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Ashton Jun 2016
Im not like a typical poet
I dont rhyme
And i dont write well
I dont know how to put my feelings into words
But here i go again trying

So here i am wide awake
Thinking about you
Hoping your dreams are sweet
Or that their of me
Ive been realizing lately that your  my best friend
The person i talk to everyday
The person i actually care to impress
I want you to think so highly of me
And i want you to view me as i view you
See you're more than just my relationship status on facebook
You're more than my boyfriend
I was lucky to find a guy as good as you
As understanding and willing as you
Im falling even more in love with you everyday
These are my midnight thoughts
BraileyVine Mar 2016
Once you've loved somebody,
really loved them,
can you ever really let them go?

Don't they become
a part of every decision you make,
drops of their opinions soaking into yours?

Doesn't your frame remember
the way to accommodate theirs,
and the buzz of energy they gave?

Doesn't that memory
of their hand in yours,
or the way their hair smelled,
or the completely vulnerable way they would whisper secrets
stay with you?

And even if you're married one day,
with children and a dog
and a job,
doesn't that long ago love stay love?

Because if it doesn't,
Doesn't that mean it was never really true love at all?

People think it's unacceptable,
But things really always are.
That's why there are so many liars
Don't lie to yourself.
You still love them.
And it doesn't mean you have to go back to them.
It just means you really loved them.
I won't call you lucky
or cursed.
You're both.
Love holds on. And that's okay.
In fact, it's all we really have.
T R S Jul 2018
It turns out that the lady bugs that I found in my hair
Aren't there because they're lucky
It's in fresh air that they repair

I can walk much longer than those little tiny dregs
I wish I were more stronger
Or could climb on a monster with big legs

Maybe find a universe
Much more large than me
Someplace where I can feel so small
With a lot of place to be
Pet
Tighten your grip,
tug on the leash.
Rip out my heart,
and feed it to me.

Don't make me beg,
I'm not one to kneel.
But if you're lucky,
maybe I'll bleed.

Don't think of me,
as a lover.
Think of my dear,
as another pet.

Here for the now,
not for the later.
Life short lived,
then I'm gone.

Then you restart,
throw me aside.
All I'm saying is,
don't expect me to love you.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
susurri Feb 2019
How lucky you are to be written about
shaped by someone else’s words
that you affected them so deeply
they had to write you out of their system.
Bluejay Nov 2014
Monday is still asleep,
Tuesday tries to wake him gently,
when she can.
Wednesday doesn't know what to think,
he's very emotional.
Thursday councils him to no avail.
Friday is quite a handful,
but a cute one,
for she is the baby.
Saturday tries to be a "good boy"
yet he doesn't even know what that is.
Sunday, well, she is a stay at home mom,
that lost her husband to a war way back when. She prays day and night that
her children will have good lives,
but she does not believe it is possible.

January is the oldest of the months,
though he doesn't really care.
February is a hoplessly lost romantic.
March is lucky, but far too realistic for her taste. April dances across the lawn
in the rain
and smiles all the time,
even when she is not happy in the slightest.
May is haughty and he doesn't get it.
June sings songs outside of July's window,
he is trying to win her heart.
August, the loner,
does well in school and carries a million issues. September secretly loves him,
but is too shy to say.
October the prankster pranks us all
but never gets into trouble.
November is thankful
for the tears and laughs alike
but not for himself.
As for myself,
I am December,
they say I am low-key with a heart of gold,
but I think not.

In a way we are a family
and we mean the world to each other.
Though we do not share the blood,
we fight,
we cry,
we bleed,
we tear each other apart
when the moment feels right.
One day people will know
just who we are, but for now,
I guess this is as good as it gets.
Lawan May 2015
My head hurts, my eyes struggle to open
My heartbeat gradually fails
I sit and watch my hands transform my thoughts to written words
How quietly I deny some honest words space in my head
How desperately I cling to life scared that I might draw my last breath

Such is the state of man;
When sickness brings him to the brink of death he remembers how lucky he is to have lived
But when he is strong and healthy
He thinks himself immortal
Julie Grenness Dec 2016
While I was sleeping,
Our city streets were  keeping,
The homeless of a parochial town,
Waking alone, no food, only frowns,
How has society dragged them down?
No food, no shower, no protection,
Thousands of homeless in our selection,
In this our lucky country, we're sleeping,
While homeless, the city streets are  keeping.......
Feedback welcome.
Sad Girl Oct 2015
Fall, where the season starts to get cold. Lucky for us this means we have an excuse for wearing long sleeves now without it being 90 outside. When i say "us" I'm talking to the outcast out there, the ones who go to bed every night thinking the world would be much better without them. I'm talking about the kids who wake up every single day dragging themselves out of bed when they expected to be dead. Fall through the winter is our favorite seasons. We can hide all of our scars and fresh cuts under a simple piece of clothing. Nobody knows why we love winter so much, until one day it gets to hot outside and you have two choices, pass out from a heat stroke or take the sweater off, but then
everyone would know why you wear
long sleeves
so much.
Thomas clark Mar 2016
She
Every man
Has his she
His soulmate
His destiny
Some are lucky
Some are blind
Some will search
But never find
The reason that
We all live
To find a she
Our love to give
I found mine
But did,nt know
That she was she
Till I let her go
jeffrey conyers Jan 2013
Distracted, but not confused.
All because my thoughts, my thoughts are upon you.
Attracted, but not desperate.
Just because, I'm trying to get to know you.

It's not hard to see why?
You left this impression upon my mind.
I got lucky when you came to me.
And decided I should be the one that you need.

I'm sure others are jealous too.
When all the other guys you knew were chasing you.

But, this only shows, you they didn't even try to know.
They wanted a good looking trophy upon their arm.
Just to try to impress their friends.

And this's where I come into the story?

I don't know, what you saw in me?
But you saw interest of worthy within me.
And look at us now.
More than happy.
More secure that others can't understand the reasons.

But this only shows, love appears to those that feels it won't.

And while I might be distracted.
It's only because of our happiness.
And while I might not be confused.
I just can't help constantly thinking of you.
HVNTĘR GRAY Jul 2014
Lying beneath the moonlight,
Thinking for hours, I lay awake for coming are the meteor showers,
Could there be other forces of benevolent powers, Taught the understanding that this world is truly ours. But is it? A question asked so cataclysmic. I lie awake and now i wonder, Can this decision be made by one man, without another? Of course not, not by the moral standards we're all taught. From birth, let me ask what on this earth, Could make you want to cause such devastation. I don't think you truly understand the sciences behind the forces you threaten to exert. Are you really making this quest for what its worth? If you were there's not a question in my mind that you'd seek other options. Because the choice that your contemplating isn't just by any means, it's cruel, and quite lawless. A flash comes a bang, the wave is hyper sonic, theres something sinister to it, You can't seem to reason or find your logic, what's happening to your body is microscopic, I'm talking sub particles, it's atomic. If you're lucky enough to survive, thank your god that you're alive. I pray he'll shield your eyes from what their about to see. The mind will become sick and the air thick with uranium hard to breath. To other souls Theres something beautiful to it, the coming of wars and the nuclear movement.
Bella Isaacs Jun 2024
I was ever most faithful to my labour,
A duty that I never paid to man:
And even now, I am stripped of this favour,
No more am I my workplace's loyal fan.

I wish I could say our romance has cooled off,
That I'm not stirred by spreadsheets' disarray,
Alas, those items firmly must be ruled off,
And here the reasons be for this decay:

I was profoundly lucky in employment:
I worshipped bosses justly - they were gods.
I worked hard, in this toil I found enjoyment,
Because my contract listed all the odds.

I did not sign to slavery, dear Master,
I did not sign my health and bloom away,
I did not sign that you could be a b@st@rd
When things were simply not going your way,

I did not sign to poverty and worry,
I did not sign to papers gath'ring dust,
I did not sign that you cannot be sorry,
For I have rights, and note this down you must:

I did not sign to shoulder all these burdens,
Because they are not written on the page!
You cannot simply smile, and draw the curtains,
You cannot make us objects of your rage

When you yourself do run the ship so poorly!
I pity you, but pity is not love;
And thus I sign myself, proudly, and sorely,

A woman pushed to crashing by your shove.
I've come to the end of my tether at work.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2022
right... phew... not this time... i'm getting this off my chest... i have to... i couldn't possibly tell this to a friend, i'm not even good with stating this anonymously... but it would explain a lot of things... i actually see this in print, out of my own volition... it has to be done... i just remember that poem Philip Larkin...
                    they ******* up, your mum and dad.
                    they may not mean to, but they do.


i don't like science, or rather: i do like science per se,
****'s sake, i did chemistry to a university degree
level - first person in my family to even go to university,
had it not been the Blaire era in politics
with that tragic motto of: education, education, education
i would have gladly went to a trade school -
even though: i sort of did by working a summer job
as a roofer in the construction industry -
oh not tiles and roofs all slanting...
i'm talking industrial scale roofs sometimes the size
of half a football pitch... tar work, felt work, fleece,
insulation, gravel by the tonne-load...
  
                but i just don't like... scientific language...
the way people talk science -
this supposedly "higher" i dare even say "moral" superiority,
well... it is sort of moral to know something
is red: if it actually is red...
rather than saying it's blue... knowledge, i find,
can be constrained by a morality of: truth...
ah... philosophy on the other hand...
that's like when science ****** art...
   the freedoms within Ms. Sophia are seemingly limitless...

what am i getting at?
     i don't have *** that frequently... all the better...
or worse... because for the next two days...
when the night comes...
                 mind you... i'm asleep...
                         i get torn up by something that
hides in the night and beyond: in dreams
and the vast yawning vacuum of nothingness...

i can see it upon waking... walking into a dark room
where my mother and father are *******...
p.t.s.d.? we were on holiday
    they were young, i was young... only one room
available... one bed...
      i fell asleep, they went out...
i woke up to the noise of them *******...
   i was lying in the same bed mind you...
   and that i had the audacity to say something
to my mother as they finished and she cuddled me...

i'm not even going to go as far as calling it child
abuse... after all... i was a bit of a devil myself...
i started ******* when i was either 7 or 8 years
old, i do remember that...
we were playing hide and seek in a construction
site of a church and i stumbled across a pornographic
magazine...
    and...
              and... by about 9... or maybe 8...
so as a first generation immigrant...
   back in the day... a ****** lady married this
Jewish guy who had a massive house on Perth Road
Gants Hill...
    he had a market stall, selling cheap-***** t-shirts
which he used to travel to Manchester for...
he also owned a string of Rolls-Royces and he drove
them, rented them for weddings etc.,
   but... he also "rented" the entire house to immigrant
men... sometimes? 20 under one roof... sometimes maybe
more... and he lived in this house...
with these migrant men... with his two daughters
and his son... and his wife...
                       right... get the picture?
we used to live like that at the beginning...
    obviously there was also me and my parents...
crammed? eh... just a bit...
    was i abused? not that i can recall...
              well... one time me and this guy's son
were having a bath... together... yeah...
children... mother was standing in view of us
as she ironed some clothes...
    and? would you believe it?
                  i taught him how to *******...
i told him: there's this funny sensation once you've
done it enough times...

so i mean: if i was sexually abused as a child...
it was by either me or.... the myth of an incubus...
some magical ***** fairy godmother
that gave me a heads up... on what was to come...

sure... shell-shocked... after that incident of waking
in the same bed your mother and father are *******...
i had the opportunity to return the favour once...
some black woman picked me up in a pub
and since i had nothing better to do
  i thought: **** it... let's go...
trouble is... she took me back to the room she was
renting somewhere in Stratford...
i walk in... ****... a young girl and a boy sleeping
on the bed...
          what does she do? she literally drags them
off the bed onto the floor
     gets on the bed and... ha ha...
         she doesn't even allow me to penetrate her
******... she folds her legs so that it's an imitation
******... like... a bit like... what Buffalo Bill does
in the Silence of the Lambs when he hides his genitals...

she did that... i tried maybe one ******...
   and immediately the memory flooded in...
who's fault was it? who was more ***** that night
that they couldn't help themselves?
my father? or my mother?
              well then... i was standing before the truth...
or... about to do some pelvic push ins...
i stopped myself... i said: i can't do it with children
in the same room...
so we just lay there... fell asleep...
i woke up and this little bundle of sweet afro
was standing beside me... ******* on his smoczek
******-soother... or just soother...
so i picked him... obviously completely naked
and placed him on my torso...
and he... fell asleep... there...
                                            
maybe that's why i need the extremes of sexuality
by going to the brothel...
maybe i can only **** prostitutes...
i need to know: for certain... i don't want to **** on a whim...
i don't want some dating game...

perhaps this might be called an ode to Johnny Depp,
a sort of cherry on top...
i don't want to be hiding these details of my life
inside of me... i have enough cognitive labyrinth to
think through as it stands...
i like transparency, i'm a disciple of truth:
well... "disciple": an adherent of it...
   better me digging up old skeletons from my closet
than having someone else defame me or smear me,
straight from the horses mouth as they say:
or as i say: liars don't walk on stilts...
   lies have short legs...

why? it's about ******* time...
    it takes some courage to be honest... just enough...
but science can't explain the last two nights...
where i was apparently making strange noises
in my sleep... where i got out of bed
and toppled down a case of my c.d. collection...
i woke up and i was like:
   wait a minute... i remember playing back
that *****-flick from two days ago in my head:
meditating on everything...
   me, Khedira...the two mirrors...
   the *******, the brandy...
                the apparent non-existent ******...
weird things that go bump in the night...
   a horror-lust realm of entanglements and things
non-scientific...
       i had to explain to both of them:
i wasn't drunk... not really... i was high from the ***...

i don't understand how *** can become tedius
to some people... well... i can... they have it too often...
no wonder they have to find "other" avenues
to express themselves with latex and role-playing...
if you **** like a Teutonic monk...
you **** like a Teutonic monk...
           you transcend something that otherwise
bores people after having moved outside of
the saturation point...

two days ago i knew i had to make my move...
return the favour... she counted how many times
we were together... when i asked... this was our 4th
encounter... with this other *******
i was asked to pay an extra £20 to perform oral *** on her...
i knew it would be different with Khedira...
she was comfortable in the *******...
she didn't even have to **** me off prior
to *******... in between the change of rhythm
i dived in and slurped on a bucket load
of oysters...
    stuck me nose in it...
             carousel of tongues... seems i have more than
one...
   then back to *******...
then diving back down but this time ******* her...

it was coming... i knew that expression on a woman's
face... it happened to me before... with Ilona...
when i was 21... but then i couldn't believe it...
i thought she was faking it...
    it's not like an ****** in pornographic movies...
exaggerated almost extraterrestrial...
the spasms... the ******* spasms... recoils...
like i said previously:
   i'm of the school of act that says:
it's sometimes more pleasurable to give pleasure...
than to receive it...
evidently i love eating ****...
       probably more so than getting oral *** in return...
which would place me in the Gomorrah camp...
no... i'm not into whatever ***** was up to...

       to hell with it: we're over-sexed as it is...
we're living in a time of libido-insomnia...
                         fight fire with fire...
                                better still... bring some cooking oil
and a deodorant spray can...
                     i'm on the side of: counter to what's currently
the state of social-engineering...
no problem... i'll be your "****" your "pervert" your:
"stranger" your outlier...
if Walt Whitman could celebrate himself...
and be his unabashed gay-self...
   gay-pride? right... sure... no problem...
                    let's try this for starters...
   i'll parade my affection on paper...
             and since so few people read... i'll just slip past
the nets of censors...
   i'll dig a trench and employ covert methods
to get my stance to stand in full view: of those who are
willing to ingest it...

it wouldn't be the same if i had long her like i once
had... back then she could have the fantasy
of being eaten out by a woman... and a man...
morphing: androgynous circus...
but with short hair... ah... so much better...
the way a woman can sort of grip your short hair
and with such adamant want
try to invert the process of giving birth
by showing you into her... and since we're all
born like the fall of Lucifer: head first...
eh... merely sticking your "poker" in her while
retaining: keeping... eating her eyes with your eyes...

obviously i read the Kama Sutra...
slapping... pinching... biting...
       that's all part of the ritual...
                           it's nice to hear the following:
i love you...
   i don't think i can forget you...
              not after you bit my upper lip...
she was clearly insinuating that i perform oral ***
on her... all that tongue waggling...
feverish tongue of lust....
   an array of onomatopoeias...
                 the crows might have been croaking...
the woodland pigeons could be cooing...
ancient reptilian morphs...

    seriously... it's unlike any "conquest"...
the antithesis of Don Juan seducing a nun...
   because... what the hell made more special than
all the other men she slept with?
to be able to... what day is it today? Saturday...
long weekend... diamond jubilee and all...
   Sunday, tomorrow... she's going to text me tomorrow
and tell me when she wants to meet up...
yeah... i actually managed to convince a *******
to a date... i was looking up hotel rooms in Barking
only yesterday... that's roughly £70 for an entire
night...
           obviously i'll take her out for dinner...
buy a bottle of decent alcohol...
  strawberries... brandy or prosceco?
probably both...
                   lemons? maybe...

because i don't do it by the hour...
                 i'm like a diesel engine...
    i need that reminder of the 7 hours during the night
when she had about 4 *******:
my last night in St. Petersburg... ah: those white nights
of St. Petersburg...
how?! how did i manage to pull this stunt off?
i moved from paying her for ***
to paying for her to spend a night with me in a hotel
room... well... that was quick...
only after 4 encounters: i guess the oral *** i performed
on her was the deal-breaker for her...

it's also good to know that:
i'm the good sort of mad...
          yeah... we talked... i lay on the floor with my head
resting on a make-shift pillow of my shoes...
smoking a cigarette... laughing...
   then we washed each other in the bath...
            i was drunk on not being drunk...
***-starved and then: outlet... boom!
              everything starts making sense...
to hell with relationships... i wouldn't go as far
as to want to bore myself with
sharing a life together:
              well... maybe... but then the *** wouldn't
be ***...
   i wouldn't go as far as the Muslims in terms
of covering the women in sadistic attire...
****'s sake: at least they could make the niqab
out of white linen... or cream linen...
       but men and women shouldn't sleep in the same
bed... obviously **** in the same bed...
but sleep? i tried that once...
every single night... half of me was numb for having
fallen asleep hugging her...
  i need my own bed to sleep in...

hell... if society and culture is selling me the fantasy
of Pretty Woman... starring: you know who...
Richard Gere and Julian Roberts...
well... i'm not a business man, i'm not a lawyer...
i'm a humble "poet", i spew words...
i regurgitate them... i'm a "pooet"...
    why not ask society... so... this is good? yes?
then you hear dating horror stories...
and you're like: i'll be Pontius Pilate...
    i'll wash my hands clean off these affairs...

it's that simple... people want to play ball... sure...
i'll play ball... but this time round:
i'll be making the rules...
the last time i tried to tango with a girl
she was misplacing her feet...
   i kept on standing on them... mea culpa mea culpa
oh where is my mea culpa?!
enough... is... enough...
   reiteration: but it has to be a reiteration
in Deutsche: genug ist genug!

i've seen enough, i've smelled enough, i touched enough...
funny story...
me and this Irish lad were talking before my encounter
with Khedira... he had a balloon and a flask of
laughing gas on him...
we talked... he thought i was an undercover
journalist... Oxbridge educated...
i think i was laughing more than he was:
even though he was inhaling laughing gas...
he had this funny Celtic name...
almost feminine... a name a bit like: Nikita...
i told him... i knew this girl once...
she said she was: not naive... she was Kneev...
but her name was written as Niamh...
go figure... i told him: i'm not English...
i persuaded him: your people are inspired...
to preserve themselves... a bit like the Welsh...
who still retain their mother-tongue...

he was willing to share some of the laughing gas
but out of politeness he refused to share
the balloon with me... obviously i agreed with him...
he talked about a thumping sensation
to his head... like the brain was trying to
get out of the skeleton by routes outside
the realm of mummification...
     we talked about *******... i was like...
the first time i tried it was when i was 35...
reluctantly...
   because, like i told him: it really doesn't do anything
for me what too much coffee and nicotine
already does...

his friend came out after having ****** Khedira...
well... she's sure as **** not a ******...
lucky me... the "omega-male"...
i'm not here for conquests... i'm here for postcards...
wish you were: i too, wish this was Venice...
jealous? n'ah... let's play the game right...
i'm not here looking out for timid virgins
or for that matter mouthy under-aged girls...

i just hope that by writing this i can have the "audacity"
to have a calm night's sleep...
i seriously can't be sleep-walking
throwing down things, groaning, moaning
in my sleep...

        two days ought to be enough to let his lustful
demon incarnation wrestling with me, pass...
maybe if i ****** on a regular basis i wouldn't
be drinking as much...
   maybe i'm finally sobering up to the idea
of *******... maybe i've saturated what has
become very real for me...

i'm pretty sure that the Ukrainians were happy
when **** Germany invaded Poland...
well then... the Ukrainians are fighting Russians
as we speak... and i'm thinking about a second schism
in Islam... with a Turkish *******...
the best barbers in the world...
and, i suppose, the best prostitutes in the world...
the Russian girls are overshadowed...

ha ha... even she said that men are better cooks
than women...
she told me to slow down on the "invisible" macron
hovering above the A in laa'vash...
oh... it's this Turkish meal...
black peppercorns... sea salt... chillies...
rosemary... white wine vinegar...
i forget the rest... cheddar... actual lavash...
thinly sliced beef...

          that's always nice to find... a man... within a woman...
within a sentiment left by a woman:
men are better cooks than women
because women "think" they know how
to cook food... we agreed...
no... they don't... i told her about my worst
dinner... cooked by my grandmother...

i initiated ******* / chewing on a piece of chalk...
wrong temperature... doubly-butchered...
it's the sort of meat that makes your teeth
click... click... chewy ****...
chat chat... chuckle... meat that makes
your teeth stick together...
and i said to her: you can readily replace CHat...
with a SHeep of a slurp...
   juicy meat... juicy everything...
  meat like juice of a pomegranate...

by the end of the encounter...
i asked her: are you happy?
yes... she replied...
fair enough... so... now don't worry about me:
whether i ******* or not...
obviously i wasn't...
         i knew that i didn't know that i was
barking at the right tree... dragging a Trojan horse's
worth of a libido back into my bedroom...
i was about to erase about a 200 cohort of men
in her gallery of exposing her ****...
lucky me... night-terrors...

               science is: too... demystifying...
i don't like answers... philosophy doesn't like answers...
philosophy does the question-bits...
according to Heidegger something is either
question-worthy of worthless...
i'm in love with German-thinking...
        England has provided the economic side of "things"...
but in terms of "thinking"? let's just say
yes to English comedy... i will not digest Locke...
no ******' chance in hell!

funny that... mann von schreiben...
man of letters...
     English thinking is too pragmatic...
me? like a German...
how do i "solve" a "complication"?
i over-complicate the "complication"...

i have to pity the day...
i beg and i beg, and i beg
for the night to relieve me...
            i pray for the night to come...
i'm most aware of undetailed things
when i find myself surrounded by people that
are asleep...

the great Biblical deluge?
like the great Swedish deluge of the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth?
wasn't there an ice age moment
when the ice melted?!
                 too much journalism... not enough
poetic imagination in the people...
      
i "think" i'm just about done... yes...
Matthew said to Conrad: i think you are.
Bryana Aug 2014
The heart is a strange thing,
it's rumored to sometimes sting.
It has actually loved few,
it sings aloud every Sunday on a pew.
Not many treat it well,
it's lucky if it's status is swell.
It has cried many nights,
and leaps at beautiful sights.
It has brought down a lot of souls,
and stopped every time it sees a mole.
It beats everyday,
and it sometimes puts engagements on delay.
The heart has done few miracles,
yet the heart is a strange thing.

B.m.P
Adam Mott Jul 2015
Here is a song to you
Written on the cover of red, white, blue
Midnight and it's dream rights
The places where I wait for you
Quickly fading in the rear-view
Heading towards my lucky few

Meet you at the home of us
Touch you in the realm of trust
Stretching throughout the causeways
Have to do all this living
Choose to do it with you

We are the lost, holding hands
The only sanity in a realm of descent
We are the old souls
Waiting for the world to mend
To Liv
Fish The Pig May 2015
You dream about your day in the sun
A shot at the spotlight
Fifteen minutes of fame
Oh
You fantasize about chance meetings
Lucky opportunities
Late night drinkin’ at parties
Oh
Honey
Well
You may be skinny
But you got no muscle
You may dream big
But you work small
With ease
Unaware fame is a disease
It’ll break you
‘cause you aint anybody
sick of people hearin’ your name askin’ who?
Too much makeup lookin’ gaudie
Looks is all you have
No ambition- talent to be had
You
Think about the result
The perks
Obssessed like the cult
Think you know how it works
Down on your knees
Flex that ***** it’s a tight squeeze
Longing to be seen
Desperate for the 15
10 + 5
and you’re in the hive
10+ 5
but it’s a straight dive
10 + 5
will make you feel alive
You think you’re one of a kind
You’ve made up your mind
you need that 10+5
but it won’t last a lifetime.
the things people do to go viral, to get famous,
it could **** you, you know.
Fumbletongue Oct 2017
You're the next contestant
Of this game called body image
So tell us dear,
What's your personal scrimmage?

It all started with a noise
A not so silent rumble
Always asked if I was hungry
In reply, I'd just grumble

I did not know at the age of 12
Back in 7th grade
The rumble stopped all my growth
Regardless of how I prayed

Added to the chorus
Was the symphony of 'the runs'
Which really just meant
I'd need the bathroom tons

The next 5 years of school
Were often a bit tricky
But I finally made it through
Moving rather briskly

I worked happily for two years
Without much complaint
Until I dropped to my knees
From a pain that made me faint

Or at least I wish it had.
Crumpled on the floor
During a high end dinner
I knew i'd need a doctor

Poked and prodded
A litany of tests
Crohn's disease
Is what he did suggest

The next 9 years were hell
Side effects from 19 pills a day
Did nothing but make it worse
So I told my doc I won't play

I could not keep food down
I lost all of my teeth
Malabsorption for the win
What else lies beneath?

For years this went on
No matter time of day
Always making others comment
On how much I must weigh

Daintily touching my wrist
With looks of sympathetic envy
"I'd **** to be that skinny!"
Always sent me to a frenzy

Yes, yes, lucky me
I have an incurable disease
That makes me look as though
I was starved by the nazis

I say all this
Not to make you sad
It's just a story of how
Pain became my comrade

I am determined to a fault
It kept messing with my head
So I changed my perspective
And choose happiness instead

For as much pain I've suffered
There is also lots of growth
Patience, love, and compassion
Are now my solemn oath

My form may betray me
But it no longer has a hold
Once I learned to embraced it
My beauty did unfold

It's not about what's out
But rather what's inside
And once you realize this
You will find your stride
Brigette Beck Feb 2016
Life was simple and clean
Nothing at all was dim.
I would carry out my days with peace.
But then I met him.

My world was upheaved
When I met the other side of me
Sleeping a peaceful sleep,
But threatening my right to be

“I am me. Nobody else,” I once said
Well I guess that was a lie
Because now I'm looking up at him:
I was never whole, even though I tried.

Only one of us can carry on
And I'm fighting till the end
But I know that the world waits for him,
Not me. Only he can mend.

This world wasn't made for me
But it was made for my other side
I have to give him his stolen memories
And release his hidden pride.

So now on the edge of life and death
I look at him and think about what I went through.
“You're lucky,” I say, tears streaming down my face.
“Looks like it really has to be you.”
Kingdom Hearts, anyone?
Susan O'Reilly May 2013
Your the broken one

but it’s my bones you break

I’m the strong one

not much more I can take

I’m the ugly one

but it’s you, you can’t face

I’m the lucky one

running away from this place
Megan Sherman Feb 2018
Could such a meditation capture and embrace,
Fine wrought beauty of thy grand, immortal face?
Time's architect of sublime grace,
In whom luscious light of love apace,
The liquor of the moment churn,
With magic, through whence the cosmos rage and burn,
Knowledge of which the sages earn,
For which the scholars learn, fierce yearn,
On my journey through aeons to you,
Through creation with a God I flew,
Saw blessed fires run through you.

Raw power of the sun in you,
Never seen bright soul so true,
Beatitude rare for which I grew,
Shed regrets, no shame, no rue,
Deva Kali I do not spurn
Our spirit, may fire of the deva burn,
A beacon to alight all space,
Glow benevolent on the cosmic race,
Meditation guides to thee,
On an endless cosmic, seismic sea.

A solar system is thy mind,
Whirls majestic and refined,
With mysteries and life embroiled,
For a glimpse of which the sages toiled,
A beauty which hath never paled,
Which the saints and bards regaled,
Her form is truth; not up for sale,
Suffice to adorn lore and fairytale,
Reflecting on her I duly find,
My form and hers coiled, intertwined.

O Kali of celestial power,
Bless my heart in immortal hour,
Impart gold virtues known to thee,
So I can rejoice in revelry,
Enamoured of the cosmic majesty,
Beknown to Gods and ones who see,
Ever frolic in enchantment free,
No you, no I, only one heart, we,
No lords who seize time, history,
Just blissful divinity in a cosmic sea.

Thou art avatar of all creation,
In incessant and perpetual motion,
Inspires mind to soar in elation,
And commit itself in deep devotion,
Deepest, sweet celestial commotion,
Assuages my heart's trepidation,
Here my fear is not a notion,
Soul free in immortal recreation,
Kali, Kali, spirit true,
Blessed fires run through you.

Your legs the roots on life's wizened tree,
Roots bubbling with time's energy,
Your arms the blossoming canopies,
Which scatter wisdom's flowers free,
That drink up lightning from the sun,
Inside your heart, as time begun,
See her conquer, see her run,
A goddess for all; let us be one,
In awe of you, I just a smote,
As I stand with you at end of time remote.

Beget thy purpose to create,
Plant seeds in which all time gestate,
She lives for life insatiate,
For which I am in joy, elate,
My atman, Kali, how lucky I,
Can dwell on Earth, yet soar in sky,
Beloved of the Buddha's cry,
As he sing soft under bough of the Bodhi:
Children, we are all light and love,
Reflect from Kali, our mother dove.

A truth on which the spirit rove,
Souls frolic in her Heart's treasure trove,
Walk softly to that golden grove,
A path for which the mind behove,
Kali, as I for life prepare,
Imbue me with your knowledge rare,
If you permit, and if I dare,
Could I see worlds dance through thine stare?
She dance with cosmic passion there,
A shimmering siren, beckons me to lair.
Tom Balch Nov 2019
1

I could see him in the doorway
looking tired clothing frayed,
I really did feel sorry for him
would probably soon be in his grave.

“Here” in voice so gruff he summoned me
to his dingy doorway home,
lying on a cardboard bed
he said “Can ya spare a pound”.

I sat down on the step beside him
and asked him “Whats your name”,
and with a twinkle in his eye
he said “I am Donald James kilbain”.

I asked him how a man so “dignified”
ended up this way,
he said “I lost me wife and children
then I lost me job and so here I am today”.

He reached into his pocket
and removed a ***** piece of rag,
slowly he unfolded it and said
“this is a photo of me Mum and Dad”.

Then he showed the other one
saying “this is....was! me wife and kids,
they all died in a fire
you see it broke me and put me on the skids”.

He then returned the pictures,
so carefully he folded up the rag
kissed it twice and told me
he would give his right arm for a ***.

As I opened up my wallet
he leant across and said “who’s that”,
I told him it’s my family
he said “lucky man, mine were just like that”.

We sat there for a moment
quiet lost in thought,
and then he said “forget the pound,
come again tomorrow, we can have another talk”.

2

Well time went by, the weeks they passed
he was always on my mind,
I´d think about his life alone
and how life can be unkind.

So I took time out to visit him
armed with the thickest fleece,
the warmest coat and of course...
a few packs of his favourite cigs.

As I approached his doorway
my heart sank to the floor,
no sign of Donald James Kilbane...
Did he not live here anymore ?

I asked around the neighbourhood
and every one I met,
but no one seemed to want to know
or were even bothered where he went.

Time went by, the weeks they passed
I was down and feeling low,
but I would not stop in my quest
I´d find the guy somehow.

His words they echoed in my mind
as the empty streets I walked, his gruff
old voice kept telling me, “Come again
tomorrow, we can have another talk”.

Time went by and more weeks passed,
and I arrived back at my start,
I sat me down upon his step
my hopes now... were fading fast.

I sat there quiet lost in thought
upon the hard cold ground,
then a voice so gruff called to me
“Hey buddy, can ya spare a pound”

I stayed face down and to myself
I smiled the biggest smile,
Donald sat down next to me and said
“Hey friend, we´ve come a fair few miles”

3

Well time went by, the years they passed
and we became the best of friends,
the clothes I gave him kept him warm
and Donald James was on the mend.

He told me of his family
how they meant the world to him,
and how he missed the Christmas´s
and all the love that they would bring.

Ten and seven when they died
his daughter and his son,
his wife died trying to save them
when fire destroyed their house of fun.

He spoke about the loneliness
and the never ending pain,
he told me things from deep within
how he nearly went insane.

So in his mind he closed the doors
and simply walked away,
the bitter cold that stung his face
somehow kept the pain at bay.

Twenty years he´d lived the streets
and each long year alone,
the freezing winters were the worst
cold and soaked through to the bone.

There was only so much I could do
to help this man get by,
he was so set in his ways you see
he would´nt even let me try.

There would be no talk of doctors
no talk of getting off the streets,
no sleeping on a matressed bed
or the feel of freshly laundered sheets.

But I worried so, his cough was worse
his breathing got so shallow,
the years outside had took their toll
his frail old body out of ammo.

4

I could see him in the doorway
as I approached him that next day,
lying motionless and quiet...
in the cold of night he´d passed away.

It hit me hard I´d lost a friend
one Donald James Kilbain,
who really did deserve a better life
a life without the hurt and pain.

I often think about him
and that twinkle in his eye,
and what his life could have been
if his loved ones had´nt died.

We had him buried with his family
and now he´s resting safe and sound,
but before they closed his coffin
in his right hand....I placed a pound.
Ray Ross Oct 2018
war
i could never go to war.
i could never shoot, or help someone who will.
those soldiers on the other side, are just like me.
their mothers cry, i can almost hear it.
their best friend will never hear their laugh.
their room lay empty, an unused bed,
dust-covered books they never read.
young men go off, **** other young men.
if you're very lucky, you'll see your son again.
i could never go to war.
my grandfather narrowly avoided the draft,
he was a teacher.
his high school friend got expelled,
and within a week,
he was dead.
his mother cried.
he was nothing but a name on a plaque,
and barely that.
i could never go to war.
Trenton Idom Mar 2015
It's been so short the time I've spent with you. So short but feels like I've known you forever. I am afraid of the word and the thought of saying it, but I LOVE you.
Four innocent letters but put together is something so powerful. Something special, or magic even. Something different. Something hard to find, but I'm lucky I found. Something I would have never found without you. The meaning; I don't know. The feeling; unexplainable. But I still know. I know this is it. The thing they call love. I feel it. I LOVE you and you're the only one catching my eye.
Bundoo Aug 2010
I have a message for you...

Every time my gaze falls upon my reflection in the mirror...in the glass...it's your face I see staring back...your eyes...that meet mine...

No matter how much time passes, I still can't get away...these are the thoughts that fill my head...fade...come back to the fore...

So...you're the lucky one...you are the one who gets to forget.
and I hope you're satisfied...
wilKENTHson May 2018
i wonder how lucky we are
seeing those stars even from afar
beautifully crafted up in the sky
such sceneries makes me high

like that lovely genuine smile you posessed
drives me crazy and now I'm pretty obsessed
for the light she brought to me
ChrissySue Jan 2013
I wish you could understand
That this is not easy for me
Can you not see
How every particle of my being
Is pulled towards you
It’s as if breathing
Living
Just being
Is impossible without you
A moment without you by my side
Is an eternity in darkness
I did not want this
But somehow it found me
And now
Its all around me
Surrounding me
And It’s all I want
I fear this is all a dream
And when I wake you will be
Gone
And alone I will find myself
Once again
But if I am so lucky
And this is reality
Can you promise me
That when you do go
You will not break me
Into a million pieces
So that I may pull myself back together again
Maybe that I can one day be whole again
But until that day comes
You have all of me
My heart is yours
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
Frame a dative… spelchekovian science
show me…
for the mind, a recipient, then come the
messenger,
the artist's intuitive hearing silent songs,
long after the alcoholic angst of the victors,

the good old boys, discerning whiskey from rye.

The mean dad's that haunt the fragile heros,
shirking duty to the institutions that reared you, boy.

There was an old boy's school at Los Alamos,
wasn't there, yes, the spiritual making of citizens
had occasion to fall from the annals of America's West.

Hard times don't last. Hard people do.
Too true to dispute, replied the peacemaker on watch.

If you read, you've read this far, making you ready
to rethink why you feel good reading lines ready
to be rethunk, in your mind, at the same time.

As any then in any future with electricity
at cloud of all knowing farthest sofareach.

Readers who write and share ideal viral aspects,
a touch of clear joy, shameless, blameless naked glee.
Such sow seed, we bits alive.
We can resee the scenes of Panic,
and recall manic antics that felt holy at the time,

there are all the good days that ever left a mark,
at your behest, for your per-use knowing, on demand,
ask, any mystery, show thyself not evil, prove my trust,

gnoshit, gnosis initiates are rare theses days,
or so any hermit guru would say if he were you,

have I not access to the cloud, using cred from
God knows when, did I not lay my heart, mind, body soul,
and spirit on the alter with Jefferson, in memorium,
"Eternal hostility toward any form of tyranny…
super positioned right mind measure, mensur,… meander,

sorrow, tomorrow, today we play,
a robocall, potential spam, I answer to anchor. Real time
Tzimtzums, pops can leave a body breathless, in a future else
when then this all seemed ok, not aspiritual, yes, yustsay
aspiring to our higher minds lowest sorted issues,
entertainment
to hold an audience, pending, hooks, we need seven, min-
imum, holy gnoshit boogers of amberised gnosisnotdrips.

Precious memories, how they linger,
how she thought she caught me cheating at her game.

Wisdom won me, wombed man, brought me to my knees,
if you please,
you walk upright, bold as brass heated seven times hotter
than any metal wonts to be, this side of the sun.

Have you never seen the blemishes, sun spots, raging
storms, time and chance, when and where, here we are,

lucky us, we are alive in 2023 before the folly of mass-
education by way of animation, and literature referencing.

Drama has a value, reason allows, making war devalues it,
turns it to **** only members see, select audience,
the seekers first see Vonnegut ******* {;*}
I think of those who think in this world, and use precious time to just think what we can do, we can make moments of practically perfect peace, no noise.

— The End —