"mandarines" poems
All the melons of my tree are falling
once again they got me crawling
begging for a minute of thrill
only a minute , not more
for a second chance I would ****
just to get safely on that shore
God I would even smile
for a tiny bit of a melon right now !!!
I know there's a great pile of mandarines
behind me, and I haven't yet peeled them
not yet
wait
wait , God **** it, I AM WORKING ON IT !!!
I know I have many mandarines to peel
and still a lot of pain to feel
but just let me have a little tiny bit of a freegin
melon !
not lemon !
MELON !!!
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 7:59 AM UTC
so I couldn't be bothered dealing with anyone else.
yet
I like others dealing with me
and proving them how wrong they are.
when I walk
I at all times
walk
in a clockWISE manner
to the right.
because it is my right
to live my life exactly how I want it.
walk on only the white lines of the zebra
peeling my mandarines
and not letting you peel them
letting you in
but not letting you out.
you are mine.
and I am yours.
so
<3<3<3 <3 <3 <3 <3<3<3
save my heart
and bare my soul.
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 6:11 PM UTC
The day I stood
by the door
I saw a garden full of mandarines
Squeeze the lemons,
fly with the sparkles.
I cound the stars at night
how many times
do I have to say that
I do not belong here
I live in two worlds
but I cannot reach out
to sobriety
because I cannot accept
the truth of the homicide
in the post war service.
Jun 29, 2020
Jun 29, 2020 at 7:28 PM UTC
greasy fingers, (that mornings flat bread) mismatched socks (that morning's rush) and a habit of
sleeping in class
actually a habit of drooling over textbooks
and then finding them again as little dried up lakes.
my education was the ****** Dead Sea
we were constantly looking for a chance to misbehave
to valiantly deny any order received like
small picket fences, stubborn and straight,
and I never knew when to shut up.
it got us to suspension from English,
and dangling our bare and smelly feet over
the brick wall that separated us and
everything else
(except not the dust.
the dust is always everywhere.)
I remember smelling like
my sweat and his *** and my insides
and feeling like I held the best secret in my *****
and every time we glowed like two small mandarines
orange and bright in the afternoon sun
after we ran back from the abandoned bathrooms on
the tallest floor
(studying of course)
I love the way he looks left and right
out of the dark corners of his light eyes
his eyes follows his heart
(always, the tendons of the eyes do not have the ability
to differentiate lies from reality for these men)
his hand on the small of my back
his hand tracing patterns on my
navy leggings
as I push away his hand under the stern nose of the
bulbous and vulture-like librarian
(I stole almost 25 books last semester)
I remember when I tiptoed in very fast on that last day of May
with a laundry bag
full of literature that I didn't even read most of
she just smiled and said what a good girl;
and I walked back outside in the sweltering heat
and walked on those
burning bricks
back home.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC