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CK Baker Dec 2016
The napalan man in a violet cape  
descended the stair with a lopsided gait
a wretched procession, subscribers in cue
rattling off as they stream from the pew  

sounds and smells from a shadowy place
a catholic priest to gin up base
lanterns strung from bolted doors
cobbled streets and wooden floors  

stepping stones and iron bell
fortified by the citadel
hallowed halls and sepulcher
dragon cane for the horse drawn tour

castle turret,  archer holes
centaur scribed in chamber bowls
garden columns in courtyard view
the blood ballet and hullabaloo  

ancient tombs on warrior grounds
gods and saints who made their rounds
goliath still with battered scythe
knelt in prayer and mummified  

battle fires and crowds that roar
gallows, caves, abysmal war  
gargoyles flock the terraced *****
pearly gates to bring on hope  

serpents, snakes and burning ash
lava bombs and trident clash
mariners drift in absentee
as neptune rises from the Tyrrhenian Sea
Genna Peterson Sep 2013
I'm all lopsided
muscle on the top
fat on the underside
thighs strong
the underside wiggles
biceps meant to hurt
triceps that look like my grandmothers
and all the spaces inbetween
that poke out, nothing but skin.
Hipbones like razorblades
wrists frail and shaky
jaw pronounced
collarbones like a skeleton
I'm so lopsided
and I want to look like a whole picture
instead of a few puzzles
that someone tried to shove together
I am a wobbling duck
stuck with a mind
that cares far too much
zoie marie lynn Mar 2018
being gay won’t save me from touches i didn’t ask for,
because that’s what they are,
touches i didn’t ask for.
and you still punch me lightly in the arm,
like we’re fooling around, like you didn’t do anything wrong.
but i don’t like it like that,
i never have.
it feels so much worse when it’s forced,
or even when they're simple touches that the eye can barely see,
the alarms fire through my body at different speeds,
it’s absolutely riveting.
i'm learning the difference between want and need,
and i think when it all comes down to it,
you never even wanted me.
my eyes are up here,
not scattered in the crevices folded in my skin,
my eyes are up here,
but you don't care because you're wearing my favorite lopsided grin.
i believe in individuals having a right to their own consent,
and no offense, but you're not my romeo and i'm not your juliet.
liking the same *** won't save you from touches you didn't ask for,
because that's what they were,
touches you didn't ask for.
i think you can tell i haven't been doing so well
Emily Tyler Mar 2014
I have a boyfriend
I shout to myself,
Pinching my upper thigh
And blinking away from
The sight of them.

She giggles and I notice
Her laugh is lopsided
And she's too short
To be that loud.
Her shoulders are too far forward
And even I notice the
Gross stain on her
Upper left canine
Between her braces
That are bright, neon green.

She's my best friend.

I don't mean to think of her in that way,
I love her like a sister.
But it pops into the front of my brain
When I see them together.

I don't even like him
In that way
I have a boyfriend,*
And all he was
Was a whispered fifth grade crush.
That's what I tell myself.

He looks at her like
She's a million bucks.

Her crooked teeth
Earn her six cents,
In my opinion.

I take it back within a second,
But the thought was still there.

Jealousy makes me into a monster.
Julian Mar 2019
Tantalized by the fractious limerence of a vestigial habiliment of the old order, we conclude that hypertrophy leads to a limbo where random permutations alloyed by the rickety limits of concatenation subsume concepts that are equivocal but populate the imaginations of newfangled art forms that jostle the midwives of rumination to lead to unique pastures that are intuitively calibrated to correspond to definitive unitary events in conceptual space that sprawl unexpectedly towards the desultory but determinative conclusion of a meandering ludic sphere of rambunctious sentiments cobbled together to either rivet the captive audience or annoy the peevish criticaster when they dare to inseminate the canvassed and corrugated tract of intellectual territory created ad hoc to swelter the imagination with audacious ingenuity that is an inevitable byproduct of lexical hypertrophy. In this séance with the immaterial realm of concept rather than the predictable clockwork reductivism of a perceptual welter that is limited by the concretism circumscribed by spatiotemporal stricture we find that an extravagant twinge of even the smallest tocsin in the interstitial carousel of conscientious subroutines compounding recursively to pinprick the cossetted smolder of potentiality rather than extravagate into the vacancy of untenanted nullibiety can spawn a progeny of utilities and vehicles for dexterous abstraction that poach the exotic concepts we fathom by degrees of sapience malingering in lifeless bricolages of erratic abstraction in manners useful to transcend the repose of abeyance and heave awakening into the slumberous caverns of still-life to make them dynamically animated to capture ephemeral events that defy the demarcations of wistful indelicacy of the encumbered bulk of insufficient precision.

Today we embark on a quest to defile the anoegenetic recapitulation of canon that litters the dilapidated avenues of miserly contemplation that has a histeriological certainty and feeds the engines that enable novelty but ultimately remain rancid with the stench of the idiosyncratic shibboleths of synoptic alloyed impoverishment that leads to the vast wasteland of cremated entropy that is a stained foible of misappropriated context interpolated usefully as botched triage for daunting problems that require a nimble legerdemain of facile versatility that we easily adduce to conquer the present with the botched memorial of a defunct salience. Despite the travail of scholars to retreat from the frontier into the hypostatized hegemony of recycled credentialed information, we often are ensnared by the solemn attrition of decay as we traverse the conceptual underpinnings of all bedrock thought only to dangle precariously near the void of lapsed sentience because of transitory incontinence that is contiguous to the doldrums of crudity but nevertheless with mustered mettle we purport that the very self-serious awakening to our hobbling limitations is akin to a prosthetic enhancement of ratiocination capable of feats that stagger beneath the lowest level of subtext to elevate the highest superordinate categorization into heightened scrutiny that burgeons metacognitive limber. Marooned in the equipoise of specifiable enlightenment countermanded by the strictures of working memory we can orchestrate transverse pathways between the elemental quiddity of impetuous meaning and the dignified tropes of transitivity that bequeaths entire universes with feral progeny that modulate their ecosystems with both a taste of approximated symmetry and a cohesive enterprise for productivity that rests on the granular concordance of the highest plane to the indivisible parcels of atomic meaning that solder together to exist as intelligible if strained by the primordial frictions guaranteed by the brunt of motion incipient because of the metaphorical inertia created within insular universes to inform sprawling conurbations of mobilized thoughts designed to reckon with the breakneck pace of the corresponding reality to which they explicitly and precisely refer to.

We must singe surgically the filigrees that amount to the perceptible realities that transmute temperaments into the liturgy of routine conflated with the rigmarole of neural dragnets of reiterative quips in an elegant game of raillery with our supernal contumacy against the rigid authority of aleatory vagaries mandated by a dually arbitrary universe in a probabilistic terpsichorean dance with the depth of our dredge for subliminal acuity or the shallow bellicosity of common modes of glib contemplation characteristic of the basic nobility of improvisation. This basic interface with the world can either be mercurial or tranquil based on the interactionism of the enfeebled trudge of surface senses or blunt intuitions and the smoldering impact of the vestigial cloaks that deal gingerly with the poignant subtext evoked in the cauldron of immediacy rather than pondered with the portentous weight of imperative singularities of uniqueness derived from the plunge into the arcane citadel of microscopic introspection so refined that the ineffable drives we seek to fathom become amenable to the traipse of transcendental time that rarefies itself by defying the brunt of compartmentalized bureaucracies administered by the fulcrum of stereotypical notions of acquired gravitas imputed to mundane pedestrian quidnunc concerns that defile humanity rather than embolden the subaudition of gritty punctilios that show the supernal powers of the axiomatic divinity of sharpened sentience to reign with supremacy over the baser ignoble components of bletcherous nescience that leads to knee-**** platitudes that provoke folksy peevish divisions. We should rather orchestrate our activity by heeding the admonishment about the primogeniture of poignant sabotage buffered by the remonstration of innate tranquility and finding a whipsawed compromise of rationalization with true visceral encounters with the fulgurant quips of brisk emotions that grind industriously into amorphous retinues of the trenchant human imagination to either equip or hobble the leapfrogged interrogation of veracity and more consequently our notions of truth and fact.

When we see the hackneyed results of default ecological dynamics, we find ourselves aloof from purported transcendence because the whimpered bleats and cavils of the importunate masses result in a deafening din of cacophony because we strive throbbing with sprightliness towards the galloped chase of tantalization without the luxury of a terminus for satiation. Obviously a growth mindset is the galvanic ****** that spawns the imaginative swank of the pliable modulations of our perceived reality that, when protean, showcase the limitless verve of our primordial cacoethes for epigenetic evolution rather than the stolid and staid foreclosure of impervious sloth that memorializes the gluttony of speculation about fixed entities rather than imperative jostling urbanity that dignifies the brackish dance with dearth and the exuberant savory taste of momentary excess because it engages the animated pursuit of limerence rather than the exhumed corpse of wistful regret. Nature is a cyclical clockwork system of predatory instinct met with the clemency of the prosperous providence enacted by the travailing ingenuity of successive cumulative generativities that compounded unevenly and unpredictably to predicate a fundamental zeitgeist calculated to engorge the fattened resources of the resourceful and temper the etiolated dreams of the fringed acquiescence of a hulking prejudiced population of dutiful servants that balk at the diminutive prospects of a lopsided distribution of talent and means but slumber in irenic resolve created by the merciful hands of defensive designs that configure consciousness to relish comparative touchstones rather than absolute outcomes that straggle beyond a point of enviable reference to shield the world of the barbarism of botched laments clamoring for an uncertain grave from the gravity of the orbiting satellites of apportioned wealth both sunblind and boorish but simultaneously inextricable from the acclimated fortune of heaped nepotism and herculean opportunism. The intransigence of the weighted destiny of inequity is a squalid enterprise of primeval abrasive and combative tendencies within the bailiwick of the indignant compass inherent to the system that fathoms its deficiencies with crabwise and gingerly pause but airs a sheepish grievance like a bleat of self-exculpation but simultaneously an arraignment of fundamental attribution erroneously indicted without the selfsame reflexiveness characteristic of a transcendent being with other recourses to clamber an avenue to Broadway without malingering in the slums of opprobrious ineffectual remonstration against the arrangement of a blinkered metropolis of uneven gentrification.

We flicker sometimes between the strategic drivel of appeasement and the candor of audacious imprecation of the culprits of indignity or considerate nutritive encomium of the beacons of ameliorated enlightenment because we often masquerade a half-witted glib consciousness lazily sketched by the welters of verve alloyed with the rancid distaste of squalor and slumber on the faculty of conscientious swivels of prudential expeditions with an avarice for bountiful considered thought and wily contortions of demeanor that issue the affirmative traction of adaptive endeavor to cheat a warped system for a reconciled peace and a refined self-mastery. We need to traduce the urchins that sting the system with pangs of opprobrious ballyhoo and the effluvia of foofaraw that contaminate with pettifoggery and small-minded blather the arenas better suited for the gladiatorial combat of cockalorums tinged with a dose of intellectual effrontery beyond the span of dogmatism rather than the hackneyed platitudes that infest the news cycle with folksy backwardation catered to the fascism of a checkered established press that urges insurrection while tranquilizing dissent against the furtive actions of consequence hidden behind the draped verdure of pretense whose byproduct is only a self-referential sophistry that swarms like an intractable itch to devolve the spectator into a pasquinaded spectacle of profound human obtuseness that pervades malignantly the system of debate until the reductionists outwit themselves with the empty prevarication of circular logic that deliberately misfires to miss the target of true importance because of the pandered black hole easily evaded by creatures of high sentience but inevitably ensnaring the special kind of dupe into a cycle of bellicose ferocity of internecine balkanization. The vainglory of the omphalos of entertainment is also another reckoning because it festers a cultural mythos of glorified crapulence parading a philandered promiscuity with half-baked antics that gravitate attention and the lecheries of gaudy tenses of recycled tinsel alloyed by debased aberrations of seedy grapholagnia that magnetize as they percolate because of the insidious catchphrases embedded in pedestrian syncopation that ignite retention and acclimate to mediocrity the sounds of generations discolored by faint pasty rainbows rather than ennobled by majestic landscapes of ignipotent mellifluous sound that stands a supernal amusement still for the resourceful trainspotter.

Despite the contumely aimed in the direction of contrarians for deviating from the lockstep clockwork hustle of stooped pandered manipulation that peddles the wares of an entirely counterfeit reality, I stand obstinately against the melliferous stupefaction of entire genres of myth and subcultures huddled around the sentimental tug of factitious sophistries regaled by thick amorphous apostates that cherish the vacuous sidetracked spotlight with fervor rather than pausing on the enigmatic querulous inquisition about the penumbras that lurk with strained effort beneath or above the categorical nescience of the shadowy unknown that often coruscates with elegance even in obscurity. I fight with labored words to spawn a psychological discipline that invokes the incisive subaudition of the pluckily pricked exorcism of true insight from the husk of buzzwords that constellate auxiliary tangential distractions from the art form of psychological discernment that predicates itself on the concept that the rarefaction of rumination by degrees of microscopic precision enables the introspective hindsight of conscious events that can be parsed without the acrimony of cluttered conflations of the granular prowess of triumphant ratiocination that earns a panoramic perch with the added luxury of perspicacious insight into the atomic structure of the rudiments of our phenomenological field and the abstractions that linger beyond perceptual categorization. When we analyze the gradients of anger, for example, we can either be ****** into a brooded twinge of wistful resentment or we can decipher that through heuristics designed to cloister the provenance of subconscious repose with ignorance there exists a regimented array of tangential accessories embedded deep within the cavernous repository of memory that designates a cumulative trace of compounded symmetries of concordant experience immediately perceptible because of the tangible provocateur of our gripes and the largely subliminal tusk that protrudes because of primal instinct that squirms with peevishness because of the momentary context preceded by the desultory churn of smoldering associations swimming with either complete intangible sputtered mobility through the tract of subconscious hyperspace or rigidly fixated by an arraignment of circumstances with propinquity to the deep unfathomed flicker of bygones receding or protruding because of the warped and largely unpredictable rigmarole of constellated spreading activation.  
When we examine the largesse of the swift recourse of convenience we forget by degrees the travail that once bridged the span of experience from patient abeyance in provident pursuit to now the importunate glare of inflated expectations for immediacy that stings the whole enterprise of societal dynamics because it vitiates us with a complacency for the filigrees of momentary tinsel of a virtualized reality divorced from the concretism that used to undergird interaction and now stands outmoded as a wisp beyond outstretched hands straggling beyond the black mirror of a newfangled narcissistic clannishness that shepherds the ostentation of conceit to a predominant position that swaddles us with fretful diversion that operates on a warped logic of lurid squalor and pasty trends becoming the mainstays of a hypercritical linguistic system of entrapment based on the apostasy of candor for the propitiation of fringed aberration because of the majoritarian uproar about touchy butthurt pedantic criticasters with a penchant for persnickety structuralism. With the infestation of entertainment with the ubiquitous political cavils engineered by the ruling class to have a common arena of waggish irreverence we forget that sometimes the impetuous ****** of propaganda is cloaked by the fashionable implements of a rootless time writhing in a purported identity crisis only to gawk at the ungainly reflection of modernity in the mirror and remain blissfully unaware about the transmogrified cultural psyche that feeds the lunacy of endless spectacle based on the premise that one singular whipping post can unite an entire generation of miscegenated misfits looking for commonality to team up against the aging generations that cling to the sanctity of cherished jingoism against the intentionality of a revamped system that malingers with empty promises using exigency and legerdemain to obscure the mooncalves among their ranks that march on with quixotic dreams that tolerate only the idea of absolute tolerance and moderate only when feasibly permitted by the anchored negotiation of the fulcrum of totemic governmental responsibility between factions that wage volleys of invective at each other to promote a binary choice of vitiated compromises of mendaciloquence that ultimately endanger the republic with either the perils of hidebound conventionalism and nativist fervor or the boondoggles of fiscally irresponsible insanity cloaked with rainbows and participation trophies. Reproach can be distributed to both sides of the aisle because ironically in a world where gender is non-binary the most important reproductive ***** in the free world is a binary-by-default despotism that polarizes extremely ludic fantasies on the left met with the acrimony of the traditionalisms on the right that staunchly resist the fatuous confusions of delegated order only to the sharp rebuke of the revamped political vogue that owes its sustenance to a manufactured diplomacy of saccharine lies and ubiquitous lampoons that are lopsided in the direction of a globalist neoliberal bricolage of moderately popular buzzwords and the trojan horse of insubordinate flippant feminism that seeks to subvert through backhanded manipulation the patriarchy so many resent using lowbrow tactics and poignant case studies rather than legislating the egalitarian system into law using the proper channels. I myself am a political independent who sides with fiscal conservatism but libertarianism in most other affairs because the pettifoggery of law-and-order politics is a diatribe overused by sheltered suburbanites and red meat is often just as fatuous as blue tinsel and sadly in a majoritarian society the ushers of conformity demand corporate divestiture in favor of an ecological system of predictability rather than an opinionated welter of legitimate challenges to a broken system of backwards partisanship and wangled consent. Ultimately, I remain mostly apolitical, but I am a fervent champion of the mobilization of education to a statelier standard that demands rigor and responsibility rather than the chafe of rigmarole that understates the common objectives of humanity and rewards conventional thinking and nominal participation to earn credentialed pedigree when the bulk of talent resides elsewhere.
Jeopardised Jane Dec 2014
His arms failed to reach around her wide lopsided smile.
Her mind played silly word games with her lisps
His feet tapped in no choreographed motion; ambiguity
Her tongue tastes wine with no knowledge
His fingers circled in absentminded anticipation
Her warmed hands circled in rubbing
His first dinner date
Her blind date
His date
just whatever random stuff...
Eno Sep 2018
7 lives
Some were breaking
Now riding the wave
Others were drowning
Now swimming up and away
There’s secrets cleaning the tables
Unanswered questions serving food
And I cannot comprehend the distance

Between me



We began in tandem
Building this great pyramid
A myriad of hope
Block by block
Carried by our journey to discover new lands
Off the shores of collective success
Some higher than others;
All in it.
With smiles
And parties
Tears and fears
Winding along and around
Working intensely
Loving concepts, people, food
It was just good business
They say...

3 years on
Time sweeps our intricate
Fast paced
Warped and winning
Bodies and brains
Under, once more,
The same old roof -
Oh my, how things have changed

Those men who were ringing the bells
Calling the shots
Trail scandals behind them
Like pieces of toilet paper
Still attached to their shiny, worn out shoes
Are we a pleasant reminder of a band of brothers in arms
A loyal family of resilient workers
Who played a note or two in your orchestrated dream?
Rather I fear
It’s much the opposite
Although we were greeted like old friends
With lopsided smiles of nostalgia
In the pit of my stomach
(The one you used to feed)
It just seemed like we were evidence of ghostly shame
An unwelcome reminder of a past which tried to swallow them up for dinner
A quiet embarrassment
That knew it did not deserve us
Like a lover who had tried to move on
When we’d decided to move in next door
armon Jun 2014
raw ******* thumbs drawing open the canvas of cavities
hot stink, tangles of pink wrinkles, ground turkey and beef
pulse of the earth in the groan of the springs as the sequence of spirits inhabits a lopsided carpet of blood, cardiovascular, creation, crawling
pineapple sweat, *******, neck licking saliva stains, flesh slapping, teeth jousting, chins grinding
explosions, eruptions, screaming, biting, clutching the rim, apocalypse, APOCALYPSE, the guilty apocalypse
zebra Jun 2019
could it be a *******
like cotton buds
from the ***** flower

a witched river
under dark clouds
of brooms that don't fly anymore
maybe in need of an upgrade

perhaps a spell of weaponized winds
with insinuated floating ghouls
shaking their lopsided claws
under blood orchards
and diagrams of grief
as they follow their noses
looking for *****

*******; the scent of vivacious
loving oozing laughter
thirsty skin
needles too
**** heroine stuck on toe picket fences
mimicry of ducks blood butter
like a crime scene of kisses that went to far
eggs and runny yokes left puddled on a thigh
the ****** burps Pans milkshake
*** legacy legs
lookin for love

auto asphyxiated in a closet fringy and hanging with a hardon
lost eyes and drool
somewhere in Thailand
after spicy noodle soup
and a Tsingtao

hurt me
hurt you
i'm an evil boweval
a Zyzzyva come to love you
Gerry James Jul 2018
He was a nineteen year old high school dropout.
He was black.
He wore his hair in dreads.
He had a few nose rings.
He wore gold chains and expensive clothes.
He went partying every night.
He got drunk on alcohol but his drug addiction was the biggest problem.
He had a lot of friends.
Because he was ‘cool’.
He was the ‘man’.

He was 18, finishing his final school year.
He was white.
He wore his hair very short.
He had large round glasses, sitting lopsided on his nose.
He wore a long sleeved shirt and trousers.
He studied hard, and he got good marks.
He played the cello in the school band.
But he was gay.
And so he didn’t have any friends.
But he had his family who he loved dear and who loved him back.
He was happy.

The differences between the two are unbelievable.
They are nothing alike; they are complete opposites.
Yet, they are human.
They walk the same streets, at different times.
They both live on the same planet, if not the same world.
They both have a right to live.
They both have people who love them, despite all they are.

It’s their differences that make Jay and Gray human.
Both of them.
Until Jay raised his gun and fired three times at Gray.
That’s when Gray was lost to humanity.
And Jay had lost his humanity.

Coz Jay shot in the chest a boy named Gray
Killed him without giving him any say,
The boy who did no wrong, but was gay,
With his life, he had to pay.
His family cried in despair and dismay,
For their loving son had been taken away,
And now they all sat in silence,
For Gray would never see another day.

For souls who have had their lives ripped apart, and those who rip their lives apart, we pray.
Max Hale Feb 2010
Cornwall, Cornwall every day
Bright sun and fresh feelings
Simple pleasures by just being here
Forward thinking into old age dotage
All our lives waiting, hoping, wishing

Never believing it could be
Out of mind with secret longing
Filling up with atmospheric  air
Sensing that emotional rush
Deep breaths swallowing cliffs and sea

Wild flowers and cows here
Hedgerows and windblown trees
Lopsided branches pointing inland
As cool salt air combs their twigs
The winding tracks disappear

Love is here all around, so strong
Heart wrenching and stomach churning
Soul and body filling up with Cornish…
Cornish, as long as it’s Cornish
It’s good!

Give us a chance to stay
Give us the chance to live
Ever on the hard granite pathways
Sounds of mewing gulls and thunder of surf
Beating on the windswept rocks and beaches

Cornish light familiar and so bright
Invading our eyes and warming our hearts
Gently massaging our faces with soothing fingers
Lifting our spirits as breaking through the clouds
It charges us with love

Fulfilled and whole
Our lives and minds gratefully feasting
The armfuls of wonder as we carry our hearts
Together,  through eternity, watching
As the sun sets in a blaze of Cornish light

We used to pick them fresh,
Right off the branch,
From the tree in the front yard
And place them in a basket
To take inside and taste and devour.
You’d wash them for me,
Me too tiny to reach the sink,
Then take the knife
And carve, swiftly,
Slicing off a smiling slice
For me to eat.
Now your twirled fingers
And paper skin can carve
Only lopsided smiles,
Gnarled and unfamiliar.
Let me take the knife
And dig into peaches
For you to enjoy.
Justin G Feb 2015
Despicability is the foundation to their life
For them it is intrinsic
Genetically encoded
Poetically eroded
Reprehensible at best

     Unscrupulously callous
     Secrets and facts, they conveniently
     Distorted byproducts, they release to the
     To aid their campaign; a forked tongue

Pathetic and unapologetic
A beast armed to the teeth
Imported bypasses to increase the flow of police
A weakness and an act,
They so vehemently attest

     Harvesting greens off the branches of
     the people
     Pockets engorged with wads and folds
     Crushing blue collars at the lower levels
     As they sit atop their pyramids of gold

Today they sip champagne
To celebrate their reign
Tonight we'll skip being humane
To feed them excruciating pain

     You've incited this coup with ill-thought
     Now herald the arrival of the scourge
     Down with lopsided governments
     Tonight... All we would topple! Tonight we purge!

Justin G
This truly was an experience. I really enjoyed sending and receiving verses from the one and only amazing ryn. I really got into character with this one, but long story short: **** corruption!  The pen is mightier than the sword
Colin O'Malley Jun 2014
I am 6.3 miles from home on an 11:30 night stuck worrying about the same thing of perspective.

The way I feel about you has driven deeper than casket nails in the past 10 hours. I know 3 weeks of my time will be a Friday night to you. Maybe it's more lopsided than my asymmetrical eyes, but these emotions go unrequited because of someone who is not me.

It's nothing of your persona, only your perfect idea. A philosopher doesn't fall for the thinker, only the thought. You're the vessel of my one flawless mental creation that came as a broken jar in an antique clay shop. I could have been born decades earlier and I still wouldn't have made it in time to tear you from something you never had to be attached to.

But now as I clarify my final statement on engineers and metal pieces, does the idea of me linger more heavily in her mind than yours in mine? I need a new appraisal and I've got 3 weeks and 18 miles. I have no expectations but I expect the world from you.
LP S Jun 2018
"You can't always win, L."
he says.
He always says that,
the boy from Ohio with the lopsided grin,
"Sometimes, you just lose..
and that's okay."
Emphasis on the "okay".
Because he knows
that's the one word
I won't hear him say.
He knows this,
because he always says it.
When I tell him,
I don't feel right, where I am.
And it's worked before.
So it should work now,
he thinks to himself.
And perhaps if I were sitting next to him,
like I used to,
in that one room apartment,
in Victorian Village,
I would hear it.
I would hear it,
and it would resonate.
Before he punched me in the arm
and asked if I was done being dramatic,
so we could turn on the game,
because he just got a text that OSU is down by 7,
and he's pretty sure it's because he's not watching..
So I would laugh,
shove him off the couch I got at Goodwill,
and he would grab two more PBRs from my fridge
that only sometimes worked,
and it would be okay.
It would.
Because to the sound of him yelling at Braxton Miller
through the tv
like he could actually hear him,
and the hot summer breeze pouring through the open windows,
it made sense.
What he said,
made sense.
But we're not in that apartment,
and he can't hear how hard my is heart beating
from 700 miles away,
can't see the look on my face
when I tell him I think I'm losing my ******* mind.
Suddenly his voice sounds so far
and so foreign.
And he knows,
he knows it's not working this time
but that's the farthest he ever got
so that's as far as he goes.
And the long pause is deafening.
So in one final act of desperation
he simply says,
"Love you, kid."
And I just say,
"I know."
Jacey Aug 2015
must love rainy days
pumpkin carving
and unexpected kisses

must be tolerant
of jimmy stewart
and bob dylan
the other men in my life

no height
or hair color requirement
but big hearted weirdos
who smile for no reason
are always welcome

homophobic persons
or those who say baby
as a term
of endearment

i like my coffee bitter
and my men sweet
the other way around

lopsided grins and kind eyes can get you everywhere

if similar in tempermant style or appearance to
the doctor
david bowie
mickey mouse
or jesus
please contact immediately

must be accepting of
raucous laughter
black and white films
cold feet
and occasional insomnia

i am always late
rarely refined
and have almost no perception
of the volume of my own voice

in junior high i asked a girl to stop picking on another child

she told me to go fly a kite

it was not until much later that i realized she was insulting me
not offering ideas
for an enjoyable way
to spend the afternoon

my hair is an untamable beast
but when fashioned properly
can be wrapped about my face
to create a rather fetching beard

i enjoy being scared
and am not easily so
unless you are a bug

i talk in my sleep
never know what day it is
and cry while reading good books

i just want
to hold your hand
in a crowded theatre
while we wait for the scene
at the end of the credits

and to be able to tell you
i love you
Hope you like it! (:
upside down

tried to let it be turn around

my porch is a little ferris wheel

and I curl up inside, and its a bit brisk

but thats alright, coffee is good

and so are deep breaths, but my mind, again

tangled round the telephone wires

there are a few things bothering me

but they emerge with a laughing track in the background, and I grin to myself

sober and straight thinking, a bit alert, a bit anxious, but present

my mothers so tired, tired tired

but she is trying, trying

going to spain to see my brother

everything seems to be fine

heading to new york to see my lover, my passion, she drives me mad

and I'm a lopsided man fiddling with a soup can, people can't **** straight

that's the **** of most jokes, that are told

and I laugh at those ones hard, but I laugh at myself hardest

kick back, take easy, take step, take stride, ***** up, in the ditch, dust myself off

dad said worry less

and he's right

therapist said try harder
and he has truth

truth has its way of working its way round the telephone wires, too

born out of birds creating their energy, born out of timeless time, jokes told over and over again

and I am sentimental, my friend

as I sip and stare off, not my joke but his, but we share it, laugh, and stare off

over and over again
Avery Glows Jul 2014
People moving in
With their suitcases on board
Standing everywhere
Fumbling to their seats.

Yes please.  

Plane flies on the runaway      
Diving into the clouds    
Into a puff of wind                            
and smoke.
We fly.      

I sat unmoved
For the rest of 16 hours.
I thought I had been fossilized.
But I saw it flying    
Us flying to mi casa
Time is rolling backwards
My lips tugging backwards  
No more jetlagging.          
I held on to a light of a hope    
with a lopsided grin.
It's time to say hello
To the land long forgotten
The land with cozy saturday mornings
Where we have dinner at 7pm, not 9.
The land that I long to be in
Where I had been long gone
is 60 minutes apart.
Grace Jordan Sep 2014
There's a feeling I've felt hindering on the tip of my tongue, twirling with sawdust at the end of my bed. Its tingled my toes and tickled my nose and killed all hopes that this is just happiness.

Sleep is for figments and products of sanity, neither of which I can claim heritage. Well perhaps figments in the waking hours of the darkness, but that is a tale for another time.

I can feel his fingertips stroking my sides, reminding me what it is to feel human and vulnerable and perfect. Didn't know he boosted me ego and turned me into the self absorbed maniac you see before you today. Tyrant, remembrr? Oh wait, that's another tale altogether again.

I ramble in the night, in the morning, all the time. My thoughts wander with echoing clarity to encompass the truth about me; not everything is quite right. The teacups are lopsided at the unbirthday table tonight.

Yet again, speaking in riddles and stories unbeknownst to you. Stupid me, stupid Grace, stupider you. Why are you so open to my madness anyway? Maybe you're the crazy one.

This sick godlike embodiment I feel is one I forget isn't real, isn't me, isn't life. But wait. Its a part of me, so perhaps it is real as well? Call a jury, wake a judge, there must be a verdict on my elation. Am I a minor deity or are the synapses playing some cruel joke on my heartstrings?

Heartstrings, why did I bring them into this? I have shut them off for now, for they are dumb and deaf to honesty and logic and do whatever the hell they feel. Or is it whatever the heaven? I forget sometimes where the real misery is, or how the expression goes. I've never quite gotten everything right, being as upside down as I.

Insomnia brings out the manic in me, and I know its not real, but for a moment, just a moment, I belong. I am real, I am loved, I am powerful. Weak little Grace is no more, with her fears and contradictions. Just strength is left, and it is glorious.

Just remember not to let the heffelumps get you in the night, for they are the true evil behind your honey ***. Or am I a heffelump? I can't remember anymore.

This is going nowhere, everywhere, somewhere.

Wake me up inside before I destroy myself, or simply perpetuate my perfection with a caress of your hand. Whatever suits your fancy.

Call me Aphrodite and we'll call it a night after hours of mindblowing ***. But you expected that all along, of course you did, because you know my bones better than we both realize.

When you put your hands on me I feel ****. But yet again, right now I an perpetually **** and twitchy and awake and fake. Dare you to kiss me anyway.

Dare you to see me, psychotics and all.

Bet you'll run like the rest, yet like all good hiders its refreshing to be found every once in awhile.

Find me, and see. See the monster behind my beautiful eyes. That's the day when you'll see what true danger looks like; me.

Insomnia makes me odd, but yet again I'm always odd.

Little miss muffet sat on her tuffet, eating her curds and craves, for a man betwixt her to tell her she's killer and make her a siren next day.

Forget, no, yes, its all I do. Its not how that goes, for sirens are certainly not temporary. I am certainly a black widow every day, not just each odd thursday.

Go to bed, Grace. I beg of you.

Close my eyes and say goodnight to the beloved moon, for the sun is nearly up and it certainly hates me, I am sure of it.

Just never forget all this is wrapped up in one little old me. No one seems to remember that until its far too late, so might as well run now, because otherwise little miss muffet here on her tuffet will be the death of you.
Iska Aug 2018
Every day the cards were played
Everyday you lost
I won.
Every day you’d come back
With declarations of future success,
And when proved false you’d smile,
All lopsided and sheepish,
With a “next time perhaps”
And now your gone.
And next time won’t come.
I guess I won after all.
You always said
I was a queen of diamonds
But my dear,
You were the Ace of hearts.
To Everett
If there is a place after this life,
I expect to see that lopsided grin
From across the table
May we play cards again
who knows?
I may even let you win...
(Or not)
mark john junor Jan 2014
there's a hard silence here
and there is a fresh echo of the dim kitchen light
in the ***** linoleum tiles that zigzag the floor
even the air feels broken as it limps slowly
through the room
i stop near the door upon entering
and gather myself
like a ragman gathering the tattered remains
stitching the fragments of self with the thread of awareness
weave the image of self into the reality of the moment
with the hesitations of someone who has lived this moment too many times'
it will come to naught
she is alive but her heart is dead
the dust on my worn coat is from the graves of my
fallow field where we once laid a crop of hopes
but i cannot abandon her to this barren place

i know i perceive only the narrow sunstricken pages
faded and stained with the words legible only to the hardy eye
but its the deeper tale which
even the gardener of times bloodstained trophy's
would fear to tread
his leather shod hands worry the intricate gears
of the mechanical face she wears
he manipulates it to wear a lopsided grin
pantomime of happiness for my birthday
but i watch the vacant places behind the face and see that
with a blemished mechanical eye she looks out over the oncoming
evening through the livingroom window
its cracked and ***** surface turns
the setting sun into a parody of dawn

she greets me but just stares out the window
as if she is waiting a lovers return
i stand infront of her blankly
we wait for the hours to pass
i fix her tea even though it isn't broken
and make small talk
as she makes mechanical sounds
till she sleeps
i leave with the dawn
and make my way to my own bed at last
to fend off dreams that something somewhere could be different
and wake to the sorrowful song of a passing bard
his thin feet dancing on a moonlight hilltop
meant for lovers only
and he is dancing alone
Trevor Gates Jul 2013
The Obsidian Theater XII.

You’re all probably wondering why I asked you to come here this evening.

I do not plan to waste any of your time

Regardless if you feel that I do


I’ll get to the point.


I’m afraid I don’t have one

And neither do you

Or you
Or you
Or even you

I once spoke to a lopsided journalist who understood what I meant
He once sat where you were sitting and spoke to me in such unique lubricities
I couldn’t help but ponder his underlying tone of voice
A hidden message gargled beneath his throat.
Past the teeth and gums
Sliding down his esophagus and into his stomach
Of voyage of crude judgment on my part

I still haven’t made my point.
But then as I recollect what we’ve just discussed
The point was made
Regardless of what you think
For what I say

Are we confused?
You should be
Because it’s really quite simple

The amount of time you took to read this nonsense is equivalent to the deaths of a handful of people.

Now that’s a lot to think about
But in return many newborns have arrived on this plane of existence
Ready to be embraced by chains and strife


Of where they are
Who they are

No one is born free

We’re all fooled into accepting these rights, or extended privileges
All false

Everything has been orchestrated and arranged to keep your mind in check

How does it feel to be another chuck of human cattle?

Humans are mostly made up of Dark meat

Billions of people have lived and died


We don’t know them

We don’t remember them

Because of how insignificant their impact was

We only remember a small percentage

A fraction

Because of what they did



Religious figures








Rock stars









And their prey

We don’t remember the normal people

Why should we?

It will take on average three generations to forget you after your death.
All that will be left will be a grave and a tombstone
If you’re lucky

Everyone who would’ve known you
Will be dead with you.

Does this depress you?

Does this make sense?

Do you know what I’m talking about?
Did you hear what I said?

Check your ears because no one said a word.

Did you see what I did there?
Check your vision because I didn’t show you anything.

Nobody will
Show you
The truth
You must search for it

And accept the opaque mucus of circuitry and metal
Interwoven through our biological makeup
Hardened flesh

Resilient to innocence
Empowered by lost negligence

****** into the illusory overindulgence of ignorance,
Racial profiling
Ethnic intolerance
Class segregation
Wars of Naked greed
Pursuits of justifiable genocide and wrath
Condemned and institutionalized by denominations of Christians
Muslims and non-believers
Who claim to act in the will of God
Or the moral benefactor
Of the meat grinder that is

Modern civilization.

All points made and
Explanations aside

I’m glad I wasted your time

Regardless of what you think
What I say or do

I’m glad you came by
I wonder how many people died while you read this…
How many were born?

It doesn’t matter I guess
Only a few will care or remember
The same goes for you
Unless you make enough of a significant mark on the world

The same goes for me.

Will God still exist when all the people are gone?

Without humans, there will be no religion
And no war

So where will God be in all this?

Maybe having that knowledge was part of the plan.

Who knows…

Either way, God made a point.
Thank you. You can turn in your notes by Friday. You can submit your question to Tyler Durden in room 099 on Paper Street.  I’d like to thank the faculty for arranging this conference. I’d also like to mention the little guys who helped organized this: Flying Teapots, Edith Piaf, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Nancy Sinatra, Jeff Beck, Interview Magazine, Starbucks, Smart Water, mechanical pencils, Terrance Stamp, Spike Lee, Rooney Mara, wax paper, coco jelly beans and of course King Candy.

Until next time.
Hank Roberts Jan 2013
Sidewalks mingle with society
because they are one in the same essentially.
They both lead you to ***** grease traps, credit
in the single digits, and unpaid rent,  by
over-passing where the clowns don't wear make up  
and where the credit housing hasn't split in half.  
Better think twice before you skip it passed,
Short cut grass grows inside a dream
that you're enforced to believe along with a four bedroom
house, two baths, and  long term mortgage.  
Underground bowling alleys and lopsided movie
theaters mix with ipods and ipads and mp3s and 4's,
forming combustion that ashes all the sticks,
leaves, sprinklers, and women into *****'s
marketplace.  No wonder no one wanted to leave here.  
Don't forget Gomorrah as well.
illueminate Apr 2016
i studied your body like i would the sky,
tracing constellations into your skin as you hummed
what sounded like the clouds would when they move.

andromeda on your throat, aquarius along your collarbones,
canis major covered your chest, gemini on your right shoulder.
i didn't want to leave when you told me that you loved me.

leo graced your left shoulder, just slightly down your back,
your stomach wore lyra, lopsided, like your smile.
sometimes i couldn't breathe at the thought of losing you.

orion on one hip, pisces on the other, my lips on both,
scorpius, dangerous, starting on your inner thigh.
but it was that loving you that scared me more than losing you.

taurus, ursa major, both on your calves,
body trembling as i traced virgo onto your ankles.
i couldn't hold on, i couldn't breathe, i couldn't understand.

i always saved libra for last, a balance scale,
over the entirety of your back, my safe haven.
breaking the scale when i leaned over, lips against your ear,
*we can't exist together.
from my self published book 'beneath the vacancy' // lulu, amazon, barnes & noble
Today I sat alone eating lunch.
My furious eyes scanning
Relentlessly from table to table,
From couple to trio,quartet or-
Loner such as myself.

Looking for something...
in a whole new sense of the word-
Than my afternoon apple.

Today had all the usuals.
Yesterday's fatties were today's fatties.
Those who yester-took the role of chatterbox
Have shut-up and no play the role of an impatient listener.

The ******* congregate together in a huddle.
They address each other with a casual slur
That once meant something in a time of their ancestors.
And they stand about in a fashion
That serves only to make them appear larger than needed.
Adjusting their lopsided garments...
An example of a vain attempt to subscribe to human vanity.

I admire the loners with the headphones on.
Lost in their own world of music,
It's like the comforts of home-
A tiny invisible wall that goes
All the way around them.
They cannot see you, and so they know that none are watching.
...Except for me.
Me and the little game that I play|
While eating lunch.

Today there is a woman.
She is...
Dressed with a pinstripe tie,
It accents her men's purple shirt.
She's wearing a nylon skirt,
It ends above her knees in a shimmer of plastic tassels.
She took off her dark green ballcap|...
She put her sandaled feet on the table|...
|...And winked at me
Serving as a reminder that,
Neither of us has anything better to do,
Than to play a game while eating lunch.
Debra A Baugh Jun 2012
Harvey Wallbangers In Times Square was
her teaser, a Mai-Tai bang in Taipan, once
or twice her kisses so, sweet he trembled;
as she let him taste her Irish Coffee making
his Rob Roy so, **** hot and bobbing.

It sprang forth with a twang for her Firewater;
engorging the Latted Espresso between her thighs
as Egg Cream threathened to explode,
dipping into her lustful Brandy Alexander;
spillage between her Champagne Cocktail,
cheek to cheek.

She asked me if I wanted a sip of her Coffee Royale;
I said I wouldn't mind being coated in her behind's
libation, drowning ourselves in lust of a throbbing
nightcap; while I slap each cheek in rhythm in a state
of osmosis.

Drinking from her Schnapps; my mind sailed the
sevens seas of her lubricious ocean; riding her Schooner
as waves pushed me within her lagoon with each motion,
slinging Deep Shots; full of emotion, moaning baby! your
Snifter is so, **** wet; swilling your Dom Perignon
and me, just before morn, intoxicated in your elixir
of life; smiling a lopsided smile still tasting your
luscious liquor.

So, we staggered back to bed; laid bulbed
head in inviting peninsula on the shore of
Demon *** Isle and some more I smiled,
absorbing in slurps her coveted Olive Martini,
lapping like a newborn kitten smitten with her
Mint Julep's robust lips; while Lime Rickey
dipped his straw in ebbing shores; sipping
as we eagerly explored, clawing my back.

I in gentlemanly fashion opened all her doors,
as she infiltrated me in every light; mouth
covered in Hot Buttered ***, tasting from
Highballs to every Gimlet of body with skilled
tongue of a bartending artist.

Tasting salt rimmed glasses with hungry tongue
lashes in places so, naughty I flicked out Mickey
Finn; nibbled her in bites of delight front to end,
such a naughty appetite we fed; breathing in heat
like Green Dragon's brew, going down south of
Manhattan's lower eastside; drinking up her **** hide.

She said baby! it's time to ride; Igniting each of her
rooms with Bullshot Cocktails in flaming explosions;
I couldn't get enough being drenched within libations
of her ***** ocean.

Drowning in waves of ardent spirits like a bolt of lightning
poured through us from head to toe we flowed in slow mo';
sweet bon apetits of ecstasy complete, swallowed nice and
neat; spent, bathed in Brandy Smash of a contented bash,
inebriated in slumbered splashes.

wasted in her folded sashes...
Terry Collett Jul 2014
Bring out the pottery boy
Mr A said
bring it out front
so the other boys can see

your work
I took out my clay pottery
attempt to the front of class
and stood there

holding the pottery
on a wooden tray
Mr A gazed at me
through his black framed

Beatnik glasses
his eyes like huge marbles
what you call this
huh boy?

I looked at the hand rolled
clay ***
haven't called it
anything yet

I said
thinking of a name
he went stern eyed at me
are we attempting wit

as well as pottery?
He said
a mild titter
from some boys

in the class
he said
in a raised voice

like a failed actor
here we have
an example how not
and I repeat NOT

to make a ***
the classroom went quiet
I stared at my ***
lopsided and brown

like a rushed ****
what were you attempting?
Mr A asked
whatever it was

it most certainly was not
a ***
I said nothing
I gazed at him

in his snot green jumper
and Beatnik beard
and brown
corduroy trousers

and sandals
I don't know
why I bother
with pupils like you boy

he said
waste of my time
I stood looking
passed him at Danny

who was boss eyed
and pulling a face
I suppressed a smile
and looked dull

go back to your place
and spare me
the sad boy look
so I returned to my desk

with my ***
leaning further east
and placed it down gently
as if it were some work

of modern art
Mr A then poked
Eddie in the back
and held up his ***

which went in and out
like armless model
of Greek design

Mr A said
than mine.
Rose Alley Jul 2013
You talk about eggshells
I hear the crunch as I get closer to you
Thought it was glass breaking but it was too soft beneath my shoe
I can't stay out of your perimeter forever
When the diameter grows bigger and bigger
Pushing me farther away
I can still see soft silhouette

Your skin is so frail
Pale white made of the eggshells at your feet
You reach down time and again
When you're pierced by words
Cutting off oxygen
Penetrated by the carbon dioxide truth
You're not young anymore
Age is ageless numerals
You're not old

How many birds flew away from this pile of youth?
Each one once packaged like a gift
Leaving behind stacks of birth to sift through
You gathered them
Scattered them evenly around you
Put your appearance and self worth into them and
Waited for the crushing blow
Marching toward you from all sides
Your insecurities will swallow you and
The stomping will leave you angry and hollow

We are all hippy chickens
Making wishbones out of peace signs
Hoping for unity
Not realizing it's meant to be broken
A lopsided libra unbalanced
The powers that be
Expect you to follow obediently
Stand in line
You can't take just give
'Short people ain't got no reason to live'
Newman must have know
How difficult it is to create new men
One by one we attempt
To tip the scale in our favor
But the bigger Man
Can push it down with a finger
Like a toppling Pisa tower
A slow motion fall to the ground
A single direction agenda
The momentum gained
With each inch leaning

So stop clowning around
Sweep up your eggshells and
Go buy a dozen more grade A's and
Break them all at once
We don't have much time
Ted Scheck Nov 2014
You would think that
Light is always bright,
Shining, Luminescent,
Searing, burning, illuminating,
Perpetual dawn rolling across
Earth's lopsided expanses.
You would think.

Light and Darkness
Were once perfectly melded-
Molded together, in the
Time before time,
In the cusp of God's hands
Pressing together and
Held apart in infinite
Pressure and density and love.
They were one yet separate,
Filling the mindless firmament between
The Left and Right Hand of God,
Before He created Earth.

You know the Beginning:
When the Heavens came into
(So that the minds
Of men and women could
Acknowledge their existence)
And then the Earth was

God moved His hands
(And Spoke through Them)
The earth, formless, void:
The Light in God's Hands
Marveled at the Living Light,
The Source of all things
Whom the light had dreamed about,
In its cupola that it thought to be
Infinite, but was somehow, beyond;
God, it seemed, had more,
A Higher Purpose for The Light

And The Darkness, seeing his
Brother distracted and occupied,
And uncomprehending the why
And how of God’s Light and
The Light (his brother?) standing
Close, so close, in perfect
Conversation, and why?
Why was not The Darkness a
Part of His Conversation?

Darkness, in the infinitesimal moments
After Creation had begun,
Turned his back on God and
Saw what was beneath him.
Streaked blackly down to the new
Thing God had made simply
By Speaking.

“What is The Darkness doing,
The Light asked, confused
For the first time.
“I don’t understand.”
God spoke, a gentle,
Soothing whisper.
And The Light looked,
Shining the barest part of
Himself down, so that
The Darkness could see.

The Darkness saw itself
Hovering over the waters.
The round globe that
God created was covered,
Filled with something
Mysterious and liquid
And like itself, Dark,
Deep, and brooding.

Dark and Void
Were now one.
Away from the Presence
Of God.
The Darkness had never
Flown, or streaked, or
Zipped like lightning before.
And Darkness saw that it was

Now Darkness was doing it.
Darkness was all OVER this
Planet-thing. Darkness had
And Darkness saw that it
Wasn't moving. It had never
Been so big, so
It circled the entire planet,
A giant ring of Itself,
For thousands and thousands
Of miles. Looking at the deep
Dark wet stuff,
Darkness saw its face
For the first time.
Not GOOD, Darkness thought
To Himself.
But before The Darkness
Could get a longer
(And much more detailed)
Look, becoming more and more
Connected with the Void…

Four of God's Words
Split the whole of existence


The Light of Creation
Exploded outward and
Imploded inward
Scalding Darkness' eyeballs black
And God took The Darkness
In His Hand and Threw
Him to the other side
Of Earth,
12 hours
And 12,500 miles away.

God favored the "Light"
And called it "Good"
Darkness wanted to hear that
Spoken about himself.
But God further divided
And delineated them
By changing their natures.

The Light, now powered by a nearby
***** Yellow Star
Almost a hundred million
Miles away
(So as to not cook or
Freeze them to death)
God explained cryptically
Who is THEM
(The Light wondered)
There are OTHERS
Besides God?
And us?

But when God was doing His
Business, and it involved you,

And God's Pure Light
Was now intimately linked with,
Among other things, the creatures
That God was even now filling the
Seas and the Land.
The Light’s new name was

The Darkness changed simply
By God Willing It.
The Darkness liked his new name,
Closer to Light's old one
And Night thought he might be
Happier, after all, since
God placed so much
MORE of him, far, far out
In the Heavens, in the
(Though fathomable to him)
Empty spaces between the
Stars that gave birth to
Day every single itself.

But God punished The Darkness
For being Prideful, and marveling
At the beauty of his face
So God banished The Darkness
To reside alongside, and
Even, with, the Void
Who had been cast down
An Eternity before, waiting,
Waiting for just such a planet
To come along, so that Void
Could rule the air
(Like a Prince,
Deposed to his
New kingdom).

The Dark had never before
Felt something so different,
So ‘Off-Natured’ from God
Night was afraid, so Night
Kept his head down and
Out of sight and
Did his job.
The Light shone through
A tiny yellow orb, and
This light bathed the planet
In a veil of brightness.
Night was only one
Aspect of The Darkness, like
A Cousin created to do a
Very specific job, which
Left The Darkness to explore
Earth and the Surrounding

The Light had other aspects,
A nickname, if you will:
“Daylight” and
Daylight, in spite of
All he could see
(But Daylight praised God for this,
And knew God was the Source of All Things)
And all the creatures and
The Man and The Woman
Daylight missed his brother,
The Dark.
But the Stars would only shine
Him in the Way God Intended,
And not a little brighter more.
So Daylight did his job, too.

One itself, as Day again
Chased Night away
(Always on Night's heels,
But never EVER catching him!)
Day was shining on a patch
Of water that seemed familiar.
But the water was, well,
Watery, and diffuse, and it
Slowed down Light's usually
Terminal Velocity, and bent and
Diffracted and distracted his
Straight-line nature. Light asked
God to tell Night he was sorry.


Thank You, Light of Heaven,
Day said, feeling the Star
Sol going into a brief and
Exciting supernova,
A thin yet ultimately powerful
Ray of Sol’s tremendous
Energy shining down
On that little familiar patch
Of water.

Day shouldered its
Way through thick clumps of
Seaweed (now dead) and down,
Ever down,
Deeper than any light had
Ever penetrated the Dark
Down, the light went, down,
To its breaking point,
Where Daylight was barely
Discernible as itself.
It got to the place
Where He ended,
And his brother began.
With its last photon of energy,
Daylight gave itself to
His long-lost Twin.
"I'm sorry, Dark"
A patch of exceptionally black
Darkness wobbled a nod.
(Me too, Light)
It seemed to say.
"I miss you, brother,” sobbed
The Light.
And God have Light his request,
Allowing him to shine just
A little more brightly,
And the Light gave of himself
To his Brother Darkness.
“God, may I please
Keep this little light
Of mine
To remind me of
My Brother Daylight?

Dark was no longer so very
As God put a bit of
In the strange, strange
Creatures who lived with
And in total
And the Dark
Loved those creatures
So much so that when
(Or I)
Capture a Dark
It cannot,
Will not
Survive the Light
On the Surface
Of the Ocean
Drew Vincent Apr 2015
"Oh honey that's terrible. I am so sorry you had to go through that. I promise I will only take it when I have no other option,"
you said to me when I told you about my mother's addiction to Xanax.
"I love the way you kiss me. Every single kiss is just as passionate as the next,"
you said to me after kissing you for the hundredth time.
"I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want our days to be just like this,"
you said to me as we laid on your bed in our underwear.

"You're going to have to try for me honey, I'm not some 18 year old boy,"
you said to me while I straddled you and kissed your neck.
"Here honey, maybe this will help,"
you said to me as you sent me an article about how to pleasure a man.
"If you're going to start working out, you can't do anything with your upper arms...If you do that then you'll lose weight in your ******* and make them even more lopsided,"
you said to me when I wanted to get in better shape.

"It would have been better if you called me first instead of your friend,"
you said to me when I called you to tell you my grandfather died.
"Why are you leaving? We had plans! Are you breaking up with me?,"
you said to me when I left to be with my family after my grandfather's death.
"Drew, I am going to **** myself. I can't take this anymore. I'm just going to go driving and not come home,"
you said to me after my grandfather's funeral.

"I can't do this anymore. We need to move on and go our separate ways."

"Can we still be friends?,"
you said to me after trying to put up a fight


"Who are you with?,"
you said to me after I didn't answer your call.
"You're on a date aren't you?,"
you said to me once you figured it out.
"We need to talk. Get out of the car and let's walk."
you said to me after waiting in front of my house to get home.

"You were on a date? Are you kidding me? After telling me you want to be alone? What the actual **** Drew?"
you said to me on our walk.
"I hate you,"
you said to me after yelling at me for an hour and a half.
"You're a monster. You are acting like a *****. You know what? No. You're not acting like a *****. You ARE a *****. You're a ******* *****,"
you said to me after telling me that you will never call me a *****.

I want to **** myself. Leave me, please.

"No, I'm not leaving,"*
you said to me as I cried for an hour.
"Its okay, Drew. You need to breathe. You're going to pass out soon you need to relax,"
you said to me as a panic attack settled in.
"Let's go get you some water and Advil,"
you said after the crying and panicking ceased.

"You're a *****."
you said to me after my emotional breakdown.
"Happy New Year's,"
you said as you kissed me when it hit midnight.
"See you tomorrow,"
you said as you left me even more of an emotional disaster than before.

We can try and be friends again but that's it. Nothing more.

"Drew, I am so glad we could be friends again."
you said to me as we tried this one last time.
"I've missed you."
you said as you straddle me in the backseat of your mom's car.
"I love you,"
you said to me as you planted your lips onto mine.

I think we're toxic for each other. I think we should go our separate ways.

"Toxic? TOXIC? Take me back to Michael's. NOW."
you said to me as your face changed to pure anger.
"You're a ******* monster. A *****,"
you said to me as you slammed the car door shut.
"You're a worthless *******. You're a waste of space,"
you said to me as I drove down that dark, windy road.

"No wonder everyone around you has to pop Xanax. No one ever knows what they'll get from you that day. One day its 'I love you' and the next it's, 'you're toxic,'"
you said to me as your voice progressively got louder and louder.
"I'm going to finally **** myself now. Thank you so much, Drew. For finally giving me the chance to do it. And when I do, you better believe I'll be coming back to make your life a living hell."
you said to me as tears distorted my vision.
"I promise I'm going to **** myself. And I keep my promises,"
you said to me as you squeezed my thigh.

You scare me.

"Oh Drew, I am so sorry."
you said to me, your voice quiet and broken.
"I'll take an anger management class. I am so sorry,"
you said to me as tears flooded your eyes.
"I love you see you tomorrow,"
you said to me as you kissed me goodnight.
Victoria Oct 2012
I am not a bad person because I don’t believe in soul mates
I can still believe in the existence of love
And the infinite power you possess when you run your finger down my spine
I believe in the absolute truth that is my stomach rolling over
Like a wave curling and crashing on a deserted beach
When you offer up a lopsided smile upon seeing me for the first time in days

No matter how embarrassing the sentiment is
I still feel every cell in my body pull toward you in a desire to be held
Like you hold that cigarette--
With the knowledge that there are many others just like it
But in that moment it is worth more than gold

It’s not wrong for me to believe that I may feel this with someone else
In another town
In another country
On another continent
Maybe just miles away
Or across the ocean
It does not change how I feel about you
And me
In this moment
Liam C Calhoun Jul 2015
The mannequin faceless,
Clothed in gold
With hands pandering svelte,
Remains an admired inanimate,
Albeit, atop whispers to a girl,
A 4-foot flower 3-feet my right,
Fretting and stumped;
Extrinsic a label – “undesirable.”

The mannequin faceless,
Her and hollow –
A towering nose above, stands
Opaque ivory, scarred come
Synonymous eyes with a symmetrical
Soul, assumed plastic perfection
And more importantly,
Soon to be sale.

The mannequin faceless
Convinced her new friend,
Her lesser, lopsided,
And natural not-so counterpart
To consume,
“Eat me, “eat me,” “eat it all,”
And then, “binge some more.”

The mannequin faceless
“BUY!”  Amongst the other torments –
Born both fingers that can’t move and
The thumbs that shuffle, “One’s,”
To the girl that was never,
“Good enough;” so shared the
Tabloid’s mouth.

The mannequin faceless demands
And DEMANDS nothing less than to
Buy, starve, suffer and sacrifice
So that every “broken body,”
May embody polymer, and for a price,
A not so fair trade whilst
Considering old man gold,
The curator of conundrum
And the plastic he’s created.
And maybe it was because I was listening to, "Radiohead."
Robyn Dec 2016
When you found me
I was lopsided
Uneven, unloved
Over touched
You picked me up
And evened me out
When you found me
Crawling in the dirt
I finally found what I was looking for
Jessica Austin Mar 2012
My bed was built beneath

whirlwind puzzles
and bow-tied time,
pulsing menageries
and lopsided rhymes;
circles and rainbows
and dark-alley’d dreams,
suns that explode
beneath smoothed-over seams.

But between the cracks
of the never-ending skyline
live shadows and demons
and sewage-filled pipelines.

There are toy-soldier boys
carrying small metal knives,
their sharp-tongued solutions
highlight well-thought-out lies;
and the bubble-gum girl armies
that ride into the night
spread pink viscous poison
and dance out of sight.

These spectacular visions
linger over my head,
with too-full rainbows
and ship-wrecked dread;
every highlighted secret
connects the stars of a time
where each piece of the whole
was malleable and mine.
Thrown from the plastic mansion | Collecting haunted trinkets

There's less hands holding us back | Than ever before

Not just some perfect ideal | Lady's got style and flair

Invest in incantaions | spend all your tickets there

Body heat glistens over | Mary's mammary glands

So much it's breaking carbon | the ion hates itself

Promised not to make fun | When islands crossed the sights

And pestilent gods lock up weeping orphans counting rites


I don't wanna break ties
But this house is built from little fibs
There are pressing matters concerning  rhymes - plastered to his ribs  
Still I got my own smile
So welcome to my mind
Constructed from the amalgamations of polaroids and wine


Lopsided indentation | Alpha axis joins the flow

Elongated mecurary finds solice down below  

Bound by an austere contract | Wolves croon, "remove your pants".

While golden hair counts stitches on her filthy fingertips

"Already sold our qualms | To buy this perfect body "

That's what the Dutchmen's humming | Every single night

They gave the artists' freedom | Breadth of some lame idea

Spend all our working hours - trying not to gaze into sky

Aria of Midnight Jun 2016
i. no absolute rest
"yes, time
never did stop
for anyone."

but I add...

ii. no absolute motion*
"even time itself
is an

yours and mine

iii. backwards
maybe yesterday,
we could still
work things out.

than lightly (3.0 x 10^8 m/s)

iv. implausibility
our foreheads wear
the cracks of our heart.

you lost your zeal,
I lost my saviour,
we lost each other,

but left
with osmium-clad
and collapsed

E = mc^2.

v. our end

is inevitable.

screeching alarms
and lopsided bed-hair,
and chugging caramel lattes,
with precisely two tablespoons
of raw sugar--

forget among the clamour,
the shadow of your figure--

you are an
unearthed blackhole,
under the facade
of a supernova.

(your mass = 2.5(+) x greater than the sun)
a late night poem, inspired by Einstein's theory of relativity according to this video: I have worked out that my love for physics doesn't step from solving problems, but thinking, contemplating, the concepts....

the romanticisation of such a theory, though, was not an original idea. I recently watched (and absolutely fell in love with) Steins;Gate, the science-fiction anime.
WistfulHope May 2017
moon time
star shine
echoes in my bones
can't feel my toes
hearing your voice is a shot of adrenaline
and not the good kind
my body rattles through the silence
and meteors shower my soul
memories are too raw to call
but they come without beckoning
in flashes meteors tear through the atmosphere
and i lay immobile as they become a camera shutter
one flash... and there is your smile, a lopsided grin
I wrote this a month ago: 4/29/17
Jade Louise May 2015
The carnival was asleep
It had been for years
A stiff frozen Big Top
Unused gelato machines
Fading in streams of color
Like a crying watercolor painting

Falling asleep on the Ferris Wheel
Was never my intention
It had been standing still
In the heart of the abandoned circus town

We travelled through it
Like cells of life
A ghostly forgotten world

Our eyes twinkling with the wind and stars
Our feet living inside our boots
Stepping over
Clotted patches of dirt

And then we began to climb upwards
To the stars
Reaching to the sky
I climbed high enough
Trying to brush up against the ink black sky
Fireflies dancing in circles
The moon's craters smiling to me
In the most genuine kind of smiles
The lopsided and distorted kind

And we climbed upwards
In the frozen ferris wheel
We climbed like ants
We crawled through its spokes
Like we were suspended in a giant bicycle wheel
We climbed into faded pastel passenger cars
In our tiredness
We fell into them
Our thoughts suspended
Like the sky's stars
Hanging in the sky

We were in the most abandoned place
Yet we were breathing life into it

And then
The ferris wheel began to turn

Even the most abandoned places
Even the most ghostly
Can be awoken

By life

And with that
The Ferris Wheel began to turn
Joining the earth in its motion

And we each fell asleep
All of us
In our own faded passenger cars
Separate but connected
Turning with the world

Like a lullaby
Gently being rocked to sleep
By the Earth
Under the midnight sky
Earthlings, all as one


— The End —