"kraft" poems
When I grew up my mom would cut coupons and scrounge for change in the sofa to buy me a chicken nugget happy meal McDonalds. She would cut coupons and would only buy nectarines if they were on sale. I grew up eating bologna sandwiches with kraft cheese slices and potato chips.
I think your mom had different priorities.
The man at Starbucks, told me that opposites attract and I think that is why were together. He told me a Intuitive Innovative Feeler. Does that mean that you are oblivious and emotionless *** I don't think so?
Lately I have been whining a lot. Whining about where we live, what we do, what we don't do, how you act, how you don't act, about how your mom wants us to water the brussels sprouts that no one likes and clean the toilets no one uses.
Sometimes I say things to hurt your feelings. Sometimes I mean it. I word them so that they are as hurtful as can be and you never react. Is it bad to want to make you cry? You test my sanity everyday, you break me every day, and here I am still trying to chip away at the facade, the make up you cover up with.
I think living in the mountains has taught me about all the things that I don't want to be. I don't want to be cut off, I don't want to be nice, I don't want to be liberal, I don't want to be conservative, I don't want to see the same people everyday, and I definitely don't want to spend eleven dollars on heirloom tomatoes.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
There is a consumer product demon
in the trash underneath my sink.
The other day, I tossed in a wrapper
from a Quest 20-protein-gram nutrition bar
and a hand reached up to grab it.
Thinking I was daydreaming
I pulled out the white plastic Rubbermaid trash basket;
no hand, but the ¼ cup of Kraft Fast Mac
tossed in yesterday was moving, undulating.
It made a distinct voice-y sound
like “You’ll like Mac-a-lot, so eat me!”
Thinking this was just my overactive poetic imagination
I turned to the sink.
My JetZScrubber had wrapped around a spoon
dancing in circles around the In-Sink-Erator drain
while the Ajax Easy-Hands Dishwashing Liquid spewed bubbles
in unison.
Now convinced I took too much acid in college
I ran upstairs where my dog Mr. Brown sleeps
on his 44” x 36” leopard-print GoodDogBed.
“Howdy, partner,” Brown chimed.
“Sure is a fine day to go for a walk
using that Halti multi-loop leader and Sprenger prong collar.
Yes, I love ‘em.”
I took Mr. Brown to the dog park.
the one with the Safe-Steel chain link fence
and the pine trees without labels.
He pooped in the sawdust and vocalized
in his hound voice.
I could have sworn he said,
“Glad I didn’t do that on the L.L.Bean Woven Nylon Area Rug,”
but I wasn’t sure.
Nothing moved
except the wind in the trees.
and I wondered what to call it.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
Difference involves a discernable set of identifiable concepts, where soft cheese can be wrapped in cosmetic triangulations.
I know that electricity is a paradoxical commodity, where black diamonds resonate with something which is dissimilar to the larger expectations of society.
Like I said: miscellaneous conceptions of mature virility are evident to three-sided arguments. Aren’t they? There are three sides to every savoury story.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
Vi lovede hinanden hele den store verden dengang
Tiderne var anderledes, klokken var 22 når den var 17.
Vi havde stjerneregn af kæmpemæssige følelser
Som vi åd af hinanden, slikkede og fik kuldegysninger.
Lange aftener, som fik det hele til at vare dobbelt kort.
Jeg er ikke engang sikker på at jeg savner det
Eller dig. Eller noget af det vi gjorde sammen
Men en del har bidt sig fast. Jeg er blevet ramt
Af en virus. En fejl i mit liv, som du har plantet
I mig og min indre globe og færden, når jeg søger
Efter ting, som jeg umuligt kan få, finde eller fjerne
Jeg er syg, og mit immunforsvar svækkes, men
Jeg går i skole. Jeg lever mit liv videre, med
Tanken om at jeg ikke ved hvornår det stopper
Jeg vil lukke følelsen af dig/det/os ud af mig selv
Du styrer alt det du ikke må og du får alt så let
Så jeg lever livet videre, jeg lærer at ignorere det mave
Sår du har plantet i mig. Jeg sover det væk.
Drømmer mig væk fra realiternes smerter. For jeg kan
Ikke klare det hele. Jeg ser ikke klart. Jeg mærker ikke
Det lys som alle siger kommer, og når de andre fortæller
Mig at det hele er hurtigt glemt. Tvivler jeg på mig selv og
På mine følelser. For jeg har ingen følelser, ingen tanker
Ingenting. Jeg har ikke noget og jeg er fortabt. For alt hvad
Jeg vil have og eje er fysisk kontakt med dig. Jeg vil se på
Dig se på mig. Jeg vil have at du fortæller mig at jeg er smuk
Og så er det det, efter vi har kysset. Så er det det. For man skal
Ikke sådan noget. For det spil vi spiller er farligt. Med et hug
Bliver man slået hjem. Hvis ikke man lander på stjernen eller
På verdenstegnet. Så er det hjem, uden noget som helst.
Vi er en tikkende bombe. For hvor mange sekunder går der
IKKE før du egentlig finder ud af hvem jeg er, vi er, du er.
Til du finder ud af at du er bedre. Jeg kan ikke. Jeg tænker
Jeg kan. Men det hele er forkert. Jeg er kommet til at bruge alt
For mange kræfter på ting man kan få kræft af. Jeg er styret af den
Kraft du har. Jeg bliver ved med at bryde mig selv ned, selvom de
Andre nogle gange prøver at få mig op og stå igen. Det (s)eneste
Som jeg ikke har, er alt det jeg ikke kan få. Og jeg ved ikke
Engang hvad det er, eller om jeg er sikker på at jeg ved det på
Et tidspunkt. Jeg løber en tur væk fra mig selv. Jeg prøver
At eskapere fra verden. Jeg er flygtning fra mig selv.
Så kom her. Læg dig sammen med mig. Lad os lytte til din stemme
Bare et par mange gange, så jeg kan høre på alle de kloge ting
Du gør og siger. Ligesom den gang jeg gjorde det før.
Dengang det hele var godt.
Da vi to ejede verden, og hinanden. Men det gjorde vi ikke.
For du er helt ny, opstået så pludseligt, men sådan er det bare.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
Choir don't need no Gath Brooks
Lordie lord, spam that yawns across earth's lawn,
set your glory upon holy sky!
Baby talk, HA! That's processed Kraft
cheese or strength, babbling to silence avengers.
Do you see or does your finger point
to Moon, Stars and Kautempathkan.
What is a man that you can't remember,
Or a son who can't care of man?
You've made a name of nameless less.
Memhkotainya, name it with dignity.
Show some respect for the handywork,
they stare beneath our feet.
Bleating and mooing,
and Yes, beasts in field,
chicken **** and fish,
sea lane routes
to Us, our way
Nobly in your ***** named.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
Española
Tratando de independencia
Nuestra fuerza se dañó
Pero no vamos a renunciar.
Deutsch
Der Versuch, die Unabhängigkeit
Unsere Kraft beschädigt wurde
Aber wir werden nicht aufgeben.
Francaise
Essayer pour l'indépendance
Notre vigueur a été endommagé
Mais nous ne allons pas abandonner.
English
Trying for independence
Our force got damaged
But we won't give up.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Bueno, me compraré una piel una capa
Pero no es un abrigo de piel auténtica, eso es cruel
Y si tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Bueno, me compraré una mascota exótica
Sí, como una llama o un emú
Y si tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Bueno, me compraré los restos de John Merrick
Todos esos huesos de elefante loco
Y si tuviera un millón de dólares me compraría tu amor
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
No tendríamos que caminar a la tienda
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Nos tomamos causa de una limusina 'cuesta más
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
No tendríamos que comer la cena Kraft
Pero nos gustaría cenar Kraft
Por supuesto que nos gustaría, acabábamos de comer más
Y comprar ketchups muy caros con ella
Así es, las más elegantes ketchups Dijon
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Bueno, me compraré un vestido verde
Pero no es un vestido verde verdadero, eso es cruel
Y si tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Bueno, me compraré un poco de arte
A Picasso o Garfunkel
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Bueno, me compraré un mono
¿Siempre ha querido un mono?
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares me compraría tu amor
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Sería rico
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
My imagination places me on the precipice of a giant void, the wind against my back. I could just turn around..
But I know the truth. I'm already at bottom. I search for the slightest sign of a transient light.. anything that would give me a reason to move. Anything. To make a change. Please?
But there is nothing.
There's nothing left of me. I'm gone. Lost.
The steps I take are mechanical and dull. A last feeble attempt at prolonging the facade that I'm still here.
This is my fault.
To think I used to be so driven. So awake.
I don't sleep anymore.
As much as I want to blame you,
or the wine glasses my lips have such affinity for,
or your haunting indecision..
But what's the point anyway?
I curl up on my floor, a heap of mud.
An inaudible sigh escapes my lips. A catch in my breath.
My attempt to choose which flavor of Kraft would carry my body today has failed. I'm out of time.
I'm late.
I'm always late.
Maybe I won't even go.
I hate it anyway.
But I can't change it.
I am powerless.
I tilt my head towards the shelf. I can't lift it. I can't force myself to lift it.
Hair falls over my face. Why am I so weak?
It's all my fault.
Was I ever enough?
I can't even hate you in the ways I wish I could.
Even hatred would propel me to stand.
But it won't, and I won't.
It's too late.
I'm always late.
Maybe I won't even go.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
the difference between the way
i cooked and the way you cooked
is that you would get everything
ready first and I would pull things
from the fridge as I went, you made
everything from scratch but the one
thing I taught you was how to make
perfect kraft macaroni
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
Mucky self portraits of
Bacon strips,
Kraft-y singles
& expired Perrier,
reciting tales of DogMa,
tsk-ing at Eve
tsk-ing at Helen
tsk-ing at Mary
Sophia just wants to sit.
What's up, Gram-mere?
.... I'mma pun chew!
A dozen good guy Hermes and some, like, no.
This one takes shots like Jäger, ja,
this one takes shots like Manny Pacquiao, yo.
Doodling constellations and
Grandfathered teachings of How To Draw A Map -
a tangled thread of a quilt patch,
Ultimate Boon-doggle.
Wandering home in the papaya morning to catch
the light of a magnesium sky and birdsong.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
Age eighteen, living life as a low-middle class suburban jobless fool with a confusing relationship and a five year old boy. I have nerve damage to my left arm, smokers cough and lesser (haha) alcoholism. I guess it's macaroni (not Kraft, way too expensive) and cheese (nothing fancy) tonight. I should apply for a new job tomorrow, but I'll probably have something else to do. Besides that, I have no clothes suitable for an interview anyway. My hair is a wild mess. From behind you might think, **** she doesn't have an ***
...but from straight on, you might think, **** he looks like Slash."
I do not look like Slash, by the way. At least I think not. Maybe with the right hat, but then, I am way too short. I can sing like Slash, though.
I learned to use my voice like, five years ago. How old was I...?
I can read like Joseph Ogle. I love reading. I must have been younger when I started reading good material. Must have been a good few years ago...
I can draw like Dali. I think I found him out in Middle School...
I can play piano like ******* Mozart. I picked up piano earlier...
I can write like...
...well, writing is so unique that comparing myslef to anyone is insulting to both.
Anyway, it's my raw talent, skills that I have owned and honed that drives me to be more.
They say you have to deal with the hand life gave you, but life decided to give me dice, and a couple chance rolls. I may still have a few left. For as long as I live, I will deny and refute the notion that once you lose everything, you should just give up. I have lost. You can talk to me all day about how sad your life is, and how depressed you are, but unless you do something to change your quality of existence, then you're going to roll snake eyes. Snakes bite, friend.
I got a lucky thirteen on my plate. I am content to keep, but I could keep going.
What do you have?
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
Stemmer udefra
Overdøver larmen indefra
Tomme tankestrømme flyder med kraft
Gennem mine hjerneceller.
Slår mod kanten af mit hoved
Indre afbrudt af ydre
Bølgerne af lyd skærer i mine øre
Døv for toner og stemmeføring
Men ikke for valg af ord.
Tunge larmende fraser -
Spyttes vildt ud gennem fedtede læber
I et desperat forsøg på at
Slette sporene i sandet.
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 6:27 AM UTC
sie kniet mächtig unter über unter ihrem Haar
du bist süchtig, ihrer blicke, deren Anmut, feurig starr
sie erhebt sich, ganz entblößt, doch vollkommen und bestimmt
und dann erzählt sie, in ihrer Schönheit, dass sie ist doch noch ein Kind
Dieses Mädchen, verworren wild, voller Kraft und voller Geist,
OH DIESER ANMUT
DIESE SCHÖNHEIT
DIESE BLICKE
sie sagt leis,
oh liebe Freundin,
du willst doch nicht,
mir weis machen,
ich bin du,
deine Reinheit,
mit meiner,
nicht zu vergleichen ist.
Und mein Ich, es schaut mich an, so licht, leicht voller Seele.
Und als ich denke DAS BIN ICH, kommen die, die fehlen,
tausend Mädchen, sie bin ich, ich bin nicht mehr zu zählen.
TAUSEND GEFÜHLE: DAS BIN ICH
dann versinke ich in Tränen
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 1:18 PM UTC
but now i can eat kraft dinner late on a sunday afternoon with my window open and feel the sunlight now i can turn off my phone without panicking and now now I can breathe without fear coating my lungs and my eyes stop resting on sharp objects and now it's been something like two years and something has changed and the things that used to make me feel something like passion have resurfaced and i realize they never went away i just had forgotten how to feel them and god if i've learned anything at all it's that nothing is ever over and right at the moment where you feel like the world's ****** good and proper and there's no getting off your back is the moment when you realize that you are not made of glass you are not fragile and broken you are ******* marble and concrete you are iron that you have built yourself into and god i wish i could say that's it but you will have to fight you will get your hands ***** as you tear out the parts you need to leave behind but you will plant new roots one day you will look at yourself or someone you love and you will know where you've been and what you have come from and nothing will feel as good as when you realize that you are here
you made it
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
In my dream the drive is nonstop flame
with hints of eternal love and force.
Open the doors out the dream world,
let the essence of Kolor invade your bloodstream.
I cannot stop this feeling I feed heavily.
I am a bad drug with a brain and a heart beat of a lion, half sheep.
Across the indigo sky where the flower may be,
the paradise behind the door cry's and the wind acting of life
kisses everything in its path of gold textured knowledge.
The Luna dancing with the stars in a drunk motion,
Kosmik block fiesta.
The loaded planets flirting with its neighbor Kreating more Love
to water the flowers and roses until they drown in the energy
of divine spirit.
A god in a 60s head smoker,
A drunk and ****** flower in the garden of Love.
Nonsense of the most soulful.
I stand before the moon with a flower from the future in my hand
for the Queen of Universal Love.
A simple yet natural complex Kraft Kreated with star dust
and stuff of the Kozmo flow.
Dazed and Confused. Blazed and Amused...
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
din historie rodfæster en sandhed i mig
om cigarrøg og fremmede mennesker
deres magt over kønnet og min krop
i forestillingen;
jeg mister arme
jeg ser mit kød hvordan det forsvinder
(det nemme er at falde fra)
indersiden af låret
mavens rundhed brysternes buen ansigtets rene træk
mine læber; deres måde at skille på
nu vender jeg dem altid på vrangen før jeg går ud
i alle disse berøringer
disse berøringer
i én smeltet masse af hud og hår
*
I just want you to know (jeg ser ikke længere hendes ansigt)
i minderne;
kun krop
kun krop
kun krop
*
der vokser et svigt i mig
i mine øjenvipper
når jeg græder tårer som rammer andres hudlag
diffunderer
fra væske til følelse til en berøring to mennesker imellem
vores relation er ikke andet end tag på hud
og afstumpede nik gennem bevoksede ***
*
I metroen;
altid metroen et ikke *** vi kører imod
et transportmiddel der opsluger. du kan se det i øjnene på disse ”mennesker” i ikke-rummet.
og ud på skinnerne, de drømmer, stigende over kanten. En stemme;
attention à la marche en descendant du train
og jeg retter opmærksomhed, for jeg stoler mere og mere på stemmer uden ansigter
på højtalermagt
end på alle de mennesker, jeg kender.
*
I metroen;
jeg er så træt af at være træt af hans opførsel
catcalling som fænomen, der stammer fra metroens ikke-rum
det må det gøre !
den opslugende kraft, han kan lugte den den hænger i luften,
og alle er usikre
må man gerne efterlade sit liv inden man stiger ind?
attention à ton corps et ta voix
du ved aldrig hvilket ansigt han bærer
*
det er en forventning om at være utilpas, der bor i mig.
