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Allen Wilbert Oct 2013
Forgot

Forgot about you, forgot about me,
I even forgot how to ***.
Forgot about birds, forgot about bees,
I even forgot how to say please.
Forgot about about hate, forgot about shame,
I even forgot my own name.
Forgot the last time, I was happy,
maybe I'm mean, maybe I'm snappy.
Living a life in the dark,
above my head is a question mark.
All I want is to be left alone,
I forgot the last time, I got blown.
It's not Alzheimer's, it's not amnesia,
maybe I'm still under the anesthesia.
Forgot about ***, forgot about ****,
I even forgot the day, I was born.
Forgot about peace, forgot about war,
forgot the difference between a ceiling and a floor.
Forgot about pain, forgot about suffering,
I even forgot why I was hurting.
Something happened inside my brain,
no one seems to want to explain.
Forgot about truth, forgot about lies,
I even forgot how to improvise.
Forgot what is hot, forgot what is cold,
I even forgot everything, I was ever told.
Forgot about life, forgot about love,
I even forgot all of the above.
So many things still left unsaid,
but I forgot that I'm already dead.
Colibri Jan 2013
i forgot
to not let you taint my city,
to not associate my buildings
with you.
i forgot
that when you’d leave,
your portrait would be left.
i forgot
to not let you do that.

i forgot
not to let you spray paint your words
all over my haunts.
i forgot to erase your handprints off my sidewalks,
my walls,
matter of fact...
i forgot
not to let you touch.

i forgot
not to let you sit on my bench,
in my park,
you almost kissed me...
i forgot
to scrub that out.
now it’s too late.
indelible
graffiti that the others can see.

i forgot
at the library,
listening to your words,
i forgot
not to etch them into my brain.
like a broken record,
i hear them over and over.
i forgot i wouldn’t be able to get that out.

i forgot
not to let shooting stars remind me of you.
11:11
i always forget
not to make a wish for you.
i forgot
that i wasn’t supposed to compare
him to you.

i forgot
not to memorize
your hands.
your lips.
your hair, skin, eyes
on me.

i forgot
now you’re here
like a ghost
longing to be put to rest.
haunting me
in my head,
in my heart
on my sleeve.

i forgot
that in the end,
when i remembered,
that it would be too late
to erase.
did you want me to forget?
because
i remember
Betty Apr 2014
I almost forgot how much I hated that you would add random people on Facebook,
Thinking the answer, "she looked punk rock" was an appropriate justification.
I almost forgot how I hated all your tattoos,
Living according to a phrase permanently on your forearm.
And I almost forgot the way my car smelled awful when I would pick you up from work,
With the fear the grease on your pants would seep into my leather seats,
So I would roll the top down and just tell you it was a nice day.
I almost forgot about how you always smelled like cigarette smoke,
And how it would fill my lungs in the morning, and I wondered how anyone could inhale those awful chemicals at 7 AM.
And I almost forgot how you walked to my house in the middle of the night
To give me a picture that you drew for me, with a note attached,
Just telling me how happy you were to have met me.
I almost forgot about how crazy I thought that was,
And wondered if you were that crazy about me, or just plain crazy.
I almost forgot about my friends' opinions of you;
I have never seen such disapproval.
I didn't forget that smile, when I told you how they felt, and how I disagreed with what they thought.
Proud.
Mischievous.
Beautiful.
Crazy.
Beautiful.

I almost forgot what it was like to fall in love with you..
I don't even know when it happened,
I don't know if I noticed,
But I knew there was a point that I couldn't look into your eyes the same way,
Because now your gaze was new, and I was really seeing you, and you were seeing me,
And I knew my love was reflected back at me, and the brown of your eyes warmed me from the inside out.
And the smell of smoke comforted me now, because I knew you were near me,
And when I woke up coughing, you'd put the cigarette out to kiss me,
As if you were only smoking because you knew I'd wake up,
And you'd get to kiss me.

And I almost forgot what it was like to fall out of love with you,
When I saw your eyes, they made me feel cold,
And I would shiver whenever I thought of them.
I almost forgot the yelling,
And the fighting,
And the words that hurt so bad that I would beg for sticks and stones.
My eyes almost forgot how many tears fell from them,
And the feeling that my heart couldn't bare to live in my chest anymore.

I remember the pull that led me from you for the last time.
I remember how deafening the silence was.
I remember how suspended time was,
As if the words that left our mouths hung in the air above us like a black storm cloud,
And we were sure of rain.
But it never came.

I almost forgot what it was like to see you again,
After months of wondering how you were,
But everyone assured me I shouldn't talk to you because it would just end badly.
Because they never approved.
And I almost forgot that smile.
I wish I forgot your smile.
Proud.
Mischievous.
Beautiful.
Crazy.
Beautiful.
Kayla Lynn Jan 2013
I wish I forgot how to cry.

I forgot the way your body ached
After a long day.

I forgot the color of your favorite shirt.

I forgot the photographs you took
With your tongue sticking out at me.

I forgot how easily the drugs
Took over our lives.

I forgot the scent of your hair,
Littered on our bathroom floor.

I forgot your scars
And the stories behind them.

I forgot the needles
And the ghosts you wanted to forget.

I forgot how you'd sing to me off key
While strumming your acoustic.
And the way your basement gave me the creeps.

I forgot just how loud you screamed
When they called my name at graduation,
With your fist in the air
And how I was almost embarrassed by you
Almost.

I forgot how easily you made me laugh
And how difficult it was to let you go

I forgot.

I sat next to your headstone
With my face pressed against your name
Forgetting how to say goodbye.

And I wish I forgot how to cry.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
The truth is, the walk was so long, you forgot where it all began,
you forgot to think twice before trusting someone so blindly,
you forgot to ask questions that questioned loyalty,
you forgot to find out if the love was ever real, if it were ever present,
you forgot to question their true intentions,
you forgot to peel off the mask,
you forgot to unravel the monster hiding behind that innocent face,
you forgot to decode the real meaning behind all the sugarcoated words,
you forgot to notice if the person was ever real,
you forgot that love does not drag you to the dark pit of hollowness,
you forgot that love does not scar you,
you forgot that love does not consume you till it ruins your flesh,
you forgot that love does not drill a hole through your heart,
you forgot that love does not asphyxiate you;
the severity of all this grows every second of everyday,
making you question your own worth,
making you question if your existence ever mattered,
convincing you this darkness will last forever,
that you will never find light,
that you will never crawl out of this pit,
and I swear by God's name, there is nothing in this world that can make it better.
Chris Nov 2013
They forgot to tell you it's not always easy,
that just because the ocean seems so
calm at night
doesn't mean it doesn't ache
for morning.
They forgot to tell you it takes time,
that weeks may feel like hours
and months may feel like years.
That it only grows deeper in patience
and stronger in absence.
They forgot to tell you it speaks louder
in silence than it ever could in words,
that it listens closer when my hands
talk to yours,
that it lives inside your bones,
and not inside your heart.
They forgot to tell you it makes you
weak at the knees,
and strong in the head.
That it can fill every broken crack,
and heal every open wound.
They forgot to tell you it will leave scars.
They forgot to tell you that you can
give it all away without ever having
it given back to you.
They forgot to tell you that is okay.
They forgot to tell you that memories
don't fade away.
They forgot to tell you that it hurts.
They forgot to tell you what it means.
I'm here to tell you that it's worth it.
I'm here to tell you that you're worth it.
Julia Lane Feb 2018
To be totally honest I forgot this website existed, until for some reason I started cleaning out my old email, last checked circa 2015.

Along the way, I forgot about these words that used to fill my head. I grew up, apparently. I was so caught up in being everything, I forgot that I'm me. No amount of resumes or friends or post on Instagram determines who I am, only I do. I forgot that I steer my fate.

I completely forgot about the unruly delight of letting words dissipate from my mind into thin air, and trapping them in my laptop screen. There's some unequivocal satisfaction in being able to take a foggy thought, and make it clear by wrapping it in pretty adjective and metaphors. For some reason, my shoulders relax in a way that's different, even special.
I never did this for you, this was always for me.. I forgot that I do this for me.

I forgot what it was like to pick words like the petals of a flower, delicately, because being delicate creatures makes our feelings just as frail and vulnerable.
I forgot to pick words delicately.
I realize now that my words are like bubbles, floating with ease through the air eventually making their point with a subtle 'pop'. My words have been more like lumps of hail, uncontrollably destructive to everything in their way. I forgot what it was like to choke up on emotions that I didn't know I had, that only this simple thing can reveal.

Most importantly, I forgot who I was. This young girl, lost and confused and trying her best to know herself. To be honest I still don't know myself. Sometimes I get mad at myself for that but then I remember, that this, this simple thing, saved me from consuming myself for years. Maybe it still can.

I realize now, that my undying anger can be tamed. That no, I am not some evil beast cursed to live in angsty distress. I am human, I will always struggle to live with my imperfections. I no longer need to try and teeter between the balance of good and evil inside me, because I'm human. I teeter regardless.

I had forgotten the eternal weight of words, how they create and destroy the world around me. That words are everything when you feel like you have nothing. That words can save lives, can save my life. That there can never be enough no matter how hard I try. That's not my fault. I realize now that life is not determined by my words but rather that my words should seek to give life, to enhance.
I forgot that there's no need to hate myself for being human, that if this life needs anything it's more love. I forgot that it's okay to slow down, to speak softly and to question everything. I forgot this for so long, but I think I'm starting to remember.
Janet Dec 2013
I meant to drive past your house today - but I forgot.
I meant to write you a sad love poem today - but I forgot
I meant to curl my lashes in case we met today - but I forgot
I meant to reminisce about all our private lunches today - but I forgot

I meant to compose a list of my faults today - but I forgot
I meant to fantasize about us getting back together today - but I forgot
I meant to hate the way I look in the mirror today - but I forgot
I meant to cry my eyes out over you today - but I forgot

I meant to hate you today - but I forgot

I meant to pray to God, again, to help me forget you - but today, I forgot

Oh - thank you God!
Ellis Reyes Feb 2017
I forgot the sound of Grandpa’s voice, but not the rattle of the farm truck
I forgot the names of the workers, who smiled so broadly when he brought envelopes filled with money.
I forgot how to tie a fishing knot, but not the taste of the fried fish
I forgot the floorplan of the yellow house, but not the sadness that consumed it
I forgot about the stuff that I hid in the crawl space when we moved
I forgot most of the math after 10th grade, who needs SOHCAHTOA anyway?
I forgot my freshman locker combination, but not the rank smell of a high school locker room.
I also forgot the the love that I once felt
because I’m sure that she’s forgotten me
Lucy Marie Maund Sep 2018
I forgot god
And god forgot me
I lived in a dream
Of things unclean

I forgot god
And god forgot me
What should I do
What can I be

Living life so pure
Living things I can only just endure
People come people go
Will we learn with don’t we know

I forgot god
And god forgot me
So silence can see
I forgot god
And god forgot me
Holy waters set me free
I forgot god
And god forgot me
So I learnt to seeeeeee
I forgot god and god forgot me
Holy water set us both free
I love god
And god loves me
Holy universe inside you and me
#lmmaund
Elizabeth Thorn Jun 2013
I forgot to see
I forgot to speak
I forgot to think
I forgot to breathe
I forgot to listen
I forgot to wake up
I forgot to live
I forgot to forget
And that is what kills me
Agnis Lynota Dec 2013
I'm sorry
I lost myself
in all of my sorrows
I forgot who I was
I forgot what I stood for
I forgot why people liked being around me
I forgot how it feels to feel happy with myself
I forgot how it feels to be able to look in the mirror
Without shedding tears that could produce an ocean
I forgot what I promised myself
I forgot what it felt like to exist
I forgot what it felt like to be cared for
I forgot what it felt like to feed off of true love
not the love in intimate relationships
but the love of my family and friends
I became so focused on artificial love
I was addicted to it
But every time I loved
They'd tell me I wasn't enough
pretty enough
**** enough
serious enough
confident enough
One boy even told me I should never feel love
because I don't deserve it
Another told me that I was an item
And the one after that told me he loved me
He made me feel like I was finally worth something
But then, he just left
and I promise all of you
that when I do something wrong
or when I'm telling a story of a fight or a breakup
I list the things that I did wrong as well
I'm never biased with my side of the story
But when I tell you
I did nothing but try
and love
I mean it
I was just being myself
and I guess that's where I went wrong
And I've heard all the advice before
"You need to learn to be independent"
"You need to stop falling so fast"
"You need to stop giving yourself up"
I know all of these things, I really do
But I don't think they understand how hard it is
to walk with broken legs
to breathe in polluted air
to exist without a purpose
to love but never be worth it
Luna May 2019
The truth is that you never loved me enough.
   And, I never expected anything more than a compliment through out a day, never. Still, my soul will never forget the way my hands kept writing poems about your lips, about your sparkly eyes and soft skin.
But you forgot to remind me that in some days even the moon is heavy on your shoulders, you forgot to ease my pain. You forgot to remind me that I am beautiful without all of the work that I've put in doing the perfect eyeliner or the sexiest lips ever, you forgot to tell me that I am beautiful because of my acne scars and tired eyes. You forgot to remind me that I have a strong mind and a powerful voice, you were scared of all of these. You were scared of the power that exists in these veins of mine, you were scared that once I know that power you couldn't control me anymore.
You forgot to adore the tragedy beneath my eyes and romance below my chest, how my beating heart was singing lullabies and how my mind created so many elegies.
You forgot to ask me how my day went or how can my bones still endure the pain that my body kept spreading , you forgot to care enough to ask.
You forgot to remind me who I am when I couldn't. You forgot to wipe away my tears, and then you had the courage to ask how can my eyes look so tired even after I put make-up on.
The truth is that you never loved me enough, but I will keep reminding myself every day how much I love the little girl that still finds a safe place inside of me.

I will remember every day,
until I will forget
the way I've learned
in the first place.
Rebecca Paul May 2014
I wanted to drink until I forgot
your scent lingering on my shirt when you would hug me.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
all your empty promises and bitter words.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
your cold gaze piercing my back when you said to leave.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
those apathetic eyes and self-righteous taunts.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
myself begging you to let me cry in your lap.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
how many times I apologized for my abuser's actions.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
the sound of my own voice.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
the sight of my tear-stained face.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
the scars branding my body with "failure".
I wanted to drink until I forgot
you were my mom once.
I ended up drinking myself to
death.
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
He reached for the rose, but forgot about the thorns
He reached for the beast, but forgot about the horns
He reached for the future, but forgot about the past
He reached for the journey, but forgot about the quest
He reached for the sun, but forgot about the burn
He reached for the knowledge, but forgot what he'd learned
That light without darkness simply can not exist
Like the possessed without an exorcist
One without the other would have no value
With is you cannot argue
Nikki Aug 2013
I'm getting ahead of myself I know.
I'm sorry, but that's how it happens.
My mind is a bunch of mumbled up thoughts,
But is that really my fault?
Well to you everything is my fault.
I forgot.
I forgot that you don't care.
I forgot that you have things to do. Better things.
I forgot that I'm not good enough for you.
I forgot that this is dragging you down too.
I forgot that this is too much for you to handle.
I forgot that you don't understand.
I forgot that you don't care what happens.
I forgot that to you, I'm over exaggerating.
Well I really have to admit something.
I didn't forget.
I couldn't.
Everything you said burned into my skin,
Burned into my thoughts.
It went so deep, your thoughts became mine.
Soon i began to realize.
I realized that I am over exaggerating.
I realized that I'm not good enough.
I realized that I am a burden.
I realized that no one cares.
And most importantly,
I realized that I'm done.
Äŧül Dec 2012
What I Forgot...

I Can't Actually Recall That,
But I'd Again Try To Pull It Outta My Hat.

I Barely Remember It,
But A Smile Comes To My Face,
Whenever I Get Any Faint Hint.

Her Face Flashes In Memory,
As I Try To Recall Her Face,
In My Moments Of Loneliness,
Of Inexplicable Emptiness.

Her Sweet Voice Rings In My Ears,
As I Get Bored By Stuff,
In The While I Pass Through Clears,
Of The Forests Feeling Lonely,
Trying To Divert My Mind & Attention.

The More I Try To Hate Her,
The Less I Succeed.
The More I Try To Erase Her,
The Less I Succeed.
The More I Try To Forget Her,
The Less I Succeed.

As I Get Along With The Void She Created,
I Realize Her Value - Miss Her More.
Any Other Cuter Girls Whom I've Dated,
I Can't Find Her Exact Successor.
And As I Spend My Days In Solitude,
I Long Again To Kiss Her,
I Wish She'd Know That I Miss Her.

I Forgot How To Get Along,
People Often Translate Me Wrong.
I Forgot How To Actually Smile,
I Find The Society Standing At A Mile.
I Forgot How To Be Happy Alone,
Not That I've Never Been That Way Before.
I Forgot How To Properly Kiss A Girl,
Was It By The Lips Straight Or Given A Twirl.

What I Didn't Forget Is To Write,
And To Read.
I Didn't Forget To Go To The Burial Site,
And To Lament.
What I Should Keep In Mind Is The Reality,
And Focus On It.
I Shouldn't Repent Over The Breakup's Gravity,
And Overcome It.
I Should Abandon This Surly Look On My Rigid Face.

A Small Smile Comes To My Lips,
As I Put Away Her Memory Forcibly.
She Sure Is A Beautiful Memory,
A Memory I Love To Revisit All The Days.
Though This Isn't The Life,
The Accompaniment I Desired.
I Still Don't Try In This Existence,
To Find A Replacement.
I Still Love Her I Feel,
Oh! Forget It - I Escape.
My HP Poem #21
© Atul Kaushal
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
.wow, i never thought it would ever be possible,
i'm sorry, i have no empathy for these youtuber "creators",
any idiot can regurgitate the news,
venture into vulture journalism,
  then again: gone are the days of closely associated
with people like Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein...
they are really gone: what the hell was gamer-gate
compared to watergate? gate after gate,
and all i'm hearing is response videos,
it should have never come to this,
whereby journalists are as untrustworthy as politicians,
and of what remains, come the saturday and
the sunday editions, when the petty bourgeoisie
come out of the woodworks of a week,
album reviews, book reviews, t.v. reviews,
restaurant reviews: real, real journalism,
all the grit you'd expect from a warzone...
           journalists forgot they were not kindred spirits
of politicians: but immediacy historians...
the front-line history chroniclers...
i find... these days, esp. these days...
    you know why i like heidegger so much,
and forget the fact that he joined the **** party?
in 1938 he was already disillusioned by it...
so the ad homine fallacy bites the dust...
   even a **** deservers a redemption...
but i find that these days, of all days...
   man, as a historiological creature has to bow
before the unshakeable facets of the biological man,
esp. in the english speaking world...
    in terms of history and biology:
     history has all the fun stories,
and a sensible "concern" for time,
   well... if not "concern" then at least a bearbable
time-frame...
                  after all, i am the one who said:
all the great deserts of the world,
akin to sahara? they were once great
mountain ranges... you already know where
to look between a mountain range akin to the alps
and a desert... bound to h'america...
   monument valley: utah...
  a mountain becomes a rock after a while...
while the desert expands...
    ayers rock (uluru)... but monument valley (utah)
is a transition period between a mountain range
and a desert, if we're going to stand outside
of all space and time, and look back in...
we have plenty of time to catch-up on...
           just like i believe that black holes
are actually 2-dimensional objects:
   that spin really fast, giving an impression
of them being 3-dimensional objects:
as usually represented by a gravity dip associated
with them pulling matter into themselves...
i think that black holes are paradoxes...
since how can a 2-dimensional object
actually exist in a 3-dimensional space?
   that depends on the size of the "3-dimensional"
object / space... the universe is a medium,
it's defined as a "space" but to me...
      it's beyond space... it's only space on the grounds
of isolated time, 365 days,
the time and space it takes for the earth
to orbit the sun... which is an isolated example,
outside? well: there's atmosphere on earth,
outside? vacuum!
who's going to prove my theory wrong?
               not anyone in my lifetime -
besides the point with these youtube content
"creators": where credit is due, credit is due,
but once might have cared for their vulture
journalism... two old farts akin to felix (black pigeon
speaks) and sargon of akaad talking about how:
the youth are congregating to youtube to listen
to music: that's what i've always done...
  i discovered these youtube "creators" by accident,
i just wanted my jukebox back, man,
i wanted my algorithm back, my imprint back,
now that the devil's dozen scenario took hold
of the platform: 1 video playing, 12 back-ups...
and they're all the same, unrelated, *******...
        talk all you want, please, just give back
my algorithm imprint, where i can discover new music...
again... i never thought i'd see another
compilation video, 173 videos bound to one...
and, mind you... after finding about 6 googlewhacks
(googlewhack? when you use the sort of
language that provides you with only one search
result on the behemoth platform of billions
of results, 1 is grand, but 6? it's becoming too
predictable)...
                        so here's what i found
   (band - song):

wooly mammoth - mammoth bones / kyuss - space cadet,
rainbows are free - last supper / grand magus -
                                                mountain of power,
zed - lies / om - cremation chant I & II,
    smoke - hallucination / weird owl - white hidden fire,
orchid - son of misery / witch - seer,
               unida - you wish / black mountain - old fangs,
b.r.m.c. - ain't no easy way /
              jack daniels overdrive - ****** to death,
shrinebuilder - blind for all to see,
                   datura - mantra / the heavy eyes - voytek,
the machine - infinity / clutch - the regulator,
   colour haze - mountain / maligno - son of tlalocan,
dozer - twilight sleep / gomer pyle - albino rattlesnake,
blockback - dead mans blues / greenleaf - witchcraft tonight,
cactus jumper - right way / borracho - bloodsucker,
alabama thunderpussy - motor ready,
                    earthless - sonic power,
my brother the wind - death and beyond,
   zaphire oktalogue - carrion fly / siena root - reverberations,
unida - slaylina / pothead - toxic / sungrazer - mountain dusk,
   rotor - costa verde / blizaro - it's in the lighthouse,
planet of zeus - woke up dead,
     kongh - pushed beyond / ufomammut - smoke,
high on fire - to cross the bridge,
              the secret - bell of urgency,
      unida - wet pussycat / dozer - big sky theory,
cavity - chloride / brutus - swamp city blues,
the grand astoria - something wicked this way comes,
sasquatch - the judge / pharaoh overlord - skyline,
baby woodrose - love comes down / kamni - **** of satan,
lay with me - the flying eyes / cowboys & aliens  -
                                                out of control,
sons of otis - liquid jam / hainloose - recipe,
    ridge - rancho relaxo / bongripper - ****** sutherland,
skraeckoedland - cactus / grails - satori,
    lo-pan - chicken itza / five horse johnson - people's jam,
blind dog - don't ask me where i stand,
     wiht - orderic vitalis / hisko detria - nothing happens,
liquid sound company - leage for spiritual discovery lives,
   goatsnake - black cat bone / gandhi's gunn - rest of the sun,
the egocentrics - wave / propane propane - it's alright,
heliotropes - ribbons / mother mars - price you pay,
che - the knife / annimal machine - condenado,
   earth - tallahassee / the whirlings - delirio,
orchid - heretic / maeth - horse funeral,
siena root - rasayana / graveyard - longing,
           tia carrera - hell / hainloose - recipe,
      burner - five pills (and a bottle of whiskey),
dala sun - guilty for ****** / vulgaari - lie,
        slo burn - muezli / stonehelm - zombie apocalypse,
smallman - evolution / spiders - fraction,
         shakhtyor - e. jaspers / earthmass - lunar dawn,
evoke the lords - dregs / colour haze - silent,
     sutrah - el septimo viaje...

  

who are "these" people,
who: "supposedly" live for the future...
they always cite it,
as the one motivational
momentum of the present -
it's as if they've never seen
a bull itch the ground
with its front hoofs -
   imitating building up momentum
before a charge...
or how a slingshot,
or how a bow works...
   to these people,
the ******* sideways movement
of a bow against a violin...
sometimes...
      you do not retreat into
the past, to hide, to amount
to nostalgia...
     sometimes
the only reason for the reflexive
affirmation, confined to maxims
and aphorism, nay: even poems!
is to look back...
     to reap what was once
sowed, rather than sow blindly,
and reap: what no one wants
to reap...
    drunk? getting there...
       it felt so relaxing paying off
a 100 / 250 part of a debt
i owe her...
            while buying a russian
standard liter,
   asking for a 100 cash-back
of the supermarket cashier,
- the limit is 50,
   but if you buy something else,
i can give you another 50...
- oh... ok...
   so me went to and took a bottle
of shveedish cider...
   rekorderlig...
   mind you? the swedish,
what they perfected fermenting
better than what the the irish claim
to fame is?
    sorry... magners:
               irish? stick to the guinness...
(it's actually the only cerveza
i'd go into an english pub to
drink from the tap... bottled? canned?
not the same)...
     but with such swedish delights
such as the above mentioned,
  ålska and K  ö   nigsberg
                            *œ
?
no competition... the suede(s) just
do one thing grand...
    cider...
- what was i talking about?
  ah... the "dreaded" past...
     the people who say:
  but you can't live out a life,
   holding onto a private past,
a memory...
    so... these other ******* were
allowed to implant a false
past, unrelated to me,
teaching me whether it was
Newton, or Leibniz who first
invented the infinitesimal calculus
method?
                i'm betting on Leibniz...
after all... he took the position
of a ******* librarian...
   and he wasn't buried with pomp
& circumstance at Westminster Abbey...
sometimes...
         one person can't have it all...
but if the education system
is a system that is indicative for
the erosion of memory, esp. private
matters... and juggernauts in
with these selective rubrics of science
and history...
fair enough the basic
implants: numerical arithmetic,
and lettering arithmetic -
    and then... lessons in mental
entertainment... when applied
           to menial labour...
memory is: supreme...
          i can't give my memory up...
that's what: killer proteins
eating the fat tissue of the brain
like starvation in reverse
        of a case of Alzheimer's?
memory is: cameo cinema -
    however distorted it might be,
although i beg to differ on
whether time per se,
  is not the better psychedelic
component
when coupled with memory -
esp. the cinematic aspect of memory...
there was never a "living" in
the past -
      there was a point about memory
to sharpen the edges of
    "dasein"... all speculation and
questions regarding consciousness,
as championed through
a chimpanzee's *** are somehow
pointless:
    given there's a higher tier of
conceptualization -
   working from dasein...
            hierjetzt -
      or in english?             presence...
- because why would i treat
a personal memory,
like some inorganic entity of
a schooling system,
under Catholic measures,
  that made it necessary to include
Pythagoras... but not Horace?
that's inorganic memory...
and unless i turn into some
inorganic entity -
   the organic aspect of my psyche:
my past, my cameo cinema?
   that's going to be a leech,
attached to me...
  and i'm not going to give it up,
just like... when i walk about
my door, and enter the england
that i know on the peripheries...
i'll speak the lingua franca -
     but with my privacy?
    you'd better cut my tongue off
before i stop speaking
my western slavic heritage...
    and it pains me...
when certain groups of immigrants...
don't know the POINT
where immigration becomes
insensible... self-lacerating...
           i once hated their approach...
now i just pity them...
anyone ****** can juggle
     two oranges rather than three...
p.s. old school cure for a cold?
forget the pills...
   glass of warm milk,
  an egg yolk,
     and a good scratch of butter...
  (on the rare occasion,
  milk infused with garlic)

mixed together...
before bedtime...
  if the ****** won't sweat out
the bacteria during the night...
     well... stick to the synthetics...
i'm pretty sure i know why i drink...
certainly not to: PARTY PARTY PARTY...
i always aim for
the one safety net of "pharmacology"...
ssssssssleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

p.s. so much for children loving their
parents...
        in vitro and the whole
m.g.m. debacle:
so, sweet little *******,
       no *******, no chance for your
for a quickie satellite launch date from
Tehran, under all the weight of
monotheism turned secular...
christianity: the only "monotheism"
with overt tinged of polytheism,
lutheran, baptist, catholic, orthodox...
just today i opened my door twice...
once to a confused curry house delivery man:
did you order some food:
i too replied with a confused look
and the word: huh?! no.
then a black woman with a a white ol' granny
came by with a leaflet...
the jehovah's witnesses were on my trail...
lucky of my grandfather,
   the profanity brigade of the hebrew name
i will not dare utter came by...

  and if you have lived a good enough life:
memory? memory beats hollywood
technicolour and CGI...
at least in the cinema of memory i always
get to play the cameo (role)...

oh i get the youtube creators:
   living with his parents... still. aged 33...
funny that i don't mind them,
since they're getting older they're settling
into their solispsism,
        annoying as ****, but i stand them,
thank god the protruding caduceus veins
on my phallus protected me from
a circumcision...
  i can ******* like a girl with a web-cam...
no scented candles:
the no. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones...
the toilet, simultaneously masaging my ****
and prostate...

men were not exactly supposed to derive
pleasure from ***: they were,
supposed to give pleasure,
and in giving pleasure to one outlet,
they were subscribed to finding out what
best pleases them: ergo?
women would always derive more of
the people from *** than men would ever...
*** is not a story of bragging about
a harem... the woman lies flat...
the man pumps her...
after all... she is the one burdened
to carry a child, why wouldn't she be
the one deriving more pleasure from *** than
a man could ever?
72 virgins! ha ha!
   ah ha ha!
             what's the ratio?
   last time i checked... a 3 hole caravan...
of a woman's worth...
   mouth, ******, ****... and man?
only two points of entry, well...
"entry"...
                    seems that the tomatoe,
really is a fruit, but is treated like a vegetable
nontheless!
homosexuality in the 1960s...
william burroughs in Tangiers...
                    when Islam was quiet radical...

well... i cook, i clean...
                what are my other options of continuing
to write and living the ed gein "lifestyle",
i tried getting social housing in england,
but, i'm not a somali with two wives and a dozen
kids...
              rent, in london?
extortion...
                   housing shortage...
                 well there's me hating my parents,
the outside world just needs to see
an ed gein imitation...
               or there's me living off acorns
in the woods, or rummaging on the streets,
making the N25 bus from oxford st. to ilford
my own personal mobile hotel as a homeless
man in london...

   i think it's time to succumb to your
parents prejudices, if only for the jokes,
no point in making ethical high judgements
to fit into a zeitgeist narrative surrounding
yourself with people: you'd never eat a meal with...
that's how i define the highest form of respect:
if i'll eat with you: implies that i respect you...
i drink alone...
a high school fwend once thought he could
bribe me with his company,
that i "had to" drink with him...
      no... not really...
          i much prefer drinking by myself...
these days you're not expected to honour your
mother and your father,
i.e. make them proud...
               honour is a double-edged sword...
just don't be ashamed of having
a mother or a father...
not that hard: given western divorce rates...
i.v.f., frozen eggs... yadda yadda yadda...
lucky me in having went to university...
oh... really? so much cooler in a cosmopolitan
environment with your contemporary
flat-mates?
               get the picture?
                 paying rent while literally living
in a diguised cardboard box?
i can't help the fact that poetry doesn't pay...
that there are economic factors beyond
my control in play...
   maybe if i was the grandson of my parents,
born in england, and not elsewhere,
there would be some sort of + leverage...
for a bricks and mortar start-up...
plus... i hoard...
         books and music...
                     mind you:
neither of my parents spoke english as their
mother tongue...
  neither did i...
they didn't teach me this tongue:
i had to teach this language by myself:
for myself...
           aged 8: thrown into the deep end
of the pool: now swim ******, swim!

i just feel sorry for the immigrant parents
who gave birth to their children into the *****
of the land they immigrated to...

two days ago i found a heartbreak,
a romanian couple, with a child...
the father was stubborn in teach his daughter
his / her native sprechen...
romanian... but she was already speaking
perfect antithesis of accent kindergarten english...
and almost non-responsive to her tongue
alligned to her biology...
    clearly she was born in england,
but her parents were both romanian...
i've had that conundrum in my head
for a long time...
   what if i married an english girl...
and i was unable to teach my offspring
my native language,
what if i had to silence my native tongue,
"forget" it, or only speak it by myself,
via reading a book in western slavic?
what if the woman i married:
wouldn't see the benefits of bilingualism,
outside of the mainstream economic
mantra of ensuring your children
learn either german or mandarin or arabic?
that worried me...
          oh believe me, i enjoy my lapses
into english: since i am providing the groundwork...
but in the case of having offspring...
e.g. teaching them the western slavic tongue
so they could speak to their grandparents
(i.e. my parents)...
       even my grandparents lament
the scenarios when a woman would marry
an austrian... and she wouldn't teach
her children her native tongue,
and when the grandchildren would visit their
grandparents... they'd be speaking
a crude variation of braille, morse,
   sign-language: na migi...
               i know that my mother is alive
in me even under this veil of english...
because she's more than the womb,
the genitals of my conception, the breast fed off...
she's also the Atlas of my vocabulary
of the "hiding" tongue beneath this one...

i already knew the "game" was rigged from
the get-go... i've seen how one hindu woman
suffered being married to a scouser...
she never managed to pass on her language
to her children,
she bought a library, thinking her children
would succumb to learning: however poor
they might end up being...
but she was suffocated by the english
tongue of her husband...
and her children didn't express even the most
vague of desires to learn their mutterzunge...

that's what worried me to begin with,
marrying an english woman i was afraid
of the ignorance that someone bilingualism
was en route toward a psychiatrist disorder
i was diagnosed with: schizophrenia...
this anglophonic ignorance still scares me...
like: everyone is expected to speak the revisionist
globalist lingua franca: this anglo lingua...
if i didn't meet a bilingual / polyglot woman,
i'd return to rearing idiotic children...
anglo lingua was only supposed to be a middle-ground,
a "no man's land"...
             a language of trivial economic transfers...
a language primarily orientated around usage:
rather than an ethno-centric basis for "englishness"...
to **** with: god save the queen...
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
                 old scot dragoons': auld lang syne...
those where my forever anthems...
see...
        what gave birth to a jihadi john?
his mother "forgot", his father "forgot":
his "mother" forgot, his "father" forgot to speak
the "ancient" tongue...
there's a point to integration of the immigrant,
an immigrant is a forgetful creature,
an ever pleasing creature...
never to mind himself as an ex-pat...
you ****** forget your mutterzunge...
you'll be speaking in cockney accents
with broken affairs of arabic beheading people
for zombified reasons of grandeour!
*******...
          you, you: you are to blame!
you were so ashamed of your parents that you
delved on honoring them to the point
of thinking giving pride unto them was very
much akin as keeping shame away from
their girdle of the wedlock of your own existence!
death has not made your a martyr...
i guess you deserve those 72 mishaps,
those 72 annoying voices...
and i pray to god that you receive your reward!
i hope that among the 72 you will never find
a chance a repose to find your: self!

integration is one thing,
pandering to the "elites": plebs who think they
are kings among the plebs,
is quiet another...
plebs who go places and think english
is a universal tongue: just because
uncle sam says so...
of those i respect:

y cymraeg: pwy dal eu tafod...
an gàidhlig: cò fhathast bruidhinn an cuid teanga...
i nawet moim: co ma mówić
to nawet tyle: co znaczy tak niewiele!

there are boundaries... learn the customs
of the natives, but ensure you retain the customs
you were born with...
a child, born in a foreign land,
ought to ensure his parents teach him
the words to speak to his grand overseers...
complete immersion,
this cultural abortion,
this cutting of the umbilical chord
from: i have never met a people so
content at having been subjugated outside
the indian sub-continent,
cricket... for ****'s sake...
       as to demand other europeans
to treat them as superiors,
when sitting alongside an englishman...
****-bud-bud, the **** are you on about?!
once again: england has become the circus
for the grounding of what began
with engels and marx...
   wasn't communism born from
engels and marx observing english society?
sure... first experimented en masse in
mongolia... but its origins?

   so of course i had problems finding a suitable
mating partner... i was afraid that my nativ-zunge
would die a slow but solemn death...
that an english bridge would not consider
the worth of a bilingual child, or a polyglot,
or that she would repress the chance of my
"biological continuum nuance" to respond outside
of the anglo lingua refrain of: beside the english language?
there are quiet a few one might want to learn...

it's not easy being a first generation immigrant,
esp. if you moved aged 8, mute as a wolf
to a domesticated dog's barking...
but hey, no jihadi john in me...
           jihadi john should have been raised
bilingual... i wouldn't be the one speaking broken
tourist arabic while beheading someone...
jihadi john spoke tourist arabic...
the dichotomy of the mind to the biological
reality, beside the current, western,
"biological relativism" debate...
      clearly darwinism was "wrong"...
man is, these days, left with neither a biological
reality, nor a historical reality...
              but there is a historical reality:
but it's so knit-&-picky...
come on... philip augustus of the capetian
dynasty?
                 casimir III...
                        jeremi wiśniowiecki...
konrad I of masovia...
                           kuno von lichtenstein...
alles ist gott: und gott ist alles -
  gott mit, uns!

              mit eine leben wert leben:
    erinnerung ist die nur kino
             wert sehen eine film beim;

hell... could be worse:
   i might have translated some latin
of horace into pig-trough comfort food.
Devashish Kumar May 2015
Fulfilling my father’s dreams,
I forgot to dream.

Wanting to be the first in everything,
I forgot to enjoy.

Building a house,
I forgot to make a home.

Reading about love,
I forgot how to love.

Meeting new people,
I forgot to make friends.

Wanting too much,
I forgot to offer.

Running to beat time,
I forgot to stay.

Waiting for her,
I forgot to live.
Pauline Morris Apr 2016
He reached for the rose, but forgot about the thorns
He reached for the beast, but forgot about the horns
He reached for the future, but forgot about the past
He reached for the journey, but forgot about the quest
He reached for the sun, but forgot about the burn
He reached for the knowledge, but forgot what he'd learned
That light without darkness simply can not exist
Like the possessed without an exorcist
One without the other would have no value
With is you cannot argue
Amber Mar 2016
I forgot what it was like
To be ok.

I forgot what its like
To no t be hunted.

I forgot what its like
To be happy.

I forgot what its like
To not be in pain.

I forgot what its like
When it did not rain.

I forgot a time when
I did not cry.

I forgot the time before
Darkness.
Geno Cattouse Oct 2013
Oh. sorry for disturbing you but
I forgot my toothbrush.

Oh I am so sorry. I left my spare keys on the mantle.

Oh my bad. Could you look in the closet I forgot my heavy jacket.

Oh dang. I forgot my purpose.

Oh by the way. I forgot to love you.

Goodbye my love.
Robert Guerrero Oct 2014
The way tears rolled down hills
With black eyed Susie's
Painted in perfection
On the porcelain figure that is your face
The way you forced rose petals
From your already thorn scarred wrist
Have you forgot the hours
We wasted just staring at each other
Afraid we might say something stupid
The way we would blush before we spoke
Like little kids pushed on stage
Fighting for a spot in the light
But never throwing a punch
Just stuttered and stumbled
On words we didn't even know how to say
Yet we threw words together
The way poets throw paper and ink
Into magnificent works of art
So you forgot
All the times we would hold hands
Start chanting some random song
Laugh a little till we realized we did it out loud
Where only seconds passed
Before hysterical laughter roared from our bellies
So you forgot
The late night beatings
Your egotistical alcoholic father gave you
Where you'd run to me before you ran to the blade
You don't remember any of that
So you simply forgot
Of course you would
Your no longer apart of this world
Yet you live through my memories
My scars I traced in an elegant array
To match the very ones your wrist held with shame
So you forgot
But I never will
Bc I still love you even after all the tears
Fall to the ground and puddle
Right beside the stains of blood
I still remember your smile
Forced onto your sculpted face
Yet plastered so awkwardly
It couldn't fool a blind man
I still remember the walks on the beach
Where we would play hop scotch
To avoid the jellyfish
I still remember your tailored blouses
Left on my bedroom floor
Scared we would get caught
I still remember running away from you
When I love you was so foreign
It pierced my soul quicker than any arrow
I still remember our last phone call
Where you whispered goodbye
Then dropped the phone
I still remember my screams
My pleads to a god I once trusted
Please don't die on me
Please be alive when I get there
Please dear god please keep her here with me
Yet you were 3/4s past saving
Bleeding into my arms
Staining my new t-shirt
Mascara dripping from your chin
Nothing I could do but watch you fade
I still remember every waking moment
Fighting to believe you were gone
Yet you forgot
You just wished yourself away
Into another galaxy far from me
On the tip of that razor blade
I'll always remember you
While you forget about us
Brad Lambert Oct 2013
(I)

Whose coat is this? Sure as hell isn't my coat. I ain't got no coat with this parka ****, it's *******. I ain't no furry flamin' ******. I ain't no ****** chochy Molly-May-Ze-**** chokin' down chickens and nasalin' a'sniffin' snortin' nasty-*** choch; that ain't me. That ain't me. Look at this coat– I'm like an Eskimo *****. I'm like a butch-**** bull-**** crotch-lappin' a'swimmin' laps in that guy's swimmin' pool. Who's that guy? Who owns that guy? 'Ey, anyone here the owner of this guy– guy ain't got no owner? Whose coat is this? It's nice, real nice. Bet she said, "Does it come from France? Where do I buy one?" I want to buy one, I think I need to buy **** more. I sure as hell need to buy one of these. "And I need one these too and one of them too and I need a petticoat and a tipper-tapper and a whimpratic garfielder and one of them new bartlemores, I need more of them bartlemores. I need more, more, more, more, more, more..." That ain't enough. ****'s from France. ****'s from Paris, that's romantic. You think I'm romantic? I eat hearts for dinner, I chew down nails like nuts for my midnight snack. I smoke cigarettes and spit on concrete slabs, you think that's ****? I'll show you ****. I'll show you Paris, New York City, Rome, romance you in Rome. I'll get real ******' Roman. I'll take you to the desert and make love to you. That's how a free man does a woman, and I'm a real free man. Who's ownin' this guy? It ain't you, it ain't me. I don't own you, you don't own me. I'm a free man:

I said,
"Fire and wood, fire and wood, fire and wood. It is late, it is late, it is far, far too late."

I set
fire to wood, fire to wood; feel that fire fired fresh from that firewood.

I dug the pit,
he gathered the wood,
she started the fire.

She really does make that fire start.

O' how she makes that fire burn,
O' how the wood's wrapped in white hots,
O' how they smoke their smokestacked pipes,
O' tobacco teeming teenagers, tormented by and through youth,
O' adolescence, trending topics, and forget-me-not flowers,
O' old age, Floridan coffins, and coughing  cancers,
O' writers in the mountains writing to be,
O' painters and **** bodies in studies by the sea,
O' thinkers in their mindset, mindsetting the table for dinner,
O' tables set to bursting,
O' wallets so thick,
O' community,
O' society, our social games,
O' hope,
O' peace,
O' that I may be at peace,
O' that I may be content and pray only for peace,
O' how about them true believers,
O' how about that love at first sight,
O' sandstone. My sandstone. That guy sittin' on sandstone.

That's my guy. That's my guy. I own this ****.

Is a man breathing on a mirror the sum of his breaths?
Breaths foggin' a'mistin' my view,
my view of a body and that face,
you're a body.
You're a workin' day's bell,
you're my chill in an Icelandic draft,
you're my spare in a Middle Eastern draft,
you're my pawn in chest-to-chest chess.

You've got this. You've got this. You own this ****.

And it is ****, too. I'd be set, real ******' set, with someone like you. I'll make you a woman, check this parka ****. Coat's mine. I'm a classy igloo runner, runnin' a'ragin' a'czebelskiin' meriteratin', I'll be reiteratin' your points. Check the time, it's late! It's late! ***** was in the grassy knoll turnin' trap tunes on her turntable. Would you listen to that? She sounds late to me, does she sound late to you? I like the music; I like the music. What happened to Woodstock? Where's my watergate, Nixon? Where's my generation, Ginsberg? Where's the meaning? This music's too loud! We're so profound! O' profundity!

Tell me something I didn't know, I'm craving' the new.
Give me the new while I spit on the old,
while I spit on this fine art finely art'd by and for fine artists–
******' fine artists. ******* fine artists.

(You can realize radical-realist realism but you can't be real with me?)

O' fine art!
What fine art!
Which fine artists are dead?



(II)

Looks like they're dead.

Looks like them ******* choked out all them ghettos, choked out all them rednecks, chokin' a'stranglin' by-God-oh-God straddlin' the breeders. I sure did like them babes– babes with their laughin' a'lackin' o' cynicism. They don't know the word "****."

I sure am forgetful–
I forgot that smoke doesn't dissipate,
I forgot how to smell autumn leaves,
I forgot to check the heart against the fingertips,
I forgot why my fingertips went numb,
I forgot to cue in the meaning when the sentence was complete,
I forget to complete my sentences,
I forget who you were wanting when you said, "I want you."

I got as much depth as an in-depth discussion, high hats and electropercussion have got me going. I'm goin' downtown, uptown bourgeois tricked me out, johns and yellow Hummers laid me down and cussed me out. That's not a discussion. That's not my scent scenting my towel, this breath reeks of wintry air– my fingertips went numb.

"I want you."

"Oh would you look at that moon?
Take a look at that moon.
Look at that moon with the ******' mountains.
I love that moon.
That's my moon."

I love darin' a'dusty dareelin' derailin' your dreams, whose dreams are these? They ain't my dreams– ain't no dream derailin' a'nileerad radiatiatin' some hint of joy or Jamison Scotch Liqueur. Drink that ****. That's my ****, I own that ****.
I'm sittin' on this stoop like I own this ****, like this **** owns me; I owed me. I don't own me, you owe me:

Pay up man, feet off the stoop.
Pay up man, be real with me.
Pay up man, you ever thought of a man as a man?
Pay up man, give it in.
Pay up man, give in.
Pay up man, I need you to do me a solid. Do me solid from crown-to-toe, we're toe-to-toe let's do-si-do bro-to-** I'm ready go, **, jo, ko, lo, get low… Now I'm ramblin'. You say, "Ramble in to the stoop and tell me a story."

What's a stoop– who's a stoop? That **** ain't stoop– you ain't stoop. You're stupid. You're a joke, check out the joke. Hey ladies, you seen this joke– joke ain't been seen by them ladies? I'm a joke. We ain't laughin' with you, they're laughin' at you.

O' hilarity!
Such hilarity!
What hilarious histories have passed?



(III)*

"I said I loved him once. I only loved him once."
(
And how long once has been...)

I sure did like them hand-holdins,
them star-gazin' moments,
them moon phasin' nighttime nuances,
them fingertip feelin' a'findin',
them sessions o'meshin' limber legs unto steadfast *****,
heads cocked like guns toward the sky,
beyond the horizon
but well
below the belt.

Them star-gazing moments seeing stars seemin' small, I love how they gleam- gleamin' a'glarin' comparin' shine to shine, shimmerin' a glimmer shone stumblin' her way home from the bar. She's drunk. She's brilliant, brilliance of whit and wantin' a'wanderlustin' gypsy nomads- that ***** gyp'd me, no mad man would take a cerebral slam to the face lest them moving pictures are involved. Read a ******' book, it'll last longer. Kiss me on the collar bones, clavicles shone shining with slick saliva pining for my affections. You're clammerin' to feel me, clammin' up (Just feel me.) I want to run my hands through long hair and peg the nausea nervosa to the wall. The writing's on the wall:

The sun bent over so the moon could rise, chanting,
"Goodbye and good riddance,
I never wanted to shine down
on them seas o' tranquilities anyhow."*

O' what a day. What a day.

And the wind ruffles leaves and it ruffles feathers on birds eating worms in brown soil.

What a day. What a day.

And the men under the bridge gather in traitorous conversation of governments overthrown and border dissolution and poetry with meters bent out of tune.

What a day. What a day.

And the billboards are dry for all the consumers to consume, use, and review.

What a day. What a day.

And hearts break messiest when you're not looking.

What a day. What a day.

And the ego and the id and the redwood trees are talking. They're sitting **** in the marshes, bathing in the bogwater while fondling foreign fine wines and whisperin' a'veerin' conversations towards topics kept well out of hand, out of the game, nontobe racin' in races, rampant radical racists betting bets on bent, bald Bolshevik racists wagging Marxist manifestos in the bourgeois' faces, yes. Make it be. Nontobe sanity as the captain creases his pleats, pleasin' her creases and the dewdrops of sweat trailing down the small of her back– down the ridge of her spine forming solitary springs of saline saltwater in the small of her back. Aye-aye, guy's pleasin' a'makin' choices a'steerin'– government's a'veerin' a hard left into the ice.

'Berg! 'Berg!
Danger in the icy 'berg!
None too soon a 'berg!
Bound to bump a 'berg!
O' inevitably unnerving 'berg!
Authoritative 'berg!
Totalitarian 'berg!
Surveillance of *** and the sexes 'berg!
O' fatalist fetishist 'berg!
Benevolent big brother 'berg!
Homosocial socialization 'berg!
Romanticized Roman 'berg!
O' virginal mother 'berg!
City on a hill on a 'berg!
Subtly socialist 'berg!
Nongovernmental 'berg!
O' illustrious libertine 'berg!
Freedom of the people 'berg!
Water privatization 'berg!
Alcohol idolization 'berg!
O' corrupt and courageous 'berg!
Church and a stately 'berg!
Pray to your ceiling fan 'berg!
Biblically borne 'berg!
O' godly and gorgeous 'berg!
Ferocious freedom fighters launching lackluster demonstrations far too post-demonstration feeling liberty and love, la vie en rouge, revolving revolutionist ranting on revolution tangible as
an ice cold 'berg.

'Berg! 'Berg!
O' the 'berg, the ****** iceberg–
You'll be the death of me.
I forgot the things that I know, the stories surrounding what’s been told, my lover’s heart is frosted cold cause I can’t live without you baby.

The water-wheel of that old mill,
the wildflowers growing on that hill,
the small town life, it moved so slow,
gave us time to get to know,
each other's hearts and let love grow...

…so fruitful all the time we had,
through thick and thin, good and bad,
but eventually you had to go-oh.

I forgot the things that I know, the stories surrounding what’s been told, my lover’s heart is frosted cold but I can’t live without you baby.

I cast your ashes in the stream,
beneath the water-wheel that made you beam,
that smile I will not forget and all the happiness that came with it,
and here I sit alone and sad, reflecting on the times we had,
coastal waves to pink sunset, on that first day that we met,
some later rainy but not to wet, -still I couldn’t live without you baby.

And I forgot the things that I know, the stories surrounding what’s been told, my lover’s heart now frosted cold, forced to live without you baby,

I forgot the things that I know, the stories surrounding what’s been told, my lover’s heart is frosted cold cause I can’t live without you baby.

I can’t live without you baby,
I can’t live without you baby,
Here I am without you baby,
I can’t live without you baby…

Forget the things that come and go, those stories surrounding times of old, your lover’s heart will not grow cold when you can think about your baby,

I can’t live without you baby,
I can’t live without you baby,
Here I am without you baby,
I can’t live without you baby…

...here I am without you baby...
This is for my Father who lost my Mother on 3/14/2014.
Becca Lansman Jul 2015
You died and I forgot to tell you I love you.
You ate my insides
like a piece of fruit,
you ****** out the sweet juice
spit out the pulp
and left me
as skin.

You're gone and I forgot to tell you I love you,
I forgot to ask you to open your chest.
You are lying on my table- open heart surgery
I can see your organs, you are too far gone
But I love you.
I love watching your heart beat in reverse
I love
to see you so exposed
cracked open like a ******
you are holy-
you are not whole anymore.

I forgot to tell you I love you
and you are too far gone, I have to whisper
it to the clouds, moon, sun
anyone who will listen
I love you.

You came and went like a forest fire -
radiant, hot, dazzling
but you destroyed everything in your path-
you destroyed me.

I can't breathe
because you left me in a trail of your ash

I love you
I love you
I ******* miss you

I can hear your heart not beating
My ears are ringing with the words you never said to me.

I lost the last piece of our puzzle

I love you,

but  I forgot to tell you.
feedback, comments, and critiques please!!
Jame Jul 2017
This is a letter to the person who made me believe that he loved me.

Yes, you. That's you.


I still remember when we weren't even that close to being friends. You and I, we were both trying to come up to each other but there was always something pulling us back from doing it.

Maybe God was trying to make a way from getting us too close from each other- maybe he knew what was coming. Maybe he already knew that there was a storm coming before it could even hit us.

Let's go back to the days when we started sharing the same space. There was never an assurance of anything we said or what we did. Those "I miss you already", "You're so cute"; to the stares, and the songs we sang together, the quirky smiles and eventually, I find myself holding your hand too, then it went down to hugging you from behind and you don't seem to mind.

I would talk to my friends about you a lot. It would start from the days when i said, "I'm so happy" and escalated to constant phrases of "I'm so tired" and "I can't do this anymore"- and all the sad songs started to make sense.

Believe me when I say you made me happy. You were a much bigger part of my whole, but also broke me at the same time.

Even though you weren't trying to make me happy, yours was effortless, I still felt happy.
Even though I know in yourself tried to love me, and made me believe that you do, I know from the back of your head and the bottom of your heart; I know you're sorry.

I know you're sorry. It's not your fault. Maybe I came off too strong, and I'm sorry too. I'm sorry that I loved you.

I know you're sorry for being a little early and a little too late.
I know you're sorry when you can’t be the one to sweep off my feet.

But I guess I'm the one who should be sorry.
I'm sorry for getting tired playing your silly game and for thinking that I ever had a chance on breaking through your walls, when you, yourself, won’t even let anyone in.
I'm sorry for pulling too many false alarms. And because of you, I never thought that loving and hurting could possibly strike at the same time.

I'm so tired of trying, TRYING to understand you but you just won't let me. You won't let me in.
I just want you to feel how worthy you are- that you deserve to be loved and I want you to feel that with me. But you won't let me.
I know you're scared, because I am too.

Are you scared because you're happy?

I know you're scared to love, but you didn't have to make me feel like you do.


But I get it; Maybe you were scared of what could the outcome be.
Maybe you're scared because you didn't want to end up like your parents or you're scared to feel anything deeper than anything deeper than deep.
Maybe you're scared because you didn’t know how to handle problems, fights or anything that relates to feeling something.
Or maybe, just maybe, you're scared because you don’t know how to make a person stay.


So today, we have to start letting go of each other because we're still there. You're still in that phase and I'm still in that place. I'm still that friend, I'm still that "friend" who holds your hand whenever nobody is looking.


It’s so hard for me to actually explain how i truly feel about you when we can't even have a continuous conversation in a normal day. I don't know how you do it but how can you stay friends with someone you like and hold their hand, and act like there's nothing going on between the both of you, but deep inside you know there really is- and the hardest part is you have to pretend it doesn’t mean anything?


But I took that risk. I took every risk just to be the girl you wanted me to be.
But you lost it.
You lost that girl, because you forgot her.
You forgot how she looked like and how she speaks.
You forgot how she looked like in a happy bright Monday when you're all alone and upset, and she's there to lighten you up but you closed the light.
You forgot how she painted your skies blue and made your sun yellow.


You forgot that she notices you even when she's mad and hurting because of you.
You forgot that nobody looked at you like the way she did-
She's all about you; and nobody will ever love you like I do.
But you lost it.

And I want you to know that no matter how much you have hurt me, I will always be here for you and I will keep waiting. I know it wasn't any of your intentions to hurt me like that, but I made you make me feel like I was special when you really didn't want to.


I know a part of you loved me. I felt it - and i know you did too. I just wonder what went wrong. I even question myself what I did wrong, if it has something to do with the way I dress, or with the way I speak, or with the way I let my guard down easily.


But despite everything, thank you. Thank you for showing me a piece of your world, and handing me a piece of your heart;


We, will keep waiting.
Praggya Joshi Mar 2018
Growing up
I forgot
What I was passionate about
Caught up in a rat race
I struggled to find my way
I forgot
I had a  voice
It was always crushed under
The louder dominant expression
That violently subdued
Any other form of opinion
I forgot
I was beautiful too
Just because I couldn't match
The standards of beauty
decided our society
I forgot
I was worthy of love
Just because he was filled with lust
And said I was meant to be choked
And rubbed all over
I forgot
How my smile looked like
It was always hidden behind
A lovely mask
That was far from who I was
I forgot
What it felt like
To be part of a group
Always pushed around
like a victim
Of a terrible stampede
Growing up
I forgot what it was like
To be myself
I forgot
Who I was
Was i even worthy of being alive
Fish The Pig Aug 2015
she forgot to write a poem that day,
and the day next
and the day next,
she forgot to write a poem that week,
and the week next
and the week next,
she forgot to write a poem that month,
and soon forgot that she had forgotten to write a poem,
she forgot all about words that rhymed
and titles
and tags
she forgot to write poems,
because she forgot to be sad.
I forgot how much I need you,
The magic of your touch, no matter if it’s a hug or a kick.
I forgot just how sweet the look in your eyes truly is,
The tender smile that crosses your lips when I say something stupid.

I forgot how beautiful you look when you first wake up in the morning,
The delightful fragrance that clings to anything you touch.
I forgot how soft your hair feels,
The texture of your hands and the ***** of your back.

I forgot about the way you talk to me,
The change in your voice and your adorable squeals.
I forgot how radiant you are when you get ready to go out at night,
The perfection of your face with or without make up.

I forgot how much I need you,
The privilege of sleeping next to you.
I forgot just how in love I am,
The way my heart races in the seconds prior to seeing you every day.
Terry-ann Jan 2015
I forgot to say I Love You.
I meant to show you just how much you mean to me.
I wanted to tell you just how Deep you've touched my Soul.

I forgot too.
I deliberately forgot too.
I was afraid to let you in.
I was too afraid you'd walk away once you realised it.
I judged you before I knew you,the real you.

Now seeing you with her Hurts.
She makes you feel like a Man.
She shows you the contants of her Heart.
Although she really loves you,I love you More!

I know you question daily how I feel about you.
I know I appear heartless and cold..
You've told me this a million times before..
Truth is I'm beyond Inlove with you.
But I could'nt show you.
I deliberatly forgot to show you.
I forgot to say I Love You.
In memory of Us.The contract!
Captain Trips Apr 2015
My ears forgot her laughter
My hands forgot her body
My skin forgot her touch
My nose forgot her scent
My tongue forgot her taste
My eyes forgot her beauty
My heart forgot her love

But my ******* bed
still has her *******
imprint upon it.
Krithi Panday Jul 2016
i. I almost forgot the taste of cold blood on my lonely tongue and tears in my throat but then I found your old poetry book and I felt glass shards fall into my mouth as I read over every single pathetic word you wrote.

ii. I almost forgot the taste of broken promises under my bent bones and honey in my skin but then I saw your pictures in the paper and I felt firecrackers explode in my ribs as I looked at her head tucked in your chin.

iii. I almost forgot the taste of winter dew on my summer’s dress and apple cinnamon in my hair but then I visited your old vintage café and I felt too bitter coffee drown my limp body without as much as a care.

iv. I almost forgot the taste of caramel kisses on my hips and cotton candy in my lungs but then I heard your voice and I felt sour sweets bury my candy cane skeleton as I listened to the verse you sung.

v. I almost forgot the taste of dead roses on my hands and black violets in my heart but then I remembered your proposal and I felt diamonds cut open my burning flesh as I thought of your abrupt depart.

That’s it.
I almost forgot.
I almost forgot what it was like to meet you, to love you, to lose you.
But then, I remembered.
I simply remembered meeting you and loving you and most horribly, losing you.
Who knew an act so simple could be so terrifying to do?
But then again, who knew a human made of cartilage and 70% water could be too?
But I guess you weren't really made from all that,
You were made from cinnamon and chestnut,  
from 45% stardust and 10% gold,
And a part of you was painted to look like the sky and the rest of you, like the ocean, cold.
Well, at least in my eyes you were, still are.
And I think that’s why I can never truly forget you, no matter how hard I try, no matter how I run, how far.

I still remember the boy with roses for fingers and not thorns for hands.
I still remember the boy with oceans for eyes and not storms for body lands.
I still remember the boy with gold for blood and not oil for veins.
I still remember the boy with love in his heart and not a heart full of pain.

Do I love him? I don’t know
Do I miss him? I don’t let it show
Do I want him? I can’t be sure
Do I need to forget him? As fast as I can or I'm going to go mad searching for a cure.

*~ {I have trouble remembering a lot of things, but I can’t seem to forget you}~
I'm really proud of how this came out considering I wanted to actually scrap it. Inspired by science and my horrible habit of forgetting most of life, I wrote this trying to express how one can be doing fine until the little things come back to haunt them in memory and how it makes you question a lot regarding your true feelings
Nat Yonce Sep 2010
Forgot
Soul of dew
Hurled.

Dried by midday.
‘Tis a sensible hour.

He is the one who is called
Forgot.
I am the one who is called
Soul of dew.
I am the one who is now
Hurled
Into an evanescent being,

Only to dry
Much too soon.

Forgot soul of dew, hurled.
Soul of dew
Hurled, Forgot was too late.
©2008

— The End —