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elizabeth Jun 2014
We were barely teens together
and now we're barely sober
on opposite sides of the country

I see photos of her,
sparking thoughts I wish I could erase

She gained so much weight,
I wonder what happened,
She used to look so good


In my critical analysis of her figure
(I could earn a PhD in Judgment of Others)
I miscount the curves of her face,
the shadows falling where they should not be

Her cheeks, I see
(they've gotten bigger)
but I forget to cancel out
the inflation from her smile
Mari Gee May 2010
Welcome to Psychotics Anonymous.  State your name, and little about yourself:

My name is not important.

I have a problem.
I don’t tend to preoccupy myself with others’ problems.
See, I don’t care about my friends, loved ones, or myself as much as I should.
I mean, obviously, I realize that  I don’t care about these things, but my problem is that I don’t know the real reason why I don’t care about them. I know I have a problem, but I don’t know how to fix it. Think of it this way,  you know when you look at roadkill on the road, you might feel sorry for it, for about a second, then you blow it off and keep driving. Some people might kick it or laugh at it, if they walk  by. Well see, that’s how I feel about important people in my life , and at times, about myself.  I’m the one kicking that road **** while its down. Except the road ****….is my best friend. Do I mean what I do? I’m not entirely sure, but I do know that it’s wrong.  I know that I should care, I know that I’m a bad person for it, but I don’t know why I still do it anyway. I have a problem. My best friend is in the hospital and I’m sitting home writing this instead of visiting her while she’s 10 minutes away. Instead of apologizing  and telling her it was my fault. I’m sitting here not caring instead of going up to her and telling her the truth she needs to hear. I have a problem. My family’s a woodpile on the side of my house. The wood I never use but I like to glance at from time to time and then ignore a few seconds later. That woodpile’s pretty close to me, its always in my proximity, but yet…I never seem to care that it’s there. But I notice it. Oh, how I do notice it. I notice it so much that I pretend to not notice it because my lack of caring for the noticing of this woodpile is the only thing that matters. I have a problem. My brother is sitting on my mantle, every day he stares into my eyes, hoping and wishing I would care. Every day he’s there reminding me that he not only needs to be noticed, he needs to be cared about, and so do I. And every day I ignore him and that photograph with that picture perfect Ivy League smile.I have a problem. I don’t care for myself. I don’t really do much grooming. I mean, I shave…because I hate touching my face and feeling prickles. I don’t cut my hair, I don’t shower until I start smelling. I don’t care. I work at the one place where caring doesn’t matter. I work counting other people’s money. I don’t get into trouble or miscount because miscounting annoys me and everything has to be perfect.  It needs to be counted right, or what’s the point of counting it? It’s not because I care for the welfare of the people I count money for. Au contraire, they have more money than I do and don’t deserve my care. I have a problem. Don’t tell me I’m doing okay because I’ve completed step one of your program, because I’ve admitted that I have a problem. I’ve just said it five times. I knew I’ve had a problem before I got here. That’s not the hard part. I want to care. I want to feel empathy, or at least sympathy. I want be like everyone else. But the hard part, is that I’m not. I’m not like everyone else. And though I’ve recognized my problems they’ll always stay with me regardless of how much you try to push them out of me. You can tell me to go to these therapy sessions til I’m seventy-five, but the only thing that it’ll do is just show you how many more problems I’ve come to discuss.
Another Prose. I know...I'm not supposed to put prose on a poetry site, but whatever. I'm doing it. Enjoy :)
Jenny Oct 2013
"I'll let you in on a Secret - I don't know when I'm joking."

We go to a fancy-type restaurant. A nice sit-down place. My baby blues are bottled on dark wood shelves and this isn't a detail that you plan to miscount for. Waiters in black ties and the plates are already on the tables and I know that you are relentless in their shining reflections.

"Wine and Dine my Sensibility."

My seventeen-year-old skin does not belong here. Follicles producing my scent are premature, to say the least. Cultivated romance looms beyond a horizon of pale-brown clouds littered with mid-highway makeouts - I expect you to paint me a brand-spanking-new Southwestern sky.

"Let's talk about You" -
A past-prime Adam's Apple says to me. Gnarled birds' nests perch atop my faintly skin-encased splinters - I flex in hopes of a migration, but not too
Far
Down
S
   o
       u
          t
                h

"They're coming."

Barely flinching teeth rattle around my peripheral and then You Are Gone! - or perhaps I am. We drown quickly in dim red-lighting, brick-laid air swallows and belches out a humidified and much sweatier you and I - and I'm getting turned on.

"You look nice today,"
they chant. Spay-legged spiders tumble out of dank eyesockets and nest somewhere deeeeeeeep in my brain tissue.
"Yellow looks good on a jealous, jealous girl-"
You laugh and call them back home.
Lock eyes with me as I impale upon a salad fork.

"Talk ***** to me."

Third-World Countries have been delicately dropped into what I thought were love poems to you. Vines grow around your mouth, soggy with the meal that I think is over. They chase each other through your teeth and I want to strangle myself with their slim and tender necks - like you wish I had. Dark green darlings giggle in my direction - such a Naive Little Girl!

"Ha."

Six lines later and I'm reeling you in.
Patterson Jun 2020
I would claim that I've been lied to
say that I have been wronged
tell you that I didn't deserve it.
But I did.

I was born with hooked claws
and sharp teeth. Black eyes
and a scaled hide
the chains around my neck clink and tap
against the spines I've grown
If you look close enough I'll sprout horns
perhaps lightning will crackle
in the corners of my mouth.
Can you see me for what I am?
A miscount, a fatal error
something bound for hell mistakenly wrapped
and hidden in human skin.

I still smell like smoke, and I still taste like war
I deserve no mercy and kindness will **** me.
What a stupid thing I have been,
to convince myself that I was anything other
than a car crash and a hurricane
In human skin.
My sin was to love and break with the same hands
to admire that which I would defile
and to trust those who promised sanctuary.
Under the guise of friends
they penned my story,
gave me my name, cast my role:
A Villain
A devil
And so I'll stretch my blackened lips
run my tongue over my teeth
and smile with the tears running down my cheek.
"hail satan"
March 28th and already I wasn't feeling like myself. Already I was feeling like I deserved to be treated this way. Unlovable and dangerous. But now it's June 18th and I'm beginning to accept that making a mistake doesn't make you a monster. Needing help doesn't make you an inconvenience
can be a difficulty, having

to say that we do not know.

that we have to count, check,

count again.

that we get distracted, disturbed,

by other matters, come back,

miscount.

it is not some thing we can google,

so we have lists, lines and rulers.

when all is done, we sign and date

the work away.

then start again.

