"quesadilla" poems
Of course as I have an entire life left to live I am wondering what you ate for breakfast.
You ate a chicken quesadilla.
For breakfast???
...wierdo...
but at least I know now
the suspense was killing me.
Now I can't help but wonder what you did today...
Any photos???
You went the bathroom???
GET OUT!!!!
And of course, I want to hear your 'inspirational' (recycled) quote of the day.
"Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”
(classically overused)
MAN THAT GOT ME SO INSPIRED
I WAS SO SAD BUT READING THAT MADE ME FEEL 100 TIMES BETTER!!
20 likes
WOW YOU ARE A GODDESS!
YOU CHANGED YOUR PROFILE PICTURE????
SCOOOOOOREEEE!!!!
Woah, you look so pretty, you did such a good job with the editing (there is a lot of it).
You look nothing like that in person.....
I like your bra...by the way...
10 likes in 3 minutes!!
DUDE
THIS IS LIVING!!!!
Well enjoy your life with the constant need for approval...
Lets see where that takes you...
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 6:07 PM UTC
Your friend asked me if I knew I was the daughter of a king
(I slipped a flower under your dorm room door)
reaking of alcohol wrapping his tsitzis around his fingers
(because I saw you crying, and
smoking a joint behind the quesadilla stand)
Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 7:00 AM UTC
Dinners under the chandelier
Meaningless chatter and happy laughter
The delicious smell of quesadilla
Drifting through the air from the counter
Grandma rocking in a corner
Little ones sparked before her
Marveling at her skill with the needle
Entranced by the music from Grandpa's fiddle
Stories by the moonlight
Folktales by the fireplace
Connecting dots with the starlight
Losing track of time in space
She never knew the word 'pain'
Then she felt the pain of death
Till the betrayal of Cain
Till she craved the high of ****
Now pain is all she knows
Pain in all forms and doses
Be it through bullets and blows
Or even the thorns of roses
She's grown so used to it
It's started to feel normal
She's grown so accustomed
Without it she's incomplete
As she sits near the cliff's edge
She dares to think of happier times
As she uses her foot as a wedge
She remembers the oven clock's chimes
She remembers mama's cookies
Her favourite was chocolate
She remembers papa's banters
And Nana's beliefs in fate
She recounts Grandpa's pipe
His delicious mixed smells of tobacco and old person
That must be where the crave started
Her crave for the high of forgetting
As the nostalgia washes over her
She dares herself to cry
She removes her footed wedge
And begins to fly
As she flies she feels nothing
Only an empty fortress
A fortress filled with echoes
Echoes of happiness
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 8:13 AM UTC
Chupacabra is my best friend, and Isaac Newton always drank water when he was thirsty.
Don't ****
Art.
dactyls and fractyls and crystal visions
can't save you from the swim
water constantly up your nose
pass me the honey
honey
pass me the bacon
pig
25 pounds of bananas and all I want is a quesadilla
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
You were proud of me 4 days sober
you made me a quesadilla in my honor
you loved me greater than before
and I told you I wouldn't drink tonight
but honey
I'm sorry
I lost the fight
and I know you won't be mad at me
yet it was that light
that I'll miss, as I try to type this.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 5:34 AM UTC
Have you ever given your friend a bad potato?
Because they ate your cheese quesadilla a year ago?
And have you ever shouted at the rain
Just to get it all out of your system?
Maybe you secretly hoped
That cute guy you liked
Would hear you a world away
As you listened to the rain
Drop at supersonic speed
Have you ever thrown a helpless object
At the wall just because you could?
And did you subsequently take a trip
Down that dismal, wistful memory lane?
Maybe it reminded of you
Of that sing along
You and Major Tom did a lifetime ago
That made you a couple drinks
Too late to turn back
To your college assignment
That was due the next day
Maybe life is just a game
Strange and imperious
To our flawed design
Just maybe
I am you
And you are them
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC
Picturing her is tough,
you'd think it'd be easier,
when I dream of her enough,
she's got brown hair with a past that's a little rough,
I mean relatability,
is on the key ring of comfortability,
a good smile,
and the first to kiss or say "I love you" first every once in a while,
a plus if she can write,
and not feel ashamed to sometimes be the first to apologize after a fight,
she's someone not looking to be found,
healthy and (superficially) not super round,
but can eat quesadilla's and chocolate cake in bed,
who listens,
but also knows what needs to be said,
a girl who giggles & smiles at my cheeesyness,
and says that it's ok that my life is a mess,
she makes love instead of *******
(sometimes a good **** is what we need though)
Knows how to get me oot of my head,
and is self reliant,
but also has trouble watching me leave,
she'll be fine with dancing/singing/kissing me in the rain,
and know all the right words and moves to drive me insane,
thick hair like a mane,
and doesnt care if I'm poor or have fame,
she'll appreciate my crazy music,
and will take care of me when I'm being a ****** when I'm sick,
who wants kids and that awesomely typical house,
she'll be loving and empathetic,
Loving Bob Dylan and dogs,
shorter than I is a must, and know's how to be the sun in my times of fogs,
adventuring but doesnt mind a good netflix and chill,
her eye's will be revealing,
with every look my heart she'll be stealing,
smooth sexiness withoot the need to be based on touch and feeling,
kissable lips,
grab worthy hips,
a girl I could laugh with for the rest of my life,
an honest wife.
I'll dream of her with a certain notoriety,
hoping I find her,
after a year of sobriety.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 4:00 PM UTC
The house smells wonderful,
Golden and buttery as this morning’s delicious sunrise on our front porch,
And your eyes twinkle as I venture a first bite.
“Pretty good, right?”
It’s a quesadilla and it’s perfect,
exactly to my preference.
Warmly brown and crisp on the outside,
Cold sour cream mingling with too much hot melty cheese and chicken and all the fixins.
A real knock out as far as quesadillas go.
I smile with my eyes and happily munch,
not especially hungry but I know you are.
You spoke this into existence,
A master of your own love language.
In many ways, I am fed.
.
Ingratitude does not become us;
I eat of your hand and rejoice the offering
As my brain whispers:
“My love, please leave me to myself.”
These days I am as two ships passing,
So rare an hour is it to shake my own hand,
Cull my own thoughts,
Breathe my silent breath unaccompanied.
Spinning sugar and spinning wheels are my god-given gifts.
I use the first to coat my tongue.
The second hangs in the air between us.
“Better than good,” I say,
Moving to rest,
To dream my silly dreams,
To paint my silly heart across the mercurial landscape of shared memory.
I am my best when I end my days like a spoiled Pomeranian:
Seated on a cushion
Worrying a bone.
.
The mysterious clicking and clacking of the HVAC tip taps merrily to the rush and whir of the electric heat.
The impression of a kiss still lingers on my cheek
In the quiet.
The house smells wonderful,
Golden and buttery as this morning’s delicious sunrise on our front porch.
It is a miracle to build a structure with your bare hands that bends without breaking,
and supports your weight without shaking.
Dec 22, 2024
Dec 22, 2024 at 10:15 PM UTC
ive been pounding my fists against this wall for days. or has it been years? no. days.
all my love has been ****** out of me. i dont know where its gone. maybe its evaporated, now floating with the stars.
did you know salt water stains leather? or maybe its just tears. not all salt water.
im distant. even thought youre just on the other side, sight, or lack of it, is one of those catalysts. close? youre closer than ever. far away? where are you.
why heaving? im sick of this **** dry? i havent eaten anything since the **** quesadilla.
um... yeah. ive started cussing. a regret.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 10:44 AM UTC
**** I don't know what to do about it
at one moment, it is in my grasp
and the next it escapes me
I get lost again, waking up from some sort of high class dream
left again with the coffee, the quesadilla, worries worries worries
trying to just take it day at a time,
when you wake up in a fury you feel like the world has already left for the station
My center lost, now nothing to do but to read the news, ask the questions
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC