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Shari Forman Feb 2013
Play
(Skit includes Laurie, Howard, Shari and Matthew).


Laurie wakes up extra early to prepare a gourmet breakfast buffet with Shari and Matthew. As they all arrive to meet each other in the darkness, Laurie trips and falls over Matthew. In an instant, she comes tumbling down on Matthew. Shari ran to turn on the kitchen lights.

LAURIE: Where’s my glasses? I can’t see!

SHARI: Found them mom.

Shari goes to hand mom her reading glasses.

MATTHEW: Well, she’s broken her glasses and broken my back… Time to start the party.

SHARI: I’ll get the recipe book.

MATTHEW: I’ll get the icepack.

LAURIE: Matt, I’m fine; there’s no need to worry.

MATTHEW: Oh, thank God you’re okay! I am so glad; yup… So now there’s ice for only one, right?

Shari laughed from the dining room.

SHARI: Here’s the book. So we can make a simple egg omelet, which may not be the best idea, or pancakes with a side a various fruits. Ooh, that one sounds good, with a side of coffee.

LAURIE: How about eggs and bacon.

SHARI: Umm, that’s a tasteful thought, but dad’s trying to stay off the fatty foods for a while.

LAURIE: Oh, c’mon; it’s Father’s Day. He does so much for us.

SHARI: Alright. One cheese omelet with a side of bacon coming up.

MATTHEW: Ha-ha. Girl, you should be a chef.

LAURIE: A breakfast in bed idea sounds great. Let’s try it.

MATTHEW: Just don’t drop the food.

SHARI: She won’t Matt.

MATTHEW: Just making sure.

Five minutes later, as we all got the ingredients out, we began cooking the eggs. Once they were brown and crispy, we took the first egg out and began cooking a couple more. Shari started on the bacon. Once it was oily and cooked, Matt began making the coffee.

LAURIE: All finished. Good work guys. Lets bring it up to Howard.

SHARI: I’m so excited!

MATTHEW: Thrilled here too!

Laurie, Shari and Matt tiptoed upstairs, being in total darkness again. This wasn’t the brightest idea for them though. They walk into the bedroom still in the dark. Shari quickly turned on the light.

LAURIE, SHARI AND MATTHEW: Happy Father’s Day dad!

Howard awoke abruptly from a nightmare and accidentally knocked the plate that Laurie was carrying, out of her hands. The plate hit her in the nose and she fell backwards, falling on Shari and Matthew again.

HOWARD: Holy crapola… You scared the living daylights out of me at…

Howard looks at the clock

HOWARD: Seven o’clock in the morning!

SHARI: But we have, or had a breakfast in bed for you.

HOWARD: I appreciate this, but there’s cheese on my carpet now! LAURIE; mop!

[End of play]
Continue reading...
Sansara Justinovich Dec 2012
The Good LIFE
Laurie, it's almost Christmas.
That's why so many quietly desperate people
wear old woolen sweaters, fantasizing about being in
on a joke,
just this once.
Your friends are wildly cackling,
you're not dressed like the others.
I prefer my desperation loud, too.
I'm rather skeptical,
however,
of
forty-year-old Lauries wearing lace tops and wedding rings,
with wet words
sloshing from dank tumblers.

Each seeming mispronunciation evokes
excedingly excessive expectations
in the form of imagined saliva beads extruding
between bottom and top lips.
But they aren't mispronunciations, are they.
It seems that, over time, words have come to sound this way,
for us.
And you've done nothing wrong,
But twenty years ago, you wouldn't have any reason
even to speak to me.
It's fascinating to watch
the canopy of aging shield
youth's shallow perspective
from those rapidly fading stars
of disquieting mortality
which fall, bringing with them
forty years of confused burning
into vision.


How many times have you come to a place,
chatted with a stranger,
and gotten them to leave with you,
in your life?
I've never been able to, myself, but it's different when you're a guy.
I struggle with subtlety, but not as much as you.
There's just no room for ambiguity, were I to brace their lower back,
then casually walk by.
I have no doubt this approach has worked for you.
Only, from my perspective, your effort pulls
that growing chin
further from your forehead,
leaving room for misused eye-
contact with me.

Laurie, I know where you are.
You're in on the joke
outside this bar.
You're still in Nebraska,
as far as bodies go, so am I.
"The Good Life!" you slur,
having never left home,
you never want to go.

Laurie.

Laurie.

Laurie!

Please move.
I'm trying to shoot.
You impede my cue,
thrusting between my fingers.
My actions, words create an un-registering ricochet.
Fine, mock me when I miss.
I am not good at this game,
but I don't want to be.
It's not flirting.

If Nebraska IS the good life
it is the good LIFE, for one.
Like Jesus lived once, so do we, in this room.
He would also agree birthdays are meaningless.
Regardless, I can't be with you here,
because I don't know who is living that one good life,
but it isn't you or I.

I didn't ask about your husband,
I'm left to speculate. Assume.
You'll buy your children presents
and give your husband head he's used to.
Isn't that what rings means this time of year,
or is that only what you used to do?
Did he stop eating like you tell him?
Does he take care of you.
You probably think someone like me
would be willing, know exactly how to.
I can see you touching my arm,
I can feel your friends
rubbing me with their eyes.
My thighs recoil with every shot
as people say their goodbyes.
I know you're ready to leave me behind
and take my body's memory with you
to sleep within your head.

I'll miss you, Laurie.
You remind me that there may be one good life in this state.
Or, at least, someone who wants to **** me without knowing my name.
But the closest thing to a good life I can hope for in Nebraska
is to be noticed by a woman
who will help my imagination
think of a place better than here.
Before I reach your age, Laurie,
I want to find her.

Youth's last call yells loud,
and quells years of chased memories.
I know you can't hear it, Laurie,
but those years are over for you and me.
If you keep the thought of me alive at all,
do this kind and silly thing:
give your children gentle kisses
on their heads before they sleep.
Tell them that they have the one good life
the way my mother lied to me.
MMXII
Continue reading...
Terry Jordan Mar 2016
Dora the Explorer
That day I met her at the Shelter
She said, “My name is Dora",
While hanging upside down, off kilter,
“I’m Dora the Explorer!”
Balanced on the armoire door
Beckoning me to help her retrieve
Hanging high above the floor
A ballet that I couldn’t believe...
Up on one toe she dangled
As she demanded I help her reach
Some toys she longed to wrangle
Until we heard a commanding screech!
“Get down from there!  Wash your hands!
Asia, it’s almost time for dinner!"
Dora leapt-trusting- she lands
Her high-flying act a sure winner!

Oh, Dora, who is Asia?
She said, “I don’t like that name-sorry!
Later let's play a new game?
After dinner my name is Laurie!”
Since she answered to that name
I schooled her in her name’s history
But Dora just wouldn’t be tamed
“Not a CONTINENT-I’m a MYSTERY!”
Asia, alias Laurie Dora
After supper, brushed and scrubbed
Gave the best, my airy explorer-
Dora's monumental hug!
She sprang to my arms without warning
Like a monkey from a vine
I wasn’t aware until morning
It was the best hug of all time!
I met this amazing young girl at the local homeless shelter, and I'm pretty sure she's coping well despite her family's difficulties finding work & a place to live.  They'll stay at the shelter until that's accomplished.
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the Scarlett Chimera Aug 2014
The story of a crime
Once upon a time
A beautiful sublime,
A girl like a prime
For love,made a crime.

She slowly took the love
Freed it like a dove
From her heart to above
And ruled it like a gov.

But as the time passed by
Her love flew towards sky
With a true flame by his side
Leaving down the coward sly.

A sadly,truly,deeply sorry
Felt this little girl named Laurie
But she takes the gun and chary,
The dearness killed,in silence bury.

She hid her right in his backyard
For Laurie,she a mistress has starred
But she shouldn't being sparred
By the girl with murderer regard.
(c) Ada,August 2014
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Jessica Leigh Mar 2014
Quote: Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson
"I had figured out that my eyes were broken long before that. But that day I started to worry that the people in charge couldn't see either."
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Jonny Bolduc Nov 2014
Untitled
Last Christmas grandmother told anyone who would listen that she quit the wine. She said it once as my father cracked open a bottle of ***. She said it again serving the ham; mentioned it in passing while gramps polished off a bottle of Malbec;

she said that last summer in the hot-tub at Laurie’s she had a bit too much Sangria and got out and fell on the pavement, cutting up her knees real bad ---

she said that she couldn’t even believe it was happening, she couldn’t believe that she drank so much. I could believe it.

Gram had always been a bit of a drinker; her sober stinging words caught you good enough even when she was on her best behavior. Imagine when she was unhinged! Talking while her teeth were all red was like getting sucker punched by a kangaroo; Gramps got all loose and loud, Gram got all hot and bothered and mean.

Don’t get me wrong. If I could, I’d drown in a pool of whiskey, choke on the amber stream from the tap.
But I don’t lie about it! I don’t talk about it; I don’t lie about it.
I’ve been sneaking sips since I was 14,
and I’ve been drinking pools of the stuff since I was 17 and if you asked anyone they might not believe you.

I wonder if punching people in the face and choke holding them into doing what you want them to do is a past-time. Most people drink to get nice.


People like her drink to get mean.
#drunk #alcoholism #grandma
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Lyra Brown Nov 2012
A Conversation With Health
Health walks into the room and spots me in a second. He orders a scotch on the rocks and motions me over toward the bar. I pretend not to see him. I am having a deep conversation with Death, and it must not be disturbed. Death is telling me about her experience with Life, and how they like to share a good **** every once in a while. “You should call him up, he loves a cruel tease.” She says, holding her red wine with a wink. I think about her suggestion and ask for Life’s number. She looks around in her purse, pulls out a small crumpled piece of paper, hands it to me and says, “If he doesn’t pick up the first time, don’t leave a message. Wait for him to call you.” I nod,  fold it, and put it in my pocket.
I walk over to the bar where Health is sitting and order a tall Diet Coke with ice, indifferent to his presence.
“So, haven’t seen you around here much lately.” He says nonchalantly.
“I’ve been busy. Among other things.” I reply cooly.
“What kind of things?”
“I dunno. I’ve just been preoccupied.”
“With what?” He persists.
“I dunno… Sadness. Disappointment. Uncertainty.” I say.
“Ahh… Those are tough preoccupations. I met with Sadness the other day, she couldn’t stop crying when we were having lunch. She diluted her soup! And Disappointment, well, I haven’t seen him in ages. He sends me a Christmas card once every couple years or so. As for Uncertainty, well she lives in my basement. She makes me cookies instead of paying rent. She can never hold down a job for more than a few hours really. But she sings beautifully in the shower!” He smiles.
“Have you ****** Life?” I ask.
Health bursts out in bouts of uncontrolled electric laughter.
“Have we ******?! Honey, we have four children! Hope, Recovery, Freedom and Passion.”
“But she’s cheated on you with Death.” I say.
“How do you know?” He asks.
“Death told me.”
“You know better than to believe what Death tells you, don’t you?”
I look down at my fingernails. Jagged, short blue stubs.
“I dunno…”
“Have you met my children?” He asks.
“Briefly, at a party once.” I reply.
Health closes his eyes and takes a long, deep breath. He whispers something I don’t quite understand, something in a different language. The bar is now packed with people, and the music is blaring. The song “Language is a Virus” by Laurie Anderson is playing in the background. The atmosphere is chaotic yet Health maintains a peaceful composure.
Health slowly opens his eyes and says to me,
“It was lovely chatting with you. I hope to see you around somewhere again soon.”
He puts on his leather jacket and helmet, and walks out of the bar.
I remain seated, watching the chaos, with my hand in my pocket, feeling the folded piece of paper that Death had given to me mere moments ago. I just sat there, with Laurie’s lyrics looming about my head:
“Paradise is exactly like where you are right now. Only much, much better.”
Continue reading...
r Nov 2014
dead drop on the blue mesa
you came in from the cold dressed bold
under a black flag like isis on the road
to baghdad in a red ferrari going all john
le carré defecting with the little drummer
girl laurie in a deadly affair expecting
the honourable school boy when i'm used
to being a most wanted man -

now i'm no naïve and sentimental lover, baby
i'm the perfect spy and this ain't a small town
in germany but ich bin ein berliner, fraulein -
you better make this your last call for the dead

- it was (y)our kind of game playing
tinkering tailoring soldiering spying -
doodling smiley's people on the side
acting like absolute friends with fred
the constant gardener at the russia house
and red the tailor of panama
like a ***** with a straw up your nose
in the looking glass war
but if you do it again -

let me tell you a secret, pilgrim
i'll drop you where you lie -
it'll be a ****** of quality, baby
and that's a delicate truth

- you were our kind of traitor
on the blue mesa.

r ~ 11/14/14

i like john le carré
:)
bm
http://hellopoetry.com/tag/bluemesa/
#bluemesa #johnlecarre
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Sam Stone Grenier May 2016
Three Hundred Reasonable Names for a Pet
Fitz
Fritz
Fido
Sandy
Spencer
Chaplain
Bernard
Jesse
Snoopy
Charlie
Charles
Fred
Freddy
Bones
Remmy
Ren­a
Reno
Tony
Julian
Julie
Frisco
Meghan
Addison
Robby
Buddy
Rudy
F­riedrich
Fredrick
Bernie
Rudolph
Adolf
Ferdinand
Rose
Cassie
Cassidy
Lee
Balto
Little *****
Allen
Alvin
Jake
Demi
Randy
Alex
Richard
Alexis
Kenneth
Ken­ny
Chris
Jose
Josey
Rodger
Moe
Joe
Emilio
Walt
Emily
Emma
Maddie
­Anna
Jafar
Aladin
Jasmine
Genie
******
Amber
Gracie
Ramen
Gordy
G­ordon
Jordie
James
Bucky
Huff
Manny
Sam
Samantha
Mary
Marie
Tila
­Rita
Cathy
Tammy
Mickey
Cam
Amelia
Rene
Jeb
Dan
Bagel
Tommy
Donut­
Bubbles
Blossom
Buttercup
Mark
Cody
Andy
Cristo
Andrea
Whiskers
­Mike
Bill
Billy
George
Geo
Joy
Mitch
Trigger
Tigger
Stephen
Archi­medes
Anya
Duncan
Nitro
Crash
Bub
Crystal
Egor
Bernadette
Cammy
T­immy
Antonio
Natasha
Natalia
Ivan
Abbey
Abdul
Carly
Aaron
Omega
F­inn
Nina
Debby
Tomato
Tabby
Artie
Archie
Noah
Kyle
Alfie
Alfred
Conrad
Conner
******
G­unner
Fry
Fries
*******
Constance
Connie
Frank
Fran
Candice
D­andy
Lucy
Lou
Louis
Quincy
Doogle
Dubie
Dakota
Ace
Casey
Barry
Te­rry
Trenton
Gabe
Laurie
Cornelius
Kabob
Sky
Skylar
Rufus
Louie
Ba­rton
Kimmy
Angel
Capri
Basil
Cy
Ruby
Emerald
Eleanea
Elenor
Barth­olomew
Jazz
Dreamer
Thunder
Topaz
Amethyst
Salsa
Meril
Dodo
Toto
­Eric
Barbera
Hannah
Katie
Zoey
Ben
Pinto
Squanto
Columbus
Columbo
Porgy
Bess
Clark
Savannah
Ken­dra
Marco
Leise
Toby
Trevor
Tresten
Treven
Adrienne
Caleb
Carlyn
­Ricky
Gibby
Donny
Han
Solo
Hans
Gabby
Dirk
Spot
Sebastian
Dee
Sco­oby Doo
Shaggy
Polly
Reginald
Burger
Steak Sauce
Ethan
Bradberry
Lucky
Fergie
Cheese
Boxer
Napoleon
Snowball­
Gerald
Jeremy
Benji
Gemma
Pal
Mal
Preston
Jack
Jackson
Molly
Mac­kenzie
Alexie
Alicia
Dora
Olivia
Salvador
Beast
Beauty
Oliver
Dal­e
Rim
Marley
Diego
*****
Bobby
Ralston
Zeke
Rooney
Plato
Cole
Nep­tune
Sailor
Frida
Rico
Dali
Veronica
Victor
Copeland
Swift
Riley
­Tubs
Lassie
Yo-yo
Harvey
Lemonade
Coke
Pepsi
Tanya
Camille
Token
­Laser
Beam
Seamus
Dorthy
Ian
Moby
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John F McCullagh Oct 2017
Laurie
I first saw her at the coffee shop;
a pale white girl with long black tresses.
Her legs tucked up beneath her on the chair
wearing one of those fashionable peasant dresses.
I would see her, time and again,
studying out on the Quad on a sun filled autumn day.
She never bronzed burned or tanned;
She was most remarkable in that way.
Her skin was always like new fallen snow
in the glow of a full December moon.
Her voice was comforting, simply lyrical.
As for me; I could barely hold a tune.

“Her name is Laurie” her roommate told me.
“it’s time you introduced yourself,
instead of lurking around like a love sick puppy.”
So I did; and it turned out to be
one of my better decisions.
A girl I knew in college. She had those bee stung lips and gave the most amazing kisses
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EmilyRose Thorne Apr 2012
Clique
“And what do you think? Are there cliques in seventh grade?”
SHE
stands alone.
But not really.
“Absolutely.
There are cliques.
There are the Country-Club-Better-Than-You-Stuck-Up-Brats,
and the Future Fascists of America
and the group evvvverybody likes,
or at least,
that’s what they think,
who wouldn’t like them,
what’s not to like?
Y’wanna know what,
there are more cliques too,
the Invisibles,
two groups of Invisibles,
boys and girls broken up into Invisibles,
the Idiots, sittings with the CCBTYSTBs,
actually,
they’re sort of the same.
And there is exclusion,
there are hurt feelings,
there have been hurt feelings,
there is the hurting of feelings,
this is real,
this is honest,
this is now.”

Silence,
louder than HER words,
echoes
through the room,
bouncing off walls,
ringing in my ears.
No one applauds
as they have to the rest;
nobody applauds
nobody
applauds,
nobody
applauds
because nobody agrees
wants to admit it.
I do not applaud,
but I do.

“What are the weaknesses the seventh grade shares?”
Immaturity.
No common sense.
Lack of any sense of responsibility.
Idiocy.
SHE
contributes.
She says what my mind has created,
She understands
without me telling her.
But no,
they cannot listen to HER
with her true statements,
they don’t want to face the truth,
but they say,
We don’t want to look bad,
but they cannot handle the truth
is all.
“We are NOT immature,
we aren’t idiots,
we have common sense,
we’re responsible.”
Really.
Huh.
Never knew that.
I guess I’m just not up to par with my knowledge of the cliques.
Idiot.

“What are some strengths the seventh grade shares?”
SHE
has realized
that SHE is going to be ignored.
She does not
contribute.
But this time
I
do.
“For the most part,
most of us,
we are honest.”
They stare
with widened eyes.
She speaks.
Yep. I’m speaking.
I’ve been speaking.
Always.
What?
Oh.
Okay.
You don’t talk loud enough. We can’t ever hear you.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry, you liar.
You haven’t been listening.
But it’s okay.
I understand.
I’m used to that by now.
And now,
I can safely say,
so is SHE.

“Why would you go and say something like that?”
Staring with their penetrating eyes
that seek for the truth,
Why could you say what we needed to keep under wraps,
didn’t we tell you we don’t want to look bad?
“You haven’t been here
but a half a school year.
You really don’t know,
you
don’t
know,
so you can’t speak,
be quiet,
be
quiet,
be silent.”
Be silent
as the snow
on the coldest day of winter,
be silent
as the
clouds
after the biggest summer storm,
silent
as
the
rain
hitting
cold
hard
hearts.

*Thank you to Laurie Halse Andersen for coming up with that in her book Speak. (I created everything except for the Future Fascists of America bit.)


This poem symbolizes honesty and a lack of willingness to face the truth in middle school especially. On Thursday (March 22, 2012) there was a 7th grade meeting. The headmaster the seventh graders to get in groups that the homeroom teachers had put us in. My friend Cam and I wound up in the same group, which was pretty great. The headmaster asked us, “What are the strengths of the seventh grade?” “Weaknesses?” Someone said we tend to be “cliquey.” Mr. Chambers asked who agreed with her, and people said “no,” or “just a little” and someone said, “I think we have cliques but not the mean kind.” and Cam stood up and said that she absolutely thought we were very cliquey.
When I had SHE in capital letters in the poem I met that although Cam was speaking, I had thought the same exact words. When she is lowercase, it means that just Cam was speaking. When I said I don’t applaud, but I do, I mean that I didn’t physically applaud, but in my mind I applauded her and supported her every step of the way because she was brave enough to speak her mind and I am shy and reclusive.
“…I don’t give a nargle’s bonbon what they think of me,” is what she told me when I told her how brave she was. Before that, she had told the people who confronted her and called her a liar, “you’re just in denial.”
Soooo in a way, this is dedicated to Cam’s honesty!
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Andrew M Bell Feb 2015
LET'S DO LUNCH
Mading relieves Manute from guard duty.
They share a meagre meal of millet porridge before
Manute returns to the refugee nation of southern Sudan.
The noon sun is a harsh sentence for a parched tongue but
they talk not of coffee or juice-laden fruit and
rice and lentils are mountain memories their stomachs can ill afford.
Instead they curse the clear skies that rain only strafing jets and
pray for their dry-breasted wives on pilgrimage to the aid station
carrying children swollen with the promise of death.
They snarl rumours about al-Bashir’s lapdogs
in Khartoum growing fat on food intended for them.

Jason waits, informed by cell phone of Laurie's imminent arrival.
He orders a wheat beer, its earth tone inviting on a silver tray and
its musky sweetness washing away a morning of phone business.
The noon sun is a warm blessing through the picture window but
they talk not of haloed hills or the light-laden river and
recession and retrenchment are market memories their ulcers can ill afford.
Instead they debate '63 cabernet versus '74 chablis and
moan about their reconstructed wives driving halfway across town
carrying children swollen with the promise of private schooling.
They snarl rumours about Key's cabinet
in Wellington while wolfing crayfish and Steak Diane.
Often I can't help thinking about the people in the world who have nothing when the junk mail and TV ads blast their clarion call for us to consume. Isn't all this consumption the reason our planet is under severe stress?

Copyright Andrew M. Bell. The poet wishes to acknowledge that a different version of this poem first appeared in the pages of The West Australian newspaper.
#consumerism #thirdworldversusfirstworld
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Don Bouchard Aug 2014
Candles
The darkness had settled as we followed our headlights and looked for a portable sign indicating where we were to turn off the highway and make our way to the Winters’ home.  January, snow on the ground, the coldness of news that the pancreatic cancer was not going away in spite of months of congregational and private prayers, and here we were, making our way to the house to pray.

We arrived and parked along a long gravel lane and then joined a steady line of people walking slowly toward the house – little children with parents, older couples, a few teens. We moved slowly, not sure what to expect, heavy with our thoughts, not speaking. Ahead of us stood the pastor and the house. Arriving, we grasped thin vigil candles and passed the flame from one silent person to the next.  A bit uncertain, we moved to positions around the darkened house, aware that a child was looking out at us into the dark.  Our candles flickered uncertainly in the chill air, and we shielded them with our gloved hands and waited.  

One by one individuals began to pray quietly.  Some spoke sentence long prayers and went silent while others pled tearfully with God for stricken mother, the husband, the little children inside the silent house.  The breeze snuffed flames from the less vigilant, and the line around the house darkened.  We waited in the night. Above us stars shone and the eastern horizon glowed over Minneapolis.  Someone began to whistle an old hymn, “Day by Day, and with each passing moment, strength I find to meet my sorrows here….”  The murmur softened.

The sound of singing drew us back to the front of the house where the pastor was beckoning people to join him in a huddle, to stand with him.  “I feel like a choir leader,” he said, “Come stand with me.”  We moved in next to him.  Those with still burning candles shared the flames, and the entire group was again glowing with candlelight.  We prayed as a group, individuals speaking their hearts to God and the open sky and each other. Prayers moved from individual requests to collective behests – prayers for increased faith in desperate times, prayers for peace and comfort for the family, prayers for steadfast love for God and each other.  Tears wet cold cheeks as people hugged.  

Something good came from that night under the silent sky.  I’m not sure I can put it into words, and I don’t know what God will do with Laurie W, but I am at peace today, after months of unrest and wavering faith.  Under the sky and standing in the snow next to my wife, I thought about those candles and how symbolic their flickering and going out and reigniting is.  When I was standing in the circle around the house, my flame died several times, and thankfully, my wife’s flame reignited mine.  We walked back to the group with candles burning and were able to pass the fire on to others until we all stood in firelight. Alone, any one of us would have been in the dark and out in the cold.  Together, we relit each other’s fires and were warmed by each other’s voices as we called out to God and sang.
A few years later, Laurie has been buried, and the family moved from our community. Life goes on, but I will always remember the candles and the people united around that house in the winter cold.
Continue reading...
ConnectHook Apr 2020
Vargas Girl
Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess
Boy, you’ve been a naughty girl, you let your knickers down
                                                           ­                    John Lennon

A carnal muse and fallen sprite
I’ll paint for you, in flattering light.
My model’s sensuality
Shall trump all dull reality;
Inspired by Womankind’s raw truth,
Life-drawing class heats up, uncouth.
Still, I am sure some stiff-necked *****
Shall smear my heartfelt lay as lewd.

Edenic exile sought by men,
Receive this tribute from my pen
And keyboard, played inexpertly
By one who knows you rapturously
As a muse of Aztec/Latin race
Prodigious in your works and grace:

Born Ruth Ayon, in God-Knows-Where,
She overwhelms in underwear—
And shedding that, turns good men bad,
Makes angels fall and gods go mad.
Los Angeles (and that’s the joke)
Is where this cherub went for broke
Cashing in her soul for action,
Soreness, ***** and tumefaction.

Laurie Vargas, mouth full of ***,
Spread for us now your Aztec ***
Your sultry contours hypnotize;
The laughter in your ******* eyes
Brings music from Tenochtitlán
And opens windows to Aztlán
You smile, unlike those other *****
Who merely grimace. Gringa butts
Are less audacious than your own . . .
Their charms are better left unknown.
Your cheeks in tan proportion shine
Embodying some rare truth divine.
(Through Poetry, I’ll make them mine.)

I must speak forth of what I found—
Though standing on unholy ground,
Here I behold your lively art . . .
Your unpierced flesh has lanced my heart.
Whereas most stars are tattooed, jaded
Your bright aspect shines, unfaded.
Clad in campesina thread
While moaning on your torrid bed,
Adorned in homespun broidered blouse
In some vaquero‘s rancho-house
Or naked as Mexica dawn,
Bespattered like a dewdropped lawn,
Spurting with some panting plumber
In an endless *****-summer,
You glow, like honey dipped in light
And undulating Latin night.
Your burning bush, much-trafficked place,
Recalls the Red Sea’s parted space
No less than your beatific face.

An unrepentant Magdalene,
You plunge into each graphic scene.
Madonna of the varied act
You swell, engorge, dilate, contract
And play the part with crazy wit
Suckling madly at your own ***.
The way you can accommodate
What barely seems to satiate
With pure abandon, leaves us awed,
As mesmerized, your name we laud,
(With one hand—harder to applaud !)

Will you survive to have regrets
When raw desire no longer gets
Your body hot with inner flame?
When *** has ceased to call your name?
I wonder if you’ve found such paths
Of flesh and pimping sociopaths
A route to riches, gain, and pleasure
Or mere sacking of your treasure.
At the end of your sweaty day,
Is there more than a harlot’s pay?

I wish you well—and hope in time,
When life has left you less sublime,
You’ll find your way to God through Christ
And learn of what was sacrificed
To free you from your sordid fame
Where sinners hail your glorious shame.
Laurie Vargas was born in 1983
in Los Angeles, California, as Ruth Ayon.
(Some sources indicate Guadalajara Mexico as her birthplace)

Visit her terrible glory:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6pyZ0rGfnM
#**** #pornpoem #laurievargas #napowrimo2020
Continue reading...
Rebekah Jan 2019
an ode to Laurie
An awkward stance, a lopsided walk
leaning to the left-hand side,
most likely a result of supporting a tall and lanky silhouette.
The heftiness of your clumsy steps become louder and louder as you come closer,
and as your head tilts, and your shoulders relax,
I see the reflection of my smitten face in your glasses.

Your hair, ***** blond,
and often resembling a birds nest,
has been ruffled just the way I like it.

Your tired wee eyes,
a bi-product of your constant desire (?) to read,
is my favourite sight to see.

Your baggy jumper
hangs off your skinny frame,
and carries the smell of you.
A hint of  Calvin Klein, some musk,
and just the smallest bit of damp (a small chuckle)
but I'd have it no other way.

That smell, jumper, hair, and lopsided walk,
they're safety.
Especially those eyes,
those huge, soft eyes.
They're home for me now.

So make a cup of tea,
and pull up a chair,
because if home be where I lay my hat,
I have laid mine quite certainly.
Continue reading...
temporary Mar 2018
I must sound like a midwife/partner
Tick tock tick tock.
"When will my breath stop?"
Apparently not appropriate conversation to make at my family gathering.

The chicken is delightful. Would you give me the recipe? (murmurs of agreement around table)

"I wasn't kidding. I avoid pools, yoga and beautiful people that take my breath away so I don't have to deal with slight fluctuations in my oxygen intake!"

The table was set up perfectly by the kids, don't you think? Granted they forgot the wine glasses! (adults chuckle)

"I can't help but imagine those pillowcases in our chests that expand occasionally, as if rotating fans face them. It's an obsession of mine!"

Oh I think Johnny's about to fall asleep! Is there a guest bed room I can let him rest in? (assistance follows)

"Why won't you listen! When I take off my T-shirts, I count down and gulp the air before pulling the fabrics off, out of fear of being found dead, half-naked due to suffocation."

Oh Laurie I really shouldn't have dessert, I'm trying to watch my weight, but let me help you bring it out? (chattering of women on the way to the kitchen)

"Don't you know that I carry both an oxygen tank and an assortment of plants and trees wherever I go. I insert the tubes or the vines into my nose so that even when I'm gone my lungs may never stop rising."

(speaker dies the next day in car crash)
#breath #listen #hear #families #ignored #irony #ending
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Kim Keith Sep 2010
It's Only Crazy If You're Caught
Inspired by “The Swing” by Laurie Lipton*


Alone allows.

I have permission to find out the plight of my Windex bottle,
cramped into a cabinet, cross-legged and scrunched
into a smaller package than I was ever intended to be.
And I can peek out if I want, spit my tongue at the cat
or let slivers of light slice my face.  I can dangle my feet,
pricking with gravitational pull: forward and backward,
high upon a rafter in my bedroom—at least where I used to keep
my bed, now pushed out into the hall
to make room for my ropes and pillows and flight.

A doorbell brings shoes with laces that tangle
and slap me around my ankles; knitting needles
that would surely find an eye socket, and a tea set
with a cracked spout and cold leaves stuck to the bottom
of cups and saucers, round as my words
or the doilies and handkerchief corners—worn to shreds
by the wringing of arthritis and go away.
Please, go away.

Alone allows.
First published by Mad Swirl: http://madswirlspoetryforum.blogspot.com/2010/08/best-of-mad-swirls-poetry-forum-082110.html
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libramoon May 2010
be my valentine
Be My Valentine


If the greatest virtue we can aspire to is love
And the greatest follies in our lives are due to love
And we can't cure ourselves of the pain and malady of love
But all the sages exhort us just to love
And pure poison is generated by loss in love
And pure bliss is ours in lovely love
And what about those horrid beings we just can't love
And what about that horrid feeling of being unloved
So what in heaven/hell is love?


There is love that sends you dancing
into romantic lunacy
that feels so right and free
There is love that burns so hot and cold
you never know
quite where you are
There is love that holds a whisper
in the corner of your mind
makes you smile in
that secret special way
makes you want to linger
in a lover's fantasy
makes your day
There is love that hurts and hates
and kills any chance of saving
face or heart
burns the bright flame of your being
into ash
leaves you bleeding, pleading
for any drug or thrill to **** the pain
There is love
indistinguishable from insanity
in any way your twisted mind
will go
There is love that lets you know
you have a soul
because it's growing
magically
Which love are you offering
to me?


I offer you a human love
not constrained to simple prophecies
Part need for another face
in which to see my reflection
Part need for nurturing solace
in uncertain days
Part need to be hero, adored
shining spirit in your eyes
Because you are the adored vision
in mine
You send my boundaries
leaping,
You in my life inspires me
to make that leap, creating
a greater vision of me
encompassing we
Crawling into each other's
place of repose,
breaking borders,
It doesn't matter where
I am
when I'm with you.

The change happens quickly
as in a feature film,
or excruciatingly prolonged,
a soap opera romance
slowly dying
new characters may intercede
archetypal stories may
cross our stars
navigating our lives
in different directions
We grow complacent, calcified,
disinterested
Angry words burn us inside
smoldering
Heat no longer a welcome
participant of romance
Your little ways
My little ways
imps of annoyance
Is there Hope in this
box of pain?
Over and over
yet never over
in the bodies and souls
of humans
experiencing love.

(c) February 14, 2007 Laurie Corzett/libramoon
Continue reading...
Deep cover Nov 2014
Time Machine
Ever wished life was back to a point where you were most happy?

The moment that gave you a sign of hope for a life story,

One you would share to your great grandson or granddaughter Laurie?

I've had moments that I wish would freeze, the moments that mold me to who I am today,

The memories that would rid my pain of yesterday,

The heartbreak that I felt, the moment that I fell,

It's all coming together and becoming a lovely tale,

The happiness, the sadness, the old crying of the eyes...kid,

Have you ever had this feeling of grief that makes you wish you had a belief,

In love and everything that is oh so sweet,

If you had then you would understand, having those moments would make you a man,

The days of childhood are over and it's quite a simple plan,

Time to grow up, but never forget what made you fearlessly stand,

Above the rest and everyone with doubt,

Live to be who you are and remember...only yourself.
#Standing tall #what doesn't **** you makes you stronger
Continue reading...
Amber Melissa Turkin Jan 2015
Saltwater Heart
Laurie says that in high school
people used to call her ocean
everything she did came in waves

she tells me that she never crashes in the right places
I want to tell her to crash on me
that my heart will be
nothing short of the perfect shore

I know that my beaches are covered in rocks
that have not yet softened to sand
so instead I warn her
I am too afraid to swim
Continue reading...
Bus Poet Stop Jun 2015
There is something wrong with me...
a lumpy bumpy proletariat hardness has harnessed, hitched and stitched itself into my abdomen.

with the precision measuring instrument, Eye calculate with my fingers its latitude and longitude, using my belly button (half insy, half outsy) as a reference point.

a few days after Eye quite accidentally encountered said lump (for Eye am not in the habit generally of belly rubbing), a slight discomforting sensation joined in to make sure I was never not going to forget it's
invasive presence.

soon Eye shall do a doctor's visitation, who will ummm and hmmm, before sending me downward and inward to a
"S p e c i a l i s t."

I am sorta quite pleased with new adventure,for it encourages fantasy in the most heart wrenching, delicioso tragic manner.

Then along comes the Sunday NY Times, in a piece entitled "Imagining the Lives of Others" just how difficult it is for someone to truly put themselves in the shoes of someone else.

"There are certain limits, however, to how far we can go. The philosopher Laurie Paul, in her book “Transformative Experience,” argues that it’s impossible to actually imagine what it would be like to have certain deeply significant experiences, such as becoming a parent, changing your religion or fighting a war. The same lack of access applies to our understanding of others. If I can’t know what it would be like for me to fight in a war, how can I expect to understand what it was like for someone else to have fought in a war? If I can’t understand what it would be like to become poor, how can I know what it’s like for someone else to be poor?"

The solution?

"One approach is to go ahead and actually have the experience."

ahh. So I shall, until the certainty of unobtainable uncertainty is formally declared, the mind is free to roam about the cabin of life, imagining various and vainglorious dramatic outcomes.

More strange, if it is the worst, I shall be happily relieved by the knowledge that I can plan around a certain mental scheme...what a gift that is, knowing how to allocate a scarce resource well.

Eye will stop here, until mine eyes can see this clearer; here, until the
*bus stops for the poet...
or the poet's bus stops...
Continue reading...
Ellis Reyes Mar 2020
In Black and White/De Profundis
I'm from hate and discontent,
from words so caustic that they burn after 35, 40, 45, 50 years.
I'm from nowhere and everywhere,
I'm from nine schools and fourteen houses.

I'm from "You'll make new friends,"
and "Quit crying, we didn't live there that long."
To the KFC Christmas and "They're too old for a tree anyway."

I'm from slammed doors, and curse words and silent treatments.
I'm from high expectations, icy glares, straight A's, and disappointment.
I'm from 800 miles of claustrophobic silence in the family car and 18 years with no vacations.

AND

I'm from lazy days at the family farm
and hard-*** work a few years later.
I'm from rides on the tractor with Grandpa,
and watching the illegal sabong... with the sheriff.

I'm from Uncle Martin and Mary Lou,
and the tiny apartment with the swimming pool.
I'm from the mean man in number 9 screaming at us to be quiet
and Uncle Martin telling him to, "Shut the Hell Up!"

I'm from David and Richard, my cousins, my brothers
I'm from poison oak adventures at the creek
and countless days at the beach

AND

I'm from Gentile and Jew,
From Asian and White,
From Catholic and ****.

I'm from St. Patrick's, the old church.
I'm from stained glass and wooden kneelers,
incense, and Latin Mass.
I'm from Ego te absolvo and Dominus Vobiscum

I'm from tradition and sanctity,
dignity and peace.

I'm from Hellfire and Brimstone
Screaming, Bible pounding preachermen who are slain in the Spirit,
babble in tongues, and exhort the congregation to be "Washed in the Blood of the Lamb".

AND

I'm from love and loss,
and love again

I'm from Lisa, and Donna, and Carole,
the girls who were far too pretty to have been my friends (but were)
I'm from Jaki who wrote me letters letters every two days
and sometimes more,
and Laurie
and Kelly.

I'm from Cardinal and Gold
from Conquest and Traveler,
from the dorm and the Row.

I'm from 90,000 screaming idiots,
I'm from Greek Week and road trips,
and long nights in the reference section.
I'm from typewriters, card catalogs, and white out.

AND

I'm from gritty men and terrible places.
I'm from peace, and war, and peace, and war again.
And peace - with war thundering in the distance.

I'm from the cold wet ground on cold wet nights,
and I'm from blisters upon blisters; blood and water.

I'm from the Blacksheep, the Alphabots, and the Ranger Creed.
I'm from the M-249, the 203, and the A-2.
I'm from Colt, not Beretta; that's the M-1911,
and I'm proudly from jungle fatigues and black berets.

AND

I'm from a fateful encounter on a random night
an order of pizza and beer that would change our lives
Days together and weeks apart
Time didn't matter
She'd captured my heart.

I'm from loyalty and faith,
Trust and honor.
I'm from a small ceremony,
nothing to big or too fancy,
and groomsmen carrying guns, pagers, and foreign passports.

I'm from odd jobs and uncertainty and graduate school
I'm from UPS and PKP, and Summa *** Laude,
MISD, WM, and the birth of Anthony.

I'm from safety patrol and tug-of-war,
Accelerated math, now Maria's born.

I'm from the Blonde Mafia, the Bumblebees,
the Shopping Girls, and the Ubermensch.
From 14, and F, and back to 14, and 15.
Principals Emerson, Anthony, Blix, and Mellish.

AND

I'm from the Middle School
and teaching only math until
I'm teaching math and tech until
I'm teaching math and tech and study skills until
I'm teaching tech and study skills and more tech until
I'm teaching tech and study skills and media and Spanish until
I'm teaching tech, tech, tech, media, and Spanish with
Principals Miller and Budzius and Lucas and Stone

I'm from the animé girls and the theater crew
From the gamers and poets and dreamers
From the introverts and hackers, autistic kids and slackers
I'm from the kids who don't fit anywhere....
Neatly

(To be continued)
Slices of my life
#memoir #biography
Continue reading...
ZACK GRAM Nov 2019
"If You Ban Me" Z-Pac
i sleep walk im skitso anastesia doesnt work on me
it cost 35 thousand a night to control me...
noone has ever seen the truth of human beings 2020
the truth will make you pass out...
anyways I GOT YOUR bosses ADDRESS and 600 trillion cash
if you keep stalking my profile an dont unlock it
i will have to call the owner of twitter
to tell them you are stalking my comments to my wife
selling the ads to the united kingdom(co.uk)..  
SO STOP BANNING ME OR WE GOTO COURT
I WILL PRESS CHARGES ON YOU
BECAUSE OF MY FREEDOM OF SPEECH AMMENDMENTS
this is harassment
you are trolling Mariah's comments like a stalker  
acting like i broke rules
when you are in fact the ones who broke rules
thats like a cop pulling a black man over
because he looked gangster
its against the law....
MY WIFE MARIAH CAREY
SHE LIKES WHEN I COMMENT TO HER DAILY...
IVE BEEN BANNED OR SUSPENDED
FOR SAYING I LOVE YOU
IVE LOST MANY DAYS OF TELLING HER
BECAUSE OF YOUR HATE FOR ME
WHEN IM A GOOD PERSON
if Mariah had a problem
i would have been banned 13 years ago
take a hike get out of my personal life
leave me an my profile alone
jesus christ grow up
youre acting like im bad person

i sent this to your owners
someone is going to lose their job for stalking me

attn: (11-14-2019)
no spam
need positive peer guidance
no spam a real concerned account
TWITTER IS HARASSING ME
please give me 2 minutes of your time
i really need some higher source of influence in my claim
bless you for your time
i dont have a phone because im poor
buying a truck payment instead ...
so i have to email someone
yours popped up first...
i dont want to pester you..
im an honest american
who needs a moment of your so precious time...
this is the only time i will bother you
unless you reply an have some answers to my problem...
thank you so much for your time

im gravely upset
my feelings are absolutely hurt

twitter keeps harassing me
suspending my accounts
i didnt cuss one time or do anything wrong
someone whos got the ability to ban
theyre abusing their power against me
i feel like this is a corporate hate crime against me

i have nothing
i use twitter facebook an instagram for updates
im a huge Mariah Carey stan
its very important i send her one message a day
im suspended an blocked
for both my twitter accounts for no reason
so i cant message her
its making me very depressed an outraged

can you please bless me
put in a customer complaint
about the advisor who keeps banning me

i hold the world record on twitter
for days telling mariah carey i love her
we are both missing out on precious time
from messaging and its hurting our relationship
if she wanted me blocked
or if i was offending her
she would just block me
clearly its been 13 years an i have not been blocked
so its important for us

this is very serious
can you please unban
unsuspend me an unblock my account
please i beg you

im so sorry to bother you
i just dont know who to turn to
this is a issue
it involves your employees or moderators....

i just want my freedom of speech
my account back
for you to stop harrasing me
just for being there for my wife Mariah...

if you dont believe me
how important this is for me an Mariah
go to youtube.com
search the song
"mariah carey money featuring fabolous"
goto 45 seconds into the song
you can hear Mariah say my name
"Zack im onto you"

if you do unban me
i will try an censor better
but i do believe i was banned for no reason

i will call
**** Costolo or
Jack Patrick Dorsey
or Mike K Gupta
or Michelle Norton
or cChristopher Stone
or Evan Williams
or Laurie J Taake
if you dont reply back
with some positive feedback
plus a resolution for this un-called for harrasment...

im a very good person
i mean the best for eveyone
i would never hurt a soul

let me know if you have any ideas
or solutions to getting my account back
thank you so much (TWITTER)
lots of love from a valued customer
hope to hear from you soon thanks for your support
-zack g    

@BOBBYMACINTOSH zackavelli the don

unban
unsuspend me
leave me alone
let me be free
for **** sake
free zack
#jail
Continue reading...
Anna Falls May 2014
10 Things You Didn't Know About Me
"So tonight I decided that everyday I'd try and write one thing people don't know about me.

It's hard for me to remember my past, so I associate different songs for different memories. Kisses Over Babylon by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros played when I was on my way to confront him that day. It fueled my rage and I remember feeling the surge of adrenaline as my heart picked up pace. Shark Attack by Grouplove played when I had my first magical, starstruck kiss. And Wake Up by Arcade Fire played when I realized I was in love for the first time.

It's extremely easy for me to memorize lines, lyrics, stories, just about anything. I still remember my lines from my first play 5 years ago.

I'm afraid of drowning. I even dislike drinking tall glasses of water or take giant gulps.

I've read more books than I've seen movies! My favorite book is Speak by Laurie Anderson. (Fav. movie is Requiem for a Dream)

Ever since it happened I've felt like I'm always performing. Always putting on a face and that I must always be this perfect, bright, happy, and outgoing girl. Like it would be a sin for me not to smile. I feel if I'm not acting happy and **** and smart and outgoing and cute and funny that they are winning. That the person/people who did everything they could to tare me apart are laughing at my weakness and lack of confidence.

I have depression.

I'm very empathetic, but sad to say, I rarely feel sympathy for someone.

I love a lot more people than I should. That tends to come back to hurt me.

I'm constantly craving food but I have to make myself eat.

I never intended on posting this.. but I'm going to."
#truth #life #honesty
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Rebekah Oct 2018
laurie
There's something to be said in the way you gently squeeze my hand when I'm upset.
Even when I may not know why.
Or how you hold my gaze.
You try to find my ****** jokes funny,
even if you're unable to hide just how bad they are.

You're a religion,
a dogma,
a deity that I completely, utterly worship.

No you don't always take the pain away,
nor do you magically make it all okay.
But you make it all bearable;
you've become the reason to try.

And like Gatsby and the green light,
wishing, hoping for Daisy to notice,
I hold out a green light to you.

Not only so you can see me,
but it is a reminder, a testament,
of how I wholly, entirely and unconditionally adore you.
Continue reading...
Elizabeth Squires Aug 2019
Tryst
an inquisitive bird did narrate
his tale of a tryst
regarding Mrs Jean Jameson
and Mr Laurie List

in the forest some four miles
out of Thomas Town
they'd covertly meet on Tuesday
to play hands down

the bird always had his
eye trained on suspect activity
that was happening in
his immediate proximity
#tryst #covertly #humour #bird #tale #suspect #activity
Continue reading...
just some random poems Jun 2018
Wintergirls
"we held hands when we walked down the ginger-bread path into the forest, blood dripping from our fingers. we danced with witches and kissed monsters. we turned our self into winter-girls"

-Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson
Ive read this book over and over I honestly love it
#book #winter #bloop
Continue reading...
Sylvie Wild Dec 2018
Crazy Day
My space
Room 32
November 21
Call me WonderWoman
Meet my nurses Laurie, and Nikki
Dr. Jensen
Internal Medicine
My story
I grew up in a log cabin
Didn't have no medicine
Maine woods
Never really sick
Except for with ticks
The oldest of 5
We're all insane
Want fame and a name
Important to me
And then there we're 3
In my family
I love, my love
To travel, read, and write
Stay out of fights
Play the game called Life
My goals by the golden shoals
Write a poetry pose daily
Write a book then maybe
Travel the globe
And grow old with a hottie
Make me some latte
Don't forget my space, my story, my goals
It's important to me
To make lots of noise
Raise some joy
Question about my cares?
Don't I dare?
Where to start?
When to finish?
When can I go home?
Another night
Alone
Another needle
*****
No thank you
I just wanna hold my Nya
It breaks my heart
To be so far
Yet very near
So hold on dear
This too shall pass
When we get to go home
At last.
Continue reading...
Antony Glaser Feb 2022
For Laurie Styvers
Heard a song about you on the radio.
Its never too late to relate.
You were high willed and a bright orchid,
a contented yin and yang.
I could never leave you,
remembering when it all began,
you're were a friend of the band,
two-second snows from colorado,
from the moon, I fly you;
some kind of poet,
sealing her heart in mine,
breathe in you'll be the bay,
who put a rose on my cheeks.
Continue reading...
je suis farouche Aug 2017
gram.
it's saturday night
and we're crowded in a small room
watching her like she's our favorite sad movie.
there are tears pricking our eyes,
there have been for hours,
but we’re not crying.

we’re laughing with each other,
throwing everyone else in the room Looks
to make sure they’re okay,
because that’s how our family is;
we make sure everyone else is okay
before we check on ourselves.

she’s lying in the uncomfortable-looking bed
and she is so small,
smaller than she’s ever been,
even smaller because of the crowded room.

i am sitting on her right
resting my chin on the safety bar
with my hand on hers,
which is too, too warm.

i am watching the way her eyes flicker,
helplessly,
and the way her breath is coming,
so fast,
and aunt shel’s hand on her forehead,
smoothing back her hair.

we are all whispering,
some out loud and others silently,
telling her that it is okay,
she can go,
she doesn’t need to stay.

eventually i am alone with her
and it breaks my ******* heart,
because i know this is the last time
i will hold her hand in mine
and kiss her forehead
and tell her,
in person,
that i love her so much.

i apologize for breaking my promise,
the one i made when i was 8,
and that breaks my heart too,
because maybe she would still be here
if i had kept it.

i know that that’s not true,
papa died and she all but gave up,
and it’s really amazing
that she made it this long
without him.

but still,
it breaks my heart.

when aunt laurie is leaving,
she gives all of us hugs and when
it gets to be my turn,
she whispers in my ear, through her tears,
“you were always my favorite.”

we leave around 8:30 that night,
and we stop at gram’s house
because i need our sally bear
and i need papa’s graduation picture.

it’s only an hour after we get home
that aunt shel is calling mom
to tell her that gram is gone.

i don’t cry.
it's been a year and five months and i'm still broken up
#family #death #grandmother #heartbreak #sadness
Continue reading...
writerunblocked Feb 2018
Have you met my friend?
Have you met my friend
Her name starts with an
L cause sometimes it Lasts with her other times you Lose her
Do you know my friend
Do you know her name
Her name isn’t Lexi

Have you met my friend
Her name ends with an
E cause sometimes it’s forever and Ever other times it Ends
Do you know my friend
Do you know her name
Her name isn’t Laurie

Have you met my friend
She breaks hearts
and heals them
Do you know my friend
Do you know her name
Her name is Love

Love is trial and error
She’s a knife at a gun fight
There was no way to prepare
She shoots out of nowhere


She could continue
Could be true
could be broken
some will go insane
You probably know
Love

Loves my friend
She’s was my enemy
She beauty and pain
She’s your friend
And your enemy

She hurt me you say
No they hurt you
You hurt them
She is pure
She gives herself away

She puts herself in your hands
You mold her
She gave herself
What about you
Did you share yourself
She doesn’t want you
For her
She wants you for them

Treat them right she says
Don’t hurt them
don’t break them
Treat them right she says



Have you met my friend
She breaks hearts
and heals them
Do you know my friend
Do you know her name
Her name is Love
Continue reading...

— The End —