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"rarities" poems
My sassy gay friend Is not an accessory When you go rooting through the closet and find him Lacing straight ties into chains Do not think that he will complete your outfit Just because a rainbow holds the hues that you were looking for Haven’t you seen that bruises also bloom in shades of purple and blue Fading into green and yellow With red far too often escaping veins that are supposed to hold it in Haven’t you seen what marks us And brings our identity to the surface of our skin When closet doors are slammed too often against our hands My sassy gay friend Is not a decoration You do not get to wear him at your hip To flaunt your acceptance And claim symbiosis As if he needs you to navigate the streets of heteronormativity Cutting short his words when communication is the best thing we have And when speaking fails us we resort to spending an afternoon Sending smoke signals into the sky Waiting for security in the focus that it takes just to Breathe My sassy gay friend Is not a collectible You do not get to gather us up into a complete set To line us neatly in an array Of rarities and charities And alternative identities Until you feel sufficiently well rounded In your attempted diversity My sassy gay friend Is not an icon A token character Or comic relief My sassy gay friend Is not meant to be romanticized Idolized Or fetishized He is human I am human You are human And if we see each other as sparkles and rhinestones We're all going to lose all the value That can't be found on price tags
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May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
Sassy Gay Friend
My sassy gay friend Is not an accessory When you go rooting through the closet and find him Lacing straight ties into chains Do not think that he will complete your outfit Just because a rainbow holds the hues that you were looking for Haven’t you seen that bruises also bloom in shades of purple and blue Fading into green and yellow With red far too often escaping veins that are supposed to hold it in Haven’t you seen what marks us And brings our identity to the surface of our skin When closet doors are slammed too often against our hands My sassy gay friend Is not a decoration You do not get to wear him at your hip To flaunt your acceptance And claim symbiosis As if he needs you to navigate the streets of heteronormativity Cutting short his words when communication is the best thing we have And when speaking fails us we resort to spending an afternoon Sending smoke signals into the sky Waiting for security in the focus that it takes just to Breathe My sassy gay friend Is not a collectible You do not get to gather us up into a complete set To line us neatly in an array Of rarities and charities And alternative identities Until you feel sufficiently well rounded In your attempted diversity My sassy gay friend Is not an icon A token character Or comic relief My sassy gay friend Is not meant to be romanticized Idolized Or fetishized He is human I am human You are human And if we see each other as sparkles and rhinestones We're all going to lose all the value That can't be found on price tags
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45
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned, Crookèd eclipses ‘gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth despite his cruel hand.
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2.9k
Sonnet 060: Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbled Shore
Driving off onto the 101 rush hour concrete jungle, there are no exits, only obligations to stay stuck in my mobile cubicle moving at the speed of slow. Hidden flowers on the hillside bloom away mocking my insanity, they cheer me on to see beyond these gray prison bevels. Gray blocks hollow until they're filled with my humanity, making me take the choices reaped with devils. I feel like I've lived a day in one hour, it's so early it could be midnight. Twisting and turning in my brain, the sun suddenly ridicules, feeding me a fresh case of insane. I'm at a point of sorrow, sorrow of an exceptional quality, Grade A-farm raised, take two tomorrow. The raven croaked nevermore, Juliet is the sun, dangren-burang1. We have to go. I'm almost happy here2. Complacency rots insides, then refills with fear. So - Listen to them - children of the night. What music they make3. Clamoring for sight. There's no flesh or blood within this cloak to **** There's only an idea. Ideas are bulletproof4. Filled with truths, synapse salvoes, loves, and drugs. We love what we eat and eat who we are. GERManic germs looking for psychological thrills. You work the guns, I'll rattle the hills. Smoking cannabis to an over-extent, hope lost, old kung-fu and 80's movies won, I eat smoke for breakfast. This sun is still mocking me, “Start your day, be productive, make a baby, then expiry.” Stepping into society, I'm a satanic leaf-tailed gecko wanting freedom, abdicate, and let go your kingdom. Halfheartedly half washed dishes in my sink; this entropy roller-coaster of highs and lows drives me to drink and think, then drink and smoke, making life one strange syrupy green swirl of mammarys and calamities filled with brevity’s of rarities. 5,000 images, 2 comedies, and a numb right arm later I've turned into dark matter, invisibly pulling all that matters together into a forever stretched infinitely, literally making synergies out of life-energies.
0
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
Devils Er
Driving off onto the 101 rush hour concrete jungle, there are no exits, only obligations to stay stuck in my mobile cubicle moving at the speed of slow. Hidden flowers on the hillside bloom away mocking my insanity, they cheer me on to see beyond these gray prison bevels. Gray blocks hollow until they're filled with my humanity, making me take the choices reaped with devils. I feel like I've lived a day in one hour, it's so early it could be midnight. Twisting and turning in my brain, the sun suddenly ridicules, feeding me a fresh case of insane. I'm at a point of sorrow, sorrow of an exceptional quality, Grade A-farm raised, take two tomorrow. The raven croaked nevermore, Juliet is the sun, dangren-burang1. We have to go. I'm almost happy here2. Complacency rots insides, then refills with fear. So - Listen to them - children of the night. What music they make3. Clamoring for sight. There's no flesh or blood within this cloak to **** There's only an idea. Ideas are bulletproof4. Filled with truths, synapse salvoes, loves, and drugs. We love what we eat and eat who we are. GERManic germs looking for psychological thrills. You work the guns, I'll rattle the hills. Smoking cannabis to an over-extent, hope lost, old kung-fu and 80's movies won, I eat smoke for breakfast. This sun is still mocking me, “Start your day, be productive, make a baby, then expiry.” Stepping into society, I'm a satanic leaf-tailed gecko wanting freedom, abdicate, and let go your kingdom. Halfheartedly half washed dishes in my sink; this entropy roller-coaster of highs and lows drives me to drink and think, then drink and smoke, making life one strange syrupy green swirl of mammarys and calamities filled with brevity’s of rarities. 5,000 images, 2 comedies, and a numb right arm later I've turned into dark matter, invisibly pulling all that matters together into a forever stretched infinitely, literally making synergies out of life-energies.
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18
Its 1:30 in the morning.  And I’ve begun to think of the rarities and adversities in life, which shape us into the hollow ghosts called humanity. Machines that listen, and obey.  Becoming slaves of a mundane existence as we go about our days.  Wake.  Eat. Sleep.  Repeat.  With the slight possibility of variation that may never come to fruition.  Why must we consume, but not provide?  We multiple uncontrollably, take from this earth, yet never seem to substantially give back.  Something so beautiful and yet so abused.  To give, may be to take away from ourselves.  But is selflessness so horrible?  To make the life of another better, at the small expense of ourselves should be but a small price.  Yet the few whom know this and continue to give out of the goodness of their hearts, are scoffed at  by the selfish majority.  Why must we, the hollow ghosts of humanity, make decisions for whatever objective we may have, in whatever situation should be presented, and then complain of the results or the consequences should they not go accordingly?  Rather than vowing to improve on the matter of contempt?  The decision was made, and cannot be changed.  Why fret so much, over something that is now unchangeable?  Why not simply decide within one’s self to, when presented with a choice of a similar nature, make a different decision?  We, being the hollow ghosts we are, dwell so frequently on the past.  Thinking so hard, as if to change events of times long behind us.  We think, as if to comprehend our very nature.  And in the absence of the desired understanding and/or enlightenment, we complain about our very existence.  As if anything and everything in our daily lives may hold precedence over the very fact of our existence.  As if to curse our Creator for making us such simple creatures not able to grasp the complexity or diversity of His design.  Rather than taking existence itself for face-value, and enjoying the many fruits of this beautiful earth, we **** ourselves with selfishness and passiveness.  And we, the hollow ghost of humanity, will ultimately be our own miraculous yet untimely downfall.
0
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 8:01 AM UTC
Rantings Of A Sleepy Man
Its 1:30 in the morning.  And I’ve begun to think of the rarities and adversities in life, which shape us into the hollow ghosts called humanity. Machines that listen, and obey.  Becoming slaves of a mundane existence as we go about our days.  Wake.  Eat. Sleep.  Repeat.  With the slight possibility of variation that may never come to fruition.  Why must we consume, but not provide?  We multiple uncontrollably, take from this earth, yet never seem to substantially give back.  Something so beautiful and yet so abused.  To give, may be to take away from ourselves.  But is selflessness so horrible?  To make the life of another better, at the small expense of ourselves should be but a small price.  Yet the few whom know this and continue to give out of the goodness of their hearts, are scoffed at  by the selfish majority.  Why must we, the hollow ghosts of humanity, make decisions for whatever objective we may have, in whatever situation should be presented, and then complain of the results or the consequences should they not go accordingly?  Rather than vowing to improve on the matter of contempt?  The decision was made, and cannot be changed.  Why fret so much, over something that is now unchangeable?  Why not simply decide within one’s self to, when presented with a choice of a similar nature, make a different decision?  We, being the hollow ghosts we are, dwell so frequently on the past.  Thinking so hard, as if to change events of times long behind us.  We think, as if to comprehend our very nature.  And in the absence of the desired understanding and/or enlightenment, we complain about our very existence.  As if anything and everything in our daily lives may hold precedence over the very fact of our existence.  As if to curse our Creator for making us such simple creatures not able to grasp the complexity or diversity of His design.  Rather than taking existence itself for face-value, and enjoying the many fruits of this beautiful earth, we **** ourselves with selfishness and passiveness.  And we, the hollow ghost of humanity, will ultimately be our own miraculous yet untimely downfall.
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23
The adventurer returned home years later, Carrying bags of seeds, stones, and rarities. He found that his house had been painted Green and white. He didn't like it. He found that his son had been born, And named "Jean-Baptiste." He didn't like it. He found that his wife had figured him dead And remarried. He didn't like it. He planted her the seeds, Built her gardens with the stones, Gifted her the rarities, Then smiled and left her to her happiness, But he didn't like it.
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Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
The Adventurer
I am lost, On a mountain passage To love I am dry, In a yellow desert Of lover kisses I am wet, In a dark steamy town Ruled by rarities, like you I am melancholic,                                 In a forest, big - no - immense as              (American directed by autumn, dominated by orange green trees and leaves I am rosy, On a bird flying through Breast-formed clouds I am desperate, in a sea of swimmers full of hope love know one thing though i am lost dry wet melancholic rosy desperate my love for you is a big as mountains)
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Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC
American mountains
If You LIKE Coc' ... REMEMBER This Quote ... !!! You May One Day ... Just ... End Up Broke ... !!! ******* Gives Lows ... As Well As ... " Highs " ... And Has ... DESTROYED ... Some Peoples' ... Lives ... !!!!! That's ... NOT A Joke ... !!! So ... Trust Me Folks ... If You LIKE ... Coc' ... ??? I'm ... NOT The Bloke ... !!!!! To ... " Offer It To " ... !!!!! I'm ... WARNING YOU ... !!! Don't Make Me HAVE TO ... !!! Give You ... " Clues " ... Don't Make Me HAVE TO ... BREAK ..... The News ..... Like ... " Coc' Misuse " ... To ... Make You Cry ... Into ... TISSUES ... !!!!!!!! " Coc' Heads' " .... As I've ... Said Before ... Talk NONSENSE ... !!! So I ... Ignore .... The Words They Speak ... So ... What's The Score ... ?!? Could This Be ... " Why " ... The World's At War ... ?!? Has George Done Coc' ... ??? Ask ... Michael Moore ... I'm ... NOT Sure ... ??? But DO ... ABHOR ... Those Who LIKE ... Their ******* PURE ... !!! Because Reality's Lost ................................................... To Them ... Fa' SURE ... !!!!! ... They Live In ... ... " Dreamworlds " ... And ........... Ignore ..... Those Who SUFFER ... And Are .... " POOR " .... Until Their ... HIGH ... Ain't There No More ... !!! They Probably Snort Coc' ...... Yeah ... Off The Floor ...... !!!?!!! They Use Their Nose ... Like ... DYSON Hoovers ... That's The Place ... The ******* Goes ... !!! PEOPLE .... That's A ... BAD Manoeuvre ... !!!!! These Are People ... I ........................ AVOID ....... !!! Because They Get .... SO ... " PARANOID " ... !!! of Men Like ... ME ... BELIEVE ..... " BIG V " ..... Because I Talk ... REALITY ... !!!!! Is That ... " You " ... ?!? Or ... Are You Cool ... ??? With The Way ... I Get .... INTO .... Things Like ... THIS ... Through Poetry Scripts ... While Coc' Heads' Go ... On ... " ******* Trips " ... !!! Why Do People ... Go To ... THIS ... ??? Just To Get .... AWAY From ................ Things ... ?!? Things That They ... Should NOT ..... Dismiss ..... !!!!! I've ... Sampled Yes ... !!! But Now ... RESIST ... !!!!!! And Use My Nose ... To SNIFF ... Good Prose ... !!! NOT To ... " Sniff " ... Old Charly's .... Coc' .... !!! And Mix With Folks ... Who Are ... A JOKE ... !!! ... I Don't NEED THAT ... To ... Get A High ... !!! When HIGHS Can Come ... From ... NATURAL Sights ... ... " Countryside " ... Or ... NATURAL Thighs ... On A Girl Who ... Treats My Eyes ... To ... Visions of ...... A ... LOVE FILLED Night ... !!! WITHOUT ******* ... !!! I DON'T ... Supply ... !!!!!! Sorry Girls ... !!! Are You ... SURPRISED ... !!?!! Please ... DON'T ASSUME ... !!! I'm NOT ... THAT GUY ... !!!!!!! Black Men Like Me ... Are ..... " RARITIES " ..... !!!!! That's Advice ... I'll Give ... FOR FREE ... !!! Unlike Guys ... Who ... Like To Advise ... Girls To Come ... For ... "Coc' Filled Nights" ... !!! Just To Get ... BETWEEN Their Thighs ... !!! Ladies ... Here's Some ... More ... " Advice " ... A LOT of Them ... OH YES ... Are White ... !!!!! Are You ... " SURPRISED " ... ?!? Come On Now Girls ... ...... PLEASE ....... DON'T You ... LIE ... !!!!!! Some of ... YOU ... Know of ... These Guys ... !!! Words I Write ... May Make Some ........................................................... "hide" ..... Could That Be ... Because I'm ... RIGHT ... ?!? Words Like THESE ... May HURT My Life ... ?!? Because ... ******* ... Is Now ...... SO RIFE ...... !!!!! Coc' Deals Make ... Some Men USE KNIFE ... !!! Come On People ... Is This ... RIGHT ... ?!? If ... " Your Child " ... Ends Up ... INSIDE ... ... A COFFIN ... !!! Over ... Debts That RISE ... Because ... ******* " ... Became ... Their Life ... !!! That's NO WAY ... For Kids To DIE ... !!!!! But Happens Now ... OH YES ... That's Right ... !!! And Has Gone On ... BEFORE ... My Time ... Trust Me Folks ... That Is .... NO LIE .... !!!!! I Sometimes Recite ... These Words I Write ... Because of Things ... " Within My Sight " ... Things Like THIS ... I DON'T Dismiss ... Because ... Life Is Something ... I Would .... MISS .... !!!!! If It Ended .... Because of ... " Coc' " ... And That's NO JOKE ... !!!!! So ... Hear This ... CLEAR ... !!! I'm NOT A Bloke ... Who'll ... Hear You Out ... " If You ... Like Coc' "
0
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 6:59 PM UTC
"If You Like Coc' " ... A Poem written by Big Virge 14/10/2005
If You LIKE Coc' ... REMEMBER This Quote ... !!! You May One Day ... Just ... End Up Broke ... !!! ******* Gives Lows ... As Well As ... " Highs " ... And Has ... DESTROYED ... Some Peoples' ... Lives ... !!!!! That's ... NOT A Joke ... !!! So ... Trust Me Folks ... If You LIKE ... Coc' ... ??? I'm ... NOT The Bloke ... !!!!! To ... " Offer It To " ... !!!!! I'm ... WARNING YOU ... !!! Don't Make Me HAVE TO ... !!! Give You ... " Clues " ... Don't Make Me HAVE TO ... BREAK ..... The News ..... Like ... " Coc' Misuse " ... To ... Make You Cry ... Into ... TISSUES ... !!!!!!!! " Coc' Heads' " .... As I've ... Said Before ... Talk NONSENSE ... !!! So I ... Ignore .... The Words They Speak ... So ... What's The Score ... ?!? Could This Be ... " Why " ... The World's At War ... ?!? Has George Done Coc' ... ??? Ask ... Michael Moore ... I'm ... NOT Sure ... ??? But DO ... ABHOR ... Those Who LIKE ... Their ******* PURE ... !!! Because Reality's Lost ................................................... To Them ... Fa' SURE ... !!!!! ... They Live In ... ... " Dreamworlds " ... And ........... Ignore ..... Those Who SUFFER ... And Are .... " POOR " .... Until Their ... HIGH ... Ain't There No More ... !!! They Probably Snort Coc' ...... Yeah ... Off The Floor ...... !!!?!!! They Use Their Nose ... Like ... DYSON Hoovers ... That's The Place ... The ******* Goes ... !!! PEOPLE .... That's A ... BAD Manoeuvre ... !!!!! These Are People ... I ........................ AVOID ....... !!! Because They Get .... SO ... " PARANOID " ... !!! of Men Like ... ME ... BELIEVE ..... " BIG V " ..... Because I Talk ... REALITY ... !!!!! Is That ... " You " ... ?!? Or ... Are You Cool ... ??? With The Way ... I Get .... INTO .... Things Like ... THIS ... Through Poetry Scripts ... While Coc' Heads' Go ... On ... " ******* Trips " ... !!! Why Do People ... Go To ... THIS ... ??? Just To Get .... AWAY From ................ Things ... ?!? Things That They ... Should NOT ..... Dismiss ..... !!!!! I've ... Sampled Yes ... !!! But Now ... RESIST ... !!!!!! And Use My Nose ... To SNIFF ... Good Prose ... !!! NOT To ... " Sniff " ... Old Charly's .... Coc' .... !!! And Mix With Folks ... Who Are ... A JOKE ... !!! ... I Don't NEED THAT ... To ... Get A High ... !!! When HIGHS Can Come ... From ... NATURAL Sights ... ... " Countryside " ... Or ... NATURAL Thighs ... On A Girl Who ... Treats My Eyes ... To ... Visions of ...... A ... LOVE FILLED Night ... !!! WITHOUT ******* ... !!! I DON'T ... Supply ... !!!!!! Sorry Girls ... !!! Are You ... SURPRISED ... !!?!! Please ... DON'T ASSUME ... !!! I'm NOT ... THAT GUY ... !!!!!!! Black Men Like Me ... Are ..... " RARITIES " ..... !!!!! That's Advice ... I'll Give ... FOR FREE ... !!! Unlike Guys ... Who ... Like To Advise ... Girls To Come ... For ... "Coc' Filled Nights" ... !!! Just To Get ... BETWEEN Their Thighs ... !!! Ladies ... Here's Some ... More ... " Advice " ... A LOT of Them ... OH YES ... Are White ... !!!!! Are You ... " SURPRISED " ... ?!? Come On Now Girls ... ...... PLEASE ....... DON'T You ... LIE ... !!!!!! Some of ... YOU ... Know of ... These Guys ... !!! Words I Write ... May Make Some ........................................................... "hide" ..... Could That Be ... Because I'm ... RIGHT ... ?!? Words Like THESE ... May HURT My Life ... ?!? Because ... ******* ... Is Now ...... SO RIFE ...... !!!!! Coc' Deals Make ... Some Men USE KNIFE ... !!! Come On People ... Is This ... RIGHT ... ?!? If ... " Your Child " ... Ends Up ... INSIDE ... ... A COFFIN ... !!! Over ... Debts That RISE ... Because ... ******* " ... Became ... Their Life ... !!! That's NO WAY ... For Kids To DIE ... !!!!! But Happens Now ... OH YES ... That's Right ... !!! And Has Gone On ... BEFORE ... My Time ... Trust Me Folks ... That Is .... NO LIE .... !!!!! I Sometimes Recite ... These Words I Write ... Because of Things ... " Within My Sight " ... Things Like THIS ... I DON'T Dismiss ... Because ... Life Is Something ... I Would .... MISS .... !!!!! If It Ended .... Because of ... " Coc' " ... And That's NO JOKE ... !!!!! So ... Hear This ... CLEAR ... !!! I'm NOT A Bloke ... Who'll ... Hear You Out ... " If You ... Like Coc' "
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241
October 12th, 1998: This is not an apology. ♐ ♐ ♐ Most days I feel like I’m underwater. It’s like a dream where I’m never dead, just not living. Because the living cannot feel this dead. I whither away into isolation singing sweet melodies of love and peace and hope and **** and loneliness. Most days I just smile. I am a fake. I am a liar. I am an incongruent youth; unable to be constrained by the freedom laces of society. Tie me down and watch me run, trickle, run like an avalanche down the face of conservatism. A cheap hotel ****** musk and sweat and suits and scandals. On-the-course-to AIDS infection loose ends who walks the streets in pristine filth. The incongruent youth, or what we in America call sick **** and shameful liars. I am confused. Standing here on the edge between glamour and reality I scream into the nothingness, the watery void, a stark reality composed of my dark humor and evanescent solitaire: How can thunder roar so loud? Why am I part of this ambient isolation? How can you do this to me; to us? The beautiful few and we are beautiful, trust me, we are in the clouds searching for each other, beguiling and anonymous as we may be waltzing merrily through nighttime New York parks searching for rarities. For others. For God. And into the emptiness I whisper: Why is this park so big? And the trees so thick? I am waiting for "someday." But this someday, this could be, this will be, would be, won't be for awhile. And this moment, this here, this now just passed. So let's look ahead and hope it gets better, because our lives are 1942 cattle cars riding away from the nows that just passed. Moments of incongruence on a grand scale. One night stands with our own hands and imaginations. Moments we thought we knew. I am an inconvenience on the path to wholesale liberties. To children wrapped in barren barcodes that read “no real identity” when the red dash of judgement steamrolls their sides. God forbid the glamour mix with reality. Because when you are a somebody, you can never be a nobody. And nobody wants the incongruent youth to keep thinking. Because to think is to love. And nobody wants us to love. This is an apology. I am sorry if I’m not what you meant for me to be. Terribly sorry if I love the wrong music or words or styles or *** is all I can think about. Sorry, but I can only love the beautiful few. I can only smile knowing I am a real somebody in all this hate. Knowing I am a fake. I am a liar. I am a human being. Hardly. I’m nothing but an incongruent youth.
0
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:11 AM UTC
Incongruent Youth: October 12th, 1998
October 12th, 1998: This is not an apology. ♐ ♐ ♐ Most days I feel like I’m underwater. It’s like a dream where I’m never dead, just not living. Because the living cannot feel this dead. I whither away into isolation singing sweet melodies of love and peace and hope and **** and loneliness. Most days I just smile. I am a fake. I am a liar. I am an incongruent youth; unable to be constrained by the freedom laces of society. Tie me down and watch me run, trickle, run like an avalanche down the face of conservatism. A cheap hotel ****** musk and sweat and suits and scandals. On-the-course-to AIDS infection loose ends who walks the streets in pristine filth. The incongruent youth, or what we in America call sick **** and shameful liars. I am confused. Standing here on the edge between glamour and reality I scream into the nothingness, the watery void, a stark reality composed of my dark humor and evanescent solitaire: How can thunder roar so loud? Why am I part of this ambient isolation? How can you do this to me; to us? The beautiful few and we are beautiful, trust me, we are in the clouds searching for each other, beguiling and anonymous as we may be waltzing merrily through nighttime New York parks searching for rarities. For others. For God. And into the emptiness I whisper: Why is this park so big? And the trees so thick? I am waiting for "someday." But this someday, this could be, this will be, would be, won't be for awhile. And this moment, this here, this now just passed. So let's look ahead and hope it gets better, because our lives are 1942 cattle cars riding away from the nows that just passed. Moments of incongruence on a grand scale. One night stands with our own hands and imaginations. Moments we thought we knew. I am an inconvenience on the path to wholesale liberties. To children wrapped in barren barcodes that read “no real identity” when the red dash of judgement steamrolls their sides. God forbid the glamour mix with reality. Because when you are a somebody, you can never be a nobody. And nobody wants the incongruent youth to keep thinking. Because to think is to love. And nobody wants us to love. This is an apology. I am sorry if I’m not what you meant for me to be. Terribly sorry if I love the wrong music or words or styles or *** is all I can think about. Sorry, but I can only love the beautiful few. I can only smile knowing I am a real somebody in all this hate. Knowing I am a fake. I am a liar. I am a human being. Hardly. I’m nothing but an incongruent youth.
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11
The lavish red of amaryllis To the dullness of a full fern Nature is full of true beauty Letting others have their turn The smooth blue of hydrangea No match for the sweet carnation Full bloom excites the active mind Much more that a grand vacation The daffodil's eye popping structure Is unlike the chrysanthemum spray Pointed edges point in new directions For you to be able to follow every day The orchid with it's numerous variations Can not be tamed by the colorful tulip The stem of the orchid shows a long life Full of tranquility only at a tequila's sip Enjoy the beautiful flowers around you Everyday, you will see something new You may see rarities seem by just a few And you'll see something you never knew
0
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
Beautiful Flowers
Gazing through the looking glass, and attempting to reminisce, he lets go, relieves, and perceives.Colossi of raindrops subtly fall through sky’s shadows , violently battling the grey in great amounts, failing to come anywhere near the threshold of one’s most sensitive ear. Nature’s children appear to tremble as dark forebodings of a dreary future pervade the air. The danger and annoyances of such rarities is always given priority and significance. He misunderstands it; he believes in its false infinity. Unable to stabilize, unable to achieve a desired normality. From every pitter, he regrets; from every patter he forgets. Forcefully drudging through the thick swamp of his mind, struggling to understand what and why, diminishing his hopes of any change, any desire. Suddenly, several elements collide against his one-way mirror in his cell and revitalize his consciousness. Looking through the droplet, his face pressed against, his mentality momentarily produces quick successions of thoughts and random impulses of recovering memory.   Every snowflake understands its place as sui generis; every raindrop understands its place as trite. The beauty of a snowflake with death, the dullness of rain with life. It’s uniformity and strict nature are necessary to sustain life, but somehow it places a bittersweet piece of an unusual feeling inside him. Its unexplainable transparency, disguising itself as invisible, but not untouchable, stimulates a sense of deep nostalgic hopelessness within him. As he discovers the profound pulchritude, and simultaneous incomprehensibility, of the paradoxical elements of natural and artificial state cooperating to achieve more of the same, he realizes more in this moment. The monotonous, repetitive beat of rain seems to harmonize in an odd manner with some contrasting presence. A new rhythm to this sound, a new color to this sight. A particular emotion of gradually diminishing despair comes about as he observes little rain boots composing a sort of  rhythmic song with the catchy beat of the rain’s clashing, the continuous flow of the tree’s trembling, the back-up percussion of the thunder’s loud suddenness, the sight of lightning's exciting flash, and the cheerful singing from their voices.Upon this feat, he accepts the shadow’s tears; no longer must he endure the pain of the past’s ********** of the future, now he begins to savor the varied colors of newfound harmony.
0
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 5:50 AM UTC
Gazing
Gazing through the looking glass, and attempting to reminisce, he lets go, relieves, and perceives.Colossi of raindrops subtly fall through sky’s shadows , violently battling the grey in great amounts, failing to come anywhere near the threshold of one’s most sensitive ear. Nature’s children appear to tremble as dark forebodings of a dreary future pervade the air. The danger and annoyances of such rarities is always given priority and significance. He misunderstands it; he believes in its false infinity. Unable to stabilize, unable to achieve a desired normality. From every pitter, he regrets; from every patter he forgets. Forcefully drudging through the thick swamp of his mind, struggling to understand what and why, diminishing his hopes of any change, any desire. Suddenly, several elements collide against his one-way mirror in his cell and revitalize his consciousness. Looking through the droplet, his face pressed against, his mentality momentarily produces quick successions of thoughts and random impulses of recovering memory.   Every snowflake understands its place as sui generis; every raindrop understands its place as trite. The beauty of a snowflake with death, the dullness of rain with life. It’s uniformity and strict nature are necessary to sustain life, but somehow it places a bittersweet piece of an unusual feeling inside him. Its unexplainable transparency, disguising itself as invisible, but not untouchable, stimulates a sense of deep nostalgic hopelessness within him. As he discovers the profound pulchritude, and simultaneous incomprehensibility, of the paradoxical elements of natural and artificial state cooperating to achieve more of the same, he realizes more in this moment. The monotonous, repetitive beat of rain seems to harmonize in an odd manner with some contrasting presence. A new rhythm to this sound, a new color to this sight. A particular emotion of gradually diminishing despair comes about as he observes little rain boots composing a sort of  rhythmic song with the catchy beat of the rain’s clashing, the continuous flow of the tree’s trembling, the back-up percussion of the thunder’s loud suddenness, the sight of lightning's exciting flash, and the cheerful singing from their voices.Upon this feat, he accepts the shadow’s tears; no longer must he endure the pain of the past’s ********** of the future, now he begins to savor the varied colors of newfound harmony.
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4
Pop it like a weasel can it rain in here it's dark enough hot enough energized enough it could storm feel it in the air like molasses kissing ***** mine is pretty sweet thanks for noticing sorry if you think I'm a tease my body and my conscience want very different things- which do you think is right? Oh you don't care do you guess it's safer that way I don't want to care either I want to never think just feel but only if it's good and only if we never speak again or else you must respect the hell out of me or else what a hypocrite I'd am be.
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Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 8:43 PM UTC
Rarities
Strange are the days when I don't run strange are the days when I don't smile strange are the days without sun rare are the days without water rare are the days without laughter rare are the days without prayer uncommon are the days which are quiet uncommon are the days without music uncommon are the days without stories the feelings missed hormones not released leading to a chemical imbalance the rarities of life sometimes good yet other times leaving a void Days are given days are numbered each filled with its own misery and splendor
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Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 10:41 PM UTC
Les jours.
wine cheese beef. good beef.     (i am good, i am good) things that get better with age. antique cars comics old coins things that increase in value with time. rarities i am rare. even antique cars have their duplicates out there but i am rare. (i am the only me.) i have to tell myself this list. there are things that get better i'm worthless only to me only for now leather gets softer, suppler. fruit gets juicier, better, with the age of the tree. a pile of compost, nothing but trash (worthless, worthless) biodegrades (slowly, slowly) —soil richer, plants grow stronger. repeat after me: i am rare...
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Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
Rarities.
W a i s t i n g  a w a y in a world of Hellions bent on the worldly Extortion of the Beautiful Rarities, Bewitching their realities and leaving Exposed Bones and Broken Hearts on a Dim evening, on the corner of a sidewalk. Insubstantial, empty Words cause Discord in Souls whose Temperament is pure and Kind just to be Hit in the face by Cruel Monsters. Earnest faces of Young Children were once Glowing and Knowing no pain besides scrapes and papercuts, Only to be s h a t t e r e d by this Unholy Desolation.
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Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC
Empty Dreamland
Dazzle me with rarities Lull me with enchanted song Dreams like trance Aware and overcome Dances rhythmic Soul at ease Daring to traipse on the edge Mystic one Where are you taking me
0
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
Mystic
Gifts of isle, Odd rarities, a clasp of corners, Frugity, Trapezoid, Fluidly, Agrown, As a teething, Jewel or treasure, Soulfully bound, Chase lights like oceans, Ever against The fascinating cylinder Ready or not, Here it is again, Pictures of families, Roses and daisys
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Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Steer ten
Sapphire eyes descending my torso Have I a head, or is there just more so? That you require upon evaluation Leading me on orbiting space station Had no idea, this alien encounter of ours One of affection; should have brought flowers Am I your mate-ling, here for devours? Crystalline follicles free flowing hair You meet me in spacesuit whilst I am bare This really be not most fair advantage Your briefings seemingly micromanage Intergalactic trans-species inseminations Are forbidden by Rules of Constellular Nations Yet admitting magnet-ting emitting vibrations Super charged particles pucker your orifice It is enticing this boudoir you have by Uranus The décor is all slippery, wet and inviting I must admit to you, it all very ionic exciting Are we to agree to be astral *** players? When shall I see what lie beneath foiled layers? Drop your robes please, I am with no nay-sayers I travel alone, as Lone Space Ranger This proposition to me I find intrigued danger A plus and a minus electric storm lingers Exceedingly long seem your definitive fingers Polarities, rarities amongst planetoid creatures Though I’m quite digging your extended features I’m glad we’re alone to be each others teachers
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May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
Mate-Lings
Wasn’t it last night that we finally found out, How our idiosyncrasies couldn’t ever agree? And that we couldn’t make sense to the world and to ours. Too bad, I thought great things start out this way. And that rarities are often misunderstood, cascaded geniuses. At some point we just have to take the kaleidoscope off our eyes, And let reality dominate our field of vision. The truth is… The fire has died. We’re looking into each other’s eyes, taking sensible steps back trying to say these silent goodbyes. And all along we thought the universe conspired, We thought the time was right. Now we couldn’t even think straight enough, To decipher what we could and could not mend. What is plausible to pursue, and to leave behind? We’re both crooked in this limbo. Still… Our hands hold on tight, And remember to recite this passage: “Till death do us part.”
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Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 8:32 AM UTC
Spent
Flashes of light, rushes of sound, through the stream of life, bounds the rarities. Breaking forth for air with lack of care for my sanity, for, although it may seem vanity for me to present an unbroken seal, to hide what others would say is real. I so wish to stay secure to ensure I do not yield to the lure of madness. It is with sadness that I admit the futility of this stupidity of a wish. How much more can I persist?
0
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 10:02 AM UTC
Broken Seal
On the other side of the lakes edge You might say it must be right That when I throw a rock in the water, The ripples touch the other side. With light transparent patterns, A spider weaves webs like silk, Every strings placement matters No matter a leaf or branches tilt. So if you feel your being watched, Ever think it might be so? The spiral made from leaf to leaf Catches rarities that come and go. Just as I was thinking this, I felt I was being watched, As though someplace in my midst The sound of footsteps stopped. Searching for a picture of you as in vain, I thought I heard you start to laugh, Saw your raven hair so I flipped through again, One thing I know is that we're never going back...
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Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 3:18 AM UTC
Never Going Back
There is this place that dwells inside the center of a sphere: it sells wolves, confined to threads and linens captured, but free; it contains rarities and b-sides, full of dreams and their captives. It is Indigenous and full of folk tales from old times to be deciphered and listened to by those who have, all this time, been searching for themselves.
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Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
Matoska Falls.
the most underestimated beings, free-spirited and worthy as we are, are endlessly tied down under blanketed layers of assumed incompetence. those feeble-minded people weighing us down with judgment neglect to realize that our colorful souls are filled and growing with rarities and strengths weaved into our fragile skins. as you knew me or as you’ll know me, I am not a victim to naivety but rather a subdued creature who chooses wisely her battles and who she deems worthy enough to waste or spend time, breath, and energy on. just because I bruise easily does not make me weak. if you asked me about my vulnerabilities, I’d display them side by side, neatly on a shelf for you and all to see. strength is having nothing to hide from yourself or the world; strength is acceptance and an open mind. I know my soft spots radiate from within me and my scars create the beautiful flaws that coat my rare skin. I’m tired of circling around the same dead ends, and getting lost in tiny cul-de-sacs of fear of commitment, underestimation, and lust. I am not a catch, you can’t hold me down. let me go or ******* fight for me. I am worth so much more than what wandering eyes degrade me to and how carelessly immature boys handle my crystal heart. I am not held down by any entity or force besides my own and whatever else I choose to absorb. I am endlessly free and growing. I am vivid watercolors and a force as radiant and moving and the moon. do not shroud my essence or shadow my path. either let me go or run undeniably by my side. I am dusting off your marks and the past which has held me down and back, and I am sprinting in the opposite direction down a road without an end in sight.
0
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
Untitled
the most underestimated beings, free-spirited and worthy as we are, are endlessly tied down under blanketed layers of assumed incompetence. those feeble-minded people weighing us down with judgment neglect to realize that our colorful souls are filled and growing with rarities and strengths weaved into our fragile skins. as you knew me or as you’ll know me, I am not a victim to naivety but rather a subdued creature who chooses wisely her battles and who she deems worthy enough to waste or spend time, breath, and energy on. just because I bruise easily does not make me weak. if you asked me about my vulnerabilities, I’d display them side by side, neatly on a shelf for you and all to see. strength is having nothing to hide from yourself or the world; strength is acceptance and an open mind. I know my soft spots radiate from within me and my scars create the beautiful flaws that coat my rare skin. I’m tired of circling around the same dead ends, and getting lost in tiny cul-de-sacs of fear of commitment, underestimation, and lust. I am not a catch, you can’t hold me down. let me go or ******* fight for me. I am worth so much more than what wandering eyes degrade me to and how carelessly immature boys handle my crystal heart. I am not held down by any entity or force besides my own and whatever else I choose to absorb. I am endlessly free and growing. I am vivid watercolors and a force as radiant and moving and the moon. do not shroud my essence or shadow my path. either let me go or run undeniably by my side. I am dusting off your marks and the past which has held me down and back, and I am sprinting in the opposite direction down a road without an end in sight.
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29
TLACAELEL My lord, your wives entreat you to carouse, And tend a show of juggling acrobats. MOTECUHZOMA When work is done. Recall those sorcerers. Exit Servant. Till concrete facts come in, abstractions must suffice. Enter a Servant. SERVANT Your majesty, a humble fisherman Brings news pertaining to these prodigies. MOTECUHZOMA Admit him. [Exit Servant.] Lord, when peons paint my way! Enter the Fisherman and Servant. *He trails his hand on the ground toward him, and kisses his ***** fingertips.* FISHERMAN O master, ruler, lord, great gentleman, If witless lips which kiss the unswept earth Be fit to thus accost an emperor, Regard me, if it please your majesty. TLACAELEL Speak, boy. Sublime Motecuhzoma hears. FISHERMAN I come from Hellwood, at your southern shores, Where this week past, upon a beetling bluff, I glimpsed a buoyant, surging reef of hills With twining towers carousing on the waves, That seemed a transport for intruding rarities: A fear which whisperings in the wind confirmed. TLACAELEL Ho, ** ** Was this the Spirit speaking, or the spirits? Some extra mushrooms in your salad, sir? FISHERMAN Discard me if I lie! Hail, lords! All hail! TLACAELEL All hail and sleet and snow, and all things cold. And chill reception from this wintry prince, For I suspect you seek remuneration.
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Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:5:1-24
Wipe this hatred from my lip Like the blood that burns our eyes. Lick the essence of my change For it is the only way into my Love. The air we covet is not Good for us. We must cleanse it Or it will deteriorate our cage Of protection of which we depend Upon. Only we can see our future For everyday we create a new one. It is only us that knows our next, The next that has yet come, my Love. To be ashamed of our yet is to be Ashamed of what could be. You must discover your heart, The heart that forgets how evil it Is. For I have not found love, nor Has it found me. We are both Lost rarities in this precious world Who may stay hidden as long as Eternity.
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Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 6:17 AM UTC
The Blood that Burns