"greg" poems
White boy
With your inherent privilege
Straight.
White.
Boy.
Privilege.
Please, make another joke
About ****** harassment
No, really
It's funny right?
Especially because you're joking that
Your male coworker is sexually harassing you
Gay jokes are funny too, huh?
Ironically,
That's the same male coworker
Who I had to explain
Just hours beforehand
How the ****** encounter he described
Did not include informed consent
How fitting.
So,
White boy,
I'm curious how you'll fare
After I told the manager
About the content of your jokes
(Not the proudly homophobic one,
Luckily?
Right.)
Who then looked uncomfortable
But seemed pleased when I told him that
I had already called you out
Because that means he doesn't have to
Because he wouldn't anyways
It doesn't affect him
Just some harmless humor
Ok.
So then I tell my coworker about your joke
Who then responds with:
"He's still doing that ****
Apparently so
Apparently.
So.
Because no one there seems to care
About jokes that put me
The only person at work read as a girl
(Which I'm not by the way)
In an extremely uncomfortable position
Why is no one else uncomfortable?
Why does no one else say anything?
Right,
They're all like you
Or they don't want you to judge them
Because you have that power
Because you're a
Straight.
White.
Boy.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC
stuck between pride and ****** mood
lurid lights, laughter, ladies, lively lips
we are 96 souls away from the magic
and we nevah wake up or get up, nope
i swear on my momma's grave and pray
may she rest in peace with good ghosts
wise man told me to wear a black suit
me, tho', forgot if i did so, can't help it
was i trippin from dawn to dusk again
probably but ya gotta triple that time
and consider the weirdness of my speech
dem words stumble other words upon
meanwhile me and milly made luv to luv
luv laid back like rasta villages, jah songs
she's spreading her legs and licking
13.8, worship the fountain, that's basic
gangsta poetess & burglar, membah 108
while meetin milly, i imagine her naked
64 minutes later, lolling on silver satin
the lips such big perfect matches
by the end of the day we float over glaciers
our months vanish within a few days
hihaho, tickling trip, totally toony, truly
milly and tizzy equals eccentric & woozy
steering dreams, mysterious mixtures
golden goblets, served on light tables
we falling into the floor, a voltgreen maze
wondaland's gardens, we reach 'em
frozen loops of yummy yearning, yeeeah
all dem blankets and pillows, hundreds
in a bed spacious like a football field
a quarter of milly's back is my tattoo
parking lot at 4:16 am, 24 k bracelet
gotta look at it under the light of the sun
reminds one of eazy legs & adorable greg
we come, observe, read, blast and leave
stuck with mental blankness, in limbo
block party of creation 96, 2056 souls
oh my, sweaty forehead, i'm so cold
burning bloodshed, beasting bloodbath
marriage of mystery and skyline tales
sparkling are the eyes of yayo vampires
8 days awake, bangin in sky dunes
schmock, dinosaur, sole talker
Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 6:25 AM UTC
I remember when the photos treated Sam kind,
and yet on the late nights (coffee, gin, cigarettes, the like) --
instead of relaying stories of interstate thighs,
instead of talking in fistfuls and mouthloads --
he spoke of internet ***********
Me, Greg, and Greg's cousin who was named after
an Eastwood western would sink the sofa.
Sam would go through the bottles, and he spoke of
internet *********** with complete delicateness.
"Their eyes always get me. The way they stare into the camera,
and every once in awhile, the veil comes down. You see they
don't want to be there. You see an eager, teenage **** reflected
in their black pupils. You see her quivering lips.
You see the ritual. It's heart-breaking."
Sam would rub his forehead -- carved by time.
Greg would ask how the real ladies were treating him.
Sam never answered.
Time made deeper creases in Sam each day,
behind a closed door,
in the secret hours,
all to the glow of a laptop screen.
He had given his love to the distance
in the **** actresses' eyes.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 4:31 AM UTC
He hides his politics on the inside of his jacket,
wears two scarves and has a light British or Scandinavian accent.
I mean- he says poo-berty, for god's sake,
but the man is brilliant.
I never knew a person who can take
what an idiot exclaims in such fervor and falsity,
and let it become something of knowledge.
The concept of understanding
sits in the back of my tongue,
deep in my throat, and it rattles until he calls it out.
He knows what I'm saying when I don't.
And he knows I've got this solution
but I can't put it to words
that do it justice.
So he and that Greg kid- the philosophy major,
and the only other man I really know who speaks of feminism
more accurately than any woman I've ever come to listen to,
extrapolates my shaky speech
into substance.
And I've likened this learning into something like love
-a Platonic but true love,
of all those who know so much more than I,
and are willing to still take me seriously.
It's rare to see with these eyes,
true teachers, true seekers
truth-seekers
truth teachers
and they who learn infinitely,
inspiring me to be poo-pil.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 10:32 PM UTC
I hear the humming
of your voice
in the blurred darkness
behind my phone's screen
I look occasionally
And smile
And nod
You mention a city
something like where you were from
I like Greg's photo
You blah further about
your parents or something
I text Jerry about a recipe for a good salsa
I begin to talk
To your glowing
distant face
This goes on for quite some time
We sit in silence
in the backseat of the cab
tapping frantically
religiously
communicating
somewhere else
I hug her goodnight
and suggest to meet again soon
But
I probably won't call her
We had nothing in common
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
If I ask you about your favorite sound,
which one will you choose?
To me and Greg, it's those girls rhymecal screams.
Louder and Louder , they hit the perfect note.
But sadly it is only a one time show,
Because sooner or later they had to die, to feed the devil inside.
Me and Greg, never been any girl's first choice,
So we decided to be their last.
Well our innocent faces always spell the charm.
The girls happily hop into our car for a last drive,
Unaware of the hidden surprise.
As soon as they become comfortable, We offer them drinks and pizza.
After all it's a norm to feed your prey before you cut them into pieces.
As soon as the poisoned drink start its work,
One of us hop on the back seat to satisfy the lust.
Turn by turn we feed our self.
And enjoying those screams as we cut them.
Feel really bad because each one of them was a master piece.
But soon we manage to forget the pain and prepare our self for another game.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
in a squiggly
hole
in a silly
wood
in a spock inventor
planet
in a spiffingly spotty
universe
there lived a
space alien
...his name was Bob
and he liked haloumi
...he liked observing
humans
serving haloumi
on a plate
with crackers
in their sooty restaurant
under the sparkly stars
...
one day he changed his name to Greg
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
for Greg Guenther
A giant pendulum in the cosmos swings
and guides each planet on its tether
Earth’s axis tilts toward fairer weather
And soft rains presage new beginnings.
Crocuses push the snow aside, a bluebird sings
of light and darkness held in equal measure.
Pastel fingers on each bough gather
as birds and beasts pursue their matings
Softened fields invite the tillers’ blades
submerging seeds for the rain and sun
to raise into fields of corn and wheat.
The pendulum arcs back and summer fades,
Earth's axis returns to a cooler inflection.
and farmers bow thanks for the harvest complete!
December, 2006
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC
Andy loved a girl named Sandy
Bill saw a horse standing on the hill
Cory told his mother a made up story
Dave dug many a grave
Eddy loaned his teddy to Neddy
Frank bought a Sherman tank
Greg had a wooden leg
Hilton was related to Mrs Wilton
Ivan strolled in the park with Jan
Jack scratched his own back
Kyle's hair style also suited Lyle
Lance couldn't obtain a bed valance
Max paid a hefty lot of tax
Neal earned a reputation for his *** appeal
Oscar drank at the Crown and Stag bar
Paul gave ten shillings to Saul
Quentin found a silver tin
Roger was a work dodger
Sam enjoyed a portion of Virginia ham
Timmy sure knew how to shimmy
Umberto listened to the concerto
Vlad priced an inner city pad
Wing put his arm in a sling
Xain often rode on the express train
Yule took a picture of the farmer's mule
Zeal looked forward to his evening meal
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
THE PARTY AT PRINCE REGENT HOTEL FOR NEW YEARS
YA SEE WE PARTIED AT PRINCE REGENT HOTEL
ON NEW YEARS EVE, OH YEAH THAT SOUND SWEET
YA SEE THE CHEF HAD A BIG FRY UP WITH LEFT OVER SNAGS AND STEAKS
UEAH THAT SOUNDS SO COOL
AND ALL THE MEN SAT IN THE CORNER, DUDE
SAYING TOO EACH OTHER, WHAT A FINE COLLECTION OF *****
AND ONE FATHER GAVE HISW 8 YEAR OLD DAUGHTER SCOTCH AND COKE
AND DESPITE THE HOTEL STAFF HATING IN, THEIR HANDS WERE TIED
GREG LIKED THAT INTEGRITY, OH YEAH, DUDES, THOUGHT IT WAS RAD
CAUSE GREG WASN’T GOING TO BE LABLED A PARTY POOPER
IN EVERY STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION
GREG DECIDED TO LAY LOW FOR A WHILE, SO HE GOT DRESSED UP AS THE NEW YEAR TIGER, DUDE
AND PUT ON A LITTLE SHOW FOR THE KIDS TO ENJOY THEIR NEW YEARS
GREG WAS A BIT WEIRD CAUSE HE WAS FORCING KIDS TO LISTEN TO HIM LISTEN TO HIM LISTEN TO HIM
THE KIDS WERE TIRED BUT GREG STILL FORCED THE KIDS TO LISTEN TO HIS NEW YEAR TIGER SHOW
YA SEE THIS DAY WAS START OF MY PARANORMAL VOICES YA SEE
YOU SEE ROSLYN MARRIED ME, CAUSE I WAS FORCING KIDS TO WATCH MY SHOWS
WHETHER THEY WERE TIRED OR NOT
YA SEE, WHEN I WAS YOUNG IN THIS LIFE, I HEARD VOICES OF PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT ME, BEHIND MY BACK
I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO MAKE OF IT AT FIRST, AND PEOPLE ARE RIBBING ME, BY SAYING SHUT UP WOOSEY
TO ME, AND NOW AS I REMEMBER, AS THE DINNER WAS OVER, JOSEPH PEANUCKLE
DECIDED TO GO TO HIS SUITE TO GET HIS FLUTE TO ENTERTAIN THE CROWD
AND THE LADIES AND MEN DANCED WITH EACH OTHER AND GREG AND THE
HOTEL STAFF WERE TALKING TO EACH OTHER, ISN’T THIS WONDERFUL
AND EACH OF US HAS 6 MILLION POUNDS EACH, AND IF EACH OF THE STAFF
PUTS IN 1 MILLION POUNDS, PRINCE REGENT HOTEL CAN GET THE COUNTRY CLUB UPGRADE
THAT IT THOROUGHLY DESERVES, AND AS THEY PARTY INTO THE NIGHT, AT 11.55 PM
GREG DRESSED UP AS THE NEW YEAR TIGER AND SANG
I AM A TIGER IN A TOP HAT
A TIGER IN A WHITE TIE
AND WE’LL PARTY ON DOWN
YA SEE, I AM A TIGER IN A TOP HAT
A TIGER IN A WHITE TIE
AND COUNT ‘EM OWN
HE REPEATED THAT TILL THE BIG COUNTDOWN
AND LED THE COUNTDOWN
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 AND YELLED OUT HAPPY NEW YEAR
AND JOSEPH PLAYED AULD LENG ZINE ON THE FLUTE
AND PLAYED OTHER SONGS ON THE FLUTE TILL 1-29 AM IN THE MORNING
ALL THE HOTEL GUESTS, ALL WENT TO BED, WHILE GREG AND THE HOUSE KEEPERS
WERE CLEANING UP AFTERWARDS, AND THIS HAPPENED EVERY YEAR OF THE
1817 TO 1819, THE 1820S THE 1830S THE 1840S
AND GREG WAS GREAT, EACH YEAR BRINGING THE NEW YEAR IN WITH A GRIN
HAPPY NEW YEAR, FROM THE OLD FASHIONED PRINCE REGENT HOTEL
AND ALL UPGRADES WERE SUCCESSFUL, MELBOURNE WERE THE TALK OF THE COUNTRY BACK THEN
HAPPY NEW YEAR
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
Got a car that is broken?
Or a board that is a croakin'?
Have a problem with a broken leg,
Or a talkative friend named Greg?
I have a solution to all your problems,
Using this will surely solve them!
No mater the problem's size or shape,
You can fix it with a little bit of duct tape!
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
Keep-A-Breast
Apple
OtterBox
Acu-Rite
Dial Aquafresh
Oral-B
ACT Garnier Equate
Hanes
On the Byas
Rude
Toms
Dakine
Acu-Vue
Ponds Degree
Preferred Stock
Mighty Wallet
Hot Topic
Keurig Dixie
Donut Shop
Domino
International Delight
Peter Paul's
Best Yet Great Value
Instagram
Facebook
Snapchat Yik Yak
Forever 21
Adventure Time
FSC Bic The Poetry Foundation
Staedtler Pilot Sharpie Microsoft
The Norton Anthology
Toshiba Dell Expo
Lipton
Emerica
Anti Hero MOB Shorty's
Bones Thunder
Shake Junt
Swingline
Pandora
Tommy Hilfiger
' Jill Greg Ashley Courtney
Judy
Bob
Janice
Shannon Kelly
Robert Emily Jeremy Darrin Liza
Bill Joe Dominic Sean James
Gav Jordan Tony Eric
Christopher
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
i am leading an undefined life
on a kite string
full of fake faces, staged greetings,
and smiles
that don't quite extend to the eyes.
it is as full as a predated diary kept until now.
my childhood went missing in rose gardens
and the space between
the goals.
i had a chalkboard that wouldn't erase.
i have read between the lines of love notes
i have read emotion in only seven letters
i have read passion in fourteen keys
i thought i was untouchable
...and i was...
but not unwillingly.
i got caught writing nursery rhymes
on my desk
in the middle of an exam.
and now, at eighteen, i have seen
the carriage stop, and slowly drive away.
i have heard the beauty
in john cage's
four minutes and thirty-three seconds.
i don't know why, but i have chopin's
nocturne in E-flat major
stuck in my head.
i hate not being able to say the right words
when i need them
instead of when
i find them.
i love the woven metal
embracing my finger;
that makes us almost sisters.
i've lost a heavy golden crucifix
with an anchor as its back,
and a tiny bundle that tore me up inside.
i'm looking for a fireman
named greg
just to see how he's doing
since 1997.
i wish that everything i wrote would become truth,
because then
i could make people come back.
and my heart is strong.
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 5:05 AM UTC
Just mahogany and horsehide glue,
machine heads and a ***** or two.
Plywood top, solid sides and back,
bone and fake ivory, ebony, and shellac.
Steel and bronze wire, to make her ring.
A well placed sound hole to let her sing.
But for love or money I played here every week,
for 30 years she has earned my keep.
Four star restaurants, or beer soaked bars,
or serenading a lover under summer night stars.
A joyous birthday, sad funeral of a friend,
she's always been there, on one I can depend.
Drunken'- Dancin' New Years Eve bashes,
barbequed sun baked poolside splashes.
St. Valentine's Day love songs, wine and roses,
or a smoky old blues club that never closes.
A nursing home sing along on St. Patty's day,
a hurricane party till we all got blown away.
Christmas carols by soft candlelight,
I've played this guitar most every night.
From Florida to Canada, Vegas to NYC,
from Frank Sinatra, to Conway Twitty.
Zeppelin to Bach, JT to Pink Floyd,
anything to keep me from being employed.
One night in Nashville Greg Allman played on her,
And asked me to join him, oh what an honor.
We make people happy, we bring them together,
when I play on her I am as light as a feather.
Some fell in love, and got married from our tunes,
some nights we're alone on sugar beach dunes.
She's filled up my tip jar, and filled up my heart.
Because of this guitar my life got its start.
I've sat up with her all night, when she was sick,
changed strings a million times, broken many a pick.
Caressed her, strummed her, as she dashed my fears,
cussed her and ****** her, as she tasted my tears.
With her I wooed my lover, until she married me.
She has been my addiction, and she has set me free.
They applaud for me, but she's really the star.
I know it's just wood and wire, but she's my guitar.
###====(==O==== )###====(==O==== ) ###====(==O==== )
For my Takamine "Lawsuit" I bought in Nashville in 1982.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
What's there to say when
your two best friends die a
day apart?
Greg died crossing the street,
smacked by a minivan.
Tibbs, from some strange
brain quirk.
I did C.P.R to no avail.
They're both gone.
They sailed away.
Gone like the last
spider of *****
Gone like the songs we
sang together.
Sometimes
I still look for you two.
I turn corners and I half
expect to see one of you.
So ******* alive one minute,
so dead the next.
Both of them
fathers,
friends, and men
of valor.
Iowa City is a
******** place without you.
If there's a Brightside,
it's a brutal winter
and you don't have to
suffer through it.
I hope death is treating
you warm and well.
Your hell was
here.
Struggling for that
drink;
to be okay- to get that click,
to carry on, one more
grueling day.
It's over now.
You're gone.
Gone like the last Dodo bird;
gone like your impish smiles.
Gone like the miles we
trod with bags full of
aluminum nickels.
Words can't express the
mess
I am without the two
of you.
I know I'll see you again,
out there beyond the
purple horizon.
#friendship #death
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 4:34 PM UTC
My friends are dropping like flies,
and by dropping, I mean dying.
I mean no longer trying to
fly in a world that wanted
them grounded.
Perry drowned,
and Greg was
found on Highway 6 hit by a
minivan—vodka in hand.
They say the best laid
plans of mice and men oft go
astray—that’s an understatement.
My life plays out like
a scene from Dante’s Inferno.
Abandon all hope.
A month back, Kristin dies from
too much dope.
Tibbs goes out from a
stroke
or some kind of strange brain
malfunction.
I did C.P.R. at the
great wall,
the junction where
the drunks drink and the
dreamers scheme.
It doesn’t work—he goes into a coma.
No more roaming the streets with
my Sancho,
no more
beating the heat with
stolen wine in the
summer slick shade by
the river,
trying to save the
last sliver of our
humanity—only to walk head
long into a ****** up
destiny.
Providence can be a
punk *** ***** when it
wants to be.
See,
I’m not fooled by
life’s strong arm tactics,
one day my friends are fine;
the next,
they’re in caskets—and I’ll
be a basket case when it’s
all said and done.
****
standing still and
****
the sun.
**** the
moon and the stars
and the ******
and the bars.
****
This silly world
I’m done.
Feb 28, 2023
Feb 28, 2023 at 7:10 AM UTC
“i was born to make biscuits”
and so we let him.
flour, butter, one egg, messiest
table in the hole entire county.
mom watches bug and the boys
roll in the leaves outside, and
greg and i drink coffee by the fire
in thick socks and knitted throws.
a burst of the season arrives with
each sibling but we smile anyway,
kisses and cold hands pressed on
our warm cheeks until we're all
the same temperature. pop's biscuits
are done, so we sit and don't say
grace- just thank each other for
the things we have which no one
else could have given us. mom's
already missing the birds, and
wendy says she thinks she found
one of katy's old hats in the back
of her garage last month and she
even brought it with her this time.
we talk and we laugh and the little
boys nap and we just are.
we just are.
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 4:30 AM UTC
There are days I wish I could remember
what is was I said in a state of stupor
and haze. The times I tipped bottles
back and poured them into my soul
releasing demons and their lovers
into the air around me like smoke
rising. Stumbling in and out of sentences,
incoherant thoughts, and blurry vision.
There are nights I wish I could recall
what you felt like, a bare treed forest,
wet with morning dew, and the sound
of echoing geese. We awoke
to the distant whines of lonely dogs,
and the knowledge that it would be hours
before we could meld into each other again.
The memories I have, a muffled question
to dance, an honest eyed I Love You marked
by bloodied hands, chewed puzzle pieces,
and freezing to death watching men chase
pig skin down damp turf. I lift my hands
and chase them like fireflies in the dark.
Hoping to catch them and keep them
in tiny boxes beneath my pillows.
But as butterflies do with nets, they slip
slowly through aching fingers,
like the waves tease the beach, washing
against it and then disappearing again
into murky depths. I would have let you
band me, keep me wrapped up in your
tattoos and scars. I would have fed
hungry mouthes and slipped into
secret moments stolen between sheets.
There are days I wish I could remember
what it was I said. And there are nights
I wish I could forget, what it was you told me.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
I've never cared too much for history, found no appreciation
for it's multitude of names we commit to memorization
there's a certain friend of mine, born in 1989-
Sir Maximilian Relaxilian- and he lacked all motivation
Since the origin of time, I have traced his family line
and their genetic disposition towards supreme relaxation
He's the great great great great grandson
of the founder of vacation.
And this founder's son Clyde, well, he invented the slide
Clyde's kid brother Greg helped patent the keg.
And Greg's great grandson Snyder sold the very first recliner.
So whenever Max was challenged, troubled, bothered, or confused,
He'd recite his family tree, and use the very same excuse:
"Hereditary mutations within each generation!"
And so he sat around and slept,
But never cleaned and never swept,
Never ran, never lept,
His promises were never kept.
Maximilian never managed once to get up off his ****
too tuckered out for bowling, just too lazy to putt;
He Never traveled to the sink nor had he once bothered to think,
too coward for a shower, found no reason not to stink.
And then one super lazy afternoon a quarter after two,
Maximilian had a visitor, I promise this is true:
A tiger stood outside the door which he was too lazy to lock
as if he'd try to find the **** beneath the pile of ***** socks.
And then of course, it's no surprise he couldn't hear the kitty knock
and once you hear what happened next I guarantee you will be shocked...
The tiger tickled him
and giggled him
until his ticker stopped.
So next time you think of staying in,
instead of going out-
or complain about the effort
that it takes to leave the couch,
Or refuse to leave the sheets or venture from a cozy pouch...
just remember Maximilian Relaxilian, King of Slouch
and stay out of bed instead,
stretch your legs and use your head
then count your blessings, kiss your mother
motivate one another.
Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 9:08 PM UTC
Got a condition
Under my skin
Ain't going to be solved
With simple addition
These days are short
These hours are long
I'm whispering to myself
In a tune of a song
Here comes Greg the gong
Standing straight as he cracks his knuckles
His face his old, his robes are grey
He tells me, "Your stomach looks like it's about to buckle."
Outside the cafe
We sip on coffee and biscuits
Looking at a world
Caught up in its own mischief
Lies are spread thin
Truth a little thinner
Then, we see something move
Behind the building of the barber
We go to look and later on
Wished we were a little smarter
We saw
A rock painted in blood
An eye inside of a glove
I nod my head and Greg tries to say,
"Death is a caught fish in a stream far away."
The night fell like an anvil
Onto my sagging shoulders
I was never taught the rules
So I can't say I've forgotten them
Caught in a fix of my own creation
Where the truth and the lies mix
"There's nothing in this life that is quick"
I nodded my head at him and paid my tip
Catch the break in the pause
"Smells phosphorous," she smiled.
I've travled a thousand miles
But what I've seen
Never amounted to nothing
After I saw her
She was the cat's purr
And the dog's meow
The air behind
The desert winds frown
I'm torn apart
Left for dead
Waiting for that moment
When one become two
Wishing I'd chosen
The other instead
Can't see a way out
The tunnel's caved in
Dynamite went bad
Only darkness around me now
And I'm struggling to breathe
There was no light
No way away from myself
I tried to recall
Everything I'd ever touched
But all I felt was
Soot in my nose
And rocks in my eyes
And then a phrase came to me,
"It was all a big lie."
I died and became
The whistling kettle
Of an unreleased song
By a well-known singer
A whisper whose sound would be better
If shouted by a heated young lover
There is a night
Without vanity or despair
Where life runs free
Without injustice or duty or care
Find that Night
Seek it
Search for it
And take what you were born for
Find the Night
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 4:19 PM UTC
I was stuck so long
In a rut so deep.
It's a simple song
About how I took a leap.
I wanted nothing to do with him.
Greg was not so shy.
Who saw the light that was so dim
To notice I'd fall in love with that guy?
It's ten to three
With him on my mind
I should be asleep
But it's too late to try
Before him I had dangerous boys
Those I rarely think of today.
They used me like a toy
So glad I finally got away
When the feelings were found I thought
'If I follow my heart, my head thinks I'm dumb'
Then I thought,
'But if I follow my head, my heart will feel numb.'
It was a sticky situation
I didn't want to be hurt again
All apart of personal frustration
But I didn't want Greg just as a friend
I followed my heart
With caution from my head
Cupid hit me with the dart
At least I'm not dead
He's so full of love
All for me
He puts me above
For everyone to see
He is my dream guy
Smart, calm, kind
Opposite of sly
And all mine
As I can't stop thinking
Now it's ten after three
God I should be thanking
For leading Greg to me
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 3:13 AM UTC
Home is where I grew up
It's where we buried my favorite dog
It's the yellow and red tulips in the back yard
It's the memories of the celebrations and holidays
It's where my friends were
It's the tennis court on the next block
It's the elementary school we walked to
It's the library rock wall that we walked along
It's the skating rink we go to every Friday night
It's where I grew up
It's the kitchen where the height measurements on the door frame still stand
It's the closet from my room where I hid my secrets
It's the long nights I stayed up laughing with my sister
It's achievements I was awarded
It's the kitchen cabinet where I would always hide
It's the memory of my brother and how he treated us
It's the barking in the middle of the night when we got our new puppy who is now bigger than I am
It's the shed in the yard next door where I had fun
It's the memory of my neighbors
It's the nights I spent grieving with my sister
It's Jimmy joining in the army
It's where I got most of my injuries
It's the sleepovers with my friend Tennison
It's how me and Makayla danced in the dining room
It's my job as a babysitter and a dog walker
It's my crush living at the end of the block
It's the abandoned house where we hung out
It was the trips to JR's house
It was where I learned to ride a bike, crochet, play soccer, basketball, tennis
It's where I discovered myself
It's the memory of packing and moving out
It's Greg and his family trashing my dad's hard work
Home is not riding the bus to school
It's not my brother moving out
It's not the drama
It's not the bad things that have happened
It's not the hospital bills
It's not the white picket fence in the front yard
This may be where I live and I know my thoughts will change but for right now
This is not my home.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
All my life it's been hard to see the sun
With this giant shadow cast above
It started with a brother who was always great
And now a best friend, their greatness seems to hover
Thought once a grew older
And away from my brother
It would be easy to be great
Now over shadowed from another brother
For the longest time my name was "Gabe's Brother"
How I longed to have my own Identity
I wanted to be Greg ******
Qualities so great others could see
And now at work I have the same
Zack is always a little better a little faster
But what I don't see most times is
I'm actually smarter and stronger
I always try to see what I'm not
I used to ignore my own qualities
Looking now I see I am Greg
My own greatness my own personality
I may not have a six pack
Or be able to get the perfect ten
But I'm competent and a leader
I still have the capabilities to win
For once in my life I'm no longer under a shadow
For once I crawl out of the shadow and into the sun
I can proudly say that my name is Greg
No one to compare to, the number to my name is 1.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 8:50 AM UTC