"motherfucking" poems
[Verse 1]
Monster sized swag; not modest bout my splendor
Marvel at the flag and I'm the ultimate avenger
Buck Rodgers, D-Bird yep I'm the number one contender,
So I gotta uphold this rep of bein uncontrollable
so I'll take the lead, I hold the world beneath my feet
I'm a fiend, elite
Haze so cloudy cause I be blowin Swisher Sweets
Drug addiction is my disease
It's my expertise
See here's the masterpiece:
Raps lobotomize
I'm traumatized since 1993
[Verse 2]
Victimized by the lies
of this trifilin enterprise
You can front but you can't hide
There's no fault behind your eyes
So I hope this insult will suffice
It should come as no surprise
A grin will spread across my face
From side to side
My ***** mouth will mesmerize
hypnotized, memorize
the words that escape my lips
I'm a degenerate unabridged uncut
You're a ************* ****
Go hang yourself from a bridge
Here's a rope, I hope you choke
******* ******* smoochie smoochie
Only chains you got is Gucci
Y’all basic brothers rep that set
But fake like that 2chi
[Verse 3]
man I get so high,
Now watch me get higher
Watch me take flight
As my wings soar skyward
You know I'ma fighter
So watch me take my place
As I eat this rap game up
and then spit it in your face
Now pass me a lighter
see me rollin while I bake
I mean I'm not a pastry maker,
but I still bake for the sake
My rhymes are so ill
They're gonna make you sick
I be tweetin on my twitter
While Betty Crocker ***** my **** uh
[Verse 4]
Reid between the lines son and please proceed with caution
Alien splittin kilos, I be one tweaked ****** martian
I'm five steps ahead and these haters ****** forfeit
You four feet tall and I'm so high I'm in ****** orbit
Make these snitches sleep with fishes
How ****** vicious spittin mischief
****** trippin out these hypocrites
Dishin out these disses which
Bein inconsiderate
in this fast paced game of chase
But if I wanted to catch your drama
I'd just go check my facebook page *****
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 3:30 AM UTC
My nutritionist told me I need to increase my caloric intake and eat more carbs. I asked my nutritionist, “aren’t carbs bad for you?”
She said, “No. Carbs are not bad for you, carbs are an immediate energy source for your body to use, what’s bad for you is not eating enough and passing out at the end of the day like some ***** ***** Now eat some carbs and get some meat on those bones before I order you a ******* pizza myself.”
I should mention that my nutritionist is also my best friend. I call her Lady Reptar, because she is one. A lady, not a reptar, even though she’s twenty times more awesome than a dinosaur and fifty times nicer. She’s beautiful like a ************* daisy in the woods and she’s sharp and wittier than her cooking knives and she’s warmer than her father’s woodstove.
"So, do poppy seeds count as protein?"
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC
Trying to find solace in the suburbs
when everything seemed superb
like that cookie-cutter,
picket fence,
faux fur mentality
they instill at the start
Just an infant with scars
He reached for her baby bump,
Then slammed it hard
onto the stairwell
She fell, wept, and held
That lil princess
and prayed she'd never have the same hell
All grown up. Alive and well
shes got different demons
different intricate cells
It's been said
she is special she is awake
But, in many ways
She is the same
As that ANGEL who carried her 23 years ago
That's debt I'll always owe
A gift I'll never own
Carefully Constructed
and Creatively Sewn
shoved a soul into that shell
That'll one day guide her back home
Shes got her mamas tough, yet gentle heart
her smile, brevity and love for art..
she can write her *** off
like her
the wrote and the writ
Yet she's plagued by guilt
every ******* minute
GUILT for the life that she'd been given
GUILT for each exhale emitted
She prays that God will have the sense
to go back in time and hit OMIT
(on all chapters even close to the word 'human'
there's GUILT for feeling guilty even more for despising your own )
"I must've slipped through the gate, admit it!
Or recruit another for your mission
regretfully, I must solicit
that I'm not fit for this position
I'm no hero
I'm the villain
If ya look close you'll see
I spit venom"
Mama walks in
smiles and says
"WE.
ARE.
WOMEN!"
"Betta recognize and
quit your bitchin'
as of today, you are living..
You are loved
You are safe
You are ************* winning
WARRIOR,
CREATOR,
QUEEN,
GODDESS,
INCARNATE..
We are strength & We are the faith
never to be broken
but we still stay brave
The Legend wont start
or end with you
Its a fight stretched out
through time
You will understand soon
No matter how much you ask
"WHY"
It wont stop circumstance
wont stop lies
wont stop suffering
and will NEVER compromise
Your in the way of the wave, child
This..... the secret to life
When in the way of the wave...
its only a matter of time
S0 if youre searching for solace
Will you promise
To memorize this line
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 3:54 AM UTC
This is the colour of my anger:
A white hot searing fever
Tearing through my veins like amphetamine;
A surreal dream that keeps replaying in my brain
Over and over again...
Life is pain enough
Without other people
Making it tough. Guess I ran out of luck:
Top of the class and surrounded by dumb *****
Whose only qualification is knowing how to trigger
The ticking bomb I've strapped on
In my anger.
This is the colour
This is the colour
This is the ************* colour
This is the colour of my anger:
This weird red mist with its fingers
Coiled around my brain,
Blurring my vision as I allow it
To make my decisions
For me. Again, it hands me the gun, then runs,
Leaving me to get the
Damage done. Well, aint this fun?
Three, two, one, and it’s time to take cover
I won’t get any sleep
Until I’ve shown you the colour
Of my anger.
This is the colour
This is the colour
This is the ************* colour
This is the colour of my anger:
A smouldering orange lava
That laughs at the wrath of the sun,
And I feel like the risen Son
As it pours out of me, heavenly,
Reducing everything in its path to the
Sum of zero
But this is just a fraction of what it’s capable of.
Hot and full of hell is my fury. Shit's getting gory.
It's time to remove the canker.
No more bluffing, I’m all in -
Let the games begin
With my anger.
This is the colour
This is the colour
This is the ************* colour
This is the colour of my anger:
The cloudless blue of my eyes
As I admire my workmanship,
Reflecting upon the new ********
That I have just ripped for you.
My smile spreads from ear to ear, like a slit throat,
Beatific in my ecstasy as this anger drains out of me.
The adrenaline that pumped so furiously
Now dumps its load in me, bringing me to my knees.
Enough, I say, as I see how small you stand there;
Let's call it a day, now be on your way,
Just remember the colour of my anger.
Don’t ever
****
With me
Again
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 10:40 PM UTC
I woke up one day
And I rode far away
And when I came back
A few weeks late
i decided to shape
up
or else, its a long ride
down
How often do you walk home?
Or should I say struggle
Distances are more attainable
In mixed up situations
I am too deeply rooted in thought
on the topic of meditation
To help this patient
I am inhabiting
Enter: ************* bicycles
I used to find
Walking uphill
And walking downhill
Equally awful
The climb to the top
Is worth the fast ride down
The topic of how many hills
are around
And how often we choose to climb them
Will not play in this ballgame
Because cycling is a sport
blood doping is dope
breaking news:
Livestrong sponsors the pope
Without a helment
You would tell me I look ****
As I ride with no hands
Don’t worry darlin’
I knew my hair looked good too
Drinking whiskey at home you can make art
I made that without you
It all came out of my mouth
And nostrils
Without you
I will puke again
Without you
Its true
Rough mornings aren’t new
their usually rough
without you
Only because my will is strong
And if I didn’t livestrong
My will - still will included you
Only if I died on someone else’s terms
(spoiler no such thing)
In an alternate universe
You could be on my bike
And I’d be ****** cold sober
And when that bus hit me
My mom wanted to give you
what belonged to me - the one thing
That survived the accident
Ask a few old friends I survived a few
Whether you knew
Or not
were on it or off
Always on the bottom
Jake
Was a snake
Before I met him
That’s Kona bike history
Living on
Without me
As I age I am learning
To be loyal
To all sorts of objects
like bikes
And women
that own them.
Withholding
without me
I can't see what it would be
like without me -
But lets be honest
Its not so as much about the bikes
As it is about bliss
i've seen what its like without you
It true
If a bus ran over my *** tomorrow
The first thing it would break is my heart
You could start
The day I stopped
Riding my bike
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 3:35 AM UTC
And I always find, yeah, I always find something wrong
You been putting up with my **** just way too long
I'm so gifted at finding what I don't like the most
So I think it's time for us to have a toast
Let's have a toast for the **********
Let's have a toast for the ********
Let's have a toast for the scumbags
Every one of them that I know
Let's have a toast for the jerk-offs
That'll never take work off
Baby, I got a plan
Run away fast as you can
[Verse 1: Kanye West]
She find pictures in my e-mail
I sent this ***** a picture of my ****
I don't know what it is with females
But I'm not too good with that ****
See, I could have me a good girl
And still be addicted to them hoodrats
And I just blame everything on you
At least you know that's what I'm good at
[Hook]
[Bridge]
Run away from me, baby, run away
Run away from me, baby, run away
It's about to get crazy, why can't she just, run away?
Baby, I got a plan, run away fast as you can
[Verse 2 - Pusha T]
24/7, 365, ***** stays on my mind
I-I-I-I did it, all right, all right, I admit it
Now pick your next move, you could leave or live wit' it
Ichabod Crane with that ************* top off
Split and go where? Back to wearing knockoffs, haha
Knock it off, Neiman's, shop it off
Let's talk over mai tais, waitress, top it off
Hoes like vultures, wanna fly in your Freddy loafers
You can't blame 'em, they ain't never seen Versace sofas
Every bag, every blouse, every bracelet
Comes with a price tag, baby, face it
You should leave if you can't accept the basics
Plenty hoes in the balla-nigga matrix
Invisibly set, the Rolex is faceless
I'm just young, rich, and tasteless
P!
[Verse 3: Kanye West]
Never was much of a romantic
I could never take the intimacy
And I know I did damage
Cause the look in your eyes is killing me
I guess you are at an advantage
Cause you can blame me for everything
And I don't know how I'mma manage
If one day you just up and leave
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
I love you so much, that I think you’ll hate me
When I **** in trying to be helpful
Instead I get into **** that’s none of my business
When I hesitate to tell you something
I wait days, or till the last minute
And ******* the devil would be scared by your anger
You make me go higher, get stronger, be kinder
But...is it just because you expect me to?
I can’t breath, air too hot for my lungs
I feel anything but disgust at myself for being a mistake
I can’t see cuz of these tears
These ******* ************* tears
I love you so, so, so much
Yet, your love makes me afraid of you
Cuz I think I’ll never deserve it
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
catch me like a fish
everlasting supplier of light rays-
warming the soul like a cup of hot tea on a sleepy sunday afternoon
- melancholic -
swaying the universe
the mermaids sing in the mornings
mesmerizing the sailors
and i am the singer and the mesmerized
i am free. i am free from the ropes. free from the chains of a dreary existence. i can feel it i can feel it on the tip of my eyelashes with the swells of tears pouring out.
- renewal - - relief -
i am a good girl. listener of tall tales and fantasies. spur of the moment night crawler caller.
i spin a beautiful web of fantastical clouds. from ropes to cakes.
pick your poison.
i am a bad girl. keeper of secrets. silent truths bundled under creative happiness and weakly disguised love affairs.
- blink and it’s over -
i’ll lie in your lap and watch you write-
spinning fantastical tales of glorious awakenings. new beginnings.-
pull my hair up to attention. i am here. i am wanted. want want grab me.
want//need. clever disguises. silent truths. wispy truths.
childhood pencil marks. pig tail sneakers.
truth drops into heads.
eyes drop onto the floor.
teeth sink into lips.
heart drops into stomach.
limbs fold over limbs and the being falls slowly upon itself.
when i wasn’t mine.
she wanted me more than she could stand. stabbed me with a ************* pencil. made my heart drop into my ************* stomach.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
I left with nothing
and I could do it again
I learned how strong I am
I found my voice again
and you can't break me
Sometimes I wear anger, hate and spite
in a layer of ugly clothes
but I always cast them off
they don't permeate my soul
because you can't break me
I didn't want a war
but I'll fight til the end
I'm a ************* fox
I always find a hen
and you can't break me
You can wait to play the martyr
Cry like a babe needing it's mother
You can say I'm a *****
but I'll never be a liar
and you can't break me
I don't need money
I don't need fame
I don't need attention
I found myself
I know my name
and you can't break me
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 8:15 AM UTC
Thugs with Pens & Aerosol Cans
Thugs with Pens
Hell-bent; not on cultism
Just airing the other sentiments
That don’t make it to primetime
Thugs with pens
Not poking out eyes
Just venting spleen
Sick of the lies
Thugs with pens
Deserve to be heard
They don’t poison your brain
With stacks of *****
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans
Can change your mind
In ******* time
Thugs with pens
Can make a dent
They don’t need to insert
Un-readable, un-interesting
Covert small print....
Thugs with pens
Don’t need no script writers
Or advisors nor signatories
Witnesses, nor dodgy men
With gold plated fountain pen nibs
To make amends
Or throw in no hidden clauses
That secretly **** your life blood
Thugs with pens
Don’t aim to pierce your skin
But make their mark
Deeper within
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans
Completely uncensored
champions of free speech
The establishment want suppressed,
silenced, deleted; terminated.
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans don’t
Schedule meetings
To fix the minutes
And schedule another meeting
And keep ‘minutes’
As square angled
And unproductive
As formal conversation
Thugs with pens
Aim venomous ink
At headless politicians
That squawks like chickens
Bending over
For the *************
Bank-beefing corporations,
Controlling the masses
With ***** little catchphrases
And mounds of munitions
And illegally enforced restrictions
On your movement and free expression
Honest men
Have nothing to fear
From Thugs with Pens & Aerosol Cans
These “thugs” seek asylum
From countries
Where the law’s
Not bought and bent
Thugs with pens & aerosol cans
Are made to wear monikers and masks
Thugs with pens
Don’t turn on its own
Neighbours and citizens
To perpetuate myths:
A ****** ************* lie…
A thing that never happened!
(That’s for all of you dumb wits
out there
Who believe most of the ****
That’s drip fed
Your sensation addicted minds
Most of the time,)
Time you started reading between the lines
In fact get a pen
Or an aerosol can
Write your own lines
Start broadcasting
Reclaim your space
Before you’re completely neoned
Into the shade
And corralled under the spell
Of a TV screen
Or an anger raising headline
That conducts the flow
Of the status quo
Load up your magazines
With ball point pens
And sharp edged writing nibs,
Strap on a belt of aerosol cans
Reclaim your right to free expression
In public spaces
Join the rag-tag army
Of intuitive
Self-knowing men
The End: is well begun,
George Orwell
Should never have written
That blueprint,
‘1984’
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
Ya'll should be scared
We coming for ya'll ******
Its the ************* mafia
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
you say it is disgusting for me to be naked.
you. you who opens up redtube as soon as you walk into your room.
you say that i should wear a bra to cover up. that no one would want to see the outline of my *******
when you get hard thinking about taking off my shirt.
you tell me to put on a sweater so my bra straps don't show.
because you want to be the only one to see them. selfish you are. you.
you tell me i am a **** for sleeping with anyone i want.
then tell your friends all the ***** things i'll do once you **** me since i'm so "experienced".
you will never get to **** me.
you. you ************* pissfuck, wretched, privileged, puny COCKroach.
you tell me to calm down after you shove my head onto your lap and say ****
you ask why i am so uptight. why i don't get that it was just a joke.
feminazi
you who creates the danger in my life then laughs when i take note of it.
you who creates threats to my safety and sanity then questions why i do not simply comply.
you who creates hostility. dismissal.
you who creates a life-threatening culture around the sacks of fat i have on my chest and the hole i have between my legs.
you mock me for gripping my keys walking next to you.
i was born naked. i will walk the streets naked. exept for the stilettos i will wear to punch a hole through your patriarchal ********
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
Never trust a Florida boy,
In that muggy, humid heat.
I'm telling you, little girl,
Your heart will soon taste defeat.
Them deep fried southern marshes,
Raising mosquitoes and deceit.
The greatest place on earth can keep its ************* receipt.
The air as thick as my blood was,
When I met your eyes.
And yours met hers,
And your monster claw,
Tore her smooth skinned thigh.
I felt that painful scream.
Boiling up. Melting my chest inside.
What's the point of being still while my mind is feeling fried?
So I packed my heavy load of anxiety,
And headed for the coast.
I watched the orange sunset,
As I brought up a salty toast,
From my eyes.
Solemnly, spilling into the sea.
And I felt the spirit of an old friend.
Leaning rigidly against me.
So I turned on heel and didn't speak a sound.
As I turned to leave the now known ghost town.
And I gave one last grim look back out at the sea.
As I write these tattered goodbyes,
To where my feet have rambled me,
And I let my tongue wrap around the ribbons of goodbye,
Escaping my parched lips.
And I shutter as I listen to the sound of my heart as it rips,
An angered storm of sea,
Flooding down my eyes.
Knowing this is where the memories of escapades in our days, lays down and dies.
I feel the faint.
Bleak pain, blanketing us,
Weak and weary.
And I know our story has a melancholy mood of dreary.
And this is where I end it.
And cast it all out to sea.
And I leave the tragic bays of what I once called Rosemary.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
I am in such a **** mood,
the mountains have no meaning.
Big ******* rocks.
**** you, dad.
**** you, Fox News.
**** you, Indiana.
None of you *******
know what irony is.
Google that ****
Jesus Christ.
There are yellow streams--
that's poetic ****
There are ruby stained sheets--
that's blood, obviously,
and, I dunno,
maybe somebody died on a bed?
Everyone can **** my ****
To be or not to be,
that is the
shut the **** up.
Rapists are disgusting people.
They aren't people.
******* idiots.
Romanticizing everything
you wish you had
because
suicide, mental illness,
and eating disorders
make you cool,
riiiigghhhttt?
**** you.
If you do this,
you aren't interesting.
You're just you.
Get used to it.
There are people
that go through
these issues
and they don't think
it's ******* rad,
*******
I hate 75% of the south.
The south will rise again?
Get the **** out of here.
Stalin was a ****
Most writers are *****
Most of them ****
I don't care.
For the love of "God",
if I read one more poem
about what poetry is
or how to define a poet,
I'll slam my head against
a ************* knife.
Some people are so dumb.
Most ******* people.
******* pseudo-knowledge.
Armchair philosophers.
If you guys wanted
to **** yourself,
you could jump
from your ego
to your IQ.
Something, something, imagery.
Metaphor.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC
I.
something within me,
maybe its my amigdala,
misses the oven-turned-gentrified clot,
that great collection of want,
of transient soles-souls.
I miss how we’re piled three stories high,
so close to each others’ mouths that we must
burrow in criss crossed, colliding tunnels
to our point b’s, our job sites,
our lovers’ houses.
maybe it is indeed part of our un-nature to do this,
to cling to one another even
as our unforgiving sungod bakes us whole,
cornish game hens on the el train,
hurdling 40 mph, to and from
our personal hovels, heavens
and bedsheets,
tethered to this place, possibly indentured,
definitely flawed,
where we revel under roofs to prove incredibleness
an virility.
II.
our eyes are not closed today.
they may not blink in unison
as mannequin lids do,
so effortlessly, plastic and mechanical,
but those, we are thankfully not.
for we are flesh,
and air, and miles of gastrointestinal turnpike, if unpinned,
would stretch from here to panama.
we are each of us
a viscous mound called
Sally, Bertram and Queen Mary.
We are the collision of milk flowing, divine,
a whirling dervish
in scalding darjeeling.
we are air,
gliding over enamel into the collective breath
to be devoured so sweetly by others,
as saintly man-scripted gelato,
dribbling down our chins in piazzas.
la dolce ************* vita.
III.
that’s the funny thing about living
in this size 2 world,
the ability to appear anywhere upon its face at a moment’s notice,
to be in front of any face when desired,
to live sans toll booth or customs desk,
to simply dust off our ability to fly
and tumble icarus-adolescent into the collision
between the two blue planes called sea and sky
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 9:58 AM UTC
This job is just one long drawn out lobotomy.
Hey quit putting gum on the bottom of these desks you *******
I can think of a few ways to get out of here but I don't think I can afford a ****** harassment lawsuit.
I'm about 2 minutes away from a faking a seizure and about 5 from a real one.
Hey Guantanamo Bay, are your methods of torture outdated and boring? Then have I got a deal for you...
You think you can just drop Seinfeld references and I won't pick up on them? You thought wrong, *****
I think I lost the ability to see color...
All work and no play makes Ashton a dull boy...
I'm still waiting on Betty White to crawl her old *** out here and tell me this is some kind of practical joke.
Homelessness is looking more and more like a serious option
Don't pull the fire alarm. Don't pull the fire alarm. Don't pull the fire alarm.
Enough is enough! I have had it with all these ************* boogers on these ************* desks!
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
i get so ****** because every one of my favorite artists
has basically
described how i want you
how i feel about you
the way i dream about you
i sleep next to a giant pillow because i miss your anatomy
jesus ************* christ
your space is so sacred
how did i get so lucky
if you do decide to come back i'll be okay
please please please
i ain't too proud to beg
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
Let me ask the question that I've wondered for what seems like centuries.
Let me know.
What exactly is the ************* point?
What drives you to turn emotional "love"
Into physical "love"?
I have been constantly dissatisfied.
Endlessly unamused.
Forever jaded.
To the point that I can't imagine the notion of this ********** being even minutely beautiful.
Or even worthy of being the median of which love is concocted.
**** it.
I don't want to understand.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
I've felt the pain, I've held it in my hands.
I've wished it all away, I've prayed for life and death.
I've caressed the bruising, the bleeding, the burning inside.
Sometimes I wish for dying, other I'd give anything to feel alive.
Breathing in becomes a chore, is there something wrong with not wanting to be in pain anymore?
Leukiemia. You are the monster under my bed. You're the evil voices that echo in my head. You're the scraped knee that just won't heal, the love I cannot feel.
You've torn me down. You've made me question my faith. But there's something you didn't know, you've also made me better. You've made me stronger. To feel the pain of a human being is a ************* honor! You try to destroy me, inside and out, one strike, two strike, I'm out. What you don't know leukemia, is I have no plans to let you win, you entered my body when I didn't want to let you in, but I'll fight until you're out, every day if I must. Remission isn't an option. It's a must.
Riah
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Ashland is a small town
on a small planet, in an
ever expanding universe.
The people here are bitter
and so is their spit, from
full-flavored cigarettes
and diluted kisses spun
from the lips of significant
others, that didn't listen to their
mothers, and married because of
irresponsible reasons, like personality,
respect, love, and other, 'Jesus, **** me
the **** now, so help me.'
Abstract thought is dangerous--
to the mind it's cancerous.
Alone and thinking about
melancholy shaped memories or
kisses that would echo through
your lungs, stomach, ************* soul.
Don't do it. Don't you invite the devil,
killing yourself is so concrete, it must
mean more than a concrete floor,
hovering above a rumored hell and a
definite uncertainty so delicate that it
eats into you with its sensitive meandering
disguised as beauty but, really, a violent,
violent, murderous host, hoax, fake but
eating your superficiality, programmed by
someone else, telling you it's you.
Ashland is a small town,
aren't we all a small town, inwardly.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 1:30 AM UTC
The scars make me and break them
My pain has given me strength beyond belief
My individuality shines like a beacon of transcendence
Why care I will win nonetheless
My accidents are blessings upon your life
My eyes are the stars that you will never be v like
My teardrops show sensitivity and self assurance
Air is only chokable by me
Goodbye to all you ************* haters
I will sink and drag you down then leaving you behind shoot up to my powerful eternity
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
I’ve been told I need to be a bit more confident in my life.
And boy, ain’t that the gospel ************* truth?
My whole life I’ve been afraid of pretty much everything.
Doctor’s offices, monsters, the dark, strangers, death, sickness, spiders,
Basically everything.
But, alas, I’ve been told I need to be more confident.
Is it really that easy?
Is it really that easy to look at myself in the mirror and not hate the image looking back?
Is it really easy to live a healthy life and not be afraid of diseases or death?
Is it really easy to tell the girl I like that I like her and not be afraid of her response?
Of course it is.
But all I need is a little more confidence.
Because in my life, I have none.
I’m overweight.
I don’t particularly like the way I look.
And I’ve never had a girl.
But why am I writing about all of this instead of saying it to everyone’s faces?
Well, because I always feel most confident when I am writing.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 1:52 PM UTC
I am done being measured by being without a man. I am so done with dating. I am getting to a point where - remembering their information?
Darling, show me you're here to stay first.
I am done remembering facts and whole pageturner conversations.
Effort?
I might put it in when I feel like it.
Dating is horrid. Spend weeks apping and talking and sharing and caring only to part after what, date two? Three?
No, I am done.
But yes, that is the paradox. I want love.
I want THAT adventure too.
But I am done begging god for love or for fate to find me a person.
I AM DONE BEING BUILT UP, WRECKED AND HAVING TO REBUILD AFTER SOME OX DECIDES TO TRY WITH ME. I am DONE with indecision. With coldness, with superiority, with children, with babies on the side, with leftovers.
Because that is what these men have tasted like to me. Leftovers.
And I am a ******* snack, a meal at a Michellin restaurant. A ************* well-rounded, thought through, social, creative and sportive prize.
So who the **** are you to bring me down.
Jun 6, 2022
Jun 6, 2022 at 11:16 PM UTC
Dusty cobwebs
hang on a boat
and it's not even my
boat, but Mark's
memory.
A parked schooner
on the Chesapeake
Bay is a perfect home
for a spider.
The easy life,
where everything
is either food or
lethal threat.
Now I understand
what Ueshiba says;
there is no sport.
I spin filigree strands
hoping to catch,
fishing or bait
cutting on a *************
boat, a spider
who sometimes mistakes
mate for morsel.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC