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Vladimir s Krebs Dec 2015
you see the boy at high school you send wispers all around tearing him up inside. he say nothing as you just push him around. every day he is scilent and never even makes a sound. that loaner is me. i just watch the world go bye. i dont have any thing to say expet i am going down the road of life solatuid shunning away people. that boy you watch every day he grows moe quiet but has a weapon of his choice. his words that shoots like bullets hitting tarkets with kinds solam words that lighten the impact. that boy who alawys walked home alone every day. he has no words exept (his big blue)eyes that make the statmenst that keept him sane.
idk this is what my life is
sadgirl Jul 2017
am i too much for you?
is it that fact i have a loose *****, or two, or three
did i really need to see you through for every day you
touched me, looked me in the eye, said the fire will never die
but it did

and that hoodie fills a space between two legs,
square pegs into round holes, binge eating until you
hurt your throat
but you still devote yourself to being
skinny

and that word has plagued me for so long, like a song, like a call, and now i need to know, before i fall, am i skinny enough to be loved? is my collarbone every going to be a wishing well, will i burn in hell for the simple sin of being fat?

but in reality, the only real causality was myself
i force fed myself discipline, hoped someone
would listen, but they never did

even the shrinks said i was crazy
and that i was lazy for not going out, excising until
my skin split and a beautiful butterfly emerged
then i'd surge into battle like a goddess

but when your thighs are thick and you aren't modest,
and when you wear lipstick too thick like a woman
with double Ds and an ache between her knees
you know that if you were skinny, you'd never have
these problems, and if you did
you'd know how to solve them
to be skinny
is to be graceful

even in suicidal rages
that flip through pages and pages of stories before they rip my own
from existence
need to be kept under control and kept at a distance like
a tiger that has the taste for human flesh

but now i know i'm the best, because i have a good ****,
long legs and a pretty face
but i'm too hard to replace in this overpriced world
where girls are told to starve themselves

to a neutral, non-pear shape
until their ******* are the tip of an hourglass
their waists are too thin to last
and their eyes are longing for even the tiniest indulgence
avoiding food and any substance
that would jeopardize
skinny

but then i realized
if skinny was so important
then why did all those who were it
probably also were just a little bit away from going insane
and we were in the same boat, staying afloat together
on the ocean of
skinny

so i wrote this poem
for every single girl or woman
who needed a book or a booking
to make them feel beautiful, and by beautiful i mean
skinny

but beautiful can be skinny,
but it can also be thighs like tree trunks,
arms like rivers
and a body that delivers nothing but happiness to that of it's owner

and my body is not some loaner car you
can trash and get away with
there will be fines,
for i am fine,

but in those times, where
nothing was ever promised to me
i started to see

beautiful could mean
staying up to take care of your kids,
single-mothering and being glad your husband
got rid of himself before you could, because
you can do a much better job without the chain-smoke
and you stay woke
forever
because skinny is a construct

or it could mean
studying in waters of student loans,
feeling alone as the only ******* campus
but working hard to become a lawyer or a doctor,
she will always be her mother's daughter

i'd say words stronger than this,
but there are children here,
but ***** skinny!
i am beautiful,
you are beautiful
and by beautiful
i mean anything you want it to mean.
This is not my story, but it could've been. This is the story for every girl who gained a few extra pounds, looked at herself in the mirror and said "I need to fix this". But there's nothing you need to fix. You are beautiful.
Claire Waters Oct 2013
it's so strange how fear strikes
gently at first, like morphine
it dribbles through you, you bottom out.

and then when you are dry and cracked
it soaks into you like gasoline to driftwood
the sound of the birds become dull
and then you panic about your panic
because the birds see everything and you need them
when the wild beasts come
need them to listen, so you can sit still and hum--mmmmmm
dear forest, can you block the taste out of my mouth
block the sound of talk radio voices whirring through the channels
pineal staticky as a black hole, so you say
vacuum packed emotions cemented in nothing
compressed trash dumped into the same landfill
and suddenly your cup runeth over with the poisoned caviar
and you ignored that ******* caveat when you were young
the bed you make you lay in it, you dug your grave and then fought them
all the way in, i guess that deserves another personality pathology

words and pictures and angels that george carlin doesn't believe in
but i don't mind i still mostly agree with him
except quietly poking that thought to the back of my mind
to recirculate and well i don't want to forget it in too much time
but angels, there are some things you can't describe to people
that eventually make sense, and some that make you stop
before you start because, you have to see quezacoatl to believe it
and i understood after all those nights of john darnielle
soft voice meant to carry, snakes, destruction, and ripe plums

there are some little devils and some little angels
they don't need a medium, just an invitation
a little thought, blind intention, unconscious manifestation
and only then can they live
hocus pocus **** whatever,
illuminati is distraction,
these aren't legends they are presently presence
essence and breathlessness and aristocrat embezzlement
i'm not worried about the devil
i'm worried about the people who crouch to his level
leveraging him on their shoulders
parasitic loaner, bankers thirsty to sell us
everyone's just looking at miley cyrus
welcome to america, this is a ******* mess
i might overnight some toy blocks by UPS to congress
if they learn to count 1 2 3 but in millions
perhaps it'll dawn on them how much ******* debt we're in

so some nights i let the crackle overwhelm
and sink into the consciousness
and let the shadows prowl around
because pajama sam keeps demanding
not to be afraid of the dark now, for my art, for my heart
there's a world in there and sometimes you have to fall
to know what's life when you come up for air and see
this show is so debonair i can barely bare to read the latest
it's all so plasmatic, phlegm and smoke and paper
burning cities, smoke and mirrors, moving more paper
the only way to act outside the script is to stop acting
and it's the roughest road to choose
but it'll be worth it when you can actually rest in peace without dues
reality isn't real is it, blue collar is another word for slave isn't it
9 - 5 is another expression for consume, a check goes in a box
but we assume it's fair work for pay
we are each a stock, worth about as much as a tea bag
to a party of executives in hot water

and the man outside keeps screaming
something evil is hidden in the depths of the news page
slipping through slack fingered open mouthed people
somehow we're still clueless in the information age
we see it, we read it, we feel it, helpless
we sit in our desk chairs and wonder what next
and the devil sits in our ears whispering don't worry
i know what you're expecting of me
i'm coming, if that is what you all collectively believe

i turn to quezacoatl and all he will murmur
is
what are you going to do about it
the collective has power
waiting for a fateful hour like
a wave puffing up it's chest
oppressed does not mean suppressed
and politics are liar language
money is bluffing to keep us thinking we're nothing
once you've seen what hides in the dark
the light glows brighter in comparison
keeps you safe in the early hours of morning
when you listen

we are the change
we are absolutely everything
Raj Bhandari Nov 2016
I

LOVE

SILENCE,

PEOPLE,

NATURE,

PRIVACY,

LIFE !

I AM

A

LOANER !!
Mike Hauser Apr 2014
Finkle Rat and Derby Cat
Opened up a specialty shop
Which was running rather smoothly
Till kids teeth began to rot

For what it was they sold were
Candy apples, Sugar Cubes, and Lemon Drops
With Fizzie Soda to make their quota
On the loaner they had got

You see the latest shipment of Fizzies
Came from the loan shark Marco Mole
To save themselves a buck or two
Our naive friends both sold their souls

And Marco doesn't care about
Any kids or their rotten teeth
Cause he also owns a piece of Charlie Cockroach
The dentist down the street
Alber Jul 2017
A basketball playing professor of law
Took advantage of an opportunity he saw
He ran as a Hyde Park resident
And became our celebrated president.

Hyde Park the home of Argonne lab and the U of C
Fathered many Nobel Prize winners and nominees to be
More than Harvard, they cared not it would seem
They claimed to have a better football team.  

I'll have to renew my loaner card
Obama placed his library in our backyard
His presidential record there for all to see
What a waste, says Donald Trump
He doesn't mention me.
Steve Page Aug 24
Love is a loaner armchair
Low enough to relax me
Built to embrace me
With arms that support me
While I return to my book
And sup hot tea
My Parker Knowles armchair is being reupholstered.   But I have a loaner.
Babu kandula Nov 2018
I always felt
You can make anyone
Happy by offering a tip

But, some situations
Will prove you wrong

Today when I went to the dealer
For servicing

And when I reached there

I am welcomed by an elderly person

As yesterday we had a blizzard

I couldn't completely clean my car

I apologized him and then asked if that is ok

His reply

"Not to worry sir, it will melt anyway".

Am very happy by his gesture, the warmth in his voice, caring and love just reminded me of my late grand father.

He took my car inside and brought me a loaner car

While taking the loaner, I offered him tip.

He politely rejected and said

"You are good man, I did my job."

No words from my mouth. Then I saw some blood strains on his face

I asked him about it he said it's because of one of the car's door.

He then said, "see I got this, than a tip".

His point is my caring.

I am inspired by his gesture.

How many people we will encounter like him

I don't know.

By the way his name is Bob. That's what I heard I don't even know his full name. I made a mistake but, he is busy I can't disturb him though.

But, he will be in my thoughts and also in my prayers.

Location
Grand Subaru
bensenville, Illinois

Thank you Bob for your gesture. You made my day. Am blessed.

Small actions lead to major impacts
True story

Pardon me if any grammatical mistakes..
Cassandra Hiatt Apr 2013
A woman who leaves her children isn’t a mother but a donor,
   egg loaner.

She walked away from us, no longer mother,
  or friend.
     or other.

She never wanted us. Not me, not my brother.
And,
    to be honest,

if I saw her today walking next to a stranger.

I wouldn’t tell one from the other.
Steve Page Aug 2022
I remember dad sitting and reading
each evening after dinner
once he and me had washed up in the galley kitchen.

After, I remember him stripping down to the waist
and body washing at the sink, then completing
his evening shave.

I remember his big old badger shaving brush
and a shaving mug refilled with Old Spice.

I remember the odour, filling the kitchen
and sticking to him.

But mostly I remember him in his white vest
in the brown armchair under the warm standard lamp,
feet up by the fire, reading his books.

Wilbur Smith.
Alastair MacLean.
Jack Higgins.

The Sound of Thunder.
Ice Station Zebra.
Wrath Of The Lion.

Always a hardback. Always a loaner
from the regular family trips
to the woods and the library.

Always sitting in his heady mix
of Old Spice, Brylcreem and St Bruno,
reading and relishing the opportunity
to pass the book on to me
telling me of his envy of my first read
of the adventure he’d just finished.
My dad was a reader
Kelly O'hara Apr 2014
Over the wintery forests,
Wind howls with no leaves to blow.
There are none so savage as the bear,
Fearsome, red in tooth and claw.
Coming forth from the frozen north to commune with nature and me.
The noble beast is best left in peace.
Strong like mountain, fearless like tiger,
The fire burns within the spirit.
Wise dark gaze, voice of quiet or roar.
He rises with purpose.
He is Powerful in body and mind.
Roamer,loaner he walks the forest floor.
The bear guides through dreams and dangers unseen.
He walks as an animal, he stands as a man,
He remains eternal he is the bear.

Written April 9th 2014
Seher Seven Jun 2015
I
I
cry for peace
for the love of God.
tears push through my lashes
I see the truth, clearly now,
the only discovery, myself.

I
smile at the grey sky
laugh with the thunder
of Earth, of our souls.
embracing the clouds that
keep us cool, and with water.
grey clouds used to
bog me down, like a lead foot,
held to the ground.
to have eyes to see through those
clouds,
to see you and me and our Sun.
she greeted me this morning.
I cry.

I cry for every I love you,
every embrace,
each new bond created,
all weaknesses overcome.
I cry for God, the tears of love.
the tears of the clouds.
my body combining con del mar
lifted high above, released on skin.
lighten the load, cleanse the core.

I cry, I release my God essence
back
to the whole, never disconnected,
loaner tears.
never mine to share
nor mine to keep in,

I've come out, deliverance desired.
my tears rush out, overwhelmed
I have nothing to offer, we are one.
all I know, you have. I am you too.
self realized, patterns breaking.
consistency is the key.
I walk and I cry and I smile and I laugh and I love
I love. the specifics of source
only to be understood at
reunification, and so I walk
and I cry, beyond faith,
into the truth of God.
Yamuna NN Dec 2016
Take away from me not
The one reason to be
Able to dream and believe
In a sweet emotion, life taught

I have lived in it a lot
Call it my dream
Call it my belief
Call it my character of sorts

Expect No one to call the shot
No one to reciprocate, I got
To find it in the abstract
It’s not for an act

It’s an emotion of my thought
I need no loaner
I need no moaner
I dare to live it
A reason to get
Into the sweetness, life brought
Tommy Jackson Aug 2015
Over the hill they say
When it comes to my age,
I miss the golden years
But now my fears
Have arrested me in worry caves
And as a young man
I could count the cars
Passing by dads house.
But now I'm older
A geezer, a loaner
To those I want to help.
Like dad did with
All his friends
Loaned out wanting nothing back
These are the morals
Dad taught me
As I remember
Dad had my back.
reminiscence was pop's speciality
Now I have reminiscence
Of things that used to be,
An elder now
With his stringed guitar
I sing dad's words
In my concerts
And bars.
And wherever I go to
His words are stuck in my head
Son, don't die young
When your older
"Your already dead".
Those talks will not leave me
My golden years actually just begun.
Dad was right
In my restless nights
I'd find a wife
For me to love.
I'm glad that pop had met her
She was a daughter to his last wishes
On his bed
I kissed his head
Goodbye dad.
To the azure
You will gallivant
With your banjo, and string with me.
While I'm jamming down in dads rock and rolling dimension.
Most of my travels,
A loaner, no one by my side,
Looking at situations,
Wondering why,
I’ll give effort to help anyone,
If they are honest, and will try.
The road I’m traveling,
Will narrow, towards the finish line,
What I don’t achieve now,
May forever, be extra weight,
I will carry, in my mind,
I’ve failed or achieved before,
I can’t put a pause,
On what’s left,
Of my precious,
Time.


                                                                                                                                   Tom Maxwell ©
                                                                                                                                   4/1/2020 AD
                                                                                                                                      11:00 Am
Raj Bhandari Dec 2018
IN THIS LIFE,NOW I  SEE NO MORE CHARM,
ON THE WAY TO BE A  LOANER,NO HARM !!
Raj Bhandari Jan 2020
32 FLATS, 150 PEOPLE, 3 OF THEM ACTUALLY KNOW ME! NICE SCORE!SURE!!!
TW Rice Feb 2022
I find it easy to love you because you've shown me what love is. You've given me a smile because of your kindness. You given me a purpose, a reason because I want to be the man who gives you a smile everyday for others to enjoy. To be honest I'd be lost without you because you've provide light in my darkness. Everyday gets easier because one day I'll open the door and you'll be here for the rest of my life. Your warmth of touch consumes me because it's genuine. I've always been a survivor, a loaner because that's my nature. But I no longer label myself that because of your hug, love; I just want to be home... it's not the house but it's any place with you, my love. Because four walls and a roof may be a shelter but you are my sanctuary, all that I adore. Because you bring peace in this war ravaged mind, beauty to the eyes where all I've known is death, comfort from one touch, a word from you brings forth a fountain of hope, you've given me laughter instead of sadness. Because of you...I'm loved.


Dedicated to my love, Special K, my forever
Worm-**** Hilliam & slime-ball Billary Clinton farted in the loaner
car, training their ***** hair, while 8 ****** ******* pounded on the
roof, fearin' the sad day that their food stamps would be taken away
This *****'s red spines of death invaginate strife as she plops on her
*** all of her life, because within her belly button she allows lint in,
after humpin' my shallow pit deeply, deeper than Hillary F. Clinton
Worm-**** Hilliam & slime-ball Billary Clinton farted in the loaner
car, training their ***** hair, while 8 ****** ******* pounded on the
roof, fearin' the sad day that their food stamps would be taken away
I imagined the last time, that I was in a murderously-depressive rut,
that bath-house Obama had dead Tony Musante tattooed on his ****
Do you like this bra? Yes. Why? It reveals the natural ***** in you
when you cry from a dog-bite, after kissin' 4 uncles on Friday night.
I claw my yaw, wrangling a rotten cow paw with a jazzed band-saw
Check it, its the eyes of hours, desert bird looking for hunger service,
Make haters nervous, once I show off purpose, microphone check,
Fools dont get next, once I put my darts in effect, cold hearts injects,
Break the order of the peck, no disrespect re up my old killer connects,
Dots on ya bets, red be the color set, infrared with carbine m4 tech,
Yeah I'm a tech, when it comes to a mission, listen to the birds whistling,
Givens like Robyn, see my head get a bobbing, stone dry throbbing,
Look for wheres the robbin, like batman, breaking Gotham city stats man,
Open Cape, yellow tape from the capping, see the coroners wrapping,
Up ya body, for the morge transaction, gives death much satisfaction,
Uh I break through dramas, latinas say como te llamas, 9 inch of a banana,
Coils up like an anaconda, watch for premadonnas, tote the marijuana,
From USA, to Tijuana
Mexico, there he go with the sickest flow, I know kicks to ya mental, oh
So simple and plain, I'm hitting in a range, not even a radar could gain,
Signals, at the closest terrains, my cameos ain't never been so strange,
Linked with three kings, my wise sibling, we living in the past future present rings,
Watch for the stings, of a bee I see, so many honeys leeching for money,
Im not a loaner see, I lay bones to ya *****, for my enjoyment to see,
Hit the honey Hennessy, from Tennessee whiskey, way past to **** tipsy,
Keep it crispy, like rice take a slice, I'll be throwing the loaded dice,
So you'll see the same rolls twice, that's life, on another world like Bryce,
I show you the real, I show you the steel, see how many bodies, I can dump,
In the landfills, traffic from making jams, I rage mayhem, foes get the scram,
Graff1980 Feb 2020
Your life is a loaner,
and being born in
a specific nation
puts you in hoc,
under the scrutiny
of those who control
the weekday work clock,

The same guys who got
all the politicians bought,
well they think they own
the work you’ve shown.

So, you stay all day
and work extra late,
till you are exhausted,
till it takes your health
and your mind,
well you’ve lost it.

You work all week long
and if you’re lucky
they will let you rest
on the weekend.

You do this for your family,
but you barely ever see them.

Till you are no longer breathing,
or you beat the odds and retire,

but you probably won’t.
Most likely you’ll expire
on the job, long after
your heart and soul
vacates that flesh
those working hours stole.

— The End —