"producer" poems
I chose feminism because I believe in equality between genders.
because I’m against gender roles, men who need a woman to get their **** done are not “cute” and are nothing but spoiled little brats.
because my virginity, my body hair and how I dress up are none of your business.
I chose feminism because I’m not a *** machine nor a baby producer I value much much more than that.
because I don’t need a man to validate my self worth, I already know what I’m worth.
because in some countries ***** women are forced to spend the rest of their life under the same roof as their assaulter.
I chose feminism because a woman who speak up and raise her voice is a ***** .
because in my city a woman was beaten by her husband the night of their wedding because she didn’t “bleed” in the ***********
I chose to speak up because an 8 year old Yemeni girl died of internal injuries at the hands of 40 year old husband on their wedding night.
because ****** is not a ***** word and my periods are not disgusting.
because more women need to speak up and speak for their rights
I chose feminism and everyone should do the same .
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
Nothing can influence
A Man
Stronger
Than a Woman
It's a difference
Through yin
That causes
Yang to become
Whole
It's like the beast
Crawling towards
The beauty
She need not
Use force
Or violence
To get the animal
To draw closer
Her prescence -
A flower
So sweet
Anything with a nose
Wants to inhale
The influence of
A woman
Is a journey inward
Where the flow
Comes in
I could show you where
You begin
Where it begins -
In the formation
Of a wave curling
To form
An infuriating
Break
Soaring through
the wind
She gets him
Contemplative
Her words
Sound like Sanskrit
She knows what he needs
Beyond what his ego
Believes
And maybe gentle
Or crying
Should not be forbidden
The influence of women
A females touch delicious
A Man's counterpart
And producer of souls
The answer to family
The true love gaze
An access to divinity
The missing ingredient
Of the recipe
A Woman's influence
On a man
Is the way the world
Transitions
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 1:34 AM UTC
Chereè, Chereè...Her mommy cried and warned her to be careful, 3 months ago she left home for L.A in hopes for becoming a star. Five foot five, dark green eyes, skin complexion as a beige princess, at a pool party in the hills she met the producer to both whoms sparked interest. She had a voice of gold, a personality so bold, and he had the fill to her mold. So she thought, So she was told, Chereè was gullible a young 19 years old. She moved in with Jazzy, fell in love with him, and his savvy, way of making her feel so **** and strong. For three months he lead her on, head and *** every other night and she never recorded one song. Then he came to her and asking, "Baby do love me…Baby do you care." Thirty minutes after she finished her makeup and hair, they stared into each others eyes, he gave her a tender kiss as he caressed her thighs. "I love you girl, and I always will." As she strapped her heels, he uttered a comment about how love doesn't pay the bills. North Hollywood, for weeks the pay was good, until the night she climbed in the SUV. "What's your name sweetheart." "Whatever you want it to be." She hopped in the truck, and he had something tucked, he turned and flashed L.A.P.D. Just do me this one, and I'll let you go…and she prayed to just get back on the stroll. They went in the back seat, the ***** cop was a freak, he used his cuffs to tie up her hands and feet. She waited till he was weak, he came and then she beat, her elbows into his head and felt for the keys under the seat. He whipped out an 8 inch blade and slit her throat. He kept stabbing, and he ever choked her.....looked at the body, and rolled it over, took his cuffs and gave her a soft kiss on the shoulder, he wiped tears and blood from his face with her thong, because he told her……that'd he let her go. He dumped Chereè on the side of the road, and took off for his Beverly Hills home.………And her mother told her to be careful.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
The old fable covers a doctrine ever new and sublime; that there is One Man, — present to all particular men only partially, or through one faculty; and that you must take the whole society to find the whole man. Man is not a farmer, or a professor, or an engineer, but he is all. Man is priest, and scholar, and statesman, and producer, and soldier. In the divided or social state, these functions are parcelled out to individuals, each of whom aims to do his stint of the joint work, whilst each other performs his. The fable implies, that the individual, to possess himself, must sometimes return from his own labor to embrace all the other laborers. But unfortunately, this original unit, this fountain of power, has been so distributed to multitudes, has been so minutely subdivided and peddled out, that it is spilled into drops, and cannot be gathered. The state of society is one in which the members have suffered amputation from the trunk, and strut about so many walking monsters, — a good finger, a neck, a stomach, an elbow, but never a man.
Man is thus metamorphosed into a thing, into many things. The planter, who is Man sent out into the field to gather food, is seldom cheered by any idea of the true dignity of his ministry. He sees his bushel and his cart, and nothing beyond, and sinks into the farmer, instead of Man on the farm. The tradesman scarcely ever gives an ideal worth to his work, but is ridden by the routine of his craft, and the soul is subject to dollars. The priest becomes a form; the attorney, a statute-book; the mechanic, a machine; the sailor, a rope of a ship.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
Isela
takes it in
the mouth.
She'd get on her knees,
positioning herself
half-in,
half-out
of focus.
Just enough for Joe,
behind the Cannon,
to capture
the whole thing.
Eric,
the producer,
was on his hands and knees
beside Joe.
'Come on Izzy
work it,
work the dick.'
'That's right,
stroke it,
make him sing.'
'I love it,
Izzy.'
Izzy wanted to bite
down.
She hated each and every ****
she ever saw,
but she had a few things to do.
Her **** had to be new
and renewed
on the daily,
her ***** had to get wet
on command,
and her stroke had to be
so fast
they'd burn the dude
as her mouth
cooled.
After her mouth
was littered,
and her face was a mess
of spinal glitter -- You could make a man
come out of his
brain, Eric would say.
Izzy would get in her car,
wiping her arm
where'd she'd gone
to the clinic
to get pricked
and tested,
and pull a long haul of Virginia Slims
down her throat.
'
It was always the first sweet thing
she tasted.
Izzy would pull into the Terrace View apartments,
all that long black hair,
and wipe all that make-up off,
three napkins-worth,
so she could kiss her baby.
Because Rocco was in for a bid,
and not coming home anytime in
the forseeable future.
Her microbiology degree was somewhere
in her closet underneath those pink stillettos and
more fishnets than fish.
And Izzy knew
that with those double d's;
*** like a backseat,
mouth that could grease
a ****
and her hands
Eric liked to call his own,
that she could pay the light bill
and maybe
put Romeo
into a daycare center
that wasn't full of roaches
and
angry *******
"Someday I'll get out,
but it's illogical
to say
with all the money I'm making,
and it's just a job
when you get down to it,
I've ****** a lot of *****
and never gotten
paid."
Rocco Jr.'s cheeks were always the second
sweet thing
she tasted.
"I know a lot of girls
that got defeated by this game."
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 1:08 AM UTC
Psst
Hey man
You looking for a boost?
Some bud? Molly? *****
I gotch you
Let's be out
Let's look forward, shifting eyes
Thick blunts, welcome to The Court of Miracles
Where no ones ever dry and everyone's good
The whole place was flooded with music
Pounding, pulsing, entrancing
thump thump thump thump
Laser lights flashing neon colors
Multicolored creatures of night dancing to the whimsical noise
The DJ was young
Attentive to his machine that dispensed exuberant sensate explosions
Rocking back and forth, flipping switches, turning knobs
We are, we can, we will live forever
Then it all went silent and the whole place shot out with a feeling of anticipation
WE ARE IMMORTAL
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
The bass caused everyone of us to vibrate and pick up the vibrations of one another
Hey bro
Take this
Molly
Nerves become fervent
Now meet my other friend
Lucy
Mind is widened
Now you're candy flipping
Hippy tripping
We met a girl
Her dad was a record producer
She was way out there
She was out of her head
We met an artist
He used different types of wood
And carved shapes and patterns in to them
Then painted it with acrylics
Then smashed it with a sledge hammer
People bought it
He was brilliant
He was ******
I was dazzled
She tasted like *****
He tastes like cigarettes
***** devils
Looking for a time
I saw veterans from Iraq letting loose
Thank you
A sea of sweaty smiles going for miles
Under a baroque moon
Sleeveless shirts
Minuscule skirts
Beads, glow sticks
Unity
Altogether
Under one universe
Dedicated to this single moment
And what it means to us
One mind
Joined
For equal freedom
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
Money is a **** producer, who mascarades as a professional film producer, promising fame and fortune to young girls in LA.
Money exploits us all, telling us to cry on his **** as he forces it down each of our throats.
MMM
Money talks its valuable poetry, cha ching as we take the money shot, the money shot, the money shot...
Blaw! we take the money and run. Exploited, every one of us carries this inflated value; running around with our heads chopped off.
Where did we put our heads?
Not a one realizing how.
We put our heads collectively in the sand.
Money talks, but we dont. Money walks, but we wont. Money marches, but we cant stand. Can't form a coherent sentence while we're getting ******
"If my dad finds out he will destroy me!"
"I won't tell."
Money wants us young, dumb, and full of idiom; and as the bubble bursts, we can't help but feel depressed.
Our faces are all over the internet. America the beautiful, I can hardly see your face behind the biggest, blackest ****
If you want to turn anyone into your own personal ***** first you got to get the money!
Money is king. But is he kind? Money is our god, but what kind?
Money money money, MONEY!
The lyrics of every rap song on the top 100
Can we get some hoes and some money that we can throw's up in here!?
It's what we all want, and its what we all fear. Money controls us and rules us without a peer.
Money replaces trust, it replaces common decency, and puts a friendly mask on the face of a murdering monster.
Money makes me sick. It smells like burning flesh if you read it just right, and put your nose up real tight, it can start to burn you too.
Roll a hundo, give Ben a sniff. Money doesn't care if you sell it off to buy drugs or a train wreck. Money isn't ethical and neither are you.
Money wants us all to bow down, and when we rise up, we look like monopoly men.
Give me some money and I can change the world into a paradise on earth; give your local bank some money, and our world looks like a shopping mall.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
Empyrean Heaven (there is no promised land)
there is no promised land)
the promise is where you stand
at this exact moment, where you
stick the landing every morn best,
best you can, assess the window’s
first delivery of the status of where
you are, whom you are, bent or *****
empty or full, impoverished or worse,
sated, foolish or brave, (dis) believing
the top of world is planted beneath your
feet; but above, at this the fiery places of
Empyrean Heaven.
Empyrean Heaven, nearest to me, thy there~thee
will find, beyond the heaven of the air and the
heaven of the stars, no land, the incorporeal
existence, carefree, know this you-human,
an unpromised state is the causal residue,
of actions between human to human,
not thy god, irony delicious, earn it
with every thought, instinct, act
deserving of this, this
“unpromised place”
G.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was, declared Saint Basil, a certain condition, older than the birth of the world and proper to the supramundane powers, one beyond time, everlasting, without beginning or end. In it the Creator and Producer of all things perfect the works of His art, a spriritual light befitting the blessedness of those who love the Lord asks of you~human.
———————
Jul 3 7:59am
Jul 17, 2023
Jul 17, 2023 at 6:34 AM UTC
And today i got to feel u back again.
Read my old Poem, I wrote for you,
When i was in pain.
Never knew, you would be the one
Who actually read my black diary that day
lines you wrote on pages to next pages
u got me, i got you tooo
My dopamine got Lit up for you in that way.
One movie date and two night-outs with no talks in our whole friendship at all
3 years knowing you as a hip hop producer
i really felt your production was different
Those beats are just Wow.
"Insane" - His name all that matters.
Both hustling for music as career
i saw hardworking stupid kid
i wana never let you ever ever suffer.
Trance lover me,
Getting Rapped up Altitudes Of love
relaxing my mind when we grind
With music we both breathe-in
No lovestuff to waste our time...
And soo...
I hold back my pampering child
Oh heaven! Its all Right
"BUT"
These second thoughts still remain the same
i realized my love is true for you
Its ******* Insane!!!
Will i be marrying you or not
I still get those Second Thoughts.
Aug 20, 2023
Aug 20, 2023 at 4:09 AM UTC
Taos Pueblo fashion designer Patricia Michaels returns to New York City for “Style Fashion Week NYC”on September 10th to present her latest 30 piece collection at aspecial RSVP eventat Hammerstein Ballroom, 311 West 34th St, Midtown Manhattan.
Michaels was a finalist on season 11 of the Lifetime reality TV show, “Project Runway”, and “Project Runway All-Stars”, gaining thousands of admirers as the media world followed her success along with an excited and proud Indian country.
Michaels will present her trademark PM Waterlily line and her latest collection for Spring/Summer 2017. Known for her use of Native-themed fabrics, hand painted or hand dyed, cut and fabricated at her Taos, New Mexico studio, Michaels says she is inspired by nature walks at Taos Pueblo among the trees, wildflowers and water plants, and “seeds” are important symbols of her designs and concepts.
The following description is from the website, speaking of the “Modern Native” who inspires and wears her designs. “Patricia Michaels...will have a few pieces for colder climates as her woman travels to regions where during the summer the climates tend to be cold. She is a world traveler so one may made need that special look to freshen her palette.”
Those living in or near the New York area that are interested in attending can visit toEventbrite to RSVP for the September 10 event. Seating is limited.
We wish Patricia Michaels and PM Waterlily success in New York City and beyond.
According to their site, Style Fashion Week, producer of globally recognized fashion events, provides top designers a world class platform to showcase their collections. Each year Style Fashion Week presents the season's must see shows, unforgettable performances and exclusive installations. Our expansive Style Marketplace immerses guests in fashion as well as art and design. Guests directly engage with brands throughout the week.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
Nebraska has over 6 million head of cattle
and is perhaps the largest beef producer in the world.
This is strange, juxtaposed to my neighbors
who are Hindus, from India.
On all sides, I am surrounded by young, attractive,
friendly Indians
living in Nebraska,
studying information systems.
I rarely eat beef, but I joke, for them,
this place must be some kind of sacrilege,
or purgatory
where they go before returning home to join the "growing middle class"
we hear so much about.
They have gatherings, food,
language and ways
of maintaining hegemony among their group
while they are here, in my hallway,
and I am alone.
I have no information to manage,
no home to return to.
They gather in my neighbors’ apartment
talking, late into the night
I once made friends with two of them
who, unlike the others, were both atheists
instead of Hindus.
They told me that Hindu women, like the ones next door
do not have *** before marriage,
but the men do.
This seemed like a paradox, but I believe them to this day.
And when I hear this platonic conversation, muffled by the walls
it sounds like pigeons
cooing
flapping their wings in an alleyway
And having nowhere to go.
The countless, devout Hindu men
visiting my charming neighbors
remind me of adolescence
how I used religion as a cover for my shyness
I admired these men, in their pursuit
of something I was told to be obtainable
and then I remembered all the people
who were not devout
******* the religious girls I tried to flirt with
while I was in high school.
I laugh.
I wish there were a high minded reason I stopped believing in the zombie Christ,
but it was the fact that no one from my church was having *** with me, because
of God and all that, but they were having *** with other people.
**** christians, really, you can have them all.
It’s easier to imagine my neighbors as trapped birds
subtly fighting for scraps
without ****** desire
than to imagine them as people like me,
who know what they want but assume it’s out of reach.
The alternative, to know that they are having ***
and I am not,
is too upsetting.
I want them to sound like cooing birds,
shy and timid and lost,
because that is how I feel.
But, if their voices, distorted by the walls,
sound like pigeons to me,
what must my silence sound like to them?
How do they want me to seem?
Lonely people, quiet people,
sad people, fending for scraps of trash.
That is not them, but it is me.
I realize it is easier to be a Hindu
than an atheist
in Nebraska,
and it doesn't matter what (or if)
you eat
when you're alone.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 1:22 AM UTC
~The sensation of experiencing everything
Everything is never nothing; worthy of remembering
~ Beauty surrounding your senses, inhale with every breath
You're invincible, the outline image of mystery
~ Looking over with increased anticipation
All words are shuffled with variation
~ Confident in your surroundings, anywhere and everywhere
Thrilling vibes, never realize a judgmental stare
~ Only recognize the unrecognizable, every detail
Every aspect of life, all in different realities
~ Immortal visions, images sufficient for a lifetime
Liberating memories, sensational at its very prime
~ Gleaming within the mind, I feel the feels you feel
With intertwined consciousness, we debate on what's real
~ Implausible explanations, never impossible excuses
To acquire this forever, would inflict internal bruises
~ This level of fun, fundamental producer of freedom
For, this prosperous feeling rids you of being numb
~Meagan Williams
1.15.13
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
I never really knew what kind of man could find my heart. I never really knew what kind of man could ****** my soul. Make me start to dream. What kind of dream they would have that would inspire me. Until I met him. An aspiring rapper. From Pennsylvania. Dominican and Puerto Rican. Four years. Long-distance. Music was not my calling, but it had awakened me. To writing. Lies had broken us. Nearly 2 years later I fell for the next one. An aspiring rapper. Producer. Jamaican. From Pennsylvania. Close three years. Complicated as **** Music was there again. And although it was not my calling and it wasn't as important to me as it was to the fellas I fell for, it was there. Linking people to me.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 11:50 PM UTC
I sit here and ponder
As a trailblazer,
No
A pioneer,
No
A lazy explorer,
Whatever that means, but sure
On a relatably aspect,
I'm really just a simple court jester
A third wheel passenger
A classic trope
The main guy, brushed off by those who used to claim to care
Ignored like a wondering stranger
Both lead actor and expendable,
None playable character
A name not worth trying to remember
Never a shred of credit offered either
An already undesirable role turned disaster picture
Struggling to hold it together
Both as a lover and a fighter,
Man and provider
An overdramatic graphic designer,
Not a producer
Also fighting nature as a stand alone reality denier
Because "it's not fair"
...or whatever
A true, true believer
...in what though?
I'm still not sure,
Go figure
©2024
Mar 17, 2024
Mar 17, 2024 at 2:20 PM UTC
TV’s going in living room
Talking about our doom
We’re laying on the front lawn
Yesterday’s long gone
Woman showing skin
Too fat, too thin
She can never win
Throwing up yet again
Listen up man
We’re all ******
Re-repeating reprimands
Demolition on demand
Locate security
Trying to make camp
In independent infidelity
Strutting to the bank
Cashing in corrupted currency
Stock markets sank
Guitar man teary eyed
Rock and roll came and died
Record producer’s big old lies
Broken dreams and wasted time
Colorado Smokey Joe lights a bone
Faded out to the ozone
Smoking on home grown
Got glaucoma? Get an O
Shut up dude
We’re all *******
Forget the olden days
Give marriage to the gays
Let go of the narrow minded silly ways
Let it be as common as classic Frito-Lays
Rolling in the new waves
Is it God who really saves?
Is there even one big deity?
Guess there is if you believe
Be born, live life
Go to college, get a wife
Get job, sacrifice
It’s the norm, is it right?
Have a kid, then have another
Father, mother
Sister, brother
Try to tolerate each other
Watch your back bro
Because I don’t know
Undecided, undeclared
Run in circles, running scared
Take a risk, double dare
Love needs to be redefined
Unanimously agreed and signed
Peace in the heart and the mind
Going down the rabbit hole
Striving for that same goal
Anti- bullying campaign
Kid comes home blood stained
Toughen up
Enough's enough
Individuality
Opposing mainstream reality
Wiseman taken as a fool
Becomes another social causality
Feel it
Taste it
On the back of your tongue
Hanging by the gallows martyrs hung
Climbing up the ladder’s rungs
Foul smelling whiskey bums
Grab a *** and stash it
Looking like your bat ****
Steal a car and crash it
“Always wash your berries before you eat them and fly toward the sun”
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
They want bodies.
Warm, compliant bodies. Moving parts.
Hands that open doors and flip switches.
Spines that bend but don’t break.
They want eight hours of labor, plus the commute,
plus the side hustle,
plus the ever-present smile that says,
"I’m lucky to be here."
But bodies need rest.
And there is nowhere to rest.
No shoebox. No storage unit.
No couch, no floor, no friend with a spare key.
Just asphalt and backseats—if you’re lucky.
Just parking lots and fear and pretending to be fine.
We’re told to buy the things that prove we’ve made it:
the ergonomic chair, the smart toaster,
the streaming subscription that numbs the noise.
But where do we put it?
Where do we live with it?
They expect us to consume while we disappear.
They want machines
—but with human elegance.
They want efficiency
—but with soul.
They want labor without the laborer’s needs.
We are the product and the producer.
The face and the function.
They demand dignity at the front desk,
but deny it in the zoning map.
We work full time,
and still live in our cars.
If we have one.
If it hasn’t been towed or repossessed.
If there’s a safe place to park without being harassed.
Why?
Why can you clock in at dawn,
and still sleep under stars you didn’t wish for?
Because they want bodies.
But they do not want the burden of keeping us alive.
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 6:41 AM UTC
Oneness writes the "play" of Life;
Every script, every role, every line.
Oneness is the producer.
All costumes are its design.
All stages are built by Oneness,
The props and the intricate sets.
Oneness does all of the casting
For the "roles" that Consciousness gets.
Oneness is all of the actors
And That which is "viewing" the show.
Oneness is both, knowledge of Truth
And That which pretends not to know.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC
If the whole world but a stage be
Whose cast of characters are we,
What genre fits your life story,
A thriller, farce or comedy?
A romance or perhaps maybe
Drama, action, or tragedy?
Would you be the stage manager,
The producer or director?
Would you be the lead character,
Or play a supporting role or
Just appear occasionally,
Happy just an extra to be?
And when the final curtain falls
Will you have given it your all?
Will others demand an encore
Or will they have expected more?
But of the most significance....
How will you rate your performance?
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 8:47 AM UTC
Please, to whomever is holding this
Don’t be concerned
In angst-prime
I am spurred from deceit
Of hours spent under a fluorescent glow
And transcribed by way of indigo
Am I here to lament a fallen future that my producer is so keen on?
Here to recite a limerick, cheekily rhyming and miraculously
Drawing a purpose
Or a haiku from an oddly Western mind
Who has no more drank words than the bearer has put mind to metaphysics
And finds terza rima obscene
Latin is rotting and Greek in isolation
I feel I have little purpose on this page
Besides reaching out a naïve hand
And wishing with all my might
That someone will reach back
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
Was that a dog?
Was it a pair of feet?
Was it real?
Or was it me?
The actors in the show aren't acting,
They're real.
There's no producer no casting,
And I feel,
I feel every thing that happens,
And it's like I'm going through it.
Even when the show ends,
replay and it's like new again.
What was i just doing?
I can't stay still my mind keeps on moving.
am I dead?
Am i alive?
is this my after life?
Can people see me?
Am i here?
i fear nothing but fear.
I cant be alone,
these two will **** each other.
it's hard to have so many personalities
one cant escape another.
papers
clothes
trash
everywhere
my thoughts
my feelings
buried somewhere under there
my voice
is overcome
by more voices
than one
mine is the weakest
schizophrenia is so hard to love.
maybe thats why no one does.
maybe thats why im not wanted.
depressed for a week \
happy for a day
suicidal for 3 years
i just want to go away
i cant control my thoughts
i cant control my actions
i cant help whats wrong
matter of fact who can then?
feels like no one.
medicine and hospitals
i know thats where ill end up
wont be the first time you know.
second,
third,
i really dont even care
i hate it so much on the outside what does it matter if i get locked up there?
mood swings
heavy
so heavy the metal bends
bipolar girl gets worse
she's all ****** up in the head.
i want to **** myself
obviously not enough to have done it
ive tried so many times but every time just wasnt working
pills
syrup
poison
cuts
suffocation
hanging
and i still wont give up
why me why cant i
fly free
like i was supposed to
why must i go through
life being;
so sick and poisoned
im a sweet girl
because of my sickness youd never know it.
it gets worse over time and my mind just keeps on showing.
im forgetting how to spell
where i left my keys
i'm forgetting how i fell
where i left my ID
did i do that
did it happen?
was it a dream?
did i imagine?
whats happening?
what is life?
none of this is real
its all a lie.
i cant help it
twisted mind
i wish i was normal
sickness of mine.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
Nothing is real; it's a Cosmic Drama
We are just actors; we come and we go
There will be laughter; there will be tears
Such is the Cosmic Show…
It's a drama you see
Whatever will be, will be
Our role we must do, you see
What will be will be
Nothing is real; it's just a dream
There is no ****** no need to scream
Just a projection; it's just a show
We must wake up and go
It's a drama you see
Whatever will be, will be
Our role we must do, you see
What will be will be
The earth is a stage for His Cosmic Drama
There is a Cosmic Power in Charge
He’s the producer; it is His show
He decides when we must go
It's a drama you see
Whatever will be, will be
Our role we must do, you see
What will be will be
Why do we scream? Why do we cry?
Why do we worry right till we die?
It's just a movie; we must enjoy
Blissfully living with joy
It's a drama you see
Whatever will be, will be
Our role we must do, you see
What will be will be
We must not worry. We must not fear
We must surrender and accept, my dear
We must have faith, trust and hope
Then in this drama, we cope
It's a drama you see
Whatever will be, will be
Our role we must do, you see
What will be will be
There is no end – at death we transcend
We are just actors; we come and we go
We must do our part, the best way we can
And we must enjoy the show
It's a drama you see
Whatever will be, will be
Our role we must do, you see
What will be will be
There will be sunshine; there will be rain
There will be good times; there will be pain
We must not complain, we must accept
And we must do our best
It's a drama you see
Whatever will be, will be
Our role we must do, you see
What will be will be
We’re not the body; we’re not the mind
We are energy of a different kind
We live in darkness; the Truth we don’t know
We must realize before we go!
It's a drama you see
Whatever will be, will be
Our role we must do, you see
What will be will be
Why do we people sweat the small stuff?
The road will be smooth and it will be rough
There will be action; there will be song
And we must sing along
It's a drama you see
Whatever will be, will be
Our role we must do, you see
What will be will be
There is a purpose for us on earth
Why do we die, and why this birth?
Why do we come, why do we go?
Why this cosmic show?
It's a drama you see
Whatever will be, will be
Our role we must do, you see
What will be will be
There is a Cosmic Power in charge
It’s His creation; it is His show
We are but nothing; we must just act
He is everything, in fact
It's a drama you see
Whatever will be, will be
Our role we must do, you see
What will be will be
It's just a drama; it's just a show
Nothing is real, we come and we go
We are just actors – the earth is a stage
This is His Cosmic Show
It's a drama you see
Whatever will be, will be
Our role we must do, you see
What will be will be
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 3:02 AM UTC
Another day of long hours ahead for me
Good morning gorgeous!
Read your full disclosure and I admire you even more.
Whoever said all creative people suffer from manic or
clinical depression was out of their minds because you don't.
You prove you don't need to be depressed to write.
Like the you don't smoke and you are no ******
You are careful what you put in your body
I know you don't do drugs.
The more I get to know about you the more the butterflies
in my stomach tell me I'm right.
You read that part right.
I still have butterflies when I think of you
but at the same time I feel at ease when we on net chat.
Big confession coming up.
I've always wanted someone like you in my life.
A woman who's gorgeous, highly intelligent, has her
**** together, doesn't cake on make up, has confidence,
loves herself and life, laughs at life and herself, doesn't bore
the hell out of me with drama and much more.
Quite frankly I've always wanted a woman
other women hate and she makes them feel insecure.
That's the woman that has confidence and can
enter a room alone without being self-conscious.
That's how I know you're the woman for me.
Your stalker has been freed but you are not in hiding
I commend you for taking your power back.
I'm guessing you are set to stand your ground if necessary.
I mentioned your name and they know of you
mainly from what they've heard from friends.
Hope you don't mind they did a Google search.
I didn't tell them we were dating it's how my parents are.
They can tell when I'm interested in a lady.
With your images on screen my dad agrees
with me. You are gorgeous!
My mom said "I haven't seen anything
that lovely in a long time!"
My folks have unprejudiced hearts like me
and yourself and would love meeting you.
Bringing them out to hear you when you
tell me you will be singing.
Hoping you will feel more at ease with my parents
sitting at the table and we finally have a real life
conversation longer than me telling
you how amazing your singing is.
Hope your meeting with your producer went well.
You venturing out in bad weather speaks volumes
about your dedication to what you do.
The more I know about you Betty Ponder
the hungrier I am to learn more.
I have no doubt you would never keep me
waiting for an hour for lack of something to wear.
.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 5:16 AM UTC
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE
Where every scene from every play
Ever written flows seamlessly into
Each other in no particular order
ALL THE WORLD'S A ****** MYSTERY
Where everyone’s a probable suspect
Including the investigating officers
Playwrights and audience
Yet we’re all sure we know whodunit
ALL THE WORLD'S A COMEDY OR STAND-UP ACT
Where everyone’s a dressed-down clown
Even the straight man and the cast and crew
And everyone plagiarizes the punch-lines
ALL THE WORLD'S A PASSION PLAY
Where everyone’s a martyr
Even the judge and executioners
And the messiah must be
A flavour of the week superstar
ALL THE WORLD'S A SOAP OPERA OR CRIME DRAMA
Where the cast doesn’t realise
They aren't wearing any clothing
Even though they are seasoned
And respected award winning actors
And the show is being marketed as pornographic
ALL THE WORLD'S AN OFFICIAL DOCUMENTARY
Where everyone’s the subject
Director producer and crew
As long as the camera is rolling
And it’s rolling 24/7 !
ALL THE WORLD'S A REALITY SHOW
Where everyone’s a drama queen
Including the director producer and crew
And the camera is always rolling
Even when there’s no film in it
And the props and stage are constantly being
put-up and torn down all around them
ALL THE WORLD'S A COMEDY/DRAMA
Where nothing’s really that funny
And the edginess is trite and melodramatic
Like a cast of mimes in a Shakespearean play
ALL THE WORLD'S A GAME SHOW
Where everyone is the host
Including the audience
And there are no contestants
Only models on a flashy stage.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 2:42 AM UTC