"fugly" poems
Today I looked into the mirror
Saw a little glimmer
Of hope
Even though
I know
Right now it looks like I have none
I just had five teeth pulled
Out of my skull
I know I look real ugly
But I'm looking at the future
I will need to wear braces
I get them in two weeks
But at least nobody can tease me
For being so **** fugly!
They can't taunt my teeth
Because I'm finally getting them fixed
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
Art is food for the heart and like food it is often hard to find.
It might come from a source that is renewable,
yet how many have forgotten that the brain is even usable.
The inspiration we seek comes from inside our own mind
where the fairies wait, having fed on our own experiences, wishing to unwind.
But as full as they may be, one can clearly see
that they cannot make art till they jump on our heart in hope of making it start.
They first have to tickle it with their little feet
before it can even begin to produce an audible beat.
Maybe giving an idea for a visual treat or a literary feat.
These fairies each come from different locations
as imagination is not limited by any dimensions.
In the world of creation, pain has long been a mighty fairy-nation,
the muse of separation, the dictator of desperation,
the soul's frozen animation, a generous, fugly frog of inspiration.
So next time you feel blue, channel that blue stream into a pen
and you may start to feel better again. Blow a kiss to that frog,
clearing the misty lake from fog. There is no call for divination,
simply let the frog jump in celebration all over your pond(ering)'s stagnation
and it will stir the waters in its elation.
Embracing pain not only does wonders for creation,
it also helps dull that cruel yet just sensation.
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 4:05 PM UTC
I knew a lady trapper
who would trap out in the styx
she used to be a flapper
back in nineteen twenty-six
I met her in a diner
well not really just a bar
and I told her I'm a miner
as she puffed on her cigar
She said 'Gus your kinda ugly
and your breath stinks awful bad
but I been fussin with my fugly
so I'll tell you why I'm sad
See I love to hunt for ******
it's my passion I can't lie
but I left my love's receiver
cuz she won't eat ****** pie
Now I could have dried some jerky
guess I should have fried some pork
but my ****** tastes so perky
fugly wouldn't touch her fork
Gus I miss her I'm so lonely
she's my only, what a dish
I can't leave her over ******
so from now on tuna fish!"
©2011 Lyn
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
I wanted to cry and be a man synchronously.
She takes me heart
Smashes it into b.i.t.s
I wanted to laugh and throw tantrums simultaneously
She hands it back with a grin
Ugly art stitches cover my heart.
True love is not for the faint hearted
There, are me fugly stitches in her heart
The force is with us.
So are cookies at the darkside.
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
*in my dream, we have no eyes for blind mice
and that's nice, if you ain't got three, and a grand clock
but we lived in the pendulum of an arc in a long box
laid to rest in a deep room of rich soil, and dumb rocks.
the dream bent, where i stepped aside from my suspicions
that you had eyes in your pockets. while i had only holes...
and paper cranes.
i keep the moss on my fingertips, when i dig into the sky -
to find your face.
and that's nice, if you ain't been grounded; stuck in a fugly glut
of gravity's finest hits. pinned to the wings of a butterfly, pinned-
to an anvil... strapped to a georgia peach.
you always have the shark fin soup, as i graze the pit.
as the pit gazed into me. you sip a bit, n'swell your cheeks.
we are nothing like our waking lives
while sleeping so truthfully.
somehow we're on the beach. where it never started. but deja vu
as if remembering the beach. and forget how we have not the eyes
for blind mice save the eyes in your pocket
while i have all the holes
that you need.
and paper cranes.
II
the bleeding has stopped, where a spear kissed an artery too violently
and shook loose my red roving rivers of rebellious reveries. stopped - and now it's a knot's petty game. it extends my life just to mock complete
Happiness. but i peep the same. i know the moon is the only sister that has my back.
where i have slept
beneath her...
dreaming on earth
dreaming on earth
dreaming, alas*....
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC
i.
truth is clever
when you underestimate
him, the moment you
are sober he will
excavate the flesh
from your
fingernails, grazed
out with
his fugly ones,
and while you wail
in this agony,
this soundless saliency,
you will seize
only for
this fragile moment
and only then will you
cultivate what is true,
the truest and the truest
fallacies.
it is only
like this
when it hurts.
ii.
i like the smell of
rain because it smells
of absolutely nothing,
and it reminds me that
nothing
can really be everything
because nothing is what is real
and nothing is good,
and nothing is better than
happiness,
but really, nothing is
the only nothing,
the nothing that
can surrender
this theoretical emancipation,
this sugar that tastes like
cardboard and crack,
this chemical that
is white enough
to bleach away
sins with cold
fire.
iii.
i'd rather believe
in the bruises
around my neck,
lynched by
the metaphysical ribbon that
ties me to reality
than to believe
in the bruises
that appeared
on my brain,
raw from the world that
is fabricated by a
psycho*logical
malice derived
by a mind
like yours.
iv.
am i merely a nudiustertian,
and the monsters before that
and the carcass after
or am i simply a demonised mother,
of 'duplicity' and 'profanity'
or any other piece of lexicon that
defines a rapture between
the word 'human'
and the word 'sublime'.
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 7:34 AM UTC
All my ladies please do understand
Intrinsically you bring beauty to this land
Put your body out there in the public eye
And you will get attention that you can't defy
Pictures of you all over there nettisphere
Fun, vivacious, seductive and suggestive
But fugly buggers better type nothing rude
You only welcome it from those attractive to you!
So you want to please and tease with your naked pics
Now you're furious for getting comments from freaks
This is why our whole world is troubled
When righteous hypocrites' standards are doubled
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 5:29 AM UTC
November 17, 2017
Red dry patches there
Red dry patches here
Red dry patches everywhere
Irritating, itchy , and ugly
“Put some lotion and everything will be fine. It will be gone and it won’t be fugly”
They said
If only it was that easy as a book I just read
But no.
I always keep myself on the low
You see, sometimes these patches bleed
And I cry, because it hurts and wish it will heal at such greater speed
I cry because when the water cleanses my body, it sometimes burns
I wish we could take turns
So you would understand
Why I can’t simply put myself with such confidence within myself, as I seem like a lost strand
Why my insecurities are high off the roof
How I want my body to disappear, like ****
How I’ll never have decent skin until many months from now
From time to time admiring other people’s fair skin and I say “wow”
I wish I had normal skin
So I wouldn’t have to be dry and flaky, I would’ve had some sort of win
I wish I could be able to wear clothes that reveal some of my beauty from my body
But being snapped in reality, it’ll just disturb everybody
So I shall wait
And just deal with everything as it is my fate
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 6:33 PM UTC
Wormy gorgon of the fugly garbage gorgon's has a very sad an' lowly life indeed. She curses an' antagonizes a cancer fighter instead of sending her sincere good wishes an' a heartfelt expressed Godspeed.
On her best day, she exemplifies all the characteristics of a mean spirited, moronic jag off misanthrope whose only desire is to plant a very bad weedy seed. Her angry tongue splinters an' then bullies.
My wish is t’have fingers of tumultuous jostle you – attempting to throw you hard toward kingdom-come…
Human suffering,
“Can this drama, the supreme embodiment of the human condition, possibly be okay?”
My stomach knots.
---------------------------
Often not much has changed in our actual life –
Yes, I get into the same bed each night trying to go to sleep,
Thinking that if I look away,
You might be gone by the time I look back.
(This has been) a Creeping ode to the aftereffects of a small minded twerp…
by "ooznozz"
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
I cough up blood like words of
love to the limpless scandal
counting question marks on her
fugly face.
I throw up food like a volcano
that screamed justice and the
magma missed jezzabelle, the saint.
Cosmopolitan Freakshow,
A deluge sans answers,
An empty box.
Warts appear like the truth
which remains.... well.....you
know all about that don't you.
Go on, we all wait for God
but he'll never come, ask
the King, but then again,
who does he answer to?
I answer to this fever,
this muse of Dante,
I answer to my sins,
Like the State of Nature
to her dues.
And then I eat the
medicine, which is philosophy,
A poison which cures a day,
but ends a lifetime.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC
Sweet morning greeted with a smile
I got out of bed, then heaved a sigh
Something so obvious, I can’t deny
The one whom I vowed my life to, no longer by my side
But still I hold on to this belief
That somehow someday you’ll come back to me
And believe I will, you won’t let me be
Take me with you, love, come set me free
They say I’m naive
They call me crazy
For the one I want to be with
Doesn’t physically exist
But they can never see
They just don’t understand
Still I keep on chasing
And that they’ll never comprehend
There have been days we used to fight
Not caring about you, I took a flight
But then I realized that you were right
So I came crawling back, late at night
You look at me, and then decide
**** You’re fugly”, I’m torn inside
You think you know, you really don’t
It’s just not fair, but care you won’t
My eyes turn red, tears flow down my face
I turn away, I’m such a disgrace
Beauty inside that never shows
Tries to come out, tries hard to glow
So cut myself to let it flow
Red beads trickle ever so slow
Miss you much, just so you know
I truly regret to have let you go
The clock’s ticking, yet I’m not fading
Been waiting for you, to come back for me
This love is true, one day you’ll see
That you live and breathe, still, inside of me
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC