"polos" poems
Dear Nakama...
Kau tenang saja, mulai sekarang aku tak kan marah, kesal, sedih, cemburu, iri, ataupun jengkel saat kau berhubungan dengan Dia. Aku tak apa-apa. J
Dear Nakama...
Sekarang, kau bisa melakukan apa saja sesuka hatimu padanya. Toh, Aku sudah melupakan semua perasaan itu, Aku sudah bisa bangkit dari keterpurukan ini. Jadi, tak ada lagi alasan untuk mu menjauhkan?
Dear Nakama...
Aku merindukanmu, Tak ingin melihat kau seperti ini, mengapa kau seperti ini? L
Dear Nakama...
Bukankah, kita sudah saling berjanji takkan pernah saling menyakiti, akan terus menghubungi dan jangan sampai hilang hubungan? Dan sekarang, Aku ingin menagih janji itu...
Dear Nakama...
Aku di sini sedang sedih. Tapi semoga, Kau baik-baik saja...
Dear Nakama...
Apakah aku tidak boleh mengetahui keadaanmu? Tapi, bukankah itu suatu hal yang wajar di antara hubungan persahabatan? Aku tak mau kehilangan “TEMANKU”, aku tak mau kehilangan “SAHABATKU”, dan Aku tak mau kehilangan “KAKAKKU”... :’(
Dear Nakama...
Selama ini hanya Kau orang yang bisa mengerti Aku, mempercayaiku, dan menyayangiku dengan setulus hati. Akupun Selalu berusaha agar bisa menjadi seperti itu...
Dear Nakama...
Setiap hari aku menimbun sedih, menyembunyikan sakit, menampung rindu, menabung kekecewaan, mengumpulkan kegelisahan, dan terus menelan air mata hanya untukmu...
Dear Nakama...
Pandanganku kabur, pergerakanku kaku, kakiku lesu, tanganku beku, lidahku kelu, air mata terus jatuh, dan sesaat aku merasa duniaku runtuh ketika mengetahui kau sedang berusaha menjauh...
Dear Nakama...
Apa yang harus ku lakukan agar kau mau kembali seperti dulu? Saat-saat di mana Aku belum mengenalnya, saat-saat di mana aku masih menjadi gadis kecil yang polos dan tidak mengenal cinta, saat-saat di mana kita sering berbincang tentang kartun kesukaan kita!
Dear Nakama...
Aku minta maaf, jelas-jelas ini salahku. Dan bodohnya lagi, Aku baru menyadarinya sekarang. Maafkan Aku jika Aku melakukan kesalahan yang membuatmu tersakiti. Kesalahan yang di sengaja maupun tidak di sengaja...
Semoga kau berkenan untuk memaafkanku...
Sahabatmu : Haruna J
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
When news broke out that the glorious White Building
was to become dust to make way for a high rise
that would displace both bones and ghosts,
we were standing in a parking lot, my friends’ fists
clutched tight around their motorcycle handles,
their rapid Khmer lilting with each syllable
as they quickly planned a memorial service
for another shard of history that once did not have
blood dripping from where it had been broken.
My nickname was Country Girl, clueless and silly,
full of questions, songs and dances, a patched-up mess
with the face of a Vietnamese, the laugh of a Filipino,
and the pride of a maybe, sometimes, almost Khmer.
We left just as the city was starting to wake again.
In journalism school, they never taught us
how to grieve for ourselves, so we tried
in the best way we knew how -- a funeral procession
of worn rubber shoes and checkered polos,
in our backpacks the cameras that would write our eulogies for us.
I was the stranger whose connection to the deceased no one
understood, but still let in,
taught me a prayer,
offered some porridge.
That afternoon, I whispered a prayer.
White Building, who stares death in the face,
once a mother to the hands that had colored
their age gold, please welcome me.
Do not let your skeleton
collapse beneath the weight of this stranger.
Please, welcome me.
Aug 27, 2021
Aug 27, 2021 at 2:10 AM UTC
I was moving out
Parked my bike down the street
With a cart hinged on the bolt beneath the rusty pole
connected to my seat.
The yard was steep, and the stairs leading down
the front
Vanished each car-
go carrying trip
of dictionaries and travel guides that
could have been lumped together in boxes
separately tossed into the neon
green
synthetic fiber
rain-proof buggy
Connected to my seat.
I ran across the lawn, one last time
Buckling the watch I found from high school
remembering it’s broken and not caring
then I saw men wearing polos beneath
Greek symbols beneath a doorway
and held my breath as they stared at me.
This vacant lot held something which I carried back
to find
my bike was gone, replaced
by a life-sized depiction of a bike saying
“no bikes--” A girl inside, explaining where I could find mine
I walked down the grey spiral of handicapped access ramps
surrounded by aquariums or tvs
which comprised the store's interior.
The last ramp faced an exit and went straight past
refrigerators next to vending machines
In the alley behind this office supply store were two old men
Roasting my bike on a chain beside the others
Disconnected, hung
its tires lying on the ground beside their feet
and the carriage slung aside like a bloodied gazelle's neck.
“What the ****
A woman got into my face “don’t use that word”
***** a perfectly good word, after all, it’s how we
got here”
One man smiled.
He felt bad.
They helped me put the bike together and I walked it back to my house.
I saw my car down the street.
I thought about the long trip to the interstate and wondered why I’d
rode my bike
Then I went back up the stairs of the blue sided hill,
to see the roommate I hated
and thought about stealing his SNES and stereo
but took only my one possession
and walked past rotting turkey bacon in a plastic pouch
on the top of a table
beside some legos
and left.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
Father, Son, Mechanic…
Man, I’ve wanted to talk to you – really talk to you – for some time now.
to see your face in front of me, instead of dangling from necklaces,
or hanging, melancholy, over sexless couples’ beds.
I’ve spent a lot of time reading all that stuff you wrote (supposedly),
and I’ve enjoyed it, Man, I have.
but I keep wanting it to be a letter, when in the end it’s just
a bipartisan explanation – an engineer’s guide to
building a pretty vehicle around a faulty engine.
I always see you, arms spread,
sprawled across the older bitter-america’s steering wheel.
my mama would tease me, saying you’d want me to help some day.
but you and your cronies drove me like a beat-down El Camino,
joyfully taking me through wrong turns and bumpy streets
waiting for my chassis to split.
and once I ran out of gas to offer, you refused to touch me at all,
letting me rot in your cobweb garage.
and all those ******* in turtlenecks and polos popped,
they’ve gleefully branded your logo on their chemical biceps
and gaily explain how close you were.
how they knew you like no one else did,
how you guys didn’t have a connection, but a relationship.
people should only let their mechanics touch their cars, though,
and keep their innards free of oily fingers.
to be honest, I don’t think I’ll be coming back to this establishment again.
it’s a little too clean for my taste, and your prices are way to high
especially when all you get is a little peace of mind and a sense of humbled grandeur.
don’t worry about the car, though – you can keep it.
you’ve sort of spoiled all its good intentions,
so I’ll be buying a new one sometime soon.
I guess I’ll be taking a taxi.
No, actually.
I’ll hitchhike home.
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 11:20 PM UTC
The attendees are told, in a manner befitting a high mass
You have been finally set free,
(Although, in truth, free is a very large and entirely vague word),
And the message is sent forth from all comers in all corners:
Vendor and visionary alike,
German socialists who left university to ride boats for Greenpeace,
First lieutenants doing their level best
To appear at ease in civilian polos and khakis,
But no matter the vessel,
The message is still the same.
The tyranny of cables and storage space is dead,
It is all but shouted from the lecterns,
(Although it is noted, in small print and sotto voce
That there are certain requirements
In terms of hardware and licensing)
And it is stated by Those Who Know
In tones which neither brook nor invite contradiction,
That they have surmounted, all Hadrian-like,
The alpine divide separating mere data and magic.
Two or three blocks down the street from the convention center,
In a narrow storefront housing an exhibition of ether-only comics
Which have broken the nettling constraints
Of editors and syndication,
There sits, under a somewhat opaque
And slightly scratched piece of plexiglass,
A yellowing comic strip of uncertain vintage,
In which a frowzy cat,
Free of the constraints of panels, gender, and standard grammar,
Is the recipient of a mouse-tossed brick
Whose flight, unfettered by physics, probablility, indeed time itself
Ends striking its mark right between the x’s of the eyes
The projectile itself an inexplicable alchemy
Of confusion, mirth, frustration
And the impossibility of an undeniably pure love.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 9:29 AM UTC
White polos and navy blue pants and skirts paraded through the narrow classroom door.
Red and yellow chairs pushed back from the small wooden desks,
Neon tennis ***** stopping them from scuffing the floor.
"Waxing floors is so **** expensive,"
The principle whispered to the wide-eyed teacher.
Backs turned to the large ears on the small bodies.
Nose deep into the latest Barnes & Noble purchase,
Fear struck me as the two gray haired women ushered me into the hall
Where two navy blue pants and one navy blue skirt stood,
Eyes mirroring each other’s knowledge.
“Now apologize.”
Embarrassment burned red in the six cheeks
That mumbled confessions to their victim
A victim unaware she had been voted most blessed in the chest
Oblivious to the whispers of nerd, pizza face, and giraffe
Brace face, frizzy haired freak, and loser
Friday’s vocabulary quiz asked what the definition for friends was.
I left it blank.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
Kanye West made me think polos were cool. I thought playing rap music while wearing polos would make me into a rapper. And then I turned into a tennis player. Tennis got me out of the hood. Let it be known. I could have went to court, and instead I chose the Tennis Court.
Tennis is fun. Before it was ratchet. Now it is tennis racket. Rapping was fun. Bernie Sanders liked rap. He liked Killer Mike, and he was a phenomenal rapper. Hilary listened to me. So I don’t know what that means. I should have been a rapper, but when I saw a videotape of Arthur Ashe playing tennis for Wimbledon, I felt a yearning grow inside of my gut, and it grew until I raised my hand to my mouth to smother the scream of nostalgia that I was feeling.
I wanted people to like me so I started rapping at cafeterias and bleacher stands. People drank cola and munched on popcorn as I talked about growing up in the hood of Burke. Real **** went down in the Burke. Like **** you wouldn’t believe. And that’s real.
I hung out on a rooftop overlooking the city drowned in sunshine that was sad as the girl who left me. Kanye West saved me from becoming a piece of **** And even if he’s an ******* now, everyone knows he was the greatest with 808’s and Heartbreak. Robocop used to play from the car speakers, as we rolled spliffs in the front seat, the wind pouring into the windows.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 1:52 PM UTC
Este llano de muerte, esta tierra maldita,
Este otero desnudo de costados resecos,
Este páramo triste, donde el hombre que grita
No encuentra un solo monte que devuelva sus ecos,
Este desierto mudo, esta monotonía,
Esta soledad ocre como una calavera,
No nos deseperanza: sabemos todavía
Que, después del estío, otoño nos espera.
(¡Tener alas de pájaro. Dios mío, tener alas
De pájaro!... ¡Volar hasta la mansedumbre
Del mar!...¡Llegar a Ti por sus blancas escalas
A quemarnos los ojos con tu divina lumbre!)
Sabemos que defiendes con tu dorado escudo
los trópicos dorados, los solitarios polos.
Míranos, desterrados, sobre el suelo desnudo.
¡Señor, Señor, por qué nos has dejado solos!
1k
Her birth name was Ryan,
But she was a girl
In every aspect
Except the one you wanted to believe.
And her older brother,
His name was Simon,
But we called him "D",
Short for Denial.
Because that was all he could do,
Deny life was bad.
And we loved them so much,
But when the old German man died,
They went to a new home,
And then Reese couldn't take it,
After they cut her hair
And made her wear polos
And jeans.
No more sparkly shoes,
Only white sneakers.
No more pink,
Only blue.
So she was gone,
And most of D left with her.
And when he finally faded out of this world,
Everything broke.
In March,
Literally a year later,
We found his letter that he left for us.
To this day,
When I think of anyone I love dying,
I promise myself I'll try to be with them,
Because you were so alone,
And I don't want anyone,
Especially my Reese
And Simon Jonathan Marter
To feel so alone again.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC
Looks like this cursed title falls to me
I’m Gatsby
At least, now I am
Beer money inheritance
Tighter than the rope round his neck
It all falls to me, no glee
Just a ****** musical rolling in my head
I was a kid once
Little more than a dunce
Friends out of my league
Hiding in leaves
Beyond fields of bricks hidden by empty heads
Falling asleep on desks
It’s lazy education
Low preparation
The works of leaving kids stranded
In a world they’ll never get
Falling far of flat
In terms of getting their hands on it
Giving us all a pit
Just weak little gnats
Blood rain leaves us wet
Once again, branded
Who’d have guess high school never ends
In this bad sandbox
Sister never knew about him
He was potential personified
I always new, never said a word
Terribly waiting for him to take the world
Finish each loose end
Understand depths beyond comprehension
Could never really get how he worked
Killed in the end, a waste more than gold
Could have done so much
Underestimated, self-made, the works
Never really got how it worked
Tell me now, how he died
Never mind, I don't wanna know
Throwing me inheritance
Like the father figure I never had
And certainly never deserved
A few years older
Always sticking out his neck
Now a check?
Miss me with that
If I wasn't strapped
It’d go to wreck
Just like his house
At the end of this mess
Robbed beyond repair
Silk robes in the furnace
How did he earn this
A man so earnest
Now he’s in the sternest prison around
In the grave, like a pound for a stray
Waiting for the day
One shot leads to release
In such a permanent way
This won’t lead into peace
It will lead to more delete
Lives hanging in the balance
Bankrupt to the finest
Capacity they could have imagined
But now it’s all me
Suits, colors, and all
Just a puppet for the crew of the ******
Whispering to me through wrinkled polos
Rolling through the power vacuum
And I don’t know
How quickly I’ll be booted
Or how long I’ll hear his voice
Bouncing around in the black water in the back of my mind
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
Lo quiero Lo odio
Me encanta Me desespera
Lo adoro No quiero nada con él
Es mi príncipe azul Es el dolor en mi trasero
Es el amor de mi vida Es la persona que más detesto en esta vida
Pero, al fin del día, es lo mejor que jamás me haya pasado. . . .
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
I stood there
In the dim lights of our den
A place once cherished
But now otherwise ignored
It had become his
Hiding place
His refuge for
When he wouldn’t speak
At those times
Like right now
I would stand there
Behind him
Delicately trailing random patterns
On his sweat-soaked tee’s back
He used to dress nicely
Plaid polos and such
But ever since she passed
He was rather shoddy in his appearance; sloppy
I could feel his body
Rise and fall
Each breath shorter and less healthy
Than the last
But I said nothing
Simply humming softly
Finally he lifted his head
His pale, pallid skull
Topped with slightly thinned
Reddish hair
It’d been so thick before
Before she passed
He turned slowly
To face me
His face was a sickly purple so unlike the warm peach
It’d been when she was alive
His lips were pale and chapped
Unlike their previous full pink
And they were shuddering violently
As he tried to speak
After another moment of silence
Eventually he did
If you’d just been
Quiet
He whispered
In a harsh, raspy voice
His now yellowed teeth that he once prided in deeply
Gleamed in the den’s faded light
If you had just
Kept your **** mouth shut
He elaborated
In a sour undertone
I felt my stomach sickening itself
But refused to show reaction to his words
If you had just been able to silence yourself for a ****** minute
She would not have died
I knew it was true
And so I did not try to stop him as he stood
He was gone within hours
To accompany her
To abandon me
The idiot that could not keep quiet
Thus now I am what you might call a
Mute
For silence is a friend
That never betrays
Jun 4, 2011
Jun 4, 2011 at 7:20 PM UTC
I'm just waiting for something
that takes my breathe away
something beyond shredded
couch cushions and New Jersey TV
I want to see Mountains in the fullness of their splendor
I want these dirt roads to mark the place
where I first made love to a boy who broke my heart
I want to see the sky from eye level
without crying because I'm afraid of heights
I want to swim in water so deep
That the sharks get scared to dive there
I just want to be fearless
irrationally brave
unbelievably foolish
because my whole life up until now
has been so practical
Lack luster
uninspired
its hard to find a muse
in polos and khakis
and I'm tired of being tired
of doing nothing
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
It's all the same but different,
wise guys still get hints,
Polos are still mints,
sand castles still do best on the beach,
James still has the largest peach,
supercallifrilous
will still be expealidousis,
they'll still be osmosis,
my fake sibling will still be my faux sis.
They'll be dawn still & moonlight thrill
& silly cats on window sill, still, still.
They'll be puns on the hill & run of the mill,
they'll be hibernation curl to blossoming trill, chances missed & days to rue
& summer nights with joyful coo,
but still's not the same
without you.
Because there is one less friend of cats & dogs,
this little world has one less cog.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 3:33 PM UTC
I feel it
That itching
That aching
That yearning
To break out
With a toothbrush and spare clothes
And hop on a plane
Or a train
Become a stowaway
See the world through different eyes
Things are bigger than what we grew up with
And culture goes beyond
Pencils and polos
I can observe that world of keen minds
Inhaling the aroma of savory finery
Find elegance
Strength
History
In the grand scheme of things
We are very small and
Insignificant
But we are watchers
And creators
So we watch and create
And re-create
And this is how we can change the world
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
It's a wonderful day.
So I drink.
Skies are grey when the son is
away.
I'm on the brink of tears.
'cause my pen's out of ink.
I need ritalin with a beer.
You'll say I've wasted my years.
But who cares if my brain's purée?
This is my life and I don't need it anyway.
January first, I'm out with the boys.
Oh the Joys of avoirdupois.
Bowing to the sink.
The Popped collars on our polos, salmon pink.
We drink until we can't think.
She'll take my kid away.
I can't live a single man life.
I still need to pay.
No man's lonely without a wife.
I'll visit next birthday.
An unskilled worker's pride,
Always fills the void inside.
Dole squad can catch me.
I won't have pay no fee.
New year, same me.
Happy 2019.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 8:25 PM UTC
Didn’t really know why I felt the way I did
When I saw her
it was like nothing made sense
She coordinated chucks and black nail polish
with Lacoste polos
She belched and smoked
but she hated profanity
She was only in high school but she was wise
beyond her years
She was the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,
but she was lonely
Only thing that made sense
was that I liked her
Did she reciprocate the same feelings?
I already knew the answer
And I was content
Yet
In the back of my mind
I knew I had a chance
when I first made her laugh
I smiled when she told me
she was into the same bands as me
I fistpumped when I heard
she dumped her boyfriend
But then I remembered
Who I am and who she was and I stopped myself
Because she was the wild child
And I was the awkward guy
We didn’t belong together,
we weren’t right for each other
I stopped calling her and slowly I left her life
Next day I turned on the television and I saw a couple
Holding hands
Walking down their street
Talking about how nice the weather is
And I thought to myself
Why can’t the weather be good in Seattle?
I called Elizabeth.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
They were country club boys
who wore polos and expensive cologne
riding around in cars
bought with Daddy's money
and sneaking to smoke cigarettes
out in the edge of the woods
and they would mock her
they'd laugh at her
for being “beneath” them
for not having the proper
upbringing or the nicest clothes
until the shadows started to fall
and night crept in
it was her they came to for comfort
it was she who held their secrets
as they'd cry into her arms
and whisper all their thoughts
the boy with the crew cut
who didn't want anyone to know
that he liked other boys
or the boy with the shaggy hair
who hid the bruises where
his father liked to beat him
& she would cry with them
for all the pain they felt
even though it wasn't hers
and they never looked at her
in those moments
like she was an object
or beneath them
in those sweet moments
it was she who saved them
from themselves
from others
& during the days
when they'd shift their eyes
and go along with the jokes
she'd hide a smile
because she knew
this was just the image
and not who they really were
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
I took your sticky hand
Both of us uncomfortable in long checkered jumpsuits
and button down polos.
That Thanksgiving we made pilgrim hats and pasta string necklaces
We walked to the park through the little white gate
that seemed so tall we could barely reach but now it squeaks and the bells broke.
The path through the sour grass flowers is overgrown with cancerous weeds
the trees are too small to climb, and the big one with roots is populated
by empty teenagers making out and carving their names in our place.
This is where the bodies are buried. Where we said goodbye.
Where we played, our little world
of imagination filled lazy times streamed with
sudzy bubbles: Popped.
I’m sorry I failed you Jack. That she failed you.
For giving up too soon. I know you
wish she held on longer, that she fought
for you and I. You moved away because she left you
And I left you and so you left me, alone.
You lost so much, but you got out, peeled your eyes
from the flickering screen. Flashbacks of
our shared childhood ripped away.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
Mi corazón y el océano son polos opuestos,
por eso en mi corazón lo siento.
Me llora cada noche por no verme,
me grita con tormentas su añoranza.
Yo también añoro al océano
y de mis ojos surgen lágrimas saladas,
sal de océano.
Mi corazón se rompe y él lo sabe,
el océano lo sabe todo.
Sabe su soledad y sabe la mía
y sabe que estamos destinados a encontrarnos.
//
My heart and the ocean are opposing polea,
that's why in my heart I feel it.
It cries me each night to see me,
it cries with storms its longing.
I long the ocean too
and from my eyes salty tears emerge,
ocean's salt.
My heart breaks and it knows it,
the ocean knows it all.
It knows its loneliness and it knows mine
and it knows we are destined to meet.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
My life has become a series of fragments
seperated by cups of coffee;
stacks of dog-eared books fade
to lecture slides and surprise tests-
flash forward to scratchy nylon polos
and "please hold, Jeff is busy"
until the lights turn down
and I hit empty,
only to refuel with a lukewarm cup
of the house blend.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
"Jika benar kurangnya dia bisa sempurnakan kamu
Apa kurangku tak cukup?"
Kita di kamarmu malam ini
Membahas apakah semesta masih maukan kita?
Apakah alam masih setuju...
.
.
.
.
10 tahun berlalu pantas
Kita masih belum dewasa tentang soal ini...
Seperti ada sesuatu yg menahan
Tapi tak kau luahkan...
Dan saat itu tak ku kenal lagi permintaanmu
Permintaan yg polos, tapi menghancurkan...
Tapi aku pasti itu mmg benar kamu
Yg susah tuk ku duga
Keras kepala
Amarahmu tak pernah reda
Sayangmu tak kau nampakkan...
Dan mau mu yg tak jelas...
Kamu berantakkan
Halusku sebut namamu... lalu,
"Dunia takkan pernah habis kau jelajahi
Kelak kau kan pertemukan apa yg tertulis buatmu
Semesta juga harus setuju jika itu sudah kehendaknya
Jadi tak usahlah kau risau"
Semakin jauh
Kita tak bertemu lagi.
Sep 25, 2021
Sep 25, 2021 at 3:29 PM UTC
i think the americans ought to relearn
their policy on isolationism -
the chinese have already overtook
the americans on the grounds of
national capitalism -
and what a ****** opinion this
ends up being,..
the only way americans will
retain their americanism is by
isolating themselves from thee rest
of the world,
lest they become the lingua franca
that equates itself as merely
lingua fornicata -
no, i'm not the ***** of french joke
with bilinguals, or mono-linguals,
or mono-linguals = americans,
or three language speakers being
tri-linguals,
it just means: you own a *******
**********
how's that?!
lingua franca became lingua fornicata...
i swear to god the americans ought
to rekindle the isolationist policies
that FDR made real...
to live in a monochromatic world
is about as interesting as
living next to 20 taj mahals
within a 20sqm radius...
i have more of those
marble monstrosities in my head,
abstract...
americans ought to relearn
isolationism...
just to slow the **** down
on the globalist agendas...
given the made in china
national capitalism,
which was only perfected via
socialism...
funny...
nationalistic capitalism only
emerged from socialism...
well, you save capitalistic
countries via pumping them money rather than
pride....
english doesn't actually
encourage ******* why would it,
it already has ******
it's lingua fornicata...
perhaps, once upon a time it
was lingua franca...
now what
the english economises is *****
everything else is made in china;
the english used to be the marco polos of
this world, now? they're the don giovannis.
don't you worry about me,
the slavic women adore the fact that
they can be the ****** of
the kings of europe...
hey, i'm done in 70 years
or less given the chance i shorten this
prison sentence by 20+ years...
if i take to the fetish of prayer...
which part of the story am i take
honour for?
the part that i die,
or the part that i am born,
but have no allegiance to life?
mesmerise me, indulgence me,
tell me the difference.
i will be content with the last
breath, prior to any breath akin
to mine: take its first.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 9:27 PM UTC
Who the **** wants to hear
another sob story of a girl all alone,
bored with her thoughts or the
agony of being home?
How the light of the sun casts
out all her faults, or simply
pretending that long, hot
June days are soon to be lost.
Summer is choking in more
ways than one, forcing relations
with those whom you'd rather
be done.
Lost friends we call them, those
from your past. But truth be told,
everyone knew we'd never last.
**** foundations split sooner
than hoped, but what was lost
to her then was more than just most...
Most of what she clung to from
days of old, where the glory of
embroidered polos signified gold.
But here, two years later from the
grim summer of '12, she closes old
books and shoves them back to their shelves.
Banished are the memories of these
days from the past, and cut are the ties from "friends" who'd never last.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC