"refer" poems
Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.
Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.
Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.
Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.
I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.
Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories ****** but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.
When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.
43.4k
To the deadbeat I hate to call my father,
I can’t say I hate you, for I would be hating myself.
You walked out of my life when I was four,
Yet came back a decade later asking me to ignore what you put me through,
Asking me to put the past on the highest shelf
Of my metaphorical closet.
I did as you asked, thinking this time around things would be different.
For a year I was overjoyed, you put me before yourself
But as the saying goes, what goes up must come down,
And your façade began to crumble.
Slowly but surely my calls went to voicemail,
My texts were never received,
Our plans rain checked for another day that never came.
I told you it was okay.
I was afraid telling you my feelings would make you runaway.
My anger was taken out on the woman that you hurt
My anger was taken out on the woman you cheated on and abused.
All the horrible things I wanted to say to you, I said to her instead.
My mother, the only parent I truly have, began to call you too.
Everyday, her and I would fight, trying to figure out what to do.
Well I’ve decided I’ve had enough.
You are not a man.
You are unfit to be a father.
You choose your own happiness over mine.
You say I asked for a lot-
When all I wanted was to catch up.
Ten years is a large gap.
I know I’ll see you at family gatherings,
I know I’ll have to deal with you eventually.
But I refuse to be fooled by you again.
You are a coward.
You have three daughters that need their father.
Two of them refer to their step-dad as their only dad.
I unfortunately do not have that luxury for my step father is a lot like you.
They say ignorance is bliss, but that is not the case.
You’ve hurt me too many times and there is no one to blame but myself.
I let you back in.
I listened to your lies.
From now on, I will not hide this problem on that metaphorical shelf.
You are the issue.
I am done with you.
I cannot hate you, as I said before.
Half of me is you.
But half of me is my mother.
The half that is kind and strong and knows when to move on.
I know you’ll want to be a part of my life again, but you’ll be too late.
I thought I needed my father, but I have enough people in my life to fill that role.
You are irrelevant to me.
I do not need you now.
I will not need you later.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
Dear Miss ********,
We regret to inform you that unfortunately at this time we do not have space for you at our company.
Yours,
Xxxx xxxxxxxx
Dear Miss *******,
We regret to inform you that unfortunately at this time we cannot offer you a place with our company as you are under qualified.
Yours ** xxxxx
Dear Miss ********,
Thank you for your application. We regret to inform you that you are over-qualified for the position.
Yours, xxxxxxx ***
Dear Miss ******,
I don’t think so love. This isn’t even a letter, this is my managerial position on you handing me your cv.
Cheers, bahbye now
Dear Miss *******,
This isn’t really a letter either, but despite how un-pc this is, we can’t hire you due to your gender.
Thanks anyway, save your paper.
Dear Miss ********,
Thank you for your application, unfortunately we had stronger applicants.
Yours, etc., aaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaa
Dear Miss ********,
Thank you for your application. Unfortunately we are not hiring at the moment even though we had advertised the job you applied for.
Yours, xxxxxxxxx xxxxx
Dear Miss ********,
We had left it between you and another applicant, and couldn’t decide so we flipped a coin, and she won. You’re a lovely girl though.
Yours, fffffff ffff fffff
Dear Miss ********,
I refer to your claim for Jobseekers Benefit/Assistance at VVVVVV’s CCCCCC local office. Jobseekers Benefit/Assistance claims are subject to periodic review, consequently, I would appreciate if you would attend this office for interview on the 31/17/78 and bring the following :
1. Proof of Identity (i.e. Passport or Driving Licence or Long version of your Birth Certificate)
2. Proof of Residency (e.g. Letter from landlord/ Rent Book/ Lease/ Mortgage Receipt/ Letter from Parents + Household Bill)
3. Written Proof of recent job applications and replies.
4. Proof of job applications made through FAS
5. FAS courses applied for.
6. A copy of your Curriculum Vitae (CV): unemployed from
7. If your spouse/partner is an adult dependent on your claim, please bring his/her GNIB and Passport/Travel Documents.
Failure to respond to this letter may lead to suspension or disallowance of claim.
Yours sincerely,
**** *****
Local Officer
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
: 'Its Holiday season'
Here are lists of things you need teach your child
at early age.
.
1: Warn your girl child never to sit on anyone's
laps no matter the situation including uncles.
.
2: Avoid getting dressed in front of your child
once ***** is 2years old.
Learn to excuse yourself.
.
3: If you have to hire a house-help, please kindly
take them for *** screening to determine their
*** status, properly interview them and make up
your mind to
treat them well.
.
4: Never allow any adult refer to your new born
as 'my wife' or 'my husband'.
.
5: Never tempt your husband with your younger
sister. (Else he'd say its her's and the devil's
fault)
.
6: Whenever your child goes out to play with
friends, make sure you look for a way to find out
what kind of play they played
together because young people now sexually
abuse themselves.
.
7: Never force your child to visit any adult he or
she is not comfortable with and also be
observant if your child becomes too fond of a
particular adult.
.
8: Once a very lively child suddenly becomes
withdrawn you might need to patiently ask alot of
questions from your child. If you don't teach your
children
about *** the society will teach them the wrong
values.
.
9: It is always advisable you go through any new
Material like cartoons you just bought for them
before they start seeing it, you may Blue Movie
themselves.
.
10: Teach your 3 year old how to wash their
private parts properly and warn them never to
allow anyone touch those areas and that includes
you (remember, charity begins at home and with
you)
11: Once your child complains about a particular
person, don't keep quiet about it Take up the
case and show them you can
defend them always.
.
Then make sure they embraces God.
The bible said 'Train up a child in the way he
should go, And when he is old he will not depart
from it.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 7:00 AM UTC
You Are the Texture
…………………………
**~ for all of you,
you, you poet~**
Impasto
“**is a technique used in painting,
where paint is laid on an area of
the surface thickly, usually thick
enough that the brush or painting-
knife strokes are visible.
Paint can also be mixed right on
to the canvas. When dry, impasto
provides texture; the paint appears
as if, to be coming out of the canvas.**”
<1:47pm>
Cut & Paste
*is a technique used in poetry writing,
we refer back to our visions,
heard words,
the eyeful, the earful, scents,
the reads read,
all in the mind’s palette blended,
thickly, but
when
the merging fused,
every word~in~coloration,
it is unique, reincarnation,
copying impossible.
The imagery, cut and pasted from thy heart and soul,
upon canvas,
your poems~pieces each appear*
***as you-are-texture,
you becoming out of, you,
the canvas.
<2:04pm>
Postscript***
………………
it is not lost on me that the
scars, our words, herein,
as we note all too frequently,
almost casually,
are, can be, those selfsame
words/painting-knife
employed
for our first and foremost canvas we utilize,
ourselves…
our bodies,
our
very selves
salved
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 8:06 AM UTC
Well, not everone has a mother,
Not everyone has a father,
But im lucky to have both.
And yet have a company of a motherly figure.
Whom I can refer to as a fairy godmother.
My fairy godmother has gone through worse,
She is a perfect example of a strong woman,
Who wants her children to grow into a perfect,
Like every mother,
She has cared too much,
Loved too much,
Worried a little too much
And got hurt too much.
Yet she shines and through her scars you can see the sunshine,
Only she needs to see the shine in her heart,
Her children will do well,
She just needs to let them be,
They will grow into beautiful beings.
And will make her proud.
Things will shape up,
May my fairy godmother be happy,
I may not be near her,
I hope she loves me like her daughter,
And well her daughter is really sweet,
She will soon love her.
The unconditional love.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
Its in these waters, when I was merely a Parr
Or as you might refer to me as a fry,
This wise but young Brook Trout cruised the slow water with my kinfolk fry.
Moving to and fro hiding among the biome vegetation
The sunlight supported my living space and warmed my growth rings.
I dart in and out of the oxygenated seams which help me flourish.
Some days, I had to use stealth to outwit the pine marten and warblers,
I shadowed the cattail and watched them fill their bellies with those around me.
But I felt fate had a purpose for me to be something special.
And When the time was right, I'd propel myself above the water into the night air.
The large circle of orange light filled my eyes and the night sky was filled with luminary.
I imagined what it must be like to live outside this riffle domain.
This morning, through my refractory vision I spot some floating objects,
And through an inherited sensory recall I can see these are hatching green Drakes.
I immediately shoot to the surface and fill my stomach, then swim back to the undercut for cover.
As the years pass by and maturity abounds, I find my self settling in behind a large boulder
Right at the tail out of the back eddy, providing me with an ample food supply.
And it's here I prefer to live my life in the slow current, content and peaceful.
And one day as I swam into the current seam, I spotted what appeared to be,
A different looking bug with yellow belly, so I make my move.
He's not moving much so I decide to raise my head above the water line and sip.
As I grab the hopper I start to slide back behind the boulder,
When I feel a pinch, as if someone try's to pull me towards the surface
I fight with all my might but this force proves to be stronger than I.
It's now I realize a human reels me towards the shore line, and I'm fearful.
This one called a human, grabs my tail and places his hand on my under belly.
Pulling me from my home, he dislodges the hook from my mouth. I gasp for oxygen.
He looks me over from nose to tail, smiles and says how beautiful I am.
He looks me in the eye And says " This was a wonderful fight my friend, enjoy the rest of your life,
He places me back in water, gently reviving me and finally lets me swim away.
I dare to turn and look back at him for a moment and as he continues to watch me,
I hear him say " I fish, knowing everyday on this stream is a gift."
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 3:59 PM UTC
Sometimes
There are too many things
To follow up
To update
To study
To research upon
To refer to others
To show solidarity
To argue upon
To fight with
To put our stand on
To stand up against
To support
To facilitate
To enable
..
..
..
Or
To just pass off
To ignore
.
.
.
.
and
To
Blissfully
Forget..
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 6:14 AM UTC
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Is hugging a fulfilling experience for you? Did you have parents who felt comfortable hugging? Are you hugging others the way you were hugged? Or have samsung galaxy s6 edge. You consciously chosen to hug in a different way? As a Marriage.But what if my pleasure is using your swimming pool Or your wifeOr eating your dog or your wife ? In the realm of hedonism Købe samsung galaxy s6.For instance.Because a phobia is a total connection to pain.Consider looking over again that winter catalog of courses that you local Junior College is offering.He sees the wine not at all,.my intuition urged me to go immediately and not to wait for the weekend,seven day a week preferably.he or she writes the lines instead,abundance,
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Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 4:41 AM UTC
Sometimes I sit and wonder about the past.
I reflect and let it affect my present- my future-
It makes me wonder if I can ever really put it past me.
Sometimes- most times- I sit and think about what you did to me.
I was never this angry until I met you, I had never lost my temper over the slightest of issues.
My anger was locked in a cage, like a lion in a den, away from all walks of life, because it was too ferocious
too loud, too dangerous to let loose.
You made me feel like a lion.
You made me feel like a lion, but told me I was a butterfly.
You were adding extra security to the cage while making me thinking you were trying your hardest to pry it open.
You forced me to believe that you, and only you, could ever love someone like me-
A lion- I mean butterfly.
I refer to you as my ex-girlfriend even though I can still feel your words caress my skin.
Even though every time I see a picture of you or hear your name my heart still skips a beat,
even though it still feels like I'm a lion, trapped in a cage, as if you still have a hold on me.
I still refer to you as an ex-girlfriend even though you never acted like it.
You told our friends that I was frail- too fragile to hold- too hard to love,
But before you, I was gorilla glass- protective and strong,
But you made me feel like a lion and told me I was a butterfly, so my default mode began to play second fiddle.
I don't think I want you back.
I'm starting to find happiness in others,
Solitude only comforts me when I can feel my anger- the lion within me, trying to break free from the cage.
I've met someone who tells me I'm a beautiful,
Someone who is trying to help me break free from the cage without tearing my claws off.
Who lets me know I am a lion, but I could be a butterfly, and that either or is okay.
I hope that whomever you decide is worthy to join the circus you've declared yourself the lion tamer of is strong enough to say no and walk away.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 4:45 PM UTC
Waiting for the summer heat to eclipse the somber thread of one day, an old man is gifted a brand new pair of sneakers.
Father, Son, Holy Ghost? The pinnacle of the "y" axis has paralyzed the saltiness of the old man's overcoat.
"Grand dad?" A young boy turns the corner and peeks in while the old man leans over in his chair to reach his feet and lace his sneaks. "You were breathing loudly and I was just making sure you're okay."
The boy continued, "cool sneakers grandpa."
This reminded the boy of a new student in his class who moved here from Scotland, or Ireland - he couldn't remember which. Guess what the new kid in my class calls his sneakers?"
The grandfather looks up and leans back, "he doesn't call them sneakers?" "Nope" the boy replies. "I would imagine he must call them shoes, or something like that."
"Not even close. He calls them 'runners'. He came into class one day with a pair of red sneakers and Miss Kerrington had him stand up in front of class to talk about them. She said that people in England probably call them runners as a nickname for running shoes."
The old man stood up with a groan and said, "That makes sense. It seems a bit odd, but I like it. As a matter of fact, I am gonna start using that to refer to all sneakers. What do you say we go for a walk around the block so I can break these puppies in? We'll stop for some rootbeer on the way home."
The two of them set out on their walk and the old man felt invigorated. As they continued, a light rain began and the old man said, "lets get to the store, this rain'll do damage to my new suedes."
When they finally made it to the store, the old man rushed in the door pushing his grandson out of the way. Upon his entrance his eyes met with the shopkeeper's. The shopkeeper's eyes shifted to the young boy coming in behind the man. At this moment the grandfather realized that he pushed his grandson aside in his haste to get inside the store and out of the rain.
The shopkeeper turned his attention back to the grandfather who shrugged his shoulders before gesturing to his feet with a smile and said, "I'm breaking in a new pair of runners. They're not gonna dry off as easily as he does."
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
I would never
Refer to myself
As a
Murderer.
There's no blood
Stained on my hands,
Except my own.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 12:03 PM UTC
Looking back, memories distort.
Replace damaged nodes with something similar
Perhaps reconstructed
From previous set-up before
X and Y parameters Report
Step One:
Check patient notes to self
Re-calculate from de-constructed
Inject imagination
Respect self-defence mechanism
or immediate virus node termination
(a response attack organism)
Re-calibrate instruments awareness
Strip upgrade
Love version 4.1
Reboot only in emergency
Refer to install options
Error:
Temporal Lobe Anomaly
Virus detected
Internal nodes infected
Import Rejection version 3.2
and couple with
Lets Be Friends upgrade 1
(Advanced program)
Monitor assimilation
Danger!
Overheated components -
Re-inject Memory Node
Objective Hindsight applet.
Refer to Step One
It is now safe to shut down
Should you wish to.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 8:09 AM UTC
I will take this. I have to.
Even if it breaks me.
Even if it breaks me into a million pieces that nobody can put together again.
And it has.
It has broken me into so many fragmented pieces; I’m now what they refer to as
“damaged goods”
Something so traumatic, I’ll never be normal again.
Normal is a thing of the past.
This is what’s happening now.
Broken pieces.
Everywhere.
Every time I fix a piece, another breaks. I feel like I’m holding myself together with tape and glue and it’s not going to be enough. I don’t know what else to say, but it’s too much and it's not enough. All at the same time.
It’s like screaming without a voice.
They said there’d be waves.
They essentially promised.
They said that these waves of sadness would come and go. That happiness would slowly seep back in.
Weaving its way into the oscillating patterns of a heavy heart.
But there haven’t been any waves.
They were wrong.
Instead the pain is dull. It is constant.
But most of all, it’s there. It's there all the time.
The constant part is the worst. The only thing I could relate it to is fire.
It’s like somebody running through a fire has it easier. Sure they’ll get burned but the point is that they get to run through.
They get out.
This though? This is like getting caught in the fire and not making it through. This is like a permanent residency in my own personal hell and at some point I really need the fire to be put out; the pain to stop.
It has to. There’s only so much a girl can take. It’s like somebody has their dark hand engulfing my heart and they’re squeezing it every day and no matter how I plead, they’re refusing to let go.
It’s the greatest sadness I have ever known and it is depleting me emotionally and physically.
I. Am. Too. Weak.
Everybody keeps saying how strong I am. They have no idea. It’s like I’m the world’s greatest actress and I’ve fooled them all. All they see is somebody taking bad news well.
But nobody takes their entire earth shattering “well”.
And my earth has shattered. The death of my brother at the age of 21 has shattered me.
There’s not one thing I wouldn’t give to go back and hug him just a little longer at the airport three days before he died. It was just supposed to be his last semester at college. Not the end of a life time.
There are too many broken pieces. The jagged edges cut my hands. I can’t pick them up.
And so now all I can do is pray. With my forehead to the ground and my faith in God I will pray. Pray the pain away in hopes that one day, the happiness is real. And the tears stop.
In hopes that one day, I can go on without him.
So I’ll pray.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
Heartbreak is an inevitable thing.
I knew this. I knew that throughout the course of my early life, I would experience many heartbreaks.
You know, the ones where it wasn’t meant to be. Life designed to have these strategically planned heartbreaks so that you could grow, you could learn.
A pain so real, it is as though the pain is literally reconfiguring your insides as it moves through you; staying just long enough to shape you, but not long enough to become you.
Our hearts like a key getting resized and fitted for the next lock.
Getting so far into the lock before realizing it’s not a match, our heart, getting shaped and sized per each of these attempts. Shaping up until it finds the right lock; the day when your key fits and you know it’s a match – the feeling people refer to as “when you know, you know”.
Is it possible, however, to find your match- the lock that you are finally meant to open, but while turning the key something goes wrong?
What once was a perfect fit, now sits ajar. The answer: I don’t know.
I loved a man.
A perfect fit.
Our love was trusting, it was giving, it was deep, and strong, and passionate.
I loved this man with all of my being;
and he loved me back.
This man is dead.
That’s what breaking up with someone feels like, anyways.
It is as if they are dead.
You will no longer talk with them, share with them, kiss them, hug them, touch them, love them.
They will no longer hold you at night while you sleep.
They will no longer embrace you in the morning, kiss you when you wake.
It is as though they do not exist.
Not to you anyway; or you to them.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 9:38 PM UTC
First Kiss (Manchester to Miami)
Rachel was a 19 year old student who attended the
Royal Northern College of Music, located in Manchester UK.
Manchester was considered the arts, media, higher education
and commerce mecca of north central England. Bordered by the
Cheshire plain to the south, and the Pennines mountain range
to the north and east. The famous River Mersey ran along the
southern side of Manchester. Rachel was packing for winter
holiday with some of her classmates, to the warm beaches of
Miami Florida, for a week long stay in the sun, far from the
often dreary weather that settled over the UK this time of year.
Not only was Rachel looking forward to the warm weather and
sunny skies but she was looking forward to meeting up with Daniel.
Daniel was a 40 something musician, beach bartender, handyman,
who lived just outside of Miami. They had met on a poetry website
seven months prior, and had established a warm friendship.
They communicated almost daily threw emails, chat sites
and through poetry exchanges. Their friendship had become
more romantic in the last month or so, talking that silly love talk
that new lovers used, and Rachel finished off every meeting with the
initials AKTY at the end. AKTY stood for angel kisses to you,
as Daniel liked to refer to her as his angel. they both were very
excited about the chance to see each other, face to face.
Rachel knew that the majority of Daniels poetry was slanted
toward the romance side, and she knew from their conversations
that he seemed to be educated, gentle and romantic. She was,
they were, both looking forward to spending an evening together,
holding hands,caressing each other, looking into each others eyes,
and..... that first kiss. Kiss kiss kiss kiss
hard rock guitars, lights and smoke
Kiss, that first kiss, this is what, loves all about
kiss, your sweet kiss, makes me go crazy, scream and shout
your kiss, that angel kiss, can't live with out it, you drive me mad
one kiss, just one kiss, from your sweet lips, blows my mind real bad
don't know how I got by before you
never want to try it no never again
my darlin angel I adore you,
since I met you you know i've been
crazy, I've gone crazy, just can't get enuff, of you sweet baby
dreaming, got me dreaming, every night baby, I don't mean maybe
every kiss, like your first kiss, sets me ablaze, you know it takes me higher
another kiss, I want another kiss, turn the flames up like a funeral pyre
don't wanna try to get along without you
never want to try it no never again
my darlin angel I adore you,
since I met you been waiting for that first kiss
Gomer LePoet
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 8:58 PM UTC
C
is confused, so a little complex
I mean, one moment it’s top of the range
glowing
in the hierarchy of vitamins
but next it’s a little abashed and low
in a student’s report card –
you know, C is not as good as an A
And so can you blame C for its mood swings?
Its agony continues:
one instant C is Calm, in another it’s a Curse
And you know it also feels a little wanting
a little under-stretched, not fulfilled
like not being able to complete
all the stretching exercises
its fitness trainer metes out
“O, if only I could be a little more yogic,”
C intones
“I’d be as composed as an O” -
but O no, that’s not to be
And don’t you start
on the indignant possibilities
of the letter C, for C has always aspired
you see
to be genteel, cultured and debonair
and curls with disgust if the uncouth
should use the letter
to refer to any body parts,
be it that of male or of female
So, dear mortals, C should be left in celestial spheres
And so, in conclusion,
one Commandment I give unto you:
*Never drag C to ****** shallows*
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
Hello.
Welcome to this poem written by a strange poet.
Here we will get to know the story behind the poem.
True.
He had actually created his own Taj Mahal.
Not just the telephone I refer to here in this poem.
But.
There is his Taj Mahal which we all remember daily.
Not just the telephone I refer to here in this poem.
His.
His girlfriend's name was Margaret Hello.
Do not we say Hello so many times daily?
Alex.
Alexander Graham Bell even got future generations to remember his love.
Each time when we're on a call then we almost automatically say Hello.
No.
He didn't **** or impair any of his assistants,
Totally opposite to what Shahjahan had done.
Yes.
Alexander Graham Bell was the greatest among lovers who immortalized his love,
The other one is Me! as I write all my poems without her thought escaping my mind.
;-)
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 3:52 AM UTC
You awaken in the cardboard box
That you refer to as your home
The dawn is barely breaking
And already you feel alone
A ****** bath in a public restroom
Then you’re ready to start your day
Layers of stage makeup hide the wounds
Of the lead in this lack of morality play
First up is the sadistic businessman
He knows the drugs you need
But it comes with one condition
That he gets to see you bleed
With his one hand around your throat
And the other grabbing your breast
He takes whatever looks good
And leaves you with the rest
You straighten out your dress
And try to wipe yourself clean
You’re helped back to your feet
By a schoolboy of age seventeen
He's skipped his classes for the day
And borrowed his mother's van
Now he’ll gladly pay your fee
If you'll make him into a man
It’s all over before it begins
A symptom he can't control
You can barely feel it anyway
Numb in both body and soul
At night you meet your ****
And give the devil his due
You willingly submit to him
As he runs you through
You retreat to the cardboard box
That you refer to as your home
The moon is heavy in the sky
And you can finally be alone
Your lips wrap around the pipe
The smoke molests your lungs
And slowly you begin to forget
The world that you came from
You once dreamt of a white knight
That would come and take you away
Now seen as only vestiges
Of a young girl’s naiveté
Dignity is a memory
An illusion from your past
Like pleasure or happiness
A feeling you could never grasp
You once thought you’d hit rock bottom
But there was so much further left to fall
You were filled with unknown fears
But now you’ve named them all
Add up the rocks they pay
As you break their last taboo
And the secrets that they share
When they’re deep inside of you
A normal person would go insane
But your body is no longer yours
Are you less than human now?
One of a thousand nameless ******
You wonder if they see a woman
Or just another object on her knees
You could show them who you really are
But that’s not what they pay you to be
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC
Look in the mirror,
That face is looking back at me,
Sure that face is what others see,
But inside is it someone else at times?
I’m left feeling like a spectator in my mind,
Feeling the world as it occurs around, disconnected,
Feeling who people refer to as is someone else, not me,
Feeling like a different person every few periods,
The habit controlling my body,
The conscious wondering what this foreign place could be,
Uncomfortable in my own skin,
I am left staring through the eyes of the person I’m supposed to be,
Meeting people, shaking hands,
Reacting as they might expect from who I am,
The person staring back at me from the mirror, is that me?
Alas I debate and conclude on who the person running this body could be.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 8:04 PM UTC
My hands shake so much that every time I touch glass, it breaks and leaves blood running through the lines in my palms.
This has happened so often that my psychic tells me she's unable to tell my future because the lines in my hands are so stained that they can't be read anymore.
You see, what she's really trying to tell me is that my psyche is so damaged from lack of oxygen due to drowning in this anxiety.
So don't you dare call this femininity because it isn't very womanly to crave unconsciousness any time I'm alone.
If femininity is synonymous with being beautiful then tell me how it's beautiful to have attempted to die twenty-one times,
Or how two hospitalizations lead me out of the waters of my depression but yet still left me drowning in the ocean with anxiety.
This is not feminine and this is not beautiful, this is my mother screaming that I'm crazy and my father claiming "we're only doing this because we love you,"
This is my anxiety and I in a water-filled box that decreases in size until my head is crammed against the top and the only way I can go is down,
This is my anxiety tied like bricks to my ankles with the sole purpose of holding me under;
This is NOT womanly or feminine or beautiful.
So I beg of you, do not refer to me with metaphors about bodies of water because I don't need a reminder to let me know I'm drowning,
My ****** hands tell me enough about that.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
They didn't lie
Time does fly
Yesterday had me at sixteen
Now I'm just old
Haven't been through it all
But I seen dark days
More self inflicted then not
I guess it's just life
No worse then the next
No more tears shed then you my friend
My heart breaks and the pain is the same as the rest
Don't get wrong
I had more good then bad
I love life and wouldn't change the worse of the worst
That doesn't keep me from missing a few things
How nice it would sound to hear her words
The calmness I would feel everytime she said it's going to be alright
To know the truth was being told
To see look in her eyes and see a beautiful soul
Have one last listen as she whispered
Goodnight and I love you son
The stress would fade if he was here
Hard to breakdown from the weight of the world
When he has me laughing at the world
My biggest fan who refused to let me say no I can't
My idol and best friend
A teacher who taught with actions
To be cliche
They will never be another like him
My brother left way to soon
I pray one day my son turns out to be just like him
If I could I would sit for hours without being in a rush
Born a man
You clocked more hours then ten men in three life spans
Took care of people and helped raise more kids then anyone will ever know
Life threw you some hard hits but never left your feet
You looked up to true grit John Wayne
I looked up to you John Wayne
I could go on cause theirs alot more I reminisese about
But theirs always something that tops them all
This time its
Us
I miss you and me
I miss your touch and your lips pressing against mine
Waking up next to you after falling asleep holding you tight
Your smile and the sound of your laugh
I want to go back to putting us first
I want them to refer to us as them
I miss you , I miss me
I miss us
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
I understand that I'm not the first book you would pick up, that is if you were looking at the cover.
For there are so many books with alluring colors, and I am one dim color with a tattered binding.
But understand one thing; just because what your eyes see first isn't what your mind will interpret later on.
Yeah, an eye-catching outside layer is nice to look at, but what about the inside?
I promise you that even though I may not catch your eye, I have an unique story that has descriptive details that will over take you and your senses.
I will leave you breathless.
When you are finished with me and set me down, you will not be done with me.
You will refer to me about many things and one day my storyline may cross your mind.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
Call me a million things
But never refer to me as a *****
My friends say it jokingly
But from you it's offensive.
I don't care if you're playing around.
The word ***** should never
escape your lips.
Not when speaking of me.
I do so much for you...
I am not your *****
I will never be your *****
Don't refer to me as a *****
You catching my drift?
Cause baby as soon as the word
leaks through those lips I kiss on a daily...
It'll be over faster then you can say
I'm sorry baby.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 11:17 AM UTC
People often refer to me
as a total Jack Ace.
I just tell them that, in fact,
I’m more like a rabid K-9.
Don’t mind the foam in my mouth.
When the king goes a floppin’
don’t even bother knockin’
Numbah nine.
Numbah nine.
Your tens just lost their
perfect shine, I’ll
soak you up just like
Brawny
cleaning wine.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC