"paintball" poems
To all the goodbyes
I say goodnight
To everyone that dies
I hope it's bright
To everyone;
With a razor
Hand of pills
Tied rope
Dangling keys
Extreme height below
Finger over a light trigger
Electricity at hand
Open propane tank
Empty plate, with full glass
Stop, think about who you're leaving behind
I know my words aren't going to stop you, but just read
Did you bother to write and leave a note?
Is it worth it then?
Saying you're sorry, knowing you'll leave someone behind?
Stop. Think about why you're doing it
Do you have nobody?
Think about your opportunities that'll fly past
The chance of ever meeting someone?
Did you lose someone?
Think about if you'll actually see them again?
Being bullied?
Fight back, with whatever you have
Life shoved you down?
No, I'm not asking you to get up!
I'm telling you to get your *** into a nap
Think about all the possibilities that might not be
Think of all the opportunities and people in the future
Think of your legacy
Think of anything except the pain
Now balance the pain and everything else
Want to jump? Skyfall
Want to shoot? Paintball and games
Want to hang? Bungee
Want to overdose? Take 10% of it and party
Suffocate in propane gas, or blow up? Cook a nice meal, invite a friend or family. Surround yourself. No friends and family? Find a friend, build a family.
Want to speed wrong side of the road? Speed on the right side of the road and get carried with the wind, do it over again
Want to cut yourself? Cut off the pain and wrong influences
Electrocute yourself? Rather save electricity and watch a good movie with friends or family. Have none? Watch a movie alone, play a game online. Make friends, build a family
Want to starve yourself so you can get drunker and finally forget it all, when your liver gives in? Eat a lot more, blow off some steam at the gym and build a body that girls/guys would like, attract them and make new friends. Drink with friends.
I've tried many things, some of them didn't work out, or I couldn't stay awake longer. Create new dreams if the old ones died. Work hard for them. Achieve something
"At least leave a ******* legacy behind" is what my bestfriend, Steph used to say
"You can get out of this alive, but maybe a little ****** up, but anything damaged can be repaired" My bestfriend Josh used to say
"Life can carry you away without what you thought you needed" my bestfriend Divene used to say
Even more quotes from people I've lost in my life, so I ask you just think about it all
Still going through with it? Remember it's a one way ticket
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 7:16 AM UTC
Don't worry, girl
I'm not going to cheat
You will be my morning sunrise
You will make my air pressure rise
You'll alleviate the worst weight that strains my soul
You'll be the grass to a knoll
You pierced me like paint from a paintball pistol
Don't you worry about a thing
You can be my favorite thing
Since Sour Patch Kids and Baseball
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 3:35 AM UTC
she texted 'I dreamt of you this afternoon'
which was a promising start
'you were a paintball instructor...
and you shot me in the heart'
now - I'd never dreamed of her
(and thought that even worse)
I wondered if I should mention it
or just write it down in verse
but, that very night,
dreaming in the solace of the dark
I took part in her archery class
and she shot cupids arrow through my heart
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 3:53 AM UTC
She keeps asking what he does,
though his answers are recycled:
French bulldogs, paintball,
a seventh-grade broken nose.
The basket of fries between them
feels like an interview.
She teases about sweat-stuck bangs,
neon-laced Docs,
his faux leather squeaking when he moves.
Her smile forgives empty stories,
softens each silence.
Condensation slips down her glass,
her knee brushes his,
a spark he does not catch,
his throat working like a valve.
The door opens, closes,
a draft carries smoke and cedar.
distant wildfires.
Outside, a truck unloads shrimp.
A box bursts on the pavement,
pink shells and thawing ice
sliding into gutter water.
Curses flare into the alley.
Engines idle.
Hydraulics hiss.
The stoplight clicks red to green,
green to red,
its metronome louder than either of them.
Somewhere past Brockway Summit
a ridgeline blooms orange.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 4:52 PM UTC
My perfect guy
Is the kind of boy
Who is always a gentleman
He opens doors, pulls out chairs
And is polite to my parents
And yet when he wants
He can be so hilariously fun
He's not afraid to wrestle
Or play games, even have a nerd fight
But when the day is done
We can sit and talk for hours
He listens to every word
And says more than "okay"
He will smile and act intelligent
Helping with my problems
But he's not too serious
To put up with my insanity
My perfect guy
Is the kind of boy
Who is always there for me
I will never feel shy or scared
In his protective hold
He will back me up
Even if I'm wrong
And when we sit together
He will wrap his arms around me
And sit tight and perfect
And he is always there for me
When is about emotions too
He will be my steady rock
To comfort if I cry
He always try's to make it better
No matter what is wrong
My perfect guy
Is the kind of boy
Who is thinking of me
He pulls special surprises
With flowers and romance
He never forgets a special day
But he's not the kind of guy
Who is crazy about anniversaries
He might give a gift once a year
To keep it real special
He plans dates
And makes special days
Just for the two of us
And while he keeps them
Perfectly romantic he lets them
Have fun too.
My perfect guy
Is the kind of boy
Who compliments me now and then
Even if he doesn't mean it
Just to make me feel nice
But he isn't all worried about beauty
He notices me for me
And isn't afraid to joke around
And say what's on his mind
My perfect guy
Is the kind of boy
Who likes the things I like
The kind of guy who
Shares my dreams
And relishes in the insanity
He wants to make the impossible come true
Without forgetting about now
He will think about the Future
While we banter with each other
My perfect guy
Is the kind of boy
Who doesn't see me as just his girl
He is protective and strong
Yet easy going too
He isn't afraid to get *****
To roll around in the mud
He is always up for a game
Of road hockey or paintball
He will play video games
And sports
Without going easy
He will keep things fun
And won't cry about losing to a girl.
My perfect guy
Is the kind of boy
Who gets along with friends
Who is always charming to new people
And who my friends like back
The kind of guy who
Gets along with a group
Yet doesn't mind to be alone
My perfect guy
Is the kind of boy
Who I write this incredibly long poem about
He is the kind of guy who is perfect in my eyes
He is the kind of guy who likely doesn't exist
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
i feel like the equivalent
of an abandoned paintball field.
I guess it could be peaceful.
But its a bit eerie to say the least.
Everything is all faded but you can tell
**** has gone down there.
You just cant know for sure what.
Like youre sure there were some great memories there.
But you also cant rule out
the possibility that
at one point in time,
someone has gotten an eye shot out.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 3:09 AM UTC
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
passion would be where magenta and orange kiss the horizon at sunset,
joy would be the yellow of my socks every easter sunday that i can remember,
and melancholy would be just another shade of blue.
i told him,
i am not done with you yet.
three weeks post breakup,
we shouldn't feel as unfinished as we do.
like, in the ridiculously complicated narrative of he and i,
the author got up one day,
scribbled a quick ending,
and then set the novel on fire.
i read an article in an obscure magazine
about Shelley Jackson,
an artist
who got thousands of people
to tattoo a singular word
from a story onto themselves,
and then sent them back to their scattered existences.
maybe that is what this is,
another scattered story.
another vaporized narrative.
i can feel it in the air,
but not pull the phrases together.
it's like trying to hold onto smoke.
our story slips through my fingers and gets in my eyes.
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
my ribcage would look like a Jackson *******
my head would be a paintball arena.
i am so full of indigos,
and mustards,
and crimsons,
that Van Gogh, himself, would dip into my palette
and claim to have never seen such beautiful sadness before.
*i don't know if it hurts because it still matters,
or if it matters that it still hurts.*
i feel the frenzied ache of creation in my gut.
i am not a painter,
but my mirror is showing me
the immaculate collection of brushstrokes
i have become.
a few weeks ago,
i was approached by an artist who offered to paint my bruises.
to collect my contusions with watercolors.
what a beautiful intention,
to immortalize the growing pains,
memorialize the bumps along the way,
to make something permanent
of these perpetual transitions.
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
my pride would be gold-plated and rusting from use, like my grandfather's watch,
courage would be the pure green of every bud that has dared to grow through concrete,
and love?
love would be prismatic,
like spilled oil on asphalt.
a rainbow one moment,
vanished the next.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
I knew a boy named Sanny.
Sanny had a fake metal leg.
He never would tell me why.
I never got to go to his house.
Sanny told me it wasn’t fun there.
So all day we swung on swings.
One day he had black circles around his eyes.
I asked him if he got hit with a paintball.
Sanny started crying and ran away.
The next day he told me he was sorry,
And placed his hand in mine.
I was confused, I didn’t understand,
Sanny this time told me why:
He likes boys.
I got scared and took a step back.
Sanny looked hurt and ran away.
Then the next day he wasn’t in class,
Mrs. Kipp said Sanny bled himself to death.
I cried, and ran away.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 8:18 PM UTC
In the middle of folding laundry one afternoon
thinking this might not be a big deal
but then again it's not such a bad way to spend the day and
the back door opened and
my neighbor showed up in full paintball gun attire and
pointed his paintball gun at me and
yelled at me to get on the ground!
i smiled and
put down my child's underwear and
grabbed his Buzz Lightyear sound and
light activated laser gun that he had recently gotten for Christmas and
aimed it at him and
yelled NO! You get on the ground and
then 40 men rushed into my house and
at least 10 of them had rifles and
i was thrown down on the floor,
wood floor,
right cheek made direct impact and
**** that hurt and
i heard a shout of a voice ordering the 10 men with the 10 rifles pointed at my head
not to shoot and
that the shoot to **** order was off,
that it was a toy plastic gun,
he repeated,
it was a plastic children's toy and
in one fell swoop of motion my right shoulder was taken out of its socket and
**** that hurt and
twisted around behind my back in order to handcuff that hand to my other hand and
stand me up and
walk me out as I watched dozens and
dozens of what i could only presume to be storm troopers from the Star Wars movies wearing white protective gear covering their shoes bodies and
faces entirely
spilling into my house with the great invasion of an ant colony and
several groupings of men in black pants and
black shirts with white letters on the back spelling out different acronyms such as S. W. A.T., and
K.B.I, KDH&E;
The storm troopers were actually Bio HAZ MAT men
testing to see if the air quality in the house was higher than their acceptable limits of
risk of having a chemical explosion occur
while in the house on that afternoon of January
when officers of the Sheriff’s Office Special Operations Group
executed a search warrant at my house on Main St.in my small town in Kansas and
made entry at the location and
took me into custody while
Certified **** Lab Techs from the Sheriff’s Office
collected 2 Mountain Dew bottles and
some rubber tubing and
rendered the items safe and
Agents of HazMat Inc. were contacted and
responded to collect the hazardous materials for disposal
I sat in the back seat of the cop car and
thought this might be a big deal
this could be a bad way to spend the day
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 2:42 AM UTC
When your eyes drop to the floor.. And the pain creeps within your soul
When your heart cant take anymore..
I pray that the love in my tender kiss will be the last thing in this life you will know.
I will cradle you when you are crying
*I will love the fact that you know where everything is in your room, even though it's a mess*
I will cherish the way you kiss my neck..
The way your hands feel beneath my dress
I will fight with you,
Through any battle we face
The make-up *** will be incredible
Reading each others movement's and pace
When you're quiet and your mind wont stop racing
When you get sick of the game and the chasing..
I'll be waiting with some beer and your favorite snacks
I'll give you a massage.. Help you relax
I'll keep your secrets
I'll laugh at your jokes
I'll be your partner in crime
Full of love, playfulness, and hope
You can **** with the door open
Hell, you can even blast me with a paintball attack..
Just be yourself, don't put up an act
and.. most of all
Oh, please.. Love me back.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 3:56 AM UTC
I write like a paintball machine
Spitting out ***** of paint
In flights of fancy
I write like I think
My thoughts
And emotions
Coming alive
I write like a roller coaster
My mood swings apparent
High to low
And sometimes
Just plain wired
I write like I sing
At moments belting it all out
Other times, softer
Taking the effort
To sing so others will like it
I write like a camera
Taking snapshots
Of everything surrounding me
Both outside
And inside
I write like I cry
The words coming out like an endless waterfall
In a short burst of emotion
Before it stops
And I am light as a feather
I could compare my writing to so much
It’d probably take longer than I have
To name them all
But with just this
I’m sure you can relate
Writing can be a lovely thing
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 10:22 PM UTC
let's start with a henna tattoo
work my way to a real one
let's get a cartilage piercing
or maybe get two for fun
read all Shakespeare's plays
and his sonnets before the year ends
write a novel sometime soon
watch every harry potter with friends
see something that's Broadway
read 150 books in a year
have an author sign
a book that's been so very dear
Spend the entire day in bed
or sleep in the family car
in the playhouse out back
in a hammock somewhere bizarre
do something with a love
write a poem for him
slow dance in the rain
and dance away the dim
watch a sunset together
the light slowly appearing
a kiss in the rain
stargaze with day nearing
let's go visit mexico
or Germany, Ireland
let's fly in first class
or helicopter to be grand
see the hollywood sign
or the northern lights
or England or the gum wall
ride in a limo to see the sights
paintball or zip-line
perform a play on stage
try surfing in blue water
or mattress surf, not acting my age
learn to actually skateboard
see a favorite band live
eat German chocolate
run a kilometer or five
get my master's degree
have a chance to paddleboard
finally sing in public
get a guitar to play a chord
or why not have a paint fight
play twister with a mess
walk through a drive through
skinny dip and not fess
put mentos in coke
swim with my clothing on
write in wet concrete
streak across the lawn
tp someone's car
buy a coffee to be kind
smash pie in someone's face
carve initials to remind
so there's my bucket list
spelled out for all to see
the only question is
who would want to join me?
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 6:31 PM UTC
And I wish I can tell you these:
Opening up to each other is one of the bestest way to keep a relationship strong.
I want you to tell me everything, how's your day going, if you're annoyed, if you're tired, if you wanna sleep with me, if you want me to be there at 12am or 3am. If you can't sleep at night, if you need a shoulder to lean on and a shirt to cry on, if you wanna talk about life and how you love coffee so much, talk about how your vape means a lot to you, if you want to shop, if you want to kiss me, if you wanna go somewhere, if you wanna have star gazing, paintball or even boxing, tell me how much you love basketball so much and how good you are in cooking. Tell me about your past, your life. Tell me your dream house, how many kids you want to have, your dream wedding and who's going to be your best man. I'm your best friend, girlfriend, sister, workmate and buddy in everything. Tell me everything you want me to know, what you wanna do or your plans, I will listen, I will stay with you even if you tell me how bad you are, I will be who I am as your gf even with your flaws and imperfections. I will always be here for you, I don't mind staying silent the whole time you talk, as long as you tell me you enjoyed my company. You know, I'm sure you know you mean everything to me. And how thankful I an to God, for giving me the happiness I deserve, YOU.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
They’d fallen in love
as some young people do—
so that lust might rationally increase.
Their bright, valentine-red-blood fairly beat for love.
It’s good that we can name a thing—
describe it and classify it, so it’s out there,
fact-like, in the flimsy, indefinite poetry-verse
It was a day for it, as the sun, that most followed star,
was a carnotite paintball-splotch against a sky stitched of turquoise
and the quality of the light was sentimentally beyond reproach.
Their gallant love seemed to cast a radiance too, a bright, collateral light, which was of greater reassurance than any by-rote, muttered words.
No one denied the ambition of their love, it was both a mess and a revelation. And no one could pretend the moment was ordinary, that the atoms that spun and gripped our world together weren’t woven yet more inseparable by their union.
The greatest, alas, may choose to bless or deny that such a miracle as love, lasts.
.
.
Songs for this:
Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers
You Can Have It All by Yo La Tengo
Feb 14, 2025
Feb 14, 2025 at 12:16 AM UTC
it treats the paintball injuries of contagious dogs. dry-humps to the sobbing of saint visitation. its sister delivers her own snowball in the binoculars of a man with a limp and a finite supply of plastic lawnmowers. I learn about its town from a poster meant to attract what’s never left. this is where I go to look like I’m here.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 11:43 AM UTC
Love is a calling
Let me be the Romeo you need in this hour;
Let me be the one to bring you flowers.
Let me stand hand in hand with you beneath the shower;
With you in my sight, I could never be dour.
If love is the game, then by all means play on!
In film, in poetry, in life and in song!
Let hatred be scorched and banished from loves eyes;
Be joyous! Be happy! Don’t worry or despise.
For u2 shall find love, if you wait a while;
If all else fails, love will help you raise a smile.
I bring good tidings to the empty of empathy
And I spread love all around.
Love can never become a bullet, a paintball maybe;
The laws of nature leave love and happiness, eternally bound.
We are all seekers of love and love forever evolves;
Loves existence cannot be denied, even in the coldest of souls.
Every foot on the planet is hoping to move forwards towards love;
So who are you to give up?
Love is waiting out there for you to give it a hug.
Love loves to hug;
Love loves to be loved.
Love is waiting;
Love is a calling.
Lovers love to love.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 5:23 PM UTC
The Bedrooms of Thirty-Year-Old Children
“I am looking for a some what tactical bible cover. I would prefer that it have hook and loop some were on it, so I can put moral patches on it.”
-https://www.ar15.com/forums/general/-/135-1549758/
Each tactical gun and each tactical knife
Made in China by tactical slaves
Tactical gear for tactical strife
(Tactical guys to their tactical graves)
Tactical ****** and tactical pen
Tactical chocolate and paintball paint
Tactical everything for wannabe men
Desperate to be whatever they ain’t
Tactical shelters for when it’s raining –
But
They never made Day One of army training
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
Life is not viewed linear:
not a happier year, a worse day;
It's the bigger picture and the sum of each day that make up the whole puzzle.
You can't say you had a boring year, or a sadder year and compare it to the past years.
You can have a sad day and it's still a beautiful life.
For life to be viewed as beautiful, it does not have to be pretty or happy all the time.
And to be fair, life is a mosaic.
And a ******* hard-to-interpret artwork. And art is meant to be messy, unstable, hard to look at:
but still amazing, beautiful and interesting.
Imagine an artwork, with super easy strokes to define
and colours that are too vibrant to name, would that be still amazing?
Sure it is, still!
But the most beautiful artworks are probably one that poured with a whirlwind of emotions and
thoughts one can't easily decipher — unfathomable, ineffable, and makes one wonder and wander.
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 12:06 PM UTC