"raves" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Human directives, veracities unverified
Bellies belching with anger, murderers
Udders dripping hate, foundling banters
Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate
Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink
Tear motions and debates of inequality
My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise
All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield
Emergency alarms sirens from 2003
The indefinite complications and hunger
A land of the displaced, starving nomads
Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts
Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious
A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws
Inhumane human interrogations persists
A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve
Force-feeding, torturous measures applied
All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed
A Rwanda slain in divide and rule
Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed
Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves
Machetes slashing necks and hands
A lust of power, a genocide slaughter
The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch
Autocratic regime boring divisions
Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust
The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles
Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill
Indifference pooled in pits and camps
The institutional social indoctrination
The honor and killing to expose shame
The violation and dishonor of moral fabric
For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values
Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit
Confessional secrets of only what lays within
A torment watching witnesses, all dangling
Marxists calls ships to stow ashore
Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit
Invalid contracts awaits signatures
The white immigrants to be enslaved
All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor
Wage packages taken to pay for freedom
Humans bought and sold to be owned
Slaves yorked and counted as assets
Bounded to serve plantations and homes
A human, non human, a chattel, a slave
A debt ******* offended and *****
Untamed and made to obey a master
A falling global strings unturned
Tunes strumming hate, war and pain
Human trafficking, violence, inequality
Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists
Commercialism, zero hour contracts
For if we have no rights, I have none
For if we have no peace I have none
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
I battle my identity,
As people try to label me,
My mum tries to show me the right path,
But is this really destiny?
9-5,
Zero hours,
Holiday and sick pay impossible to claim,
Expected to work for 20 hours a day,
Minimum wage,
This society makes me insane,
On the weekends I can I run away to raves,
Take what ever I can to create waves,
Not like the sea, like to much Dizzle,
Party all night society says that's crazy,
But whats crazy is the war on drugs,
Some users just victims,
Can't get enough.
Instead of giving criminal records,
Affirming our behaviour,
Turning us riot, ruckus,
snapping wires,
How about a little support?
After all how bad must life be,
That children as young as 13 turn to drugs to escape?
It's medical,
Some say medicinal,
But when your mums crying,
Her heart dying,
Because her baby boys been lying?
No one wants police at the door,
But it was gunna be the last night you swore.
A new batch, strong stuff, you didn't believe
And now your six foot under
Rotting, deceased.
But maybe this could change?
If the right support was in place,
For all those getting spaced,
People will always seek a fix,
So why not monitor, control and safe proof it.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
Friday means parties
Friday is coffee
Friday means shopping
Friday is a netflix date with her pillow
And
Blankey...
Friday means long car rides, blasting music with your friends hoping to maybe get that one kiss
Friday is the breakfast club, twisted with easy A with a pinch of 16 candles
Friday means the late night skating rink
Friday is a messy bun with her pink piggy slippers, bringing out those old ugly black glasses
Friday means tight jeans
Friday is a sweater that covers all the way down to her knees
Friday means short shorts and raves
Friday is popcorn on the couch alone (yes, alone)
Friday means selfies
Friday is just a quote
nothing more
Friday means friends
Friday can't even remember her last sleep over
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
Whisky, I neglected you
For mushrooms and amphetamines.
For ket and **** and LSD,
And Mandy too, to name a few.
Needn’t I have looked so far
To be the greatest of cliches.
The drugs and raves led me astray.
For writers, scotch is more on par.
Half your bottle drank away,
Half full in my state of mind.
Every sip; sublime and kind,
Every **** a harshened spray.
Now I’m stuck, a drunken haze
Has washed and swept the ways of rhyme.
In its tide is also time,
As by the sun, the night decays.
Whisky, polished, final sip.
Like the bottle, I am dry.
So, I tried, to write not high.
This poem ***** I’m off to trip.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC
Here, where the lonely hooting owl
Sends forth his midnight moans,
Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcase growl,
Or buzzards pick my bones.
No fellow-man shall learn my fate,
Or where my ashes lie;
Unless by beasts drawn round their bait,
Or by the ravens’ cry.
Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do,
And this the place to do it:
This heart I’ll rush a dagger through,
Though I in hell should rue it!
Hell! What is hell to one like me
Who pleasures never know;
By friends consigned to misery,
By hope deserted too?
To ease me of this power to think,
That through my ***** raves,
I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink,
And wallow in its waves.
Though devils yell, and burning chains
May waken long regret;
Their frightful screams, and piercing pains,
Will help me to forget.
Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night,
To take that fiery berth!
Think not with tales of hell to fright
Me, who am damn’d on earth!
Sweet steel! come forth from our your sheath,
And glist’ning, speak your powers;
Rip up the organs of my breath,
And draw my blood in showers!
I strike! It quivers in that heart
Which drives me to this end;
I draw and kiss the ****** dart,
My last—my only friend!
9k
Malice ripples
lying low, under
penetrating nightlife strobe.
Repercussions?
None to show.
Limp bodies
'getting loose'
In truth,
injected with poison;
a slow-acting noose.
Repulsive actions of the
vile & depraved
****
endorsed at raves.
Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 4:56 AM UTC
A stranger has come
To share my room in the house not right in the head,
A girl mad as birds
Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume.
Strait in the mazed bed
She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds
Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room,
At large as the dead,
Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards.
She has come possessed
Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall,
Possessed by the skies
She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust
Yet raves at her will
On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears.
And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last
I may without fail
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.
7.5k
Blindness haunts the king who seeks
In vain do riches question
- but-
A beggar with a poor man's coat
Receives the greatest wisdom.
We, of sound and sturdy mind
Sniff rich bouquets of vanity
-but-
Fine wine is pressed by she who raves
Her hems stained with insanity.
Old men would have learn'd much
Had they been thus styl'd
-and-
There are no wiser phrases brought
Than those of a child.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:56 PM UTC
Sister
****** her
pants
rants and
raves
caves into
lust
must not
whine
twine around her
neck
check how quite
tight it gets
that she's screaming,
dreaming
for him to let her go.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 6:57 AM UTC
Folds of water
Layers of dirt
Bubbling foam
A vast body
wrapping itself around the Earth
Schools of life
Clumps of Color
This is where it thrives
The souls of creatures
A potpourri of lives
The might of the ocean
The strength of the Sea
No one can match
No one could hardly believe
its ability
to devour kingdoms
Engulf islands and make them its own
Drag them down
Yank them by their legs, shatter their bones
Drag them down
Til they ultimately can descend no more
I can almost hear the primordial sea deity bellow
With a voice so deep
It shocks, explores
and shakes your soul
An immense
Deep bass tone.
It strikes more than just a powerful chord
“Come back to me”
“Return to your mother’s womb, down here, down low”
“You belong to me, my right, my property!”
“Return to the world below.”
“Come back home.”
Under the Sea
What's deep beneath?
The iridescent water
The clouds of foam
Conquered by monsters?
Down there,
Do sirens roam?
We aren't aware
We do not know
Enigmatic waves
Rows of fossils
Caked in dirt
A haven for aquatic raves
A museum holding remnants
telling the story of the Mother Earth
This is the Sea
Take a swim sometime and feel its rhythm
Listen to its story
Flow with the sea’s entrancing beat
I have faith and I believe
That the sea is a world of its own
Accentuated sometimes by its powerful voice or melodious hum
No less mighty than the world above.
Let's keep this beautiful wet world untouched
to keep it as it is, the world we love
©SHREYA DRISTI
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
He can’t explain the pain
Like boot prints on his brain
And it only seems to subside
When she is beside him.
Then, it begins to slowly dim.
When she is not around
He can be found on the ground
Screaming just like his head,
Full of frenzied villagers instead
Of what everyone else feels
And thinks, as he again sinks
Into that swamp of horror
And anguish. Moreover,
He knows he is alone in this.
This is not from her kiss
It is from its absence.
He’s not addicted to absinthe
Like some Victorian poet.
He’s insane now and knows it.
But she can calm mind
In the deluge he always finds
When she goes away a while.
First he loses the desire to smile
Then he can’t talk any more.
He forgets what words are for.
He only howls and raves.
He knows nobody can save him.
He has but to swim to shore
From the wreck that is his peace.
It is his only real release.
It’s all that heals his soul.
She has become the goal
His only purpose in the world
Is in the hands of this one girl;
This woman, elevated to deity.
His only true reality.
How can this happen, he cries.
He doesn’t understand the whys
And wherefores that turns love,
Completion and fulfillment
Into horrifying derailment
Of all his hopes and dreams
And fills his heart with screams
Like a little boy on a wrong bus.
And nobody there to discuss things
To help him see what is happening
And why the one thing he cares for
Doesn’t fulfill him anymore
Unless she is here to hold his hand.
He fails completely to understand.
Brent Kincaid
2/13/2015
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
THIS is what love is.
banana bubblegum and magnetic poetry
the crickets on my front porch at three in the morning
making origami cranes out of butcher paper
even when I forget whether it's mountain fold or
valley fold and my crane turns out looking like a
seamonkey in a blender
wildflowers!
striped button-down shirts and plastic dinosaurs
singing Juanes at the top of our lungs
(Gah, you know
I can't speak Spanish.)
laughing at the serious parts in movies
having the patience for when
the words don't come out
and I have to stop
and think
(for a very long time)
and half the time it doesn't make sense anyway.
impromptu dance sessions on the side of the road
doors flung open, radio up
chocolate chip pancakes
out-of-town adventures
mailboxes. LOTS.
balcony raves with lots of glowsticks
and let me borrow that top!
just letting me sleeeeeeep
the smell of new pointe shoes
of New Orleans
of bluebonnets
telling me when I look awful (please)
making me eat things that I don't like
SNUGGLEBUNNY TIME
drive-thru people who hate our guts
That's What She Said's.
praising Buddha naked
dysfunctional kites
paying in change at Chicken Express
late night phone conversations
when I sound drunk
(but I'm not,
I'm tired. I just would rather
talk to you
than sleep.)
silence.
cupcakes, uniform closets
not shaving our legs in the winter
shadow puppets, rap songs,
Slumdog Millionaire
making once-in-a-lifetime faces
looks that speak oceans
pecan pralines and symphony orchestras you'll
never play with again but for that night
you're family
and you'll never forget it.
matches (aren't always for candles)
thousands upon thousands of candids
and the not-so-candids
saving kisses in your pocket for later
Neverland, Disneyland, cats
yellow dresses and stage make-up
watermelon Jolly Ranchers
saying my name like it's wrapped in blankets
and knowing that
even though I don't say it
as much as I should:
I do.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 1:51 PM UTC
We're out at a bar splitting a good night of cheers
Drinks and laughter flowing among peers
Double shots dance around the table
Tonight's the moment, tomorrow's a fable
We garnish the laughter with Halloween
What's your costume, how do you swing
A chorus of "I'll dress up as a cowboy"
Is met by a few rolling eyes, "I'll address their convoy"
Not to be excluded is the gay guy in back that chimes in
And competes with the rolling eyes, cowboys are mine
Laughter of reveries spills faster than the drinks
A 80's song, When Doves Cry, continues to play over the links
A women crashes the party and exhorts the group
Come on guys put your wings on, fly the coup
Halloween's around the corner, make a splash, make waves
Find your muse with a costume that stands up, and raves
Look out to the horizon, the rarefied air, and trick for treats
Find my tunnel of love with a costume that beats
After a pause, a coy smile surface on rolling eye's lip
Oh Melville come with me, come with me, and take a dip
Double shots dance around the table
Logan Robertson
10/19/17
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 3:26 PM UTC
A short and an earlier popular poem of mine. Hope you like it! Thanks, - Raj, New Delhi.
THE SURF-RIDER !
See him riding gallantly the crest of
waves,
With dexterity and poise and flowing
grace!
He rises to descend, to rise once more,
As the waves keep rolling towards the
shore!
Like those surfs the Rider continues his
mellifluous dance ,
Be it in England, in Spain or in France;
Riding high on waves as if in a trance!
The wind churns up the waves as it rises
and swells,
As the Rider manoeuvers his wake-board
riding those crests before it breaks !
Like a gymnast he executes strong cutbacks
- to reverse his turn,
His spirit dominate as the waves rise and
churn!
He did take his time to perfect his art ,
Having loved the sea and the surf from the
very start!
He learnt to live in moments just like those
dancing waves,
Floating on their crests as his blood within
raves!
Those surfs like musical notes rise up and
fall,
Where some surfs are short and others tall !
Like a philharmonic conductor par-excellence,
He commands those waves with his skilful
presence!
Friends, riding on Time’s moments is no mean
art,
But like the Surf-rider one must make a gallant
start !
-Raj Nandy, New Delhi
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC
Tangible sin, its what i'm looking for
let the rants and raves begin
cause tongues of fire can never settle
for a one line poem or a break in tone
they need the blood red of wine in their glass
these aristocrats drinking from the lower class
we are far too outspoken to speak of silence
that's something only the seculars teach
Maddness, now there's an idea i can get behind
Imagine ideas like countries
nuclear weapons at their highest state of alert
what we believe is what we once held true
and whose finger is this on the trigger?
then eventually, yes
the tyrants will get voted into office
doing away with terms and treaties of old
eventually you'll get two shoes per person
as you read your generation's scripture like truth
from the nearest stall bathroom wall
for a good time call, God
cause he doesn't charge you per hour
well, only on sunday mornings nine to noon
but for everlasting life who wouldn't drink that elixir?
just one more broken promise
cause Buddha told me i'd be back again
back again to serve in the same platoon of freedom fighters
Nov 1, 2011
Nov 1, 2011 at 11:57 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
She said when I wanna fool around why do i always talk?
I couldn't blame you this may come as a shock,
Sending and vasting off into a deep plain with no bloodshed,
Maybe I could be the zombie in your Evil Dead,
Do things that might end up as later possible regrets,
I could be the father of grandeurs tucking you in bed,
Showered in beer , blood and threads,
Strobe blinding my eyes,
Love it when you tell me lies instead,
Girls,
They like to have a girls night out,
And when they do,
Then they need to arrive at my raves ,
Then if they don't,
Then they'll have something to regret.
Welcome To The Rave!
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 4:15 PM UTC
1243
Safe Despair it is that raves—
Agony is frugal.
Puts itself severe away
For its own perusal.
Garrisoned no Soul can be
In the Front of Trouble—
Love is one, not aggregate—
Nor is Dying double—
3.2k
You couldn't relate to my life if you tried
Degenerate pride, in my pride, the family all died
I took a trip, slip from the front door
Walking to the house of a man with some more
Of the poison of my mother, the mater, my pater, the father
My brothers and sisters slumped against a wall, injecting
It gets harder
I'm a martyr
But I fall farther
Brown brings ardour
In the haze of detestable days, bus journey raves
To the estates, I'm in a state, I hate fate
Try and place blame, struggle to get straight
But straight to the point, you're a mate
Pass the plate, and the joint
I'll do a line, get straight
Straight to the point...
Where was I?
Back in the house, forgot how I got here
The emptiness too much to bear
I miss my family being here
My mother the seer
My father drinking beer
I close my eyes, open, hope they appear
The loneliness of the kitchen feels so queer
I pop a few pills and realise its been a year
Since I saw them here
Fading to black and I awake in a wrack
Fiending for some smack, panic attack
Light up a pipe, smoke some pale crack
Keep me going on this lonesome track
So I pack my bag, down a glass of Jack
And get back on the beaten path
To the corner where I find her, solemn in a slump
Hard night's day, I give her cash and we arrange the jump
Pump pump, I dump my junk and feeling drunk
Walk silently in a grump, she re-adjusts her skirt
and returns to her bunk
To her lifelong funk
before being packed into another John's trunk
The streetlights are cruel in the winter night's haze
What beautiful days, in a daze, feeling amazed
Clasp my hands and I pray, am I crazed
or is this mournful delay
A year ago today,
my love took my family away
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
And can you believe,
The horrible glee
With which his lips licked.
Dreaming-- carcass picked,
Reveling wholly.
Dismissing Holy
Enlightened beings,
Sinking in Needing.
Black black smack, alack!
I'm a crack-gack hack!
Or, mayhaps, I'm not?
Or, perhaps, just caught,
In nauseous verde waves
Of fanciful raves--
Rants all entertained--
I say makes me drained.
Baudelaire's half-baked,
Chatterton-- cracked
Morally, sorely
Standing half-poorly
But standing up still,
Avoiding the thrill
Of desert mirage,
It's poison barrage!
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
Oh so many words with no way of forming logic
so many words trapped in confusion
So many words dying to be heard to be admired to be out gagging me but I just can't find my voice.
I just can't make it come out.
I'm alive, I'm breathing.
I walk around but I'm not really living.
Its the Pain.
I can feel it cursing through my veins with tears streaming down and staining my face.
Eroding all the life left on my face.
I've lived so long in this low I don't really know what a high feels like no more. Even in love I'm down low and mournful. Insecure and pitiful. Crazy if you ask me.
I know I have to get out this cycle but this low has stolen all my dreams like a quiet thief in the night,. Stolen my voice and I'm left with this burning desire for greatness with an empty vision. Because my dreams were too fragile , like a fetus in the womb killed by negligence and under nourishment. Or better yet ripped out by metal rods poking prodding in a ***** hidden backyard ally.
I prayed. I cry.
I believed. I cry.
I had faith. I cry.
I even used to look up to the stars and the moon.
Mostly past tense now. Because nothing ever really came out of it. My hopes became the barren womb of a woman failing to produce.
All past tense.
But I still cry as if pouring my soul into this water that leaves my body will appaul the gods enough to have pity on me. Restore my faith and recharge my halo cause its been running on reserves for so long. As though I'll finally see the God everyone raves about. As though I'll find my destiny. But I just end up dusting my rags and bearing this load that's nearly taken my life by my own hand so many times I could feature on a comedy.
A cliche but I have a void in my heart. I tried ignoring it. Filing it with nonsensical things that always dry out. At a point I thought I'd found a solution but my heart now in pieces I learnt never to trust in a human what you can't do yourself.
I let somebody take me through the fiery lanes of hell to leave me there
Oh so many words with no way of forming logic so many words trapped in confusion so many words gagging me but I just can't find my voice.
I just can't make it come out.
So many words dying to be heard to be admired to be out.
But I'm at a loss.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
I was asleep when you came in.
Wakening to the intoxicating tequila that drizzles from your mouth,
You've already managed to start the discussion
Combing you’re hands, lips and tongue to orchestrate
A stroke of genius in full consequence,
You now have my attention..
But you’re not alone,
Putting on my glasses
I see you picked once again
Navigating takes four hands ya know.
Now choose:
A spin-cycle or tune up,
temporary vision, lost again.
Each of you raves,
You both used to dance.
Looking at each other,
synchronizing the helm.
Yearning for violence you scratch the flesh
That harbors you’re enthusiasm.
Backbiting lust and forceful appetite,
This is what happens when you
Wake the Wolf.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
immersion in the Jordan
risen from their graves
there's a place of graciousness
the pastel water saves
yes, there's a place of peaceful joy
for the heart that raves
wisdom beckons... righteousness!
for fools and for knaves
we are awake yet dreaming
wandering into the waves.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 11/28/2015
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
Ever wondered about my style?
What I admire and what I deem vile?
Well, gather around, I'll let you see
Who I am, through what else, but poetry?
My favorite flower is a cherry blossom.
As for food, bread is awesome.
I spend much of my time on Twitter.
I like birds, the ones that flutter.
My favorite author is Ms. Anne Rice.
Her book, "Memnoch" is very nice.
My favorite poet is Aleister Crowley.
As for artist, that would be Dali.
I like Reggae straight from Trenchtown.
Most of all, I like System of a Down.
Philip Wesley is my favorite composer.
If I may be so bold, Chopin, move over.
My favorite film is Sweeney Todd.
By my top director, who is slightly odd.
Johnny Depp is my favorite actor and hunk.
I'm not a fan of touchdowns and dunks.
A big interest is Nutrition and Health.
I'm against Corporations and Banks, with all their wealth.
I like Documentaries and things that make me think.
Carrot juice is one of my favorite things to drink.
My favorite painting hangs on my wall.
The artist or name, I have not a clue at all.
I like eating cherries and playing pretend.
I like talking to those I consider a friend.
I like dancing at raves, even on the stage.
I like my job, though it's minimum wage.
I'm good without gods, I bow to none.
No political party, with that, I'm done.
That about sums me up, I hope you see
My likes and interests described to a tee,
In the fashion of the rhyme scheme A and B.
Did I mention the fact that I write poetry?
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
How unfair it is
That I cannot do
HAIR MAGIC-
That my wispy locks
Won't listen to me,
Not even with the persuasion
Of a gallon of hairspray
And a million pins.
How unfair that I
Cannot look this good
Every day...
But there is some
Small comfort in my
CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES-
(The ones that everyone raves over)
I shall be messy haired,
But happy.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 6:40 AM UTC