"misdemeanor" poems
I am innocent
I swear I'm not responsible
For any damage she's had
I swear I'm not the reason
Of her tears at night
And I swear I did not intend
To hurt and scar
I am guilty
I'm guilty for being weak
And guilty for being a kid
Guilty for committing a mistake
And for the actions I make
Misdemeanor; such ******
I slaughtered the feelings
We had for each other
Loving is a crime
And I am afraid
Of committing it again
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 11:59 AM UTC
Did you know that if you leave your car in your driveway,
With the keys in the ignition,
And someone sits down in the front seat like they own it, and drives away,
You are the one who is liable for theft?
They can drive that sucker to the coast.
They can burn the upholstery with their cigarettes. They can bring their friends into the back seat, and fill the compartments with their refuse, and **** and they can leave it ruined in front of your house, or crushed into the median on the highway, or left in disconnected pieces under an overpass.
It will be called, “unauthorized use of a vehicle.”
It will be called a “misdemeanor.”
But you left the car running.
Weren't you kind of asking for it to happen?
They said,
This,
(Gesturing to the skirt which fell to two inches
above my kneecap),
Is like that.
If I walk outside of my house in jeans and a t-shirt, or a long dress with thin straps,
Or with my chin tilted out,
Or with long eyelashes,
Or with full lips,
Or with my hips swaying when I walk,
It's like I left the car running.
It's like I invited them to force their bodies into the front seat.
In their minds, or with their hands, or with their lips to anyone who would listen to them.
Little girls in leotards become like unlocked car doors;
Where men can burn their cigarettes into their skin,
Or stick their fingers in
In plain view of their parents,
And told to let it happen,
Quietly.
It isn't theft,
It's “a medical examination.”
What did they expect?
It isn't a theft.
She was just as guilty of negligence.
It isn't really a felony.
It's not THAT BAD. (Stop being so dramatic.)
It's the unauthorized use of your body, for a time, or one night,
or every time you close your eyes for the rest of your life,
Sure-
But you left the car running.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
I'm not a great man,
But,
I've been here and there, and I've learned a lot.
Like how not to get shot,
And where to buy ***
I've bent every misdemeanor law,
Some would call me a libertarian,
I say democracy is a farce,
Keep your vote, and leave me out of it.
Most of what I know is useless idiosyncratic observation.
For instance,
I know how many days it takes to hide 73 pipes, and other miscellaneous paraphernalia.
My father was raised in the depression,
He refused to let us throw anything out,
And we had a chest of drawers, full of old junk.
Watches without bands, and any piece of scrap paper,
That had free space on it. Last years receipt, dry cleaning tickets, etcetera...
And,
Subsequently,
It rubbed off on me,
And I hate throwing anything out.
I don't buy new stuff, until the old stuff goes bust.
I had a 10 pound Toshiba satellite, for 8 years,
Until the plug jack came loose, and I fried the sucker.
So when my doctor told me I had to quit smoking...
Everything,
I had forty plus years of accumulated paraphernalia.
I gave a pipe, to friends who were interested,
But it wasn't enough.
I hear you saying it now,
"You irresponsible old lunatic!"
And you're right, but I look at it a little different.
You might call it promoting lawlessness,
I say a law that is obsolete should be repealed.
Walk down the street, you'll see the dime bags,
and blunt wrappers everywhere.
No need to promote something that will happen anyway.
Teens will smoke, so I hid a bunch near high schools.
Up at Rutgers, I hid one in ten different buildings,
A few outside of the police station, and the courthouse,
And one in the bushes of my snobby neighbor.
Any place I could think of, I hid a pipe.
Rebellion be ****** I did it because I felt good,
Like a simple **********
A stolen cherry, in the supermarket.
Sowhatsthepoint?
Crime isn't cool kiddies,
But, as long as you steer clear of felonious activity,
They won't send you to real **** ****** jail.
Even your grandma, probably jaywalks from time to time.
Oh if you stumble on one of my pipe hiding spots,
Don't touch it until your old enough.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 9:18 AM UTC
Attack, pressed, cornered
Trapped with no where to go
Expecting, watching, judging
How can I speak when I'm out of breath
Disloyal, appalled, betrayal
Warm faces disguise cruelty
Rushing, gushing, maddening
A lump in my throat, tears threatening to flow
Misunderstanding, misdemeanor, misery
Have to fight the tears, give no satisfaction
Frozen, paralyzed, immobile
Quietly surrendered to the abyss
Crazed, insane, dementia
They can't get me now
Masked with their actions
No emotions shown
They've got me
But I too, have got them.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
If rumors were to be believed, five seconds of gaze into her deep brown eyes could ensnare the wisest of all souls. Could turn them into a monolith of indiscretion; with only remnant of an evidence left behind in the slithering echo of a misdemeanor. As legends go, the mutinous tresses of her hair, with each twist of chestnut curls, inspire the stirring nethers of a churning cerulean sea. On face of what lies as the joy of a crescent enveloped by locks of cloud, her smile could set a storm across the eye of mind. And fill the flickering moment of acquaintance with eternal nostalgia ; the helplessness of an infinitely profound longing with an addicting desire to offend the very fabric of life itself.
If rumors were to be believed, the sky crashed its soul into the foxy eyes of an enchantress; and although she was no Medusa, it still turned to stone.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
Chains of heart strings locked away by fake queens
Time behind a cell wall
I wonder why love is a crime
Punishment from something that my heart commits
But my brain a bystander to an attack on beauty
Witness to pain from someone meant to be a painkiller
Your lying lips sounding like old movie scripts
Bounding me to the cold corners of this mental cage
Prison tattoos consisting of scarred arms
Associates in romance and nothing more
Holding hands just a misdemeanor
You’re leaving me on parole.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
you are the man of the lean and meaner
and I am just a woman of misdemeanor
holding such attributes of will and power
each time I wander my confidence got smaller
handling ill times with a gentle caress of ease
my effort and failed attempts carried away with the afternoon breeze
the moment arose when you saw my face
acceleration sped up in my heart as it ran at a dangerous pace
instant affection created in a glace held for seconds
I had forgotten your face, until this very moment of minuscule bond
you were perfect in image, as those words continue to prove true
my love once hidden, arose from my perennial blues
once timid and meek, my personality had changed
for the emotions I once secured, were now rearranged
the feelings, so fragile, balanced at the corner
verged yet to tip, or be caught a lusted figure
cards carefully played, laid out on the table
only left to draw, and find emotion in your poker face if I am able
slipping in stubbornness, you smiled ever so sweet
I knew right then, my heart had hope, however meek
my soul fits yours, and the hearts can meet
one day together, and I shall no longer be the meek
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
Bled for truth in subtle honesty
Hope the day's sacrifice will mean
Then end of this crazed tidal dream
For you know of what I speak
The cute candor of nothing more
Will be the downfall of what you implore
Drift aloft through midnight hopes
Another helping of roses to forget
Watch the petals fall past your regret
Posed in eloquent and harmonious prose
I mean for the guise to be it all
Where the days will garner the fall
Watch the scabs and scars fall away
The clarity that escapes the day
See the blade fall upon your head
For after this, it will be dead
In circumstance and in time
The wine will flow and the words rhyme
Hazy dreams matter not in frame
The death of something far more lame
The hope that guards the fantasy within
The night that counters thoughtful sin
To play with the words is to dance
And to dream of happenings and change
Remember how the days came together
With buzzing electric skies and tremors
I stood in awe as the sparks began to fade
For I hoped the night would be a darker shade
Where we took the truth that the day dies
In the trunk of a tree where our stories coincide
The remembrance of the singular past will shake
And the realities of love will make your soul quake
To open the truth to the calling of the sirens
For I know not what is means to ever cleanse
The music and song will change the temper hence
In the misdemeanor of what can make no sense
The disappearing guise of nostalgia and fate
For this suspenseful story can only ever berate
A change of heart met with force and blockade
For in the end, I can only ever think of what stayed.
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 6:04 PM UTC
The Fates
1914 Heaven & Hell BLVD
Waco Texas 666
C.E.O. Master O. Cards
Incomplete Application For Living
This Is An App. For Living
Name: Last______ First______ Middle Initial__
Home Address: Mt Olive RD
State: AR. City:________ & Zip Code:________
Social Security Number:
*-(ect)-9797
Male or Female (please circle one)
Race: Yellow, Black, Red or Caucasian?
List Previous Acquaintances:
(beginning last to first,
in detail please, do rank them all
& mark which ones are worse)
Name:____________Have known for How Long?____________
Age:____________How would you rate this one?____________
Are you Enemies or Friends now?____________
What will they do?____________ What have they done?____________
Have you been convicted of a Felony?____________
Misdemeanor?____________ Or Likewise?____________
Plead Guilty?____________ Or No Contest?____________
Go against Legal Advise?____________
(If yes, then please explain:)________________________
_____________________________________________
Are you most Happy?____________ Somewhat Sad?____________
A High school Dropout?____________ College Grad?____________
Thin?________ Obese?________ Medium Build?________
Pretty?________ Ugly?________ Clumsy?________ Skilled?________
Disclaimer
If we are to judge you right, Please fill in all the spaces, The process must be quite precise, On Looks, I.Q. and Races. This information’s vital and our tally is what counts, It let’s us know which ones will live and which will need put down.
I hereby swear this is the truth, not made~up to cause hurt,
I understand the consequence should there be falsehoods in word.
Applicant: ______________________
(must be signed in blood or other D.N.A.)
Please Print Name:________________
(so we can read of whom we are to slay)
For questions please call our hotline toll-free @ 1-666-0My-Fate
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 7:19 AM UTC
I am merely a poet
a writer
an igniter of fire
the designer of a prior desire to admire the harmonious choir
but quick to tire of contriving liars
as the potential buyers hold strangulation wires
about to lay me in a pile of blood soaked fliers until my life expires
and all this illusionary harmony is alarming me
stalling me in its comedy
they think they're disarming me with talks of peace and prosperity
as i hilariously smash their conspiracy theories
as i am seriously furious when i deliriously remove the sanctity from your sanctuaries
sketching lucid rhymes in obituaries as corrupted school kids watch me curiously
i see your timid hands when you approach me nervously
as i hiss cyphers murderously
while you atrociously fumble satisfactory rhymes
i miraculously summon these mumbling mimes
ducking before the holy and unholy shrines
no god but father time
laying low tumbling dimes
still ducking swine from misdemeanor crimes
making local news and the seattle times
as they run and hide with their nines
im packing verbal calibers of all kinds and splitting minds with my lines
enshrined
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
There are occasions that call for misdemeanor.
There exist instances of philanthropy in selfishness
i don't have too many good things to say
so i'll just write my little thoughts
on this little paper
and call it a day
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC
I find it hilarious, being arrested in thought.
The emergence of being free.
Voluntarily considering the thought of worry.
Without need for appetite, things broken down given in ration.
This apparatus that things are well and dandy but in reality they are not.
This uncomfortable silence in a lack of distraction.
Not at all considering you an hindrance.
But there looms a sudden fear.
This compulsive habit that leads to addiction.
Standing still, blank look.
Charges brought forth in misdemeanor.
Lost in one paper stack or another.
Worried of this never ending cycle of what to do, what to think.
Devoted to this vivid image I have of you stuck in my head.
Yet, I don't know a single thing about you.
A force of habit, experiencing a part of myself that I've never quite experienced.
This need to run away from myself
And escape further into you.
The lock and key of this caged feeling.
Completely gone.
That one crack in the wall that reveals the smallest spec of sun merely peeking through.
Depending on someone else to unlock that bolted door. A sound not easily forgotten.
This senseless control that cages us up, delegated in authority without act of trust.
I find it hilarious because we are lost in identity.
you've released me yet, you have no idea who I am.
That one spec of sun that crept through a crack in the wall.
By traditional standard this is quite absurd.
Revealing to a beautiful stranger that she was in fact, the total embodiment of what's retained in the Stonehenge,
Knowledge.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 8:35 PM UTC
Dit is verganklik
om te **** jou neus is plat
onder die, masker,
It is ludicrous
to view our noses as flat
face masks for false fronts.
Apr 13, 2022
Apr 13, 2022 at 4:53 PM UTC
Caligula, wise man of course,
Sought due promotion for his horse:
With no prerequisite debate,
The beast became a magistrate.
And then one day, without a groom,
He clopped into the Senate Room,
Followed beastly intuition,
Became an instant politician.
Without regard for poll or slate,
He soon demolished all debate.
And senators called out for more
When he did wonders on the floor.
With misdemeanor as the rule
He was a true unbridled fool,
Guided by a brute suspicion,
Stamping out all opposition.
He was reviled by common folk,
Democracy was deemed a joke;
To quote the ancient anecdotes,
He once said, "Let them all eat oats!"
Now that he's passed beyond declension
His legacy deserves attention:
Some politicians to this day
Still emulate the equine way:
They clop and neigh, they snort and roar,
There's always something on the floor;
They pound their desks, they're downright corny
Making all the issues thorny.
Don't wonder when they clown around
And seem so shockingly unsound;
Just trace the madness to its source:
Caligula adored his horse.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
Backwater, wet dream,
ex show jumper, a bit of a show off,
part time pole vaulter and extreme skier,
also a good dancer haunted by libraries.
You smell the party vibe almost too late to kick the can,
that pass the swallow of kisses not meant a ballroom behind the meaning,
shut up or fall down are you dreaming,
or shang-a-lang meaning,
misdemeanor a pantomime curse that smiles and curses your evening,
hello, there is a light that doesn't go out now, now.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
Admonished to partake,
This world I forsake,
And chirp over their cries,
For it's befit to realise,
Everything is bound to cease,
For none is there a release,
Dogma prevails over a soil to which tomorrow has no avail,
magnanimity subdued,
For our ******* ways has us all induced,
The way of life we have confused,
Authority is misused,
Enchant Misdemeanor craze,
Endeavour to earn,
Alas,
A salvation remains unlearnt,
Sea of hypocrisy and blood left awake,
A whim has lead me askew,
To simmer no hope,
To wilt In no lies,
To not be loved to conjure in a hearty demise,
"The earth is a blemished mess",
The sun sings to the skies,
Stuck in repentance the stars nod,
Bitterness espouses,
As i unearth in my creed,
A fabulous truth,
To which man pays no heed.
Nov 27, 2024
Nov 27, 2024 at 12:31 PM UTC
A popeyed visitor,
to the newly opened
museum, see this;
a metallic bust
of a populist politico,
smiles intermittently,
to everyone around.
(They had enough of it,
even before his demise.)
Perplexed, he reports
the misdemeanor,
dutifully at once.
The shrink with him
during this time,
was away talking
with a museum guide.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:47 PM UTC
running through those sleepless streets
clutching onto these weathered sheets
purple skin and bloodshot eyes
piercing words and shaky sighs
she's got the beauty of an insomniac
meanwhile her heart is under attack
loving you feels like drowning she says
get this fire out of my head
you say stay positive
she have so much to live
but you see these whisperings in her head
tell her "i'm better off dead"
what a shame
what a shame
the disaster in her
what a beautiful misdemeanor
those thoughts in her mind
were those of a gold mine
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
Can we talk?
She said "Sure, give me a minute"
Wait a few seconds, that minute turned to ten,
Now one hour later,
She was ready to begin?
"What do you want to talk about?"
she yelled from
across the room.
Silence, I was sleeping.
But just then, she was about to hear the boom
So.......
She came at me like a wartime poet,
dropping bombs on my head like
I didn't even know it,
Ripped holes in my shirt
and I couldn't even sew it.
She busted rhymes in my mind
even CeLo couldn't own it.
Words flying so fast,
I coulda swore they were stolen.
She moved one step closer
and boom, I was falling.
Each time my mouth opened
I couldn't even answer,
Each word that I stut t t tered was
like lyrical cancer.
I ran around the room like
a Soul Train dancer.
Side stepping her questions
like I was her little **** prancer.
**** you, *****
my words just got a little fancier.
Whoah!
"Who do you think you are,
are you done spitting it yet??"
You began this little battle,
but I'll be the one finishing it.
My words are louder than gunshots
Cuz, I'll be the one killing it.
I'll just turn my *** around
Cuz you'd be the
one kissing it.
This is only the beginning,
and I'm not finished dishing it
Shhhhit!!
She just broke in with a loud
"OH!! YOU DONE YOUR TIME"
So you can get on outta here with those wasted lyrics,
stupid rap, and busted rhymes.
This is my house, boy,
and you ain't living off this welfare dime.
Now, go cheat with some other hoes
and sip on their Boone's Farm strawberry wine.
Oh and one more thing, you might
want to call 9-1-1,
Cuz I am about to commit
****** on your *** and a misdemeanor crime.
See you were nothing to me
but my little, poor "boy toy"
and when I say "little" ..it wasn't
very much of joy joy.
The only time I got real excited and wet
was when you were walking out
my front door, door.
So, now carry your sorry ***
on over to your ex's house
cuz she was the real effin' ***** *****
Oh, that 65" flat screen is mine, so is that X-Box,
touch one more god **** thing in here or I'll
double tap your ***
with the pair of my triple chromed 9mm hollow point custom made Hello Kitty Glocks.
Your time is up,
so say good bye once and for all
count it 1, 2, 3 or I'll punch your ******* clock.
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
conflicted misdirection
abhorred nostalgic facade
clever impersonation
tales of redirection
insalubrious misrepresentation
a facetious misdemeanor
aggregated consciousness recalled
tempered with fear and mired respite
"not you" said wisdom
"only you" said the soul
"with you" said the mind
"where are you" wondered the heart
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
Backwater,
wet dream,
ex show jumper,
bit of a show off,
part time pole vaulter and extreme skier,
also a good dancer,
haunted by libraries.
You smell the party vibe almost too late
to kick the can that pass the swallow of kisses
not meant, a ballroom behind the meaning,
shut up or fall down,
are you dreaming or shang-a-lang meaing,
misdemeanor a pantomime curse,
that smiles and curses your evening,
hello there is a light that doesn't go out now,
now.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 9:06 PM UTC
Wherever the drum is sounded
There will his feet and ego lead him
For there's none so adept as he
At fouling the mood with a few
home truths
when the village brew is frothy and virile
There too will his keen appetite him drive
For there's none so deferred to as he among
Folk hungry for forgivable misdemeanor
and some home truths
He's the inimitable village drunk
Endowed with a surfeit of expletives
For there's none so free as he here
To douse all and sundry in invective ubiquitous
laced with a few home truths
This village drunk is high on the power granted him
By a grateful captive audience that's allowed him
Freedom to free them of secrets and all
When he dons his invisble crown and dispenses
a few home truths 'bout everyone
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
A husband -> a wronged wife
"My dear take a chair
Your affair is unfair
I can't stand
A suffocating air
This way you and I
Could no longer continue
A loving pair
Soon to my parents
I must repair!
How come for love of a ****
A marital vow
You thwart? "
This way since
You decided me desert
For what I did spurred
By transient lust
Chagrin my soul has hit.
As usual in deep slumber
When I extend my hand
To ascertain whether
You have slept sound
And stir you up
So as we sleep entwined
Yet get awake to a tragedy stark
That I but draw a blank
My heart indeed
Incessantly bleed
From the loss it incurred
Your obeisance and love divested.
If you can't find it in your heart
My folly to forget
Forgive me my dear
For without you near
My life turns insufferably sour.
A wronged wife—>A husband
After your body you befouled
And proved a down to earth cad,
After your spirits perfidy you debased
Impudently you demand
As before I should you hold
An esteemed husband.
Indeed this I will not!
For rancor laden my heart
Bleed incessant
It mustn't!
Away to my parents I fled
For you failed to abscond
After what you did.
'Once bitten twice shy'
Forgive you how could I?
A husband—>A wronged wife
Your forgiveness but
Nothing depurate
The blot
In your eyes
Down me brought.
I hope
Forgiveness is the least
Your impeccable heart
Me could grant.
Even the ocean of tears
I wept
Whitewash me still not
My dear there is a second
Man goes wild
And commits a deed
He condemns absurd,
My perfidy to nothing but
To this folly could be imputed.
Man is prone to err
So you should consider
What matters is his bid
Improprieties away to clear.
So my dear
Give me a chance second
To prove, you loving husband.
Your forgiveness will be a credit
That surely you catapult
To ensconce
In the apex of my heart.
A forgiving personality
Is a virtuous quality
Besides your heart
Me 'love' that taught
Which is also on me soft
Won't follow a policy
Watertight and
Once for all me smite
A wronged wife—>A husband
Raving ans volleying
Boisterousness nay, nay!
You stultify
Must not I.
My mind is bedeviled
Since you I missed.
On your misdemeanor
Brood I shall no more
To night
Come to the cathedral
We first met
As a jump-start
Together out
We have to spend the night.
The night's Zephyr wet
Will wipe away
Our disagreement!
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
I can’t complain
2My parents, grandmother and all my brothers are alive & healthy
I have a place to stay, clothes on my back,
Food in the refrigerator, socks and shoes on my feet
I can’t complain
I don’t have 4 babies kids that
I’m struggling to take care of
I don’t have any baby mama issues in my life
I’m not on the Maury Povich show because some women
That I slept with want me to take a blood test
I can’t complain
I have working arms, legs, eyes, organs,
And I can breathe without a an oxygen mask
I don’t have any mental or physical diseases
I’m not on probation, CCP
And I don’t have a misdemeanor or
Minor misdemeanor on my record
I can’t complain
I have 2 bank accounts with money in both of them
I have Jesus Christ and lots of other people who love me
I’m like Tony the Tiger from the
Frosted Flakes commercials
Yelling: I feel great
By Shannon Pollard
©Summer 2013
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
It isnt fair
that you should end up sleeping with the boy who boldly but secretly, confusingly just needed access to your bed
that the vague notion of your missing friends is actually a blatant chastisement about your social misdemeanor
That you should feel the urge to withdraw from any and all recreational opportunities because you can already tangibly feel the distressing friction between every differing fiber between both your brain and theirs
It isnt fair that you should be so clever, and resourceful but exposure of such elaborate operations will only occur outside all traditional institutions in the privacy of an empty audience
It isnt fair that you have unknowingly began a retreat from life and dinner with your family to find some solstice from a muddling indigent existence that requires you to obsess over trivial details just so you dont miss the rare gratifying hints of a walking compliment
It isnt fair that you'll say yes to anything you haven't learned from life experience to not want
and it isnt fair that one disadvantage should create others by consequence and default
It isnt fair that my adult facade should restrict my child appropriate responses and its public unrest
or for my simple unique characteristics to ooze the paint for which they'll use to commit my image to memory for the entire school.
I'll have to learn to put up with the eggshells that grind into the soft ***** of my feet when I blindly interact with other expressionless but feeling, thoughtless but intellectualizing people
and it isnt fair for my mortified laugh to be chastised
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC