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mark john junor Jan 2014
there was a desperate plea
from his television face
which is drawn for maximum sorrow
and moderate crowd appeal
i'm sure they had it all on paper somewhere in LA
under the guise of a eight by ten portrait in words
of mad king george
he wanted to be a better man
but his desperate plea went unanswered
by everyone but some little kid in a cowboy outfit
carrying his six shooter and a plastic pony
guess you take whatever salvation gets dealt you way
so the last we saw of him that day
he was sitting on the floor
doing a sock puppet show for the masses
on the dangers of being the king of england
without a crown
she called him a looser
but i asked her to put aide such notions
who better to get acquainted with the heights
than somebody who has fallen to the depths
his blues are tried and true
he wont try and double deal
be trying to hard to prove that he never should have left
and the kid with the plastic pony
turned out to be the next president
cause he knows what horse to back
plastic ponys and kings are all the same anyway
his television face finally got redrawn
for a more sympathetic crowd approval
and soon he will be a celebrated name once again
while id prefer to jut slip back into obscurity
if i could just have a girl to love
and roof over my aching head
but time will tell
cause mad king george is long since
retired to miami
Barry Comer Feb 2010
Green mint breath,with a predator’s thirst,her hot steamed plunder,spanked to affection;some candy man love.Her tom-tom palms,such smooth pony thighs;candy requires perfection,ride, boy ride.The monkey house screams,call it a wild girl whisper,her hot scripted words;I believe in love.Candy riders, where’s this going?Going to slaughter,touching her thighs;riding the animal slide.My candy girl,little steamed fluffer,she sweats warm venom;I feel her love.You’re pretty slow, if you still don’t know.It’s called taste of the savage,for ponys and monkeys,a sweet attraction;for candy boy love.She was hired to please,to guard, above the knee.You got it now.It was ‘62 and I was hot.2010 Barry Comer
Eli Smith Jun 2015
Confessions to My Best Friend.
1.I found fireflies in your eyes the first day we met.

2.We both know I am the ugly friend. I will take that title gladly. You are the most beautiful girl in the world, trust me. My memory has spent hours retracing your face trying to recall your voice back to consciousness. I've played it back so many times you sound like a broken record, it doesn't sound right anymore.  

3.I know how perfectly pathetic it is to still consider you my best friend.

4.I know that line sounds like teenage angst, but I promise there is more to this story than that. Give me a moment.

5. You've taught me that everything comes to screeching halt. I have long since given up the idea of our reunion

6.I check, no, stalk your facebook constantly to make sure you’re still happy.  
7. I hate the fact that I have to use the word stalk like some stranger seeking out your profile. I hate that I have to break the rules set by your parents. I hate that I am not allowed to stand by your side anymore. I have memorized the last post before I expose myself to pictures of us.  I know not to scroll back that far. I have perfected the art of protecting myself.

8.I know trying to move on is futile. I have never been fond of being ****** over twice. Fate always seems to switch out my full hand for a loosing one. **** best friends. You know what, **** friends. It’s easier that way. (Excuse my language)

9.My worst fear and biggest hope is that you will forget about our friendship, take our seven years and erase them from your memory. Maybe you will forget about him to.

10.I wish he had ***** me. Now this seems sick and twisted unless you know our backstory. I wish I would have been enough from him. I never said no, ground my teeth in to dust never letting my vocal cords betray me. I prayed that he would stop at me. Your parents blamed me. It’s okay. Your parents are right. I know I could have given him more. No amount of therapy or self-love could ever place the blame somewhere else.  I would have given him anything if he would’ve agreed to contain the destruction and keep the casualties at one. But a war cannot be solely fought with two hands. I wish I could have kept the nightmare to myself. I tried to protect you. If you get anything from this know that I tried.

11.I know you toss and turn at night trying to glue the fractured puzzle pieces back together to fix your broken psyche. I am sorry I am not there to help you glue the pieces back together. I know it would never be perfect but I would pour every ounce of my being into fixing it together.

12.I have written hundreds of poems strictly about you, some of them have won me medals but they always feel forced. I try so desperately to pump life into the lines but only those who know what happened can read between them and get the whole picture. Our friendship feels like a sick inside joke never told. This is the only real poem I have ever written about you. It is not written to sound pretty, not full of clichés and lines that fit together. No. It is as raw as the cuts we’d get from falling off our bikes. It is as raw as cuts on arms. It is as raw as suicide notes. Trust me. I will take the blame for those to.  

13.I have not prayed to God in a year. The last day I saw you was the last day I believed such a being could exist. No amount of church can make the past a brighter place.

14.When you told me I was no longer allowed to talk to you I felt my whole life collapse around me. I cannot rebuild. I cannot move on. I cannot stop the destruction of my sanity, nothing is safe anymore. I am afraid to touch anything in fear that the purity will be corrupted by my hands. I see you everywhere I go, in turquoise, and teal, and rainbows, and storms. I see you in stars, and constellations, and my little ponys, and skyrim, in cancer ribbons, and vampires.

15.I burned the draft of the story we were writing together about vampires and demons. I never got a chance to thank you for helping me come up with a plot and letting me test it on you. Your character drove the book, now I do not dare to pick it up. I know how cliché it was using our friends as characters. I have given up writing it in fear that someone may think I am crazy believing monster exist. I am a failed poet and most certainly a failed author. Break character. Make sure everyone knows that it was just a story, that I am not crazy, just my methods.  

16.I will not deny that I am angry with whoever wrote me into the script as the bad guy. I was never a bad influence on you, you taught me how to cuss, how to fight, how to be myself. I taught you to let go, to be strong, to hold on. I don’t see how our friendship was malignant on your health but as long as you feel better now, I will take my punishment with open arms ready for more.

17.I loved you. I loved you as a sister, as a friend, as my world. I still love you the same. I have a stack of pictures in the hole of my mattress hoping that maybe one day my dreams will come true and I will wake up and this past year will have been a nightmare.

18.Yes, it’s been a year since you blocked me on your Facebook without explanation. And maybe that is the worst part, trying to dream up what I did wrong, where I hurt you, where you stopped caring.

19.I realize that you will never see this poem, but my only hope for relieving this pressure on my chest is to get it out, to make it stop suffocating the life out of me. For the longest time I hoped you were miserable in a life without me. I wanted to know that you hurt half as much as I do. That’s the thing with poets, we have a habit of making everything revolve around us. But this is to us. This is to friendship. This is to staying up until three am to finish this. This is to brighter futures.

20.There is nothing in the world I want more than to be by your side. My existence has feels like the beating pulse behind a bruise without you. This is the last poem I will write. My words cannot paint a better situation, a better ending. I love you, and if you ever need me I am just an add away on Facebook.
**TRIGGER WARNING**
This is to my best friend, the one who will never read this. And if by some miracle she ever does, know that I love you ***... If you would give me a second chance I would make it worth it...Please... I don't care if I have to prove myself. I hope you are doing well. The quality of this poem is poor and I wouldn't suggest anyone reading it. It is just a lot of emotions I can't carry anymore. Thanks!
Penmann Jun 2019
I finally got the pony my father deserved
He wanted one so bad
But it's a big red ****** pony
Sorry dad.
With eyes shooting lasers in the sky,
An animal from hell
Screaming a thousand goodbyes
To the quiet sheeple standing by

Its my inert decision to have a horse
A horse from hell instead of a friendly one
Because i got vile, sick, venomous, scarred
A horse bathed in divorce

For there is no ******* remorse
For little horseys you keep thrusting
The carriage of a thousand ponys
Little blind dumb fat *****, pulling a string to a storyless thread

All you need is one
A monster

Let's speak horoscope you little *****
What sign are you, oh thats so nice
My sign reads terror your eats spice
I'm a doberman, the stars spoke now
Born under a sign of dog, A killer  

I rise as you plummet kid
I burn flames when you're just a little spit
ITS MY ******* HORSE NOW

— The End —