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"misspellings" poems
"She did the laundry in the mirror of me I saw myself in the mirror and disagreed with the smell, The thought of you was beautiful, but I was wrong, and a feeling of discontent -ment came over me," Misspellings Mispronunciations An unconquerable world of big money I parted ways with the large and saw another even larger world, One that was intelligent and reads the Wall Street Journal, listens to NPR, and says "wow" at the sound of hearing one million dollars, or upon hearing about San Francisco start-ups, or Silicon Valley. Or the opposite, in some ways, but still very similar to - Virginia Woolf. whose book on feminism which I'm unable to explain fully other than to say that she suggests that women only need a bedroom, money, clothes, etc., or rather, less than etc. in that, they need little, but only the bare supplies. That they should be able to supply themselves with what they need for when their husband, which, you know, is not required, in her eyes, for when he separates from her and leaves her 'in the dust,' alone without anything, perhaps only with a child, or in another instance, estate-less, with only a white dress, really more of kitchen-robe than anything else; like Virginia Woolf says, we should really try and dismantle the patriarchy that we write and tell about. Reader, what do you after reading a story, article, or book on radical or moderate feminism say? The boys, like me, who will tell, or, try to tell their perspective of the book and say to the closest person around them, "I just read a great book by Virginia Woolf, she brings to mind an image of a university with white buildings and ends of roofs of university buildings leading along to the the main hall of architecture buildings, with sidewalks pristine and underneath people walking in their sweaters, collegiate, and later to make their way to art history classes in the fall evening. So, like Virginia Woolf, who makes you ask why you're not at the Parthenon, but instead are inside of your house, in a city that you don't want to be in, at a hospital, in your apartment, or surrounded by whoever, she nevertheless gives you have a feeling of longing-ness and a strong emotion of want. Virginia Woolf when will we go to Greece together? What do you know about Athens and classical architecture, I nearly beg you. December 30th 2018 7:11am
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Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
Virginia Woolf
"She did the laundry in the mirror of me I saw myself in the mirror and disagreed with the smell, The thought of you was beautiful, but I was wrong, and a feeling of discontent -ment came over me," Misspellings Mispronunciations An unconquerable world of big money I parted ways with the large and saw another even larger world, One that was intelligent and reads the Wall Street Journal, listens to NPR, and says "wow" at the sound of hearing one million dollars, or upon hearing about San Francisco start-ups, or Silicon Valley. Or the opposite, in some ways, but still very similar to - Virginia Woolf. whose book on feminism which I'm unable to explain fully other than to say that she suggests that women only need a bedroom, money, clothes, etc., or rather, less than etc. in that, they need little, but only the bare supplies. That they should be able to supply themselves with what they need for when their husband, which, you know, is not required, in her eyes, for when he separates from her and leaves her 'in the dust,' alone without anything, perhaps only with a child, or in another instance, estate-less, with only a white dress, really more of kitchen-robe than anything else; like Virginia Woolf says, we should really try and dismantle the patriarchy that we write and tell about. Reader, what do you after reading a story, article, or book on radical or moderate feminism say? The boys, like me, who will tell, or, try to tell their perspective of the book and say to the closest person around them, "I just read a great book by Virginia Woolf, she brings to mind an image of a university with white buildings and ends of roofs of university buildings leading along to the the main hall of architecture buildings, with sidewalks pristine and underneath people walking in their sweaters, collegiate, and later to make their way to art history classes in the fall evening. So, like Virginia Woolf, who makes you ask why you're not at the Parthenon, but instead are inside of your house, in a city that you don't want to be in, at a hospital, in your apartment, or surrounded by whoever, she nevertheless gives you have a feeling of longing-ness and a strong emotion of want. Virginia Woolf when will we go to Greece together? What do you know about Athens and classical architecture, I nearly beg you. December 30th 2018 7:11am
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41
VACUUM CLEANER TANGO ---Lyrics by Jonathan Caswell (Some misspellings are due to rhythm keeping) The Vac…cuum Clea…ner Tango, Is like…a juicy…mango, Those fi…bers will…entangle Your teeth or brushes, pretty quick! The girls…who do…the cleaning, Are ev…ver so…well-meaning, To move…around…guys leaning, That watch…and approve…the show! Plugs must…be changed…more frequently, If lon…ger hallways…decently, Are cleaned…the most…expediently, It’s all…a part of…the dance! The vac…cuum clea…ner tango, A dai…ly chore…is wrangled, By clea…ners star…spangled, Perfor…ming it with…extra class!
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Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 2:45 AM UTC
VACUUM CLEANER TANGO
Even if nightmares, cats, leaders, *** beauty, hugs, feelings, melodies, technology, communication, life, abandonment, longings, mornings, electronics, kingdoms, followers, humiliation, darlings, hyperventilation, depression, Alonedom, ghosts, trundles, Hell, gravity, tickling, hearts, unicorns, twins, education, lost ones, ink, medications, pavements, thoughts, souls, suicide, walls, hatred, alcohol, oceans, soles, music, misspellings, transportation, buses, guts, Heaven, time, attractions, ***** hands, blindness, organs, dreams, bodies, distances, understanding, currency, energy, love, spaghetti, contentment, happiness, tears, fire, people, oxygen, tongues, children, peace, death, papas, zombies, homicide, blood, kisses, drugs, families, caffeine, mamas, space, parchments, baked goods, economy. didn't exist, I would still wish you would But you don't anymore so nothing matters.
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Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 2:20 PM UTC
****
A close read reveals that I am nothing but a rough draft riddled with misspellings— a work in progress watered down by superfluous adjectives, non sequiturs, and smothered verbs. Love is an editor. She courts me with a pocket of sharpened pencils, blue and red. She marks me up meticulously— dele, stet dele, stet. Decades punctuated by intermittent edits. Sunlight slanting through an hourglass. Her hair as white as the final page. When the end comes, will she love me enough to give me another pass?
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Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC
Working Copy
Please re-read as I will be making changes to this poem over and over I want to tell you something I am a man who loves changes Changes of everything You will see me suggest A change in every retrospect This morning I was re-reading my own HP site and I was impressed by my choices and how I ended up With 3 different reposts of "My Fears" from 3 different poets that I reposted without me knowing It's amazing how I am amazed of my choices and have read them like as if I am choosing them again Now hear out my new suggestion To HP and if you do like Please make your voice be heard It goes as follows: If you like to relive the poetry and you like to re-read your choices and you like to reread the poems you chose before once more and get surprised while reading them as if you did not choose them before Then, we either need a second love button!  Or we need to automate the love button and every time we reread it knows and the love gets even stronger and somehow it grows Another suggestion that hit me in the head while I was re-writing my poem *"The new suggestion is to give a comeback wink to the previous folks who just read my poem and ping them of my new important fix To invite them to re-taste the cake that I just re-cooked Or the cooking does not get posted Until I feel its real good and I press the release button Before I let it go like I should And may be we need to check our poem button with people that we trust Before we embarrass ourselves badly with a poem that may bust"* The problem with this is honesty That we don't do it for just the fame So for this I need your opinion to fix my suggestion in playing the game and make HP an even a better place and enjoy it again and again! Additional suggestions to HP: * please fix the current suggestions which is still lit even when I fixed my suggested misspellings. .. Call it repair * a suggestion button to HP in the menu * a share with others button that can grow .. You can click and see who I shared it with ... it can also be private * a playback button ... Reads out loud * a favorite button .. Quickly adds it to your favorites * a read later button * by double clicking a word you can ping the poet for a misspelling or a suggestion of a new word or love that word * a unite with another poet button * Go Interactive button .. Others can re-write your poetry! * a challenge button .. Encourage challenge with another poet * a marry me button .. which starts with an enragement ring .. *friends .. siblings and brothers and family button ... they have to accept you as a family member!
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Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 5:50 AM UTC
Hp changes & suggestions
Please re-read as I will be making changes to this poem over and over I want to tell you something I am a man who loves changes Changes of everything You will see me suggest A change in every retrospect This morning I was re-reading my own HP site and I was impressed by my choices and how I ended up With 3 different reposts of "My Fears" from 3 different poets that I reposted without me knowing It's amazing how I am amazed of my choices and have read them like as if I am choosing them again Now hear out my new suggestion To HP and if you do like Please make your voice be heard It goes as follows: If you like to relive the poetry and you like to re-read your choices and you like to reread the poems you chose before once more and get surprised while reading them as if you did not choose them before Then, we either need a second love button!  Or we need to automate the love button and every time we reread it knows and the love gets even stronger and somehow it grows Another suggestion that hit me in the head while I was re-writing my poem *"The new suggestion is to give a comeback wink to the previous folks who just read my poem and ping them of my new important fix To invite them to re-taste the cake that I just re-cooked Or the cooking does not get posted Until I feel its real good and I press the release button Before I let it go like I should And may be we need to check our poem button with people that we trust Before we embarrass ourselves badly with a poem that may bust"* The problem with this is honesty That we don't do it for just the fame So for this I need your opinion to fix my suggestion in playing the game and make HP an even a better place and enjoy it again and again! Additional suggestions to HP: * please fix the current suggestions which is still lit even when I fixed my suggested misspellings. .. Call it repair * a suggestion button to HP in the menu * a share with others button that can grow .. You can click and see who I shared it with ... it can also be private * a playback button ... Reads out loud * a favorite button .. Quickly adds it to your favorites * a read later button * by double clicking a word you can ping the poet for a misspelling or a suggestion of a new word or love that word * a unite with another poet button * Go Interactive button .. Others can re-write your poetry! * a challenge button .. Encourage challenge with another poet * a marry me button .. which starts with an enragement ring .. *friends .. siblings and brothers and family button ... they have to accept you as a family member!
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Open shell Pry fragments Step Step Grow Flag Even upper Higher Move it like wildfire Riff it like snot One more time Don’t corrct misspllings Fix grammar Correct misspellings One more time Even once more Move on to another mispld game Fight fight ight Kepz it kleanz Doin it right Conceptus Remember Nxt Level Cookie Maker Chef of lives Mix in souls too many numerous few up down closed soul hole Not profane enough Fukc Don’t correct misspellings Ingrained. Open your mouth I’ll open my ears I’ll close my ears and we’ll keep it up Pullin’ faces Eating too much, but fasting on stuffing incubate synchubate ********** Try I won’t find New thingsssssssssssssssssssssss Old things People n stuff Open your eyes I’ll open my nose. ***** Foomf. Pinch in fiction and fingers Level up Order of operations Fades into subconscious Pious Holier than Mao Heads & Tails Open your feeling I’ll open my fly. (2014)
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Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
Unopentitled
O sweet honey bun, I'm scribbling as fast as I can, writing deep penetrating thoughts, things I think you'd like. O, isn't this hot, thrilling, scintillating raw techno-fun? Your responses are so sublime, genuine sultriness, you have suggestive-words of your own, it's hard to keep up! O, pardon my misspellings, but the excitement is taking me over the edge, auto-correct can't even stop my intent to be with you, giving you my ****** O, I think you should know, I cannot fight you, the aura on my screen, that view of you makes me feel explosive. So here goes doll, I'm getting close, I'm strumming myself to the beat of your words, I think I love this, kissing you in space, exploding to the glow of modern moonlight.
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Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
I'm In Love with Modern Moonlight (You)
Misspellings. Coincidental; little mistakes that make us oh, so very human. A stroke or a little flick of ink that makes that dizzying difference between what your lips wants to say and what is starkly conventional. But trust me, sweets, when I write I love you at the very end of creased coffee-stained and red lipped marked napkins. It isn't quite a mistake. Hush those slightly alarmed eyes. Perhaps, it's just my white heart painted red's blissful fall.
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Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC
Mis-spelt
spinach, baby arugula, alfalfa sprouts typos, misspellings, guns, gods, lies, news, jokes. mushrooms, sauté suite suit suits you well. you are well. i am no more lonely, but physically alone. or yeah, maybe just that much more lonely. i hate work. not equally, but differently. i love music, because it's all i have and my life depends on it. get me through this! me? i crave *** connection, even without *** love. or apathy. i'm not sure where to go, what do do.... 25 in 17 days. i thought growing up made sense.
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Dec 22, 2011
Dec 22, 2011 at 11:54 PM UTC
25 in 17
I don't want to **** you. No, I want to be the midnight air seeping into your pores, witness the horrors of your mind and make them no more I wish to row,                     row,                            row, gently down your stream of consciousness and to arrive safely at the solutions to all your heart's conundrums and hope to God that I am one of them. I'll make love to you, if you want to, too, or lie silent in the night, syncing heartbeats, never touching you. But I don't want to **** you. I want to set sail to your words, to conquer the ebb and ride the flow, establishing allies and vanquishing foes I want to know the history of every mystery that you find compelling, to correct your m̶i̶s̶p̶e̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶  misspellings. To be the lyrics to your favorite song to be the sunrise when the nights get long Yes, I long to be the object of your sideways looks and to sleep between the pages of your favorite books To stare in admiration at your eyes like constellations and wish on every star to know every part of who you are To have my sun-baked skin be consumed by the waves on the curves of your face To trace and map every landmark on your effervescent skin and be the nervous sweat that clings to it I want to let your strong lungs intake me and let your cool air sustain me and pray that you might save me a spot in your heart I wish to start pulling your mind's fibers and wires and to start a fire under your frozen tongue and be the unsung hero who rescues you from yourself. I want to silence your loudest thoughts and embrace your silent tears and I want to make this clear: I do not want to **** you. I want to be inside you.
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Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
To Any Girl Ever Plagued By My Love
I don't want to **** you. No, I want to be the midnight air seeping into your pores, witness the horrors of your mind and make them no more I wish to row,                     row,                            row, gently down your stream of consciousness and to arrive safely at the solutions to all your heart's conundrums and hope to God that I am one of them. I'll make love to you, if you want to, too, or lie silent in the night, syncing heartbeats, never touching you. But I don't want to **** you. I want to set sail to your words, to conquer the ebb and ride the flow, establishing allies and vanquishing foes I want to know the history of every mystery that you find compelling, to correct your m̶i̶s̶p̶e̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶  misspellings. To be the lyrics to your favorite song to be the sunrise when the nights get long Yes, I long to be the object of your sideways looks and to sleep between the pages of your favorite books To stare in admiration at your eyes like constellations and wish on every star to know every part of who you are To have my sun-baked skin be consumed by the waves on the curves of your face To trace and map every landmark on your effervescent skin and be the nervous sweat that clings to it I want to let your strong lungs intake me and let your cool air sustain me and pray that you might save me a spot in your heart I wish to start pulling your mind's fibers and wires and to start a fire under your frozen tongue and be the unsung hero who rescues you from yourself. I want to silence your loudest thoughts and embrace your silent tears and I want to make this clear: I do not want to **** you. I want to be inside you.
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61
reposted for my granddaughter, Emily Riddle, in memory of my wife, Karen Riddle. I just couldn't do without my grandma's heart necklace - It was a gift to me, although she passed away when I was little. It also holds all of my mad, sad, and happy memories, just like it is a part of me. I wear it on very special occasions, since it is so unique. When I wear it close to my heart- it makes me feel special. That's why I would always feel happy, or at least, a little joyful, when I hold it to my chest- to pretend my grandma is still alive. She was very important to me- We did so much together, and I miss her, and the special times we shared. I can feel her with me when I wear it, or hold it, close to me. Without this prized possession, all of my feelings would be lost, with my grandma, in the sky. My heart necklace means the world to me, and I wouldn't change anything about it. People say "jewelry is made to look beautiful." Well, I say, It was made to be a "Memory Holder!!" copyright-Emily Riddle- October 15, 2013 My granddaughter Emily, wrote this essay as a class assignment for her 3rd Grade class. Originally in full page, essay form, I divided it into stanzas, and added some punctuation. Although there are some misspellings(two), I chose not to correct them, but to leave the content as it was written, in order to preserve the sincerity, and the innocence, with which it was written. Thank you, so much, Emily Riddle. (She is about to turn 13.) Love you, so much!! Granddad.
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Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
A Piece of My Life(by Emily Riddle-age 9)
reposted for my granddaughter, Emily Riddle, in memory of my wife, Karen Riddle. I just couldn't do without my grandma's heart necklace - It was a gift to me, although she passed away when I was little. It also holds all of my mad, sad, and happy memories, just like it is a part of me. I wear it on very special occasions, since it is so unique. When I wear it close to my heart- it makes me feel special. That's why I would always feel happy, or at least, a little joyful, when I hold it to my chest- to pretend my grandma is still alive. She was very important to me- We did so much together, and I miss her, and the special times we shared. I can feel her with me when I wear it, or hold it, close to me. Without this prized possession, all of my feelings would be lost, with my grandma, in the sky. My heart necklace means the world to me, and I wouldn't change anything about it. People say "jewelry is made to look beautiful." Well, I say, It was made to be a "Memory Holder!!" copyright-Emily Riddle- October 15, 2013 My granddaughter Emily, wrote this essay as a class assignment for her 3rd Grade class. Originally in full page, essay form, I divided it into stanzas, and added some punctuation. Although there are some misspellings(two), I chose not to correct them, but to leave the content as it was written, in order to preserve the sincerity, and the innocence, with which it was written. Thank you, so much, Emily Riddle. (She is about to turn 13.) Love you, so much!! Granddad.
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41
My fingers barely connect with the keys Making letters appear in perfectly straight lines, Misspellings automatically corrected, Bland sentences erased and replaced If I ever wrote as well as I intended to I would work for my words harder than they've worked for me I would form thoughts in shallow trenches Working out every letter, digging the flow Reopening blisters and blinking on stinging sweat, if I ever wrote as well as I intended to Let my verses stretch the length of the valley Giving the earth a fraction of what she has given to me Let them climb the cliffs, bleeding nubs of fingers guiding their path Let my words fall to the sky in towers of smoke And when I am finished Let them be swallowed, corroded, and filled Let them dissipate and separate, for no one else will I ever write as well as I intend to
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Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
Untitled
By Emily Riddle(age-9) I just couldn't do without my grandma's heart necklace - It was a gift to me, although she passed away when I was little. It also holds all of my mad, sad, and happy memories, just like it is a part of me. I wear it on very special occasions, since it is so unique. When I wear it close to my heart- it makes me feel special. That's why I would always feel happy, or at least, a little joyful, when I hold it to my chest- to pretend my grandma is still alive. She was very important to me- We did so much together, and I miss her, and the special times we shared. I can feel her with me when I wear it, or hold it, close to me. Without this prized possession, all of my feelings would be lost, with my grandma, in the sky. My heart necklace means the world to me, and I wouldn't change anything about it. People say "jewelry is made to look beautiful." Well, I say, It was made to be a "Memory Holder!!" copyright-Emily Riddle- October 15, 2013 (She turns 12yrs old on Feb 16, 2016) My granddaughter Emily, wrote this as a class assignment for her 3rd Grade class. Originally in full page, essay form, I divided it into stanzas, and added some punctuation. Although there are some misspellings(two), I chose not to correct them, but to leave the content as it was written, in order to preserve the sincerity, and the innocence, with which it was written. Thank you, so much, Emily Riddle.
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Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
A Piece of My Life (Repost)
I guess this is more procrastination than anything else, But writing is writing, amiright? it's funny, starting a line with no capitalization, you know what else is funny? Misspellings. But that's not really what I was going to say. There's something about pieces of my past that drum up passionate writings. Congrats to you, if you're reading, you're a muse of somesort. I was reading 1 Corinthians today. Workin' on dat daily struggle, that getting closer to Christ grind. Grinding on the cross. hashtag: blasphemy Conjures up images of Jesus at a dance Back to the point: Paul urged us to stay single. I find that so weird, but in reality, It's no weirder than desiring others to fill our hole(s) *There's a **** joke there somewhere...* I'm being crass for the sake of it An *** because that's what I make of it. I write, I writ, I wrote Am I right? This rite? Is it rote? Wordplay Really though, stay single, for the sake of your relationship. That's what Paul said. A married man or woman is tied down to this earth ever more than those unmarried. Is that why I'm single? I ain't even mad. Even if I do miss the touches, The hugs The intimacy I know that in it, When I'm in the thick, I miss my relationship with Christ more. Where's the blood Where's the body when I need it most? I am the one locking myself away. Eucharistic struggle The Communion struggle. That last line is a good summation of this piece If this is a poem, indeed. Maybe I need to make some lines that rhyme for the sake of the time you've spent reading this journalistic entry for the sake of my last century and maybe this one coming. I'm bumming around for cigarettes that I don't smoke, for **** that I won't **** for a joke that won't end in any punchline you find funny. Baby, honey, I need to leave; you need to see the light of day, and I need some time to pray, because everytime I'm with you I'm suffocating. You're pulling, and there's no more rope; you're the trickery, and I'm the dope. And every time my flesh was in yours and you were on me, I knew what we were doing couldn't be, and that what we were doing wasn't for me, but all for you. I'm all for you. I'm never not. Except when I'm not.
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Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 1:56 AM UTC
It's not really a poem until the end (right?)
I guess this is more procrastination than anything else, But writing is writing, amiright? it's funny, starting a line with no capitalization, you know what else is funny? Misspellings. But that's not really what I was going to say. There's something about pieces of my past that drum up passionate writings. Congrats to you, if you're reading, you're a muse of somesort. I was reading 1 Corinthians today. Workin' on dat daily struggle, that getting closer to Christ grind. Grinding on the cross. hashtag: blasphemy Conjures up images of Jesus at a dance Back to the point: Paul urged us to stay single. I find that so weird, but in reality, It's no weirder than desiring others to fill our hole(s) *There's a **** joke there somewhere...* I'm being crass for the sake of it An *** because that's what I make of it. I write, I writ, I wrote Am I right? This rite? Is it rote? Wordplay Really though, stay single, for the sake of your relationship. That's what Paul said. A married man or woman is tied down to this earth ever more than those unmarried. Is that why I'm single? I ain't even mad. Even if I do miss the touches, The hugs The intimacy I know that in it, When I'm in the thick, I miss my relationship with Christ more. Where's the blood Where's the body when I need it most? I am the one locking myself away. Eucharistic struggle The Communion struggle. That last line is a good summation of this piece If this is a poem, indeed. Maybe I need to make some lines that rhyme for the sake of the time you've spent reading this journalistic entry for the sake of my last century and maybe this one coming. I'm bumming around for cigarettes that I don't smoke, for **** that I won't **** for a joke that won't end in any punchline you find funny. Baby, honey, I need to leave; you need to see the light of day, and I need some time to pray, because everytime I'm with you I'm suffocating. You're pulling, and there's no more rope; you're the trickery, and I'm the dope. And every time my flesh was in yours and you were on me, I knew what we were doing couldn't be, and that what we were doing wasn't for me, but all for you. I'm all for you. I'm never not. Except when I'm not.
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43
When I was younger I had this idea of love As being a prewritten script I’d spot you on the dancefloor Our eyes would meet You would smile I would smile We would dance the night away All of a sudden you would have to leave It’s okay though You would leave your slipper That way I could return it So that you could be my princess What I didn’t know is that dancefloors aren’t meant for lovers Or that your eyes would be like medusas Turning my soul to stone And that when you left You shoe would stay on your foot Leaving me with an idea of love when I was a little older Love was my dad in the navy My mom the traveling nurse Meeting in Hawaii Getting married in a church Her waiting while he was away They’d love each other forever After all, they had me. But sometimes mom and dad fight And sometimes mom and dad cry Because let’s face it Mom and dad had this idea of love When they were younger And this wasn’t what they had in mind When I was a teenager i had this idea of love She had freckles and green eyes One half Irish One half Indian She had all of my heart She told me to write down my feelings And to trust in love Love way talking on the phone till 2am And holding hands in public But no one told me that love could have a father And that sometimes dads drink And go missing for a few days at a time Or that love could leave for 6 weeks And that talking on the phone till 2am Could turn into never sleeping Because love wasn’t there No one had warned me that love’s letters sometimes have misspellings And that when love returns home she wouldn’t feel the same And she never did Four years later Sometimes I think about love But not too much I am kind of done pretending
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Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
When I Was Younger
When I was younger I had this idea of love As being a prewritten script I’d spot you on the dancefloor Our eyes would meet You would smile I would smile We would dance the night away All of a sudden you would have to leave It’s okay though You would leave your slipper That way I could return it So that you could be my princess What I didn’t know is that dancefloors aren’t meant for lovers Or that your eyes would be like medusas Turning my soul to stone And that when you left You shoe would stay on your foot Leaving me with an idea of love when I was a little older Love was my dad in the navy My mom the traveling nurse Meeting in Hawaii Getting married in a church Her waiting while he was away They’d love each other forever After all, they had me. But sometimes mom and dad fight And sometimes mom and dad cry Because let’s face it Mom and dad had this idea of love When they were younger And this wasn’t what they had in mind When I was a teenager i had this idea of love She had freckles and green eyes One half Irish One half Indian She had all of my heart She told me to write down my feelings And to trust in love Love way talking on the phone till 2am And holding hands in public But no one told me that love could have a father And that sometimes dads drink And go missing for a few days at a time Or that love could leave for 6 weeks And that talking on the phone till 2am Could turn into never sleeping Because love wasn’t there No one had warned me that love’s letters sometimes have misspellings And that when love returns home she wouldn’t feel the same And she never did Four years later Sometimes I think about love But not too much I am kind of done pretending
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By Emily Riddle(age-9) I just couldn't do without my grandma's heart necklace - It was a gift to me, although she passed away when I was little. It also holds all of my mad, sad, and happy memories, just like it is a part of me. I wear it on very special occasions, since it is so unique. When I wear it close to my heart- it makes me feel special. That's why I would always feel happy, or at least, a little joyful, when I hold it to my chest- to pretend my grandma is still alive. She was very important to me- We did so much together, and I miss her, and the special times we shared. I can feel her with me when I wear it, or hold it, close to me. Without this prized possession, all of my feelings would be lost, with my grandma, in the sky. My heart necklace means the world to me, and I wouldn't change anything about it. People say "jewelry is made to look beautiful." Well, I say, It was made to be a "Memory Holder!!" copyright-Emily Riddle- October 15, 2013 My granddaughter Emily, wrote this essay as a class assignment for her 3rd Grade class. Originally in full page, essay form, I divided it into stanzas, and added some punctuation. Although there are some misspellings(two), I chose not to correct them, but to leave the content as it was written, in order to preserve the sincerity, and the innocence, with which it was written. Thank you, so much, Emily Riddle.
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May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
A Piece of My Life (Repost)
I am a poet who cannot spell I prefer to love words with my lips, my tongue the inflection in my voice its not that I don't like writing the action of ink on paper but sometimes I **** up and I injure a strong colorful word with my pen and the shame of this is enough to keep me distraught if only for a few moments because I love words all words especially the vibrant ones I love the soft curve of their voluptuous vowels and their sharp corners consonant collarbones I love the words who's many meanings swiss-army swap them into sentences where you would not expect to find them I love soft words who hiss past teeth with a susurrus and I love long complicated words with edges that could cut. you. right. open. with vitriolic intent I could have chosen any one of dozens of lovely words to fill that space but I chose one that I could not spell Maybe it wouldn't be so hard if I didn't always write in pen but I am a stubborn man who finds it easier to forgive a few misspellings than to live with the knowledge that all he has written will someday smear
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May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 8:32 PM UTC
mispellins
my brain vomited onto the page all squiggles and misspellings unpunctuated heiroglyphics a secret language only i could understand not prose not poetry not correct just me my pen wreaks havoc on unruled paper i am errant i am irritable i am irreverent i am making my way
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Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC
My Vomity Brain
you make fun of my poem about sunlight shining through your hair the poem about how our hands are created to fit perfectly with the others i understand why you doesn't understand but listen: my love for you can not be counted in touchings or flowers or blushing it will not be seen og heard in the curve of my smile or in the rhythm of my heart mostly you will only see it in my words that become hundreds of poems about how your eyes become another colour as your mood changes and about how you laughter fells like kisses across my cheekbone about how you are my sun and my moon and all the starts and galaxies caught in 179 centimers if kindness my love for you can be seen in the way my hands cramps after i've written your name all over the toilet door it is seen in the filled trashcan with crumpled pieces of paper because you don't deserve misspellings or wrong  punctuation you don't even deserve poorly written poems you deserve real words and a mouth whom dares to speak int he daylight instead of writing on the lowest point of your back and that is why i smile and laugh and reach out for the paper in your hands whispering april fools and go home to the burn my collection of poems about your hair and the sun shining through
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Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
april
I wrote once to the hypothetical love. I said love your letters to me have had some misspellings First of all, the name was all wrong And so was the person behind it. So a little while later I was up late. And I had this thought. Finally, the name on the page was right. The laugh and smell and smile and hair and love All of it was what I had waited for. Sometimes I look at you and just smile. And you look back and say What?! And I say nothing never mind. Let’s face it its hard during the moment to say everything How can I tell you what you did for me? I don’t really trust people because a lot of the people close to me have ended up ******* me over. You helped me trust again. You allow me to live by the standards I feel I need. But most of all you bring beauty to my life. You make me smile and show me yours and I just about die And you hug me when I am sad And when I am happy And angry And nervous And sleepy You kiss me when I need to be kissed And when I don’t and when I really want to be You inspire me to do what I love And you have given me a person to call family I love it when your hair is on me And I accidentally spill your ***** paint water And get sauce all over And I drive to the middle of nowhere And then realize you don’t know where we are I can’t imagine being happier while being annoyed Because you are you and I am me and that’s enough for you And that’s why sometimes I look at you Because what could be better to look at.
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Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
What Could Be Better
Dictionaries are wonderful things. Spell-check, I’ve always admired. My brand new tattoo has misspellings of two Of the words for which you were hired. Now I’ll wander through life As an object of scorn As this ink artist failed to reflect That it’s “E’ before “I” When “C”’s not involved I mean, really, how could he forget? There’s a ship that won’t sink On my chest, done in ink, With the slogan of “Ankors Awieght” I was drunk at the time But you ought to be fined Or at least give me back What I paid.
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Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 7:49 AM UTC
“Spel-chek “