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Brandon Brazel May 2015
If the label on a bottle of poison were more pretty,
More people would choose it over the ugly antidote.
This is a problem we face,
When the vision is blurry.
I can't stand when others say "you don't look like a regular person" as if there is a way we are entitled to look. We are our own selves.
c Apr 8
I would like
To be called lovely
But the span of my hips
Labels me nice
Instead
.
hi.
i want to dye.
this space of mind.
several shades of red.
and lie in bed.
to myself.
and maybe say.
everything's gonna be okay.
but.
will it really.

i am stuck.
in this space of mind.
several shades of invisible.
to this silent mind.

oh wait.
just kidding.

this soul of mine.
it screams in time.
with the drumbeats.
of this heart of mine.
that struggles.
just to keep me alive.
in spite of mind.

in times like this.
i just want to dye.
this shirt of mine.
several shades of red.
and lie in bed.
and just.

fall asleep.
forever and more.
and dream.
of impossible things.
that i wish i could be.
like happy.
Copycat, collect the nectar,
it will optimize your splendor.
Grasping it by the gallons,
drinking poison, immune, callous,
to the pain you aligned, and profusely measured.

Fixated on this peeling label,
bend it back, are you able,
To contain symptoms as they surface?
Written down as toxic in cursive,
a sign of recovery crowned as 'fatal'

Copycat, take your weapons,
along the speckled crimson as logical 'sessions'.
Brim the shell, or remain hollow?
Graphic truth is hard to swallow,
unseen pain is being reflected-
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
I wanted to do some form of rhyming, but the emotion had to stay so I know the poem is a little odd.
Lily Nov 2018
Desire
Balanced
On the edge
Of a blade

A well dressed man
*******
An untethered label

A bottle for two
At an uncleared table.

A twist
Of the wrist
To the pouring
Of wine

To dripping lips,
and kissing
between sips.

His hands
to my hips

His tie
To my wrists.

His kiss.
Michael Marchese Jul 2018
Don’t tell me it can’t all be equally shared
Don’t tell me elections are fair
Anywhere
I know whose had the power
The weapons to prove it
The world in their hands
And the money to move it
Perpetual profit
New product to cell
Dwellin’ deep in the pocket
Of your lol

So don’t tell me with Twitter you’re not all Obsessed
When you buy every lie presidential address
Comin’ hot off the press
Not so free to inform
A pornhub tuggin’ ******
Publicity Storm
And another blackout
On my people uncovered
Like Firestone burnin’ through natives
Unrubbered

Don’t tell me you don’t have the cure
Or that war
Isn’t waged on the people
To sheeple the poor
To the industry slaughterhouse
Dream factory
Where success is a breath of fresh
Debt peony
I know slavery still puts
That food on the table
And big pharma’s FDA puppets, the label

So don’t tell me dope is what’s making us Dumb
Don’t tell me my God’s not the LSD sun
Or that guns aren’t hired
To desecrate my
Sanctified inner peace
Keepin’ graffiti sky
For my ties to this earth
Are invaluable worth
So don’t tell me my rights haven’t been mine Since birth
Upon Reading a Patronizing Review of Ferlinghetti’s Delightful and Revelatory Entertainment, Little Boy



The only problem with the Proletariat
Is obeying the pretentious ***** that
Insist on calling us the Proletariat -

Resist their Insist!

For I will not be labeled by some artsy-crat
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Tee Dossantos Dec 2018
They label this pessimism. Call me selfish. I'm both of those things but please, add the lip stain. Let's not forget the judgmental, hypocrite, reneger, unworthy, blasphemy characteristics of me.  I'm emotionally unstable, overloaded with thoughts.Run by my heart, and you could say some what street-smart. See I learned from the stress, the heartaches, the bills left unpaid. I picked up the cards dealt , never paying them any mind, all the while completely unaware what they would leave behind.  I call this myself, a broken, ambitious *******.  I find comfort here, amongst my demons pride. I find comfort in the sorrow of being alone, completely addicted to the negative, low life, hard to reach center, of MY soul. I  hesitate to look to the left or to the right, constantly keeping my eye from the light. A whirlpool of hate, anger and black, this list could go on, this list of my mind, this list of me, of what I lack. See I stand here today with this etched into my heart, but somehow some where, there's always a need to restart. I can't seem to hold onto it when I find it, I can't seem to take root in the nourishment, into the healthy soil. I know it's there, if I could just take hold. My dear, I do fear, this will be a fight until I'm old.
Tanya Feb 7
I’ve always been mindful of
the food that enters my body.

Perhaps,
I should have read the label
before consuming Your lies.


What begs a Sonnet if not to Express
But Expression alone Good Fame depends
If Maps such as these confuses the Rest
Then Life's Published Theme will begin to End
These Girls do not just a Heart label so
Pressing the Rewind back to Robin's Day
But Issues pressed onto Paper, and go
Feed the Bird's Stem and regulate their Say
Someone like me must care about these Things
And Mark at how their Chemistry reacts
Prudence, the Ingredient I must now bring
To set my Items from Falsehoods to Facts.
It would be Easier if you just Spoke
Perhaps my Attitude made me go Broke.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
A presence
presenting
a continuous torment
torturing
incessantly
until, even with cessation
only a tenuous self
is present
leaving only the resin

The maniacal
manifestation
is an infestation
festering around in my head
Its existence,
a creation
created at inception,
hacking my brain
Forever a trap
creating a
maniac

Acrimonious
to all mankind
Not acting
like a man
Not one word
that's kind
Committing crimes
and getting oneself
committed
A deviation
creating a deviant
Shifted values
due to a devalued
self

An esoteric
essence
seemingly sentenced
on this journey
by judge and jury,
not by one's peers
because the many
not able
to peer
into this individuality
The duplicity
of duality
that is my reality

Challenging myself
to a dual
One in which
I both
win and lose
But in the end
not breaking even
or coming out ahead
Always ending
further back
instead

Its back breaking
and always aching
Pain from which
not capable of
faking
Effort I’m taking
Of myself making
Time for a new king
For kinsmanship
is aloof
And this man’s ship
has sailed away
Sipping a port
at a shipping port
And yet
slipping away

Deeper still
In the depth
of still water
Sinking
into the abyss
Lost and gone
But not missed
Is this the end
of our fable?
Or will our “hero”
enable himself
and in the end
be able
Deciding who to be?
Cain or Abel?
For the hurricane
is hurrying along
Its aim always the same
Constant pain
A payment he feels
for the displaced
placement
which just in case
is placed
same place
he went

Ink in the face
A disgrace
When suddenly
encased in his brain
are racing thoughts
of a plan
he’s ace’n

A label of insanity
given by those
who claim sanity
when the reality
is their thoughts are free
and optimize
a sanitized
and homogenized
batter
And in the end
it doesn’t matter

Offering suggestions
in which they
feel threatened
Pathways congested
and protested
Testing them
Even worse,
bested
A problem beset
upon them
Time to steady
the flock
Roll n’ Rock
Inoculations we’re getting
Start the injections

“It’s been an honor”
Mounting my Lipizzaner
A disarmer
A charmer
The armor
‘mi amor’
Leaving me
wanting more
But as they keep score
the task is daunting
A life that’s haunting
with such splendid decor
-
Yet, can’t take any more
Their taunting
is leaving me sore
So to the atmosphere
I open that door
and flying up above
I soar

Forever more
Feel pain no more...
Written: August 17, 2018

All rights reserved.
Why pucker the Doll which does not puck back
Was what they told me through the Window Pane
A-thinks they see Clear, keen on what they Lack
The Gauntlet needed to smash such Glass again
That dare you cut your Friend's supposed Line
Just because he saw the Animals play
They are only Plastic; And Air inside
A Harmless Chapter your Youth needs today
Do you think I will Sing? And rend your Shame,
Whose Salary you know I won't enjoy
Good Lord, Man! Why must you label my Name
Like those Land Sharks who bite you out of Joy?
What do you need to tie the Ribbon Blue
That is your Colour; That should have been you.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
ok okay Nov 2018
When a pop star dies people want to know who to blame
When a homeless person dies they are labelled insane
Carter Ginter Jun 2014
I'm so confused
No I don't understand
Because who I see here
Is Not who I am.
Reflections tell a story
The one everyone sees
But if you look deeper inside
There's much more left to be.
We're told when we're young
That anything is possible
But society continues
To declare dreams improbable.
I don't hate who I am
Just who I see in the mirror
For these thoughts I keep hidden:
They provoke too much fear.
I want to be normal
Young and happy
But I can't figure out
If I'm really me.
I make a decision
Decide on a label
That is until
New cards hit the table.
The letter I never sent,
I write my valentine on your beating heart,
And send a perennial prayer,
That you could know without knowing.

Petals on your doorstep,
But no signature,
Pink Rosehip on your bedsheets,
Spying through your window blinds,
At someone unreal .

A label that travels as my desperations move it,
How I value the sick,
The unnatural,
The corpse and the consent.

The tenacious nature of a train,
With a hundred destinations,
None finite,
Moving and passing every station,
Leaving like it never stopped,

The will to pull me off it,
The weight of every expectation,
The ommitance after the deprication,
And the incommodious silence after the exposè.

I lust for that iced libation,
The roseate water of ivy and redemption,
A clay to fit inside my insatiable skin hunger,
A welcomed error of continuity in my own beliefs.

The rain of rapture will flood the streets to the chorus of weeping,
The composition of the crestfallen,
And my perennial prayer,
For an ardent antiphon.

-Unabaitingly, The Romantically Inept
Joel A Doetsch Apr 2012
I wear my emotions on my sleeve

  You ignored the gentle wash label...

bleached them with your stained whites

   as you sat on top of the machine

                           in your underwear

                  enjoying the good vibrations

You even had a cigarette after....
   lipstick stained, hanging from your smile

            Reminding me that it was, after all, my fault
            and I should be more aware of what I leave
lying around

"I'm not Martha F*ing Stewart"

That's the first honest thing you've told me today.
Lacey Clark May 2016
TODAY'S LETTER IS L

Love
A language, a label,
lifting the landfill left in our lonely lives.
Learning to let loose the luggage of our last lovers.
Lustful love, while lively.. lacks the lusciousness of a loyal and laudable lover.

Liquid love
Fills our lungs with laughter
and leaves one lucid and luminous with life. Light Love.

Loose Lips
Lost in this lingual labyrinth of ludicracy,
Love, quite literally a literary landslide,
leaves my lips loose and lousy, looking for a lamplight.

My heart - as limber as lilac.

Leaving Love
Listen, listen!
a Liberated lifeboat
leads us to a love that is
landlocked and limitless.
Playing around with the letter "L".
srax May 2018
They'll paint white walls over your thoughts
Because they think simplicity looks better than polka dots

They will strip you down to nothing
Because bare is better than bare minimum

They say your body is your canvas
Then why are they scribbling
On her canvas?

They'll doodle
They’ll doodle words
With some phrases of flatter
Like "You're pretty"
Teaching us that -that's all that matters

They'll hang up a **** model picture,
Because your body should look like this, you know? Richer.

They'll say your body is a temple
“Oh you're eating all that for lunch?”
They'll say your body is a temple
But her body
her body is the house
she grew up in
And yet you have the audacity to try and burn it down?

Oh,
I forgot to mention,
The white paint that they used to paint over you? yeah ... slight misunderstanding. Its permanent.

What could they expect? Their fault, actually... it said everything on the label.
But they were too busy, you see.  Too busy to see what it was really made out of, too busy to read what made it the way it was.
Because one glance is enough, right?

One glance is enough to ask her what did you eat today?
And she would answer oh plenty!
Sure she did.
she ate plenty of lonely with a side of regret and sprinkle of sadness for a touch of flavour
And for dinner, she ate her tears
she watched her blood eat her alive
And suddenly
she wasn't so hungry anymore.

And you would look happy with her answer because
she is treating her body like a house she doesn't even recognize

And you would look happy with her answer because
she let her body become your canvas

And you would look happy with her answer because
Your white paint was worth your money after all.
GreenTrees Jul 2017
Warning Label:

This poetry may contain words and emotions known to the state of consciousness to cause inspiration and wistfulness and other feelings of love.
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