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"outa" poems
flawed to near insanity but long as you could hold down a job then its alright isn't that a wise policy she asked i'm not so sure watching the clowns strut their stuff in the midnight sun they are reckless to be certain but self aware to a fault just makes it all the more bizarre watch em go at it with each other over the simplest thing its no way to live you can vouch for the living as long as you haven't died and this madness is just shy of being in a pine box so darling lets get outa this crazy place get away from the thinking that you gotta be like everybody else get away from the plastic hippie rat-race roll down the easy highway find us some sweet sunshine to breath in find us a better life to be
0
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
madness sunshine
I let you go to Philadelphia I let you go thirteen goin' on “life” to your momma-- (God rest her-- and keep you --from wherever she is) to your father in Philly outa the picture Sheepish in the doorway of my classroom back again one last time-- Say good-bye, kid, to your short stay in Scranton a town that can't rhyme whose name falls over its own misery No use for outsiders “Where's your book? Found your binder in the rain Soggy protest to school's demands? Of course it's yours I checked, ya know” "No way!" Desk's been empty, three weeks now Still, gotta ask “Whacha doin? Where ya been?” “Khmir, I'm sorry for your loss....” Thirty seconds shares our grief Thirty seconds for your future's-- all I got “Listen to your teachers! Do your work! Please-- be okay?” Khmir in your wooly black coat-- like a bear like a dare shruggin and dancin in the doorway of the “show” Homework? Aint happenin' But one paper, though on why-- YOU-- should be president and I almost vote for you
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Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
Khamir
The comely ***** a comely ***** o' twenty three, from yonder village banburee, alight her sight on poor auld me, a poorly man wi' one bad knee, she buxom be enough fer three, her legs be thick as big oak tree, but contrary to crippled me, she sprightly be wi' two good knee. as I took flight on that fateful night from rutting comely ***** I felt a pain, a twist, a strain, and a gutting  Rumley Wrench! yon knee was spent, wi’ geat lament, she's upon me in a jiffy she made it clear, she said, “m’dear I want yer little ****** now twenty three ‘tis not in years, but sire, tis stones in weight, and 'er on me wi one good knee, be too dire to contemplate, but to my surprise, she got a rise outa my little wrinkled pecker, wi’ her big thighs and **** the size o’ a bleedin double decker!!
0
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 8:13 AM UTC
"- the comely ***** -"
“Disaster Dan” skids into the Center's Game Room War Room Control Room Fueled by a red T-shirt proclaiming “Vince the Pizza Prince” He flips out his cellular... “IT ISN'T UP TO ME!" (Where does he get all those broken remotes?) ...flips open his cell and shouts commands “TURN THE POWER ON!" “YA HEARD ME!" (He is totally in control) “Fsssss    Fssssss   Fsssssss THE PIPES ARE ABOUT TO BLOW!” Drives his cruiser around the pool table Pulls alongside Fixes me point-blank and cockeyed “GET THESE KIDS OUTA THE BUILDING! THERE'S A BOMB ABOUT TA GO OFF!” An eight-year-old spins iz finger round iz ear and points a giggle Dan-- the kind of guy whose life peaked at Mount Saint Helen Does a warlock for Halloween Carries a portable showcase of horror prized possessions in a dishpan He explains his treasures “That is NOT a plastic scorpion!” Offended by my ignorance shoves it in my eyes “THIS IS A PREDATOR ALIEN, STUPID!" “CALIFORNIA WILL NOT COME BACK!" Dan sorta likes me We talk horror flicks He forbids the serious of me "CALIFORNIA WILL FALL OFF INTO THE OCEAN!” he hisses in a spray of spit Walks way, laughing, delighted! Shaking iz head Then back in my face again (for emphasis) “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!" (He is dead serious) "THE GUY THAT CAUSED THAT HURRICANE WAS PAUL MCCARTNEY!" His counselor fills in my blank “Dan likes the Beatles That's the only thing he likes that isn't heinous”
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Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 7:41 PM UTC
Well-Bound Predator/Flame 'O UFOs/Godzilla
Fourteen years old on sensory overload. The evening news. Burn baby burn. Da bomb. Sauteed mushrooms. Drop drill in all the classrooms. Lesee. If I crawl under this wooden desk with hands over head then I wont end up toast ? Outa sight. Puff That Muthfkn dragon. He still got a condo by the sea ? I remember thinking how privileged and exciting to live in the USA. But. Burn baby burn. Watching late night reruns till the station signed off. No CNN then my fren. The Duke. Abbot and Costello meets The Mummy. Free T.V.That was a first for I. No T.V. In Belize. None. No gun violence either. Hmmm. My Lai. The Panther Answer.
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Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC
The Nam #2
There's a certain kind That holds you hostage Way up there in the bleachers In a red-light district Cold and cheap It lures you because you're lurable Attach and you're stuck up there In a certain kind Of dilapidated ivory tower It's only later on When you're broken When the nights have woven Their history and the light Has drained Only when you're pushed out Only when you're shoved off Only then does the truth Begin to talk Until then it's been silent Though gradually loosing appetite For despair, denial, dilemma Only when unhooked Does that fierce, quite dismissal Begin to beg for something else Only then does A certain other kind Begin to go wild for itself You wonder how yourself Moldy and molting And mad with lies Had so deceived its own You wonder how If there is a god S'he coulda watched you bleed With self-betrayal And sat there idle While you slowly crumbled But admit it You were terribly cocky up there In the pink and belly-full ***** and hookered If G O D woulda spoken You woulda spit in the face of divinity And you probably did So that certain kind Watched and waiting For another Certain kind To choke the bejasus outa ya 'til you slowly faded to full stop And dropped to your knees To a certain other kind
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Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 6:12 AM UTC
A Certain Kind
midnight wasn't a cure for all that darkness following her she could see the sun coming up someplace ahead always see the cheap advertising long before some idiot actually hits the switch stepped on the gas but her feelings kept pace with this four stroke joke of a machine one stroke for each time it failed to get her away from feeling it all over again she would trade it in but nobody is feeling sympathetic enough for that kind of charity so she will ride it out into the strange night with some dude speaking french in the passenger seat seems like hes saying something important but who the **** knows she flips him off and turns the radio up nothing is forever if she could just stick to the plan dump the loser's and leeches find her somebody who speaks the same language as her crazy good for nothin heart she could get up outa this one horse town go set up in some romantic beach house and drink margarita's till the world ends just stick to the plan kiddo keeps telling herself as she cozy's up to the french clown for one last night just to keep warm nothing for keeps...right?
0
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
just to keep warm
floyd and the skinny kid skate round me like vultures looking for table scraps today im all about just keeping the head above water try all night to sleep but just climb walls in my head my kryptonite came round again and she was full of smiles even tho i could feel things crawling round neath that pretty face couldn't help myself just ended up humpin leg while she just laughed counting bills outa my wallet just really skull **** myself over and over like to trade my life in for a simpler one distill the hours down to thouse moments when i escape the circus of my own thinkin when i can sit and soak up some sun on the beach without all the headnoise crowding out my goodtime floyd and the skinny kid circle round me but i got no use for virtual vampires and they just manage to annoy i got prettier things on my mind hoping to distract just hoping to distract
0
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
my kryptonite
****** up paddy's weekly binge, did nothing for poor mary's twinge. she quelled her urge with robbie rasta, who smoked the weed,and **** was faster.  the ***** guru jumped with fright, yo husband early home tonight. don't ye worry, stay in bed, the fockers ****** right off his head.  mary, mary, the drunkard bleats, der is tree people beneath dees sheets, shot op ye dronk i am no cheat, get outa bed an count the feet,  sorry me darlin, der's only four, staggered to the bathroom door, where ye goin? what ye thinkin? to wash me feet, they're fockin stinkin.
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Feb 27, 2010
Feb 27, 2010 at 12:00 PM UTC
****** up paddy
this deviant moment exposed to light of day unable to mute my words they tumble out and roll round like a car full of clowns in the circus all color and no content one rolls back to me gets in my face eyes red with its irate feelin puffin on a greasy cigar it makes all kinds of loud noise in the back of my head trying to guilt trip me out keeps me awake half the night this deviant moment flows like a charm for him flows like cheap wine when the friends are near and dear price don't come till harsh light of day face up in the mirror full of denials full of regrets full outa steam just shuffle through the moment knowin that you'll get to the track on time just gotta get the ole mutt movin and the dusty road from here to eternity never seemed so unsteady as it dose today the deviant moment was her magical hour was her moment to shine in the artificial sun she had acceptance speechs written and a dress picked out for her own red carpet stroll she had studied all the books and gotta pretty good bead on this whole motherhood thing gonna name him 'seattle' its was gonna be her magical moment in the artificial sun the deviant moment was his break from the harsh road it was his moment to loose himself and just be and that nirvana was in her arms that moment was in beauty of her affections but the carving in stone don't melt like ice not freely given but who can name the price of what its costs to the soul they can ask but you can never 'plain to em what the give takes out of you step to that road be prepared to give up ever lookin back the deviant moment passed between em left them both changed but she never will see it the same as him shes trapped back there in the one horse mountain town and hes shining on a sunbaked beach in the cool cool moonlight of a southern sun the deviant moment leaves us now with her blanketed in snow leaves him with regrets like children at your ankles pulling at your legs ever demanding answers to questions you never even heard leaves me with thoughts bout going back to sea bout sailing till iv lost all memory of this place and her fondling the hands of time
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Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
the deviant moment
this deviant moment exposed to light of day unable to mute my words they tumble out and roll round like a car full of clowns in the circus all color and no content one rolls back to me gets in my face eyes red with its irate feelin puffin on a greasy cigar it makes all kinds of loud noise in the back of my head trying to guilt trip me out keeps me awake half the night this deviant moment flows like a charm for him flows like cheap wine when the friends are near and dear price don't come till harsh light of day face up in the mirror full of denials full of regrets full outa steam just shuffle through the moment knowin that you'll get to the track on time just gotta get the ole mutt movin and the dusty road from here to eternity never seemed so unsteady as it dose today the deviant moment was her magical hour was her moment to shine in the artificial sun she had acceptance speechs written and a dress picked out for her own red carpet stroll she had studied all the books and gotta pretty good bead on this whole motherhood thing gonna name him 'seattle' its was gonna be her magical moment in the artificial sun the deviant moment was his break from the harsh road it was his moment to loose himself and just be and that nirvana was in her arms that moment was in beauty of her affections but the carving in stone don't melt like ice not freely given but who can name the price of what its costs to the soul they can ask but you can never 'plain to em what the give takes out of you step to that road be prepared to give up ever lookin back the deviant moment passed between em left them both changed but she never will see it the same as him shes trapped back there in the one horse mountain town and hes shining on a sunbaked beach in the cool cool moonlight of a southern sun the deviant moment leaves us now with her blanketed in snow leaves him with regrets like children at your ankles pulling at your legs ever demanding answers to questions you never even heard leaves me with thoughts bout going back to sea bout sailing till iv lost all memory of this place and her fondling the hands of time
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64
a hot little betty the engine ran quick an hot and the miles did run by a hot little betty my little red coupe put so much highway behind me that thought the world would run outa road my little hot betty sweet and cool ran so much highway that thought road had become dream so smooth her wheel and she handles pavement like a lover she handles road like they good ole boys lookin for a sweet peice so easy to ride em so easy to tool up one side and stroll down the other thats my little red coupe my little betty dressed all in black like johhny cash dressed like im gong to a funeral from my neatly trimmed hair to my black dress shoe im a natural behind the wheel im a natural at everythin i do im a hot engine lover a cool customer and tonight you can find me out on route 66 of the soul in my little betty in my little red coupe cruisin the moonlight mile lookin for a girl like you to take the co-pilot seat and look so drop dead betty boop in my little red coupe
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Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
look so drop dead betty boop
Rap is a craft and it oughta be, But my rap is crap; That’s just the way it comes outa me. My rhymes and my rhythm are kinda feeble, When I play a record sideways all I do is break the needle. You lay a eight on its side and you get a infinity; that’s how old I was when I lost my virginity. Took my side piece out for a high class dinner To show her I’m a winner But I lost all my street cred when I ordered the sweetbread. My homies formed a gang And I tried to join the ranks, But the only part of “gangsta” I can handle is the “angst.” I’d bust a move but my move buster’s rusted, I’d pop a cap but my aim can’t be trusted. One more thing to say Before I depart: Next time I’ll do a mic drop Before I start. Pizza? Out
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Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 6:28 AM UTC
When Do I Drop the Mic?
Rap Trap My life's a mess, let me try to explain, I'm a 5 minute walk to going insane, see there's way to much going on in my brain, headed for a crash on a high speed train my bones are acrakin', my knees wont bend, ain't got no money, but I spend, spend, spend, don't know why I feel, I have to pretend, took some big blue pills, hoping to mend things changed so fast, I wasn't even aware, when it hit me in the face, why I do declare, time to man-up, need to grow me a pair, or I can turn my back and pretend I don't care caught in a trap, betwixt and between, should I tell everyone, should I come clean, I'm so confused, do you know what I mean? , when I look in the mirror, I see Orson Bean it's just jive, some people say it's rap, if you want my opinion, I think it's crap, but I find it hard to get outa this trap, can't stop my lips from goin flap, flap, flap Gomer LePoet...
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Mar 11, 2010
Mar 11, 2010 at 5:30 PM UTC
Rap Trap
well I knew Somethin was wrong Went to see all a my friends But they'd packed up and gone TWO GHOSTS talkin in the shadows Was all that was left SOME THINGS are so painful But ya just can't forget RACIN SUNDOWN ACROSS THE COUNTRY |~~| the rain it was fallin Was no where to hide Just guessed on my own It was my turn to die It seemed kinda simple but the thought I had failed Filled me with sorrow So I braced up my will TO RACE SUNDOWN ACROSS THE COUNTRY |~~| I started screaming CAN'T YA SEE WHAT ' S COMIN DOWN ! best pick up yer senses And get the hell outa town The Pig Men are comin It's you they'd enslave So if you treasure freedom Know this is the Last Day TO RACE SUNDOWN ACROSS THE COUNTRY |~~| Yeah I Knew that  Somethin was wrong .........
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Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC
sundown
Josteen Yazzi said the Critic should ask his thought on the matter of great art and literature What do you know of art and literature, Uncle? Nothing, he said, I think about what I do not know. I do not know why people don't like Norman Rockwell. Norman Rockwell painted the American Dream, with Indians in it, some times. I like Norman Rockwell because I know how he felt. I saw my people live in a good world that vanished. Magic or other wise, I remember mine, the way when I see Mr. Rockwell's America as he imagined he had seen it. Or maybe he painted what you should have been able to see, but for wars and Spanish Flu and cattle barons and reaping machines and steam and electricity. Olaf Wieghorst coulda painted America ugly, too. But he didn't. Literature. I have nothing left to say, Norman Rockwell, maybe he needed a mentioning for some reader anchored reason. We have to deal with that more these days. People with big old dish antennae out there, rusting after Direct TV got a satellite to see the res, Some o'the kids build a radio telescope, outa them three meter models, so we are connected. Norman Rockwell painted the Peaceful Kingdom, just like Mr. Hicks and Mr. Kincaid, not mr klee or mr picaso, they could image hell. My ma liked That drippy guy, said she could see the swing of things in he's paintings, What's-isname, Jackson, damshame, Jackson Pollak right? but the message is in the medium, that's what my Shicheii yoosto say. Art must sing. So I can play my drum. And she can dance. When we think nothing about it.
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Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 8:45 PM UTC
The Art Critic from Santa Fe
Josteen Yazzi said the Critic should ask his thought on the matter of great art and literature What do you know of art and literature, Uncle? Nothing, he said, I think about what I do not know. I do not know why people don't like Norman Rockwell. Norman Rockwell painted the American Dream, with Indians in it, some times. I like Norman Rockwell because I know how he felt. I saw my people live in a good world that vanished. Magic or other wise, I remember mine, the way when I see Mr. Rockwell's America as he imagined he had seen it. Or maybe he painted what you should have been able to see, but for wars and Spanish Flu and cattle barons and reaping machines and steam and electricity. Olaf Wieghorst coulda painted America ugly, too. But he didn't. Literature. I have nothing left to say, Norman Rockwell, maybe he needed a mentioning for some reader anchored reason. We have to deal with that more these days. People with big old dish antennae out there, rusting after Direct TV got a satellite to see the res, Some o'the kids build a radio telescope, outa them three meter models, so we are connected. Norman Rockwell painted the Peaceful Kingdom, just like Mr. Hicks and Mr. Kincaid, not mr klee or mr picaso, they could image hell. My ma liked That drippy guy, said she could see the swing of things in he's paintings, What's-isname, Jackson, damshame, Jackson Pollak right? but the message is in the medium, that's what my Shicheii yoosto say. Art must sing. So I can play my drum. And she can dance. When we think nothing about it.
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35
They gave us some time to think about it, but what's the use? I knew it the moment your eyes met mine, and the breeze came through tipping me to my toes like the night. Yes, I'm yours and you're mine. **** possession, I just haven't figured out the next best thing. Baby, I'd like to live my life, but what's the use if it ain't you by my side. Ooh, girl. With those baby blue queues you'd never see me getting outa line. Hypnotized. I'd wait a life time for the right time, change tides like Poseidon or get you extra cheese if that's something you needed. They gave us some time to think about it, but what's the use? I knew it the second you smiled that white lie. God **** can you make a broken man feel fine.
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Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 10:01 AM UTC
Playing Games
Up , in a long wavy personality . Waking the morning with my commitment to it's day . Way too slight to storm the day . Open the door to a gray cloudy breeze . Slip out with ease onto the concrete leaf . A page out of my very own book . Liking the very way the ink bleed ; Write off the tip, a pen that would rip right through another's book. Soft to the touch, you fell cause you might slip right through . Although the heart felt tipped utensil causes you to breathe . With all the wind in my atmosphere, a tornado caused . You to turn and run . Opens my hidden twists, up with a given gist . Like an autumn oak tree, letting go isn't so uncommon . But still a shipped away surprise, . So many unforgiving goodbyes . A tear without anyone to give it a cry / / Such a subtle generosity, so much so . You might forget all beauty ever existed . Me and memories go together, like mine was an aggravated death . Worth killing to a Saint , And none of the happiness was great . Out of the blue, and only for another shade of green . Jealous and out of the way, So they faded navigated away. Orange and ravenous red . Foundation for success, Paved a walk way for a street walker like hiss.. Step away and porcelain eyes . Pierce once again . Follow the haze with outa braze . No touch, glass chimes. Together once , noise of fine dining . Couples and territorial squint . Soothing child , for a partner for life. Love for the second child in the other . Like a bad photo shop . No edit, just chop , black dot .
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Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
Right around the Block .
Up , in a long wavy personality . Waking the morning with my commitment to it's day . Way too slight to storm the day . Open the door to a gray cloudy breeze . Slip out with ease onto the concrete leaf . A page out of my very own book . Liking the very way the ink bleed ; Write off the tip, a pen that would rip right through another's book. Soft to the touch, you fell cause you might slip right through . Although the heart felt tipped utensil causes you to breathe . With all the wind in my atmosphere, a tornado caused . You to turn and run . Opens my hidden twists, up with a given gist . Like an autumn oak tree, letting go isn't so uncommon . But still a shipped away surprise, . So many unforgiving goodbyes . A tear without anyone to give it a cry / / Such a subtle generosity, so much so . You might forget all beauty ever existed . Me and memories go together, like mine was an aggravated death . Worth killing to a Saint , And none of the happiness was great . Out of the blue, and only for another shade of green . Jealous and out of the way, So they faded navigated away. Orange and ravenous red . Foundation for success, Paved a walk way for a street walker like hiss.. Step away and porcelain eyes . Pierce once again . Follow the haze with outa braze . No touch, glass chimes. Together once , noise of fine dining . Couples and territorial squint . Soothing child , for a partner for life. Love for the second child in the other . Like a bad photo shop . No edit, just chop , black dot .
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39
I'm Gonna Get You Sucker you've been giving me a mouthful steppin on my crack tired of your ******** tellin you get back don't stick those lips out at me no don't show me how to pucker if you don't give me room I'm gonna get you sucker you complain all the time you love to **** and moan your words are cuttin into me all the way to the bone I'm not your steppin stone I'm no mother-trucker but if you don't get outa my face I'm gonna get you sucker you want more than I can give you call me a grunge you think you can just give a squeeze and drain me like a sponge I try my best to tune you out but you're like a bronco-bucker get your *** off my back or I'm gonna get you sucker Gomer LePoet...
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Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 3:51 AM UTC
I'm Gonna Get You Sucker
We were misplaced and confused, So, I bought a coffee, sat with a magazine, But felt so antsy, I went to the Kiosk, Inquiring about your flight, Then went looking in the other places. So many people started looking like you: Their hair, shape and walk. So many doppelgangers. It was getting way too late, hours, in fact. Now concern settles in, But seconds make the difference, Not some butterfly in China. If I'd lingered, sipping, I wouldn't have walked right into your tears Around the corner. I happened to have a tissue in my pocket To dry your found eyes; Now let's get the **** outa here!
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Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC
Serendipity
got outa the cab easily communication in 8 font stepped into the snow bank before the panorama Joe Beef in Little Burgundy squeezed in storefront offering an inviting quest closed for the night to be sure some background silhouette motion the shaded light from street and within a shadowed tool box and c-less drill in the front window surrounded by Montreal we be lookin’ for a reason for another hajj Joe Beef
0
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
joe beef
i remember meeting you in the back of house, where your words were loose and wild. i was brining some guests plates in that needed to be cleaned after their meal. i got to talking with some coworker about some bull **** coworkers talk about, probably complaining about some old lady who wanted truffle fries and only got regular fries. you had to chime in when there was a cadence with some ********** comment to display your manliness and status amongst your kitchen staff. that game always seemed counterproductive to me. you pinned me for someone i wasn't. i did the same to you. somehow along the way, between all your lewd remarks, we became friends. i believe it began over our affinity for the Buffalo Bills. You said you liked them because they were the underdogs and you hated the Miami Dolphins. I told you they were my hometown team and you said "no **** get the **** outa here. You're from Buffalo?" the way you said it lead me to assume you were from New York. You told me you were from upstate and missed it. I told you how much time my family spent up there in the summers, doing outdoorsy things. burning fires, drinking beer underage, walking barefoot through the forrest. we bonded. we learned a lot more about each other. you were divorced and knew that you could never love another woman as much as you loved your ex. she gave you two beautiful kids. she also took 3/4 of you paycheck and left you for broke. the rest you drank away with me when our shifts were over. you told me about your drug habits, and i told you about mine. i told you about my childhood and you said you were sorry. i helped you drive your kids to school when your ex wife was too busy. we got drunk and shot so much **** there was a chip on your shoulder. there was a chip on mine too. i got to see you cry when i accused you of using again. i think you knew what i said was true. i came down on you hard because i had just lost two jobs, a girlfriend i thought would have my children, and someone that lived in your apartment complex crashed into my brand new car while i was waiting on you. we were on the way to get your kids from school. you knew i meant well but i could see the guilt in your eyes. i helped you with your kids a handful of times after that. we would get breakfast after and talk about work and women. after work we'd get ****** and eat at some small Mexican stand in 90 degree weather. i fell asleep at the wheel and totaled my car some time later. shortly after i left for tour and then you died. some secrets you take to the grave. thank you.
0
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 3:24 AM UTC
truffle fries
i remember meeting you in the back of house, where your words were loose and wild. i was brining some guests plates in that needed to be cleaned after their meal. i got to talking with some coworker about some bull **** coworkers talk about, probably complaining about some old lady who wanted truffle fries and only got regular fries. you had to chime in when there was a cadence with some ********** comment to display your manliness and status amongst your kitchen staff. that game always seemed counterproductive to me. you pinned me for someone i wasn't. i did the same to you. somehow along the way, between all your lewd remarks, we became friends. i believe it began over our affinity for the Buffalo Bills. You said you liked them because they were the underdogs and you hated the Miami Dolphins. I told you they were my hometown team and you said "no **** get the **** outa here. You're from Buffalo?" the way you said it lead me to assume you were from New York. You told me you were from upstate and missed it. I told you how much time my family spent up there in the summers, doing outdoorsy things. burning fires, drinking beer underage, walking barefoot through the forrest. we bonded. we learned a lot more about each other. you were divorced and knew that you could never love another woman as much as you loved your ex. she gave you two beautiful kids. she also took 3/4 of you paycheck and left you for broke. the rest you drank away with me when our shifts were over. you told me about your drug habits, and i told you about mine. i told you about my childhood and you said you were sorry. i helped you drive your kids to school when your ex wife was too busy. we got drunk and shot so much **** there was a chip on your shoulder. there was a chip on mine too. i got to see you cry when i accused you of using again. i think you knew what i said was true. i came down on you hard because i had just lost two jobs, a girlfriend i thought would have my children, and someone that lived in your apartment complex crashed into my brand new car while i was waiting on you. we were on the way to get your kids from school. you knew i meant well but i could see the guilt in your eyes. i helped you with your kids a handful of times after that. we would get breakfast after and talk about work and women. after work we'd get ****** and eat at some small Mexican stand in 90 degree weather. i fell asleep at the wheel and totaled my car some time later. shortly after i left for tour and then you died. some secrets you take to the grave. thank you.
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2
She Wants Scarlet cheek Drenched in heavy breath Praying to a god of lightning within skin We sin electric Along the pulse of thunder That pounds along the prism of rib cage As an empty echo waiting to be filled We reduce the night in hidden instincts Back down to darkness Kissed in candle flame So desperately close to being blown out That we have already settled into gloom Sightless in the slap of touch The weight of wait Tension in tendons Curled toes and closed eyes Fearlessly peeking To drown in the bounty of hair That hangs heavenly Like a blindfold Lost in the black sea of pupil A lack of breath In lip bitten lungs We surrender to a pillow case prison Bed sheet asylum Deemed insane We play straight jacket Handcuff confessions Shrink our skin Closer to a clothing called sanity Admit to the sweet seductions Of tounge **** swallow lip Quiver to bow Notch arrow Draw steady down Hold Hold Tremble Release To bask in the wisdom Of hip slips singing Dipping witness to testify In the court-ship of submission A contained chaos Contested as corruption But our bodies speak universal In a language of moans and mantas Sung out over the churning bass beat Of heart thumps that resonate In the taught syllables of beau-ty Caged between skin and its slap We are powerless in the presence of passion And position our bodies in sculptures of sweat A natural occurrence A midnight madness Where we shed this skin And let our bones scrape Till our skeletons knock the nails outa this casket Resurrected we wake as infidels And follow our echoes To the origin of our conversions A little death A simple attraction Tension And release
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Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
What You Might Hear Me Whisper Asleep in Your Arms
She Wants Scarlet cheek Drenched in heavy breath Praying to a god of lightning within skin We sin electric Along the pulse of thunder That pounds along the prism of rib cage As an empty echo waiting to be filled We reduce the night in hidden instincts Back down to darkness Kissed in candle flame So desperately close to being blown out That we have already settled into gloom Sightless in the slap of touch The weight of wait Tension in tendons Curled toes and closed eyes Fearlessly peeking To drown in the bounty of hair That hangs heavenly Like a blindfold Lost in the black sea of pupil A lack of breath In lip bitten lungs We surrender to a pillow case prison Bed sheet asylum Deemed insane We play straight jacket Handcuff confessions Shrink our skin Closer to a clothing called sanity Admit to the sweet seductions Of tounge **** swallow lip Quiver to bow Notch arrow Draw steady down Hold Hold Tremble Release To bask in the wisdom Of hip slips singing Dipping witness to testify In the court-ship of submission A contained chaos Contested as corruption But our bodies speak universal In a language of moans and mantas Sung out over the churning bass beat Of heart thumps that resonate In the taught syllables of beau-ty Caged between skin and its slap We are powerless in the presence of passion And position our bodies in sculptures of sweat A natural occurrence A midnight madness Where we shed this skin And let our bones scrape Till our skeletons knock the nails outa this casket Resurrected we wake as infidels And follow our echoes To the origin of our conversions A little death A simple attraction Tension And release
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she gave me her headstrong face left me feelin outa place left me feelin like i had lost the space cadet race then she pulled off her designer wares an i knew it wasn't the case her mind is a frown like its pervaded by a sad clown like she is plundered holy ground she just sits there open eyed without a sound she gave me her headstrong face but i just could not replace the shattered mind no matter how unkind fathead weak in her thoughts ill at ease to where i had been brought i just stood there mumbling while her fingers did some bumbling big wet smile on her face left me feelin outa place like i really did loose the space cadet race kissing her headstrong face
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Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
her headstrong face
Rap Trap           My life's a mess, let me try to explain,           I'm a 5 minute walk from going insane,           see there's way to much going on in my brain,           headed for a crash on a high speed train           my bones are acrakin', my knees wont bend,           ain't got no money, but I spend, spend, spend,           don't know why I feel, I have to pretend,           took some big blue pills, hoping to mend                      things changed so fast, I wasn't even aware,                       when it hit me in the face, why I do declare,           time to man-up, need to grow me a pair,           or I can turn my back and pretend I don't care           caught in a trap, betwixt and between,           should I tell everyone, should I come clean,           I'm so confused, do you know what I mean? ,           when I look in the mirror, I see Orson Bean           it's just jive talkin, some people say it's rap,           if you want my opinion, I think it's crap,           but I find it hard to get outa this trap,                       can't stop my lips from goin flap, flap, flap           Gomer LePoet...
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May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 12:46 PM UTC
Rap Trap (r)
Intro: Humanity balances in the grasp of a belief of a higher order a belief that handicaps and restrains us from our true self and what we desire to become just for the fact to be in a nirvana that nobody has proof that it is real For we could know we all could be going to hell for the corrupted society and government we live in Poem: They wanna lock me outa of sight for not recieving any contacts That the lord and savior had givin out to me Then i beheaded a ************ for his contacts i hide the body where nobody could see See the devil in my eyes with his contacts Now my eyes are blacker than the bottom of the sea Everybody knows that were going to hell Everybody knows that we will never be free
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Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 6:35 PM UTC
Contacts