en forventning om
at blive catcallet
at mærke fremmede mænds hænder på min krop
at iklæde mig tøj jeg tør gå alene hjem i
at sove på gulvet hos venner for at undgå natbussen
*
jeg ved godt
at ikke alt er mit eget valg
*
og jeg brækker mig i metroen i en uber på gaden i min egen opgang
og jeg skammer mig over skammen
den skam forbundet med fremmedes ord og handlinger
*
du ventede engang på boulevard Saint-Denis
og en mand spurgte dig om hvor meget du kostede for at være hans
én hel nat
og det tog mig én hel dag at forstå din tavshed overfor ham
han kan ikke gå og forvente at alle kvinder på gaden potentielt kan være hans til den rette pris
VI EJER IKKE HINANDEN
OG JEG ER TRÆT AF MIG SELV
NÅR JEG LØBER VEJEN FRA MIN METRO TIL MIN HOVEDDØR
og ånder lettet op
bag en låst dør
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 9:08 AM UTC
I think I found the one
but which one did I find?
so far this fairytale's plot
is at once upon a time
feels like I'm back at 4 years old
with my sleep on hold
waiting with bated breathe
to see how this story unfolds
this is one of those road trips
where the phrase "Are we there yet?"
will never come from my lips
because this trip is about the journey
and I am in no hurry
As a child I used to go and catch butterflies
but now I catch them
every time I look into her eyes
I not trying to be Kraft Mac-n-Cheezy
But I'm falling for her deeply
all I know is
ONCE I feel her embrace, mind body and soul, and
UPON seeing her smile and hearing her laughter
A blanket of her warmth tucks me in, filling my holes making it
TIME to say happily ever after
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
and darling i miss you
i just thought you should know
ive been lying to myself since the night i watched you go
i wish you were here
in replace of his arms at night
staring into his blue eyes
i imagne them as yours when i close mine tight.
i wish you knew me now
i wish it wasnt to late
i had my chance with you
but i cant change fate.
so ill carry on an empty converstaion
the entire time biting my toung
i cant let it slip that with you im still in love
and ill cling to your memories
while i sleep in his arms at night
for in my dreams im with you
in my dreams i got it right.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 7:02 PM UTC
When your sister
died, it was the blue
box of Kraft Macaroni and
Cheese. Your half-
sister from your
father’s previous
marriage cooked it up
for you—she was only
a year or
two older than
you were—and you fell
asleep there on the
floor, where it remained half-
finished for the entire
night. When you
awoke the next
day, before you had even
opened your eyes, you
thought for a brief
moment that maybe it
had all been just
a dreadful nightmare, but
then you opened them and
there the macaroni and
cheese still sat, half-
eaten on that paper
plate. No—
it had all
actually happened.
When your coworker
fatally poisoned
herself, you made
up your mind to
buy the nicest
ingredients you could
find and to cook the best
Italian pasta recipe you could
think of in order to
show your family
how much you loved
them. You wanted to be
present with them, to be still
alive with them. You
wanted to not
make the same
mistake twice, but
then there you were
at dinner, distant
for the entire
meal, unable to even
make simple
conversation, ashamed of
the awful contortions your
brain was doing in
order to process
your guilt over
her death.
When your father
died, it was some left-
over soup you had cooked
up a week prior. You were
embarrassed about how
the black-eyed peas and
sweet potatoes had turned out;
you apologized to your
wife for their mushiness,
and she smiled sadly and told
you it was the best
soup she had ever
tasted. After a week in
the refrigerator, the kale
tasted slimy. The soup was
overhot; its texture,
nonexistent. By
this point in your life, the
texture of nearly
everything—even that
of death—had become
wholly unremarkable
to you.
And when your old
friend from college
died, there was
no meal at all—just
a hasty cup of black
coffee you poured
yourself right before the
big work presentation
began. The text
message said that
he had thrown
himself from atop a
skyscraper in lower
Manhattan, and that
he had finalized his
divorce just a few
months prior. You
thought about calling
off the meeting, but your
boss said that he
would be in
attendance and, grimly,
you decided to swallow
your bitter emotions
right along with the
coffee—you didn’t
want to let
him down.
Mar 25, 2022
Mar 25, 2022 at 1:00 AM UTC
Gott,
Lass Freude sein!
Denn ich weiß nicht
was halb Liebe heißt
und dann auch nicht
was halb Weh
ich weiß nicht
wann genug, genug ist.
Jede Sekunde schallt in mir
mit ihrer ganzen Kraft!
Sie tut weh und lindert.
Gott,
Lass Freude sein
heute, diese Tage..
Schick mir lieber Gott
während meiner Verwirrungsstunden
die Lichtspur einer Hoffnung.
Gott,
Lass Freude sein
inmitten meiner Liebe.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 5:53 AM UTC
Learned more from this pain than i ever did from a church.
Listening to your gut but make sure you detox it first.
**** be killin me softly, leave me in a Hearse,
Never a good thing when i hear from you first.
Be careful what you see,
even salt look like sugar,
Maturity is not throwing salt when you know you could've,
And not smackin ******* when you know you should've.
People Be like "oh i miss you"
**** i miss me too.
Had to use these teflon tissues to get me thru,
You not alone, **** i wanna be with me too,
Deadass On some days , smiles were too good to be true.
I be business minded when i be minding my business.
And ****** be ******* and ******* be on some ***** ****
Overcame this novocain,
Recasted the impression of depression,
Ring around the rosary,
Never relying on religion.
Im from a home of funny bones
And My elbows been ashy,
I knew It would take more than macaroni art to kraft me,
And i been itching for this platform
If you ask me,
I used to wonder if i was a real person.
I used to wonder like what's my real purpose?
When i was young ,I taught my shadow to stick to my toes,
When lifes a battle, I fought to stick to mottos.
As a poet i never looked at it this way,
I never booked myself for this reading.
I was overbooked.
I bookmarked my favorite moments ,
I been forever overlooked.
And never understood what "more" ment,
I been overcooked.
The preheating of this season left me bleeding.
This farenheit left me heavy breathin
No fear of heights but Excuse me while I fall from
- grace -
me with your presence and
These broken promises,
Never been transparent to this degree,
Had to leave that monster house.
That was my American horror story.
I used to be couped up,
Had to tell double d to get outta my laboratory,
See mfs want my jazz but not my blues,
They Wanna be in my class but aint payed they dues,
Yall be Morally incorrect,
....More or less...
Lately i been Moralless,
Need to get saved no church bells ,
Put me on the zach Morris list,
These rhymes be like my confessions,
Front row seat to my ascension,
Carry out this life to which we've been sentenced,
Delivery me from evil - with even more incentives,
I dream in MLA format.
Double spaced a letter to my younger self,
Just some **** I wish i told the older me
A ***** laundry list of things I thought ought to be owed to me,
My OCD be blowin me,
Need all my ducks in a row,
My prolonged silence been leading this Crescendo,
Im not playing NO GAMES, fuxk you and your Nintendo.
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 10:00 PM UTC
sometimes my heart feels like the
arts and crafts project of
a first grader, gone wrong.
messy Kraft glue, over-applied
to the point where
the pieces don’t stick —
together, we will
never be
together.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 10:14 PM UTC
Care for a Kraft single?
And then we can mingle
Perhaps we will no longer
Be single
After we enjoy or Kraft singles
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 6:36 AM UTC
My turkey sausage
Stuffed with a kraft single
My strawberries
Grape tomatoes
And plum
My peanut butter *******
My bite of cottage cheese
My handful of carrots
My golden raisins
Wonderfully delicious
I will lie in my bed
As my foot digests
"Life, don't talk to me about life"
Says Marvin
The talking, walking
Robot
Oh poor Marvin
You only live once
Try to make the best of it
And you said the most
Stimulating conversation
You had was with a toaster
I believe it was, lol
I would like to meet
And greet you
And welcome you to
This home
You can hold the dachshunds
And we can watch
Hitchhiker's Guide
To The Galaxy
Your role made the whole series
In my opinion
Thank you Marvin
I am one who often feels
Like you
I observe and I see
Time and time again
And I am often alone like you
But it's good to know you
And enjoy the day
With you
I'll take you to the park
And we can watch the birds
We can even have them make you
A girlfriend robot as well
If you would like
Marvin
My friend today
And always
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 7:02 PM UTC
jeg er en konstellation af ord
kun eksisterende i kraft af
spildt blæk og søvnløse nætter
jeg har ord under huden, ord i blodet
ord på læberne og ord i munden
ord under neglene ord i håret
ord på skrå, kryds, tværs
ord i lungerne
ind
ud
ind
ud
ind
jeg udånder ord
ord, der kommer snublende, vaklende frem
som om de frygter dagens lys og
aldrig tør være andet end
usagt; forevigt
hvis jeg havde været et ord havde jeg heller ikke turdet
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC