"preps" poems
'Today, The Jay...'
I open my eyes to see its a new day.
Today, What's the day?
Is it Saturday or Sunday?
The only thing of which I'm certain
Is that its not a weekday.
So, What can I do today?
Without delay,
The first thing I do is get my tray
Light a blunt to take the pain away.
Inhale and exhale,
Through the passageways.
Chill. . . Then, light another, just because its today.
I'm still in bed, but it's already a good day.
I push the sheets and pillows out the way
Then I get up to empty last night's fluids away.
Then to the kitchen, wondering what I can eat today
What can I do, to keep the hunger at bay?
Maybe some rice and filet?
A little something to kickstart the day.
While the food preps, I go back to my tray.
I smile and giggle as I sculpt my one true love, the Jay
With me at any time, anywhere, in any form, on any day.
Even though I'm already high; 'Hooray'.
I still want another hit of the Jay
The Jay,
Hits, Without delay.
Stays,
When everyone goes away.
Fades,
All the pain away.
My worries, It allays.
My happiness, it brings to the fray.
Keeps my mind, from going astray.
Literally, takes my breath away.
Causes, no form of decay
Keeps me, from getting 'ire'
Doesn't negotiate, doesn't parlay.
Just good vibes, all the way.
The love of the Jay;
Isn't just a single foray.
Its a constant exchange,
Everyday.
It's a feeling, that once attained,
Nothing, will ever take its place.
And there goes the tale of my day,
Spent with my true love, the Jay.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
Don't trust Tinder, Never found a winner
She's a Only Fans beginner
But us men have compliments but we're a Thirsty sinner
Just false hope and a haunted app full of ghost
Thirsty Only Fans and stupid ********
Tinder never felt right so I left
Super liked my own business
What's a commitment?
Tinder has always been a joke
Caused me to be broke
I've so paid for the gold and found some Diggers
Full of preps and Only Fan strippers
You swiped right and then left
Account deleted for the 30th time
My dumb *** pays every dime
Tinder gold, one real joke, I'm hopping off Tinder boat, I've got my life jacket and off to land
Tinder so fake like you don't understand
Jan 10, 2021
Jan 10, 2021 at 5:19 AM UTC
"unconditional love dinner-dance"
so names the advert for an evening of a
big shot, posh charitable event,
which the glossy Gatsby East Egg magazine implies,
if you fail to attend said soirée, you nobody, will have no way to claim truly understanding the composition of an
unconditional love dinner dance
laugh internally, swirling,
riffing on eat love pray,
this ditty is what I instantaneously say...
*what do these swells,
with their self-appointed importance,
know to probe/defame my claim,
to this poem's title?
these are the factors,
the stepping stones from
my minute to the minute next
love
am I not oathed, bound
unconditionally
by my very own name,
which life bestowed upon me at birth,
to compose of this love
in every etching lineage, signed verse kissed upon our faces,
then, as well, oh so well, so swell,
to kiss our babies
whose smooth skin has no familiarity with
time and all my love
all my love,
uncritically makes no distinction
dinner
she loves me through the silence
of my oohing and ahhing,
these sounds,
escaping willingly,
unconditionally,
as delight unconstrained at the delicate deliciousness her love
has implanted in the dishes she preps,
with which she
preserves us
dance
she love to dine upon
her laughter at
my akimbo'd imitation of
'so idiot, you think you can dance'
hip hop
begging me between crinkling boisterous hardy laughter,
please, not to hurt myself
she, a Martha Graham educated,
Argentine Tango ballet mistress,
a life long dancer whose genes forbid her
to pass by the sound of music
without breaking out, breaking into dance,
in perfect synchronicity
to whatever the composer calls upon her,
to present the music, to inform us,
in body graphic form,
unconditionally
what they intended us to
see within and between each note
I need no tuxedo,
no fancy dress,
no permissions to comprehend
the meaning, the actuality,
the unconditionally of
unconditional love dinner dance*
I dine and dance with love daily,
and yes, to be very sure,
unconditionally
for is there any other kind?
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
I don't have a problem with
hipsters, goths, jocks,
skaters, rockers, preps,
farmers, plumbers, executives,
Blacks, Hispanics, Asians, Caucasians,
gays, furries, bronies,
foodies, junkies, abstainers,
republicans, democrats,
atheists, monotheists, polytheists,
etc.
People are people.
So, why begrudge them that?
I do, however, have a problem with mean, hateful people
who's greatest joy comes in a form of shadenfreude.
Be who you are,
but don't impose your self-image onto others;
impose others onto your Self with a healthy dose of salt.
You may learn a thing or two.
Live and let live.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
Leaves crackle as she slowly steps
She enters the glade, her magic she preps
She listens for the sound, first soft then strong,
This music is the Faerie Song
A smile creeps onto her face
As she observes the spider weaving her lace
This creature trims the gowns of Dryads
The velvity green of summer they add
The wind blows and they bow their respect
Their rustling applause goes unchecked
She pauses by one revered, acient tree's heath
And pats the small fawn resting beneath
On she glides, though the mists of twighlight
For ahead she sees a scene so bright
Dancing 'round an enchanted flame
Are the Faerie people, frolicking without shame
She steps into the light and all goes still
She throws back her hood that kept out the chill
The Fair Folk all bow as their clothes they brush clean,
"Welcome home, Fair Lady, our own gentle Queen!"
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC
i wish it was 1963
black and white tv
cold milk in a bottle
and none of this
i wouldn’t miss
any of this
still, there would be
your cliques, greasers and
preps
rich kids would get the ***
the cars, the better ****
the poor will always be in
need of things
doesn’t matter the year
even broke,
that cold milk
in a bottle would
be there in the
morning
i wouldn’t miss
any of this
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
And it's about that time of year
when all the school clubs
print out brand new sign up sheets
and hang up brightly colored flyers
promising "new friends and fun activities."
Model United Nations is meeting in the history wing,
Robotics has a new metal cutting machine,
and three of the singers from the student rock band
graduated last May.
(I hear two of the sophomores
have even started a club for Dr. Who.)
But what I think
my high school really needs
is a club for people
for when they're feeling lonely.
Anyone could show up
anytime—
from preps to prep hockey
to nerds and exchange students,
the artists and scientists,
and even the sad writers.
And we'd get together
as often as we needed to be reminded
that there are way more people than we think
that feel exactly the same as we do.
And maybe someday
a meeting will be called
and we won't even realize it,
because we've stopped calling them meetings
and started to refer to them as friendships.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 1:54 AM UTC
if religion is
the goal of every human being
then i am the loner,
the outsider.
if religion is
where the preps reside
wrapped in their judgments,
and all those "little white lies"
then in veritate triumpho.
if religion is
the new craze of the season,
and church pews are where they commit
their acts of treason
then the left behind are
closer to salvation
than the "saved".
if religion boils down
to denominations,
to predetermined actions,
and rules and regulations,
then i am the burnout;
capable of so much
but skipping class and being poisoned
by those toxic wasteland fumes.
if religion is the clique,
the cult of the century,
then what about the forgotten kids?
what about the ones who are drowning
with the monsters clawing
our brains
into shreds?
if religion is the "good"
then what am i?
i do good -
i am kind to the "lesser",
and i do not sit upon horses
higher than the drugged and dazed.
if religion is salvation,
then what is life?
what is this time i pass
trapped between the slum-dogs
whom the devout look upon with sorrowful eyes?
who the **** am i to judge
when we're all facing a similar prize,
when all we have to look forward to
is desolation and our demise?
the only thing at the end
is a barren pit of black,
the cold wet ground seeping through
our faulty corpse capsules,
and 'once-upon-a-time' stories'
in which we will all but be
forgotten.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
yellow, fellow
some colors make me happy
bananas are yellow,
rich in potassium
yellow, fellow
maybe my second favorite, currently
#ffed67
#ffe345
#ffef39
#fff200
graceful like a duck
a taxi in a rainy urban area
the morning omelette
the sponge of my childhood, soaking up my happiness
the sun that grants me some radiance
cheese
cheese
cheese
the corn of the country side, butter n' all
like highlighter on PSSA preps, third grade
"it all must be important"
daffodil, nostalgia
mac n' cheese
mac n' cheese
mac n' cheese
banana peppers
yellow buttons
the school bus that takes me away
yellow duckie
daisies
french fry
juicy fruit
phone book
raincoat
yellow, my fellow
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
2014, a year where 90s and late 80s babies are happy hyper turnt up not turnt down are swaggerific vs Brillitelegerent. Everyday we live is a commercial Just because we see many commercials Young fly and flashy is what we all want to be but what about those that just want to be "young wild and free"
Free to speak, free to act, free to stand, free to move, free to sing, free to dance, free to read, free to eat and more importantly free to choose how and what we want things to be like Females: I see we got swag of soul urban sophisticated finesse then theres those of us who are preps that are chic may be geeks. Lastly the girls that love to twerk alot plus cover themselves in thick make up and hair dye or is it a weave or a bob (Bob)
They say we sweet cuz we got that "bubblegum" question is what is your flavor something like K Michelle? Nicki Minaj? Rihanna? Miley Cyrus? In that case so do we all skirts and crop tops and bikinis and short shorts or is it galaxy leggings or perhaps jeggings.
Fellas they say you are pimps and players dons and brothas that be like "Forget the haters" they say you are cool with swagger as Kesha said something like that Nick Jagger. Urban dominance, fitteds and suits glasses and high fades what about those high grades Yasssss my brotha ooh I cant forget about those gorgeous dread heads now Ayeeee
Alright I mentioned alot about the guys but which are you...chris brown? Drake? That boy Meek milli or Justin Beiber well whichever it is Ladies and Gentlemen Just remember your place and Destination our Generation peace
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
Whispering her smile
Looking beatific,
Looking arousingly terrific,
Uninvited but invitingly,
Place my pointer finger
Upon her breast, ******* already attentive,
***** she preps to dance and to
Leave me
Bid her despedida,
For my adieu is tinged
With desperation internal raging,
For tantalizing, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged
My tango muse,
Off to dance in dives,
Where all the men are
Strangers, who paid in cash,
With creased and stained $20 bills,
To soil themselves, to dance with my woman,
Paid far in advance.
For consorting with the enemy,
I renounce her not, but guilty charged,
For mesmerizing, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged
She'll return, after three,
Undress before me,
Purportedly sleeping,
Pointedly, slowly, knowingly,
To insure I scent the sweat
That tango demands,
The ****** side effects,
The Argentines invented,
Accoutrement rituals,
Excuses to invent dance,
In order to pleasure intensity,
For teasing w/o mercy, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged
She chambers her body bullet,
Sliding in unrobed,
For a negligee would be
Negligent in her condition,
Laughing at my pretend closed eyes,
She whispers,:
I return here, to you
For one reason alone
Despite soul and body, exhilarated,
While gone, you have been composing
About me without permission,
Of this, of thee,
J'accuse!
I know you have penned
Poem,
Which long after the dance thrill has chilled,
Will belong to me forever,
I will kiss you now so I may taste the
Words that are mine, until next week,
When I will be guilty again
Of charging your imagination
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
Sometimes the best
Things in life hurt the most
That breakup the one
That made you torn up inside
It was for the best
They didn't deserve you
Be free stay beautiful
I still love you
All the cheaters and beaters
Preps and posers
It’s not worth it
Live you life
Love don't die
Speak the truth
Its all for you
Night and day
Spent trying not
To throw it all away
You're my light from a
Light bulb breaks sometimes
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 8:55 AM UTC
we are connected,
it may not be blood
but there is something
it draws us together
closer than ever
we talked everyday,
for the age difference didn't bother us
until the day you graduated
and went away to dartmouth
leaving me alone, in high school
with the stereotypical preps
i miss you everyday
with all my heart
those texts don't compare
to those moments we shared that year
i will never forget what we had
late night snapchats
and procrastination tacos
i miss you everyday.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
It all started when my last relationship went down the drain.
Ever since, somehow you started to really shine in my eyes.
You're the cutest in your gang.
Though sadly, I can never talk to you, because of our social stats.
I'm an outcast and your with the preps.
Either way, even if we didn't talk,
we still did through our eyes.
I'm not stupid, I know you look at me too, even if I don't look at you, I have witnesses.
Sometimes I try to make a 'move' by coming up to you and ask a question about whatever is close to relevant.
But for those moments, when I have a good look into your eyes,
there the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.
It's like an endless field of green grass being shined by the sun.
It teared me up abit.
I adore you name. It's so nice and rolls off the tongue,
though your last name makes you sound like a terrorist, sadly.
I secretly gave you a nick name of 'Puppy Face' because you have an adorable face like a dog.
Also to cover-up that I was talking about you.....>.>
Don't ask. Just look at yourself in the mirror and put a pic of a Beagle beside you. Though, with curly hair...
But for everytime I had classes with you, it gets me motivated to go to school.
Because of the glances we exchange, I ended up forgetting about my previous relationship as if it never happened, because your glances gave me more affection than he ever did, somehow.
So when it was Valentines Day, I did that anonymous poem to you.
As a 'Thank you' for putting me out of my misery.
In then end, I hope one day we can really hangout and have an actual conversation.
I won't bite, I swear.
Though I might treat you like a dog, because you're cute like one.
But that shouldn't be until way later.
I'll see you soon some day, Puppy Face~ :3
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
I live in a world of
gentle manipulative hands
and fingertips
my world is made up of
bodies curled around instruments
passionate notes
meticulously planned stories
and eccentric details
my world revolves around
the subtle nuances
and lush touches of vibrato
this world I live in
is marked
with fingerprints
covering the walls and floors
limbs and breathes
eyes and preps
blood and the air we breathe
this world I am apart of
is unlike any other
it lives and breathes
it speaks and moves
it vibrates through my bones
and says
home
passion fills the air
and ground beneath my feet
creativity runs freely
and thoughts are expanded upon
changed and made better
and with each piece
comes a new fingerprint
a new voice
and a new partner in crime
the family grows
and so does our world
welcoming the initiates with open arms
and loving lullabies
and when the stars come out
you can hear the chanting of the bass
the lilting violin
and the vibrating presence of the cello
the viola and piano
adding their voices to the mix
creating one multifaceted voice of liquid honey
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
I'm just a representation of expression, feeling
so unexpressed. The presentation; outlines me
as part of the Depressed.
A manifest; label me an outcast. In a commonplace;
so void of it's heart. Commonly known as the ones
not meant to last.
But I trumpet truths; indulging in those lost souls.
To voice the voiceless, speaking of their all.
_All of your worth._
Trampled down by the world's self doubt, it tells
me; 'you can't and will fail to do.'
While I'm only trying to figure a lot of things out.
Casting out two ears; to be in an empty silence,
letting this world try it's all to speak.
Being part of a world's mountainous worries,
forcing any to they peak.
My past mistakes and all missteps, are senseless in
the troubles of all the days long gone.
Even when I had all the necessary preps.
_Life wasn't painted to always make a lot of sense._
But let me voice all the depressed. To those now
gone silent; without their freedom to be expressed.
We're just all the _Depressed._
Feb 23, 2022
Feb 23, 2022 at 3:30 PM UTC
Long ago, way back when,
I was teaching five year olds then,
The funniest things happen to me,
One day I had different coloured shoes, you see,
One brown, one blue, gross, prithee,
Preps said very loudly to me,
"You're the silliest teacher we've ever seen."
So much for teaching them literacy,
The joke was on me, quite definitely,
Still, I guess I can survive anything,
It's called my worst day of teaching.......
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 1:49 AM UTC
Yea its mr leatherface
Puttin' fools back into place
Where they belong
Let the bells ring and hell sing
****** mo
Comin' to all my foes never been a **
Only roll with the show
Im talkin' guns galore and much gore
Jackin' my shot gun
To give out more
Aint no blessin' when thugs ride testin'
Puttin' these fools to shame
When i ignite my flame
Bless the 40oz ya see me puffin'
Them green leaves
But if im POD'd dont push me
Ya might bring out the killer in me
Stay strapped Eazy believe me
I know ya aint dead
Just in another dimension need i mention
For the game you done shined on me
Killers wanna be us
But dont know ****** mo been
Rolling with us
Since ninety four ********
Givin' up for them foos stalkin' gats n takin' bats
Bomb mr police from his back
Yall dont wanna jump or else get stomped
On like a roach waitin' for Satan
OUIJA cursed me since played the game
Me never no surrender
Killer drug dealer cap pealer the realer
The pain the mo energy feeds my brain
Uh im spawn hittin ya with the necroplasm
Glowin' from my eyes no saprize
Catch the tequila sunrise
Then i camouflage
Cuz a nigguh on the run with my shot gun
Blast up in yo assputtin'
All specs on they *** quick as the flash
Bomb cant dodge that bullet that hitcha
Mr ripsta linked the mad instka
Pen and my pad aint ******* ****
We live by it
The sword that is n if you got grown kids
Betta watch yyo step as the lord preps
My order quick to slaughter
Those who aint down soon to drown
With this **** sound
And even if ya doubt my skill
Ill come back harder slam ya
Like O neal and with that Heat
It'll make ya feel
Dumb numb o **** that fool don't wont none
Drenchin' in sweat
Because yo *** finna cash out
Roll with St Clair so dont dare
Try to come between my cash fiend
Endin' all dreams
Like ****** scene ill make ya scream
N tell the devil i said hi
And tell em he's next
Jackin' all demons in guise
****** warrior so who wanna plex?
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC
she's slowly starting to forget things
but she preps her mind in stride
she constantly worries about this
i can tell when she tries to hide
and i know that it's absolutely frightening for her.
to lose her mind. to lose herself. to let worry win her over.
she focuses more out of fear and concentrates fiercely.
she practices her sounds and her faces. she memorizes scriptures and places.
"remember when we did this" - "it feels so long ago that we did that"
and i don't have the heart to tell her that i wasn't there.
and my soul hurts for this dear woman of mine...who is slowly losing her mind.
as she tries to grasp the sanity that was never meant to stay long.
my mama is getting older. so i'll continue to use that excuse and comment lightly
that it is only stress that's getting to her. that she needs a holiday.
she'll take those reasons for now...but i know she still hides.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
Who am I to be the representation of expression to the unexpressed,
a liquefied colourful presentation filling the outlines of all the depressed.
Manifested to be what the world would label an outcast.
A fulfilment of that empty void of a heart, commonly known for not being built to last.
A trumpet blaring the truths of what self indulgence could bring many hurts to a soul,
the voice of the voiceless, speaking out for us all.
Being trampled down upon by the world's footprints of self doubt,
telling what I can't and fail to do, while I'm trying to figure all these things out.
And I would cast out my own two ears, just to hear empty silence when this world tries to speak.
A world so cold constantly trying to force me to reach my peak.
Surely now I would have learnt from my past mistakes and all my missteps,
surely no I could sense trouble five days away and be ready with all my preps.
But as I say again, I would be the voice to the depressed,
a loud voice to those gone silent, with no freedom to be expressed.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 7:02 AM UTC
With soft hushed slip-steps
They creep into my being
My sleepy mind preps
For all the things I’m seeing
They are the sleep sneakers
That invade in the night
Restlessness seekers
That dance without the light
The tales of dreary dreams
Show terror, fear or love
But Sleep sneakers seem
To form fit like a glove
There is no themed story
The meanings are unclear
There’s doubt without glory
Just a gnawing fear
Tonight there in my mind
As I settle in my bed
Those sleep sneakers may find
Dreams hidden in my head
Aug 11, 2022
Aug 11, 2022 at 10:05 PM UTC
You seem to be everywhere
A meeting with
The thugs and the preps
Sunday service then the bar
No matter where you just
Don't stick out
You aren't offensive
You aren't memorable
You just sorta blend
And your a great climber.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
The boys at my school are players
For one minute they have a girlfriend
Then next thing you they hate her
Then the next minute they are with someone new
It's not unusual to see a boy with girl after girl
Or boys who dump girls they get back with them
Because they are soon desperate
So players take advantage
They like preps
Populars and *****
They don't like normal people
That are nice
For they are
Players
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 8:22 AM UTC
Gotta laugh
at how things spin
and when they say
outcasts never win
but groups and cliches
are still a thing
still human
insecurities hidden within
Jocks and nerds
cheerleaders, readers
still inside
asking
"Please love me"
"Please accept me"
how things have seemed to turn
How outcasts are still outcasts
but things previously applied to outcasts
now mainstream?
An outcast is never truly outcast
for they outweigh those
said to be cool and popular
still
no matter how big the group
outcasts always seen as that
minority of preps will soon see
that the true outcasts
are those
hiding behind the validation
of others
and their crew
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 3:43 PM UTC