There was a dream of mine,
an idea of most in a different space of time.
I dreamt of a place where a man stood in front of a crowd. People of so many colours.
Unashamed of the colour on his face,
nor the song underneath his voice.

Some of course,
hated him and his so called gang of "stereotypes".
And in all honesty, it wasn't a shy away from racism,
cause they introduced them as short time hypes,
failing to even pronounce their leaders name.
 
So that's what they walked in as, "The crazy gang of dangerous stereotypes".

They crowd fell quiet at their arrival,
and really the few who understood their vision came up in front with their tiny cheers.

Those against them sent their spies to try and infiltrate the group inside,
But their leader didn't mind. "Let them try and break what's outside, we're much stronger inside".

Their fearless leader echoed to his stereotypes.

Those against them tried to pull the plug on their little performance,
but it just made the leader chuckle.
"They can turn our mics off, but our voices will always be on".

Their fearless leader echoed to his stereotypes.
And now turning to the crowd.

"I know you hate us, I see it in your eyes.
You think we're quite strange for being a gang of such vibrant colours,
Which is the case, but also the case of how different we are from one  another.

There's white on our keys, 
black on our drums,
yellow on our bass,
red on our strings
And mixed in the lead.

I understand being mixed seems a little overwhelming,
but trust me, it was for all of us at first.
Still we need you all to listen,
we've got a song to give.

We're tired of this hatred for different colours".

Their leader gave the call,
as the drum began the count,
The crowd grew closer. A few began to dance, while others still stood in their places.
But you could see the jig expressed out of their faces.

As the song was halfway done,
the crowd was entirely full.

Where the leader swerved left and right,
the crowd did so without hesitation.
And those who had stood in place where now dancing with everyone.
Dancing as one entire nation.

Their leader lifted up his voice to the Heavens as they rained down a shower of lights,
flooding the entire room.
The leader fell to his knees as did the people,
his voice was tired and broken
But he kept the song going strong.

He got back up building his voice till it was echoed high enough to bring down a mighty tower,
And with one mighty call to the Heavens once again,
the song had filled the room with cheers and tears.

Those against them had stood behind explaining,  "sorry but you've been suspended".
The leader with a smile replied, "we kind of figured, so we're taking this party somewhere else".

As he left with his stereotypes, the people inside had begun to follow behind,
They tried to break what's outside, but we're much stronger inside.

And that's the strength of our song that goes,
*** *** da da di *** ***,
*** *** da da di la la.

i am just so ******* tired.
of people that try to write like me.
i hate it. you would think i like it, and
i am flattered mind you, but i ******* hate it.

sometimes i just see my words everywhere,
i see my sentences everywhere, ****, even the
way i have normal conversations. i am happy
and grateful so many of you idolise me, but
when i see a sentence of mine in another's poem,
it actually really hurts. don't ask me to
teach you how i write, because i cannot.
i hate it when its the people really close to me
that think just because i value your friendship,
you have that privilege. i hate it more when
people just try to be close to me just because they want
to write like me.

just stop it.. okay? or, i will be no more.

Fanatics fixed their eyes upon
The screen to cheer their team
The mood there in the air was tense
Tricolor seemed out of steam

The clock was counting down
The time was drawing nigh
Doomed to lose and head on home
Bid Russia their goodbye

An errant shot deflected out
Gave them one last chance
To score a goal and prance about
Show off their famous dance

From the corner, the ball soared in
A hero rose above
Mina smacked it with his head
And won his country's love

England shocked to see the win
Snatched right from their grasp
Colombia delirious
Successful at last gasp

And thus the game was sent along
Into the overtime
Two periods were played to nil
Two teams full in their prime

Penalties would now decide
Which team would advance
The locals glued to their tvs
The nation in a trance

Falcao scores! Kane as well!
Cuadrado, Rashford too!
Muriel then strikes one home
Tricolor up three to two!

Ospina blocks the next one
Hypes up the frenzied crowd
But Uribe hits the crossbar
And the silence echoes loud

Trippier knots it up again
We're down to final shots
Bacca fails to get his through
Past Pickford's valiant swat

Fate rests upon this final kick
Well placed with perfect spin
Just past Ospina's outstreched hands
Dier seals the win

The cafeteros reel from shock
No sign of jubilation
But still the crowd, crushed in defeat
Show their appreciation

Colombia eliminated
We give them all a hand
And though their World Cup here is done
I'm now their biggest fan

| / / | \ | \ \ | \
/ // / | \ | \ | / |
/  / / \ \ \ | / / \

Storm is gone
and all hypes  have settled down
i go straight to that one place
for that much awaited
cleansing...............and freedom
i strip myself of clothings
on the surface
and those underneath my skin...

Under the shower
i am bare
as a newborn babe.  
sighing....as i surrender myself
to the trickles of water sliding
                                            down
                                                   my
                                                         body...
I turn around once...
                              twice...
                         ­           thrice,
                                            to spray the wetness
                                                     all over me...
...i turn the **** gently....for more water
...close my eyes  
...as countless thin drops flow out, touch my head,
                                                           ­     i let them trace
                                                           ­             the countours
                                                       ­                          of my face...
Mouth opens a bit
i drink in some...to quench my thirst
let go of some...and retain the rest
be overcome by the coolness of the tap water,
.....take time to reflect...to ponder...
....while wet eyes give way to sniffles
....blending with those refreshing trickles,
...........erasing muddy stains of fear
...................and dried marks of tears
................sighs, of fatigue...and regret
.............these, i most often neglect...
.....under the shower, they'd be quashed
..........i'd let them all be awash
......................save for my personal friends,
..........like grit........and good ole common sense.

As water saturates my whole being
...a few expectations and dreams
..........go down the drain
.......while others.....stay
........and dwell within.

Some feelings just cannot hide
...some, refuse to surface, and stay buried deep inside.


Sally

Copyright October 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

We were born writers,
insane already when our mothers were aching
to sent us out in the world
relieve their personal catharsis.
Little did they knew
that this was the beginning of their pain.

Their suffering, starts from childbirth
and lasts till the moment they die.
Our girlfriends will make the same mistake
as our mothers;
falling in love
believing in the ***
in the future entwined
around us
and
some,
at least one will make
the statutory mistake of bearing our child
the trojan horse for the end.

We, are like parasites
we **** food, water, shelter
we nourish in beauty, warmth and care
and yet when we find open exposed skins
floating on blue, timid waters
we have nothing better to do.

words are our weapons,
our friends, our nemesis
our route to fame and
the very real lack of it.

We smash everything around us,
people ****** into day jobs around us
suffer
forget the daily bliss of life
if they share a conversation
forget more
if they dare share a kiss
a personal intimation.

Besides, we are depressed souls.
Repressed
sexually charged
impotent
and
ugly, repugnant
narcissists.

We sit in coffee shops
with our personal diaries
and create and destroy the future
of the tomorrow
that reads,
believes in us.

Every inch of caffeine
makes us **** out hate
and
spill out so much guts
that people who read us
squirm like acid burns.

We create hypes,
fool around with Nietzscheian ideas,
existential crap
but all we are doing
is creating a device
for shameful procrastination.

The world was not built around us
No world will
Whatever we think
we scoop up earthly dust
our jobs are but the
position of glorified
janitors.

By: Cedric McClester

A leopard doesn’t
Change it’s spots
Nor does a zebra
Change it’s stripes
America won’t be
Great again
It’s just a slogan
He hypes

Nothing will end
Here and now
That’s just
What he says
I can’t help
But feel somehow
That we should
Say our prayers

He promises to
To bring back
Our jobs
As if he really can
Like he’s some kind
Of employment god
But he’s merely
A man

He can do
Whatever he wants
Because of his
Celebrity
I think he’s on
An ego trip
If you're
Asking me




Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017.  All rights reserved.

©PMcCoywrites

The female gender is beautiful
A part of our existence
Without which we got no experience
You see her here and there
She is designed delicately for care.

The female gender is awesome
She was wired to want some
No, to want more
She bear a part to adore
Her innate nature resides in the room of praise.

The female gender is colourful
She makes the world beautiful
Than would flowers, rainbow and music
The male gender hypes her up
She likes to be talked-up.

The female gender is an amazing album
The world can’t put bottom.
Imagine the world bound in boredom
And, God didn’t give Adam
A female gender to pamper his emotion.

Human kind would be bankrupt
Without love to sooth wounded souls.
Without her we wouldn’t have evolved.
The male gender would retire his soles.
And mankind goes into extinction.

S I AM SITTING WATCHING MY TV, I FEEL MYSELF BEING PULLED UP

TO BRING ME UP TO OUTER SPACE, AND ALSO GET RID OF MY SILLY DELLUSIONS

LIKE WATERING DOWN THE COMPUTER TO GROW A MONEY TREE ON THE INTERNET

AND TELLING MY PARENTS THEY AIN’T MY PARENTS

AND TO HELP IN THE HEALING OF THE MONEY TREE, I CLICKED ON A FERTILISER

WHICH HELPS GROW THE MONEY TREE

AND THEN AFTER THAT I PLAN TO ROB THE HAWKER SHOPS, AND DROP A FEW DOLLARS ON THE GROUND

TO GO BACK HOME TO JOI FAMILY AND FRIENDS TO SPURT MONEY DOWN TO THE POOR FROM PARADISE

YOU SEE, THE PARANORMAL WORLD ARE LIFTING MY BODY UP SAYING

WE ARE TAKING YOUR COOL KID AWAY, EVEN IF IT HURTS YA, CAUSE

IT LOOKS LIKE YOU DON’T WANT TO LET IT GO

YOU SEE I HATE BEING CALLED DUMMY

AND I HATE BEING CALLED A WOOSEY

I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A DIFFERENT PERSON TO EVERYONE ELSE

I KNOW, DUDES IT’S BLOOD HARD TO DO, BUT AT LEAST GIVE ME THE ILLUSION OF A COOL PERSON

AT LEAST GET ME PAST THE MENTAL HEALTH NONSENSE OF MY PAST

AT LEAST GET ME PAST THE COOL KIDS, IN MY HEAD,

FOR, WHEN I WAS YOUNG I WAS TRYING TO FIT INTO THE COOL FAMILY LIFE

NONE OF MY FAMILY REALLY UNDERSTOOD, I SAT IN THE MIDDLE OF A BENDY BUS

MY FAMILY DIDN’T WANT TO

I WANTED TO GO TO DISNEYLAND IN THE USA, MY FAMILY PREFERRED TO WATCH DISNEY ON TV, WHICH IS FINER

I AM HAVING A SCHITZOPHRENIC WINGE, YOU SEE I WANT ALL MY KID LOOK TO PULL UP OVER MY BODY

AS DAD WANTS TO RID MY SILLY KID, HOOLIGAN, SO TO SPEAK, RIGHT OUT OF ME

YA SEE, DAD IS NOW BETTY, AND, I HEAR VOICES FROM MY PAST, LIKE PAT JUST SAID, I AM GOING TO **** YA BLOOD

AND MY BROTHER IS BEING A PROTECTOR, THINKING I HATE IT, SAYING, LEAVE BRIAN ALONE, BUDDY, HE’S NOT LIKE US

I HEAR PAT SAYING, MEN DON’T DO THAT THAT IS WHAT KIDS DO, PAT MIGHT GO TO BED

AND DAD IS TRYING TO PULL MY DELLUSIONAL HOOLIGAN OUT OF ME, WHICH MAKES PAT SAY

YOUR STILL A YOUNG DUDE BRIAN, DAD PULLS BRIAN’S DELLUSIONAL HOOLIGAN, AND PAT SAID, BRIAN IS STILL A YOUNG DUDE

AND THEN SAID, WE ARE JUST HAVING FUN WITH BRIAN’S BRAIN, MR AND MRS AND CHRIS AND BRIAN ALLAN

WE ARE JUST PLAYING WITH BRIAN’S BRAIN, THE VOICES ARE SAYING BRIAN ALLAN HATES LIFE, BUT THE TRUTH IS BRIAN ALLAN LOVES LIFE

AND I LIVE LIKE IT’S ONE BIG ADVENTURE, I GET A DELLUSIONAL TEASE AS MY BROTHER AND THE GUY THAT NICKED MY LUNCH

ARE LAUGHING AT ME, SAYING, WE FOOLED YA, BUDDY, OLE DUDE OLE PAL

WITH THEIR BIG YOUNG DUDE LAUGH THEY HAD BACK THEN

AND ME, BRIAN ALLAN, WANTS TO RID THOSE SILLY DELLUSIONS OUT OF ME, BY YOUNGER PEOPLE

I DON’T WANT TO BE AN OLD FOGIE ALL MY LIFE, I LIKE DOING THINGS

YOU SEE PAT IS SAYING, US BIG YOUNG DUDES ARE DOING WHAT WE USED TO DO, YA LITTLE SHY BOY

AND I SAY, I WANT TO GET RID OF THIS SILLY MOO COW AND SHIP DELLUSION AND WORRYING ABOUT IT, BEFORE I WORK AY COMMON BRAIN

AT PRESENT, PAT IS PUTTING MY KID WHEN I WAS YOUNG BACK INTO ME

AND THIS KID, IS MAKING ME ITCHY ALL OVER

AND ALSO PAT IS SITTING UP WATCHING TV SAYING, I AM JUST SITTING ON THE COUCH, I MEAN NO HARM

I SAID, I DON’T REALLY WANT ANYONE TO GIVE ME SPECIAL TREATMENT, YA KNOW WHY, DUDE

BECAUSE, I SORT OF KNOW MY CALLING

AND PAT HAS BEEN COOL, LYING ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND EATING BISCUITS ON THE LOUNGE AND ALSO SITTING THERE DRINKING HIS BEER YA SEE

WHILE I DO MY TAPESTRY

ANY DELLUSION WHICH HYPES UP PEOPLE

MY BROTHER GETS ON THE COMPUTER, SAYING YOUR STILL LIKE US, BRIAN AND PAT SAID ‘NO CHRIS, BE SHY FOR BRIAN

MY BROTHER SAID HE WASN’T SHY TO BE A COMPUTER BUFF, I AM NOT SHY TO BE A COMPUTER BUFF

ACTUALLY COMPUTERS ARE THE THING I LIKED ABOUT DAD, OUT OF THE MANY FAULTS

I LOVE TO MAKE THE COMPUTER WORK FOR ME LIKE DAD DID

PAT SAID, NO NO BRIAN IS STILL A YOUNG DUDE, BRIAN IS STILL YOUNG DUDE

DON’T BE BRIAN’S DADDY CHRIS, BE LIKE US, PAT SAID AS WELL AS SAYING NO NO NO

BRIAN IS STILL A YOUNG DUDE, AS PAT IS HAPPILY PLAYING AROUND THE HOUSE

TRYING TO GET ME TO CLKEAN MY HOUSE LATE AT NIGHT, YOU SEE PAT OLE BOY OLE PAL

I CLEAN DURING THE DAY WITH HELP, AND I CREATE ART AND WRITE AT NIGHT

AND I STARTED TO GET ITCHY, FROM THE TEASING BUG

Eyelash blinkered in hubris Rubik’s knight
Elevation of pogrom ennobled by triaged triumph minus the cynic summation of all light
Littoral swank bronzed like starlet fantasia with a Carey mountaintop jeer
Reichstag extinguished blaring sirens of cacophony capers to benumbed Linkin Park cheer
Knells intrepid by quakes of remonstrance staged in histrionic applause
Southern Colonies shifting in Charleston surgical in orderly slugabed dogged laws
Slipshod through ribbacles of rengall zenkidu among the sertivine poison ivy
Grimace at gamboled rivulets of a moribund Vanilla Sky for departed wiseacres of savvy dicey ICE toxic Harvey Dent slimy
A mannequin Marx Ralph alienated the truest alien by pioneering disdain of a hostage giraffe summiting a Swiss Alp
Master of time 12th bradycardia for Generator design parked beneath escarpments of base aphasia milquetoast in killjoy Strickland nickels away from a gubbertushed mouth
LOST legend enunciating the furor of epochs of egalitarian traipse
Trapped by the bootlick of a wrinkle of Van Winkle revolutionary agape
Curved by soliliquy master of belletrist prose
The vogue can’t help but bunt, balk, denounce the remembrance of Lady Madonna pose
We beat the muckrakers of rummaged lisp of culinary suns that the sons of privilege are emoluments to apolaustic zeal first known to transmogrified nuns, before the poppies made the few into many and the notion of an insuperable line of infinity into a spherical nullification of the concept of none
Estrapade engorges the fustilug magnet of the kitsch Kenosha Chicago Demolition drive-by-derbies “once read”
That two kings one Titanic by skin-color dashed dreams the other both the coins of tails eloped with heady dreams of head
Sacrifice shadow dancing with pettifoggery in slumps of aboriginal dances of marsupial rice
Native to extortion gouged blind as Samson exacts lachrymose cremations of Pikes Peak trick-or-treat aghast with fright
Temples raised in 46 years cemented never in the Mumbo Jumbo politics of those lacking the oceanic schadenfreude among queers
That by their exclusion the panmixia of fluid alchemy is dauntless scrabble limited by NORAD notions of Tears for Fears
Henpecked rooster awakens the serfdom of Ronald’s (sly spy) Drugs sailing with dovetails of elapse downtrodden in modern clubs
Drunken *** addict sell-out charlatans berated  by Ingram Angles sent by maleficence are the grubhub of Harriet Tubman torching promising tapestries with rugged rugs
Slinging the bait of fish-hook dimples on freckled effigies of ****** humiliation outmantled by Mickey weight
I thunder a fulgurant explosion against recrimination of white-collar criminals that philander saturnalia in pretense with facetious swarpollock freight
Crooks of tyranny exhort the paranoiacs of indemnity to sunken canned soup applause of a Warhol extortion
Berating my audience with drooling slavers of inelegant tortoise byzantine like an Istanbul dredged with intortion
Mr Deeds is not a champion of BRE Properties nor the pinnacles of inertia, a psychiatric squeeze
My orange juice is not a car chase against treecheese in terminal punitive disease
Soaring with the prosperous tongue against the walloped nativism of pounced impounds having too much fun
I let the other guardians of the order of salvation pivot vitriol in loaded dice against Orangutans of Swedish minted gum
Caesar died for the seizure of Anglican pride of a namesake percolating millenia for Brutus in the Washington Bullets of a conquered Ottawa on strike carnal with Chauvinism in regional divide
Never has there been a more hollow trope than the agency of deep state defamation of a scurrilous backbite of gnashing pride
Lost to pollster tricks of acquiescence and caricatures of a menacing personage Swift on the Riff but never the snarling Menace of a Blondie Biff
I tower above the anthills of conformity of luxury in Jamaican Bob Sled Teams testing the curiosity of enlightened “What Ifs”
Canada Dry for striking people enthused by Rye abides in the memory of reform that skulks the skunks that make every Scudworth cry
Because a Dental Dam damsel living in streets of peril fascinated by distance is the contortion of entreaty in the pasquinade of attempts at American Pie
May the city of a figurative crucifixion burn with the irony of a thousand suns as Wendy’s burgers unload on prejudice with albatrosses of winsome puns
Fixed data interpolated by convenient lies of serial killers who aim for blue skies shanked in Oswald infamy for the imposture of any flashbang revenge against cinematic guns
I blacklist the Zemeckis villainy as a trudge of travesty
Hedged lies blinkered by Batman and Robin puns redeemed by Dinosaurs of Amnesty
Obviously belittled by futures etched by a more honest infinity
Because 88 keys are not a stroke because the infinite bees know the parlance of divinity
Invited lissome taxidermies of Capone against teetotalers of parvanimity of vainglory overthrown
Showers the honest hominist reckoning of a world where neither crudity of know-nothing radical polarization owns every inept baritone
Crusading a secular war because the gubbertushed eccedentesiast spinsters of Santa Cruz deserve a gassy overtone
Torch the SC Pacific Avenue for peace
Let the world unite behind a singularity with purpose in ventilation of Speedman’s release
That antithetical Jacks of many names are wed with the progeny of enduring lists of NSA protection rather than rentgourge Denver PD eager to chaos decimated by the decimals of a region forever boycott and impeached
To the decisive curling of the frolicked Abandoned Pool servitude crass disasters are the sheol of impudent flagrant overreach
Regnant on the turmoil of invented throne
I scowl at the chicanery of Capone’s Chicago sweltering with Kenosha infamy tossing contortionist strippers a vulcanized bone in a DIA Diamond that even 11,500 years of knowledge is surpassed in condemnation of screaming E.T. calling the right home
Speak Now because the reach of forever is God appeased not by a kowtow but a mobilized ambition for Why? When? And How?
History will remember gentility as the kind steward rather than a Disco Demolition Derby of urbacity venerating a seasonal Golden Cow
Hipsters flock with folly to South African extortion for freebooters who bootlick the aceldama of war against the sublime currency of a winner surrounded by thugs
TOO MANY URBAN KIDS ARE TAUGHT BY REDUCTIVE TAUTOLOGY TO HATE The United States of America RATHER THAN NURTURING SYNCRETISM IN PATRIOTIC HUGS
Imperfect in design with disagreement in plainest sight
Sometimes libertarianism with a Democratic twinge is clearly in the right that should believe in reform even when the footloose girouettism is too tight
Yet forestalled for authentic grit the grisly rentgourge of venal abysses knows the countermand against Rand with hyperboles of the clearest *******
The true flock congregates around scepters built not with militant graft but a promenade of sultry dance for the defiant C.L.I.T.
Exercise with the Rock knowing school buses of dogmatism inferior are distraught
Dying dogmatism is a peacock of industry the yeggs can easily unlock rather than truckle with truculent Scottish Rites tasty with Connery Scotch
Defenders of the misleading staircase because of the carapace of Hovering pertinacity easily won and bought
Neither scary nor deliberate streets are rumpus of elevations of unbounded anarchy considerate but robbed by the illiterate
That the delegated mansion will be robbed by the cooperation of the remorseful idiot recognizing his snide mendaciloquence in destructive Roswell Records limerick
Scowls are on petrol and patrol hoping Tesla is a short of bravado too intrepid to sanction free-for-all profligacy in alleys that bowl
To the Emerald Street lie of hypes of perdition rather than merely a seasonal token embarrassment coal
The fossilized future is the irrevocable past because more respect is needed than the ***** of a maskirovka caste
Diamond Lightning in Bhagavad Gita prancing with the delusion of the everlasting mummification of Brawndo ash
Dinner with Egyptsy malingers on tomes etched flippant in integrity and all about the curated snare of kitsch cash
The cache valley of LASER tag shattered like Joseph Smith flagellating the confederate hayday with articulate gnash
Fast & Furious the amused by Suburban subway know the trailblazer trashes of The Stupids’ being Einstein about Boogie Dubs rather rash
Streaking through a Tucker rule the Buccaneers live for the SoulSeek of a riddled ruler benighted of prerogative of Roger Goodell bumping in his Ferrari the tucked serenade of Tool
Wrong band because they linger in the shadow dancing backpages of scandals of Norweigan hourglasses of shameful hush hush Vikings mining furloughs of pulverized anticipation sand
Humbled retinue shelves the ossified limpid droll drool
As the haze of submarines scouting pridefall galls of indolence betraying innocence becomes moral cigarettes of Menthol Kool
Reparations for chappy chapstick games of bowery riches
The urbane needs to read, discern and maneuver against whiplash found in Navi witches
Swapping homes with crack addict legalese an *** to a bronzed party crackling with cackles Home Alone
Knows a toiletry of escape gullible like Seahawks wishing they could contain a fumbled season by Mahomes
Jones methamphetamine paranoiac manure desiccated by folksy homilies of brimstone cremation deserts his flock to abide by a flagging wayward temptress
Decimated by the agency of time his Austin crenellation flounders in grimace of the untimely swoon his covert empress
Blinded by the light of darkness in subversion
Excoriated for the deeds of his permission to demote commotion into only an acquiescent dance with barbed etch-a-sketch conclusion- a half-baked *******
Quacksalver poetaster wrinkled with hatred simpering paranoia strangled by Hendrix abeyance of turgid delusion
Lurid underground Princeton gilds infested with defected dementia in cozens in the fritty of heralded mistress SHE appointed
Sandlot ravens cloistered the bravado of thirst for chosen words scrappy in clawed henpecks the pointless illegal sanctioned to brusque witticism anointed
Lamps of pathway sparkle with coruscated stargazer Winslet dreamy swank illustrious by providence
Engrenage of delopes of pettifoggery identity staggers the woozy dismal day of disjointed wounds on Native sons Denver can’t damage in a lonely campaign for the prodigal bends of Overlook Lorraine Motel bent
Intrepid in gallantry I swoop the scrivello tusked with might
Penetrating the vivid dreams of the serenade of alpenglow daylight
That love might rule over chance and probability above the specter of dynasty prodigy progeny tithing gravity in rent
Yet this taper of majestic poise will outfox even the careless gambles of the prodigal son Mr Sender already traipsed conquered and went
The mountaintop is so clear from the cloister of authenticity drinking Eminence Front of the WHO rather than the coherence of the near
Because titans shepherd the good flock without insult and not quavering with insuperable time flackey with tremulous fear
I dare this day to outlast benighted ignorance of the narrow gate of a persecution tsunami on a Lisbon tear
Because galloping ahead of the internecine sheds the serpentine craft of 3:1 Genesis met with the worst fleeced fleer
Not auctioned off like ******* vogue to the disfavor of poor taste
I am the true Royal Flush that can always count on the aced basic but mostly acidic flourish of a jest in bass predicated on the basis for Mozart pH
Today could be the summit of acclimated prodigy in startled degrees temerity could never bet against
Because you better bet the Bros and Cos of civilization are skilled in ostentation of Sterling Pound defense
Never offensive to the liturgy of triumph beckoning an apocalypse now tentative memory on a Manifest Destiny frontier rarely on wickers of extinguished cattle ranchers knowing the gamut of acumen to defend a fortress with the best fencing James Bond could dispense
Now is either a cordial joke of a flagrant anarchy balking at destiny
Or the sunrise majesty of the twelve tribes and beyond defeating the stingy bees of infamy
Your choice doesn’t defeat my voice
But your action heralds my loyalty with a triumphant Victoria of an age not for agelast geeks intimidated but living clairvoyance with fidelity to the right choice for the right time to swim in elegant rejoice
(1977 Words)

i can hear a neighbor moan in anguish about her hopelessness, and i too, get wet at the vibrations of those thoughts. i too savor in the salty sweetness of vulnerability and i too get off on the hurt as she hypes and pipes and rattles and shakes and quakes and breaks and slowly gathers herself together again as a puddle down the drain.

Every corner seems to be in love with him
Over little dreams, dans the Cruise,
Heartbeats over hearing in the summer rain
Laughing about dreams,
Honey dew.
Honeysuckle is my queen,
She's smiling upon him,
She's so violent and proud,
Chanting softly walking high,
Feeling hypes above the sky,
There are lovers, real on games,
Walking roses overnight.

I'm just happy on my way,
Sunshine brights for me again,
Sweet carnage,
Follow kisses,
Hit the rain,
I got nothing more to life for
Since I finally find my way,
Dark soft roses,
Dark spring,
Honey love over the hill,
Commonly hidden by fiends.

                                                    -Lui­s Feliz

i.     He calls me sunshine.
ii.    He hypes up my pictures.
iii.   He reaches me every day.
iv.   He tries to speak in my favourite language.
v.    He absolutely knows how to flatter me with love.
vi.   He spams me with morning and night wishes.
vii.  He still makes time for me out of his packed schedule.

Best of all, he is **** serious with his life vision with me.

— seven things I thought they wouldn’t happen to the insignificant me, before you serendipitously came into my life.

The days shorten when you’re
about to collapse into the pile of ashes.
Make way for the young, the generation that hypes.
Write to find a journey within the sand
; eat and be merry.
Find your compliments through ART
Andy—he looks right at me—dream on.
Look towards the cross-eyed mannequin,
slipping into a coma. No one wants to be alone,
and vulnerable. We want to touch each other’s
skin, lay in each other’s arms, kiss; nose to nose.

My heart leaps when i feel your presence

My life sparks and chills with your essence

My Love before makes no detailed sense

But now with you my hypes are clemenced

do not read the news
just do not
do it;
media hypes
the worst of it all
in hopes that we'll become
Paralyzed

school is cancelled
children cheer
while families fear for the
Future

I wish my wish would come true
After what I've been through
As my heart you took and tore
Yet you are the one I crave for

My heart still beats in rhythm
As my mind beats on like drum
Your love hypes up my feelings
Coz my dreams you are stealing

Here I am, there you are staring
Your favorite color, I am wearing
A blaze in your eyes, I've seen ignite
In your arms, you did invite

A dance on a full moon night
Holding onto me, your grips were tight
A lot said through your dreamy eyes
My torn heart blushing, unexplained cries

More determination you showed
Fixed all broken promises you owed
My wishes finally fulfilling
As all my fears you kept killing...

©sim

I sought help from you and all your kind.
To fix the cracks formed in my mind.
I reached out because all was dark.
In desolation without a spark.
Consulting you because my mind had flipped.
I don't recall the name of pills on that script.
So many now that have come and gone.
So many kinds you've had me on.
My mind and body with side effect.
Years and years of that neglect.
Going cold while changing types.
Try something new with all its hypes.
Still waving like a drowning man.
And despite my plea no change of plan.
Is this all your education can do?
What really is the point of you?
Years of drugs and threats of E.C.T
Do you know the new cracks you made for me?
I wont medicate this stuff not one more pill.
Not one of my mental cracks did it fill.
Feeling better just being drug free.
Thank you Doc for helping me.

i’m the woman who enjoys intellectual, philosophical debates, discussions with likeminded people
the one who sits in a corner doing nothing except reading
i’m the woman who finds old things
who collects them
who thrives in them
vintage
the colour of my soul
i’m the woman who carries tea bags around, in every bag
who laughs when her friend says, “people would expect condoms”
i’m the woman who has a bucket full of advice, strong opinions, hard truths
i’m the woman who smiles warmly with a slight frown when she’s called an old woman
a granny
i own it though
wear it like a crown

i am also a girl who gets frenzied at the sight of skittles
the one who hypes her friends on the dance floor
i’m the girl filled with mischievous ideas
adventure dancing in my skin
impishness  
the colour of my heart
impractical
stubborn
loud
my best qualities

i am the woman
i am the girl
who’s been called ****** so many times
it has become my middle name
i own it
my best quality
i wear it like a crown

Alles afgestemd op ochtendtypes,
afgedaan als oneerlijke offday-hypes.
Ik ben een avond mens, wring me
in krochten, bochten naar de wens
van het vroege diertje, de vogel
die de wormen krijgt, die
de raaf van de nacht
overtreft in kleur
en verwijtend lacht
wanneer ik over kleine oogjes en het opstaan zeur.

Dear stereotypes,
I have grown up listening your “hypes”
when this world forced you on me,I feel “derived”
my dreams were “swiped”
when they were “unripe”
please come and “wipe”
these scars from my “life”
until you not save me,I will continously “griped”
in your “types”

@loveforpoetry_world

Muzzling the masses, sowing fear,
Inspiring every viral breath,
Democrat dairy-farms grow rich
Milking that Covid cow to death.

Self-contradicting messages;
Milkmaids panic, udders shrivel . . .
The coronation. Then, the reign:
Media hypes the fearful drivel.

Bigging up that Chinese chest-cold,
Karens cluck while nannies scold us;
Golden goose for global tyrants—
Chinese take-out. (What they told us.)

Pestilential testing frenzies;
Killing the patient with the cure.
Social distances grow further.
There is no god. That much is sure.

These are all of the wrong things we shouldn't
do- like two people stuck in the back room,
Still kissing as kids in the back of a classroom;
the lessons I had chalked down in my mind
Maybe we were a bit too bored,
in a morbid dream, of the subjects of life we'd ignore
As I saved up my battery life on being any more
social; in between naughty late night texts
And saving up a little extra money to make a late night call,

"Maybe if I got a good job, I could afford a girl,"
a usual statement I had long before
Though nowadays I can't afford any more time,
to work up the nerve to talk to girls at all
But it's a bit of a lie, when you hang out with the guys,
making fools of selves; filling up the time of a long night
-Those morning after' start to fill empty,
trying to swallow down a few words like a necessary pill
It all starts to feel like those daily supplements
fussing about all those other things everyone fusses about,

I started to feel like the empty space above this line,
blanking out with that pretty smile in my eyes
Hoping they at least seen some of the charm I had,
while looking so intimidating, when I had nothing better to say,
The awkward type of thinking how I could have kissed someone
a little more better than I did yesterday,

A beginners luck kind of life; waiting for it to be your last,
as I think to myself, reminding myself, rewinding myself
back to those days, of chasing hypes in the highs of youth
-****, I can't pretend that I never enjoyed such a rush.

Now
We’re just repeating ourselves
The grudges and gripes
The praises and hypes
Over-eager types
Finding something to back
The club that has something they lack