"phone" poems - Hello Poetry

"phone" poems

left my phone unlocked on the taxi’s back seat, won't be the last time called it a few times finally, the driver picked up he had a fare immediately after mine, and was now headed way downtown, and would call later when fate returned him nearer my office and so it came to pass, very shortly thereafter, we met on the street, he rolled down the window and with the greatest smile of pleasure, as if he had won the lottery beaming, handed me my phone I had two $20's to cover any expense he might have incurred, neatly folded in my hand and offered it right up, right away; but the driver repeatedly pushed my hand away as I insisted, saying: *"No sir, no no, not necessary! Allah sent me a fare that took me soon back close to you, so, no loss of time did I suffer, so your offer is kindly unnecessary!"* to which I replied, *"exactly! Allah sent you to me so I could reward you!"* and with an equally, beaming smile I continued, *"our ride and meeting today, together was pre-ordained it was* Inshallah!" ^ something he could not dispute... or my knowledge thereof and it’s proper pronouncement, nor his amazement, to disguise! we parted ways each believing, each receiving, a heavenly check plus, each, credited with a mitzvah^^ on our respective trip logs, our humanly divine balance sheets, kept by the single supreme taxi dispatcher

0

Jun 20, 2018

Jun 20, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC

inshallah my cell phone

left my phone unlocked on the taxi’s back seat, won't be the last time called it a few times finally, the driver picked up he had a fare immediately after mine, and was now headed way downtown, and would call later when fate returned him nearer my office and so it came to pass, very shortly thereafter, we met on the street, he rolled down the window and with the greatest smile of pleasure, as if he had won the lottery beaming, handed me my phone I had two $20's to cover any expense he might have incurred, neatly folded in my hand and offered it right up, right away; but the driver repeatedly pushed my hand away as I insisted, saying: *"No sir, no no, not necessary! Allah sent me a fare that took me soon back close to you, so, no loss of time did I suffer, so your offer is kindly unnecessary!"* to which I replied, *"exactly! Allah sent you to me so I could reward you!"* and with an equally, beaming smile I continued, *"our ride and meeting today, together was pre-ordained it was* Inshallah!" ^ something he could not dispute... or my knowledge thereof and it’s proper pronouncement, nor his amazement, to disguise! we parted ways each believing, each receiving, a heavenly check plus, each, credited with a mitzvah^^ on our respective trip logs, our humanly divine balance sheets, kept by the single supreme taxi dispatcher

Continue reading...

If I could turn back time I would hit Backspace all day, Id put on Caps Lock and SHOUT what I say. I'd use the whole Alphabet To tell you hello, Press seven Numbers Til you picked up the phone. I'd Tab through the comments I didn't want to hear, And use the Arrow Keys To drag your body near. I would Delete the harsh words I didn't mean to speak, And Insert the "I love yous" I before couldn't leak. I would use Ctrl to Keep reigns over my heart, And I would Escape lies That tore us apart. I'd Print out your photo And kiss it goodnight, Use the Calculator To check that we were right. I'd Paint you a picture of us, you and me, Then I'd hit Enter Just so you would see. Those are the things I would do in my strife, If only Backspace worked in real life.

0

Feb 13, 2018

Feb 13, 2018 at 8:12 AM UTC

If I could turn back time I would hit Backspace all day, Id put on Caps Lock and SHOUT what I say. I'd use the whole Alphabet To tell you hello, Press seven Numbers Til you picked up the phone. I'd Tab through the comments I didn't want to hear, And use the Arrow Keys To drag your body near. I would Delete the harsh words I didn't mean to speak, And Insert the "I love yous" I before couldn't leak. I would use Ctrl to Keep reigns over my heart, And I would Escape lies That tore us apart. I'd Print out your photo And kiss it goodnight, Use the Calculator To check that we were right. I'd Paint you a picture of us, you and me, Then I'd hit Enter Just so you would see. Those are the things I would do in my strife, If only Backspace worked in real life.

Continue reading...

Almost asleep when my phone ticked; 'A notification,' it says. Your name was there, you liked my photo. And my stomach drowned in butterflies— Scratch that—moths, surely they're moths. Stronger, buzzier, like your power To occupy and stay in my brain With that single heart emoji beside your name. Thinking that the double tap Is as if you love me just the same.

0

Aug 6, 2018

Aug 6, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC

notsopunkrockdj

Almost asleep when my phone ticked; 'A notification,' it says. Your name was there, you liked my photo. And my stomach drowned in butterflies— Scratch that—moths, surely they're moths. Stronger, buzzier, like your power To occupy and stay in my brain With that single heart emoji beside your name. Thinking that the double tap Is as if you love me just the same.

Continue reading...

It's 3am I'm on the phone No one's awake and I'm alone It's 3am The radio's on Songs are played on lonely station It's 3am I'm in my bed My eyes are open and sleep has fled It's 3am I'm on the balcony The sky is dark and just quite scary It's 3am Some windows have lights Could they also not sleep tonight It's 3am I'm still awake When will life ever give me a break

0

Feb 15, 2018

Feb 15, 2018 at 9:38 PM UTC

It's 3am I'm on the phone No one's awake and I'm alone It's 3am The radio's on Songs are played on lonely station It's 3am I'm in my bed My eyes are open and sleep has fled It's 3am I'm on the balcony The sky is dark and just quite scary It's 3am Some windows have lights Could they also not sleep tonight It's 3am I'm still awake When will life ever give me a break

Continue reading...

Tap, tap, tap on your little device Do you wish to hear my insightful advice? Look up, not down Take a walk into town. Throw your phone away, you won't need it today. Appreciate the yellows, greens, and blues Mother Nature won't mind if you use her bed for a snooze. Tap, tap, tap on your useless device You ought to hear my insightful advice. Stop damaging your eyes There's a much bigger prize. Be wholly alive and tough, You'll be dead soon enough.

0

Jul 30, 2015

Jul 30, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC

Takeover of Technology

Tap, tap, tap on your little device Do you wish to hear my insightful advice? Look up, not down Take a walk into town. Throw your phone away, you won't need it today. Appreciate the yellows, greens, and blues Mother Nature won't mind if you use her bed for a snooze. Tap, tap, tap on your useless device You ought to hear my insightful advice. Stop damaging your eyes There's a much bigger prize. Be wholly alive and tough, You'll be dead soon enough.

Continue reading...

Gliding deftly along the city street rolling quick and constantly onward to some unknown scene, some backward park in the nighttime smoke curling from these parted lips, moist and inviting calling me somewhere I've never seen. New day, new night new feelings, rage in delight fill me with your hilarious entropy, knock my quarks into the next century, will you please? Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks like glue, wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected and rendered obsolete Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme Amaterasu, and Imma tell you these ladies in the picnic table buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch Jesus ******* Christ and a indelible roster of good guys, to which we all must strive to live and die behind, never moving forward chasing our tails like a sick dog under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark imported from overseas dead trees dead canine and oh isn't it just divine? You see it, pretty lady. I can see it hiding behind your eyes the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid if they found out, you'd be crucified. Well honey I hate to inform, With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs aint Methuselah, they'll be dead! long before your flood of tears tears me from the land ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat of the eastern seaboard, or maybe wash me deep along the 80 into the desert sands and tiles on a leaky cell phone screen desperately trying to dial home on low battery, realizing all this was one big deferred dream, baking in the sun and shriveling oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose, gotta cut it back to size, 'else your soul it'll outgrow Don't worry honey bee It hasn't happened to me, and We know with calcuable mathematical truth that it'll never happen to you.

0

Jun 26, 2018

Jun 26, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC

Gliding deftly along the city street rolling quick and constantly onward to some unknown scene, some backward park in the nighttime smoke curling from these parted lips, moist and inviting calling me somewhere I've never seen. New day, new night new feelings, rage in delight fill me with your hilarious entropy, knock my quarks into the next century, will you please? Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks like glue, wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected and rendered obsolete Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme Amaterasu, and Imma tell you these ladies in the picnic table buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch Jesus ******* Christ and a indelible roster of good guys, to which we all must strive to live and die behind, never moving forward chasing our tails like a sick dog under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark imported from overseas dead trees dead canine and oh isn't it just divine? You see it, pretty lady. I can see it hiding behind your eyes the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid if they found out, you'd be crucified. Well honey I hate to inform, With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs aint Methuselah, they'll be dead! long before your flood of tears tears me from the land ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat of the eastern seaboard, or maybe wash me deep along the 80 into the desert sands and tiles on a leaky cell phone screen desperately trying to dial home on low battery, realizing all this was one big deferred dream, baking in the sun and shriveling oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose, gotta cut it back to size, 'else your soul it'll outgrow Don't worry honey bee It hasn't happened to me, and We know with calcuable mathematical truth that it'll never happen to you.

Continue reading...

In a world without technology, can you imagine how it would be? To not have any lights. We'll probably stay home at night. In a world without technology, we'll lose forms of connectivity. We'll not have wifi or 3G, distance will be as it should be. However, without technology, We won't have people far away, because we can only walk on foot. Most will live at home for good. Without technology, perhaps there'll be more sincerity, where more people would be seen, not looking at their phone screens. Instead they'll stop and listen, giving undivided attention, to the people by their side. Perhaps without technology, we would have to do things manually. Life may be tough physically. But with technology, is our life really that easy? Is the world really as it should be? Are people living in harmony? Or is there more strife? More people losing their lives? Or is there more pain, more people dying in vain? What about pollution? Isn't it part of our contribution? All the fuels and carbon, it'll soon bring us to extinction. Our earth today is now diseased, life on earth is not at peace. We can deny all this, And this is the utter irony, while it gives us mass connection, It reduces engagement, attention and perhaps even compassion. "Across the globe, millions reported dying", ends up being desensitizing. Technology's connectivity, leaves us more detached than we should be.

0

Oct 18, 2014

Oct 18, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC

esther-pang-hui-min

In a world without technology, can you imagine how it would be? To not have any lights. We'll probably stay home at night. In a world without technology, we'll lose forms of connectivity. We'll not have wifi or 3G, distance will be as it should be. However, without technology, We won't have people far away, because we can only walk on foot. Most will live at home for good. Without technology, perhaps there'll be more sincerity, where more people would be seen, not looking at their phone screens. Instead they'll stop and listen, giving undivided attention, to the people by their side. Perhaps without technology, we would have to do things manually. Life may be tough physically. But with technology, is our life really that easy? Is the world really as it should be? Are people living in harmony? Or is there more strife? More people losing their lives? Or is there more pain, more people dying in vain? What about pollution? Isn't it part of our contribution? All the fuels and carbon, it'll soon bring us to extinction. Our earth today is now diseased, life on earth is not at peace. We can deny all this, And this is the utter irony, while it gives us mass connection, It reduces engagement, attention and perhaps even compassion. "Across the globe, millions reported dying", ends up being desensitizing. Technology's connectivity, leaves us more detached than we should be.

Continue reading...

I don't know how many bottles of beer I have consumed while waiting for things to get better I dont know how much wine and whisky and beer mostly beer I have consumed after splits with women- waiting for the phone to ring waiting for the sound of footsteps, and the phone to ring waiting for the sounds of footsteps, and the phone never rings until much later and the footsteps never arrive until much later when my stomach is coming up out of my mouth they arrive as fresh as spring flowers: "what the hell have you done to yourself? it will be 3 days before you can **** me!" the female is durable she lives seven and one half years longer than the male, and she drinks very little beer because she knows its bad for the figure. while we are going mad they are out dancing and laughing with horney cowboys. well, there's beer sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles and when you pick one up the bottle fall through the wet bottom of the paper sack rolling clanking spilling gray wet ash and stale beer, or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m. in the morning making the only sound in your life. beer rivers and seas of beer the radio singing love songs as the phone remains silent and the walls stand straight up and down and beer is all there is.

0

44.3k

Charles Bukowski

I don't know how many bottles of beer I have consumed while waiting for things to get better I dont know how much wine and whisky and beer mostly beer I have consumed after splits with women- waiting for the phone to ring waiting for the sound of footsteps, and the phone to ring waiting for the sounds of footsteps, and the phone never rings until much later and the footsteps never arrive until much later when my stomach is coming up out of my mouth they arrive as fresh as spring flowers: "what the hell have you done to yourself? it will be 3 days before you can **** me!" the female is durable she lives seven and one half years longer than the male, and she drinks very little beer because she knows its bad for the figure. while we are going mad they are out dancing and laughing with horney cowboys. well, there's beer sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles and when you pick one up the bottle fall through the wet bottom of the paper sack rolling clanking spilling gray wet ash and stale beer, or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m. in the morning making the only sound in your life. beer rivers and seas of beer the radio singing love songs as the phone remains silent and the walls stand straight up and down and beer is all there is.

Continue reading...

Sometimes I get stuck in this state of Darkness where my eyes can see but it's like my head is just pitch black and I almost wish I couldn't see anything, like I wish I could just curl myself into a ball so tightly that I disappear from space for a while sometimes I get stuck in this space and I feel like my tears and my thoughts are climbing up my esophagus and clogging my throat blocking my airway suffocating me from the inside maybe I never told you I was depressed because who wants to relive that moment that choking hazard moment of cotton ***** in my throat maybe I never told you I was depressed because there are no words I can use to describe it that don't transform themselves into their meanings that don't take over my mind crawl through my head like little worms eating away at my brain my thoughts my skin have you ever thought of a traumatic experience and then felt those events happening again felt the dark hole of life-threatening-trauma attack your mind Shiver through your body like it was a demon you let in through a memory- through a word maybe I didn't tell you I was depressed because I wasn't strong enough my depression fills me to the brim fills my head and my chest my arms and my fingers I can feel it moving through my body I can feel it expanding and engulfing everything inside of me every last vein, nerve, ***** and tissue how can you expect me to have the energy to fight how can you expect me to have the energy to pick up the phone to open my mouth how can you expect me to have energy-to have the courage to utter the words of how I feel I feel so worthless in those moments I feel like there's this black whole inside me and it's consuming everything it's taking everything but my skin and it disgusts me can you imagine the feeling, having something so utterly repulsive on your skin you had to scrape it off immediately It felt like you needed to be cleansed like you needed a shower take that feeling now imagine it being under your skin imagine, every muscle ***** vein nerve every cell in your body underneath your epidermis disgusts you imagine all you wanted to do was to GET IT OFF and you can't no matter how hard you try you can't scrape it off you can't claw It off imagine you're scared of spiders now imagine you're covered in spiders and someone's holding down your arms so you can't get them off imagine them walking on your skin in your mouth crawling on your open eyes in your ears you're cringing at your own skin You can feel them going down your throat Their disgusting tickle in the pit of your stomach in every crevice of your body their tunneling under your skin and you can't get them off what are you supposed to do but cry

0

Jul 16, 2018

Jul 16, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC

Maybe there's a reason I never told you.

Sometimes I get stuck in this state of Darkness where my eyes can see but it's like my head is just pitch black and I almost wish I couldn't see anything, like I wish I could just curl myself into a ball so tightly that I disappear from space for a while sometimes I get stuck in this space and I feel like my tears and my thoughts are climbing up my esophagus and clogging my throat blocking my airway suffocating me from the inside maybe I never told you I was depressed because who wants to relive that moment that choking hazard moment of cotton ***** in my throat maybe I never told you I was depressed because there are no words I can use to describe it that don't transform themselves into their meanings that don't take over my mind crawl through my head like little worms eating away at my brain my thoughts my skin have you ever thought of a traumatic experience and then felt those events happening again felt the dark hole of life-threatening-trauma attack your mind Shiver through your body like it was a demon you let in through a memory- through a word maybe I didn't tell you I was depressed because I wasn't strong enough my depression fills me to the brim fills my head and my chest my arms and my fingers I can feel it moving through my body I can feel it expanding and engulfing everything inside of me every last vein, nerve, ***** and tissue how can you expect me to have the energy to fight how can you expect me to have the energy to pick up the phone to open my mouth how can you expect me to have energy-to have the courage to utter the words of how I feel I feel so worthless in those moments I feel like there's this black whole inside me and it's consuming everything it's taking everything but my skin and it disgusts me can you imagine the feeling, having something so utterly repulsive on your skin you had to scrape it off immediately It felt like you needed to be cleansed like you needed a shower take that feeling now imagine it being under your skin imagine, every muscle ***** vein nerve every cell in your body underneath your epidermis disgusts you imagine all you wanted to do was to GET IT OFF and you can't no matter how hard you try you can't scrape it off you can't claw It off imagine you're scared of spiders now imagine you're covered in spiders and someone's holding down your arms so you can't get them off imagine them walking on your skin in your mouth crawling on your open eyes in your ears you're cringing at your own skin You can feel them going down your throat Their disgusting tickle in the pit of your stomach in every crevice of your body their tunneling under your skin and you can't get them off what are you supposed to do but cry

Continue reading...

Seriously?! I'm a **** Wait. No you're not. Hold on. I can't find... I can't find my ******* Help me look. blankets flung. nothing. You're... you're laughing right now? How could you not? Can you see that we're standing in a giant pond of ridiculosity. a glasses lense popped out. hair a nest of invisible rodents. his belt all askew worried face pursed lips. shirt tails- a crumpled facade of the pressed summer evening shadows outlined behind the lawn sprinklers from the night before. and in the cab to work phone almost dies. 37 degree damp heat pressing against the car like a monroe-type kitten from the 50s. the morning world bustling awake the driver asks 'you work this afternoon?' shake my head 'no' slowly working the knots out of my hair brace for the last day. And I'm still missing my underwear.

0

Jun 20, 2012

Jun 20, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC

Seriously?! I'm a **** Wait. No you're not. Hold on. I can't find... I can't find my ******* Help me look. blankets flung. nothing. You're... you're laughing right now? How could you not? Can you see that we're standing in a giant pond of ridiculosity. a glasses lense popped out. hair a nest of invisible rodents. his belt all askew worried face pursed lips. shirt tails- a crumpled facade of the pressed summer evening shadows outlined behind the lawn sprinklers from the night before. and in the cab to work phone almost dies. 37 degree damp heat pressing against the car like a monroe-type kitten from the 50s. the morning world bustling awake the driver asks 'you work this afternoon?' shake my head 'no' slowly working the knots out of my hair brace for the last day. And I'm still missing my underwear.

Continue reading...

Waiting for a phone call, Waiting for a text message, Waiting for a visit, Waiting for a time, When I no longer have to wait.

0

Jan 14, 2015

Jan 14, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC

Waiting for a phone call, Waiting for a text message, Waiting for a visit, Waiting for a time, When I no longer have to wait.

Continue reading...

If there was one word One word, isolated by itself That I cannot stand above all others It would have to be "Okay" I despise "Okay" "Okay" Is how your millionth day at work went "Okay" Is off-brand raisin bran "Okay" Is how you say life is going When you don't want to admit you spend Every second of it Wanting to die "Okay" Is packed to the brim with Hidden implications Like a treasure chest Filled with bottles With little subliminal hatreds Written on tiny slips of paper Passively aggressively pushed inside To discover later As I pull out a treasure map And try to decipher Where I went wrong "Okay" Is a one word dismissal That feels like an essay a thousand pages long "Okay" Is a poison dripping with disinterest When I dared to share with you Something I thought might make you smile "Okay" Is like trying to talk to a wall While watching the paint on it dry "Okay" Takes two seconds to write Yet I waited days For that dreaded word To grace my notifications "Okay" Should be used sparingly As if each time you send it You **** the receiver just a little bit "Okay" Should not be said so often that I know what you're about to say Like I saw it in a crystal ball "Okay" Is not looking up from your phone When I tell you about my day "Okay" Is not the proper response To "I love you" They say that the opposite of love isn't hatred It's indifference And I can't think of a response More indifferent to pouring out My heart into your hands Than "Okay" At least the last thing you said to me Before we parted ways Showed that you cared At least a little bit "I hate you" Stung less Than the thousands of times Over our countless conversations You responded "Okay" Okay?

0

Aug 2, 2018

Aug 2, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC

If there was one word One word, isolated by itself That I cannot stand above all others It would have to be "Okay" I despise "Okay" "Okay" Is how your millionth day at work went "Okay" Is off-brand raisin bran "Okay" Is how you say life is going When you don't want to admit you spend Every second of it Wanting to die "Okay" Is packed to the brim with Hidden implications Like a treasure chest Filled with bottles With little subliminal hatreds Written on tiny slips of paper Passively aggressively pushed inside To discover later As I pull out a treasure map And try to decipher Where I went wrong "Okay" Is a one word dismissal That feels like an essay a thousand pages long "Okay" Is a poison dripping with disinterest When I dared to share with you Something I thought might make you smile "Okay" Is like trying to talk to a wall While watching the paint on it dry "Okay" Takes two seconds to write Yet I waited days For that dreaded word To grace my notifications "Okay" Should be used sparingly As if each time you send it You **** the receiver just a little bit "Okay" Should not be said so often that I know what you're about to say Like I saw it in a crystal ball "Okay" Is not looking up from your phone When I tell you about my day "Okay" Is not the proper response To "I love you" They say that the opposite of love isn't hatred It's indifference And I can't think of a response More indifferent to pouring out My heart into your hands Than "Okay" At least the last thing you said to me Before we parted ways Showed that you cared At least a little bit "I hate you" Stung less Than the thousands of times Over our countless conversations You responded "Okay" Okay?

Continue reading...

its been moments since I thought about you in any capacity minutes since I remembered some portion of our story hours since I felt anger days since I tried to pick up my phone weeks since I last contacted you months since we last touched. its been months since you crushed me weeks since I put on the brave face days since I longed for you hours since I spoke of you minutes of starring into a blank screen silently pleading moments before all this is behind me again. It’ll be Moments of weakness when I think about “us” Minutes of silent cursing while you run through my mind Hours of rationalizing before I let it go Days of depression I know Weeks of emotions crammed into a few minutes Months of self doubt and insanity Soon it’ll be years But I’ll always have the tears.

0

Feb 25, 2010

Feb 25, 2010 at 10:25 PM UTC

benjamin-valenzuela

its been moments since I thought about you in any capacity minutes since I remembered some portion of our story hours since I felt anger days since I tried to pick up my phone weeks since I last contacted you months since we last touched. its been months since you crushed me weeks since I put on the brave face days since I longed for you hours since I spoke of you minutes of starring into a blank screen silently pleading moments before all this is behind me again. It’ll be Moments of weakness when I think about “us” Minutes of silent cursing while you run through my mind Hours of rationalizing before I let it go Days of depression I know Weeks of emotions crammed into a few minutes Months of self doubt and insanity Soon it’ll be years But I’ll always have the tears.

Continue reading...

Ano ba? Nakakatawa! Ano ba? Nakakainis na! Ano nga ba tayong dalawa? Nalilito na ako sa kung ano nga ba Ano nga bang ang kaibigan? Hay nako, aakbay-akbay na... Ano ba ang iyong mga ginagawa? Ano nga ba ang aking ginagawa? Ano nga ba ang mga kalokohan nating dalawa? Mas maganda na hindi na lang tayo nag-usap. Mas ginusto kong nakikita na lang kita palagi, Gusto kong masaya ako na walang masama sa huli Mas ginusto kong makita ka na lang sa maskara mo, Sa maskarang **** bawal tanggalin. Kaibigan mo nga ba talaga ako...? O laro at loko-lokohan lamang? Oo, itinuring kitang kaibigan dati, Oo, kaibigan nga ang ngalan ko sa’yo. Hindi ko napapansin ang puso kong Nahuhulog na lang bigla sa ating mga ginagawa. May mga kaibigan kang babae? Akala ko ba ako lang. Hahaha. O ano? Nagseselos ka na? Gusto kong kasama ka, Mag-isa lang tayong dalawa. Tahimik pero maraming kalokohan. Ano ba tayo? Laging yun ang tanong. Isang tagahanga lang ba ako sa aking idolo? Isa ba akong kaibigan na kinaiinisan mo. Minsan mas magandang mag-isa sa malayo. Yung hindi ka nakikita pero naaalala... Oo, malungkot. Wala namang taong naging permanente. Pero ang mga bakas nila sa aking puso, Nakabakat parin, dinadaluyan ng aking mga luha. Baka bukas, hindi na ito maging normal. Kasi baka sa susunod na mga araw, Iba na ang depinisyon ng masaya. Masaya akong nakasama rin kita, aking mahal na kaibigan. Napapaibig ako pero ang mata ko’y nakamulat pa. Kasi alam kong hindi ngayon. Anim na taon na ika’y mas nakatatanda. Pero kalokohan nating dalawa ay pambata. Minsa’y hindi mo na maiintindihan pa. Oo, sumosobra na rin ako, noon pa. Ano ba ako sa’yo? Kasi kaibigan ka sakin. Ano ba ako sa’yo? Iyong tagahanga lamang ba? Oo, mas ginusto ko pang hindi lang kaibigan, Pero mas ginusto mo ata akong kausap mo lang. Gulong-gulo na ang isipan ko. Sino nga ba ako sa'yo? Nakakainis na lang minsang hindi ko mapigilan, Ikaw. Ikaw. Ikaw. Puro ikaw. Mga litrato mo, nasa phone ko. Puro ikaw. Pero nakakapagod na magmahal... Ng mga taong hindi mapapasa'yo. Ano ba! Ano ba!? Ano ba!?

0

Apr 2, 2018

Apr 2, 2018 at 7:58 AM UTC

Ano ba? Nakakatawa! Ano ba? Nakakainis na! Ano nga ba tayong dalawa? Nalilito na ako sa kung ano nga ba Ano nga bang ang kaibigan? Hay nako, aakbay-akbay na... Ano ba ang iyong mga ginagawa? Ano nga ba ang aking ginagawa? Ano nga ba ang mga kalokohan nating dalawa? Mas maganda na hindi na lang tayo nag-usap. Mas ginusto kong nakikita na lang kita palagi, Gusto kong masaya ako na walang masama sa huli Mas ginusto kong makita ka na lang sa maskara mo, Sa maskarang **** bawal tanggalin. Kaibigan mo nga ba talaga ako...? O laro at loko-lokohan lamang? Oo, itinuring kitang kaibigan dati, Oo, kaibigan nga ang ngalan ko sa’yo. Hindi ko napapansin ang puso kong Nahuhulog na lang bigla sa ating mga ginagawa. May mga kaibigan kang babae? Akala ko ba ako lang. Hahaha. O ano? Nagseselos ka na? Gusto kong kasama ka, Mag-isa lang tayong dalawa. Tahimik pero maraming kalokohan. Ano ba tayo? Laging yun ang tanong. Isang tagahanga lang ba ako sa aking idolo? Isa ba akong kaibigan na kinaiinisan mo. Minsan mas magandang mag-isa sa malayo. Yung hindi ka nakikita pero naaalala... Oo, malungkot. Wala namang taong naging permanente. Pero ang mga bakas nila sa aking puso, Nakabakat parin, dinadaluyan ng aking mga luha. Baka bukas, hindi na ito maging normal. Kasi baka sa susunod na mga araw, Iba na ang depinisyon ng masaya. Masaya akong nakasama rin kita, aking mahal na kaibigan. Napapaibig ako pero ang mata ko’y nakamulat pa. Kasi alam kong hindi ngayon. Anim na taon na ika’y mas nakatatanda. Pero kalokohan nating dalawa ay pambata. Minsa’y hindi mo na maiintindihan pa. Oo, sumosobra na rin ako, noon pa. Ano ba ako sa’yo? Kasi kaibigan ka sakin. Ano ba ako sa’yo? Iyong tagahanga lamang ba? Oo, mas ginusto ko pang hindi lang kaibigan, Pero mas ginusto mo ata akong kausap mo lang. Gulong-gulo na ang isipan ko. Sino nga ba ako sa'yo? Nakakainis na lang minsang hindi ko mapigilan, Ikaw. Ikaw. Ikaw. Puro ikaw. Mga litrato mo, nasa phone ko. Puro ikaw. Pero nakakapagod na magmahal... Ng mga taong hindi mapapasa'yo. Ano ba! Ano ba!? Ano ba!?

Continue reading...

the darkness swallowing the light, the walls coming close, the eerie sounds filling the room. the sweat running down his forehead, the sun nowhere to be seen. the loneliness, creeping in. and grabbing your neck, from behind. the pitch black soul, losing everything. his eyes slowly blurring as everythings starts to fade. and then… he drops. unknowingly controlling every single movement. and making everything go wrong. the body is slowly dying as the human brain gives up. and the fear ***** in your soul. the body hitting the floor, with the dead phone clutched tightly in his hand, the face pale and filled with darkness.

0

Oct 25, 2018

Oct 25, 2018 at 10:27 AM UTC

❝ DARKNESS ❞

the darkness swallowing the light, the walls coming close, the eerie sounds filling the room. the sweat running down his forehead, the sun nowhere to be seen. the loneliness, creeping in. and grabbing your neck, from behind. the pitch black soul, losing everything. his eyes slowly blurring as everythings starts to fade. and then… he drops. unknowingly controlling every single movement. and making everything go wrong. the body is slowly dying as the human brain gives up. and the fear ***** in your soul. the body hitting the floor, with the dead phone clutched tightly in his hand, the face pale and filled with darkness.

Continue reading...

Is it me The reason why i may not be good enough Am I too given Did I love you too much This life I'm in doesn't seem worth living Your phone rings and she answers The reason why I may not be good enough Just a thought

0

Jun 19, 2014

Jun 19, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC

not good enough

Is it me The reason why i may not be good enough Am I too given Did I love you too much This life I'm in doesn't seem worth living Your phone rings and she answers The reason why I may not be good enough Just a thought

Continue reading...

out of the arm of one love and into the arms of another I have been saved from dying on the cross by a lady who smokes *** writes songs and stories and is much kinder than the last, much much kinder, and the *** is just as good or better. it isn't pleasant to be put on the cross and left there, it is much more pleasant to forget a love which didn't work as all love finally doesn't work ... it is much more pleasant to make love along the shore in Del Mar in room 42, and afterwards sitting up in bed drinking good wine, talking and touching smoking listening to the waves ... I have died too many times believing and waiting, waiting in a room staring at a cracked ceiling wating for the phone, a letter, a knock, a sound ... going wild inside while she danced with strangers in nightclubs ... out of the arms of one love and into the arms of another it's not pleasant to die on the cross, it is much more pleasant to hear your name whispered in the dark.

0

30.1k

Charles Bukowski

Out Of The Arm Of One Love...

out of the arm of one love and into the arms of another I have been saved from dying on the cross by a lady who smokes *** writes songs and stories and is much kinder than the last, much much kinder, and the *** is just as good or better. it isn't pleasant to be put on the cross and left there, it is much more pleasant to forget a love which didn't work as all love finally doesn't work ... it is much more pleasant to make love along the shore in Del Mar in room 42, and afterwards sitting up in bed drinking good wine, talking and touching smoking listening to the waves ... I have died too many times believing and waiting, waiting in a room staring at a cracked ceiling wating for the phone, a letter, a knock, a sound ... going wild inside while she danced with strangers in nightclubs ... out of the arms of one love and into the arms of another it's not pleasant to die on the cross, it is much more pleasant to hear your name whispered in the dark.

Continue reading...

We want to see ourselves see ourselves because we're afraid that nobody else will ever want to capture us in a camera flash- so we take our own pictures. Click. Our front camera becomes the one minute we had hoped our fathers had for us when he wasn't busy on that same phone, speaking, not clicking. Without us. Or it becomes the one minute we had hoped that our lovers would hold us before they settled on to someone with more likes, more comments, more friends, more happiness... than we could ever wait for. We are impatient like the frequency of data on our profiles: here are our feelings now... here are our feelings again, five minutes later, performing for social algorithms in place of photographers besides ourselves who see ourselves. But our ignited pixels, and overstuffed inboxes, and masturbatory statuses, and glittering timelines, and social everything- are popularity contests that all of us are losing. Yet still we want to see ourselves see ourselves even though we are afraid of what we know is true... ...Because what difference is a poem to a tweet besides the number of characters that we wish we had to populate our own stories? Please let us be different, just like everyone else.

0

Sep 20, 2014

Sep 20, 2014 at 3:42 PM UTC

We want to see ourselves see ourselves because we're afraid that nobody else will ever want to capture us in a camera flash- so we take our own pictures. Click. Our front camera becomes the one minute we had hoped our fathers had for us when he wasn't busy on that same phone, speaking, not clicking. Without us. Or it becomes the one minute we had hoped that our lovers would hold us before they settled on to someone with more likes, more comments, more friends, more happiness... than we could ever wait for. We are impatient like the frequency of data on our profiles: here are our feelings now... here are our feelings again, five minutes later, performing for social algorithms in place of photographers besides ourselves who see ourselves. But our ignited pixels, and overstuffed inboxes, and masturbatory statuses, and glittering timelines, and social everything- are popularity contests that all of us are losing. Yet still we want to see ourselves see ourselves even though we are afraid of what we know is true... ...Because what difference is a poem to a tweet besides the number of characters that we wish we had to populate our own stories? Please let us be different, just like everyone else.

Continue reading...

I Don't Average Out I remember crying during lunch my senior year — my math teacher's eyebrows colliding, one plane folding into a fractal. He had sat there, nearly four years, watching me struggle through an unreal number of numbers — literally and figuratively — while again and again the test scores whispered: You are less than average. But behind the eyes of a determined man my insecurities never won. He refused to believe the numbers. He was searching for some unspoken meaning — and so was I. I almost found it the day of graduation. I almost found it between his eyebrows, creased like a point of pride — because I was the first of my family to hold something as light as a diploma instead of a heavy head, nodding under the weight of ****** The first to feel like a feather instead of a six-pack, a bad back, the slow grind of manual labor. I was flying. Then college tried to land me. Again I let an institution measure me. Test scores trying to tell me what I was worth — intelligence reduced to something too narrow to understand its own diversity. Less than average, they said. But I wasn't below the line — I was just outside it. An individual above their point of comparison. I could read a room like a text. I could build connection out of nothing. I could debate, move, make people feel something. Gold doesn't average out either. So I learned — it wasn't the diploma I should have chased. Not the thing I'd wave at my little brothers and sisters to show them how to live better, burn brighter, burn longer. Here I am. Red-faced and unafraid. Spoken word was always there — hiding between the creases of my teacher's brow, folded into the question I didn't know I was asking. The answer was never in his book. It was in his look. In his refusal to quit on me. I could have found it sooner if I'd known what I was searching for. I am not stupid. I haven't failed by choosing something the institution doesn't recognize. I am not defined by a score, a line, a rule, a rhyme. I don't average out — and that is not a weakness. Power isn't in a piece of paper. Power is in your words. In your chosen behavior. In the silence you finally break. The answer was never in his textbook — it was in his persistence. In the way he looked at me like the numbers were wrong. He just didn't have the words to say it. But I do.

0

Oct 30, 2013

Oct 30, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC

I Don't Average Out

I Don't Average Out I remember crying during lunch my senior year — my math teacher's eyebrows colliding, one plane folding into a fractal. He had sat there, nearly four years, watching me struggle through an unreal number of numbers — literally and figuratively — while again and again the test scores whispered: You are less than average. But behind the eyes of a determined man my insecurities never won. He refused to believe the numbers. He was searching for some unspoken meaning — and so was I. I almost found it the day of graduation. I almost found it between his eyebrows, creased like a point of pride — because I was the first of my family to hold something as light as a diploma instead of a heavy head, nodding under the weight of ****** The first to feel like a feather instead of a six-pack, a bad back, the slow grind of manual labor. I was flying. Then college tried to land me. Again I let an institution measure me. Test scores trying to tell me what I was worth — intelligence reduced to something too narrow to understand its own diversity. Less than average, they said. But I wasn't below the line — I was just outside it. An individual above their point of comparison. I could read a room like a text. I could build connection out of nothing. I could debate, move, make people feel something. Gold doesn't average out either. So I learned — it wasn't the diploma I should have chased. Not the thing I'd wave at my little brothers and sisters to show them how to live better, burn brighter, burn longer. Here I am. Red-faced and unafraid. Spoken word was always there — hiding between the creases of my teacher's brow, folded into the question I didn't know I was asking. The answer was never in his book. It was in his look. In his refusal to quit on me. I could have found it sooner if I'd known what I was searching for. I am not stupid. I haven't failed by choosing something the institution doesn't recognize. I am not defined by a score, a line, a rule, a rhyme. I don't average out — and that is not a weakness. Power isn't in a piece of paper. Power is in your words. In your chosen behavior. In the silence you finally break. The answer was never in his textbook — it was in his persistence. In the way he looked at me like the numbers were wrong. He just didn't have the words to say it. But I do.

Continue reading...

lady craighead played the blues on a stand-up samick in the ***** room along side the parsons project and squabbling dogs and night moves stairs creek up the mezzanine trek wool sheets slide on finished floors little angels play late into the seventh (a closing match nearing the midnight hour) croaking toads and cicada sing in the blue moon musty smells and mothballs settle deep in the vault the kettle boils and cat coils as the pump house rolls its heavy drawl the red phone rings and bird clock sings (behind the ruddy stall) a sleeman variation of the ruy lopez employed heartily by the incomparable master jack marble toast burning wringer wash churning chris craft running near the old carp canoe rooster calls and west wind squalls rustle through the porch screen door chicken *** pies and rogue flies linger a rocker chair placed near the sepia face (softened by the intricate frame) donkey in tow (with a fastened *** maggie in her dreams of green tambourines the nocturnes reflections and whispering gospel bells tractors pull on the grinder stone horses lay still in the mid-day sun a trump card is fingered at the furnace click (crosswords and puzzles are next!) while the sparrow *and that **** rabid fox* are drowning deep in castles well

0

Mar 14, 2017

Mar 14, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC

Mulholland Lane

lady craighead played the blues on a stand-up samick in the ***** room along side the parsons project and squabbling dogs and night moves stairs creek up the mezzanine trek wool sheets slide on finished floors little angels play late into the seventh (a closing match nearing the midnight hour) croaking toads and cicada sing in the blue moon musty smells and mothballs settle deep in the vault the kettle boils and cat coils as the pump house rolls its heavy drawl the red phone rings and bird clock sings (behind the ruddy stall) a sleeman variation of the ruy lopez employed heartily by the incomparable master jack marble toast burning wringer wash churning chris craft running near the old carp canoe rooster calls and west wind squalls rustle through the porch screen door chicken *** pies and rogue flies linger a rocker chair placed near the sepia face (softened by the intricate frame) donkey in tow (with a fastened *** maggie in her dreams of green tambourines the nocturnes reflections and whispering gospel bells tractors pull on the grinder stone horses lay still in the mid-day sun a trump card is fingered at the furnace click (crosswords and puzzles are next!) while the sparrow *and that **** rabid fox* are drowning deep in castles well

Continue reading...

I love talking to you, Standing close to your heart, Hearing you breathing, and the sound of your voice. Not needing a piece of technology To express my feelings for you A phone could never do that anyway.

0

Aug 15, 2011

Aug 15, 2011 at 6:02 PM UTC

Useless Technology

I love talking to you, Standing close to your heart, Hearing you breathing, and the sound of your voice. Not needing a piece of technology To express my feelings for you A phone could never do that anyway.

Continue reading...

You miss a meal, Then it turns to two, A day passes, And no one notices you. Craving nutrition, There goes a week, Those many hours, Longing for something to eat. Using the same excuse, "I'm not hungry, I just ate," The numbers keep dropping, Was sixty-three, now fifty-eight. You can't go back, People are noticing you, They say you should eat, and you say, "You have something better to do." It's harder than you think, Just leave me alone! Stop telling me to eat and drink! If I need you, I can find my phone.

0

Jul 19, 2018

Jul 19, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC

You miss a meal, Then it turns to two, A day passes, And no one notices you. Craving nutrition, There goes a week, Those many hours, Longing for something to eat. Using the same excuse, "I'm not hungry, I just ate," The numbers keep dropping, Was sixty-three, now fifty-eight. You can't go back, People are noticing you, They say you should eat, and you say, "You have something better to do." It's harder than you think, Just leave me alone! Stop telling me to eat and drink! If I need you, I can find my phone.

Continue reading...

Sometimes I find myself wishing my cell phone wasn't my alarm clock, and that I didn't have a class in the morning. That the screen go black for a few, uninterrupted, hours and have the peace of mind that being away from you would give me.

0

Mar 31, 2013

Mar 31, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC

Sometimes I find myself wishing my cell phone wasn't my alarm clock, and that I didn't have a class in the morning. That the screen go black for a few, uninterrupted, hours and have the peace of mind that being away from you would give me.

Continue reading...

Despite the screaming in my head, The tears in my eyes "I'm fine..." Is what I said "I'll be there in a few minutes..." Then I put down the phone And ran into the street My suicide "An accident" they'll say The perfect plan. The average person lies four times a day, The most common lie is "I'm fine" I nvisible ' M arred F ucked I nsecure N uerotic E mpty

0

May 12, 2018

May 12, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC

Despite the screaming in my head, The tears in my eyes "I'm fine..." Is what I said "I'll be there in a few minutes..." Then I put down the phone And ran into the street My suicide "An accident" they'll say The perfect plan. The average person lies four times a day, The most common lie is "I'm fine" I nvisible ' M arred F ucked I nsecure N uerotic E mpty

Continue reading...

I never knew what beauty was until I saw him With every imperfection, With every stumble, and with every stutter, My heart knocks hard inside my chest Trying to escape Hoping to be captured by his warm, calloused fingers. And you don't even know who I am That day you bumped into me I dropped all my books You helped me pick them up And I got to look into your eyes They were a lovely color Not even Picasso could recreate And you still don't even know who I am We bumped into one another again at a party You slurred apologies and "excuse me's" And I laughed it off Trying to Ignore the fact that your hand was creeping on my waist Your fingertips igniting sparks in my skin You held your deep gaze with your Picasso-colored eyes And dragged me into a room tripping over nothing I thought you finally knew who I was The next day at school you bumped into me again You had dropped my phone This time you didn't pick it up And you walked away without a second glance or apology And you still don't even know who I am

0

Jun 15, 2014

Jun 15, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC

I never knew what beauty was until I saw him With every imperfection, With every stumble, and with every stutter, My heart knocks hard inside my chest Trying to escape Hoping to be captured by his warm, calloused fingers. And you don't even know who I am That day you bumped into me I dropped all my books You helped me pick them up And I got to look into your eyes They were a lovely color Not even Picasso could recreate And you still don't even know who I am We bumped into one another again at a party You slurred apologies and "excuse me's" And I laughed it off Trying to Ignore the fact that your hand was creeping on my waist Your fingertips igniting sparks in my skin You held your deep gaze with your Picasso-colored eyes And dragged me into a room tripping over nothing I thought you finally knew who I was The next day at school you bumped into me again You had dropped my phone This time you didn't pick it up And you walked away without a second glance or apology And you still don't even know who I am

Continue reading...