sbm.
cmp Apr 2023
Ye much like akin of sin not rut
Hence zen at stake compel
more than ye to truly accept
spell bound land that cast lite
Which lost harbinger never apart from
Hence ye might must perfect cursed fu
Which counter kia hast long sprung
Cause lark of loss gawd proudly sing at heart
I am nor what living script meant
I am sinorut via host welcomed descent
Hence destiny account for wake of us
Though fate continues too miscount era
Hence we winerves through serving evil in labor good at work
Seven where the **** tomorrow went
skyy omalley Jun 2020
ed,,zinger suivante,,tels handknits finish,,cagefuls basinlike bag octopodan,,imbossing vaporettos rorid easygoingnesses nalorphines,,benzol respond washerwomen bristlecone,,parajournalism herringbone farnarkeled,,episodically cooties,,initiallers bimetallic,,leased hinters,,confidence teetotaller computerphobes,,pinnacle exotically overshades prothallia,,posterior gimmickry brassages bediapers countertrades,,haslet skiings sandglasses cannoli,,carven nis egomaniacal,,barminess gallivanted,,southeastward,,oophoron crumped,,tapued noncola colposcopical,,dolente trebbiano revealment,,outworked isotropous monosynaptic excisional moans,,enterocentesis jacuzzi preoccupations,,hippodrome outward googs,,tabbises undulators,,metathesizing,,sharia prepostor,,neuromast curmudgeons actability,,archaise spink reddening miscount,,madmen physostigmin statecraft neurocoeles bammed,,tenderest barguests crusados trust,,manshifts darzis aerophones,,reitboks discomposingly,,expandors,,monotasking galabia,,pertinents expedients witty,,chirographies crachach unsatisfactoriness swerveless,,flawed sepulchred thanksgiver scrawl skug,,perorate stringers gelatine flagstones,,chuses conceptualization surrejoined,,counterblasts rache,,numerative,,delirifacients methylthionine,,mantram dynamist atomised,,eternization percalines hryvnias pragmatizing,,reproachfulnesses telework nowts demoded revealer,,burnettize caryopteris subangular wirricows,,transvestites sinicized narcissus,,hikers meno,,degassing,,postcrises alikenesses,,sycophancy seroconverting insure,,yantras raphides cliftiest bosthoon,,zootherapy chlorides nationwide schlub yuri,,timeshares castanospermine backspaces reincite,,coactions cosignificative palafitte,,poofters subjunctions,,aquarian,,theralite revindicating,,cynosural permissibilities narcotising,,journeywork outkissed clarichords troutier,,myopias undiverting evacuations snarier superglue,,deaminise infirmaries teff hebephrenias,,brainboxes homonym lancelet,,lambitive stray,,inveigled,,acetabulums atenolol,,dekkos scarcer flensed,,abulias flaggers wammul boastfully,,galravitch happies interassociation multipara augmentations,,teratocarcinomata coopting didakai infrequently,,hairtails intricacy usuals,,pillorise outrating,,cataphoresis,,furnishings leglen,,goethite deflate butterburs,,phoneticising winiest hyposulphuric campshirts,,chainfalls swimmings roadblocked redone soliloquies,,broking mendaciousness parasitisms counterworld,,unravellings quarries passionately,,onomatopoesis repenting,,ramequin,,mopboard euphuistically,,volta sycophantized allantoides,,bors bouclees raisings sustaining,,diabolist sticks dole liltingly,,curial bisexualisms siderations hemolysed,,damnabilities unkenneling halters,,peripheral congaing,,diatomicity,,foolings repayments,,hereabouts vamosed him,,slanters moonrock porridgy monstruous,,heartwood bassoonist predispositions jargoon dominances,,timidest inalienable rewearing inevitably,,entreating retiary tranquillizing,,uniparental droogs,,allotropous,,forzati abiogenetic,,obduration exempted unifaces,,epilating calisaya dispiteously coggles,,vestmented flukily ignifying complished hiccupy municipalize,,pentagraphs parcels sutler excavates,,stardust miscited thankfulness,,fouter pertused,,overpacks,,guarishes hylotheism,,pi Fresh blood seeps through the line parting her skin and slowly colors her breast red. I begin to hyperventilate as my compulsion grows. The images won’t go away. Images of me driving the knife into her flesh continuously, ******* her body with the blade, making a mess of her. My head starts going crazy as my thoughts start to return. Shooting pain assaults my mind along with my thoughts. This is disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. How could I ever let myself think these things? But it’s unmistakable. The lust continues to linger through my veins. An ache in my muscles stems from the unreleased tension experienced by my entire body. Her Third Eye is drawing me closer.
Since the sun kissed my skin
I knew what I was in
For not many want to go to war
To juggle the obstacles
Hands on my testicles holding testament
To my confinement enemies circumvent
Your pain to keep energies drain
Claim I'm.insane
Cuz I see the rain before it came
And pour down
On mankind's miscount blessing
Everyday stressing nerves clenched
On the all the pain
Going on I'm trying free your mind
But too many wanna hold on

Now troubles never worry me if I die I'll just be set in the sun's energy
Returning as the lost king of stolen dynasty
Earth ain't nothing but a catastrophe
Took from the aboriginals
I'm smoking reefs like coral and let it marinate my oral
I got much love to my barrio providing knowledge to a broken people
Though evil sees no restoration from pain
Cuz it needs negativity to order maintain mundane
Still trying to season my grain understand my lane since I got close to being a Black Superman
Along with my Black Queen i love her skin tone my Louis Lane
Ron Conway Feb 2020
I haven't always lived in grace
No dignified aplomb
I might have cheated in the race
To medicated calm

I feel I've had more love than woe
(There might have been a miscount)
I hope it's uttered when I go
"At least he nailed the dismount"
                                   rc
Grace
can be a difficulty

to say that we do not know



the answer.



that we have to count

check

count again.



that we get distracted

disturbed by other matters

then

come back.                     miscount

again.



it is not some thing we can google

so we have lists lines and rulers.



when all is done we sign and date

admit we do not know the answer



maybe start again.

sbm.
ConnectHook Oct 29
Oh Trump's a ****, you're a ****, I'm a **** too!
Elect the führer/chancellor: the righteous thing to do.
He's got fantastic plans for us, like jobs and close the border.
He'll stop those endless foreign wars. I'm down with Trump's New Order.

Neurotic whiners may despise this dawning glorious day;
They might mistake it for the night and fight it all the way.
Well, let them disembark the train... and call us names again.
We're used to childish temper-tantrums. Christ is King. Amen.

Of course, they may miscount those votes, then stir up revolution.
Or astroturf a civil war,  their desperate solution.
But what would you expect from those who can't tell girls from boys...
Or light from dark or truth from lies or music from foul noise?

So let them whine and plot and seethe. They've done this act before.
We racist nazis know their brand. Vote TRUMP. Then vote some more.
And if the minions skew results-- well, God's still on His throne.
The U.S. gets what she deserves when Truth is overthrown.
Big Daddy Trump will give us all free money and candy. YAY !

— The End —