"prepped" poems
It was nice meeting you.
I bet you didn’t know you’re the first guy I ever tried to hit on. I bet you didn’t know I prepped for this conversation for a week. I bet you didn’t know how deep my heart sunk when I saw you go upstairs with another girl.
Thank you for being the first guy who’s ever flirted with me. Thank you for the pink gin. Thank you for the hand you placed on my back when you hugged me goodbye.
It was nice talking to you.
I know you falling on me was a move, even though you said it wasn’t. I know sitting and listening to the story of how I met J was a move. I know you like L. I know deep down she probably likes you too, I did.
It was nice that you didn’t message me after the party.
But I bet you didn’t know that I would of loved you with my whole heart. That I would of wrote you love letters and made you mixtapes of songs that reminded me of you. Thank you for making me realise that the right guy will come along, but that guy isn’t you. I know I’ll always be that girl at the party who’s name you can’t remember, or face you can’t place but I don’t lie.
It was nice meeting you.
I hope one day we’ll meet again.
— p.d.e
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 7:46 PM UTC
Dear Cute Boy At The Party,
It was nice meeting you. Again.
I bet you didn’t know you were the first person I ever flirted with. I bet you didn’t know I prepped for this date for a week. I bet you didn’t know how much my heart soared when you asked me out.
Thank you for telling me that I have a cute laugh. Thank you for telling me how much you wanted to see me again before I even left. Thank you for walking me back to the station.
It was nice talking to you.
I know when you complained about the chair, it was just an excuse to sit next to me. I know you want L to like you back. I know you deserve someone who treats you better.
It was nice that you finally messaged me, a week after the party.
But I bet you didn’t know how quickly I accepted the fact I’d never see you again. That I’ve already wrote you two poems and that I’m sat listening to the songs you recommended to me. Thank you for making me realise that the right guy will come along, but not right away. I thought I’d just be that girl at the party who’s name you can’t remember, or face you can’t place, but I was wrong.
It was nice meeting you.
I‘m excited to see you again next week.
— p.d.e
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC
pretty pearl anklet
adorning your foot
tiara crown
princess ***** cow
all dressed up in a dark red
cherry sequined
come **** me dress
black lacquered nails
body beautiful prepped
for ordeal by gang bang
and pretty girl strangle
torture blood ****
wiggle wiggle
**** pink aglow
glistening hive
your mouth piece
bilingual
fucky and baby talk
all manicured and bejeweled
glitter and tears
***** food
inch worm lover
little bludgeon
your excited
for a bed of nails
what a luxury
legs spread wide
***** drool melt
your scent
a silk **** cocktail
in thick puce
stained pink milk pom poms
****** beyond tabulation
come sweet cow
its time for slaughter
down on your haunches
you look up
thrilled
dark dreams do come true
i love you
like the bog loves bones
embalmed in spice
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
Under the old house
cast in conglomerate mix
the cataract window
and cracked sill
broken joists
and cross beams
wringer wash
and saddle set
A draw string light
brings life
to the corner bench
fowler toads
and fingerlings
jitter bugs
and dazzy vance
dirt planks filled
with mason
crown classics
Buggy whip
and whippletree
shelved on the
chopboard
tackle and mucks
stacked at the back
horseshoe and jack rod
bend the pike pole
a sawhorse placed
for the Martindale push
Gallon jars
and growlers
prepped
for the taking
ropes and reins
for transport
and fest
goggle eye
jumps the flyer
setting up nicely
for the
Haldimand town fair
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 12:31 PM UTC
First, I claim my land and choose my artillery for
Paper and for pen.
Before going into battle, my men are prepped with
The message and plot.
On my claimed land I lay bricks and marble of
Rhythm and theme.
Now, my land is ready to hold life in
Imagery and in style.
Finally, I build a fortress there in the reader’s own mind.
©Copyright 2014 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
The version of me you never met
Was the best secret that I ever kept
False smiles and a witty joke
You'll never see past the positivity cloak
Why would I tell you I'm not fine
When you don't let me in your mind
Hair up and makeup done
You'll never see me in the evening sun
Meals prepped, trash stashed away
You hear only what I want to say
Even this account is best kept private
If you knew my truth, you'd never survive it
Aug 14, 2025
Aug 14, 2025 at 3:57 AM UTC
Sea calm,
Crew slept,
Dark side,
Sea kept,
Tide raced,
Waves crept,
Crew woke,
Sails prepped,
Coiled spring,
Waves leapt,
Overboard,
Crew swept,
Left behind,
They wept.
For the sea has no respect
For the nautically inept …
Jul 14, 2021
Jul 14, 2021 at 10:02 AM UTC
glamourous indie rock n' roll
orbited our tiny kitchen as i kissed
the nape of her neck.
lauren sliced the avocados.
i prepped the pasta.
our neat little domestic life.
her eyes would ignite mine,
as she spoke of reinventing
the world with her love.
every word rang with perfect truth,
for she had dissolved my callused heart,
and focused my idiot head.
and that night i lied in blankets of her
mercy.
as she licked the wicked wounds
of complacent cruelty.
i've never missed her more.
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 8:43 PM UTC
hospice is the admission
they bring morphine
the good stuff
it’s six months or less
a one way flight
of hosts and guests
now numb from the blast
there’s no turning back
it’s inside out
and your hardwiring
is resiliently engaged
to move you forward
into this final encounter
day after day
drinking red tea
with spoons and cups
of Bonanno and Kubler-Ross
their ghosts slurp
with you -
in your prepped room
your James Dean role
now flickers with light
on the ceiling
and you dream
a third stage bargain
that your son had been hit
instead of you
with this wicked sickness
then coolly counseled
by your wife
that it was no dream
just your mind
regulating - processing
you slump there
dying there
in front of a familiar wall
where you once taped
painted olives green
and sipped scotch
with your books
at night.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
How to be vain:
Admire yourself in a mirror for 20 minutes.
Choose your clothes from 5 walk-in closets.
Make sure each and every article of clothing matches each other.
Wear as much makeup as possible even if you look hideous.
Never wear the same outfit more than once.
Lastly, spend time getting prepped for events even for going to the gym or the park.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
I have learned from a young age that I would attract a certain kind of attention. Prepped for the stares I would receive for being more well endowed in the areas that spark lust in men. From a youthful age sexualized, only sought after for one purpose. One glance and thoughts are shifted to fantasy. Never asked about feelings or emotions, just questioned about how I can satisfied needs. I am only looked at as a fun time never a long time. They all believe that because I look a certain way, that I must have all these men in my bed, and that I am only in their presence for pleasure. My sanity is often questioned, once they realize that I am not a seducer or temptress that falls in to the hands of multiple men. But they also have the mentality to wonder why someone like myself is distant, guarded and closed off.
(Looks gone to waste in their eyes, tainted in my own)
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 11:14 PM UTC
Forbidden fruit left untouched
Longing to be tasted
Casted aside, undevoured
Wishing it will soon be desired
Ripe and prepped
Waiting to be feasted upon
It's efforts are forsaken
Neglected and yearning
Unsatisfied with insatiable thirst...
▪-▪
Oct 10, 2022
Oct 10, 2022 at 4:50 AM UTC
Porcelain white is painted polite.
Grown-up to be perfect, and pretty in lace.
Long shiny hair tied up with a bow.
A beautiful pro at hiding her woe.
Dressed to the nines with diamonds that shine,
to blind those from seeing her broken design.
Her body a shrine all knotted with twine.
Privileged, and coddled.
Loved, and swaddled.
Prepped for ascension,
despite the fine lines that grow in her spine.
Cracks in the porcelain, rigid and sly,
grow bigger with rigour as time flies by.
One more bawl and she’ll break above all.
I am a china doll, would you like to see me fall?
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 6:51 PM UTC
We're cooking up a thought stew
A mindful casserole
Compassion the sauce that our hearts impart
sad tales sieved from our souls.
The base of the dish is hope
seasoned with laughter and tears
we stir in empathy to the mix
and we plan to allay crumbs of fear
Our stew has a dollop of knowledge
jugs of experience
ears that are prepped to listen,
Spiced with strength and resilience
But we won't prescribe your recipe
for journeys are made with choice
your life's kitchen tools, your recovery rules,
empowered and mixed using your voice.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
Old Milwaukee raised me.
Groomed me, shaped me.
Prepped me, made me.
I must have been born for the wild..
Bright lights, long nights.
Skyscrapers, paper chasers.
Yellow cabs, livin' fast.
Dream chasin', heart racin'.
Crowded trains, heat and rain.
Livin' right, rockstar life.
Heart breakers, money makers.
I was definitely born for the wild.
Baited me, hooked me.
Caught me, took me.
New York City has my heart.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
There's nothing beyond the world you sculpt,
a bed of roses,
drenched in lies,
prepped by knives.
So carefully shaped,
so carelessly grown.
Every nook and crevice,
give me motivation,
I'll tear it all apart,
irreparable,
a ****** mess,
a catalyst
that'll spark your destruction
and set that mind ablaze.
Fragile and weak,
the human crawls,
in seek of help,
only when it all crumbles.
In bliss,
in safety of their cocoon,
they rejoice,
a fool,
not a thought,
not a mind,
a pity indeed.
It could've all grown so well,
bloom fully in spring,
and emit a fragrance
that enchants unlike any other,
but you forget,
of the thorns you grew,
and I'll use them all,
let you have a taste,
of the tangy sweetness,
of the world you've built.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC
*As the surface clouds cleared
and the sovereign sun arose
My perspective was no longer fixed
on what lay below
Yet on what awaits before me…..the unknown.
I fly, with the rocky shoreline behind me.*
Maria
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the emperor of the solar system
demands obeisance
but for half of our life
ceding us to the
super moon's sequestration,
a velvet coated, cosseted,
the other-half-of-a-lifetime
remainder reminder
of the divide no poet
can supersede
yet, even these planet pulling,
tide churning bodies
are eclipsed,
their torrented powers
have human
shortcomings
orbits prescribed, predictable,
they too can only look down
upon us and wonder
what if and what lays beyond
their lawful curves
but I can look up to you
watch you, human,
so powerful are you!
you, you, you
can reset your course,
irrespective of tides, gravity
I can watch you
rephrase your life,
knowing that my eyes
cherish what ere,
before in time,
what will be your
course selection
as I write,
I wonder if
my thoughts sufficiently
clarified,
do they require editing?
no matter,
the way they fall is
how they'll be served
I live with the same orbs,
and the winds that lifted your wings,
changelings of perspective,
now but the breeze that coats me,
were the hot air currents that lifted you,
now here, days later,
my genlest cloak,
as I inscribe to you
and the waters that I see,
not lapping today,
but modestly erupting,
the same Atlantic green
you have seen days pre-me,
but my shoreline sandy,
rocks removed,
for your comfort,
awaiting your arrival
the woman sends the seagull,
French Toast is ready,
(one piece, that talkative white bird's commission)
coffee hot n' salted
all ready, prepped to your taste
and for some reason random,
clueless why on, in my Long island offshoot sheltered isle
tears wave over my cheeks,
which I must erase/disguise,
before the repast begins
Surprise!
How came thee to be at our table?
How good the meal will taste,
now that you chosen to fly/stop by!
and this gibberish nonsensical
cup of words
is your welcoming present,
for here,
humans are the sovereigns,
and the celesetes bow to our wishes,
we select our own direction,
regardless of how the orbs try our souls,
we are most powerful human,
sovereigns of our selves
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
she wipes flour from her apron
and her heart breaks a bit more
crumbling
with each new batch of cookies
prepped and baked
(No Valentine's Day cookies this year)
With each loaf wrapped
her tears add salt to dough
the flavor of lost love
she wonders what will become of her
as butter folds itself
into flour
hiding
melting away
until nothing is left to moisten the dough
Icing glides out onto surface
slick and sweet
as she frosts
white hot anger
of betrayal
knives at the ready
she cannot touch
she fears
like little lives
torn out of a comic book
blades infused with grief
she turns back to flour, sugar, butter
and folds them
over and over again.
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 1:14 PM UTC
Fowl calls pulsating through a wanting body
A mind prepped with 10-for-10 meditation tapes
A goose flying in the dead of winter
What is ease…?
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
I drink my coffee
bitter taste in my mouth
I added chocolate creamer
but I knew, not enough
So I prepped myself to drink it
like the smile that wants
to frown
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 9:50 AM UTC
Mr. P. Showed me the first time,
And now placed before me, Mr. J
I questioned your state,
While you laid there like a piece of slate.
Thin you were with the apple in your neck.
Tempted for a bite like in the book of Genesis,
A sin you might say, but what the heck.
They didn’t care for they put you in a partial wood and glue box,
Then they stole your money like a masked fox!
Opening your velvet lids she exposed them both,
Pressing all around, for she had to make sure.
Just in case you could have been saved
From some kind of a cure
A bowl your pupil turned
Something you gave me to eat from
Milky white yes they were,
Something else they did tell me,
And I didn’t even have to look that far.
With her clipboard and her pen
She marked all the things outside and then within.
Doors now closed and stained instruments are now touched
Thick blue rubber latex gloves are passed around
Pre prepped he already is,
What’s next I then wonder?
A quick slice of a scalpel
Now exposes what was under.
Hooks seven layers deep
Removing something you now couldn’t even keep
Like pulling a worm out a fish’s mouth,
It then popped out,
“Look” He just snagged himself a trout.
Putting your trust in something better then Big Ben,
If it seized up, what would you do then?
(CARSr.5-31-12)
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 1:00 PM UTC
Thursday night is game night but Hasbro
has never had this one right. Operation is not
a game for ages four and up–maybe four,
multiplied by four, add four, and up.
Surgical mask on, Cavity Sam prepped,
and tweezers waiting to the right of the operating table:
I like to start with the Adam's apple–
carve away any trace of my origins
and they will never figure out who I am
because, like my mother used to say to me,
who is Eve without a blameless man.
Then I move on to the butterflies in the stomach
flittering and fluttering for a home that feels far more familiar
but they cannot be caught, only drowned.
Naturally, the broken heart follows
but the problem with pulling that out is
the never-ending-silence,
white-noise-science, black-hole-giant,
You know, the absence that predates writer's block–
writer's cramp, sliding a pencil up your wrist like it's the
(best kept) secret IV of an author.
Is that the price of filling up your bread basket,
going to bed full on recognition and reward
and maybe even a Pulitzer Prize?
Be careful not to trip up on your own ego
or you just might end up with a wrenched ankle
and water on the knee.
I still have to deal with the wishbone,
the split-in-two-gravestone,
the only-one-of-us-is-leaving-here-happy zone.
And finally, I have the spare ribs
but I just might leave those there
because we see what happened when God
bothered to remove those the last time.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
Disguised beneath layers ever so seamless
Sewn together with intricate pattern and stitch
Embroidered smiles and elaborate costumes
Well rehearsed, prepped and ready for performance
Play the cards, pluck the strings, sing the songs
Play the parts, put on the grandest of shows
The funniest thing is that not a one knows
The amount of rights and wrongs
The close proximity, yet vast distance
How hands ache, shake, and twitch
Some think it to be needless
But never could that be further from the truth
Each and every door within each and every floor
Of the corridors of my mapless mind
The maze that it is
Holds puzzles, pieces, and clues
To the one hidden just beneath the surface
Dreaming of once again seeing the light
After after such plight
Every mask
Every side
Delicate fabrics and fragile seams
Sewn with trembling hands
Guide an inexplicable force
Perhaps a strange task
Hidden among wildest dreams
Set for an unknown course
With each that falls away
Another takes their place
A mysterious entity
Behind the face
Beneath the handiwork of the seamstress
Sewing and patching every hole
Desperate for every layer to stay
Remain no matter the cost
All for what purpose?
What is it that they hide,
That they hold so near and dear?
Such is unknown,
Or perhaps forgotten
Lost in the course of time
- Jay M
April 30th, 2021
Aug 29, 2021
Aug 29, 2021 at 2:26 AM UTC
a lady of colorful blood
prepped in white uniform
she'll put your heart back together
whenever you feel down or torn
she deeply loves a boy
as if he's from her books
way past his words and actions,
way past his looks
ointments of her embrace
and her medicinal laughter
she dreams and doesn't know it
but she's already a doctor
sometimes her puns are die-worthy
yet sometimes they give life
she cures with her compassion
and bandages the strife
people give her their sadness
in return, is happiness, she gave
all will be unnumbered--
those lives which she saved
i liken her to the sun
i liken her to the stars
i liken her to the brightness
outshining the scars of dark hearts
she's no plain jane
she's no ordinary girl
i brought her into my life
and she brought healing to my world
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 8:44 PM UTC