"reallity" poems
Dear poet's of Hello.
After some thinking ive come to realize theres one thing this
site and a few of my friends here really need to embrace more often.
The truth.
Im known as a clown but I do not fear speaking my mind.
Ive faced far more challenging things in my life than worring
over if people like me or not what has this place become highschool?
I read comments well to be honest I know that people dont mean
theres poems on here ive seen on the charts for months that to be honest dont desserve the comments they get but people are to scared to be honest and speak there mind.
Why?
Thats the big question and I see no clear answer.
The backstabbing and ******** here makes me really rethink
just why im here.
But ive met some good friends here and I respect them no matter if i like there work or not.
I dont expect people to lie and say they like something when they dont just speak your mind use some manners of course but what are you all so scared of?
Look theres alot of crap here that makes little or no sense.
The charts are a joke.
And I have friends here who talk about how much they hate something only to comment on it and be two faced.
Im not gonna call people out you know who you are.
Do you really think your helping anyone by blowing smoke up there ***
Im sorry if I offend people with this but feelings will always be hurt
and not everyone is gonna get along.
Writting is not my hobby it's not something I do cause im some moody spoiled snob that thinks his life is so hard cause in reallity.
Ive lived a life I wouldnt wish on anyone I know the true meaning of pain I didnt grow up having **** handed to me.
Yet no life is easy.
Writting to me is like breathing I have no choice.
But the stuff im seeing here is straight up ********
People kissing each others ass then talking about how they **** behind there back.
Saying what friends we are only to secretly despise each other.
I speak my mind if i tell you i like your work it's cause i do but really honestly how can you criticize someone's self expression to me you cant.
Im no better than anyone else and after posting this I figure alot of people will probaly think im a **** but at least I have the courage to be myself.
Lets try to at least not turn this place into Poetry Soup.
That place is a highschool of clicks and sad people who act like children hell the kids there act more mature than the adults.
People fear honesty and I know coming fro0m me this is the last thing you expected but i had to get this off my chest.
Great writers werent worried with if you liked what they did or how many people liked them.
I respect you all but all I ask is to be more honest with each other.
Cause this place is turning into a zoo and no one seems to be running the asylum.
Speak your mind cause if you dont know one will ever know your true voice.
Thank you and if I offended at least I made you think.
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 12:00 PM UTC
In many travels across this melting *** of a country I have found that every small town has it's own cast of characters every group has the ******* who cant handle
*****
The party girl who gets crying and wishes she could start all over again.
And the one to busy living this life to give a **** about what you think or how your
feeling.
After a couple of weeks it gets to anyone the sense of not belonging.
the constant movement it eats away at you like rot gut whiskey.
Once even though in agony you so joyfully keep pouring down your throat.
And the conversations become the same are we but playing a game
saying whatever it takes to get what we want.
But what is it we truley want?
Comfort of a warm body by are side the feeling of flesh apon flesh.
It has to be more than just *** but out here I belive its to feel
what its like to benormal and for one moment pretend you wont be
walking out that door to chase sun once agian.
Living like a pirate apon the land.
Not matter her body's warmth when you leave you never havea chance to
know the bad or the reallity of people.
thats why im forever a tourist.
Jan 20, 2010
Jan 20, 2010 at 4:34 AM UTC
In my office me and Gonzo waited speaking on deep issues
with no true meaning as usual.
Bastardo's heart had been broken for Drew had left him a beaten and
love bitten luchador slash attorney.
Senior Gonzo speaking endlessly to the hat rack had reminded me why
I never dropped acid anymore.
Poor gonzo had just been served with divorce papers to which
his only response was ****** amigo i never knew i was married.
As his attorney i belived a trip to mexico was outta the question for i had just got back do to some well a misunderstanding its legal
jargin you couldnt possibly understand.
His deadline was near and without my solid advise this man wouldnt be able to pull it off so being we had been in the bar for more than
eight hours we decided to make a exit through the mens room window.
Front doors are over rated.
In my legal office slash camper hey eveyone starts somewhere
okay.
I was reminded of my loved hellcat Drew
she had left many items here a satanic bible her boil cream.
how I did mis rubbing her webbed toes.
How was i to work Gonzo was a mess hidding under the table
so the ginger bread people couldnt find him
and return him to there bitter talentless leader
Kate Perry i swear if you stab me one more time senior gonzo
with that fork in my maracas im going to get medevile on your ***
Oh how i missed my tag team partner drew.
i should never have introduced her el man donkey who
resist such a uhh personallity.
But now here I sit with a madman under my table tripping his
***** off insisting I contact Simon Cowell to inform him
man tities are so yesterday.
If only I had gotten the Lindsy Lohan case I would finally have gotten my brake or maybe just a std.
Oh well theres always hope Mel Gibson will need me.
The road warrior was a true classico and he seemed so well
balanced compared to my reallity challenged cilent.
Remember kids if ever you have a chance to trip with senior Gonzo
its probaly best you hide all sharp objects.
adios Bastardo
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 15, 2010 at 8:10 AM UTC
I had locked away my true thoughts and muzzled my true voice
for far to long.
Was it a character i desired to be?
Were my words to be but a joke to break the awkward silence?
When you start to be social only to lock yourself up
to exist with your demons your becoming a dangerous
person to yourself.
My work once flowed now it sits half finished great starts
stalled endings.
My skills were learned from not the comic arena
and i could imagine my journalist friends laughter mocking
me even now.
He's slipped finally lost in cheap jokes gone from
anything that speak's of his true voice.
The people didnt thirst to know John.
for my well penned alter ego was the one they all knew and so blindly
misunderstood.
Old friends check in.
Messages on my phone i'd sooner erase than
respond to.
Had I slipped in some form of insanity?
Embracing dellusion to mask my failures in life?
I was a writer ,A troublemaker and owner of laughs.
A good time for many yet emptyness was my reallity.
As from the TV screen reflected change and madness.
For crazy is a close friend of chaos.
I got in the game to make a mark but what was the price?
A destroyed marriage a relationship heading into
the very same direction.
What had I become but some twisted monster
and tormented soul.
A sad afterthought to a sick joke.
Deppresion can make us into something no mirror can truely
reflect.
The chamber stayed loaded the glass my curse
seldom these days full.
And what she wanted I could never give like sunsets
red cast gold flaked embrace i was a moment.
And moment's can't forever last.
No child should know a madman's life.
And a selfish bastard I knew was my role.
Empty streets and smokey old bars were my path
and what to anyone could i truley give?
Pain was the fuel hours my sea to sail alone.
The chamber was full but soon one would
be missing.
A tale cant be read untill it's finshed.
We are but moments.
And moments can't last forever.
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 10:32 AM UTC
No Matter The Floor You Pass Out On
I awake as any other madman slash poet.
Apon the floor naked pizza box for pillow a members only jacket for a blanket.
yes the libary sure has changed over the years.
less and less people were reading buggets were cut meaning
libraryies were under staffed and rarely did anyone dare venture into
the stacks and thank good for that. Cause being i preffered free sleeping
it was probaly for the best.
but no matter the the floor you pass out on most all fine
american men wake up with are god given birth rite.
That which after a trip to the restroom like
that early morning madness that was christmas pressent openning
was over way to fast and was kinda disapointing.
Floors werent the best beds in the world in fact they
****** altogather but drinking and common sense dont even
belong in the same room togather.
Portsmouth Va was a strange world indeed a place where upscale colided with skidrow.
Me I preffer the company of a outdoor sleeper to that of a
spoiled spoon fed yuppie ****
the art school cranked out angst ridden buble people by the second.
They walked the street soaking in the pain of life.
there heads stuck so far up there ***** I always felt compeled to trip them as they walked by.
acting as though they were outsiders yerning to be mainstream
they'd **** there mothers on a mtv reality show as dad cried in the background.
Just for a taste of stardom.
True talent who needs that?
but no matter the floor you pass out on one
thing was clear.
In a world were you could have a bus load
of kids and get paid for it.
fame wasnt such a rare thing anymore.
The floor I passed out on was cold and cruel but surrounded
voices from the past.
the floor these hollow reallity show bottom feeders
passed out on. Had to besoft as there heads.
Otherwise there brains would splatter across the floor.
And some TV exect would have a brainstorm to have a show
were washed up celebrities would have a contest.
To see who could bore us the most with there sob story
Yes friends id rather have a pizza box for a pillow
than a reality show pillbox for a brain.
and the truth effectsus all form no matter
which floor so you do choose to pass out on.
Dec 11, 2009
Dec 11, 2009 at 7:12 AM UTC
Why do I even bother ?
Oh this is not a poem to sway you with romantic words, no infact i probably won’t share this with whom it belongs.
No more an apology, and reallity check for me!
Oh but that be said without malice for you!
Rather all I do is ***** things up!
Even though I’d try my heart to make sure to get it right with every intention to make your day!
I’d get it wrong I don’t even truly know where I went wrong!
But somehow hurt you i did!
Thats more painfully riviting ro my core far more than you pushing me away!
Many words come to mind from pathetic, useless, idiotic. Waste of human space, and many more, sad to describe anyone as this sadder realising this of oneself!
Should have got right the first time and save everyone the waste of time!
Have had to get my head around not doing anything they call stupid for so long, i honestly strugle to find a reason to carry on! For what? Why?
And mostly cant say it would stupid, no be thei ly thing i can think would make sense!
To hurt the one i love no matter what i do ill ***** it up!
Hurting you is an unbearable thought!
How could i live with myself?
Cant see how i can get rhrough that
Let alone this pain!
You mean so much to me!
Ive said is take a bullet for you! (Die for you)
But would rather live for you !
Now if you not there?
Cant see much hope at all !
No where! All rhe general reasons everyone would usually morivate you with, would hold so little weight!
This pain be out of this world i try but cant expain this be of magnitudes earthquakes couldnt measure on the same scale!
And somehow i try find that reason in fear of hurting other loved ones!
Somehow i rather find hope!
Not the hope youd think though!
Oh no this is hope that my loved ones (famil) will understand this pain and somehow forgive me for my intention be not to hurt them, but to find ease finnaly!
Comfort knowing id be not the reson orhers will hurt tomorrow!
Yes dark and dismal thoughts!
Or are they?
Are they not in other ways considerate?
Oh oh i lean to think so..
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 4:13 PM UTC
Wouldnt it be nice
to have a reallity
where all the people
close to my heart
would be close to my body?
I wouldnt have to choose
a country becaouse
each one I'd lived in
has a significant part of my heart
I imagine it would be nice
feeling at home
and not always feeling like
there is a piece missing out.
Becaouse right now, I feel homesick even at home.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 7:49 AM UTC
I'll leave my resolution as she leaves her
tight black dress apon the floor.
In passion of a ***** tinted kiss.
we'll forget the times to follow if only
in are trainwreck splendor.
Two souls thirsting for contact.
Tearing at one another like children unwrapping
gifts from under the tree.
Plessure is a dream togather were caught willing
victims of a lost night and a years end.
As tommorows starts a year's slow decline.
In her eyes I need only a glimpse to recall.
The madness that was in the streets we
stole a nights most simple plessure.
A private partys afterglow is such a bittersweet
tressure we'll recall togather.
In the velvet of a embrace more than skin did connect.
Within thoose eye's the embers of that private
party for a breif moment does reflect.
As traces of reallity plague the return of the following
day.
One kiss tasting of devilish remorse I caught a whisper of love
But in a shallow moments thought just watched it
walk away.
Dec 31, 2010
Dec 31, 2010 at 1:03 PM UTC
Sometimes you gotta get lost to find the emptyness of the true soul.
Bury thoose memories to unearth old truths.
Cut the ties only to return to thoose past relations.
Ive seen the streets erase the picture only to relive the past.
Living ghosts a backdrop eternal.
I cant question thoose night's regrets like a blanket keep me warm
on a humid night.
When all is wrong why cant anything be right.
I'd never curse you utter truths into your lies.
Tainted encounters in many ever changing rooms.
Neon lit dream's sunset of my mind salt water taste the
bitterness we love.
The mountain's veiw is empty and cold.
Have we lost the the spark.
Iced over thoughts leave only shallow promises
to hold.
So I'll push you away only to hold the memory dear.
A coward to live in the pressent.
A living ghost of the man who once stood here.
I've lost track gone so far from all that ive known.
Sparks in the darkness.
Only illusion paint's the reallity sanity grace me life
once more.
I question has it vanished with my time?
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 6:02 AM UTC
The cards have been played jokers once wild were part of a strangers fate.
The sudden ends promise seemed a fitting end to a sad play.
As in love were pawns to a changing emotion as restless as
the wind that blows off the sea.
Monster's my dear exist even within me.
Addiction has taken passion I can no longer love as in the page.
Suicide take's the person as in thoughts i'll blur the image.
I'll write the end only to erase my past.
Will they understand?
My solution was a bitter end and a finale and retreat.
Anger doesnt understand the endless rage.
Empty thoughts from the shallow page.
Ive seen it clear apon a night cast with my demons fog.
The edge is past reallity will splatter me in a lifeless pile.
Madness greet's the creative mind.
As sanity clings like a mother to
her son waitting for the war.
Ive long over stayed my welcome now I embrace
the finale chapter.
The candle's flame was ment only to consume.
The moths will second to it's nature.
A burst of flame then a slow fade into the ash apon the floor.
Empty eyes of a child hearts never stay broken.
We understood the play as traggic befor the closing act.
laughter my card a gift ive left in your heart.
Erased from sight I question the desire.
The edge wasnt there untill it was past.
Seems some were never ment to last.
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 10:50 PM UTC
Never let the voice that whispers softly in your ear .
Dictate the direction of your soul.
As in his embrace you find passion but do you know truth?
Make no diffrence between the two.
For a fools logic often allows passion to blur the reallity .
For in blood promises writen agreements seem easy till the price need be paid.
Locked doors will not shield you from a end simply create your tomb .
On full moons and othet dark ocassions often there is light even within the darkness.
Did the promise not live up to the truth my dear.
Did that temptation just seem to sweet to deni .
We can ignore are nature but we are carnal animals just the same.
Death finds us empty as alone we must enter to whatever may be .
Never make promises your not willing to keep.
And so in your demise the whispers softly as they were spoken from a forgotten lovers release .
Were still lies just the same.
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 4:01 PM UTC
To know more than the plessures of a nights collision.
Twisted is the tangle in the blindness of passion
it absorbs into the night.
Far beyond actions and simple passion of a night shared.
The scent of its plessure makes thoughts subside.
As she does tease the senses we are brought down
to the ways of children begging for release.
To know passion and embrace the moment
she will not understand.
Dreamers cannot fathom its pure reallity.
Laced in love so ****** up from life.
Gentle are the velvet edges tender as
the surgeons knife.
When it ends maybe tommorow it shall begin.
To feel it's fire only to be tormented by it's cold.
The beauty of a violent release flustration
in arms of regret does reside.
The sounds of echo of torments plessure.
The true voice we were so unwilling to admit.
As in the are madness sanity is but a glimmer of light.
As held tightley two bodies rest weary.
Cast a jaded view of love of a immortal
apon this soon to be forgotten night.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 4:13 AM UTC
Well lookin back it seems i think little somethin
always beat's a whole lotta nothin.
The road at night is a mystery yerning to remain unsolved.
No direction sometimes seems better than the reallity of
a dead in street.
Burnt out from pills and *****
A head that pounds with a steady rythym of
of past failures and false starts.
As in bottles we seek answers to the unasked questions
of the dammed soul and promising lie.
Four walls a asylum or a hotel of your choosing.
Last times regret cant match tonights need.
Burnt emotions frozen feelings.
A great lie love is dellusion a drug for the
junkies soul.
Cold even on a mid summers night.
I paint in colors of a doomed nature.
Void yet alluring to the naked eye.
Like a records unclear sound the flaws are what
make it true.
This writers fire has all but faded.
I ask does that glass appear half empty to you?
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 6:26 PM UTC
It's always when the magic hits that blissful ****** up buzz I'm alone in the bar putting up the stools up closing down as usal.
I always have one behind the bar light a cigar just soak in the silence .
It's then when it all comes back in a flood to me .
The faces of those passsed my brothers.
I pour a shot of borbon for them each.
Always making mine a double .
I imagine there laughs the bad jokes and great conversations we no longer share .
William always playing the jukebox that trademark laugh that could light a room.
Bob Warren cracking people up hitting on the women he was a one man sideshow and a old vet.
Bone .
My closest brother the guy who ****** everyone off and always made me laugh .
We'd talk for hours kick back the drinks and torment everyone around us.
Cause if we didnt **** with you.
We truly didnt give a **** about you.
I had burried them all as alone now i stand .
The smoke hung in the air as i saw them all and for a moment i wasnt alone.
It always hit hardest on nights like these .
The women will all leave you .
Love is a fire that burns beyond are control.
But the memories are the tressure bury them deep only to dig them up when you are alone .
I drank each shot as one by one they vanished from sight.
I do not believe I can bury another .
I guess in all truth I hope the next is me..
I closed the door locked it behind me the air outside was frozen.
My breath shown on the walk home.
I was alone .
Sometimes the page is far more simple than reallity of this existence.
I'm glad to have shared one last round with friends .
We can write the ending.
But life always seems to see it a different way.
Cheers
Gonz
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 2:28 PM UTC
I think at early age i saw the truth and its harsh light.
The dreamer was a sweet idea the reallity a cold *******
The poets to weak often found comfort in there vices.
The washed up often found a finale page in there brains being splattred across the room.
And the wise often found themselves wanting foolish
things.
Love it was a word often used and seldom felt.
It was that fix down Church street it was a score for a moment a regret at best.
Love i hate it's existance it was the mirage that I saw in a cool nights fog
It called me once and killed me slowley one bad choice at a time.
Im not saying the young couple in passion is a time bomb waitting to
turn into a disaster at any second.
Im just saying it wouldnt catch me in it's aftermath.
The washed up thought it made them immortal.
The dreamers thought of it as air.
And the wise were to busy avoiding it at all cost's.
But the broken saw it as paper sailboat caught in a storms drain.
I remeber her well.
Nov 20, 2010
Nov 20, 2010 at 11:30 PM UTC
Travel through the universe, Someday we might, But is it truely a reallistic plight? Are we scared, to what we would find, But then do we care, in the back of our mind? Is there really a super being, We could believe just by seeing? And does reallity exist out there in space, Or would we disappear with out a trace?
Feb 18, 2011
Feb 18, 2011 at 5:34 AM UTC
i swit her with the desire tp feel pain
but not so much it hurts just enough tp be brought back to reallity
i wounder how it feel to be wounded be on pain
i need to feel what my heart feels
so please slap me if you see me
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
Time creates an energy of depression
Eyes forgetting to wake
Even if woken
You are not dead
Just lost
And broken
You are fenced in between
Two words
Reality and non-reallity
Even if loved
You are not ready
Just waiting
And waiting
Before
Your
Time is due
Life on earth
For you
Was a mystery
Even in a short space of time
You had a life
But you have only
Just one question to ask
Your maker
Why has it come to this?
©Jack Aylward,
17th November 2008
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 6:07 PM UTC
Secrets, small statues of glass well kept in hidden lockers for they are so easy to break. Secrets that are kept from others cause we are afraid that they will change their minds for us, or we will hurt them.
The reallity is that secrets hurt more than the truth we try to hide beneath them, but the greatest mistake is that we think we'll make our lives better keeping them well guarded.
People make the separation truth or courage when there is no difference. You need courage to speak the truth but even more to hear and accept it.
So truth or lie, light or darkness. It's so discouraging to know that mankind in such dilemma has a proclivity to choose the most self destructive option.
Like the fish in the water we are, swimming between nets. Other visible and other not. We can get trapped in them but not for a lifetime, cause we insist to forget that we weave them and unlike fish we could break loose whenever we want.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 4:57 PM UTC