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Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.                           revolution?!

   what revolution?!

i can't see a guillotine!

****...

hey! guys! there's no guillotine!

there's no talk
of a revolution
when there's no guillotine...

your talk of, a, "revolution"
would make Marquis de Sade
cringe,
and shout down a toilet
than out of window
of the Bastille..

this isn't a revolution,
it's on;ly 2018....
you have to wait!
  
why are tthe people so slothful,
yet at the same time,
eager, to work?
we're looking at "changes"
come 2045...

  the year...
that apparently stabilized
the 2th0 century for
20 / 30 / 40 / 5...
no...
let's keep it with
sucker-punch Billy...

i love being a drunk...
makes all the sober
people look...
******* stupid;
and i don't even mean that....
it's just a military
fatigue...

         it akin to:
coulrophobia...
yeah... big time... women making
excursions
for fatigued wool and silk
dresses...

       one question does the job...
honey, can i play the clown
at our honey- berry's birthday
party?

do women go into
mascara parlors,
window shopping,
with a man tagging along?

         honey...
do you really need me to tag along
while you shop for
make-up chemical
parade of tested adherents
for your beauty of your
expectation of fur...

Mike and Moany - the gerbils...
i thought you liked them?
no...
      i can do the sheered
woolen artifacts...
when it comes to spreading
lipstick on frogs
and testing their
pyrotechnic susceptibility potential...
watching the Mike Myers' twins...
no... really...
count me out of
the necessity to make
an argument for a race...
i'm out...

done...
i never liked the English
existentialist argument to begin with...
too individualistic,
too finite...
             too much of:
enjoying  a hell
of a good time...
    it's a simple economic logic
focus...

what you're selling?
i'm not buying.

it's that simple!

i don't have to buy what you're
selling!
stand with it all stacked up...
i'm not buying!
somehow i think
the English intellectuals
forgot the basic principles...
i'm, not, buying!
savvy?

god... ugh...
i know the French are bad...
about their oversee of diacritical
application,
and how they make no
sense when syllables
come into play...
and the Germans... yeah yeah...
i get their scrutiny of
method and dedication...
their teutonic charge within
the confines of ******* screws
into place...
    
         but i'm still not seeing
an clearer...

there's talk of a revolution
in the English tongue...

so...

         where's the guillotine?!
oh...
so...
                 what revolution?!
Olivia Kent Sep 2014
It's all in the genes you know what they say.
If the genes are right you may be bright.
You may have eyes of ocean blue.
Very deep, or maybe serene.
Maybe your hair will be raven black,
Or maybe even streaked with ginger.
You maybe a right whinger,
all moany and groany.
You might have ears fitting for the cup of the world.
Your stature maybe six feet four,
A brick outhouse
Or  maybe a mouse,
With neat little teeth,
In a jawline that's fine,
Like a porcelain doll.
With perfect cheekbones,
A spot of rouge dotted on mischievous mums,
Whose jeans fit perfectly over their bums
(c) Livvi
sorry stupid head on today x
Broody Badger Mar 2017
A pair of phantoms hands
clasped and held to center
Symmetrical as Hell.
They pull apart and in their wake drift embers sparks and calcite.
Colors where these hands just were make-out and roll around; they leave their imprints and their stains when they are done.
Out of the unwashed we arrived
A symptom of passionate cries.
None comes from creation besides the thing that we made, just pray that it is ugly in all the right places—we pray, but not I, me, I make eyes at the mirror and punish myself until Hell's tides become shallow ends against mine—then frivolous, yank myself from sinking lifeboat to cloud-nine,
Let helping hand erase my demons, baby, I must be omniscient because I just personally faced damnation and swift rapture all within one bathroom trip.        
I am my own savior
You are the deity I suffer for.
For whom I could create under conditions of such self destruction and from you only disassurances to fuel my flame; watch it ignite
then go out,
Me in a panic,
Rolling newspaper together, heaving in the embers—making winds to toss that heat around, frantic cause I feel the maelstrom tossing inside me and it is quiet, nervous, commonly occurring. You can avoid all of that if you just GO.
No destruction required.
No promises of plans gone unmet if you never promised.
I only exist if you see me
Now shut your eyes: this is the remedy for lame creations.
I will still see you, Deity
You will still make fun of me if I am visible; I will sell fragments of my truth to the same machine that I loathe, and it will churn that truth to muck, my spirit to a discard pile, while my heart and the entirety of my body will belong to you.
Watch dust gather on my lashes as my eyes wait for a clever opening.
Aren't my thoughts eerily possessive?
I think I want to be one of your things so I can watch all of your successes from the shelf, and cover my eyes when you have visitors
Pretend I am a man to you
Not just something that your curiosity alone birthed. What is this blind responsibility I throw at you?
Myself I do not fully recognize, but I won't censor what seems logical to me, though visibly unhealthy.
I'm just trying to explain because avoiding didn't work: you are all that I think about. So much for NEW, maybe improved is still within me.

Ok.
I'm sorry for all of that. Believe it or not I have been trying to be less dramatic lately. Honestly it has been a very long time since feeling comfortable in here. You raided my thoughts long before I ever considered finishing the ******* thought
And then you left, so everything I ever/never said (or read or showed or wrote) to you was wrong and I had to change myself accordingly.
According to every flaw that I could find in myself. Income trouble.
Kids my age aren't supposed to go inward, they are programmed to ****, **** up, and forget. Success is just around the corner!
Don't worry, I'll go back to poetry format soon because this reality **** as it turns out is pretty depressing.
I think we need the
many moany broodings of a teenager who is white and straight—can't even write straight with this inky, ****** pen. That joke works better if you can physically see my notebook and the smudgy black Hell that it embodies. Seriously, it looks like some grabby octopus with parkinson's and seasonal mood swings tried to write the word "parkinsons" in here and then spent four to five hours sobbing about their meaningless existence and self-harming—just deep enough to make the ink drip out and fall into a pattern, maybe good enough to read aloud in public spaces which I would consider an honor in and of its
wobble and of the nerves that fire in like some unsteady chorus.
Still not good enough to sell. So bruised, so heady, Please Howard almighty I am ready
To be shot down in wave after wave of this stupidity. Oh how embarrassing it would be to face a firing squad if she could see; how could I ever imitate your immortality or even just your shine...
Here! More Pretty Words!
Pressure builds and compresses the body performs more or less—a little shaky.
The DANGER is in the mind right next to the safety.
Beneath the skull there is a small office-room plastered with disheveled documents, maybe important, the ones that I hired to clean up in there are actually four well fed cats, using the pages for their waste and spending their days pledging to untangle an endless, brain-sized ball of thread but—you know. at some point.
Right?
Like once they figure out that their cheap new carpeting is getting redder and redder the more that they tug on it. And—also they need to learn the color RED right after we have a professional explain to them what colors are.
Oh! Also. That they are ******* CATS!
Wait—don't leave. Please don't leave!
Wait.
I'll be relatable.                     Wait.
I will only say handsome things.        Wait.
I'll pretend that I am not thinking about you even when your breath is pumping somewhere within the same enclosed facility as mine is.        Wait—
I will shorten my sentences significantly.
You won't even know it's me
Or that my lips could be so sure of anything
While my tongue so eager to betray.
Donna Jan 2018
butterfllies sit in
offices fluttering there
awesome wings

caterpillars sit
opposite tapping there
moany old feet

the windows are big
painted with birds and Cherubs
and of course spinach

and next to spinach
is mash pototes with
onion gravy

tables covered in
red and white check cloths,  pretty
the salt and pepper

a chef flips pizza
red juicy round tomatoes
rest near grated cheese

and the clouds continue
to fluff up a beautiful
sight for all to see

then ping.. a cherub
aims an arrow right between
a woman's fingers

she looks in shock , not
at the arrow but at the
river she faces

the bridge is high
much higher now she stands at
the edge of the world

gently she stumbles
back onto the bridge , her legs
weak from insistence

knowing her life is
more important , she walks
away , her dress flows

her shoes clink , and she
looks up at the light in her
office and smiles
okay just another one that popped into my mind I not know if it makes sense or not but it made me smile as I wrote it x postivity rules always :) can't think of title **
Donna Mar 2018
I woke in a mood
Had a right good old shout out
About messsy house

When I have to work
Much house chores just sit around
Not moving so still

Collecting soft dust
O I fed up with messy
house..I'm now on strike

So I plonked washing
on floor near washing machine
Said to my children

do your own washing
I'm no Wonder Woman I'm
half a century old

O okay in mid-
August i be fifty and
even more moany :)

When my mood had calmed
I carried on with my chores
As I felt better

Just needed to have
shout out , hmmm maybe me and
Dean should visit Spain

Where the Ocean is
blue and the sand is golden
And the sun is hot

Where peddle boats sail
along giggling waves and kites
float like spring flowers

O I want to dip
my toes into a swimming
pool drinking Bailys

Ah feel much calmer
now , I best go get ready
We have a party

Me Dean and children
are off to dance all night long
Yay..free bar as well :))))
:) **
Whiny and moany
Selfish and ungrateful
Needy and snooty
And loving.

Who was it who said
People are problems
So the less people you know
The less problems you'll have?

Surely that can't be right?
And who was it who said
There is some truth in everything?

— The End —