"reaked" poems
You lived next to a mushroom field
The smell was pungent and distinct
It reaked of sewage and sulfur
I never understood how anyone could
"Just get used to it."
I hate mushrooms now
Moreso that I ever did before.
I mull over the things you did to me
And made me do to you.
All I can remember is
The smell creeping up my nasal passage
Strangling me
Choking me.
Since that day,
My life has resembled that place.
So much junk to deal with
Such a despicable scent
People wonder how I deal with it.
I don't even know how I stand the stench.
But I find it funny, oh the irony
In how I have come to simulate
The place I detest the most.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
A queer man found more beauty in me than anyone I’ve ever slept with
I’m not into jesus or anything but theres some energy inside of your face
He said
I could sense your beauty if I was blind, It’s something you can feel
He said
I would never wish the cement of these streets on anybody
He said
They give you that “I wanna stick my **** in you” look out here
And I thought, they do
He was 1960’s wicca gyspy queer
He was grab your hand in this weather and warm it up magick
He was more confident in me than I was
That’s love
He reaked of Whiskey and said **** the parade
Only if it was a male ofcourse
Oh, how he boasted as a gay
I smiled the most that St.Patricks Day
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
Familiarity was a safety net I was unconsciously drawn too.
I reaked civic and utter independence,
But as I got thrown to the curb of life I found my self more twisted than a cork in a wine bottle.
I think about fear more than I actually should.
The thoughts of the future consume me and my being,
"I'm destined for greatness, I know I am, I know I am."
I say it out loud all the time, but little do the eyes around me know that, vaguely do I believe it myself.
Eyes are constantly watching me.
Me.
Me.
With hopes of success, and the temperament that I am meant to be great.
A thinker for the world,
A healer for humanity,
A lover for hope.
As eyes watch god,
My vains bleed fear.
I want to believe.
I want to be.
I want to.
I want to.
I want,
But why do I believe I can't.
The mind is a tricky thing in our classist world of upper elites.
Who's bound to break the boundaries into a world of power.
Who's bound to make a change.
My mind is my epic failure,
and my most distinguished enemy.
My subconscious screams "failure, failure, lose, lose, lose"
My willpower struggles to hold on as the elitist feet of silver knocks me off my horse.
I'm in a epic battle, but sometimes I forget with who.
Is it with me?
Is it with the epic power of this world?
Is it with fear of the future?
Who am I, if I am not adequate to myself,
To my being,
To my heart.
When did I get so lost.
And how did it happen?
Why isn't that rain no longer makes rainbows?
When did lemonaid become bitter?
How do I believe in my hopes and dreams?
Am I weak that I'm afraid of the unknown?
Am I weak because I fall to the feet of lust?
Am I weak, or am I really strong because of the knowledge I gained along the way?
My wine tastes bitter, and aged.
My mind grows tired,
My heart reeks pain.
Silently I stare at the wall because there are no windows or doors.
Silently I sip my bitter wine,
and silently it tastes aged.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
I've always reaked of instability
From the time I was little
I didn't have a home
So when I got older I made homes of people who were never made to stay .
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 4:38 PM UTC
Tonight I went to the city to investigate a mystery witha girl who reaked of destiny, marijuana, and body odor.
She has hair that can only be recreated in nature by peakcocks and birds of paradise, and a mind that a child would see eye to eye with. Not as in shes unintelligent but her imagination open mindedness, curiosity and raw hunger for knowledge and fun experiences can only be matched by those of us not yet knowledgable to feel and understand the worst of our world. Having always been obsessed with the moon it didnt strike me as odd that she spoke of that first.
"The other day I figured it all out, its the ****** moon"
Now at first this meant little to nothing to me but she went on to explain how we measure time is wrong because the moon controls us ( she mentioned something about menstrual cycles +tides lol )more than the sun and then she explained something about the 13 moon cycles,
Good and bad aliens,
The universe is a place of free will,
Reptillians want the world for human souls,
Eminem got his soul back,
This guru girl with the galaxy always on her mind isnt even that close of a friend. Shes kind of crazy and reaching in ways but shes just a thinker and I think shes onto something. Her psychiatrist said shes stuck in dreamland but as far as im concerned the whole thing is a dream so ¿
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 3:43 AM UTC
Happiness is filtered through a long silver pump,
where it is torn apart,
then crushed together in a lump.
Sadness is poured in a giant mixing bowl,
where it is strained out,
then dropped into the black dump hole.
Anger is stacked on top,
piled in pieces,
only to be lit by a flame the size of a drop.
Love is demolished on sight,
battered and bruised,
leaving a stench of bitterness out of spite.
The emotional dump is a place where emotions go,
when they've been let loose -
out of control.
When they've grown outside the human heart,
and reaked havoc like an art.
It's a place where emotions die in a flash,
placed next to all the world's gunk and gloop and unwanted trash.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 4:28 AM UTC