"kiddo" poems
happy **** day, **** me
**** you, humpback **** front
don't stop, follow dotted lines
until you find the little treasure spot
get a little wierd with love
get a little wierd with me
you aren't safe out there, kiddo
just stick with me, too much
talk in the office about us
make out behind a filing cabinet
stuck on the phone all day telling
everybody we're going
to be alright, happy hunting
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 6:17 PM UTC
why do i sit in a corner?
why don't i have friends?
cause, i may die soon,
that kinda depends
"depends on what?", you say
depends on if i mess things up
" you did nothing wrong" you said
you say that like you really give a ****
you thought we were close
you thought we would last
well kiddo,
that's a thing of the past
in a world of happiness,
i always frown
when everyone out there has friends,
i'm just the loner
leave the loner be
i'm gonna die anyways
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:14 AM UTC
"Under a Mountain of green and a Sky of blue,
Lived a race trapped behind a Barrier forgotten after so many years,
Slowly their hatred over their predicament only grew,
Lost and Forgotten, Hurt but not Broken, some wept their last tears,
They heard them say, 'It's been four years since an Angel fell',
But the wary Traveler knew not what that meant,
It was up to the race to explain to the Traveler and tell,
Of a Tale long ago Dreamt,
Tale of a sun, and of a world Beyond,
Where two races once lived in Peace,
A world where both races could bond,
Where fighting could stop, where hatred would cease,
The Traveler knew then what to do,
To free these people of their Fear and Hate,
Some wished to help the Traveler, others where hesitant to,
This Traveler - however much they faced - promised there wouldn't be anyone they'd berate,
The Barrier was a force none had broken thus far,
But this Traveler - too kind, too determined - couldn't give up,
This Barrier they broke - an obstacle they hurdled like a highset bar,
The Race rejoiced for now all where free - even Jerry and that Annoying Pup,
This Traveler - who called themselves Frisk - was no more than a child,
Yet a new Ambassador had been set,
They told any and all that the journey had not been hard but mild,
This child was greeted with a smile by whomever they met,
'A new family born,
A past left to rot,
A new treaty sworn,
A kind present this lot!'
This child thought with a smile upon their lips,
As they moved forward with their friends,
A skeleton too smiles as out of sight he blips,
'there will be time later - he thought - for the kiddo and me to make amends'."
Continue Reset
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 7:29 PM UTC
but you are smooth in full regalia
reptilian in your lounge suit
your westchester upbringing
shows in your brooks brothers snake skin boots
so she knows your from old school money
and plants a perfumed eye on your rear end
it sticks there like sweaty glue
every inch of her polished skin
fermented at great expense
and you thought suntans were hard to pay off
try having the ***** pickled in whiskey
but the divorce would leave you
a destitute sideshow on rodeo drive
with nothing but your mansion and your jag
standing between you and the unwashed masses
so you make her slap on another layer of makeup
you drop another crotch rocket happy hardness pill
and slip a few more bucks over the border to Switzerland
and drop a quick prayer to the twin god of Morgan and Stanley
that the market holds for one more day
lounge lizard
pushing seventy
with a twenty two year old ******
on one arm
and the keys to the rolls clutched in your liver spotted hand
your ready for anything
you may be king of the florida keys
but
gotta respect the cash flow
if what your pointless poison
bites off your **** more than goes into your mouth
then ya gotta wonder kiddo
if moving back to the homestead
in Spuyten Duyvil
might be better than lettin lifestyle carjack your life
that twenty two year old ***** you got poured all over your lap
has more spider in her than girlish charm
shes a train wreck waiting to happen
ill get ya to the border safe and sound
don't 'cha worry bout that
have you headed north
fore they even know your gone
may be the king of the florida keys
but it high time we get ya
back to brooklyn fore they bury you down here
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC
I find myself at the laundromat
Working out my thighs and lats
I put 2 quarters in the slot
It makes a sound like a robot
I open the door and I am posed
With a question asking, where are my clothes?
I don't wanna look stupid so I improvise
So I start chatting it up with a couple of guys
I say
Laundry for hire, laundry for hire
I'm looking for just the right buyer
Come on in, into my dryer
Laundry for hire, laundry for hire
One fine chap quickly agrees
Though I see him shaking at the knees
I ask him kindly to take out his keys
Don't worry kiddo this will be easy
He squeezes in, packed so tightly
I close the door feeling high and mighty
The machine rolls round and round
The door opens, and he falls to the ground
I feast on his entrails, meaty and sweet
Taking in the smell of his feet
I end my meal and am satisfied
Though I do wish he was deep fried
I feel a hunger still raging on
I still wish for it to be gone
So I say,
Laundry for hire, Laundry for hire
I'm looking for just the right buyer
Come on in into my dryer
Laundry for hire laundry for hire
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
I'm not finished, im not done
We're in no hurry, baby, we're still young
I have more to say, more to do
you cut me short, as if on cue
I was mid sentence, caught up mid stride
You cut me deep, acted like you had a free ride
Drove away with my all on board
I tried to hurt you back but its a double edged sword
my words hurt me, now I'm back on the floor
when I was with you my heart, it soared
as I lie here cut up and open
trying to feel scarred, yet im still broken
to look at your face, its such a disgrace
you were never really there; a ghost in your place
respect me you say, but respect you did not
you took what was not yours and gave none back
watching and waiting but I never crack
Spat at my back and then in my face
respect me you say, but respect you did not
you took it too; the secret that was all mine
now the knife hovers there just over my spine
I lay watching and waiting for that final word
And this torment, well it's absurd
end it for for me, just say the word
scream it, yell it, dont let it go unheard
how I gave you the power, the power to me
i gave almost all, i gave to you freely
I take nothing back, for what I said I felt
looking in your eyes, though I still melt
respect me you say, but respect you did not
I'm a new person, with new feelings to give
trust doesn't mean I've lost my chance to live
I'm allowed to breathe, but I'm still mad
how worthless I was you, the power you had
its worthless now; its back here
match me, kiddo, I kicked it up a gear.
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 8:32 PM UTC
step one: mark out your
territory, bordered by
sea surf on the one side and
beach towels on the other;
dig a moat to the left and right so
no one can intrude upon your
Fortress of Solitude.
step two: build a sandcastle.
ignore the imminent
tides and the omnipresent
ravages of gravity; they are
irrelevant to your
Dream of Isolation.
step three: come to realize
that you are not
happy despite
getting exactly what you wanted:
welcome to the real
world kiddo. I hope you
found what you're
Looking For.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
don't get on my nerves
kiddo it
ain't your mother's
fault that you're
a sucker
daddys come like
torpedos
daddys are
torpedos
who are you though?
no sweet toddler
no child
no youngster
i don't give a **** about
you
i am your daddy kiddo
i am a torpedo kiddo
don't gimme that family
********
you ain't nothing but a
kiddo
fortyfive year old
hangaround
deadbeat
***
leech
you're the harmless
version
toothless dracula
couldn't care less
about you
Nov 16, 2019
Nov 16, 2019 at 3:17 PM UTC
Ladies of the Net… A warning to male adolescents everywhere…
“Hi Honey….I just got matched with your profile”… At least that’s what I think it said.
Brilliant I thought because I’m available and life round here is, well…it’s dead
“I’m looking for an experienced guy who’s good in bed… been round the block, but not the clock…
One with plenty of experience and a huge…err…appetite…
for hooking up instead of these inexperienced boys…
They’re all excitable, probably all over too quick…
need someone with poise reserve and a twelve inch errr… Libido?… ego?
Click my pics kiddo and let’s get it on… you Stud!… Well I would!
****** hell! I’m overwhelmed but let’s not peak too soon…
There’s loads of stuff coming in as Spam that would probably make us all swoon.
So check it out…without fail, “eeeh!” They’re all there - these ladies of the net - they crop up daily -
Sheila Blige… Tanya Hide… Mandy May, Bette Sheedus, Lovinia ****
I’m not sure if these are their real names... But - Phew -
with things like this going on round here we could all get *******
She says she’s just round the corner, you know like Sompting, Steyning, LA (that must be Littlehampton)… Southwick…Little Haven Halt, Portslade.
We could meet in a lay-by and we’ll get laid… just an innocent little escapade.
It won’t be my fault if you miss this chance…
Just try it - I’ll handcuff you to the bed and lap dance.
Click on my pix, big boy, they all beckon.
Take a closer look at these sonny boy - now what do you reckon?
Well, you’d have to say they do look very alluring in the taster…
so why not just click...
to the next page… see the site… don’t waste-ya time…CLICK!
****** hell! The screen’s gone blank…
now I won’t even be able to have a ____
Knock, Knock, Knock!
"Kevin!!!?"..."Mum?" "Is that you?" "Yes Mum!… Everything’s OK!… I’m just turning out the light… G’night!"
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 5:45 AM UTC
midnight wasn't a cure
for all that darkness following her
she could see the sun coming up someplace ahead
always see the cheap advertising long
before some idiot actually hits the switch
stepped on the gas but her feelings kept pace
with this four stroke joke of a machine
one stroke for each time it failed to get her away
from feeling it all over again
she would trade it in
but nobody is feeling sympathetic enough for
that kind of charity
so she will ride it out into the strange night
with some dude speaking french in the passenger seat
seems like hes saying something important
but who the **** knows
she flips him off and turns the radio up
nothing is forever
if she could just stick to the plan
dump the loser's and leeches
find her somebody who speaks the same language
as her crazy good for nothin heart
she could get up outa this
one horse town
go set up in some romantic beach house
and drink margarita's till the world ends
just stick to the plan kiddo
keeps telling herself
as she cozy's up to the french clown
for one last night
just to keep warm
nothing for keeps...right?
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
ACT I
DAD: in his late 50's.
TRISTAN: around ten or eleven-years old GLADWIN: in her early 40's.
TRISTAN Dad?
Scene 1
Interior of a cheesy, unkempt motel room. DAD
channel-surfs the cable television, the remote in
his right hand, a cigarette in his left. He's
sitting on the edge of the bed. TRISTAN is on the
bed behind him, crying.
DAD
Yeah bud?
TRISTAN
Is Mom gonna **** herself?
DAD
Well, I hope so.
TRISTAN Dad!
DAD
(Chuckles). What?
TRISTAN
Stop! I'm scared. What if she does?
DAD
Why are you worried? I'm not that lucky.
TRISTAN
(Screaming). C'mon, Dad!
DAD
What? (Chuckles again, longer this time). I'm not.
TRISTAN
Dad, stop. What if she really does?
DAD
Trist, don't be stupid. No one who's really going to
**** themselves tells you like that. They don't sing it
out loud. She's whistling Dixie.
TRISTAN
(Sobbing at this point). Dad, I love Mom.
DAD
(Pause). I know, and I-
(DAD'S cellphone rings. He answers
immediately)
Hold on, Trist. It's your fat mother.
Hello? Yeah. Yeah, you have this kid scared to death.
Would you just tell him you're--What? Alright, Glad.
Well enough's enough. (Pause). Okay. (Reacting loudly).
Oh, quit screaming in my ear! Trist, (extends the phone
to TRISTAN) here.
spotlight comes up on GLADWIN, who is stageleft,
lying in bed and on the phone.
GLADWIN
Trist! Trist? Say goodbye to Mama. I'm going away.
TRISTAN
Wait! Don't do anything bad, please.
GLADWIN
I'm gonna swallow my pills, Trist. I'm gonna take them
all and I won't be around anymore, honey...
TRISTAN
No! Mom, don't!
GLADWIN
...so just say goodbye to Mama and don't ever...
TRISTAN
Mom! Stop. Please, stop, just don't!
GLADWIN
...forget that I love you.
Spotlight goes out on GLADWIN.
TRISTAN
No! (Looks at DAD). Dad, she can't!
(He drops the cellphone)
Oh my God!
(Leaping off the bed and fumbling with
the phone in his hands, he hurries it to
his ear)
Hello? Mom? Mom?
(He closes the phone and quickly reopens
it. He dials GLADWIN'S cellphone)
DAD
Trist, take it easy. She's fine. Stop calling and go to
bed.
TRISTAN
She won't answer! (Breaking down). She won't answer.
(Lets out a piercing cry). Dad!
(DAD lights another cigarette and pulls
TRISTAN onto the bed and under his right
arm)
DAD
(Rubbing TRISTAN'S back gently). Go to sleep, babe.
She'll be there tomorrow morning.
TRISTAN
But--
DAD
Ah, ah! What did I just say? Everything will be okay.
TRISTAN
(Calming, but still anxious). You promise?
DAD
Promise, kiddo.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
The monsters don't hide in the closet, or under the bed, or in your head all full of juice. They roost. It's not their fault, following through with some innate longing they're called to.
It's a simple, impish existence, these monsters, who might prefer to be doctors or lawyers or sound designers for Alice Cooper or Rob Zombie or Blondie; alas they burrow and nest inside my ***** laundry.
A wise person might have said, "Take care, kiddo, and guard your head against the evil that so easily nestles there." I reflect on this through the cloudy density of my beer an wonder, could he have been right? Might I fallen intrigued, ensnared, by the casual taunt of an apple's dare?
We climb the beanstalk for the giant only; the goose is second hand. The giant's defeat is the glory. It doesn't matter what the stakes contain, live or die, princess or mother or cow or land, as long as a marching band greets us at the end of the ride.
The monsters don't hide in the closet, or under the bed or in you head full of juice. They roost, and they can't help us themselves in a world full of books gathering dust on shelves overlooked where their hardcovers guard against stray shells unloosed.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
The counsellors office has always been uneasy
and the chairs always too cold
always a small breeze with the windows
not even cracked open.
This was the newest patients second visit,
everything was casual,
routine questions,
just another average case
but then there was a sudden silence,
the patient became curious and fidgety,
the counsellor sat waiting, watching.
"uh, doc. I know this isn't your dance
or anything,
but do you feel that?"
It had gotten the slightest bit colder
but that was usual
in these 2 decade old buildings.
"feel what, kiddo?"
"That!"
the patient standing now,
was pointing to the door,
as the violent ghosts swooped in
attacking them both,
too much blood and two mangled bodies
on the floor,
the receptionist didn't even hear a scream.
With the next appointment,
the receptionist walked in
getting a mouthful
of that putrid metal-blood taste.
I guess even buildings have a tormenting past.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 10:22 AM UTC
“Happy birthday, kiddo!
We got you this drum!”
Were the last words heard in my home.
Now it’s:
Bang bang bang.
Boom boom boom.
Bang boom. Bang boom.
Boom bang. Boom bang.
How fun.
What a fun fun fun toy.
So much **** fun.
He bangs the drum.
We hear the drum.
The neighbors hear the drum.
Strangers walking past our house hear the drum.
People who live down the street, around the corner, across the highway, right next to the construction zone hear the drum.
You can’t not hear this drum.
It’s. So. Fun.
So so so much ****
-- BOOM BANG BOOM BANG BOOM --
Fun.
“Happy day-after-your-birthday, kiddo!
We got you this very soft and incredibly silent stuffed hippo!”
Let us never speak of the drum again.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC
im walking along
hardly breathin cause it might disturb
im steppin in the shadows of great men
with one eye on the popularity of what im sayin
but i dont think anybody sees me anyway
cept her and its real hard to tell what shes thinkin
dressed to the nines and she lickable head to toe
hard body honey half my age
came here to pick a fight with the powers that be
dont stand a chance but thats beside the point
cant you feel the storm brewin
been there since it became hip to be an activist
tempest in a tea ***
but what a blast its been
a struggle of the masses not to drink another latte
a demand for justice for the **** who ate the last bearclaw
he trims that fashion beard
combs out the rough phrase from his latest trending poem
and some cat in london stamps his seal of approval
sold out for a pat on the back
just remember kiddo that your a greenhorn
and i got one beady little eye on ya
meanwhile in chechnya they are swaping pens for rifles
feel little like hemingway
wanna throw it all away in a blaze of glory
for the ideal of the revolt with some
things still worth fightin for
hand me that pen
got a ruckus to make
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
Small talks,
Written in between railroad tracks,
A track going to nowhere,
At least it's beautiful,
The houses look cozy,
Behind their walls we wonder aloud,
If its football or just a get together,
Little lives playing,
Seemingly unimportant roles,
Living lives, on stairway steps,
No longer living lies,
Breathing,
Just breathe
Return to places you've never been,
And feel the love around,
At least it's hear now,
Long timers with only today,
Saying words that feel weighted,
Because they actually know,
Caravans catering to the perpetual,
One night stands,
Take the advice,
And keep the serenity,
You won't feel it till tomorrow,
As you smile at your
Forever frustrating manager,
Leave the destruction back where,
It belongs,
Take your seat,
remember to stay awake,
And hold onto the kisses in the car,
Tomorrow reality is waiting,
And you've only,
Just begun kiddo.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC
You: it is 2:10 am
Me: Eastern Standard Mystical Time, yup...
You: why are you up, writing?
Me: the drugs wore off
You: *** the drugs?
Say it ain't so, kiddo?*
Me: yup, I did engage
with some strong stuff
ce soir, the woman too,
and she is drowning in her dreams.
Easy and cheap,
scored some us some................
Asian Fusion
Thai Food, Indonesian small plates...
You: idiot!
Me: just answering your question
You: so where is this poem, shaman?
Me: You!
You: Me?
Me: yup.
You are my early morning poem,
which I have entitled Notification: You!
Notification
I am deeply unsure.
Am I notifying you,
or am I notifying myself?
Lost command of my
native language,
the emotions too strong,
Blue Java
the color of my word blood,
strong swirling,
uncontaminated by cow's milk,
but by cows jumping over the moon,
who have come to give me gifts of
Notifications.
*Hey ****** ******
The Cat and the fiddle,
The Cow jumped over the moon.
The little Dog laughed,
To see such sport,
And the Dish ran away with the Spoon*
Perfectly clear to me.
I am the Spoon,
You are the Dish.
(Shaman, Shaman, hey man,
you still sound drugged,
we urgent need some clarifications!)
When I wake up,
uncertain about a slew,
a portmanteau
of important life~things,
*(Example: when should I
Capitalize a word,
a life, a me, a You?)*
there are strangers,
Strangers still,
yet strangers no more,
sending me uncoded messages
intended to decode me,
Notifications,
they are called,
and they
Explode me.
capsules of comments
that encapsulate me,
emasculate my speaking abilities,
reduced to rolling in the gutter,
guttural cries to emit and utter,
man, I got friends I never met,
and that's ok
we just notify each other
thinking of you
and no more words necessary
life is groovy...
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
You left in the brightest of greens,
And came home donning maroon.
How long has it been?
Eight months.
Eight months of your unavoidable absence.
Yet, while you were gone,
I continued marching on like a valiant soldier should.
I’m fighting to be like you,
You who is kind and funny and smart and undeniably beautiful.
One day, I hope, you’ll tap me on my shoulder
And say, “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
Kid, you've got to love yourself.
You've gotta wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee,
And stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn.
You've got to sit next to the man on the train station who's reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You've got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you've got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You've got to stop taking everything so ******* personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You've got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You've got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that wont matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You've got to stop worrying about what you're going to tell her when she finds out. You've got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You've got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. **** it. Love yourself, kiddo. You've got to love yourself.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC
“Yes, kid, I speak no lie when I say
That I’ve seen the whole world with my eyes,
I’ve sailed through waters, trudged barren lands,
Climbed tricky mountains, dived from high skies.
Different masters, different creases pressing
Into my not-soft but not-so-hard skin, I’ve graced
Different shoes of different colors,
Materials, textures and shapes!
A hundred years I’ve lived in the best shoes, yes sir.
Finest, smartest leather sole, that’s me.
Don’t go by the frayed edges, kiddo,
There ain't no place where this black body hasn't been.
Ha! Look at those young eyes grow big already.
I hope you don’t faint in awe when I tell you
The story of the famous hunter who would
Silently surf deep jungles in his pointed boots.
Lions would yelp and tigers would weep,
For he'd never miss a mark when he’d shoot!
Or the one about that daring pirate whose lucky sole I was!
Only with me would he climb wealth-laden ships to loot.
Or maybe, that one, about the valiant soldier,
What an honor it was, kid, to accompany him as he ran,
Gun in hand, grit in heart, yours truly in shoe,
Single-handedly slaying armies for his Mother Land.
And you must have heard about the mighty landlord?
No? the one with the bungalow with a thousand rooms?
No? the one with the gold and silver in piles?
No? oh I was there too, inside one jewel-studded shoe!
Your ten-year old imagination can’t even wander
To where I’ve been for real.
And after an exciting lifetime of adventure,
I just decided to retire, and so I ended up here.”
Little mouth opened and shut in wonder,
As the tattered sole lay in his hands covered with dirt,
He listened in rapture to stories of victories and riches,
The tales penetrating his innocent heart.
*O great leather deity, come with me, I’ll take you home,
You’re going to have fun with me too!*
He squeaks; takes a piece of rope and ties the sole
Around his uncovered right foot.
And walks away, pleased, hitching up
His rag-picking bag on his thin shoulder.
One foot strapped with discarded, torn leather,
The other, dragging bare over the earth.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
Today, a total loss,
nothing could’ve been
done to save it.
Today was relegated
to the wierdos,
the lady who wears her
cat on her head,
her daughter’s miniskirt
hovers just below her
naughty bits as I ask
momma my litany.
And, I’m an all-American
red-blood, to be sure.
I would look, I would,
but that poor kiddo’s
got a face like a trainwreck,
so none of it looks worth
looking at, if you ask me.
I’m just trying to get out
the door of the cat-hatted
lady and her daughter,
the clockstopper.
Getting back to the office,
putting some desk-time in,
I call the war vet with the PTSD
so deep that it’s in his DNA.
His voice, so quiet
the rage underneath
is audible.
Cradling the phone,
I fret for just a bit,
wondering if his meds
are doing their duty,
and pondering the next
visit to his address.
***
©2015 P&ZPublications;
-JBClaywell
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 6:45 PM UTC
he told me i tasted like 12 o'clock sun on chilly days without names. since he mentioned days without names, they had been my favourite kind of days. in my head, every day had a colour and yesterday was yellow. you pulled over and got out of the car when i asked you why we could not buy another bottle of red wine for the fifth time. i looked down at my veiny hands and fondled the key that he had left behind. it killed me how everything reminded me of him. i thought that liquid self-pity would erase him but it only made him appear even more distinct. i tried to patch up myself when you was asleep; i kissed the freckles on your back and connected them by drawing constellations and celestial bodies with my silky whisper. i wore long sleeves because my heart was stained by his soporific words. he made me feel calm without effort; it made my skin crack. the way he held me tight made me want to throw up butterflies. you never made me want to throw up butterflies; you only drugged my body with sweet drops of poison. i am fond of you, you would always say and i would always force a smile and take another sip. he adored my blue lips. the more you loved me, the more i adored being intoxicated. after half a year, a few bottles a day made me love you back. i could name every débit de boissons in bordeaux.
hey kiddo, i have brought you a glass of my favourite wine.
he visited me on a chilly day without name. i was already dead when he found me.
(k.w)
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
I was doing a little jig down the sidewalk
When all of a sudden
This red, bulbous, obstruction pounced into my field of view
I said, "Whoa, hotshot, cool down"
He/she/it did not reply
"I'm talking to you kiddo
Can you please communicate with me?"
It just sat there staring at me. Why?
You see, hydrants can be little stinkers sometimes
They'll talk your earlobe off one time
Other times they act like a sack of taters
They're just little drama queens
"Meow meow" said the hydrant
I take a look over yonder, than ask the **** target,
"Are you talking to me sir?"
"Meow," it said "I'm not sure I like your tone"
"You must be some sort of mind type hacker dealio
Cracking into my cerebellum, what are you doing in there?
Seriously man! Come on!
You must be going through emotional trauma. PTSD I don't know."
"Calm down buco, let's talk about this
Over a bucket of churned goat milk, I love that stuff.
How's Shirley? I hear she took up crocheting
I respect that"
"Grr, graa, paa?
Me oh my, this reminds me of pick up sticks all over again
Hey look at this man,
If you walk without rhythm, than you won't attract the worm."
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
david was warning me, i didn't listen
instead i kept on running towards you
controlfreak of the netherworld, goon
my life is like a fairy tale, shimmering
invention and glory, similarly
psychopathic word play, baby doll
schizoprenic flow, i have to write
standing ovation for my family
some people have double standards
sweetlove tried to correct me;
hosting a contest about racism
playing grammar police, she was like:
"could you edit this horrible slang?"
no, it's simply the voice of many people
i demasked your entire outfit, kiddo
never ever will you hear back from me
once upon a time, i grew up, now i'm huge
tall, fat, dope, fresh, i'm ********
adjectives for my people to subsist
my life's a motion picture, get it baby
pipi langstrumpf zöpfe, du lächerliche
throw some german into the mix and be real
dinosaurs are chasing me, as long as i'm on it
paranoia guardians, copycat killers, word
livelong sessions, i'm not hiding myself
behind the mask is a good-hearted sicko
a sick, good-hearted person, no doubt
broad-shouldered and i stick my chest out
Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 7:49 AM UTC