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Hg Jun 2018
there were 2 at 2:22
1 was me and 1 was you

we took the night to pick our brains
open our thoughts and share our pains

you said you'd wear 2 pairs of jeans
cause kids thought you were too skinny

i said i think that love's a trick
cause everybody falls for it

you said you don’t know til you try
i said that is exactly why
 
then you read words within a prose
to my surprise they’re ones you wrote
 
i said i write poetry too
when i don’t know what else to do
 
cause paper is shameless, weightless, dead
and pain weighs less outside your head
 
there were 2 at 2:22
the exact time of when i knew
 
1 and 1 could make us 2
but fall again i cannot do

i’m sorry if at all it hurt
when i left without a word
©Hg
Caroline Ward Nov 2018
You said you liked
My skinny blue jeans
Which I took to mean
You really liked me,
Because I like you
Early in the morning
With your hair messed up
And it's so ****** up
Because I dreamt
I was good enough
But I'll never be good enough
For you.
And you laughed at
The love letters
Thought you could do better,
Dismiss the girls that we meet
On the glistening streets
Who fawn and paw over you-
I know how they feel
Because I feel it too.
I'm sorry if I bore you
But I really adore you
Because you were so nice to me
Once upon a time.
I like your smile
And your old blue fleece
I once felt complete
But now I struggle
To feel anything at all.
I can't pretend
That I'm more than a friend
Because reality grounds you
Shows the world in it's true hue
Like the ending of tragic tv.
Because you never liked
My skinny blue jeans
And you certainly
Definitely, in all honesty
Never liked me.
You was like,
need your help...
I was: Yes,


Help you Odo-Ban
and ***** jeans
my only soap.


Help you Odo-Ban
and ***** jeans
my only soap.


EAT MY BISCUITS!
u V p
***(K)

Those my biscuits,
Ban-dana Jean...
my comely soap.


(k) NIGHTED

Help you Odo-Ban
and ***** jeans
my only soap.

You want to be an "activist?"  Go live on the streets..Ben Franklin lived on the streets, Karl Marx did also, Davy Crockett, come play with nothing.
September Roses May 2018
Thick, warm, fuzzy air
Radiates against your skin, making you want to doze off
You sit on the front of a low red car that looks another era, leaning on the glossy hood.
I want to put your lips on mine
The world feels yellow, and orange.
It's as if clear smoke has filled the air
My eyes are dimmed through thick sunglasses, my body absorbing the warmth through jeans and a small black shirt
I'm in a lucid daze
Looking at you through a curtain of straight black hair, not bothered to move it from my face.
You're eyes the crisp refreshing blue in a world tinted amber
Like fresh water, so cooling as I gaze in them.
Like a spray of water on your back
After hours of sunbathing
We sit there
We say nothing
We take in the sun
   We don't need anything else
Katey Nov 2018
Jeans.
The the pants worn by the hardworkers in life
The trademark of the strong-willed and country strife

Yet people look down upon those of us wearing jeans.
They're not for everyone, like me.
I'm not for everyone, but someone.
I came upon a dandelion  
An ordinary, common ****.
Most people don't look twice
Unless it infected their gardens.
Then it is uprooted, stem and head.
Thrown away and then forgotten.

But that **** meant something different to me

It was sunshine and laughter
Bouquets made of thistle and lavender
Bunched together and given to my mother
It was rolled up jeans
That perfect summer breeze
Cuts and bruises on my knees

It was my childhood

Memories that I can't quite grasp
But what I can remember is the bright yellow,
Stark against the grass
Noel Billiter Sep 2018
You’re screaming at me through the kitchen door
I’m not quite as pretty as the one before
Her ripped blue jeans keep staring at me
In trouble again for the way I clean

The neighbors complain every time we fight
And I’m not quite sure if I ever was right
He won’t throw away her **** blue jeans
Got the ghost of his ex in the house with me

You beg every time for another chance
Say you will change and be a better man
Can’t count the times that I’ve forgiven
Your endless lies and promises broken

Finally lit a match to those jeans of hers
Cracked a smile as I watched them burn
The flames turned a pretty shade of red
Almost the color of my favorite lipstick

Gathered my things and heard you shout
Mean angry words that I tuned out
Caught the first ride and waved goodbye
To those **** blue jeans and my old life
laura Sep 2018
do it for the ***** Laura
yes
sore for all the reasons
because sometimes i want
a **** that destroys jeans
and all forms of pants unequivocally
feel powerful

workout the body
and rip the peanut butter lid off the jar
proclaim to the universe
i have something that you should all stare
at

i
go home
and
eat chips and salsa
and
think nothing of it
Sailor sail on by today
And cowboy hold me
I will love all that is you
And the tree will stay in
The night sky.

Love Mary ***
Poetoftheway Aug 2014
"Son can you play me a memory
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet
And I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes"

Billy Joel lyrics from
"Piano Man"*
~~~~~~~~~~~~

when I was very young
I wore Levi jeans and white
Hanes cotton T shirts
my mother bot me,
my feet, Ked clad, red
from the kid's "department" store
on Central Avenue,
the Main Street of my small town

when I was a young lad,
I wore workingman's cargo jeans and
white Hanes cotton T shirts
under red plaid
wooly shirts, itchy affairs,
that I bot for myself
in a real Army Navy store,
desert colored suede boots,
laced up high,
upon my feet

when I was of middling years,
my jeans were khaki pants,
Gap supplied,
and my Gap T shirts,
faded like me,
a non-descript color,
made in a gap of pale pastel colors
from Bangladesh or Vietnam,
pale pastel, like me

so as I slide~decline into
my nursing home years,
I wear unbranded jeans and
white cotton no name T shirts
with matching white disposable slippers,
that the Purchasing Department
bot for me, cause they know,
I like,

a younger man's clothes and
the memories that play all day
lost in day dreaming of a life
well dressed

2:01am
onlylovepoetry Mar 2018
Friday night immodesty

theater on East 4th street @ 8:00pm,
so the girlie stuff commences on schedule
90 minuets a-priori and the medley music
(adele+amy+alicia+ pink bach for some zing)
a harbinger, a pioneer Greek heralding of
Friday night immodesty

the clothes laid out upon the bed, the shoes,
pumps selected and already on,
(always a puzzler to me,)
the subdued lower east side jewelry possibilities,
on the dresser drawer,
indifferently hoping for selection, but
casually beaming quietly,
like those kids waiting for interviews in the waiting room
of the college Admissions Dean’s office,
all with serious smiles
and tiny tearing eyes

aside:
helloooooo, I am in a poetry polo with my best jeans ready to go
2 hours before the curtain calls out,
hellooooooo

she sits at the makeup mirrored desk,
clad in only her underneath garments of varying utility,
when I sweep in imperially
and with one hand twist gentle her hair upwards,
betraying
her neck nape which is again
the sujet of a poem aborning

lips,
like a Greek lyre strings, pluck, the tiny hid hairs never seen,
her instant moans at the never fully expected motion poem,
beg more mercy but no quarter given despite repeated cries
of you’ll mess my makeup,
the best defense known to a lady!

god gave men two thumbs to lift up,
simultaneously stimulating,
slide down each of the thin black brasserie strap invitations,
upon each, a writ,
upon her flesh colored shoulders,
stating
“what was she thinking!”

my lips,
now polar explorers, those power (filled) poles side by side,
(east/west for the designer was a smart
bipolar guy-person);
the lips play silent night progressive jazz,
tinkling with higher noted keys,
nape to shoulders moving down to the back’s prefrontal lobe,
the small of her back, the body’s quivering,
a con-federate flag of surrender

her last defense swept aside, we drink honey and milk,
celebrate the week’s mellifluous finish with immodest touching,
the lower east side will belong tonite
to only the hipsters, the millennials,
as our hips are milling and  otherwise
pre-theater and post, occupado

some hours later, watching TV and eating delivered Chinese,
she laterally and literally arm punches my arm
intensely to mark her discontent,
still annoyed,
for I

1) messed up her makeup,
2) best blouse to the dry cleaner and
3) the tickets wasted, and worse,
hits me again!

after I laugh and giggle upon proffering
most modestly, most assuredly,
seconds of
onlylovepoetry

9.21am Saturday
thank you all who liked this tale of
the poetry in the details
of our lives.
olp
laura Jun 2018
with respect to your hair man
play with it, been living large
so you ain't got time to cut it
put it in a ponytail that puts mine to shame

it's a little weird talking about your hair
seagulls make a birds nest on it
it's a hair song, sing songs along the cold air
picasso paint it well, redoing the blue three hundred times

police pull ya over because of it
sometimes ya skin color makes it knappy
like the way it settles on my blue jeans
when you rest your head on my lappy
ya got a crush on me && i love ur hair
Anya Oct 2018
My mom got me a pair
of blue jeans
I never used to wear
Buttoning and zipping
was a pain

Then we got a dress code
And jeans
Only,
I could wear
But not blue
Too casual

And so they sat forgotten
...
Until a few years later
In a rush
I grabbed something
to wear
and it was
...
...
...
My blue jeans
And you know what? I don't look half bad.
laura Mar 2018
put it on me, lick me like a lollipoppy
popping money in my skinny jeans
learned my love life from the movies

just got my heart back from my main squeeze
and i'll wear it inside out
as long as you promise to break me from myself
no one remembers 3oh!3

(bet angela won't light this)
King Panda Jul 2017
I’ve forgotten
to be anything but
space—so enraptured
with the black that
the forest was
less than a goose pimple
on earth’s flesh.

I have ignored the
eighth notes
hanging from the pines.

I have forgotten
the snowbirds and whipped
winds.

I have numbed the needles
pocking skin through
my jeans.

I have forgotten green.

I have forgotten green.

I have forgotten green.

now
the light of frozen
flies dims
in your mouth.

now
love washes out
in seasons.

now I eat
sugar-frosted buckthorn.

And I see you
ready to touch
through one
hundred leaves
and foliage.
laura Sep 2018
watching you play dark souls
late at night
thigh highs under ripped jeans
instead you're
too absorbed in the game to game me
so i wait
perhaps it's better for me to stay that way
he's died 23 times and counting
Jordan Rowan Nov 2015
As the choir breathes and fires freeze
As the sun kneels on the highways of what's real
There's a soldier of broken love
Standing on the King's Landing above

There's dim lights on his skin-tight
jeans, and it's reflected in Ray-Ban eyes
He stares off as the coffee drops
Into her cup and she doesn't even look up

And now is now somehow

The night cries as the winter dyes
The windows in frost and loss
The LED is bad company
Its arms aren't warm and it dies in storms

And now is now somehow

Words inside the head are never said
Life beyond the grave is never saved
The door is never opened by the wind
Love never fought for never begins
GulRukh Dec 2017
See You There In Crowd Of Apaths
My Soul Breaks Down From Your Wrath
That Smile On Your Face
A Mischive In Your Ways
You Were In Light Blue Jeans
Your Eyes Are My Heaven, By All Means
Your Voice Like a Cool Violin Beat
That My Metal Armor Heart Can't Cheat
I Start Liking You Secretly In My Heart
You Left Me Thinking About My Vacant Part
God Knowns And I, What I was Wondering?
Like Mystery Of Universe You Left me Poundering
Are You Too Thinking about Me?
Or Are You a Hovering Bee?
You Are in My Head Spining From That Moment
So Falling For You Is Imminent
My Heart Pounding Crazy Like a Little Child
These Feeling Aren't For First Time
But I Want It To Be The Last Crime
I Want to Be Yours
If It Takes Gravity and All It's Force
Isn't It Too Soon To Say All That?
Cause I Know That it's Delicate
All The Drought Will End With This Rain
One Glance Would Be Enough To Keep Me Sane
When I saw him first time, I can't say anything but this piece says it all
laura May 2018
expecting the ride of a lifetime
hype guy with the pimped out kith jeans
and the shoes that cost god knows what
but he pulls me off of him so he can
carefully unlace them, while i get drier
than a desert waiting for him

like, ***?
show up in sweats and a hoodie so i can
steal it next time, man
when suddenly you’re not so into fashion anymore
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