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"illegitimate" poems
Warning: The seagull flying over the Appalachians could not possibly be amused by the puzzles of an illegitimate composer and the skyscrapers climbed. 1. The skyscrapers were played by tall rocks a girl climbed when she couldn't remember if the cape she wore was made from steel or newspaper. 11. The newspaper they all read together that morning (girl, boy, king, etc) promised nothing but a fifty percent chance of dandelions terrorizing the bus stop. 2. The bus stop had since become a dealer corner and the sunset behind the mountains was blocked by the flipping hair of a lost boy. 7. The boy bought a toy for cheap -- it had a built-in laser, so she stole it to blast a whole hole in that guilt-ridden quilt hung over the four dollar love seat. 6. The love seat, she bought the day he went to maple -- the soap dispenser was broken, but she couldn't find anything new (that she knew) to wash her hands with. 5. The hands that handed her a hammer were covered in promotions, so she stole the motorcycle when they were watching the scarecrow going through electric-shock, disco therapy. 8. The therapy that she received from the parrot-king and his troupe of square roots was enough to make her not forget not regret the boy with feathers in his ears. 10. The ears she woke up with one morning were different in shape than before and the black fur she knew was growing before her eyes. 3. The eyes of the boy were wider than the nightly news station promised, and there wasn't really a difference between caves and boxes in a town that small. 4.   The town she arrived in didn't have a carpool lane or derby, so she had to take her pet goldfish to the river for his depressive state. 9. The river wasn't as flooded after a couple weeks of changing the tune on the jukebox she found way before the departure of her white gold pearls. 12. The pearls she wore for her coming-of-age were buried beneath a dirt mound when she promised herself to always insist on herself.
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Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 10:49 AM UTC
Seagull Schmeagull
Warning: The seagull flying over the Appalachians could not possibly be amused by the puzzles of an illegitimate composer and the skyscrapers climbed. 1. The skyscrapers were played by tall rocks a girl climbed when she couldn't remember if the cape she wore was made from steel or newspaper. 11. The newspaper they all read together that morning (girl, boy, king, etc) promised nothing but a fifty percent chance of dandelions terrorizing the bus stop. 2. The bus stop had since become a dealer corner and the sunset behind the mountains was blocked by the flipping hair of a lost boy. 7. The boy bought a toy for cheap -- it had a built-in laser, so she stole it to blast a whole hole in that guilt-ridden quilt hung over the four dollar love seat. 6. The love seat, she bought the day he went to maple -- the soap dispenser was broken, but she couldn't find anything new (that she knew) to wash her hands with. 5. The hands that handed her a hammer were covered in promotions, so she stole the motorcycle when they were watching the scarecrow going through electric-shock, disco therapy. 8. The therapy that she received from the parrot-king and his troupe of square roots was enough to make her not forget not regret the boy with feathers in his ears. 10. The ears she woke up with one morning were different in shape than before and the black fur she knew was growing before her eyes. 3. The eyes of the boy were wider than the nightly news station promised, and there wasn't really a difference between caves and boxes in a town that small. 4.   The town she arrived in didn't have a carpool lane or derby, so she had to take her pet goldfish to the river for his depressive state. 9. The river wasn't as flooded after a couple weeks of changing the tune on the jukebox she found way before the departure of her white gold pearls. 12. The pearls she wore for her coming-of-age were buried beneath a dirt mound when she promised herself to always insist on herself.
Continue reading...
65
Fishermen at Ballyshannon Netted an infant last night Along with the salmon. An illegitimate spawning, A small one thrown back To the waters. But I'm sure As she stood in the shallows Ducking him tenderly Till the frozen knobs of her wrists Were dead as the gravel, He was a minnow with hooks Tearing her open. She waded in under The sign of the cross. He was hauled in with the fish. Now limbo will be A cold glitter of souls Through some far briny zone. Even Christ's palms, unhealed, Smart and cannot fish there.
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5.6k
Limbo
The world watched as Hope entangled itself around the minds of the willing. They watched as Justice took its first breath as the seed that sprung from Freedom's ***** An illegitimate child of chaos,born a burden to a crutched nation. The world looked away as dozens of corpses piled up into skyscrapers. Skyscrapers,for eagles to perch and nest their wealth over spilt blood. Forgiveness was wrapped around the mouths of the unsatisfied. Muted screams of those whose hearts were set ablaze with vengeance. Hushed down by Nelson Mandela's words of healing over wounds of discrimination. Now up and about,a nation on its feet,embarking on this journey of union and peace.
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Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
South Africa
Her red shoe heels made clicking sounds aloud, around the hall attracting attention; his shoes, alluring, plush, black magic silence power worn on feet cried for recognition. loudness gravitated towards silence black silence  angled wild red he measured her foot to hip, she focused on his  intense face the silence with in the precinct approved their illegitimate cravings. Avarice for attention came together held hands, kicked up their heels, to **** competition in foot fetish.
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Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 2:58 PM UTC
FOOT FETISH
It dons a hat of seeming sophistication, in the manner of a Boston gangster where cross-cultural expressions gather at Gaelic mouse-traps of East Coast dominance. It is a heritage, my friend. There is sophistication around Italian restaurants, and I have no regrets. Yet, I must say, that I have experienced minimal fun amidst this political Anglican black-comedy where integrity is often confused with connected colours of red, white and blue, and the colours of green white and gold. This is a picture of illegitimate power, where brethren gnash their intellectual mandibles and covet recognition at the price of their very soul. Delusional quests for superiority remind me of downward spiralling staircases with blazing torches, where the echoes of scorching souls can be heard to resound throughout professional circles. As I carry this blazing torch through spiritual levels of command, I ask the question: whatever happened to humanity?
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Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
Professional Cannibalism
He tells me I could get a boyfriend if I spoke in my bad British accent. It's very illegitimate. I've only ever been to Heathrow, I have no idea what dialect it is. But he still says it's **** It would catch attention, I'm sure. Interest from long haired hipster boys Maybe the occasional "Oh, are you from England?" And I could fib and say yes, because the average American can't hear the difference between a girl imitating Masterpiece Classic and Keeping Up Appearances, and a true born Bristolian or Brummie. "You're sure to get a man," he says. 'But I don't want one.' I think in reply. I think he really just wants to know if I am considering replacing his memory. "Not yet Govn'a," I say in my best Cockney. Not yet.
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Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
Ex Accent
I like poetry - I'm a fan, Sounds illegitimate, but really I am. Some of it rhyming, some of it not, Some of it full of the feelings we've got. I like it quite lyrical, sometimes satirical, And yes, I'm aware it's much less than a miracle, But I hear you lay beats and over the top You rhyme like professionals - really top-notch. Not being sarcastic, I'm really impressed, And if I had more then I'd likely invest. Sadly life ain't so easy, Much less than breezy, You do more than just please me, Please resist the urge to tease me. I respect you for more than your rhyming 'Cos poetry's about much more than timing.
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Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC
Swimming (2012)
Us living as we do upside down.  And the new word to have is revolution.  People don't even want to hear the preacher  spill or spiel because God's whole card has been thoroughly piqued.  And America is now blood and tears instead of milk and honey.  The youngsters who were programmed to continue  ******* up woke up one night digging  Paul Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys.  America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes. The signs of Truth were tattooed across our open ended ******  We learned to our amazement untold tale of scandal.  Two long centuries buried in the musty vault,  hosed down daily with a gagging perfume.  America was a ******* the illegitimate daughter of the mother country  whose legs were then spread around the world  and a ****** known as freedom, free doom.  Democracy, liberty, and justice were revolutionary code names  that preceded the bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling  in the mother country's crotch What does Webster say about soul? All I want is a good home and a wife and a children and some food to feed them every night. After all is said and done build a new route to China if they'll have you. Who will survive in America? Who will survive in America? Who will survive in America? Who will survive in America?
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Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
Who will survive in America?
651 So much Summer Me for showing Illegitimate— Would a Smile’s minute bestowing Too exorbitant To the Lady With the Guinea Look—if She should know Crumb of Mine A Robin’s Larder Would suffice to stow—
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2.1k
So much Summer
Forgotten memories remain to be a significant part of the rich tapestry of contemporary establishment, just like an Indian summer which dries the drab and weary soul of those who are ****** History reveals that the Spaniards sold Erythroxylum Coca to Bolivian and Peruvian populations, whilst tyranny exerted its illegitimate dominance. So, the quest for power and social control remains to be exploitative in the guise of jovial and seemingly convincing salesmen. Just ask the shamans of traditional cleansing. The pulsating groans of ancient civilisations will never dissipate, despite the lusts of mankind to establish grandiose constructs. Oh great and mighty spirit of the land, we need your residence amidst our conceited political climate, because you have truly won the war even though our realisation is blinded by fierce presumption. I desire to take a bite of historical and gourmet delicacies, and to swallow the diversity of gustatory brilliance, because their remains to be a discrepancy between Spanish and Portuguese validity.
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Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
A Banquet for the Starved
Service the sections we skim on four limbs, integral to the insect cause and effectively crippling the cross culture, dumb and auspicious in the year of the opposable thumb. Feline friction in the way you hug the fuzz and tug at the tension, a conscious show of subterfuge and pretentious pretenses concludes in the dismal aftermath of a stamped and sent ten cent envelope filled with nothing but hope. Sacrilegious privileges construct reality, obstructing the graffiti art along the cosmonaut crosswalk. The fire, fought with wine in the dark etched an imprint in ash where the cadre had left its' mark in the colors of a corroded battery. Under spray paint stars, hollow, half sunken sights echo through the illegitimate children of a wind chime. Sulfurous silver lining igniting the ego. A blue reaction in a black field, refraction with a maximum yield, it all glows. Feline friction in the way you hug the fuzz and tug at the tension, smooth and rigid, we fit in the grooves and service the sections in a crippled cross culture that crawls on all fours, integral to an insect cause.
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Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 5:27 PM UTC
Integral
* ***Now "The euthanasia" passive, fundamental right to die with dignity, when no possibility, is legitimate... I wonder If "the unrequited love" depressive, sentimental A freewill without felicity was ever illegitimate?*** *
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Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 11:16 PM UTC
Euthanasia Vs unrequited love
[Justin Vernon - Bon Iver: Sample From "Woods"] I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind I’m building a still to slow down the time I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind I’m building a still to slow down the time I‘m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind I’m building a still to slow down the time [Hook 1 x2] I’m lost in the world, I’m down on my mind I’m new in the city, and I’m down for the night Down for the night Said she’s down for the night [Kanye West - Verse 1] You're my devil, you're my angel You're my heaven, you're my hell You're my now, you're my forever You're my freedom, you're my jail You're my lies, you're my truth You're my war, you're my truce You're my questions, you're my proof You're my stress and you're my masseuse Mamasaymamasamamakusa Lost in this plastic life Let's break out of this fake *** party Turn this in to a classic night If we die in each others arms we still get laid in our afterlife If we die in each others arms we still get laid, yeah [Hook 2] I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind (Run from the lights, run from the night) I’m building a still to slow down the time (Run for your life, Down for the night...) I’m lost in the world, I’m down on my mind I’m new in the city, and I’m down for the night Down for the night Said she’s down for the night (Run from the lights, run from the night) [Bridge] Who will survive in America Who will survive in America Who will survive in America [Hook] [Gil-Scott Heron] Us living as we do upside down. And the new word to have is revolution People don’t even want to hear the preacher spill or spiel Because God’s whole card has been thoroughly piqued And America is now blood and tears Instead of milk and honey The youngsters who were programmed To continue ******* up Woke up one night digging Paul Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes The signs of Truth were tattooed across our often entered ****** We learned to our amazement untold tale of scandal. Two long centuries buried In the musty vault, hosed down daily with a gagging perfume America was a ******* the illegitimate daughter of the mother country Whose legs were then spread around the world and a ****** known as freedom, free doom. Democracy, liberty, and justice Were revolutionary code names that preceded the bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling in the mother country’s crotch What does Webster say about soul? All I want is a good home and a wife And a children and some food to feed them every night After all is said and done build a new route to China if they’ll have you Who will survive in America? Who will survive in America?
0
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
Lost in the World
[Justin Vernon - Bon Iver: Sample From "Woods"] I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind I’m building a still to slow down the time I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind I’m building a still to slow down the time I‘m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind I’m building a still to slow down the time [Hook 1 x2] I’m lost in the world, I’m down on my mind I’m new in the city, and I’m down for the night Down for the night Said she’s down for the night [Kanye West - Verse 1] You're my devil, you're my angel You're my heaven, you're my hell You're my now, you're my forever You're my freedom, you're my jail You're my lies, you're my truth You're my war, you're my truce You're my questions, you're my proof You're my stress and you're my masseuse Mamasaymamasamamakusa Lost in this plastic life Let's break out of this fake *** party Turn this in to a classic night If we die in each others arms we still get laid in our afterlife If we die in each others arms we still get laid, yeah [Hook 2] I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind (Run from the lights, run from the night) I’m building a still to slow down the time (Run for your life, Down for the night...) I’m lost in the world, I’m down on my mind I’m new in the city, and I’m down for the night Down for the night Said she’s down for the night (Run from the lights, run from the night) [Bridge] Who will survive in America Who will survive in America Who will survive in America [Hook] [Gil-Scott Heron] Us living as we do upside down. And the new word to have is revolution People don’t even want to hear the preacher spill or spiel Because God’s whole card has been thoroughly piqued And America is now blood and tears Instead of milk and honey The youngsters who were programmed To continue ******* up Woke up one night digging Paul Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes The signs of Truth were tattooed across our often entered ****** We learned to our amazement untold tale of scandal. Two long centuries buried In the musty vault, hosed down daily with a gagging perfume America was a ******* the illegitimate daughter of the mother country Whose legs were then spread around the world and a ****** known as freedom, free doom. Democracy, liberty, and justice Were revolutionary code names that preceded the bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling in the mother country’s crotch What does Webster say about soul? All I want is a good home and a wife And a children and some food to feed them every night After all is said and done build a new route to China if they’ll have you Who will survive in America? Who will survive in America?
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61
Firdous was what I wanted to name a daughter I hoped to bear, After marrying the most perfect man and making myself the most perfect wife, In a nice house with walls that springs delight and With many specialized rooms only waiting for the memories I hoped for us to make. Only to find myself in the lavatory within the office, With a pregnancy test that glows happy with positive, And I should be happy, I know I should be -for I may finally be able to bear my precious Firdous, Oh precious precious Firdous. But with what husband? With what house? with what walls of Delight? And with which rooms to fill with her laughter and tears and.... What do I do? Dear lord what do I do? Do I ****** my chance of this happiness? Do I ****** the bliss of the future I dream of? Or do I disappoint my mother- the one who bore me? Do I choose to bring my precious in a world I'm yet to figure? And I'm yet to find my place in? Should I curse my baby with the burden of having no father? Should I curse myself with the burden of a child that could suffer? Because of having a mother that failed to provide efficiently? What do I do dear lord? Should I condem myself to hell or should I condem my beautiful baby- unborn and unnamed, to the hells of this world as an illegitimate with miserable likes of a mother like me. -fir.m ♡
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Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 9:46 PM UTC
Firdous
I am a player of words. I will be the the one to grab you by the neck first but I might show sympathy on you kick you in the shins and call you a fool. My pen can do wonders crush kingdoms, **** children, point out your blunders. It takes a movement of my hand to change it all fulfill your dreams, defy science's laws I can make your lover infertile make you an illegitimate child send you to the most brutal fight or present you with the Nobel prize. I can make you a part of a dirt poor family I can make you live your life without a tragedy. I can make you an old hunchback who has seen failure I can make you the knight in his shiny armour I can push you off the cliff from which you hanged or give you a nice pair of fangs. Oh yes, I am nefarious. write words which are a mystery or hilarious. I would rule this place if I had asked for it first, I am a player of words. I have painted your world in different colours cheered for you when you got the medal of valour I killed your favourite character? Go figure! I can make you turn into someone else at full moon I can torture the ones who were your muse I can build a world of my own Not taken down by any force The fire in my veins cannot be extinguished I will present you with people between whom you cannot distinguish I can bathe in the tears of my readers Don't underestimate words through your spine they can send shivers. They see me as danger to trouble, I am no stranger there is no extent to my freedom I am half angel, half demon I have had my mind drift away to places I have made friends with the one with scarred faces danced on waves,  sang in deserts all of this can't be done in reverse I have killed you using shells I often write to vent. I often **** the things which you clenched. I hold onto your soul and the boredom you munched isn't all of this fun? I could be queen if i asked for it first the world calls me an introvert and The player of words
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Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
Player of words
I am a player of words. I will be the the one to grab you by the neck first but I might show sympathy on you kick you in the shins and call you a fool. My pen can do wonders crush kingdoms, **** children, point out your blunders. It takes a movement of my hand to change it all fulfill your dreams, defy science's laws I can make your lover infertile make you an illegitimate child send you to the most brutal fight or present you with the Nobel prize. I can make you a part of a dirt poor family I can make you live your life without a tragedy. I can make you an old hunchback who has seen failure I can make you the knight in his shiny armour I can push you off the cliff from which you hanged or give you a nice pair of fangs. Oh yes, I am nefarious. write words which are a mystery or hilarious. I would rule this place if I had asked for it first, I am a player of words. I have painted your world in different colours cheered for you when you got the medal of valour I killed your favourite character? Go figure! I can make you turn into someone else at full moon I can torture the ones who were your muse I can build a world of my own Not taken down by any force The fire in my veins cannot be extinguished I will present you with people between whom you cannot distinguish I can bathe in the tears of my readers Don't underestimate words through your spine they can send shivers. They see me as danger to trouble, I am no stranger there is no extent to my freedom I am half angel, half demon I have had my mind drift away to places I have made friends with the one with scarred faces danced on waves,  sang in deserts all of this can't be done in reverse I have killed you using shells I often write to vent. I often **** the things which you clenched. I hold onto your soul and the boredom you munched isn't all of this fun? I could be queen if i asked for it first the world calls me an introvert and The player of words
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53
You know as well as I do that internet dating can have its ups and downs and thus, after so many futile meetings and tragic misadventures in a domestic UK situation, I decided to spread my wings and so I logged on to an Australian website for lonely kangaroo lovers yes it was www.blackstump-legover.com.au where no holes were barred. And I soon struck up a promising friendship with someone who sounded like a real goer, a total slapper, with no morals whatsover judging from the photo she posted taken with a mobile phone up her skirt which showed her **muffin ***** as well as what she had eaten for breakfast yesterday, poking its head out. We finally agreed to meet behind the old dunny in the park where the abos go to exchange their social security vouchers for crack ******* or a bottle of Castlemain XXXX or a quick one up each others' bots in spite of the pong on a sunny arvo. You can imagine how effing disappointed I was when she arrived on a trailer attached to her grandson's ute strapped to a battered gurney (and almost insensate) but still ready for a bit of backdoor action but not from me, no sirree, thank you very much mate: I might be desperate, but I would have had to have clipped my nose shut with a clothes peg to get anywhere near her and my gag reflex simply couldn't cope. So I bravely dragged the gurney over to the convenient gap in the fence overlooking the mighty ravine and with a gentle shove I sent her to that sweet place where peace can be found and I can still hear her scream as she bounced off the rocks accusing me of being illegitimate before silence reigned and I smiled in joy. It only goes to show, O my friends, that there are female dogs of the most hideous kind on every sodding continent on this dear planet of ours; and I may as well stick to a handful of Nivea cream and a Kleenex, at least the odour is wholesome.
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Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
A Tragic Intercontinental Internet Dating ******
You know as well as I do that internet dating can have its ups and downs and thus, after so many futile meetings and tragic misadventures in a domestic UK situation, I decided to spread my wings and so I logged on to an Australian website for lonely kangaroo lovers yes it was www.blackstump-legover.com.au where no holes were barred. And I soon struck up a promising friendship with someone who sounded like a real goer, a total slapper, with no morals whatsover judging from the photo she posted taken with a mobile phone up her skirt which showed her **muffin ***** as well as what she had eaten for breakfast yesterday, poking its head out. We finally agreed to meet behind the old dunny in the park where the abos go to exchange their social security vouchers for crack ******* or a bottle of Castlemain XXXX or a quick one up each others' bots in spite of the pong on a sunny arvo. You can imagine how effing disappointed I was when she arrived on a trailer attached to her grandson's ute strapped to a battered gurney (and almost insensate) but still ready for a bit of backdoor action but not from me, no sirree, thank you very much mate: I might be desperate, but I would have had to have clipped my nose shut with a clothes peg to get anywhere near her and my gag reflex simply couldn't cope. So I bravely dragged the gurney over to the convenient gap in the fence overlooking the mighty ravine and with a gentle shove I sent her to that sweet place where peace can be found and I can still hear her scream as she bounced off the rocks accusing me of being illegitimate before silence reigned and I smiled in joy. It only goes to show, O my friends, that there are female dogs of the most hideous kind on every sodding continent on this dear planet of ours; and I may as well stick to a handful of Nivea cream and a Kleenex, at least the odour is wholesome.
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64
She's got that peasant stink stuck to her radiating failed dreams and passed-over advice speaking to the untold quantities of filthy, illegitimate children birthed through pale and quivering thighs. Tattered, low denims faded, high-cut blouse full head of ratty, unclean hair propped up in a high-rise hair-spray style that hasn't been popular in the trailer parks for more than a decade. She always worked real hard yet always put failing-foot forward and though I asked, she could never tell me why - she never, I think, knew herself. It doesn't matter though she'll just fall again fall to her knees before another he again fall into the welfare lines due to another newborn again fall back down into what she knows again. She saves her non-handout-cash for the spending on endless streams of hash, bottles of paint for nail and eye-lash -because she believes, as she's told, that she's worth it - even though it's real clear that she's not and that it's real clear that she's one for looking-on and never acting upon and yet, I cannot help myself anymore than she can - I have fallen completely and pointlessly in love with her.
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Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 8:59 AM UTC
Failing in Love
'When nights shall be drunk And souls be tumbling in revelry When the comic of roles end And cold shall be burning I await to call the utmost illegitimate side of us As my penchanted pleasure For you be semisane Caught half into adulthood and rest you know... Neither you nor me or they Be sceptical or carrying the peels of scruples Don't.
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Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 6:09 AM UTC
Cloister Roamers
Retrieve the passion thou shared. Good sir indeed. Pray show thyself as keen in action. Ridicule the lady not. The lady of seasons bears a perpetual gift. Yours for eternity. An honest emerald, captured from a den of thieves. For the woman sighs. Crying quietly unto her handkerchief, Created of distressed lace. The lady carries but a precious cargo. A freight ne'er to become forgot. Madame is a beauty, a butterfly of carbon made. Her character build of moorland stone. She weeps daily for you. Before your child be born. But her lord is sadly gone. (C) LIVVI
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Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
ILLEGITIMATE
Drop the stream through this sieve into the bottle Where it shouldn’t belong you wish to Drink up the poisoned milk in infinitesimal gulps Of deathly satisfaction only because The glass shards under your feet pretended To be the grass and you believed as much as That what felt like downfall was anything resembling warmth Sneaking snapshots of neglect for nothing else Is allowed to who you know yourself to be And nothing else is a possibility for the Identity was outlined in ink and blood and Disappointment and disappointed you are As a way to make the world feel familiar At least there is one listener to make one feel at home While the rest hold on to their promises While keeping their ears open and their feet in the destined direction And you are wasting away the precious moments To drag yourself through the dessert of Familiar bitterness To be seen through the prism of your Poisoned safety blanket Only as illegitimate
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Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 9:25 PM UTC
Performance in solitude for the blind beast faithful to shadows
I am the ***** The hideous, maimed, disfigured-- You look at me with frowns. My skin, with many tones, Too scarred and blotched-- Always offensive to your eye. You laugh at me, I am one of your many clowns-- Sent to earth for your amusement. You view me like a sinner-- God punished me and spared you. I am the oddity, not quite right, A freak of nature, A distortion of the Creator’s beauty, A sacrilege to your righteous self. I am the mold by which you judge All imperfection. I am an outcast, an infidel, a curse, An illegitimate child of heaven sent As image of what you could have been-- Cast into the world to be Looked at as half-human, Made to feel less than whole, and Knowing I will never be even a part. My afflictions are your blessings, My pain, your joy, My tears, your happiness. In me, you have a reason to be thankful. Yes, I am the ***** and this I know for sure: My fate was to be different; My destiny unfolds, but not before Your prying eyes; and Most of all, I find great joy Knowing that regardless my plight, I will be always be me and Never be like you.
0
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 6:21 PM UTC
The *****