"fudging" poems
Sometimes, looking at you in the light of the kitchen I want
to run a finger
Down the length of your nose but
I know you'd wrinkle it, and shake your head citing a tickle, but kiss behind my shoulder as soon
As I turn away
When my feet make ice pools in the bed
Toes accidentally brushing your ankle and you **** abruptly, but upon hearing
My sigh, trap them back with your ankles til, martyr that you are, I'm engulfed in
Warmth at your
Expense.
Sometimes the last trickle of milk is mine, for the coffee,
Silent with your eyes smiling fondly, you look on as I sip, resolutely stirring powdered
Dead baby souls into mug as substitute.
Even damp smelly socks
Greasy hair
Neurotic tears and
Intellectual rambling epiphanies
Even childish blunders, fudging the
Budget or burning the toast
You still call me fond Things.
And love Me.
The most.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
An urban legend of sorts they said, of a tree, of a
branch that took any weight given. it has nickname
It had a place in secluded nature where no one seen.
**"The *** tree,**
"Really,
"Ye but you have to watch your step,
"Why??
"Well lets just say its a well fertilized ground,
"The earth and plants feed well on the,
"Sap,
"Seeds,
Not from one but the many, I heard the branch
Can take any weight, a gentlemen of plentiful weight
Tested the legend and got stuck **** naked
Not for a,
"Moment,
"Minute,
"Hours,
"Was he stuck, birthday suit and all,
His lady friend had jogged off with wallet and all,
Its on YouTube,
Called tree hugger nudist,
There is loads of dents little *** holes,
Some say its all the ***** *******
So many hard ones poking dents,
indentations forever of ******* against this tree.
"I've been their done that,
Really,
"Never again,
"Were standing on this branch,
"What's that look for,
"Nothing,
(Giggles under breathe)
"Getting into the moment,
"Thought sap,
"Tree sap,
"Was seeping in to my hair,
"Don't stop what happened stuck,
*"Pants down skinny **** man up tree,*
(giggles loudly)
"Dude I'm 6 foot 5inches,
It was sap of a different kind,
(Gags in mouth)
No Fudging way,
Yep that's not the worst,
"How the hell does some one seed a tree that high,
**"It was like the tree was ******* itself,**
"Old juice, sap, Klingon,
"What ever I throw up on her,
She bit down,
I, we feel three feet out the tree,
"So that's what the plaster cast is from,
"Is that why your walking funny,
Twenty nine stitches its like something
From a Frankenstein film,
Never again my friend a bed is where ill be from
Now on, she fell in a puddle of Jib juice triplets
She had all three different, DNA tests on all
Who visited the tree.
As a video recorded of all who entered,
Just not the naked bits seen.
**"Nature can keep its *** tree,**
"I'll be lucky if mine works again,
"Mine isn't wood its a limp branch now,
*"Dude you got ****** by wood,*
"Bitten limp by teeth,
"Unlucky bro,
"Hahahahah,
"Rather you than me,
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 5:36 PM UTC
We were stumbling
trudging fudging
falling
through the open sesame springtime
weeds come up with their wisdom
of the world below
hold on, grasping gasping
chokehold on their world before
do we tug hard enough,
or do they finally give up?
"Belonging" is only a relative term
We all belong to something
our hearts, our bodies
are bound by expectations
Do we live to function
or function to live?
Every **** has its own
greater good.
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 8:10 PM UTC
*I live, I respire, I function… These are possessions one doesn’t think twice of… But there is desolation where you were erstwhile. I am consumed by it – Whole and soul. Lines blur, melting, altering, folding… and now – I am it, and it is me. Yet ever so often, I am jolted from this half-life, and I call out. Words run their usual sequence, but someplace else along its’ way, the voice withers… and I’m back where I commenced… breathing my half-truths… finding ease in the twisted… alone – this heart song plays on unheeded… I know they see the prism and the spectral colors… they think I have it all. and I smile… holding back my streams – they’d wash away all that color they love so much… I laugh a thousand tears, softly, in the silence that is still mine. And I learn to shelter my wounds from your half-truth. All that is felt is no longer ours; but mine… just mine. And gradually – I begin to comprehend – Fudging curve ***** doesn’t come easy. Not even in my wildest dreams…*
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC
I'm writing a poem of alliteration,
Promising perfunctory proliferation,
Rendering ragged rambling randomness,
Scribbling stupid spasmodic silliness.
Finding words requires a Thesaurus,
Collecting curses chirography causes,
Needs necessitate natural nuances,
Instead incredible imaginary influences.
This task is beginning to wreck my head,
Beating boredom before bed,
Wretched wistfully wandering words,
Agreeable arrangements absolutely absurd.
Keeping it logical is becoming a bind,
Maelstroms merging, mashing my mind,
Deranged, despairing, definitely diminished,
Fortunately, fudging finally finished.
Cinco Espiritus Creation
26/09/17
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 3:46 AM UTC
Sometimes I'm just so scared that
If I said no, you'd walk out and
Leave
Like everybody else.
I'm worried you'd become blind like the crowd,
Growing too busy to care
With other people to attend to,
Parties, events, jobs, work —
And you'd leave me here.
Alone.
I really don't want to tie you down either.
There are so many other people out there
That would make you so much happier than I would.
And I know that.
I'm worried you'd get tired of listening to the same ****
Over and over and over and over again,
But the problem is the **** keeps coming back and
I don't know how to stop it.
People think I'm attention-seeking and
Extremely unoriginal to have the same story keep
Popping up again.
They think I'm such a fudging great actor.
And I agree sometimes.
Because they don't see the
Invisible tears that flow.
I'm worried that you'd just give up on me.
Because I'd give up on me.
In fact, I already kinda have.
People tell me
I'm crazy.
And I know I am.
I have a fudging mental disorder for goodness sake,
Crazy is the new normal.
And I'm used to that bit.
But if people are sick,
Do you not care for them?
Why do people run away?
Why do people avoid?
Why do people leave
Because they think
I'm fudging crazy.
I'm trying not to be.
I really am.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
Why?
Why am I such a
Fudging liar all the time?
Why do I lie that
I've done my work
Why do I lie that
I've done my best
Why do I lie that
I am okay?
Why is it so easy for me to
Just come up with another identity
Living under another false name
But part of me still leaks through
Because people can recognise me
By my lying habits
It's just at the tip of my tongue
I lie and lie and lie and lie;
I lie so much that sometimes
I begin to worry:
When I tell the truth,
Would anyone actually believe me?
Because there was a time,
I did tell the truth.
I did
Every single time
But I still got
Reprimanded
No one believed me
When I was good.
I was supposed to be bad.
I was supposed to under bad influence.
I was supposed to have evil friends that'd lead me to do unlawful things.
But no.
I didn't have any of that.
I used to be good.
But being good was
Bad.
And so, I lie
And lie and
Lie and
Lie so much...
One day I wonder,
Will anyone believe me
Anymore?
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC
The conversations on the post-its we share
Aren't
Lame.
They're just constant denials and
Occasional encouragements;
The exchange of unanswered questions because
For some reason,
I'm not comfortable answering
When everyone is staring.
It's almost as if
I'm going to write this
Secret essay full of love and concern and
A script expressing all I feel.
All the bottled up worry about you would be
Matched from thought to term,
Scribbled down onto that
Tiny piece of paper but
Who am I kidding?
I **** with words.
I **** with expression.
All I do all day long is
Sit behind this stupid screen at 3am in the morning
Typing down this hell of a poem (is it even one?)
And regretting everything I hadn't done
When I was still
Face to face
With you.
I should have sat down and
Thought a little longer and
Maybe my brain would come up with some
Wonderful solution or word of encouragement
Like the powerful ones you always give me.
I should have, at least,
Gone over if I needed your help instead of
You always coming over to my side
And then ending up getting criticised.
I should have given you a
Huge hug and asked
You
How you were feeling but
I'm just a fudging coward
And a fudging selfish creep so I
Sit there every morning and
Wallow in my own sadness,
Fighting a seemingly non-existent battle
And I neglect you again — ******
I promised.
I promised I wouldn't do it again but
All I ever do is make you
Worry and worry and worry and
I don't seem to be there, ever.
When it's time for me to help you
I DO FUDGING NOTHING.
.
.
.
The conversations on the post-its
Aren't
Lame.
They're just little bits of hope that
Maybe one day, the replies would both be honest ones,
And even if it says "No, I'm not fine" and
The other one says "You want to talk about it?"
It's a glimpse of hope.
And it'd be true hope for once,
Not just a mirage for disappointment.
It'd be the beginning of understanding,
It'd be the beginning of another beginning,
It'd be the beginning of starting over, you and me,
Closing up that gap
But most importantly,
It'd be the beginning of
A New kind of Happiness
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
How much Editing ?
goes into the Audio, Video of a mans life,
Before the world would notice an oddity of human nature?
Would it be that of a tiny tadpole of an amount?
A jolly giant of a fudging that would cause for a rubbing of the eyes and a gaping of their mouth?
Would it, could it, oh dear me, should it be a thought considered before a judgement rendered or cast on a poor fellow to be a job or a lot?
Humm, me thinks it might be , no, was?, no it was not a lot of job that they sent to the door step of men they knew not...
Ahh, a relief, yes , such a relief that these things have never been the case, nor the glory to fit a portion nor word in this slot, to make his meaning more to the appetite of the plot, who's plot you ask?
Oh dear shake-spears Macbeth and some final rest in the those leaves of grass and our silly *** as Whitman was so insistent, who or what else plot might be thought for such a play to be sought?
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
As the clocks ticks and
The hours past,
I'm grow more and more fearful.
This abnormal silence is
Disturbing
I'm just
Scared
Scared that when I go there
I wouldn't find you anywhere
Again
But this time,
It was you who left
Willingly
Don't you remember your promise?
You said you wouldn't leave
Ever again!
You promised,
You fudging promised!
You said you wouldn't leave!
As the clocks ticks and
The hours past,
I'm grow more and more fearful.
When is it okay to break a promise?
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
I'm exhausted.
I don't want to
Fudging go
Out.
I don't want to
Meet people.
I don't want to
Eat.
I don't fudging care.
I just wanna go home
Have a bath,
Sink into my book,
Maybe use my emergency cup noodles.
I just don't want to go
Out.
I just don't want
YOU.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 6:18 AM UTC
I know, I know
I'm the fudging reason
You all don't love each other
I know, I know,
Not the first time you're
Reminding me...
Just shut up would you?
And maybe leave.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
Dear me,
why is it that i worry daily about America,
and my mind is always stuck in a classical era,
why is it that i want to become a lawyer,
or a warrior for people's rights for anyone's rights,
why is there this powerful light
shining in me, telling me to be something not many people expect me to be,
i don't get it you see?
why can't i just be obsessed with one direction,
instead of listening deeply to long lectures,
that i actually enoy,
why can't i just focus on liking a boy,
even though i know he'll treat me like a toy,
why can't i just be a normal girl, who wears make up and twirls her hair twenty four seven,
why can't i just be a normal teenager who lives, breathes, and dreams about her crush named kevin?
but no, i'm a fourteen year old girl
who enjoys fighting for others rights,
who enjoys writing poetry,
who enjoys listening to classical music,
who enjoys speaking her mind,
and being kind.
i don't know if i'm just blind or something,
but why am i like this?
it's like i've been kissed
by indifference,
which really wasn't my intention.
oh but did i forget to mention
that i am happy about the way i am,
i just wish people would accept me for me,
you see, wishes dont always come true
but as long as you believe in you, everything will be okay,
and people will learn to accept me one day,
just know that you are in amazing human being,
who will eventually find her meaning,
you're fudging amazing, and beautiful, and smart, and filled with so much art.
and its okay if not everyone sees you that way,
but they will one day,
you just wait and see okay?
with love, ameia.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
So this poem is about my anxiety,
It’s just so uncomfortable being me,
It’s people that I fear the most,
I really couldn’t be a host,
There’s so many things that run through my head,
Sometimes I think it would be easier not to get out of bed,
I panic at the sight of someone new,
It can feel like I’m trapped in a zoo,
I can feel them staring,
I can feel them glaring,
They’re trying to work me out,
What I’m all about,
I know that they’re judging,
So my words I start fudging,
They think I’m pathetic,
And they won’t be sympathetic,
I’m always the odd one out,
And I’m so scared they will shout,
See I’m easy to make cry,
You don’t really have to pry,
They know something’s wrong with me,
It’s so easy for everyone to see,
I’m the runt in the litter,
My personality doesn’t glitter,
To most people I can barely talk,
When they watch it affects my walk,
Most people can’t understand,
They have their social skills to hand,
They can’t see why I’m scared,
Why I am so unprepared,
And if they had a social blip,
It wouldn’t really make them dip,
But I would feel consumed,
My demons would have loomed,
And if this wasn’t enough,
I do find it quite tough,
There’s the guilt for feeling this,
And all the things it makes me miss,
The awkward silences I create,
The other person must hate,
But I just can’t take the chance,
That they will respond with a verbal lance,
I’m too scared to give it a go,
I didn’t ask for this phobia you know.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 4:03 AM UTC
A little off normal ain't abnormal,
otherwise,
we be fudgin' the data.
Practic'ly perfect is all
patience strives for.
Cast the spell, callemagin callemalloutsin,
come attend
forsake not the gathering of...
All ye, all ye, outs in free....
Wombed or un, worst and best,
twisted
strait straight wait wraith wrath point
to point
tale to tale
story to story from six ways
to Sunday, sun's day in my culture,
Day one. Gin geni gene-ration day, since
light been
activating
sensation spinning
the planetary sweep of balance soft as
stillness
in perfect peace
past undersatanding,
aitia yen yanked
beyond all
that ever mattered when
the measurerers in 2019 declare precision
stat-
balance twixt being and null is set, one part
in a measure,
one in a ratio, a reasoning, a
dis-
cerning of one part in all that man can imagine ever,
higgs-ified-ish-ly materialwise,
reality valances on
one part in 10 to the seventy-nine thousandth power.
Earthling-wise, you are at least,
or worst,
or best,
one in eight times ten to the nine-th.
Therefore, your unique effect on the balance of all
that is,
is
far more than you've been blamed for and
far less than you've taken shame for and
much
less precise than the most concise measurer of evil in you.
Moral, aphoristic con clue sion:
Do your part. Don't fudge up. Tolerate human
imbalance
in light of fudging science.
Tolerate no evil imbalance
in light of fudging philosophy.
Read deeper.
Be still from time to time. Laugh when laughter fixes the problem,
never laugh when laughing makes it worse.
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 3:18 PM UTC