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laura May 2017
I see him drive around on his orange scooter
carrying boxes of pizza to various people
he must see a lot, got the tan skin and hangs
with pretty women. The best of both worlds
Ayeglasses May 2013
My heart is calm.
In the centre of your palm.
You don't even know it yet.
But I bet.
I'll mess it up somehow.
Don't blame me, please.
The opportunity I will seize.
I think the good outweighs the bad.
David Adamson Feb 17
The place smells the same. Garlic, undergraduate angst, oven flame.  The menu hasn’t changed. The Antony and Cleopatra.  Italian sausage and snake meat. The Macbeth. Cooked in a cauldron.  Blood sauce won’t wash off. The Julius Caesar.  Served bottom side up.  You have to knife it from the back. The Timon of Athens. Only bitter, separate ingredients, overcooked to black. The Frankenstein.  Assembled from ingredients at hand.  Served smoking from a jolt of high voltage. The Dramatic Irony. It’s a surprise.  Everyone at your table knows what you’re getting while you cover your eyes.

You said tragedy means playing out a ****** hand. The game has to end badly. Bigger Thomas. Joe Christmas.  Hamlet.  Everybody dies.  No choices. The end. I said, no, it means you have a fatal flaw.  Macbeth and Ted Kennedy—ruthless ambition.  Gatsby—pride. Lear—vanity. Richard Nixon—douchebaggery, deep-fried. Bad choices.  

“Can’t be both,” you said.  “One is character, the other one’s fate.” “What if character is fate?” I asked smugly. “Then we’re *******, Heraclitus. It’s late.”

I smoked a pipe.  You wore a beret and severely bobbed hair. I wrote sarcastic love letters to the universe. You wrote hate lyrics to Ted Hughes, love notes to Jane Eyre. We kept relations on an intellectual plane. You had a set of big firm ideas, dark-eyed principles, and a dimpled scorn of life’s surly crap. My eloquence was tall, square-jawed, curly, tan.  Together we solved the world’s big problems as only undergraduates can.

“Can pizza be tragic; or is it merely postponed farce?” I wondered. “Here it is clearly both, though not at the same time,” you said. “Does tragedy plus time equal comedy?” “Sounds right.” “No, tragedy plus time is any order in this place on a Saturday night.” After what seems like decades our orders finally arrive.  

“What did you get?” I asked.  “Looks like the Double Tragic,” you replied. “Flawed choices and fate. I leave you. You were unfaithful to every love sonnet you ever wrote.  Yet you are the first man who makes me feel loved, the only one who ever will.  I strain for that feeling again and again but it becomes a boulder that keeps rolling back down the hill. And fate—my beautiful ******* that got so much attention from men will **** me.  The only thing they will ever nurse is a cancerous seed. You?”

“The Too-Many-Choices, done to perfection. Choosing everything means choosing nothing. Loving too many women, I love none.  I follow a simple path home but try to stay lost. Living in the space between lost and found has a cost.  My life becomes a solitary pilgrimage to no place.”

“Let’s not reduce our lives to a Harry Chapin song,” we agreed. So we toasted the beauty of what never was. I went back to my hotel to write, found my way to a few easy truths, and called it a night.
yosemite Oct 2018
i'll never see her again
rebecca a. from brazil
met her in massachusetts
on a quaint college campus
in autumn's ******

we went out for pizza
and the few hours we had
felt like days
liquifying to years
spilling over the ****** leaves
of ancient oaks

and i fell in love,
instantly
with the beauty of her mind
and the intelligence of her face
and i loved her with the inevitability of
autumn to winter to spring forever

her eyes were pizza crust brown
but she didn't like that comparison
so we ate and laughed

she had basil in her parmigiano-reggiano teeth
and i'd give the world to kiss those
mozzarella lips

but the next day she flew to chicago
and i to dallas
but the time we spent in antonio's pizza by the slice
felt like forever
and forever ago
and now margherita will
never be the same,
rebecca a.
oh the things i'd do for just one more slice // also this isn't serious at all but plz text me back
soft sun Jan 2017
High on wheat and cheese
more, more, we always want more
my stomach hurts but I'm happy
and gross
my toes are covered in dirt
tucked beneath my comforter
it could be worse
ollie Dec 2017
I watched this man in an assembly a few days ago
I pity this man because he's from this group called Teen Truth
But it's Teen Lies because they've got the reason kids say their goodbyes all wrong
The man said that statistics were inaccurate: 99% of kids have been bullied or are bullies
So you think he'd understand most of those kids have adapted to this society
I wish this guy could see he's wrong and he's spreading lies like a Teen Idle
Because everyone knows the song goes "feeling super super super suicidal"
And for most of us, it ain't severe so it's crystal clear it's because of the men who make assumptions about us muffins tryna turn us soft, softer than we already are, so they leave us in the oven for 7 minutes instead of 9
The truth is it isn't because of our iPhones
We're not wanting to die just because it's cool
But really I'll tell you a secret:
My friend shouldn't have to ask if it was on purpose or on accident when I said I cut myself
I shouldn't have to clarify or reassure him it was because of my clumsiness and not my courage
But here we are, your invincible teenagers, falling falling falling down until we're going going going gone
It is because we know that the economy is ******* and we'll never be able to do what we want to do
It's because when I got bullied, I sure as hell was not going to **** myself because of it
I was going to **** myself because I had dreams where I retaliated
I was going to **** myself because I was taking down those people, those people I'd be allied with and probably forget about years later
I was going to **** myself because everyone else was, for the reasons they were
And even for petty reasons like, "If I die today, I never have to feel sick ever again."
And because I felt like **** when I couldn't get out of bed
And maybe because there's people out there like my dad who probably want to but would never tell me
And because my mom threatened to sell me when I was younger
And now I'm done with her because I only have to live for another five years before I find myself on the streets
Covered in cuts I did not make on purpose
Maybe I'd be yelling poetry on the street corner or maybe I'll have that apartment in New York
Maybe I'll be in love with someone
Maybe I never will be and maybe someday, I will see everything the pizza delivery man sees, like I do every single day with every single person, and I will tell him "Thinking about her will only make it worse."
And then I will give him a tip, take the pizza, and be on my way never to think of him again
And maybe he'll never know when he'll forget me because I'm the reason it got better
Because that pizza man was my age I remembered how it felt to not get out of bed and us kids, we have to stick together
That's all we're ever going to be, yeah, sickly kids remembering math tests and other countries threatening to destroy our own
A man in charge with orange skin, bad hair, a temper and a refusal to learn the word consent in front of women
So if I live that long I sure as hell hope a pizza man is waiting because I'm gonna tell him that if it's what he needs to hear
I guess I'll always be here, in a room without much light, and god I gotta tell you I'll keep writing poetry, unfortunately
Because you don't want to read it but you have to
I know I'm different but in the ways we feel I am exactly the same
And because of this half-hearted explanation, I assure you
I didn't cut myself on purpose
Not quite yet
“Get back to wherever you were, because it gets better, and we're all broken, and **** you've got your own **** to do, I assure you, the world really is just waiting for you to shine.”
**** so this is later but this poem actually resulted in a two hour meeting with my school who FOUND IT. they don’t seem to understand creative liberty, but **** them, honestly. just because i said i doesn’t mean it specifically happened to me - it means i’m capable of empathy and it’s happened to multiple teens. no i’m not suicidal anymore. yes i used to be. and that’s why you need to pay more attention - if i were going to **** myself it would’ve happened before i started writing poetry.
Andrew May 2017
Pizza is my life
I started out as dough with doughy eyes
Mother picks me up
Mother molds me
After no time at all I'm sent down the line
Toppings...
Things other people want but I get
By the end the toppings are as important as the dough
Sometimes I wonder if there was any dough to begin with
Because the foundation is changed so much by the fires of the oven
The chaos makes me steam, bubble, and boil
Once I simmer down I'm recognizable as what I should be but not what I once was
Now that I'm developed it's time to be delivered into the world
And find my own home
But what will I find when I get there?
Will it be love?
Or will I be ate up and shat out?
Or is there a difference?
Left Foot Poet Apr 2018
man (?)
the tomatoes?  

patty m.,
a grievous error thy commissioned

tomatoes are the quintessential feminine fruit
red juicy, round, curvy, sweet
with a flavor at once the same,
yet never again always different, diffident,
asized, and blonde or red, never contrived

without it,
would pizza be pizza?
without it,
would **** ***** love,
be merely a good salad

or a poem

ever be the same?

“me love tomatoes”
cookie monster
Fresh out of the oven!
It tastes so good when it comes out so fresh.
Just a little bit of seasoning,
And it will be tasting so good!

It is the besta pizza in the world!
Come on down and taste the besta pizza in the world right here!

You look so tasty,
You look so **** tasty.
I want to put you in my mouth,
Because you look so tasty!
You look so ******* tasty!

I lift you carefully up to my quivering lip.
Water cracks through my concealed ravinous face.
I wrap my mouth around you,
and bite into an explosion of flavor!
It is the besta pizza!
Come get it while it is hot!

I like to play dominoes on pizza,
it is the besta.
It gives it so much more flavor.
Look out for cheese pizza
Anastasia Feb 2018
Marinara is my favourite kind of pizza.
I mean, I can’t really have any others...
Yes, I am one of those ‘annoying vegans’
But I also don’t like the non-dairy cheeses.

I used to order the gluten-free version.
So, I guess I am even more annoying.
However, the dough was so dry and weird
I just could never enjoy it.

I’ve tolerated it though for maybe 4 times.
But seriously, it was quite nasty.
So, please, just get the normal Marinara,
Unless you've got celiac disease.

In which case,
I'm sorry,
You gotta have to get the gross pizza.
Laura Aug 2018
Minnehaha Park is hot in the summer
Even by the water
Who knew it would be so hot
Even down by the water?
But all of it is hot

And there are acorns everywhere
Scattered on the ground
Below our butts as we try to sit
And have a little picnic
On a brightly checkered blanket
Between two tall trees
That tower above us
And grant us shade
While pelting acorns down
Into our cheese and crackers

And fancy rosé wine
Whatever that means
I thought wine was wine
But I guess they have personalities
Like people
Like couples
Some things pair well together
Like my crisp pineapple and cheap ******' pizza
Or your stinky blue cheese and weird cookie-like *******
Like us

And the cheese sits on a green marble slab
Elegant as ****
Because that's just who you are
But that marble slab sits on top of a pizza box
Simple as ****
Because that's just who I am
And we pair well
On this hot *** summer day
While we drink rosé
And "I love you" is all we say
Because sometimes we don't have to say anything
We're okay without words
In the middle of a park
On a hot *** summer day
mjad Aug 2018
Fun
Of all the fun Ive ever had
Almost all I've never told you
From beach days to movie nights
And pizza stops and wrestling fights
Almost all I've never told you
Car rides speeding at midnight
Walking on the frozen lake downtown
Scared that I'll fall through and drown
Waking up in his bed
To giving road head
All the fun I've had I've never told you
You never knew, never found out about
All the lies I hand fed you
Dozens and dozens of times I did what I liked
Instead of listening to you
And of all of those times of adventure and fun
I regret absolutely none
Except the fact I had to pretend I wasn't actually doing a single one
I'll tell them one day
Part 1 of 3
Blind Aesthetic Aug 2018
In the microwave or oven roasted
A simple snack to have or full blown meal
Eat them at home or where wine is toasted
After a bag, hunger you will not feel
A calzone and ravioli it's not
Packed with flavour, pepperoni and cheese
A roll as delicious as it is hot
An oral ****** each bite'l release
Totinos Pizza Rolls, the perfect snack
Ev'ry piece what a wonderful delight
It's like Christmas when you get a new pack
I'm telling you boy, they are out of sight!
If there is one thing that I regret
It's knock off Totinos, never forget
I was bored and wanted to write a sonnet. My friend suggested I write about totino's pizza rolls
King Panda Nov 2015
you in quail feathers means
that your red is my red
and the way that you taste pizza
is the way that I taste it

our
homogeneous brains
hard mother
hard father
the states we were raised in

melt running through
area 41 where the nefarious
Rolando implanted
our splitting
branches

qualia
what it means for you
to have mental states
pure consciousness
perceiving you there
in the corner

your toenails still painted
purple
Khoi-San Aug 2018
Filled to the brim
Pizza Huts
Burning rubber
Dj''s club'n pub
Dancing duel
Free spirits and
**** riddled
Irie cast Bob's Inn
The beat go's on
Bright lights
Stripped trousers
Men on bikes
Ladies sell flowers
Restaurant's cappuccino
Long street lives
Cosmopolitan heaven
Twenty four seven
Beneath Table Mountain Long Street
A must do for tourists
Forget the onion and all its layers
thats obvious
You are undeserving for such a cliché
So I invite a different perspective
Think of a base, flour and egg kneaded together like I need you,
so dense in identical morals
Folded with mirrored ideology of future fortuity
Dipped sensually with a sauce so thick,
Thicker than blood or water,
Blended as one to create a sea of red as deep as our hearts pumping vitality
Sprinkled softly with the most palatable, mouth watering mozzarella
Each placing full of utter affection,
Long lost stares while you sit innocent to me feasting my eyes upon your moreish persona.
The only quandry we must face is whose decision that day of toppings to showcase
Who gets the chance to tease additional flavours, delicious tasters
To open eyes to attributes unseen before,
Hopes set high to electrify taste buds
Wanting the other to crave more

Ingredients brought together for a flavoursome pizza
You are my hawaiian
As i,
Your meatfeast.

Opposing trimmings
Eachothers 1st choice
One anothers perfection to quench their dying hunger
The anaolgy I concoted best used to describe my relationship.
My partner and I have opposite interests, humour, and past times,
but we sit firmly in a body of identical morals, integrity and honour, mirroring each others.
A pizza is nothing without a strong base.
Toppings can be changed and mixed to any combination.
The base is the structure of our love, ***** and rigid.
The toppings are interchangeable extras that we diversify daily to develop and grow together.
zebra Aug 2016
on the first date
she confided in me
i have a chromosomal disorder, disorder, disorder
i need love and pain strangely mixed together
my elixirs
i suffer reality distoooorrtions
a ghastly Vatican of ****** compulsions
my soul is black matter
my **** a seething cauldron of despicable desire
my *** cries for homicidal cruelty

mold me into a *******
fold me like a two dollar beach chair
the wrong way
tear me to bits
unwind my intestine
eat me like a blood ******* ghoul
make me squirm like an anime victim

i thought oh finally a soul mate
with soul

strange as a Dionysian mad hatter on hallucinogenics
hot girl creeping
grimacing at me
meandering conjurations by ****** contortions
stunning impersonations of a Fellini impaling
shes a famous artist
keeps broodish bowels and blood tampons in stainless vitrines
spot lighted
ready for her debut at the
Museum of Modern Art

she blows torrents of snot like ****
her beautiful desperate tongue searching the upper lip
a salty runny viscoses snack
oozy
finding it finally with her frenetic tongue
feeding her gooey ****
with wet fingers
oh yummy yum goo
up her *** too

first smiling then hideous scowls
exposed teeth
posing with a knife
wana see me cut my self bad boy, she taunts
wana see my impersonation of pizza with extra tomato sauce

blood blood *** in the be in the bed
wipe it up with ****** bread

some how she miraculously bulges her eyes out
then performs, ******* lips as if a minnow in a fish jar

pointing to her ***
giving me that **** hurt me twisted look
how about a peanut butter jelly ******* sandwich
with a side of ****** feet
**** and **** on toes
its especially prized this day of the month
as her **** tears like a vampires mouth, a torrent of blood
pouting **** with white red stained thighs that break a mans heart
*** nothing at all she quips
just a little accident
do you like it?
as she glares like an invitation
to play slip and slide bare foot in her puddle of blood

oh she made me *****
my cherry red **** having a nervous breakdown
from apoplectic horror gasms
a dose of heavens hell

i want her
she is voluptuous like a dozen venomous snakes
copulating in warm soup dark water everglades
she is slither theater

curdling screams
then muggling *******
brought on by the first belly stab
falling to her knees
looking up shocked
mouth gaping
eyes wide
grinning
glance steady
holding holding holding
the belly cut
a cacophonous modern dance of agony
followed by rapturous convulsing *******
that went on and on and on

get a bat she implored

she is a real ******* movie star
the Greta Garbo of *****
a dark jewel
a must have
a hell wife
goddess of dread
a ******* *** genius
my best girl ever

fused by desire
we kissed like **** loving catholic priests
in adoration of their savior
young boy *** castrato hitting the high notes


she looked up with desperation
eyes with glittering tears
and said
are you my black knight?
do you know how to hurt a girl
are you my
Vex Mallus
Dr Satan
Marquis De Sick
Nick Nick
Dark Officer
Remus the Werewolf
Dom Sugar Daddy
Pit Bull
Tommy the Tummy Gutter
5 o'clock Shadow
London Cabby
Amputee ******
Uncle Surgery Gone Wrong
King of the Carpathian Vampires
my sweet kissy Kitten

ooohh yes i said
i am all that for loves sake
albeit twisted
i am what you crave.. your no taboo lover boy
your ******* licking foot slave with a razor in hand
a bubble of poison between my legs
your homicidal suicidal cockealiciousness

she said good,
now that we have that settled
can we go out for dinner
ill be dressed in a jiffy
if i can find my dead skirt
of soft white gauze
with that lovely motif of dread red
and my precious toe tag jewelery
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, not judge me, although i admit to my paraphilias  
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Yogurt.
"I begin the day buying yogurt in a small favorite grocery store."
Not pizza, nor gatorade.

Bananas
although they are imported from afar and grown in monocultures.
Attract fruit flies in August.

Peaches
locally grown with rainwater. I ate all the farmer's peaches alone
stacking them by the railroad tracks.

Water --
rainwater, tap water, distilled water, carbonated water, spring water –--
deep gulps, infinite sips.

Nuts
in moderation, or not, unsalted, raw, replacing chips. His bowl
of filberts, almonds, walnuts quiet weekday mornings.

Edible plant parts --
roots, leaves, stems, flowers, fruit, buds. In olive oil
or butter.

Potatoes --
look online how best to prepare. Baked or fried. With a little
fish or meat.

Tea and honey,
play and prayer. Swimming and running,
talking quietly.

Bread?
Bread's possible as the Bible. Each is liable
to bloat your thoughts.

Wine and dandelions.
Dandelion wine's Ray Bradbury's story. Cans in a pantry, books on a
      shelf
to the end of time.

Pasta
we used to call spaghetti, never noodles. I wonder if I can remember
      how to make
grandma's sauce.

Tomatoes --
cherry, grape. Grab God's eye
going by.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Damon Beckemeyer Aug 2018
The pizza took her place in bed. It slathered itself all over her.
The pizza objectified my body.
It slid between her *******, leaving traces of red sauce and strands of hot, almost liquid cheese in the nook of her cleavage.

It slowly dripped off of her ******* as she spread its residue across her *****.
From there, the succulent, almost watery juices rolled off of her teet and onto her folded legs as she knelt there in the store window.
Everyone could see her.
But as long as those who were most enthralled came inside to purchase a pie or two, no one seemed to care.
James Floss Mar 2
So, it was a dark and stormy night and
Father Larry O’Flannigan
Was feeling excited as he
Maneuvered the rainy streets with
Five extra-large cheese pizzas

Elated and happy because
Teenage catechism class
Had gone so swimmingly well
He wanted to reward them
Hence the crusty comestibles

Crossing 10th and Vine
Rain pelting cars and pedestrians
He slipped and tripped
Pandemonium of pizza boxes
Pell-mell into puddles

The chagrined good father
In an unsettled state
Hurt, wet, disheveled,
Exclaims:
“Jesus Christ! God Almighty!"

A pious passerby exclaims
(An older lady dressed for rain)
“Father! Please! Language!”
The sheepish priest sputters:
“Em, cheese and crust got all muddy…?”
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