"quizzes" poems
I know they're not
accurate.
The fact I frequent
creative results
may be
more or less
coincidental.
After all
who am I
compared to
Jon Stewart
or a Greek
philosopher?
But maybe
I don't care.
Maybe I take them
just for fun.
And who can complain
when they are compared
to Charizard
and Winnie the Pooh?
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
i am a dreamer
idealistic, optimistic
the one who imagines her life will actually turn out how she wants
i am the ideal girl to marry, apparently
according to these heteronormative results
that are based upon me knowing how to cook
and liking to sleep in and wear t-shirts
that seems like ******** to me
i'm not the ideal girl to marry
who would ever want to marry this?
who could i ever want to marry?
to wake up next the same person for the rest of my existence?
to never get a moment to myself?
sometimes i look at her
and imagine my life working out the way it's supposed to
and waking up next to her every morning
and dancing together in sweatpants
with messy hair and fuzzy breath
maybe
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
being a good student is always one of the reasons
being a good student is one of the reasons why im a really inconsiderate friend, apparently
because i dont share my answers
because i dont break the rules
and because i dont hate going to school
i just dont have the heart to tell them that school is actually my quiet
that school is my rest from life
that school is my escape
that this is how it was
being a good student is one of the reasons why im an unreliable brother, it seems
because i dont tend to their needs when im home
because i dont help them with their homework
and because i dont have any time left for them bec im focusing on my studies
i just dont think they'll want to hear that im not doing any of it for them because no one did those for me
that no one made me dinner at age 13
that no one ever taught me how to answer my homework
that this is how it was
being a good student is one of the reasons why im a irresponsible son, i believe
because i dont ever want go to family outings
because i dont prioritize them over school meetings
and because im barely home from sleeping over my classmates' houses just to finish a ******* output
i just dont think he'd appreciate me telling him i never felt like a part of that family
that i never felt like he'd prioritize me over anything
that i never once felt like coming back to this house was the same as coming back home
that this is how it was
that this is how it is
that im so sick of everyone saying im
an inconsiderate friend
or an unreliable brother
specially an irresponsible son
so if the only thing im good at are quizzes and projects and tests and deadlines
then i sure as hell am gonna keep at it
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC
"Give me a good reason,"
the exasperated gangster-father
quizzes his son,
"why you flunked your school exams"
"Well, dad," says the spoiled brat
*"they locked us all up in a hall
and they asked us questions
five days in a row -
but all five days I never
gave them a word
Everybody else - the cowards -
spilled the beans!"*
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
you'd like to argue 'no, your grades don't indicate your intelligence'
because you have bad grades and
you don't want to think of yourself as stupid
and now you've settled yourself into a pit of
oh, I have bad grades, but that means
I'm smart in a better way than them,
it's like a smug superior thing,
like 'those people have such an ordinary intelligence'
and 'here I am, someone whose mind
cannot be contained by this fragile institution'
and you've made yourself satisfied with your bad grades
because you think yourself to be unorthodoxically intelligent
and those who have good grades
are boring, pointless individuals.
you don't want to feel bad about yourself
or put in the work to make them better
so you decided this mindset would work best for you
but I'd like to propose that yes, your grades do indicate your intelligence-
it's only a certain kind of intelligence,
mind you,
but it's the type of intelligence we measure
as ordinary intelligence.
if you have bad grades
you
A) don't understand the material
B) aren't paying attention
C) aren't putting in enough effort
or
D) there is no D
because grades are a combination of homework,
tests,
quizzes,
participation,
and projects.
I get if you're a bad test taker.
I personally don't understand how that works-
like, you get the material
until someone asks you something about it
and then you can't communicate your knowledge?
I mean, if you know something, then you know it,
and putting it on a paper, test or otherwise, shouldn't be difficult
if you actually know what you're talking about.
which ties in to A. if you don't understand it,
then actually,
you C. aren't putting in enough effort.
but okay, I'll accept that reason-
even though I think bad test takers are a myth.
you can't possibly be bad at homework
unless you don't put in the time to do it.
projects, too. if you fail those, you C.
and participation is B.
all those are easily solved by hard work if you
lack, for now, the kind of 'intelligence' we measure.
so if you have bad grades, no, it doesn't mean you're unintelligent.
but it does mean you're lazy.
or have reached a point where you don't believe you can do more-
which is a lie.
because you are capable of solving every problem
you believe you are capable of solving.
and telling yourself 'I'm just not good at school'
guarantees that you are not good at school.
if you appreciate your capability
you can go so much farther.
there is a limit to human potential,
but I don't think it is different for everyone.
I think the limit is where you either
cut yourself off
or
the upper limit-
very few people have reached that limit. perhaps no one.
but it is very high up there.
the limit where you cut yourself off
is that imaginary edge of human behavior
at which people say "boys will be boys"
or "evil is human nature"
or "certain people are more inclined to ____ than others, and I am not one of those people"
or "everybody's potential is different"
because that is not ******* true
your potential is what you say it is
and the line you draw for yourself
is a wall you can now never cross
because you don't think you can
like 'I will never be more than what I am'
or 'All I can be is me'
or 'accept me just the way I am'
because you can be more.
and as a human being with this amazing power of metacognition,
you are obligated to be more
you are obligated to train yourself and
change yourself
and program yourself into the best possible human you can be
because every action you take builds you higher
and every choice you take breaks down the wall
you just have to make the decision that
you will reach the stars
you will do whatever it takes
because at the top of that mountain
you will realize you can do anything now,
you can go anywhere now,
you've made it all the way here-
now to the moon!
and I dare you to go
because I know you can.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
you hurt like ache
and adderall
and arnica
you hurt like bruises
and battle scars
and broken bones
you hurt like cuts
and *******
and countryside
you hurt like death
and destruction
and die-hard
you hurt like electricity
and emergency rooms
and edit-undo
you hurt like **** you's
and fire
and fallen trees
you hurt like garbage cans
and gonorrhea
and gang ****
you hurt like hell
and holes in the road
and heartache
you hurt like israel
and illness
and ignition fumes
you hurt like jaundice
and jugular veins
and jack in the box
you hurt like karma
and kissing
and kerosine lamps
you hurt like lightning
and love
and literary terms
you hurt like mother
and mary
and moses
you hurt like nakedness
and nosebleeds
and nervous breakdowns
you hurt like oil spills
and old yeller
and oral quizzes
you hurt like parkinson's
and parties
and panic
you hurt like queens
and questions
and quantum physics
you hurt like rogaine
and roses
and rope burn
you hurt like solar power
and stomach aches
and ***
you hurt like teeth cleanings
and tar
and tobacco
you hurt like ulcers
and underwear
and unrequited love
you hurt like viruses
and venus fly traps
and vapor rub
you hurt like warning signs
and weight gain
and war
you hurt like x-rays
and x marks the spot
and xoxo
you hurt like your mom
and your dad
and you
you hurt like zig zags
and zero
and zip ties
(a.m.c.)
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
In high-school chemistry classrooms across the
country, you are forced to memorize all of the different
lab equipment.
They never tell you to memorize the constellation
of freckles spattered across the bridge of your
lab partner's nose, but you do it
anyways.
You learn about Marie Curie and radioactive decay, but you
find you are more interested in the way his smile starts small
and grows to light a fire in your cheeks.
You blame it on the Bunsen burner.
You study polyatomic ions and how they act as a single unit, and it
reminds you of how he winks at you right before quizzes
and you find you can't focus on anything at all.
You blame it on the lack of breakfast.
You test over periodic trends and ionization energy, but all
you can think of at night is the way he taps his fingers
and maybe it's why you can't sleep at night.
You blame it on a restless mind.
In high-school chemistry classrooms across the
country, you are forced to be careful when handling
Erlenmeyer flasks.
They never tell other students to be careful when handling
your heart.
They never tell you how much easier it is to clean up the mess
from a shattered beaker than it is to clean up the mess
from your shattered heart.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
I spent my days staring at her
Contemplating her beauty
Missing lessons left and right
Failing quizzes and the like
I used my spare time thinking about her
Us having picnics on hills
Staring lovingly into her eyes
Her face radiating in the sunlight
I imagined our waking hours
In our house by the beach
Opening our eyes so sluggishly
Exchanging smiles, her and me
I stopped daydreaming and thought
Of the dark reality
I imagined all the way
And let her slip away
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
Welcome to the fast lane of...
hold on I’m vibrating.
Cell phone flips open
thumbs move like clockwork
even when inattentive eyes start dead
at the chalkboard.
1st period notes
to last period quizzes,
the mind makes no error between the difference where letters A
and S go.
The world is filled tweets on Twitter
and texts to Timmy’s tiny little brother.
Excuse me please,
I’ll take a super-sized Facebook
but please
leave out homework
because I’d like a tall glass of procrastination.
I’ll take a ride on the super highway that is a cell phone.
Mile long texting to the person right next to me.
Hey generation X take a seat
and have a laugh at generation TEXT.
I’d like to be the first to say welcome to end of conversation.
Please take a look around
but you might miss the latest drama
if you happen to glance down.
Life is quick
, easy
and painless
but didn’t momma always teach us that that **** was dangerous?
But, hey,
what can I say to change the minds of those who have change their ideas on life about a hundred million times.
I’m just another face in the crowd that has a phone out and my face down.
Whatever happened to actually speaking words that could open doors and let loose a sense of humanity?
Would you like to know answer?
Well here it is....
wait,
I have check Facebook.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC
Take my hand, friend
just for a sec-
let's leave this ****** land of
SATs, PSATs, APs,
and college admission essays and guidance counselors
and homework and pop quizzes and exams and whatever else-
behind.
Let's be two again.
Let's make Pringle-chip-duck faces
and grin with orange peel smiles-
I'll paint my nails yellow and we'll read Dr. Seuss with British accents
in the dimming light of the old
falling-down fort of pillows and blankets (that's almost too small for us)
Let's pretend
Let's pretend
Let's pretend
That we've never seen the glowing screen of
televisions, computers, IPods,
that we haven't spent weeks wearing down our thumbs on text messages.
Let's forget fights over boys that weren't even all that hot.
Let's sit in my yard and eat raw cookie dough behind my momma's back
And make too-sweet fresh lemonade, and blow dandelions
(into other neighbor's yards, of course)
Spray garden hoses at each other
and laugh and scream and giggle and make mud-pies.
Let's make twenty different secret handshakes,
Eat wild raspberries and hide sticky fingers
And pinky promise- again and again- BFFs forever.
Let's lose ourselves in the bliss of childhood
just one more time- please.
Just in case Peter Pan decides to visit.
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 7:40 PM UTC
I like to do those quizzes
in glossy bubbles that you
find
in Cosmopolitan and
Elle and
Seventeen.
Which girl should I be?
Should I
dump paper flowers
on my milkmaid braid?
Long skirts, long chains, and
Beatles on my radio
during their ‘Indian’ phase?
Should I
paint it all
black, strip life down to
a middle finger,
blare punk at full
scream,
and cram my toes in ratty Docs,
smash all emotion
into smithereens?
Should I
sugar-coat my mouth with
Maybelline, button up
collars, laughs, opinions,
read books on behaving
just like a
daydream,
sip teas, bake cookies, aim for
Ivy Leagues?
Which gilded box do I crawl
into?
Which skin to don
this week?
Which fashion editor-friendly
stereotype to fulfil?
Which girl should I be?
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
I've made graphs,
charts & labels
I've taken tests,
quizzes, solved
equations with
functions & facts
& limits & rules
& statistics
I've put commas
where commas
go, I've used
all of the laws
of punctuation
But I still don't know why it is that I am me.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
If I were a solivagant star in space,
I'd link arms with the universe
and have her tell me that
all this pain was worth it,
that something golden would
blossom from it,
maybe then I'd be more focused
on planting seeds instead of
always drowning in the weeds
of my blackened psyche.
I'd burn, explode,
spontaneously combust,
and no one would tell me
that to confirm was all I
had to aspire to,
no one would be around
to make me feel like
too much of a burden,
as if I feel too much too quickly,
too warm, too much, too fiercely.
If I were truly solivagant,
I'd have no reason to cry
when asked "How are you?"
I would not avoid the
ever familiar question
"How was your day?"
Wanderlust would consume me
and I'd search for hidden gold,
space would not cheat me,
would not let me crumble and fold.
My tears would be of use,
they'd fall on clouds as messengers
to rain upon the seeds on earth,
to give life to the breathing dead.
I think I'd love to be
a solivagant star in space,
no magic tricks would be needed,
no quizzes to tell me
that I belong in this place.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 11:09 AM UTC
Sometime this spring, when all
the cobwebs have been dusted,
and all the cold and dampness
has gone away, I'll sit on my
front porch and watch the lazy
clouds go by.
Sometime this spring, when there
are no more dreary days, 0r long
and silent lingering nights,
I'll sweep my front porch and
sit so grand in my rocking chair
and stare and howl at the
sumptuous moon.
Sometime this spring, I'll hold
my child in my loving arms,
and will stroke her hair and whisper
to her about all the adventures to come,
and dream and fill her head and heart
with all the joy that nature brings.
Sometime this spring.
delete poem
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Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 1:06 AM UTC
I.
A louse in a house
or a mouse on a blouse.
A bell that goes ****
or a gong that goes ****
A gap on a map
or a cap on your lap.
A drink in the sink
or an ink that stinks.
A spleen on a screen
or a queen who is green.
A bow in the snow
or a crow that glows.
II.
A wash or a whip,
a lip or a lop,
a top or a tip,
a car or afar,
a bar or a war,
a door or a snore,
a bore or a nail,
a flail or a whale,
a run or a bun,
a sun or a moon,
a spoon or a bus,
a fuss or a sigh,
a cry or a cheer,
a fear or a smile,
a while or a pen,
a den or a cat,
a mat or a hat,
a bat or a glass,
a vase or a weight,
a mate or a fork,
a cork or a mop,
a cop or a stop.
III.
Apples and artichokes, ants and antelopes,
bees and beers, books and brains,
cucumbers and chimneys, ***** and coats,
dogs and drains, dots and dominoes,
ears and eejits, elephants and exams,
flies and flutes, files and friends,
grasses and guts, giants and gyms,
horrors and hiccups, horses and hills,
igloos and irons, irises and idiots,
jumpers and jackets, jodhpurs and jellies,
kings and kettles, kites and kittens,
lions and lamps, lemons and lunches,
mums and monsters, mosses and moths,
noses and notes, nightmares and needles,
oblongs and orang-utans, organs and oranges,
paintings and pennies, ponds and pants,
quiches and quizzes, questions and queues,
rainbows and rings, rascals and rabbits,
snakes and sprouts, sweets and salts,
trumpets and trains, tables and toasters,
umpires and ukuleles, umbrellas and uniforms,
violets and vests, violins and vials,
wheels and wings, windows and weeds,
xylems and x-rays, xylophones and xysters,
yachts and yoghurts, yards and yaks,
zigzags and zephyrs, ziggurats and zombies.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
Homework, Tests, Quizzes
I'd rather be doing competitions
for things that I actually love
Shredding, Music, and everything I write of.
What if I were to drop out?
Would my life exist on the ground?
Or would I have more time to make me
instead of boxing up all of my dreams
I'm sick of school 7 hours a day
I wanna stay home and go my own way
Compose music and post it
Go on the Voice and then host it
the education has my mind swirled
I'm stuck here I wanna transworld
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
there’s no life in a photograph
no real spark in a camera flash
real life is found in 3D space
right in front of your down turned face
real friends don’t live in an online book
and care about more than what quizzes you took
real support is hugs and real words we say
you can’t just click someone to a brighter day
real love exists on god’s green earth
but it can’t be found with a google search
there is life to be lived in the real sunshine
because life isn't lived if it’s lived online
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
early after-noon, she quizzes,
“would I be ok with
skinless boneless roasted
chicken breast, with sautéed
mushrooms for our dinner,
ce soir?”
so smile I,
for it is a favored menu
of pleasure,
from one who has never
presented us a meal
that is less than perfect
later, she shyly inquires,
“would be ok if we to eat
a little early, I have a salon,
followed by an
Argentine Tango dance milonga
tonight and one starts early (and
tango parties
end typically
the next day?
(no|si, me, don’t dance)
of course, respondez in
the affirmative, thus
confirming our love with the
consideration that veins
out affection mutual
and then I add:
“instead of an hours food prep,
which distracts you from the hour
deeded for dressing
for dancing motivation proper,
and add a little kick-her:
*I love you so much,
would happily consume
your tuna fish salad sandwich,
every night, for the rest of our
lives together, it’s fast
and simple, a dis-less-stressing
concoction, that we both enjoy*
she (s)miles a sweetened thanks,
after numerous reassurances,
that our love only grows
stronger with acts of smart
sensitivity to each others needs,
no standard of care breached,
au contraire, meant sincerely,
earning me a secondary
whiling smiling
and this true story is a poem,
has been writ a thousand times,
in a million different tiny gestures,
of which, I am proud
she exhales a breath elongated,
a release of an admixture of differing
pleasures released, and goes into the
night to dance in the arms of strangers,
which concerns me
not at all,
after all,
these many years,
aware she moves exquisitely
in a dance that demands years
of practice, for it requires
intangible silent of the merest
slight finger pressures to guide
the dancer what next steps
are coy coming,
and I have stolen this
knot of knowledge,
for mine own purposes,
secretly & selfishly,
employing these techniques,
for most of the time we’ve
been together
this poem of
tuna fish sandwiches,
becomes a dance of words
which is
my specialty, which she will
read in the morning l, maybe,
if I send it to her,
though obviously,
that is unnecessary 😉
as she returns to our bed,
me asleeping, she,
exhaustingly satisfied,
sleeeps deeper
secured by the knowing
that we, are both,
the beneficiaries of:
my learned dancing
practices
for such is
the ways of the poet!
Dec 14, 2024
Dec 14, 2024 at 10:39 AM UTC
this is the sound of the trees.
Its the same sound smoke makes, and the moon, and birds eggs and old clocks.
It is violins and percussion and arpeggios and singing like crying
it sounds like the Lion King, likes it the circle of Life.
But there are no baby cubs held up into the sunlight in this song.
There are no baboons who will tell you the secrets of life.
in this song, the zebras and the giraffes do not parade for the baby lion, they do not live peacefully with their killers.
in this song, all of them are dead, or have been trampled into the dust.
In this song, when your father dies, you are not allowed to run away from it with some happy strangers.
no, you have to bury him, and speak at his funeral, and plant flowers on top of his new home.
you do not get to become king over all the things he showed you as a child.
A cousin, in Scotland, gets that crown, because your father always hated you.
You get an old watch, and all the books on his bookshelf.
38 books on old comedians, and 1 on carpentry.
You read them at 2 in the morning, on the days you don't have to go to school because you punched the french exchange student, and you have been suspended.
None of them make you laugh, not even when you know it should be funny.
The next night, you build a bird house, with ripped up biology notes as the floor.
your mother complains about the noise, but when she looks at your eyes, she gives you back the hammer, and goes to bed with earplugs in.
birds really enjoy ******** on quizzes about recessive and dominant genes in farm animals
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
If learning is a three dimensional thing,
then exams are two dimensional. Any beautiful things will be projected into ugly figures.
If studying is a two dimensional thing,
then midterms shall be one dimensional. Happiness will be projected into sadness.
If curiosity is an one dimensional thing,
then quizzes must be a dot, the one that breaks my heart. Knowledge will be projected into nonsense.
As a whole, practice makes perfect, and quizzes are useless.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 7:27 AM UTC
it's not a memorisable lullaby, i don't want to write poetry that requires memorisation by school children; perhaps a riddle, perhaps a jigsaw, perhaps an awakening after the words dig in from their arrangement into your own usage, distinguished.
these days, someone on a social
strata of being absolved
might require a concerned dis-involvement
from nouns, and thus juggle
the pronouns, over-use pronouns
to remain politically accurate and sound,
for to replace nouns with pronouns
would bleach people, entrapped
in the constant affirmative of something
they once owned but were dispossessed of,
they do that, they stress the usage of pronouns
by a relief a diet of noun usage,
so that a Pakistani dare not use
the associations of the noun that might
decipher his skin as cinnamon in writing,
unless it be pronoun inclusive and noun exclusive,
so as modern society teaches:
become pronoun users with a few distinguishing
nouns congregating, don't learn carboxylic,
don't learn onomatopoeia... keep up with
the bleak egoism that states: not so much self-interest,
but over-pronoun-use and a lack of nouns,
or if used, reduced to quizzes of crosswords
with antonyms and synonyms pronounced;
he who confesses to censoring noun usage
will control the pronoun category
by usurping noun usage freely with a censored usage
that will only provoke counter-nouns / slang /
encoding / the need for surveillance.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
I wear messy buns to school
And a silver cross neck less my best friend gave me
I enjoy strumming the same four chords on a pink ukulele
And enjoy staying late after track just to hang out with the coaches
I am now always listening to Jimmy Buffet and putting on sun screen
And am obsessed with plants, especially my new garden
I pray the divine mercy novena prayers at night
And I spend my school days looking up future mission trips, going on ifunny and taking personality quizzes
Catch me shipping superheroes and being obsessed with Deadpool
Or reading the newest Louis T conspiracies
I spend my free time in the hot tub or on a jet ski
My favorite time of day is around 7:30- 8 AM when the sun rays turn bright yellow
My favorite season is spring because I love green a lot now
I'd say I'm fairly happy, but am prone to depressed moments throughout a day
My family is tense and awkward but I love them all
And my life is very enjoyable
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
I didn't learn about being beautiful from supermodels walking down the runway. I didn't learn about being beautiful from glamorous movie stars or musicians. I didn't even learn about being beautiful from the pretty girls at my school. No. I learned about beauty from my best friends and the freckles on their cheeks. I learned about beauty from the scars and imperfections they hated. I learned about beauty by watching them believe they aren’t.
I didn't learn about being intelligent in school. I didn't learn about being intelligent from some documentary I watched or book I read. I didn’t learn about being intelligent from studying day and night. No. I learned about being smart from my brother. I learned about being intelligent when I watched him stress for four years about college. I learned about being intelligent by helping him cram for tons of tests and quizzes and celebrating his success. I learned about being intelligent listening to his sobs when he received a full ride to his dream college.
I didn’t learn about being kind from some after-school special. I didn’t learn about being kind from watching my parents help being at the supermarket. I didn’t even learn about being kind from being treated so unkindly. No. I learned about being kind from my band director. I learned about being kind when I sat in her office with tears permanently stained on my cheeks and she just accepted my tears. I learned about being kind when she let me sleep on her shoulder for two hours on a bus. I learned about being kind when she gave me the coat off her back because I didn’t have one.
I didn’t learn about being courageous from daredevils on the news. I didn’t learn about being courageous from gutsy characters in books or on television. I didn’t learn about being courageous from teens who thought yelling at a teacher for no reason meant courage. No. I learned about being courageous from the people I saw stand up for themselves and for others no matter where it may be. I learned about being courageous from the people who risked their lives to save somebody they didn’t know. I learned about being courageous from the men and women who defended our country everyday, sometimes with nothing to show for it.
I've learned about beauty, intelligence, kindness, and courage throughout the years. From my best friends, my brother, band director, or perfect strangers. I didn’t learn about those things through mainstream ways that you find crammed down your throat.
You don't have to learn how to be you through people you don't know. Take a step back and look at those you do, because I'm sure it'll mean more to you when you start seeing those qualities in yourself.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
Hell will be a waiting room
You’re sitting in an uncomfortable chair
With dingy magazines five months old
The couples on the covers have split
Someone has already torn out the coupons, filled in the quizzes and crosswords
Twelve letters across another word for your damnation?
The answer scrawled out in red ink
Anticipation
Waiting for the news that is never going to come
Waiting
That anticipation is worse than the diagnoses
You could have five months to live this afterlife
Five weeks
Five hours
You could drop undead in the middle of that waiting room
Where no one would do a ******* thing
Because God doesn’t dwell down here
Here the devil is king
And then it begins again
A different waiting room
The same dingy magazines
Except this one smells like a dentist’s office
You’ll just sit
Wait
The walls read
If you have been waiting more than fifteen minutes please notify the receptionist
Alert staff if you are experiencing flu-like symptoms
HAIL SATAN
Thank you for not smoking
No smoking
No talking
No texting tweeting or reading
Waiting
Just Waiting
In this ***** dusty hell of a room
Please take a seat
A nurse will call you to the back shortly
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
You're a waste of space.
What's wrong with you?
Why can't you perform better on quizzes?
Why doesn't anyone want to be your friend?
You're too weird to have friends.
You don't deserve friends.
Stop looking at your phone.
Communicate with me for once.
You need help.
But I'm not going to be the stepping stone to get you to a professional.
You're useless.
Didn't anyone tell you your fake.
****
******
No one likes you four eyes.
I'm sorry I didn't mean it.
Why can't you think clearly.
Stop crying.
No one cares about your tears.
Be stronger.
Your creating a scene.
Control yourself.
I care about you.
Look prettier next time.
What's up with your style?
Stop trying to be unique. It's a bad look on you.
Be more talented.
Try harder.
It's only because I care.
You're not trying hard enough.
It's only because I care.
Fight back.
Not with words, with fists.
Stop being the nice push-over.
It's only because I care.
But now ...
I've stopped caring
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC