"mixtape" poems
Those silly songs;
so sad but true
With lost feelings
of me and you
I played it on
with the tape's side A
Felt like blossoms of dawn
and flowers of May
I flipped the tape
Found side B's empty
The same thing I get
Every time you look at me
"You'll get over this."
You once confided
That's what our love is;
Too one-sided
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 2:21 AM UTC
I want to love you like the 90´s,
back when making a playlist
meant dubbing you a mixtape
I want love you like cassette,
the kind of love that even when it gets tangled
we just have to stick a pencil into the spool
and reel it back to normal
I want to love you like portable Sony CD players,
the kind of love that even when it gets scratched
we just have to blow wipe it on our sleeves
because, love,
love just needs a little touch to make it move
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 2:47 PM UTC
There's a letter that I'll never
Deliver to you girl you left a mess in my world,
And now things in my bedroom
Remind me of you..
See there are old cd's I burned
And paper planes crashed by the door
And song lyrics spilled on the floor
I should probably clean it all up but
A part of me just won't forget us
You must have been pretty special
Cause these days, I try not to be so sentimental..
Did you get the memo?
I've been recording demos
And someday in December,
I'll record a single'
Just you wait.
I'm not going anywhere but up,
Though things in my bedroom remind me of you, I actually don't give a ****
I'm just bringing all of this up
Because, I thought it'd be nice
To spare you a thought, and a poem
Every now and then...
Oh **** we used to be the best of friends
And in my journals there's evidence
Man its been a while and you're still relevant..
So for the hell of it
Let's raise a glass....
Oh in my room theres a few birthday cards
But as the years go on, i get less and less of those
And theres a lava lamp, thats pretty small.. But thats okay
Cause its next to my cd player thats still playing my first mixtape..
So oh yeah, let's raise a glass..
To the person I am today,
Darling you said we all have to change
Well if i did, it came from a place of pain..
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
the mile ride home doesn't feel so brief, and
on my way home i need to stop by the jet wash
now that you took our favorite mixtape
i realize that this lonely war is quiet
i can hear the engine humming
yesterday it was muffled by your breathing
isn't it odd?
i'm sure you didn't smile triumphantly either
there's just too many locks i hold, and
i can't remember which one's for home
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 8:43 AM UTC
& so my nightly routine begins...
1.) I turn on my unreleased Lana Del Rey mixtape
2.) light my last cigarette
3.) turn off the lights
4.) crawl into my unmade bed
5.) cuddle up to my favorite stuffed animal
6.) and I begin to cry
7.) then finally... sleep comes for me.
8.) & the nightmares begin.
Oct 24, 2022
Oct 24, 2022 at 11:18 PM UTC
such a lovely time
to be my Valentine
if only our words
could ever rhyme
no, I won't give you flowers
or chocolates in a box
I'd rather give you a mixtape
and a case full of luck
I'd send you a letter
with words of my own
one so poetic
one so very grown~
out of love, out of sight
love as warm as the night
O' thine eyes shine so bright!
mirrors the elegant moonlight
**** me softly with your hug
send me off with your kiss
grant me heartily with your words
as I marvel at the bliss~
of how You say You love me
as I fall in it again
as the cold breeze tries and makes me
freeze in time, asking when~
I'll be seeing you once more
in this Valentine time's dream
save the date, **** the luck
for when reality hits me clean
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
We love to chase the wind through streaks of blinding bliss,
Tagging the glorious ideals of love, peace, friendship, even
The meaning of life, to weeping willows and pensive pebbles.
We admire the monochrome sky in all its barren blue or pregnant purple;
Hues of burple and plue are dismissed as being tedious, or just confused.
Fear not, photoshop will rectify this pigmented aberration.
We giggle at clouds that resemble kitchen utensils or mystical creatures;
“Hey look a teddy bear in a spacesuit with a flowerpot on his head wielding the Sword of Gryffindor!”
We declare sagely, with the acumen of a legendary bird watcher.
We resurrect grass angels by launching into horizontal jumping-jacks, and,
Just as a disclaimer, no flower was harmed in the process. Not that it matters,
As long as we did not soil our Lacoste and Burberry.
We spin a mixtape out of the torrential downpour, our tracks pitting
The pitter of regularity against the patter of inconstancy, synchronizing
The symphony of splashes to an undercurrent of nostalgia.
We kiss against the bark of an elm, and if a tree is not available in the vicinity,
We throw ourselves down a nearby hill, tumbling into a ball of moist romance,
Panting, as we bask in the studio lighting of the approving sun.
Every still is captured by a Lomo,
Every scene arrested in sepia motion,
Every moment ravished by the chichi Bohemian in us.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 4:03 PM UTC
It's not just music, it's a vibe
And when that bass drops, we come alive
With the synth and the snare
We are all transported there
Our minds are in the DJ's hands
Our bodies are slave to his beats demands
This is our one true escape
And it's entwined with his soul into a mixtape.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
I'm just smoking my **** &
(spitting facts*2)..nigga..
Aye..(Smoking **** & spitting facts*2..)
/I stay (smoking **** & spitting facts2)../2
Smoking **** & spitting facts..
/Smoking weed*3
&
Spitting Facts*3
I stay (smoking **** *2) & spitting facts
/*2..
Spitting facts..
That's what I stay doing man,Yeah Aye....just
(Smoking **** & Spitting Facts*2)..I stay (smoking **** & spitting facts2)..(Spitting facts2)....& smoking **** up..Yeah man
The real is back , we been here, we never left, we just evolve man, evolve yeah to bring death to all the fake rappers, Yeah ***** I stay (smoking **** & spitting facts2)..(Spitting facts2)..Ayo, I'm on my gangsta **** Ayo I need me a platinum grill, what up DJ Drama. We need to collab, & do a mixtape real quick..,Aye I stay (smoking **** & spitting facts..,*2)..Aye I don't want no drama or any problems homie, I just want to get my cheddar, I roll alot of marijuana Yeah so what man, but I also tell the people what's real Yeah man..
I'm bout to get so many **** bands, so much that I gotta throw some to the fam, Aye.shit, I might throw some to the fans,..Aye man, I'm bout to cause so many problems ***** like Ol ***** Bastard,Aye..I stay (smoking **** & spitting facts*3)..Yeah man..,my ***** turn on the fan, its so much **** smoke up in the air that I'm starting to lose breath, Yeah I smoke awesome,.. I smoke on that dope, that choke,Yeah ***** that potent..while I'm rhyming to improve society not impress it..
Yeah I'm smoking **** & spitting game to the youth man..Let's get it..Aye..
Aye..(Smoking **** & spitting facts*2..)
/I stay (smoking **** & spitting facts2)../2
Smoking **** & spitting facts..
/Smoking weed*3
&
Spitting Facts*3
I stay (smoking **** *2) & spitting facts
/*2..
Spitting facts..
That's what I stay doing man,Yeah Aye....just
(Smoking **** & Spitting Facts*2)..I stay (smoking **** & spitting facts2)..(Spitting facts2) & smoking **** up....Yeah man
Mufuck a opinion, when all I rap about is the truth my nigga,..I be spitting facts, so Talk yo **** be a critic man, Imma be a hustling young ***** Yeah a hard worker, a go getta, a goal digger, A dream chaser..Yeah,
I be spitting facts while these other rappers be spooning each other..Sodom and
Gomorrah type **** ..they fooling the people, but yall dumb ***** don't wanna listen to what's real,..so be it..Imma still rhyme this same way..I know I can Spark the mind up of a future revolutionary leader mane..Yeah....Aye
I'm
(Smoking **** & spitting facts.. Spitting facts, Aye*3)
I'm the best MC in Atlanta since Outcast,.. Yeah the biggest fish, so if the industry trys to hook me, Imma drown their ship..I'm a Outcast of this world no fallen angel..Im my favoritest artist , Young Ston he be going so **** hard, Yo he be (spitting facts*2)..Aye, I'm smoking on a doop, 2 in 1 dawg, King size cone, while I'm writing scriptures..Aye..Yeah..Uhh
(I'm smoking **** & spitting facts*2)
Smoking weed*3
&
Spitting Facts*3
Uhh,..I stay (smoking **** & spitting facts*2)..
Yeah (spitting facts*2)
I'm just smoking my **** &
(spitting facts*2)..nigga
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:29 PM UTC
A 1988 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera
A mixtape
Valentines Day
A tuxedo
A seafoam green dress
Prom night
A starlit road
A taste of your lips
Spring
A weeping embrace
A slamming door
Summer
An empty bedroom
A bottle of gin
Autumn
A silent girl
A disturbed boy
Winter
"I don't love you like I did yesterday"
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 11:10 PM UTC
The blurred lines in my mind
have my thoughts playing on rewind,
like an old school mixtape
it took me forever to find
and all the songs play on shuffle,
each one a memory from a different day,
remembering the hussle
and all the things I couldn't say,
but I got every little part
of every tune
memorized to heart
and when I play them on repeat
from the start
I get lost in the tracks, fumbling,
checking out this road map
with no streets,
just valleys and hills
and when the beat gets faster,
I can feel the thrill
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
walking alone in the street of lights
i took a trip down to the reminiscence
the souvenirs tucking out of my bag
the hanging bracelet of yours is a spell
that made the twirling mixtape of past road
everything with everyone are oblivious meetings
unknowing smiles that cheeks made;
to the unknown persons to become one on path
when the eyes met for the first time we became friends
of friends who just know truths not secrets
of friends who changed into soulmates
tons of people crosses the path with us
hundreds makes smiles
few people takes a step forward to talk
some shares stories
some shares realities
while others leaves stains on heart
however lately i realized the path leads to last step
the step we take alone to never return
when i think about it i'm afraid to talk causally
it triggers in a way to skip my breathe
and then i remembered;
i met strangers and eventually leave as a stranger
its just the strangers we meet at start
and its just the strangers that makes memories
its just only the strangers makes you laugh
its just only the strangers you think twice per day
to the strangers you get attached
yes, its just the strangers makes you cry at the end
in between its exactly the same strangers you can't let go
eventually you fall in love with those strangers
love them in a way you never forget
although you know , you can't hold them forever
this how i fear to bond myself deeply
after all i know , "we were meant to be strangers again".
Dec 18, 2020
Dec 18, 2020 at 5:49 AM UTC
She gives us fevers and wraps us in time. She is the newlywed- our metamorphosis. Death clings to her open grave. Her movements are the executions of precarious and docile prejudice, ganged upon, and drenched in oblique misunderstanding and very indirect confusion.
We are all grocery shopping now. Your weapons of delivery are broadcast in takeout, Chinese or Szechuan Broccoli Scenario #96:
Where your mother finds I have taken the Mercedes for morning lemonade stand gallivanting, early Beach Boys mixtape scenarios fulfilled.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
If I had a mix tape
It would be thirty one hours long
Get the cassettes ready
Poetry was something I chose and we're going steady
Sometimes I draw details out tediously but sometimes I like to get with the program already
They say Rap is Poetry
But I didn't compare my work to the McDonalds bathroom floors
The disrespect towards women, money and drugs
It's a dog but it's not as cute as a Pug
Someone end this concert, pull the plug
We used to have a standard and kept it snug
But even the Snails are laughing
We're too slow to realize
That were accepting bile with our eyes
And we're encouraging it
Why?
I have a mixtape
But I'm no legend
But neither are they
I just hope my influence is here to stay
Because as the clock arm sways
I get older another day
And I want to be sincere in a way
That will dramatically improve your day
I hope you feel the warmth of my heart hotter than May
Because it burns for you
And we don't need to pull out the other thirty mixtapes because I only need one
Let the repugnant trends come undone
I'm a song that's been left unsung
But that's okay
Because I want you to sing it
It will be more resplendent than the harmony of the Mockingbirds
And it tunes out the geese
That make me act the opposite of PeeWee Reese
And pull out a shotgun
Ernset Hemingway was relatable in that way
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC
After all this time, I have learnt to write in the dark. See, this jukebox plays every night and it wouldn’t shut up no matter the pounds I fed. Such is the night of a writer; it goes on shuffle and repeat. And sometimes I hear your voice. Most times, it sounded like folding a picture of us and keeping it in the pockets of a stranger’s jeans, probably ending up tumbled and dried. I ask myself if it could have been a painted canvas. It’s just the thought of you that haunts me at night. If you ever do heart to heart talks, let’s talk about haunted houses. Some people get out of it; some don’t; some re-enter just for the thrill of it. I might be all three and I might not be the most played song in your playlist. I have tried several times to write about you, but none of them sounded right when I read them out loud. Some may write what they believe and some may write to believe; I might or might not be both. If I survived writing this prose, how could I be sure if it was your voice haunting me or if you were just a house I sought refuge in? The Northern Lights stays in the Aurora Zone; no one said that they’d ever Go West. Your skin on mine was like a child holding on to candy, I never wanted to let you go. When I wake, I only wonder if you have ever missed me at 3a.m.. I could make a mixtape titled: I heard you in these songs. But you were one who basked in the light. So I guess it’s safe to say that what was written in the dark stays in the dark.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
I have decided to create a mixtape for you
I have seen this many times in hopeless romances,
and I do feel that it truly is the action that will best show you my love
The cassette is in my car on repeat
but none of the songs fit right
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 10:21 AM UTC
You ever see someone or something so beautiful you just stare? Like when you catch the sunset shining through the branches at just the right angle? Or like the old tree with the initials of time-worn lovers? I think it's like when the waves crash against the rocks. When you stick your head out of the sunroof on the highway. When you can feel the color blue. You are blue. They are blue. You don't realize it but you know what blue feels like. Think about the colors. Focus. Think about your next move. But not too much. Don't focus on the way her lips curve and how they're the same color as good red wine. Don't focus on her eyes where you see stars. But the really pretty ones where if you stare for a while they start changing colors. Remember way back what you did last time. But don't repeat it. Follow the stars. Love is not a playlist that can be looped and shuffled. It can only go on. They have to be your favorite artist. A mixtape called "Blue". Where each song takes you to a wide open field where flowers bloom. To the theatre where you saw everything you wanted in star-crossed lovers. The sun sets and the trees can't help but let the light flow right through them. Be like the trees. Strong. But let it happen. Because maybe it's just the right angle for once.
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 4:28 AM UTC
I've got the world's best kept secret
locked in 2 AM screenshots--
her late night musings over a crusty joint, a crushed pill,
or some ***** cigarettes.
She sends me her thoughts,
fears,
anxieties,
insecurities--
at her most vulnerable,
absolutely the most beautiful.
Her anguish stressed in the digital scroll
(though she doesn't like Kerouac, I let her borrow my copy),
her stained fingers mashing all their hurt and nicotine
into the keyboard--
and her pen aches and her paper stains
with the unrequited love she empathizes with
in the somber pop punk songs that explode from the stereo
she sings loudly on cold and lonely night drives
(I shiver in her passenger seat).
And she made for me the greatest of mixtapes,
her holy scrawl expounding upon a dull grey donut-shaped
slowly fading form of intimacy,
a blank CD--
"This mix is a good time"
and when I jammed it into my car stereo I was illuminated.
She is so cool, she is so punk,
and in her clandestine drugstore car charger thefts,
broken poems,
impalpable aesthetic,
impeccable music taste,
illuminated or even further obfuscated drug trips--
I have the world's best kept secret,
and more than anything, I wish to share it with you--
so she can make someone another mixtape.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
i. (kc) was the catalyst
the first to convince me that I could be loved
and the only one to make me believe I was capable of loving back
...for about two weeks.
ii. then (jt) arrived
popular
suave
and dorkily crushing on the one girl who couldn't return his affections.
but it wasn't until the first time I heard my name and 'beautiful' in the same sentence
that i realized there might be faultlines in my heart
shaking the love out of my body like lunch money from a scrawny kid's pockets.
iii. the first time i broke someone
the process was anything but (sl)ow
and it was then that i realized
i was getting too comfortable sleeping with regret, curled up like a black cat beside me.
iv. fortunately for me
(je) had 20/20 vision.
he saw through the mask, forced me to face myself until i couldn't help but punch my own reflection
and though his words almost convinced me that i could be saved
his empty stare reminded me that i wasn't worth the trouble.
v. looking back, the initials should've warned me
that he would be the (ss) to our sinking ship,
that we were fated to drown.
but he was coldstronghard as metal
and it took me a two years, one month, and one day
to learn that even silver can be tarnished.
vi. the name was fitting, i guess.
(jr) was finer than any greek hero
and were he a god, I would've named the planets after him too.
he was as reckless as the roman empire
scratching himself on the thorns of my soul just to find something worth saving.
was it because of compassion or guilt or shame
that I put Ariadne's string in his hands
so he could navigate his way out
and run for his life.
maybe it was because
I was so used to the echoes in my head
IendeditIendeditIendedit
that through the tears, I still managed to smile at the words
he ended it.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 3:14 AM UTC
Thinking you’re the man and the plug like you’re kool.
Until your kids and family are getting followed home from work and school.
Better get up on your night job.
Some will press you and not even want your work.
Just want to see if you're about it.
From the dirt.
They're putting my brothers on a shirt.
Not even in a casket or a Hearse.
They’re getting cremated, not even given back to the earth.
It's making me question my worth.
So I medicate.
When I should meditate.
How much for our souls?
That was even the intro for my mixtape.
And lately I've been falling out with friends so it’s hard to take.
Some can but most can’t relate.
These days there’s no need for a debate.
Experiencing and talking from this perspective couldn’t even make me whole anymore.
But, I’m still around.
I smile, learning to love what’s mine.
I guess it’s true what they say.
I now know that love is blind.
But never mind that.
We're back on that player ****
Heart jaded.
Hanging wit the homies and getting hell of faded.
Intoxicated love.
I drove around the block twice, just to find somewhere park.
I stumbled, trying rush and get ahead of my already lucky start.
Acting dumbfounded but yet I’m smart.
I'm learning to be top shelf, and put myself on the chart.
However now, I no longer care.
Stay in the house, and grow out my hair.
And truth be told all along, I was fully aware.
Trying to become the best poet.
However, my self esteem doesn’t show it.
While I took this time to write a new poem so no one, not even myself could quote it.
So now I read with my head down.
But after this, again I will lift it.
I had a conversation with fans, and they told me I was gifted.
Now look at all this weight that I done lifted.
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 6:02 AM UTC
when I reached the age of reason I hit the ground,
running. the thought flits
across compact mirror smudged from years of overuse &
abandon, left behind
in purse bottoms and backpacks every time I switch up my style &
move on to something:
new/ fresh / else.
a glance into glass &
I'm transported: a babe on white lambskin,
a second-hand nostalgia never wholly mine.
a missing, another memory removed,
a down-to-the-wire tally
added to the roster, unexpectedly
the emotional prodigy, ostracized
alongside destined veracity: as in my absolute
devotion to TRUTH!
the time skip, a box-out, a blackout, a kindness.
a comfort over the desk chair where homework completes itself
after countless 'mixtape playlists' limewired maniacally
alphabetized, rearranged & revised until dawn/
another decade / chapter: a bookworm,
a blockout, a maneuver 'round roadblock,
a machination, a manipulation, a deadening, a defeat,
an assistant Mother only a child
self, the intrigue... yet
here I am, a spectacle,
a miracle, a smashing, a light on an island out at sea,
an accident, a ripening survived.
can I trust myself. to dive in. for / by myself?
when I lift the stretch of lambskin from an atticked brown box,
a painted porcelain plate hits the ground,
shattered.
Jul 28, 2022
Jul 28, 2022 at 9:07 PM UTC
Walking into a store can be dazzling
and distracting,
accepting the culture to embezzle,
anything to lure the customer
and make a consumer.
But walk in, and find
the salesperson to ruin the image:
"hello, can I help you? What are you looking for?"
(not your help, thanks)
Similarly, self-promotional smucks
give me the same feeling.
I'm not going to check out your mixtape, I'm not going to check out
your youtube, I refuse to be bought, just because you asked nicely.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
We sat at the edge of your bed listening to vinyl records of the rolling stones; I thought for a moment we were stuck in the 80’s and were teenagers pretending to fall in love with the last trace of bubblegum flavor on the corner of our mouths and cheap ***** stains on our t-shirts which was a whole mixtape of our reckless youth and belief of love we could only know from books. It was my favourite mixtape anyway.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 6:27 AM UTC
There is a certain birdsong I keep trying to capture
I hear it from outside my bedroom windows
It is mesmerizing that I pause
In silence
As if holding my breath will imprint the waves
And commit them to my ocean of memory
Akin to the sound of twinkling
One that escapes from the mouth of babes
As they swing and slide
Glide from treetop to treetop
Glee
I have never seen the source
But I picture it as the accompaniment
Strokes of soprano notes ascending
While branches sway with the gentle amihan
Teeter-tottering, rays of light playing hide-and-seek
It is
Exhilaration
An aria of falling
But never of fear
There is always a safe place to land
A song of trust
The peaks and troughs are golden lilies
Dotting the field of frequencies
Rising above dispatches of uncertainty
The orchestra of engine rumbles fade
This concerto is for the tranquil
This, this is the song of my heart taking flight
In a waltz with the metronome of your love
Sparkling
I try my best to capture this birdsong because it encapsulates best our journey
Giddy but peaceful
Giddy AND peaceful
It is the ballad I am trying to write but to no avail
Nature has registered our love
No mixtape, nor playlist, nor digital recording, nor lyric can impeccably transcribe it
A wordless duet
The Universe sings, all we have to do is listen
And dance to our music
Crescendo, adagio, rest
Always a soft landing
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 11:12 AM UTC