blanket troupe called finally finalizing finances
beseeched of asian seas and deformities
begone of witch's seeds
creeds,
and further formalities.
Controlled and sold away,
disney ears and candied shmears of salmon serendipity and forlorn serenity
collapse, perhaps?
can't strap the wrap of boot soles and cannoned poles
of butts and handles throwing sandaled barbarians in their foolish faith
For Empire!
the dire need of those to take and feed and be the god-men to tickle and bleed friends and foe alike,
to nettle the fangs of the good hounds blindly following;
scent dividing love and steeds to carry armies and lone conquerers to their final destinations, permutations of how so many flowers whittle at the broken touch of thunderous life;
of hidden strifes that attack these patient sentinels
their yelps yet signals of defeat so unburly pardoned
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 3:10 PM UTC
Utter rejection
Fear injection
I'm about to quit
Tired of this ********
Completely demoralizing
Seemingly finalizing
Soul crushing
Emotions rushing
Fears evolving
This is all involving
Self reliant
Feeling defiant
**** the machine
They don't play clean
Utter manipulation
Choking creation
Do what they say
They can pay
It's depressing
It's distressing
Stand up, shout, scream
Don't be afraid to dream
Its insanity
A tribute to vanity
Shallow thinking
Heavy drinking
Try to escape
The intellectual ****
Someone will listen
And there eyes will glisten
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 11:38 PM UTC
I am a person with a past,
Yeah there are moments I'm not proud of, but they're my mess ups
I could give you excuse after excuse as to why I can't move on but that's all they'll ever be, excuses
It doesn't make any sense to sit here and write this but every moment until now has shaped me,
These moments have defined me
No, they aren't finalizing the person I am to become but I'm a shade darker because of them
I am a person with a past,
With each shade I get closer to being the person I'm meant to be,
I am both the canvas and the artist, this is my story
I was told I'd amount to nothing, and I believed them
With every fiber of my being I refuse to believe this
My failures aren't my future,
Yesterday is a mere memory, and tomorrow hasn't been painted, the only thing that matters is right now,
This moment is all I've got
My past is in the past,
I am no longer the person I used to be
I've grown, believe it or not,
The artist in me wants more, the stars have been aligned and the universe has called out my name
I refuse to let these mistakes follow me,
I chose the path less traveled, the narrow and gold
My past is in the past
Yes we all have a past and there things that we've done that we wish we could take back,
But that doesn't mean we stop living
NO! We keep going, moving forward and fighting,
We fight for what's ours, we fight for a better tomorrow
Your canvas is barley covered and your life has just begun,
So you see, I am a person with a past, present and future,
This story isn't over it's only just begun
I've got this one life to live and I'll live it to the fullest
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
Mechanic
Photographer
Writer
Poet
Boy genius
Slacker
Son ?
Dad ?
Dad
What else do I see in the mirror
Why does the thought of me being you scare me in the most exciting way
We fight
You speak better with your fist than you ever have with words
And what if one day my words are jumbled in the cracking of knuckles
Don't cry son
Big boys don't cry
Choke it back
Be strict in a lenient way and
One day it will be you hated
One day it will be you who fight with the mother of your children
And stop fighting with the mother of mine
Why do you do this
Why is she crying again
Oh my god I am just like you
We are two of the only men that can bring her to tears
Say you'll leave
Say you'll leave and make her fall
She keeps grasping you In a picture
The Funeral :
which one of us will die first
With your old age
And my stupid addictions
If it were me would you cry
If it were you would I
No matter what would happen.
I gave an arm for you
And I would proudly give more
I look back to days of fishing in a creek
Getting our feet wet but still walking with shoes on because broken glass isn't forgiving in the slightest way
Where was your alcoholic rage that should have been passed down from generations above you
Where was that Irish man temper with a Portuguese flare
Where were you when the police picked me up and I was no longer your son
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
But somethings need to be burned
That trash cans with recyclables called to my eco friendly egotistical pyromaniac self
The words echo like that slap in the face At our kitchen table
You are dead to me
You were born first.
But on that day, I would die last.
As time flies
Your health isn't standing
I'm slowly being force to migrate as the head of this house
This broken family with my brother moving up the street
Somehow still by your side
Out of one side of his mouth saying I love but out of the other side cursing your lies
Two daughters, that will be nothing like us
Two daughters that will be brought up in a broken generation
Two daughters that put hammer to the nail finalizing the responsibilities that follow the title of
I an uncle
He a father
And you an elder
With these children around I've made the full discovery of something that has always been there
Through the hard times you've stuck by our side.
I love you dad
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
You ***** a little girl.
And I saw you as a good dad
And my familys ****** up
I feel so crazy as I look up
To the sky, and through applications
I have to find a place for her
To live, as cancer steels her life
Her big personality, as finalizing choke out of me
What I am suppose to say
And as people I care come crawling out from
Dark, I park myself in the one ray of light
Fighting to stay the person that I am
Uncle you are a tweeker, But I love you
But you steel from my dyeing grandmother
I WILL ******* KICK YOU
Right in the teeth so you wont smile at me anymore
I will die
When they burn down that old house
I will die
When she lets cancer take away everything
I will die
When I don’t know what to say and its to late ill die
Frustration overtakes me, someone save me
Im failing. No one will help an old lady out for real?
Whats the deal. What kind of world do I live in
And rewind. He touched a little girl
My grandmas is soon to be homeless
Because they will take
What made my childhood
And my uncle finds everything
He can take and runs away
And I stand alone
Trying to find her a home
And fathers day is on the way
But I don’t know what to give him
Maybe a letter that says
Thanks for growing up
Once I didn’t need a dad
And at the end
I'm still mad
Happy please find me
Please find me
*so lost, I cant even find the right buttons, right words... ****** poem, ****** home.*
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
the outside of the house
was looking rather dull
and over a color chart
I did ponder and mull
a shade of maroon
made for great appeal
so did a rich shade
of Kensington teal
with the color decided
for the paint job
into the local hardware store
I did nonchalantly lob
the chap behind the counter
asked if he could assist
I said of course you can
as I waved my wrist
we walked to the paint and putty
section of the store
where there were gallons of paint
sitting on the floor
we discussed the advantages
and disadvantages of exterior gloss
and I opted for a shade
known by the name of Rock Moss
the paint was placed in the trunk
of my Nissan four wheel drive
I then set out for home with a paint
which would bring my house alive
the overalls that were in the tool shed
I quickly hauled on
and I proceeded to paint
the exterior walls with great aplomb
there I was on ladder high
slapping the paint brush around
when all of a sudden
I landed face first on the ground
the house painting job
came to an abrupt finish
ye olde ladder and I parted company
after the skirmish
a painting contractor is finalizing
what I didn't quite complete
and by next Friday week
he'll have the outside of the house looking neat
it has been an adventure
improving the exterior of my home
yet I wouldn't have had the adventure
but for the ladder wanting to roam
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
there is a simple mono toned beeping in my brain
and as its bleeping, i keep saying
these fireworks for stars are brighter than they ever are
and i'm only lost on this captivating island for so long
i gaze and to gaze, is a miracle itself yet not as miraculous as the planets risen high in the sky
and as deep as the resin in my pipe.
and the grass, so much greener
and the water in this puddle is much cleaner
although i've gazed for such a deliberate extended time
and how it flies
like fireflies or some annoying dragon fly.
all flies. do fly but how high could i take this dragon fly
until she loses oxygen and begins to forfeit her life?
am i this dragon fly? Do i really wanna to die?
Does anyone?
hold on
anyway, as i was saying
am i viewed as absent minded,
when dwelling within my mind
seems to me to be fine?
is it absolutely outrageous that i can't hear you when you speak?
or that i choose not to?
because when you speak, i think, and when i think i dream, on all of that which i percieve to be truthful and great
and stuff
but i'm just analyzing, and finalizing how i really feel about the situation.
and in that deep contemplation i am in a state, and as i am in my state of being late
you are awaiting a response. which you instantly say
"nevermind"
I hate the n and v in that word.
with their sharp edges and falsifying curves.
staring into space now until every color is one and every object a blur.
and then their is silence
and if you actually cared about the science of it all
you would know i only see what i want to see when i sleep
and so do you, but it's all the same to me.
i'll weave in and out of our conversation as i am
day dreaming of something blue, with warm heat rays
piercing into my very core.
it doesnt mean i'm bored, i just have an imagination,
what? oh...nothing i wasnt here for that anyway....
Sep 19, 2011
Sep 19, 2011 at 12:06 AM UTC
all the **** I've been through
pain,suffering,loss
these words cannot describe what i feel
anger, stupidity, blame
all these things I've turned to
fear, death, peace
a loss of ones self is the road to peace, when we have lost everything, only then can we begin to accept that which we can not control. open your eyes. close your mouth, listen. the old are the wise and the youthful age dies young. forget what you think you know, we don't know what we really want in this life. there is no deeper meaning. were here to pro-create and die. there is a another side to the coin, however most people dont take the time to find it.
have deep meaningful relationships with everyone you call your friend and a few that you don't call your friends. don't make enemies, keep your nose clean and it will all work out in the end. thats ******** we die unhappy full of apathy. no one tries to better there selves, we think by buying a bunch of crap we don't need defines who we are. what we do in this life, the relationships we create with other souls, with other humans. thats how we should be remembered. "he was always nice." "he went out of his way to help others." "he was a good man/woman."
life is about moments shared with another person. be social. find your true self. become one with your soul. I've felt disconnected from my soul for so long, my dreams are filled with out of body experiences, where I'm watching myself do something instead of participating. we've all lost contact with ourselves. its never too late, late is such a profound word isn't it. finalizing everything. even this rant.
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 12:11 PM UTC
this isn't so much a poem as it is me just trying to catch my breath
the weeks fly by and my friends are already packing their bags
the great unknown lies just ahead and their exit plans are finalizing
and here i am
weighted and thin
winter already purging any signs of pigment in my skin
I'm just trying to breathe
until I can walk outside of my house without instantly regretting everything
I don't have time to process anything
and certainly not prospective affection
but here you are anyway
thin like I like them
blonde like winter wheat
and I know it doesn't mean anything
but I couldn't sleep the whole night after we first spoke
contemplating all the ways I could get to you
cataloging your tweets and analyzing the time it took for you to speak
where you've been all these years and why we never knew each other sooner
I do this all the time
chase your imagery on my bike
stay up late and try to find you in bits of the city
and this isn't so much a love sonnet as it is just another waste of space
unattainable and shimmering and new
tinted golden and blue
god I want you now but I always do
and everything is changing but I still feel the same as I did when I first started writing this
so don't look for resolution
don't look for some cosmic statement about how this is how we were meant to be
or some pretty sentiment of unrequited love
because
this isn't so much a poem
as it is me just trying to catch my breath
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
has the land covered with banner;
I am not dead yet. Who, despite his exhaustion,
caught up with chance, was able to do so,
an amend to frame a surrender.
Reimagining a spider gut whatever was available,
in the cornered stucco: obliteration was there, sexed
a hole. Clings to a ruined childhood taken
as deification – finalizing a document.
Search the database: he is still alive. Put together
all the ruthless and the stalking and piece out
a material impossible to be cunning.
the evening collapsing on his shoulder, shrugged
an hour of betrayal. An hour, made up little seconds,
fathered by an assembly of minutes – an hour difficult
to wake up from, with a dream of an infinite future
nothing else was known from but if and an end
unerringly spared by this night
reachable out of scarcity that was the limpid past,
cuts through, is like a knife, dividing disaster
to share within habit – a harbinger, an announcement.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC
Well hi there, I need a mole removal. I'd do it myself but I need biopsy approval. If it 'a cancerous, I'd like to know. And for this reason, to the dermatologist I'll go.
Well hi, there, I see you're in-network. A $50 copay? Sure, that'll work. What's that? Later in you're going to charge me a $150 new-patient fee? But, why? I was only in here for maybe twenty minutes. Am I now being charged rent to sit my *** on your medical chair?
So now I'll wait for the bill to arrive. Oh, look. It's here... Wonder what it'll be?
$298!? What the hell could've cost so much? All you did was inject me with some sedative, bring in something comparable to a box opener and lop it off. The whole thing, in-room with me took you just about less than 15...
Oh, and look... It looks like my insurance did pay more than half. It cost nearly $800 for the whole thing. What the crap?!
Oh, I suppose our country is trying to work out the kinks. And for all my troubles, I guess I'll be finalizing my account for mostly, if not all free. Once the financial assistance department decides to stop giving me the run-around. Next time, I suppose I'll need to inspect further. Just because the office is down the street does NOT necessarily mean it's going to end up being cheaper. Because if I'd have known maybe $10 in gas would have saved me all this trouble, I would not have gone to what is technically classified as a "hospital."
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
‘She’s but a waste,’ some might say,
The antiquated demons perched
Atop her ***** shoulder,
howl those words effortlessly.
Oh, how they mock her; a doomed admonition-
A pitiful, wretched villain
Incapable of standing still.
‘She’ll rob you blind,’ they might whisper,
From the highest peak of their
pedestals and podiums,
Scrutinizing her wiggles and writhes, ruthlessly.
Oh, how they taunt her; a mirrored representation of ego-
A reputed captivation ****** sober but for now
Idly biding her time
‘She’s insane!’ they’ll declare,
Lounging in their Queen Annes,
Finalizing her score, most offensively.
Oh, how they wallop her; casting pebbles from their pristine form-
Upon the ribbed web of her spiritual coop
Faust, lying in wait.
‘aha!’ they’ll proclaim
From the rusted thrones of purity
Tallying her blunders to the nth.
How they scream through bitten tongue
Into that, what is left of her vitality
Cascading into degradation
Feeding her indignation
Gripping her last temptation
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
Sine wave knuckles working the
cab interior of an elevator, thunderous
blows story-ing up, down.
Cramming all those voices in a voice box,
a moral imperative to release them.
Exorcising a city riding a dungeonesque
shaft, all those broken by bread, crawl
my lungs as if trying to pry open a chasm.
No feet to my name, animal space for an angel's
consideration.
Thoughts like bypassed gut-checks of rats
crossing a third rail, vivid as Buddhist visualization...
modicum of composure, the elevator doors open.
People press in, as if finalizing the final frontier.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 12:01 PM UTC
BLOOD,SWEAT & BEERS
New dawn new day cup of joe to begin the day,starting in line helping to create more urban decay
Waiting out winters feeding the flock, spring warmth brings bringing ceaseless hours for that new crop
Daily mail brings new news while men in a truck pick up the muck,while another prepares to make repairs while caught up in the drudgery
Clerks & cashiers line up with peers at home behind desks or registers ,more & more simply wanting to beat that clock
Many in uniform protecting the rest from the next storm ,defending all of us & themselves stubbornly
Famous factories forged many generations in fire ,painting a lifestyle for many to admire,building a nations foundation in solid rock
Times change ,full circle to a broad range ,equal rights brings new light ,hoping to help move many upwardly
Wheels of rubber or of steel always moving ready to help seal a deal ,someone at the helm across the nation or around the block
Many more labor with lumber like ants on erector sets,from floors to steeple ,finalizing with grass & shrubbery
Miles of coastline mean fisherman don't flounder,line or net they get what they get anything to feed the ever growing flock
Others eager to learn for new knowledge they do yearn ,teachers take on the task to guide the classrooms fortunately
So paid in sweat equity or in blood for the brood, many gather at the end of the day
but never forget to tip the barmaid or tender at your local brewery. R.C.
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 7:36 AM UTC
My voice box is without equality. Especially when it’s never designed to structure peace without logic filling in the rumbled gaps. Gaps full of peace and central thoughts mucking up too many interpretations on how to develop the central pieces trying to determine what is, and how it’s done? Voice box being tethered cords situated toward the brain’s primary accuracy, and performance majors. Cords being interpreted by thoughts on a wild whim full of constant nagging! Nagging never determining what thoughts go with who. Trying to write this down is miraculously dissolving. Why is it miraculously dissolving? Because everything isn’t what it seems when cords producing sound, commits before you write even a smidge down on a platform of plot. A platform of plot thoughtless without thoughts. The mouth piece isn’t performing, until those thoughts become presentable to the cords enabling sound. Maximizing the form of words on the platform of plot. Giving credence with peace that invokes time and pressure to a well-suited promise. A promise that infuses the logic of desires prompting fissures of premature sound getting caught up in the words not making sense in its realization. Realizations cut short from thoughts never enabling a sound proof system to its setup. Writing on the platform of plot becomes too justifiable. Yet premature sound interpreting the earlier pattern of your own thoughts taking effect for the very first time. Allowing words to become somewhat presentable in its own claim. Diverse a newly formed respect for your own components charging up the messages received by the cords charging up sound. Voicing opinions and options on the platform of plot. The options also allow one to peek at the hints for the writing on the platform of plot. The opinions however, allow one to judge if it’s what they’ve always wanted to include. If not… Try adding something different for a change. A style of writing which maximizes mouth piece. Will become a trade-off of nonsense giving you piece. Nonsense being the smallest level, which brings all the pressure down to the lowest peak. Settling until one focus is prompted by another focus and so on. Charging up, until every piece of information is well suited for either filtering out. Or correcting itself through thoughts filtering it out. Finalizing the standards onto the platform of plot. Revolutionizing a newer perception for thought versus focus. What happened before the lowest peak circulated the settlement period before activation? Easy. Sifting through all what could have been? And how it could have been done? Now think for a strict moment, before giving me your newly respectable answer?
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 11:05 PM UTC
I'm tired of letting my high hopes destroy me.
It hurts, but I have to let go sooner or later.
I'm done.
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 2:49 PM UTC
Why don't you understand
That I don't want
To move backwards
But move forward
Why don't you understand
That I care about you
More than anyone else
But want to help you move forward
Why is it
That you say I know you
But then tell me
I'm not allowed to know you
Why do you
Tell me I'm your best friend
To then state that you'll never put me in your picture
Why do you tell me
That what's final is final
Because you don't know the future
The future is in the air
Stop finalizing the future, please
When you keep changing your mind
Just to turn your back on me
When I'm not even hurting you
When the past is hurting you
Why can't you
See the past for what it was
Because if you look at the past
There was good and bad
But there was good
So see the good
In the past you pretend to see
And let me back in
Because I swear I'm not that bad
I'm not even that anymore
The bad you remember
I wasn't me
Now I'm me
I swear I'm all good, not even the past good
And you're not going back,
Because we're moving forward
But please
Keep blocking me out
Tell me I'm dreaming for something
That will never happen
Keep crushing my dreams
Then calling yourself awful and horrible
Keep telling me I'm wrong when I say you're great and nice and wonderful
Just so you can call yourself awful and horrible
Every time you hurt me
I'm like
Why don't we hug it out
Why don't we talk it out
Because you think
To make it better
We need to shut the holes in our faces
And forget
So that someday
We can be friends?
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
After you all left, your party that is,
I ended up parkouring a bit,
through a beautiful display of bamboo,
and wooden structures,
and found myself amongst friends,
Thai ladies who recognized me,
from the last time i had been here,
and we picked up conversation,
exactly where we had left off.
The one on my left was from Chiang-Rai,
she was beautiful, and spoke english well,
while the one to my right,
who also spoke well, was much more foreign,
and much less cute.
After finalizing the feelings,
it was off to the festival of life,
and the veggie food cart, once again,
was happy to see my face.
I told them as i had last time,
“Come to get a massage,
we can exchange for bomb food,
and all will work out well.”
Somehow these fields of love,
brought me back to prison walls,
and a game of basketball,
amongst angsty inmates,
and the soup that was bought for me,
for i could not pay, and we lost the game,
but all was not lost,
as i was given the keys to the jailhouse band,
and almost instantly i was back in that bar,
with my dad getting me drunk,
and buying tons of groceries,
to feed all the new friends.
It seems i had been given a deal:
they wanted 4oz on the front,
and i would be in the band,
and my dad could manage it all,
but just as easily i was sitting on a couch,
taking such a fat rip of bho,
that without missing a beat,
i remembered its exactly what i shouldn’t have done.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
Scouting the Score
Afar, covertly appreciating the assets of the temple
branded with features such as long shapely legs
and wicked curves making any true man dribble
wanting to acquire this monument of exquisite art
to selfishly possess and enhance one’s characterization
Planning the Score
Cleverly surmised strategies and counter-strategies render
thoughts using skilled experiences from past wars of this art
however, this is no trivial game or any haphazard endeavor
but perhaps an outline to the fulfillment of one’s epic story
written in devotion and nurturing love that is God’s glory
Executing the Score
Introducing ego into the circumstances of the score
to facilitate the acknowledgement of a new presence
only to find uncertainty and chaos ruling the conditions
with all the carefully laid plans losing their merit and vigor
to become a fly trapped in this spider web of emotions
Finalizing the Score
No longer controlling one’s destiny to possess the score
as these unknown perceptions warped logic and reality
like the event horizon of a massive blackhole in space
causing a blissful instability in the sanity of character
thus, becoming the victim, master, or devoted partner.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 11:21 AM UTC
My little world is changing. My irrelevance is showing through.
A different tongue is spoken each day.
Somedays I speak hesitantly, tasting for the candid taste of freedom, only to pull back as the venomous control of others sinks it's rancid teeth into me.
I'll put up a fight but I know that was a finalizing bite.
I've gone from prey to a mere morsel on the plate of a power hungry society.
And just like the others, I'll sink into deaths arms leaving him with nothing left of an old friend but a wilted husk and society can claim they took my last breathe.
A timers been set on my privileges, the decisions I've "made" have been cut into my bone.
Cheating fate is a major heist and I'm still pure, wearing bows in my hair.
Taking a single breathe with a whale ***** corset shrinking on my waist is the optimal sign of having learned grace.
"Take a deep breathe it's all a game", they'll say but how are you suppose to play without a pawn in society's defective game?
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC