"preaching" poems
my one wish is
to find someone
who sees the world
as beautiful as i do
with their mouth
preaching poetic beauty
as i have once done
to all the boys
i have loved
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 10:57 AM UTC
To raise
humble kid
is my priority.
I can
Make my CHILD learn
-
By preaching
By teaching
By giving
Knowledge of
Sharing
Caring
Loving
But...
She will not learn
by preaching!!
Rather
She will learn
By my ACTIONS..!!
If I don't
Share MY things
With My
Friends
Neighbours
Siblings
Cousins
She will learn NOTHING..!
*I can make her
learn to share.
By making her give -
Clothes to needy
Toys in orphanage
Candies to the deprived.
*
But by GIVING
she will
just learn to be PROUD
Rather
If she learns by
seeing me
SHARING
She will become HUMBLE..!!
To raise a humble kid is my priority..!!
Sparkle In Wisdom
11 Jan 2019
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 3:05 PM UTC
-
crack another thermometer open
on the broken bathroom sink,
pour yourself into me like mercury
and pan the bed of my stomach
for multitudes of gold flecks
like however many myriads
of sickly pill bottles in your
dresser drawer of socks.
-
see all
the shredded speckled petals
i ripped up before i'd let
the deer get to them;
i'm colorblind,
and i can't tell
the sun's reflection from plastic,
or tulips from the broken
pottery outside my front door.
-
and far least from another beer,
and another fifth of whatever
could be fit under your shirt
-
and never a chair pulled up to speak,
from standing like a soapbox
more suited to cleaning
than to preaching.
-
pour yourself into me like mercury,
because it's so much easier
when my veins weigh me down
to distraction, than being able
to think of hydrangeas again.
-
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 1:55 PM UTC
Health teacher
blindly reading off the slides
of a powerpoint.
"Don't Have *** Kids!"
"Pregnancy"
"STD's"
"Abstinence"
Perhaps if they took a break
from the negativity.
Perhaps if they stood back
and realized that
gasp
preaching abstinence isn't the solution.
The only reason for the
"Pregnancy"
"STD's"
is that they don't teach us
how to practice *** safely.
They make no mention of
Condoms
Diaphragms
Pills
They tell you over and over again
that if you have ***
there will be children
there will be ***
there will be ******
They make no mention of anything
other than the cis straight white vanilla ***
they leave the ********
off of all the diagrams of vaginas
out of fear that maybe a woman could
gasp
******
Preposterous!
They preach victim blaming.
They tell the girls
to stay sober
to never put your drink down
long pants
turtlenecks
Instead of teaching the boys
to keep their erections in their pants.
to treat women like humans
that no means no
she is not an object
she did not "deserve it"
she didn't owe you anything.
Ignorance isn't bliss
and Abstinence isn't safety.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
I want to crawl in your mind.
Find the real rythm behind the melody of your heartbeat.
Show you Gods given freedom out of verbal prison walls.
To make you fall in your spiritual calling.
Vision
Preaching your emotions by reaching the back of your tongue
You hide your insecurities among your heavenly eyes.
The heaviness of your tongue is beauty to me.
Let me set you free.
Freedom
Travel me to your secrets.
Let me loose between your memories.
I will not abuse your confidence but
regularly choose to unite us in consequences.
Let me visit your fears.
Explore
Let me dissolve your assumptions
and reason your doubts.
Evolve out of the abundance of my soul.
I will slowly, surely travel myself deeper, deeply
to discover the source of your sincere existence.
Promise
Patience
Love
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
Ask me who is the most generous man I know and I shall speak his name
Ask me who is the most humble man I know and him I shall acclaim
Ask me who is the most altruistic man I know and his face shall be on the frame
Ask me who is the most kindhearted man I know and you will hear his name again
In my life, I've never met anyone like him again
A man devoted to his family and his community
Always preaching the word of God and leading us to felicity
Always ready to sacrifice his needs for the sake of love and unity
He taught us family, love, fraternity, forgiveness, religion, compassion, tolerance, peace and generosity
I am who I am today thanks to his teachings
He was a leader, a guide, our role model
There is no one like him
He was a father, a brother, a friend, a companion, a grandfather
16 years since he is gone but his words still resonate like thunder
You are no longer here but your teachings linger
A man who was not afraid to cry when needs be but also not afraid to yell and impose order
Always playful with kids and receptive and caring with adults
I feel privileged and lucky to have known him and call him grandpa
For in my life he has played a huge and special part
The memories I will treasure and keep them in my heart
Although he is gone, we will always be together
And his spirit will live on in each one of us forever
From where he is, he is protecting us and guiding us on our way
He is praying for us everyday
He used to pray God "Let it be I who fall sick instead of one of my family member. Let it be I who die instead of someone in my family."
What kind of man wishes for that, you ask.
Someone special I will say, a man of love
And I would like to thank God above
For blessing us with this man, with his kindness and love
I truly believe that God has gifted him with something special
He taught us not to let this world be in our heart for it is not eternal
I know he is in a better place
Watching us all with a smile on his face
I hope we are making you proud from where you are
We are still crying an ocean of tears
As we feel so empty and hold many fears
If I could just turn back the time to those days you used to laugh with us and made us feel so special and loved
Those days you pretended to be in pain when we stepped on your feet while we were playing
Those days when they were only you and us in the room with your half covered grey and curled hair
Those days we used to watch tv together and whenever there was an intimate scene you screamed your favorite word "Touc" and scared us (not that I know what it means)
Time will heal so they say
And time fades away
While a part of us is taken away
I know we will meet again one day
But until that day
Know that you are truly missed
Mame Alassane Lahi whom we affectionately called Mame Rane
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
We are so close, but not just by physical touch;
I can feel you the way I feel my cheeks warm up,
after you have said something
that inevitably causes me to blush.
Its as though our souls are connecting
on the same frequency
radiating off the core of this Earth.
This pleasure is unnoticed by most,
but we can feel it
like we feel the blood dripping down our thighs
on a substandard night.
Before we started talking, so many years ago,
I never believed in true love
or really love at all.
I always assumed it was just all in the head,
and two people could only connect to a point,
unless you were related to each other.
After the first year and a half or so of talking to you regularly,
you proved me wrong.
You proved what I grew up believing
for 16 to 17 years was completely false.
For if I had never met you,
to this day, I more than likely would of continued preaching
to myself, that everyone else
who has experienced this feeling called
'love' was insane.
Life without you would of still been bearable,
but only because I would still be lost in ignorance.
I am more than grateful you walked out of your way
to meet up with me that night three summers ago.
I owe you so much, and will cherish every moment
I'm blessed with standing by your side.
I'll make it a point to provide a nurturing life for you,
one worth living for.
You are my world, my inspiration,
the main reason I look forward to waking up,
or falling asleep cuddled in your lovely arms.
I cannot wait to see you later today and hug you,
while my heart races with satisfaction
like the first time you put your arm around me.
This is more than just some fairy-tale,
this is still the beginning steps of our long journey together.
So we mustn't give up when things go south,
for if we do,
it will be the undoing
of what our relationship has always been about.
You truly are my best friend,
the one person who'll never let me fall
if you know you are capable of preventing it,
even if i don't want your help at all. I appreciate that,
even when my words or actions do not acknowledge it.
You truly are the only reason i was able to climb out of that dark lonely tunnel of agonizing depression;
for everyone else either dragged me father down or walked out.
You are my life saver, my sweet guardian angel.
I love you, my dearest, Chris, forever and always.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
This is a tribute. A goodbye letter, whatever you wanna call it. A thank you, I guess. Thankyou for saving me. Thank you for keeping me. Thank you for watching over me and teaching me and preaching to me and thankyou, thankyou, thankyou for making me see that I was gifted with a life. This is for you. Everything I do, everything I write, everything I say, is for you.
One month ago tomorrow, you died.
One month ago tomorrow, I checked my email expecting to find some spam mail and a few notifications about something I didn't really care about, maybe even a reply from that person I emailed a while ago.
One month ago tomorrow, I checked my email and found an email from your mom saying that you were so sorry, so so sorry, but that you had passed.
One month ago tomorrow, I collapsed on the floor and mourned for the loss of my best friend, my soul mate.
One month ago the day after tomorrow, I walked into school and I kept my cool but I saw you there in front of me. I could put you there and I could see you and I could hear you and you haunted me and my friends all said "You're different."
That day, I had an anxiety attack and went home because I COULDN'T handle it.
Tomorrow, I will walk into school and I will keep my cool but inside I will be dying and sobbing and weeping and mourning for the loss of you.
Tomorrow, I will sit in the same place I did one month ago the day after tomorrow and stare into nothing and see you and hear you and smell you and my friends will say "you're different".
Tomorrow, I might have an anxiety attack. I might go home but I will try not to. I CAN handle it.
When we first met, you told me your worst fear was that you were afraid to die.
3 months ago, you slit your wrists and by the time you realised what you were doing and sane enough to stop you tried to save yourself.
You succeeded.
You got better.
1 month ago tomorrow, you died of natural causes.
We were supposed to become psychologists together and go to New York and study at the same university and open a private practice, where did that end up at?
Goodbye, and thank you, and I'm sorry I didn't say I love you enough, and I'm sorry I didn't take more pictures, and I'm sorry I didn't say what I wanted to say, and I'm sorry we fought, and I'm sorry we wasted so much time planning for a tomorrow we were never going to have.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 3:32 AM UTC
In this poem, I speak directly to you-know-who-because-it's-you.
Dear old friend, don't miss me ever,
If I had some genuine value in your life,
Now I add the element of request, please,
You know that most of my poems are for you,
Whether normal or proposing you to be my wife,
Please do not spoil your career being busy in vain,
The social network & apps are a total waste of time.
The social network is not a place for social service,
It is only so harmful for your own career prospects.
This is just my last request to you, Kripiji.
I know you are upset with this preaching,
But please take the positivity from this post.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
They will tell you there is a right way.
They will hand you a torch and call it the sun.
They will roll their words in raw linen and whisper:
"This is what poetry is meant to be."
And you will nod.
Because they have made it so that not nodding feels like blasphemy.
But listen—
the ink does not check your credentials.
The meter does not ask if your suffering is organic.
A line does not collapse because it was crafted instead of bled.
They will tell you a poem must be naked, barefoot, aching—
as if there is no beauty in a well-cut suit.
They will decry the temple and build a pulpit in its ruins,
preaching freedom in a voice that allows no dissent.
Good poets are cult leaders,
and the first rule of the cult
is that they are not one.
So write the sonnet, carve the sestina,
sculpt the page in iambic steel.
Or break it, shatter it, scatter its bones—
but let no one call your wreckage untrue.
And if they do,
smile.
Because poetry does not kneel to priests.
Feb 18, 2025
Feb 18, 2025 at 2:11 AM UTC
Social Media World
Waiting, longing, wanting
Never finished, never complete
Silence makes our ears ring
Always busy, looking to compete
Social media world
Everyone and no one
Never alone, your life is unfurled,
Tap, swipe, post, I’m done..
Never done, never finished
Your social media masterpiece
Do we leave ourselves diminished?
Even though we constantly increase ...
Increase and build, our profiles grow,
Piece by piece an ever changing image
So fast, so rapid, makes me want to go slow
In my mind I pretend and try to envisage
And yet I’m entirely torn
A hypocrite through and through
My very own image I’ll adorn
My eyes, my mouth and what about this hairdo?
I love it and I question it,
I label myself, but why?
Basic, white, “this is lit”
I’ve found that social media high
Parents worry, kids rebel,
Are they happy !?
Perhaps time will tell
For me, it’s the content that’s ******
Stop seeking happiness,
It’s not an end game
Stop talking mindfulness
Whilst putting others to shame
Let’s stop talking the talk
Preaching and self indulging
Watching and waiting like a hawk,
A lifetime wasted, wishing
But embrace the conversations!
Open dialogue; debating, discussing,
Thoughts, ideas and revelations,
Platforms for all, we could do anything!
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 6:09 PM UTC
Someday I'd like to wander free
like butterfly, like bumblebee,
perhaps to plant a willow tree
beside the silent solemn sea,
before these things exist no more,
from mountain top to shifting shore,
when, soon, bald eagles cease to soar
and build their aeries nevermore,
and fish forsake polluted streams
(where sulfur swims and typhoid teems
since no one really cares it seems)
to die inside our toxic dreams
while ice caps melt and winter steams,
and all the air surrounding reeks
as children choke, for no one speaks
of fracking wells or oily leaks
(Big Brother's silenced all critiques!),
and rancid rains acidify
so woods no longer multiply
(for God so wills, we can't deny,
which is, of course, our alibi).
And as the deepest ocean fills
with plastic bags, and garbage spills
upon the plains, across the hills
and turns to poison dust that kills
wild dingo dogs and daffodils
which sink in swamps’ forsaken swills,
the mocking bird makes light and trills
(midst waning wails of whippoorwills)
"Behold the surreal scene that chills
and greet the dread that death distills!
You've had your day with all the frills
that brought the flood and final ills
that can't be cured with bitter pills
nor yet undone with further thrills
of profit gained that grinds and fills
dead desert sands with dollar bills."
EPILOGUE
Though swaddled still in infancy,
we feel we’ve reached our primacy
(aloof, though preaching piously,
disdaining deeds of decency)
and have no need of augury.
But in the pit of prophecy
the crucial questions seem to be:
“Is doom Earth’s fate, our destiny
to twist in tides of agony
destroying nature’s progeny
with no return a certainty
assured by death’s finality?”
and
”Should we plant a willow tree
to someday weep for you and me?”
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
after centuries and centuries and centuries of:
pain and suffering,
chains and ankle cuffing,
segregation and impossible laws,
human degredation and deaths for the cause,
coloured lines and last picks,
work in the mines and barbie-like wigs,
culture termination and the education of self-hate,
fake freedom motivation and penitentiary execution dates,
community sabatoge and destruction of black owned schemes,
settle down for hip hop dialogue and basketball dreams
racial slurs and monkey metaphors,
television blurs and the world shutting doors,
the white man's drugs and melanin filled prisons,
talent that lacks funds and vietnam missions,
death of our black icons and imprisonment of mandela
death of trayvon and others on the death list which could go on forever...
do you have the right to tell "bottom barrels" not to dream to be on the top?
do you wonder why forgiveness is slowly yielding in the world, as if it sees a sign that says it's time to stop?
do they not say we must practice what we preach?
are they not preaching hate?
are they not preaching inequality?
are they not preaching the false levels of life?
is it too hard for the world to practice equality?
is it too hard for the world to live in harmony?
is it too hard for the world to see the similarities in our differences?
is it too hard for the world to live without fear of colours?
is it too much to ask for peace???
- t.m
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC
We are embodied and entrusted with the word
To keep preaching until every voice is heard
To not keep it in but let the world know
About the lamp at our feet which continues to glow
Help all the needy and make there day bright
Lead them out of the darkness and into the light
Show them a way that is supposed to be bold
That a soul is to be treasured and not to be sold
We cast out demons and rebuke evil spirits
In the name of Jesus we are not gonna fear it
Walking tall carrying a double edged sword
Bringing all into unity and on one accord
We will make over comers out of underachievers
And to all the doubters we will make them believers
It starts with a vision and a plan to succeed
And into mans heart we shall sow our creed
In the name of Jesus is all that we ask
Just give us the strength to carry out this task
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 3:28 PM UTC
I shall never judge others for looks nor wealth.
We should teach others to not judge other in the wrong way.
We should...
...dance like no one is watching...
...sing like you're preaching to the heavens...
...treat one another as you treat thy self...
...see beyond their skin and clothes...
...only judge what's on the inside, not out.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
Extra Extra ...Read all about it!!!..The time for the righteous ***** is dead...You claim Your stature of limitations..But all you got is knowledge...Let me reconstruct the past...That the ones you preaching to don't see...Slavery...to share croppers.. to steal mill workers...Cotton pick en...to bootleg ‘en...to crack rock..slag ‘en...They got Aids from monkeys..So lets give it to all the monkeys..They know to much lets bury the smart ones under all the dummies...Rise up you righteous *** Shabazz..With more medals then Marcus Garvey...but this dispositions is thicker than the stash on Steve Harvey. Cuz the kids they love the Wiz...and all the green he smoke...Forget the yellow brick road...its these white bricks they see as Gold...But you so righteous with black power on Your bumper sticker...And so sweet that your water start to be thicker...then blood...with a hood that attack your own progression..You Been righteous for so long..with hope you feel depression..that you accuse your brother of mental retardation...urban gentrification...when he still live in the same house he did the year before...but you been moved to the east side on the top floor..You righteous *** ***** you been pronounced dead...back when them bombs hit over Bagdad...they waved the white flag..but you just made it easy...cuz you still so righteous...you done Got Fat, Turned Gay...and rallying for pride marches...Cuz you don’t know what else to do...your time is over..Them black cats use to be panthers, now you dress them up...and placed us all in a new minority...just to keep your righteous priority...Are You still looking East, or have you finally excepted the West..
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 1:02 PM UTC
Revolution: Part one.
The first French King sentenced to death,
Must have a new execution invented;
So that this day shall be forever remembered.
The execution of your King, this invention of evil;
This is how he will finally meet his end and go to the Devil.
The man behind the mask, the executioner;
Will lead us to change to a new world order.
A declaration of civil war, to stop the oppression,
Has lead France to say, we must fight to stop the aggression.
We must be revolting and begin the revolution;
To put an end to the executions.
The fall of the guillotine, for a life time spent,
Writing the encyclopedia, which lead to his death.
There is no place for God, in an encyclopedia of Man;
This writing is illegal, you are blasphemous! God ****
So the time has come, to take your last breath.
Remember when you see the guillotine... don't lose your head.
Until it's chopped off and ends up in the basket;
Another case of basket case madness.
No fiction necessary, for us to live here on Earth;
But this execution, you surely don't deserve.
So the poets leave France, before the revolution;
All of them heading, back to England.
These prison bars to entrap the young.
Taken prisoner for writing a book.
Follow their rules; free thinking is wrong.
The encyclopedia is evidence enough.
Man is born free and grows to imprison himself;
Then he must follow the orders, of somebody else.
Frances revolutionaries, said let it be, let it be;
But the nation is ruled, by the monarchy.
Imprisoned for what they think, the poets and the artists;
But there are no walls, in the prison inside their heads.
Begin the revolution and make us all classless,
Because they’re chained by society,
For the thoughts that they think.
A fight for equality, a modern day philosophy.
Man is born to think for himself; a revolution is on the way.
Liberty! Liberation for one free state;
A jaded nation must make a change.
Revolution began, after the fall of the blade;
Now the guillotine of power will stop us being slaves.
Preaching revolution, we must free ourselves of these manacles.
Preaching liberation for the masses
And freedom for the individual.
This new guillotine, the machine of death,
Makes the severed head fall into the basket,
As they take your last breath;
But they can't take your words, from the books you have written.
So fight the power!
Revolution! Revolution!
We must have a revolution, that is televised.
Che Guevara, Malcolm X, me, myself and I.
All of us willing to join the fight;
All of knowing our view is right.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 7:20 AM UTC
Your a wraith, a ghost dedicated to a dying faith, like a mistake, you used life for your needs and gave only to take, as a friend you offered lessons in hate but reeked of an essence that only you could create, ignorance, selfish religious babble for instance, attacking the ideals of others with a dagger between your teeth while preaching against the dangers of he who lies beneath, dont confuse evil for pain, try to experience pleasure from the searing rain that hisses off your hatred, if you can't then I'm sorry my friend, but you've already gone insane
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
Soft wooden pews and the white dogwood tree,
Arched ceilings and Mother’s whisper Tetelestai
Making surprise harmonies with the sinner beside me.
Black preaching robes saying Grace is for free,
Now pass the gold plate so the Church can supply,
Soft wooden pews and the white dogwood tree.
Regenerated through love-on this we agree,
Shouting Hymn 22 children’s voices blend high,
Making surprise harmonies with the sinner beside me.
Drunkards and Deacons with Thou and with Thee,
Starched shirts and white pearls all standing by,
Soft wooden pews and the white dogwood tree.
Released from all of our chafe and debris,
With roars of repentance and relief we reply,
Making surprise harmonies with the sinner beside me.
I am whole I am new through His ministry,
I know I can never this truth deny.
Soft wooden pews and the white dogwood tree.
Making surprise harmonies with the sinner beside me.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 11:40 PM UTC
i was born all naturally
formed in a lax factory
im actually
a hack with ******* in my nose, practically,
every day, haphazardly
stumbling home, half asleep
i cant tell whats happening
vision begins blackening
im whack like kriss kross
crack like rick ross
major brown boy to houston
be like, "yes, we have liftoff"
dont like me when i'm ****** off
cause ***** i'm bruce banner
or maybe i'm bruce wayne
either way, i got mad manners
tearing down walls like berlin
preaching like its a sermon
potential begins to burgeon
i'll cut you up like a surgeon
killing in place of coercion
so you better lower the curtain
my head and my body are hurtin
so tell me how quick does the world spin?
i'm taddling on ya, you can call me a toddler
but the snitchin n' **** is somethin im never fond of
and i never grow up, cause i'm the neverland smuggler
peter pan turns into one of my best customers
i never grew into my head, im not cocky
never had the eye of the tiger, im not rocky
growing up i never got in fights or caused a lotta ****
but presently im screaming **** the world", i've got a bone to pick
i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
you hold me captive, keep me trapped in your facets of laws
looks of repulsion are what cause me to brandish my claws
constant compulsions reminiscent of prodigal flaws
i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
see im a goblin shark i'll sink in my nautical jaws
im not a joker im a jester with lesser facades
wrought with insomnia cause drugs are american gods
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
I cradle hurricanes in my ribcage
while words swirl around my head.
I try to catch the good ones-
but mostly, I wish I was dead.
I do everything too much-
the joy, the sorrow, the dread.
Yet somehow, I’m never enough-
what a curious truth to be force fed.
If I laugh, it’s always too loud;
my mouth too sharp to make anyone proud.
Crying is a dangerous game,
I could sob away a city, drown in the blame.
My rage leaves no survivors,
as if I line people up on personal pyres.
When I vent, they hear preaching-
a sermon no one wants, a fear of my leeching.
I don’t love, I dissect-
obsessively search for the trap I expect.
I can’t just leave; I burn it all down-
the bubbly, funny girl wears a permanent frown.
I do too much and my inner child feels seen,
She's acting out, we aren't this mean
I just get scared when the vibe is off, and ruining the mood makes the blow more soft.
Despite the chaos I still crave love, an equal partner, wearing fireproof gloves.
Jun 20, 2025
Jun 20, 2025 at 12:18 AM UTC
The silver fog slithers around
my ankles, slowly winding up
my legs with a serpent's silk move.
Squeezing her fingers, my mother
and I approach the barn-red house.
It breathes heavily and its exhale
reveals a backyard cemetery.
As the mist settles, a limestone
hand reaches out to ****** her away.
Down the street the dollhouse neighbor
cannot see me screaming, weeping,
I call for help.
Brown-green water drips from
the bathroom ceiling--
the plumber continues plumbing.
Sweat beads form on the tip of
the fat priest's nose, as he climbs
the broken stairs, he continues preaching.
The porcelain girl wears her mother's
brown-stained ivory prom dress.
Chanting, Sonofabitch. Sonofabitch.
They cannot see me--
I flail my limbs.
They cannot hear me--
Their own cursing drown out my voice.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 6:06 PM UTC
Maybe begging you to stay was the reason
it was 5:30 a.m. and you told me I wasn't the one
and all of these poems are ******** and have nothing to do with anything that is going on in my head
but three months ago I tried to **** myself and you wouldn't answer your phone.
when you saw me the next night you told me everyone has bad days.
With beer in hand and stagger to your walk I believed you
Cause you were right,
everyone has bad days, I would never deny anyone of that
even my bad days are better than others
I have never had my stomach pumped,
I have never drank till I have passed out
I have never been in a car accident
but I have tasted the cold bitter remnants of what love was supposed to be after swallowing one too many pills
I have opened my skin in the attempt rid my blood of you
I have stained sheet after sheet with what I thought beautiful was,
still all I can hear is you preaching that it's just another bad day
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
**** stitch mitch
had six stitches in his ****
he tried to choke the carrot
but it tore his **** to shreds.
he tried to stitch it up
but the dog got to it,
and buried his **** in the yard
with all the other bones.
**** stitch mitch
kicked his dog to death
and then he drove to the hospital.
now he does talks at catholic high schools.
preaching the danger
of monkey spanking,
chain yanking,
meat beating.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 10:54 PM UTC