"misquote" poems
the boy tugs your arm in public. his panic so local his gut could be yours. verbatim you confront the misquote children from abusive studio apartments inherit warehouse jobs from problem immigrants. a bruise of ***** darkens the front of your jeans.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
Dear Whiny Fat *****
Stop whining you fat *****
I don't find your curve(s) beautiful as it falls short of feminine,
breast and hip bring forth lust like a tray of holiday cookies,
helpful internet sayings are fatty hoe-deurves
you devour them,
greedy mouths pointed teeth digging in to every bit of it because why work hard when you can talk loud?
Why go for a jog when you can misquote Marilyn?
Why choose the salad when the big mac's just as beautiful?
It's not
I do not envy gluttony,
I do not envy sloth,
I do not lust for them.
double zero may not be attractive but throwing a 2 in front of it is fatty-icing on the cake,
so talk about "oppression" while you scoff down more than Ebo and his family have had in a week,
starvation and desperation dancing intertwined tip-toeing around his house,
he wakes up one morning to his sons tears because all he's had is a slice of bread
while you decide to treat yourself to an ice cream cus' you didn't supersize today
You can call me an *******
let molten words flick from your tongue,
lace'm with lava and let them fly
but at the end of the day you only have yourself to blame
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
I suckled my mother's Bluetooth breast
while my father built me a bassinet
of series circuits with high, motherboard
bars.
I've got that artificial baby glow.
But Mom put my ****** on Facebook
at four weeks and I still haven't re-friended
(forgiven) her. My upgrade's in nine months,
but I want my downgrade now
'cause all I get are social invite excuses
from Facebook fuckfaces. We pack
our lives into little boxes that we're
not even allowed to open.
We drink to technology, keep our lazy
eyes on our news feeds, and recycle
ideas like their owners would even
want to see what we've done to them.
We misquote Confucius and credit ourselves
with mangled Robert Frost stanzas.
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I think
it's awesome that Pepsi used to be blue."
Reblog, revine,
retweet, FaceTime.
Folding chair fold-out on someone's lawn.
White-out Yeats, Keats, Byron, and Auden,
and write John ******** or Tom Whatever.
We're caught in the chicken wire of an LCD
fruit basket so neat, orderly, and brushed
aluminum. How can people write in Starbucks?
S
B
U
X
B
S
The cooler's too ****** music's too shy,
and the sugar, no, not just the sugar.
THE PEOPLE are too artificial.
The carpet-suit inlay I'm standing
on has pencil lead, sock lint,
and receipt shred lapel pins.
Even corporations play dress-up.
But what happens when Y2K kicks
in tomorrow?
Lives will be lost even before
the missiles **** us.
And the planes that drop
from the sky won't even come close
to when the bough breaks your little
girl's heart, baby, because your phone
can't raise her anymore, so you have to.
And based on your search history,
tweets, and recorded dreams,
she's better off in the warm
embrace of a hard drive.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
you wrote the book on being an *******
i read it twice.
and i find myself alluding to it
all the time.
you told me the definition of high art was broke.
if i wanted to succeed,
i needed to trash my collection of huxley
and memorize
every action sequence
in every jerry bruckheimer film.
you based the last six years of your life
on a ghandi misquote,
you ripped from wikipedia.
you told me love was just mankind kidding himself.
only trust in what you can feel,
"like *******
i wrote an article about you,
i asked if you believed in god.
your reply,
"god is a concept
by which we measure our pain."
i thought that was clever.
it took me 3 months to remember
that's off lennon's Plastic Ono Band.
Jul 19, 2010
Jul 19, 2010 at 10:38 AM UTC
one thousand and one percent of the time
i'm tapped out of rhythm and straining to rhyme
i make up impossible stories and wish they were mine
and since they aren't, sometimes, i think i'd rather die
than live in a world where second class citizens are people who
are more connected to their emotions than me and you
who can't love who they love and instead have to lie
to get a good job or a role in society
we act like being who you are is actually a crime, you see,
you must be the norm for your family to be proud
there isn't a place here for people who're loud
you've got to jump on the bandwagon and be part of the crowd
there are no OPINIONS if you're not rich, male or white
called bossy or cruel when you have a bit of a bite
it's wrong apologizing for our daughters when on the playground they rule
beg pardon for her inherited superior leadership tool
because we may not realize that this is a good thing,
we've become ignorant of stereotypes, they've been ingrained into our brains
and the sad part is, no matter how much time passes,
they are almost sure to remain,
for our sakes and our childrens', society needs to CHANGE.
OKAY HERE'S PART TWO BUT IT'S NOT DONE SO.... optional (i would write more of this but i gave up, never going to be finished basically and it's really bad and I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT)
thank god the media is finally beginning to see our ways as strange
yet we still indirectly promote [anorexia, bulimia], shove it down each other's throats
advertising is a thing we cannot afford to misquote,
we may see the greedy product givers but our children do not,
our girls and our boys, they are sneakily taught
that you cannot be content, cannot be happy on your own,
they need to do what others do, you must buy this to be good,
there is no way in this world that you ever could,
be empowered, successful and handsome at once, you must have perfect skin
and a nice weave to match,
your own hair is _______, in public it falls flat
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
listen and look,
honey,
dear,
sweetie,
baby,
won't you shut the hell up,
you're driving me crazy.
I'd survive if you'd save me
but
love hasn't saved anyone I've ever met.
maybe someone who wants to know what to expect
like
home before dark and promises never kept,
and secrets in the park with naked words
frozen
on the lips of an adulterous misstep.
this is useless to those who crave the subtle bliss,
who enumerate ridges of skin dedicated with a kiss
and
catalog nerve endings that shiver and resist . and . just . (quiver to exist)
so promises never need be made,
so we can fall apart and it won't matter, none of this
we never needed a place in a poem or a dictionary,
just a dial tone or a few letters to arrange
to call home and portray the strange
and… try… to find a word…
that rhymes with… dictionary
never trying to deny
our eyes cannot lie,
they will fade from glory.
like the dead,
like you and I
like we needed to fake these scrawling notes
that claw for understanding of mistakes we once wrote,
inky sketches that wax polemical over a misquote
and crying starry eyes over favorite chemicals,
the elements we conjure with, so verbose and so broke,
over coffee and cigarettes and mostly ***** jokes
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 3:18 AM UTC
I am science, I am fiction,
Victorian youth, ***** addiction,
I am addicted, no rest for the wicked,
I am not what these glorious stories depicted,
I prayed for my mother, I asked for a saviour,
But scarlet’s a varlet and I couldn’t save her,
Faith laughed at my pleading but science was pliable,
Boundaries were broken, I made fact unreliable,
Doctor! Doctor! Blood’s beginning to boil,
As you work by the light of the Tesla coil,
You’re polite, once contrite, not particularly odd,
Now you’re trapped in your lab and you’re playing at God,
You were robbed of a woman, held hands with her breath,
Your disillusion excluded you, so you made life out of death,
And the blood and the ****** and the bruises on throats,
And the ghost of a sibling that grasps at my coat,
And I strived for ‘it’s alive’ but that’s a misquote,
It was never alive, that was not what I wrote!
It was pale and abhorrent, thread unraveled it’s head,
It’s lips moved but I knew it was made from parts of the dead,
Graves invaded, made empty, just so it could rise,
My shovels were broken, decriminalised,
My secrets unspoken were hard to ignore,
And it was only myself, since there was no Igor,
And my brother was gone, my father, my wife,
So if you seek to threaten me, be it with life,
Nothing left, I fear no death, in fact I seek it with vigour,
But I am no mad scientist B-List horror movie figure,
I am bigger, I am bloodless, I am the lightening’s whine,
I am all that befalls the name of Frankenstein,
I’m disturbed, I’m depraved, afflicted with my plan,
But above all I am only a conflicted young man,
And I cannot compete with tainted world’s so dark and neat,
So call me Victor as I retreat,
I am the monster I must complete.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
Beer is my bottle of sleep,
and I drink enough sleep to forget,
that I'm all alone
I don't have a home,
and my soul will just die when im dead.
Just another scared boy waiting in his casket
or acting a part
its either action or nothing
the mind is divorced
bodies are useless
why accumulate them
in a sack of skin, the cage created
by a skull cap glass brains are wrapped in
transparent and thin
a sleep sheet sewn
by rapid eye movement
encased in bones
the alcohol is sediment settling in the bottom bodies brave colony, of other owners that forage for a loners last remnants of his ostomy.
cavity.
Bags of excretion excrete his thoughts, like lead does to mass graves of forties gulags.
Hes lost all compassion, extinguished all hope, hopes a disease the defectors misquote, cause cadavers decay, minds atrophy as muscle, senescence affects all and with age we buckle, the pressures too great, mans heart is too weak, the blood is no longer pumped to his feet, as he falls to his knees, the earth says “we are one”, as the worms eat the flesh of the casket they've dug.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
I'm not so active
I may not know how to live
and I don't exercise but I exercise my right
to keep this in my line of sight
at all times
and somehow my muscles are as sore as when they tear away
but only from the shivering
I've gotten done these past few days
I shake and shake
and my racing heart keeps pace
with the chattering of my teeth
as my entire being vibrates
from the inside out all except for my vocal chords
whom long to move with the rest of me
to let you know that you could leave here with the best of me
build your lifeboat and life vest in me
and we can sail together to the east
ignore reason
commit treason
while they're sinking,
we hold on tighter to this fleeting feeling
run around
until I burn myself to the ground
because it feels so good to burn
when you're always left this cold
and no exercise
can repair these severed ties
or even make me want to try
to find a stillness in my soul
to find my niche
to find a home
to focus on a mastery
when being fluent in one language
won't ever land you on the front page
no matter what it is you have to say
but I only know the language of the sleepless nights
in the dialect of "the fear of another wasted day"
and when I overhear comments
on my "newfound" accent
all I really hear is
"her words never mattered anyway"
but they'll remember with the Frost
that "Nothing gold can stay"
and misquote me
on my final day.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 8:33 PM UTC
Isn't spell check great?
I drink like a great writer.
Don't misquote me now dear.
You're great. You're great. You're great.
Now someone come flirt with me.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
Seconds away for yet another day,
And too far now to know,
If what I say will matter anyway,
If distance helps us grow.
Just another night, another bed,
I drank to stay awake,
Left my name, you took my heart instead,
A trophy, something to break.
Fell in love with eyes, that cheap disguise,
Left knives inside my throat,
I felt twice as wise when fed those lies,
And “I love yous” you misquote.
Tonight, I watched you disappear,
And drank to fall apart,
Seconds away for yet another year,
And no clue where to start.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
never quiet the proper arrangement,
watching a cat miscarry his strengths of
perfect balance on a fence
deciding to structure his escapism further
from fence to the safety of gravity’s plateau,
and i know this is not a crowd pleaser,
no gladiator blood sewn onto a caesar’s face for a smile,
but as amusements go:
choose the simpler ones and watch them multiply
exponentially... choose the complex ones and watch them
mutilate you with anticipatory nostalgia once they pass
and have fed you.
so unless you think it’s cheap to state
that william burroughs would have a lot in common with bukowski...
you’re probably right... but once you embark on the alcoholic metabolism
parabola there’s no going back... you can have
irritable bowel syndrome in the morning...
diarrhoea x4 before the seas just below the hydrochloric sea settle
and the sailors are spared another barnett newman smear
into the toilet.... quarter of bottled whiskey usually does the trick
for the calmed metabolism...
i know burroughs and bukowski used different mediums...
but it’s better than staging a ghost fight between vegans and vegetarians...
same **** different cover story all over again...
and it sounds less sinister, doesn’t it? let’s repeat:
metabolism & alcoholism;
and in all serious soberness i put my efforts in taking interest in philosophy...
like observing from spinoza’s ethics... well spinoza drank...
heavily... which explains why he put it into his ethics,
that explanatory ref. i will definitely mishandle (misquote):
never come between a drinker and a newspaper
or a blank page, even if it's a pixelated blank.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
What kind of Sin dares Usher in
A devious man to lick his lips, gutteral gasping beneath his Breath
The Wonton Musing oozes a delicious Decay,
The Poured Out drooling, his Power Pulsing, A Foaming Fantasy Power Tripping
~to Control the Spiritual World
at his Will & Command?
Here's what he imagined:
Biblical Bribery.
Blasphemous Forgery
Who ever has the money or an Unbridled hand can piecemeal a Story for premeditated Zeal,
To make for a more attractive Appeal
Why need such profiled Idoltry?
To be Present
at the Moment of such a Powerful Man's Revelation, Spoken for and too You
To be blessed
with ears to hear Him
To worship
At the Alter of Salt
A pillar miraculous,
To Worship Within, in Him, beside Him.
A Scribe Sweats
To write furiously away
for later reference, Thus
Attention is spared and the Sermon Deemed for Organic Lackluster
**"Scratch That
Oops
Edit
Kindly Repeat
Didn't quite catch That
Delete
Revise
Rephrase
Two or One spaced per Sheet?
The strain hurts my Eyes
When can We Break for Feast?
Are We Done for the Day?"**
Can this be a possiblity
Can a misdirected, Unsupervised
Scrupulous Individual
Not quietly Misquote
The Word trianguled from Mouth to Pen to Paper?
The Words We have come to Believe In??
You Tell Me.....
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
Dear students Examinations denote
That you and teachers clearly emote
Their feelings out and try to devote
Their time and energy for this rowboat.
Mind that nurtures it will surely vote
Their success to teacher to roam afloat.
Let be a doctor, teacher or student tote
Examinations did need a nice quote.
Whether you be known or remote
Is decided by many reports wrote.
Evil or bad about exams is misquote
By all as it leads us to get more groat.
Ravana like teachers do connote:
Exams are tiny tot like just a mote.
The only tool which writes footnote
For children and save them from a dote.
Lastly, it is just like Gita a good keynote.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 8:19 AM UTC
Why is it easy to put on the pounds
But so **** hard to lose?
It's always a breeze to pass on the peas,
But ice cream is hard to refuse.
Often we catch ourselves driving too fast;
Are we ever driving too slow?
Our brains are less like a Rafael
And more like a Vincent van Gogh.
Time plods along when we're waiting in line
But races when we're having fun.
As hard as we try to stick to a budget,
There's usually cost overrun!
Medical costs are so Brobdingnagian;
Why can't they be Lilliputian?
It's easy to make but tough to keep
A New Year's resolution.
Doesn't it also seem easy to sink
Yet hard to stay afloat?
Finding the exact words is a challenge;
It's a cinch to misquote.
Love--it seems--should be so simple.
Why is there so much hate?
Being early is usually good,
But sometimes you want to be late.
Life's little inconsistencies:
Always a daily test…
All we can do is go with the flow
And try to do our best.
- by Bob B
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
1/25/2017
the sky melted, sweating glass
for three days straight-
once, we marveled at the inexorable and eventual
at
the drop that makes the bough
bow.
i remember the ache
of the sunlight on my
crooked nape
one May day . We sit in a January cafe
"It is springtime," she announces
except these days, it's no emotional pantomime, not a hopeless mantra
"and why?" I beg a question
"oh, because something's starting"
she mixes milk into her honey
it is too sweet for me
the umbrella opens in the shop
"put that away, it's a bad omen" oh, as if I care
imagine me so treacly?
she talks about pregnancy and politics
about marriage
and something in me,
i realize
wants to be, is disgusted by my far future maternity
at the supermarket
there's a jingle
hey, mom, what's for dinner?
"Uh, hey, I feel like Plath... marriage is oppression and all that"
"Well, join the club. Oh, domesticity-"
"O'Hara said : There is only one man I like to kiss,"
I misquote, intentionally.
"*Heterosexuality!
you are inexorably approaching!*"
perhaps we can't wait
to be thirty and bored
with three kids
watching them play at the Minetta
wondering where the hell our time went
and there they'll sit
polish- to her irish, italian- to my puerto rican
new jersey mutts
i laugh
thinking of drunk days down on
53rd and Lex
we're not ready to live like it's 1953
*oh, johnny promised me
and i wear his
ring*
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 9:06 PM UTC
"Don't cry because it happened,
Smile because it's over."
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
I feel the anger as he yells
I feel it pulsing through my veins
I am ready to rebel
This feeling can’t be contained
His words are like a ****** sword
Shoved in my throat
Don’t he know what he’s pushing toward?
I wish it was a misquote
I am going to walk out the door
I am not coming back
Maybe this time I won’t be ignored
This is my attack
We have nothing to gain
I am done wasting my life with you
You act like you’re insane
I guess I am having a break through
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
Dear readers, Reader’s Digests denote
That readers read and clearly emote
Their feelings out and try to devote
Their money and time for this rowboat.
The mind that reads it will surely vote
Their success that is sure to roam afloat.
Let be a doctor, teacher or student tote
This is a boon that always does quote
Famous personalities known or remote;
Ideas or thinking or reports wrote
Jokes, humour or news or misquote
All are fitted in just a little groat.
Unlike Narada, RD does connote:
Little price, high yields in a mote.
The only book with a lot of footnote,
This will save us from being a dote.
Lastly, it is like Gita a good keynote.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
stellar misquote cyborg
i'm really a
******* tool.
i get embarrassed when i see you
at the telescopes.
like ******* myself
whatever, though ———
nobody thinks i'm a loser. the
yellow smell of skunk is rabid
outside & i
am wrapped up in
the stranger's uniform of lowliness.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
Faze me
Paraphrase me
Rely on me
Deny on me
Misquote me
Then vote for me
Have dinner with me
Be a sinner with me
Ten-Pin bowl with me
Play 8 ball pool with me
Rule the world with me
But never forget,
to act the fool with me
JJB
Jul 20, 2024
Jul 20, 2024 at 4:52 PM UTC
drape the silk over my eyes
tie the blindfold tight
take away my eyesight, i’m not one to see what lies inevitable anyway
whisper distractions in my ear
buzzing around like a misquote
constant ring of you know how much i love you
carry on buzzing, make my sanity dissipate
watch as my arms begin to try and swat you away
see the vulnerability, perfect time to tell the truth
the love buzz changes into let me **** you
four months four months buzzing in my ears
the constant sound of pleading to end your self diagnosed suffering
the swatting becomes a rapid fire attempt to shut the buzzing up
you only get faster, little bug
the buzzing becomes a permanent ring in my ears
even long after it’s gone, i still hear it loud and clear
so tie the silk tight
buzz in my ear
until my sanity breaks and your sexless suffering is all i hear
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 10:54 PM UTC
My brothers are no gentlemen,
But they are nothing if not gentle,
See, if you love us we will be
The rains you’re calling suns,
But if you preach we will misquote you mental.
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 5:33 PM UTC
Heart attacks in the living room,
I don't know where to go
but sit in the tub, lights off
I work out ideas of ideas
Some muse in hand
I don't believe in, I have
Wants, "go to the hills"-I'm there-
and grasslands I haven't seen
[More work]
Like some words I'm not fit to wear
[Fill in]
And the people who are interesting
Are dying, or shown in true light.
"I'll be like you someday"
but I actually hope not
I hope I may render my darkness
from some true light.
Lying in the tub.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC