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From the BBC today,


Excerpt

Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies?

"It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master.

Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG

Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song."

That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope.

But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody.

Excerpt

Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech.

"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."

"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."

"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."

Rebuttal

Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands.

ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG.

Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity.

Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion.

One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state.

It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE.

If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses.

If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine.

You are not an artist.

You are an employee.



"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."

"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."

"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."

Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ



                                           BECOME
                              EVERYONE ON EARTH
               ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG
                      HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS
            NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE
                                         HOW BAD
                    
                 artist?
or employee?
BBC article conclusion.
Moriah Harrod Mar 2013
You carry your life on your shoulders; a swing in a park in a city, with a lonely, shadowy, ghost of you sitting so delicately. As people pass you, they stop and look, and words come to their minds such as "passion" and "sorrow," "broken benches," "spilled dreams" and they couldn't even tell you why.

You wear your heart safety-pinned to your sleeve; a grave declaration that you are not your own person. Someone has marked you, taken something without asking; this you show everyone, not meaning to, in hopes of finding a semblance of relatability. Was it normal, what happened to you? Is this a dark fog everyone lives in? You hope not.

You have an everpresent effervescence of the wrong kind. It's a nervous habit, a shuffling of the feet and a glance to the sky. It's the reincarnation of life before that day, with the tender rips of who you are now. One can only paint over paint so much; mix the colors, they will all become grey.

You've a vague sense of relief when you look around and see no one. It's a talisman, a testimony to your independence, and your dependence on lots of human-free air. It's the writing on your arm, words you shan't forget, words like delicate innocence shame tragedy naivete melody sorrow blame identity apology and the biggest, boldest of all heartbeat.

It's a short cry from here to insanity and you remind yourself that your heart beats in pride, in admonition to the evil. "I am alive. You couldn't **** me. You won't **** me. I have a heartbeat."

I have a heartbeat. I have a heartbeat. I have a heartbeat. And the little ******* the swing smiles to the sky, a premonition of her future, a confirmation of her strength.
C 2012 Moriah Harrod
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
there was an audience... there is still an audience...
i wonder about it...
i'm such a conservative deacon in the comments
that... i leave very little traces of interaction...
i tried getting ****** into the whole affair
of leaving comments - like i might have left
grafitti tags on the pillars of bridges...
                   there was an audience... there's still an
audience... i imagine...
or i rather: translate with metaphor what i'm:
trying to imagine...
              three moths have attempted to fly into
my room to spend the night free from fear...
i caught two in my hand... put the clenched hand
to my ear... no... not the sea trapped in a seashell...
close... sound effect of... rain on a tin roof...
a moth trapped in a cage of a hand...
it hasn't rained for days... weeks even...
       the most... bountiful of springs in england...
and everyone is... supposed to handle the affair
like the 2nd coming of ribonson crusoe...
          i can: because i'm used to it...
                    peacefully anti-social...
                     it's hardly bragging but:
there's an audience... there's always an audience...
here's to me: getting regularly milked...
or... laying some eggs with the sunrise and the moon...
i am... at a stage of maturing from...
a phase where... i did... once upon a time...
care about what i wrote... for my own gratification:
but... not any more...
         i've reached a point where...
i can join the ranks of the 4 Dada Suicides...
     'the four' (who) 'took nihilism of the movement
to its ultimate conclusion, their works are
the remnants of lives lived to the limit and then cast
aside with nonchalance and disdain'...
Vaché (overdosed)... Rigaut (shot himself)...
Cravan and Torma (disappeared)...
        the latter two... probably lived a life in
approximation to what might have happened
to... Richey Edwards...
born on...                  disappeared aged 27...
death is the last clue...
    not that i'm going to imitate what's already
claimed...
but... a mile from my home...
i can... find... ample resources... hemlock...
the stems are poisonous...
      i've tried... lilac mushrooms... dog mushrooms
they call them...
i don't know whether i ate a poisonous
one or not... it wasn't...
    a muhomor... amanita fly agaric...
           but... when the circuses have died and
the bread is still there...
no new movies... no sports...
what can beat: the old tease of mortality...
the grain-of-sand per month's worth of movement
added... to the tally and
the curriculum vitae of vivo per se...
                   the theatre of death...
     if i don't think about death with a joke...
i stop being... ridiculous in life...
                   i like the thought of death when...
life doesn't preserve any... sense of...
any... alternative... "light" entertainment...
it's not like i'm planning an escape...
rich and about to clone myself...
   and teach the clone "me" to be: a "future" - and me...
i almost can see how someone must
have tried to cheat death with the available
avenue of cloning...
but... the subservience of the clone...
the clone being what?
       someone must have learned the hard way...
i just interjected the question as an: and...
which is a conjunction...
          but if you're gonna go...
hell... seal a room and yourself in it...
and buy a... metaphorical tonne of lily of the valley...
go to sleep... and never wake up...
death... even death has to become entertaining:
in thinking terms - at the very least...
the only real eventuality among...
half a dozen of impossible things to think about...
daily... and here's that apple...
   if nietzsche... sentenced the source
and future disease from the 19th century...
well... so much for overcoming nihilism...
         nihilism... after all... is not... apathy...
   and even with the death of nihilism...
                              at least nihilism still asked
for moloch-esque sacrifices of will...
     apathy? what does this slug ask for?
it asks of you to... well... wrestle with yourself...
hence that "overlooked" quote:
if a day has many pockets...
       yes... those pockets of self-realisations that
provide a glitch of proof...
a proof of... having to find dominion in
settled dust... oh to hell with grand metaphors
of staging revolutions brought down
from mountain-tops!
- and i'm literally drinking my way through...
what 19th century nihilism became:
a 21st century apathy hangover...
      i'll spare the 20th century the rites of...
a mythical new beginning... a year 0...
        100 years give or take... each side of the end
of the 20th century...
but... nihilism is no longer... the standard:
to overcome...
             as much meaning can be derived from
a peanut as from a falling star...
to be this: subjective sanitiße everything -
                       i hardly think... a dickens would
require an objective reader...
what is an objective reader?
someone who studies: rather than reads...
newspapers...
someone who probably proofs reading...
by also ensuring citations are... made abundantly
clear... archives... etc.
well... better contemplating the theatre of death
than... say...
"normies":
    ahem... the critique of china...
       point: can you imagine... if... communism...
was thought-up... when...
the french revolution began? the only revolution?
rather than the russian oopsie?
well... and communism began...
when... engels and marx... went to the north
of england... and... prior to the manifesto...
wrote of the details of child-labour...
this is not my thing but...
it gets to the point where:
you can criticize china all you want...
but there's no smart... or dumb way...
to go about... pretending to be at war...
with a population of a billion people...
that... if push comes to shove...
could be conscripted instantly...
              to point out... is to exhaust the argument:
to have an argument for:
"western" principles of democracy...
here... have some balloons... here's a keg
of helium... 'ave fun...
by now... saudi arabia is secretly planning
a jihad into the Xinjiang province...
saudi arabia: the vatican of the islamic world...
is secretly trying to... blah blah...
no... the saudi princes are strapped to their yachts...
the bangladeshi slave labour blah blah...
yeah: but whittle ol' england needs
the Neds of Lahore and their tier up from
the chimney top: crescent moon-lick... slick...
- but to be this... fired up...
                it's simply exhausting to have:
a freedom of speech for such high demands...
not need to hide behind the ideals of love...
or being misunderstood...
             in no defence... but... under the guise
of that grand word: capitalism...
the sub- thorough: made in china...
                and what now? the jaw dropping
counter to the very delicate status quo?
it's beyond nihilism... when such upheld
values allowed for artistic rebellion...
to the moon: been there, done that..
europe the old man... h'america the newly
acquired *******...
       you want politico jargon ******* squeezes...
sure thing...
     stoic india... always the stoic india...
to **** off the competition - cheap soviet steel...
the soviet union's nuna 2, on 13 september 1959 -
in between: frank sinatra's:
fly me to the moon - 1963...
and thus... r.e.m.'s yeah yeah: 20 July 1969...
it's hard to compensate / compete with
that sort of a trojan hard-on ***** of
the elgin marbles...
                              at least the germanic peoples
played and understood the ping-pong
with the slavic peoples -
the hungarians on the side...
but not this... african trash for beijing...
the mongol capital of crimea...
and golden hoarding project: typo...
   when they came riding in... smeared
in **** and week old **** and horse blood...
to make... the labyrinth of the baghdad library...
a pyramid of skulls...
squeeze me: to this tired state of lost
the head to a guillotine chatter-box...
even the events of napster unfolding...
and all that's being streamed and...
now's the time to kiss and cuddle prostitutes...
and wet mr. whittle dicky for second
chances of a lost digestive... in that pond
of brew...
                easy fools to fool: those camel back
rich in dino-blood: soul black...
like espressos of mecca... flowing rich
and dying with a soothing...
from amnesia and diabetes...
and amputated limps when... sugar ingestion
leaves them... dancing ballet on only one foot...
because: porky pie and ms. amber: ha!
all bad!
                so much for... what's waiting
the white girl pornstars...
the liberated afro-h'americans and the service...
of beijing shrimp ****...
double edged sword... the height and...
all those attaches... of a fine... fine...
procelain piece of ***...
no-man's-land... the middle ground:
of... mercedez-benson-and-hedges...
        on my way out... the apache / sioux /
dodo / aztec / mayan / dodo (again) projects...

semi-closure...
   gary glitter - rock & roll part II
     ian watkins (of lostprophets) -
                      shinobi vs dragon ninja...
sorry... that one was a paedo...
              toddle-****** for the latter...
and it's not like... i enjoyed the music
to begin with...
i can't see an ad hominem argument
for the former...
                 toddler-******: esp. if the output...
well... it's not trash...
   it's: dad mantra... it's dad claustrophobia...
my take on:
mahler contra pergolesi....
            counter: invest in 100 years to come...
of which... you will...
find a future reader: being alive...
not having re(a)d you...
1986... the reader is born...
1997... you die...
you are discovered... come...
2K and 7... 8...... perhaps 9...
  a time-reference of...
         13 years from the readers birth to your
death... it's Glasgow... a very rare...
sunny... afternoon...
psychosis of the reader...
         1997 through to... 2008...
              that's 11 years... so...
what matters most is... how well you walk
through the fire...
that one about the crow and the madmen...
and each: having his niche:
his "social distancing" clause...
writing was fun when one could
stomach the: in the background...
when people lived their: very troublesome:
important... surgical precision...
nobel prize winning type / typo lives...
writing via a sense of voyeurism was...
well... hardly the self-evident blatant it has
become...
escape into fiction (lies you tell others)...
escape into imagination (choking ties of
tier-a: as above... with tier-b: as below)...
or escape into memory (lies you tell
yourself)...
but i rather the memory...
the cinema of it...
i forget to blink when: blinking is akin
to... signatures... autographs of famous people...
bull... shyte: philately...
         lepidopterology... half closure of the semi-
closure... a brilliant metaphor...
      when the **** or the latex gimp suits
are not available...
there's always that 14 year old "idea"...
of... a tamed *******...
well... if you imagine it as... love at first sight...
you're 16 she's 14... and...
you're dating her older sister at the time...
and then... she disappears...
within the confines of her first and last
unflowering...
but the pristine first-impressions become
less metaphor and more: idealism...
it's fun... when there's a concensus of it being:
forbidden... it's what drives both the hunger...
and the feeding...
that it's never actually realised is beside
the point: made... in... lars von trier's
nymphomaniac...
          too catholic of me: born into it...
but... repressing the urges... is as much as...
delighting oneself in them...
ergo: the necessary *******...
so much for... *****-******* and oyster
slurping... when... you have been...
ahem... told to **** it up...
with the: "excess of skin"...
excess of skin / chemical imbalance
in the brain...
how about... i allow... a triatoma infestans...
to quicken my: dementia...
the myth goes... along the lines...
a horse with a grain of sand...
via its ear... will bash and ram and ram and bash
its head against a brick wall:
in an attempt to rid itself of the irritation...
conformity:
cul de sac queers and kwerks...
i lampoon on a sunday...
the rest of the days i'm free...
clued into: cwown...
which is... somehoo: velsh... in parts...

- by death i imply a riddle...
                 by death i imply:
          freed from the cinema of highly edited
pseudo-living...
not even among the stage of the theatre...
but at least...
cinema got one thing right...
   the suicide of christine chubbuck -
the urban myth goes along the lines of:
a cockroach was found... alive... 2 weeks...
after its head was guillotined...
       it's like that... bane quote:
and... the andrei chikatilo... reality...
non-verbatim:
                 'perhaps he's wondering... why
someone would shoot a man...
before throwing him out of a plane'...
rephrasing:
   'perhaps he's wondering...
why someone would shoot a man...
after throwing him into a prison cell'...
unless... he wasn't... expecting...
to wait for him... to die... of a urban myth...
2 weeks if not more...
brain-dead: heart still pumpking...
horrors from Kiev... Chernobyll the *******
icing cream topping the gwand:
godzilla: pie in the sky...

     i cared... once... once... that was:
upon a time...
these times don't really require much focus...
the space itself poses enough
liberty... no need to look as far back
as there's to look forward...
     the 20th century killer: zenith...
****** and ferriswheel of events...
                waking up to the new mandarin
plateau... it's like...
waking up from... the refreshing cain
mythos relatability...
always from h'america...
otherwise... bullet to the head...
king soldier: human rights...
   yeah... nice... the shame of homeless people:
there's an alexander the great...
a a diogenes of synope: with a hippocratic
oath... loitering around the corner?
hell! go wit' the flou...
                 jump-start a prison adventure...
less... high morality ****-pants
asking questions on the way...
people of high morality
and high: low social status importance...
**** someone...
better than becoming philosophically
homeless... blah blah...
                         i'm so little i actually
define myself as:
at liberty to preserve the lives of moths...
yes... well that's nice...
for anyone asking to: ride the easy... roulette.
Jamie King Jan 2015
I'm tilted and insist that you know I am grateful now here we
are-
an alliance. Let's see ourselves onwards, be borne by our
fondness-in accord, be our love for the colloquy.

Spry, exuberant. We are free spirits draining oceans of ink, bathing in rivers of lies to find the truth while saturated by pride.
We are propelled to propinquity, as we seek for a better prospect while drowning in propensity.

Our hearts bleed onto the paper,
wanting more love of passion
to spill out endlessly,
so others can relate
to share this burning fire
Deep within our souls.
we seek endlessly for acceptance and relatability,
with someone who we can feel
safe to share these wonderful feelings,
feelings of want from our vulnerable hearts.

In sharing our vulnerable hearts,
I becomes We
the divine flame burns brightly, guiding lonely souls
to meet heart to heart on this happy road of destiny
a stream of gratitude flows from our bloods, and we discover that we write to connect
to the divine source that empties us and fills us.
Stanza
1 Gwyn
http://hellopoetry.com/gwyn/
2 Jamie king
3 Cat aka catbrd http://hellopoetry.com/cathy-s/
4 Silas
http://hellopoetry.com/Silas/
One poem four Poets. please comment and repost get it out there this one is for lovers of poetry. What do we have if not passion?
Sam Temple Jun 2015
looking to make the jump
from anonymous to influential
based on mad writing skills
and the ability to be rare and unusual –
many long years the daily toil has worn my psyche
now, frayed nerves blend with crippling paranoia
and I peer through bent mini-blinds
at a society devoid of cultural norms  
choosing instead to discriminate
against their brothers –
quietly slipping back into the shadow
only the whites of my eyes can be seen in the din
I feel the cold steel leaning gently against the door-jam
reaffirming to myself
I will not be taken alive –
crayon wax candles drip
pooling on matted **** carpet
trapping a flea
and capturing my attention –
we all sit trapped in poisonous wax
floundering against the weight of the next droplet
coated for all eternity –
Marya123 Aug 2021
i wish i understood the songs of requited love
more frequently
than i wept to the songs of heartbreak
this life is short indeed
with time flying by
And with each year that passes
I feel closer to an unknown end
Like I failed without knowing why or how
Like I should be somewhere better
Like I should have been someone different
something wholly different from what lies under my misshapen skin
To find the elusive 'The One'
Among 7.8 billion people in this cruel world
With a ring on my finger, a declaration to humanity that I'm spoken for
Milestones I never set out to achieve for myself
With the dreams I chased remaining unfulfilled
Cherri Cola Apr 2014
oh undertaker
a high school poet died today
and they say

popularity is just relatability
see them in that mirror watching you
but check your compacts at the door
(look them in the eye)

they might **** you tonight
oh undertaker
how did they die last night?
forced the knife of lips
and lies into their minds
hit by a train full speed before the station lights
could see them in the way

we hate what we see
staring back, fade to black
in this highschool drama scene
who the **** are you?
can't be me
because i know myself, and this
dyed hair, straight kicks, concert tix
i see. that kid just aint all me

it might **** me tonight
oh undertaker
how do they die alone at night?
forcing the knife of lips
and lies into their minds
hit by a train full speed before the station lights
could see them in the way

give me my pen it's stronger
than the wings of that waterproof eyeliner
you cried off in the bathroom stall
last tuesday
oh undertaker, you
drew em back, of course
sharper than a sword but twice as brittle
because you hate the way they frame
her eyes, and your lies too

they might **** you tonight
oh undertaker
how did you die last night?
forced the knife of lips
and lies into their frozen faces
crushed by a train full speed before the station lights
could see them in the way

tonight, check you faces at the door
come in clear
and dont check your face to see
who's looking at you
we all see the same screen
our pores in bass-relief
tombstone grief
alt title: "Oh Undertaker"
Andrew Rueter May 2019
I’m a face in the crowd
With the holier than thou
Who scream so loud
That they’re proud
I look around
Then look at the ground

We disagree
Differing
On different needs
They’re an aggressive breed
Making others bleed
For what they believe
So I flee
Into solitary
Avoiding Ares

I become less brotherly
As I forget the suffering
In my submerged submarine
Where I can’t hear the thundering
Of social interaction blundering

I’m exiled in style
Haven’t seen people in a while
Which makes me smile
Skipping their trials
Walking for miles
Without the vile
Spewing their bile

I walk through peaceful pastures
Far away from our corporate masters
Dodging all the disasters
That make us die faster
I focus on the pastor
To live happily ever after

I lose my relatability
In a state of tranquility
From the holy trinity
Helping me see infinity
And start living differently
Instead of living miserably

Using ignorance for protection
I start to lose connection
To important lessons
That met my deflection
Or circumvented detection
As part of my rejection
Of society’s infection

I try to avoid negativity
But I can’t set the living free
If all my life is giving me
Reflects my selfish greed
Living under tranquil trees
Away from their hypocrisy
And false democracy
Always mocking me
From afar
Leaving the door ajar
For me to heal some scars
But for that I’ll have to leave Mars
And mingle with the stars
That float in the distance
While I watch their imprints
Making the night sky different

I avoid their pain
Becoming lame
Playing a game
Of staying tame
So I circle the drain
Without leaving a stain
A car flips over and crashes through my wall,
a person in red,
with eyes of a thousand pasts,
and a smile of relatability,
they ask if I wanted to take their place,
in a game space,
I ask what I need to do,
a scavenger hunt,
without the first clue,
so I took the car and drove wherever there was sky that was blue,
I met them and saw you,
everyone was 5 steps ahead and working,
towards some kind of end,
so letters and conversations I send,
asking where to begin,
no one can tell me because no body knows,
they just know they are beyond a step,
a step of feeling blue,
because they at least have the first clue,
and I am just going through the hole in my wall,
and going back to bed.
Did I invent a word or do I just have bad spelling?
Cherri Cola Mar 2014
popularity is just relatability
see them in that mirror watching you
but check your compacts at the door
(look them in the eye)
they might **** you tonight
who doesn't hate what they see
staring back, fade to black
in this highschool drama scene
who the **** are you?
can't be me
because i know myself, and this
dyed hair, straight kicks, concert tix
i see. that kid just aint all me
give me my pen, it stronger than the
wings of that waterproof eyeliner
you cried off in the bathroom stall
last tuesday
drew em back, of course
sharper than a sword but twice as brittle
because you hate the way they frame
you eyes, and your lies too
tonight, check you faces at the door
come in clear
and dont check your face to see
who's looking at you
we all see the same screen
our pores in bass-relief
Untitled got longer. Better or not is debatable. Still going.
the types of tippers, tipping for different reasons

for the social, for some sort of status, for exaggerated surplus, for crusty dollar bills that are meaningless in one wallet but then meaningful in another

of a street performer, to place a dollar in his case, cause his taste is somewhat reflective of the atmosphere in the street, and she has a pretty smile on her face

to tip, because you don't know what tomorrow will bring, because the money you have will be meaningless on your death bed

to tip to be closer to One, to be closer to I, closer to Christ, to Allah, to be closer to right

to tip, to give with the hope of one day being able to take with understanding, belief in karma can be relaxing

to tip, because of the moment, to keep things moving, you saw someone at the end of the bar and its in your best interest to invest

to tip, to tip for kind service, to tip for pleasantries, for smiles and anecdote, relatability, a small investment for lea sure, and still that is soft

to tip?  or not to tip, because belief is a *****

to not tip on principle, and to feel better that way, pay more for the donut, to start the day

to tip out of judgement, out of taste, one service was better than another, a standard, and a tip is an extra, a cherry for balance, a system in which you believe in

to tip the man who parks your car because out of fear that he will take it joyously far


to tip, to take, to put penny in jar, for charity, for good company.  to tip

fascinates me
Picturing her is tough,
you'd think it'd be easier,
when I dream of her enough,
she's got brown hair with a past that's a little rough,
I mean relatability,
is on the key ring of comfortability,
a good smile,
and the first to kiss or say "I love you" first every once in a while,
a plus if she can write,
and not feel ashamed to sometimes be the first to apologize after a fight,
she's someone not looking to be found,
healthy and (superficially) not super round,
but can eat quesadilla's and chocolate cake in bed,
who listens,
but also knows what needs to be said,
a girl who giggles & smiles at my cheeesyness,
and says that it's ok that my life is a mess,
she makes love instead of *******,
(sometimes a good **** is what we need though)
Knows how to get me oot of my head,
and is self reliant,
but also has trouble watching me leave,
she'll be fine with dancing/singing/kissing me in the rain,
and know all the right words and moves to drive me insane,
thick hair like a mane,
and doesnt care if I'm poor or have fame,
she'll appreciate my crazy music,
and will take care of me when I'm being a ****** when I'm sick,
who wants kids and that awesomely typical house,
she'll be loving and empathetic,
Loving Bob Dylan and dogs,
shorter than I is a must, and know's how to be the sun in my times of fogs,
adventuring but doesnt mind  a good netflix and chill,
her eye's will be revealing,
with every look my heart she'll be stealing,
smooth sexiness withoot the need to be based on touch and feeling,
kissable lips,
grab worthy hips,
a girl I could laugh with for the rest of my life,
an honest wife.

I'll dream of her with a certain notoriety,
hoping I find her,
after a year of sobriety.
My sponsor reminded me that I need to bring all these qualities to a relationship too, so it's closer to the perfect relationship?
Cherri Cola Mar 2014
popularity is just relatability
see them in that mirror watching you
but check your compacts at the door
(look them in the eye)
Something if it ever comes to me. (WIP)
Elizabeth Oct 2017
Your art
is not about how many people
like your work
your art
is about
if your heart likes your work
if your soul likes your work
it's about how honest
you are with yourself
and you
must never
trade honesty
for relatability.
Isaac Feb 2018
Isaac Lainez’s
                     Why no sunshine?

Why do i hear despair?                                        
Why do i hear the world will never be fair?
Why do i hear like life *****?
Why do i hear there is no luck?
Why no funtimes?

Why no sunshine
Is poetry about sadness
Expressed to it’s fullest
Is poetry for sad stories

And only wrote happy for comics
Is poetry expressing all feeling
But rarely using happiness
Is poetry for emo’s or goths
Expressing all sadness

Is poetry for facts that sound for opinions
And opinions that sound for facts
Is poetry giving news in an entertaining way
But if you laugh you are shamed
Am i aloud to express happily?

Or sadily and depressing
Am i aloud to express in all ways?
Or one, which will be the same
I want to be positive
But i'm neutral

Tell me something sad
Don't expect a tear
Tell me something happy
Don't expect a smile
Can a bring sunshine to this place

Or am i shushed and shamed
Can i be that small sunshine
Or is it despair all of the time?
Did i do poetry for no reason
Or did i hope this poem changed minds?

If it works i can be sad sometimes
But when it’s needed
And rarely joke in poetry
Or are jokes too much
The only poems that i can relate to are the ones from comics

But that's as much relatability of a dinosaur and bird
I don’t need to make laughs or smiles
Im as neutral as a public school teacher
But if controversy sparks it all changes
Controversy continuously crumbles society

I feel controversy dances and eats
Eats all of your life
Like racism it never leaves
It can’t be stopped

And it is hard to help against it
Is this it?
Is this why there is no sunshine
Because it poetry to spread controversy
And if you joke around with it

It’s more of a joke
And then you choke
On your words
Cant breath then you
SNAP and do a homicide

Then it's to late so inside you do a suicide
But the only hope you have a God
So you wait for a free homicide
But you cool down, but it happens
Then while you sit there with blood
And you don’t believe in your god
Then you die a sad life
Those words shall never live

Is that why there is no sunshine
I continue to think of ways to implement something funny
But i can't because maybe dark humor is banned from poetry
Maybe one day humor and even if its dark may bring sunshine...
First poem asking for answeres
Innocent Tata Sep 2020
One could argue that as you get older, you become a better stoic. Masking your whims, desires and pleasures with logic, reason and meaning. Taking the less scenic route, becoming more utilitarian and the stick that’s up your **** plunges a little further..

And What about the artist that emotionally abuses the kid within and constantly exploits its innocence. Strumming the strings of vulnerability for relatability. Lusting over Monet clouds as painted tears conjure real ones..

Apologies for the preachy undertone, I too buried my cornea in the conneries without a veil, with chin to palm Coveting a utopia. However The dance around the bugbear has since become medieval. I gave it a good hug, tears of tranquility as we initiate the coagulation..

But I need a good light, one that outdoes a good filter. Sending shadows to the creases of the crater. The eclipsed sun carves the frame for a Godlike aesthetic and then I forget to write. Sometimes I forget I’m alive.
Kai Jun 2019
Did their updates cease
when their minds gave them no peace.

Did the positive become like shadows to the negative haters,
and those who hated became their annihilators.

Their relatability was more than you knew
as your thoughts strangled you theirs also grew

But while you had their expression
their expression left them in a depression

You wondered where they went
Tortured Artists is such a cliche, but it is also often the truth.
A revised version of a previous poem that was messed up and inconsistently done. Shoddy writing on my part then.
John Doe Mar 2019
What makes a poem wonderful
Is it the idea that I wrote it in the darkest corner I can find
Or the idea that maybe you can relate but
You don't even know me

Maybe my poem is not even poetic
Maybe I am spilling thoughts to the phone on which
I go to when bored
Maybe I'm in class pretending to take notes on my laptop
Maybe I'm on a plane attempting to impress the person next to me
Or maybe

What can I do to relate to you without even knowing you
Can I tell you that I know you regret because I do too
Maybe I can pour this infinitely vivid imagery of joy
Green grass
Blue skies
Loving families and summer fun
But then I punch you in the gut with the blunt, depressing truth

Is it relatability
Is it imagining a future too good to be true
Is it trying to stretch a finger to the tip of infinite success
Is it conveying pretty thoughts to make you feel good
Then trying to cover up the dimmer reality of life

What am I even writing for
I won't impress you
I have said it before, You don't even know me
But maybe that's it, maybe I want you to know me
Maybe I want to be great so the world will know me
Or maybe I prefer to remain hidden
What makes our thoughts beautiful?
What makes this beautiful?
Jester Dec 2018
I draw blood and let it pool in my hand so I can fingerprint my autograph on the declaration.

As John Hancock, so shall I.

They've tried for years to express themselves and as the art has shown, they've only caught a few over the decades.

Voices dying on the wind, written off by the time and the population had named them "weird art"

The freak show is in town tonight and again they try, for every body felled by the wayside there's one right behind to pick up the torch and reignite the flames.

Bullet proof prophets made of theory and ideas driving trains of thought off the track so they can crash into your homes and lives.

Train wreck train wreck.

Where there's smoke there's a wildfire heart burning with passion holding a match to a powder keg.

Suicide by design, killing ourselves for relatability.

We're sick so suicide missionaries we stand side by side.
Fighting off the chains of restrictive thought and walls built by a society of the lying, cheating, scared population who would hang free thinkers as witches, on trial just as some words have been banned.

Everyone is a critic and so we can't speak freely, free speech has become hate speech.

Context be ******.

The dying breed sit behind the fence and starve as we're picked off by the carrion thought eaters and those who run are arrested by the thought police.

Can't say this, can't think that. Careful not to offend.

Everyone wants to say everything but no one wants to feel offended, gotta play it safe because we're so fragile we're of glass.

Everything gives a disease because no one gets ***** anymore in case we catch something, we've killed our anti bodies and our systems aren't so immune anymore, thank god we've got the pills to help boost whatever we need.

Poppin pills like pez out of dispensers that take notes, bills, ***, headaches, stomachaches, spells of dizziness, dry mouth, restless leg syndrome, homicidal thoughts, suicidal thoughts, being too hungry, not being hungry enough, back pain, hand pain, toothache, and a million other issues that probably could be solved with a little bit of effort but nope, pills and an arm and a leg Dr. bill are the cure.

Paying way too much attention to celebrities while everything burns. Then when the fire reaches you it's time to worry.
You're just the newest sapling in the fire that's swallowed by the flames of drama, gossip and *******.

A million dead artists their bodies all point to the way, the treasure of art, soul and comedy, tragedy, drama, political and social commentary- all with points to make, yet YOU don't like what they had to say, so you censor the words you don't like, you twist the meaning to fit your offense then crucify the speaker and "expose" them for all they are.

**** that.

People cuss, people hate other people, people say words and think thoughts you may not like, they may have different ideas, they may write or song or act in ways you don't approve.

Deal with it.

The world still spins, you still grow and go on, there are important matters to attend to if you could just pull your head out of your *** for two seconds.

No matter how much you try to clean up the act, the dirt under still remains. The world is not some clean, pristine, air tight seal where you will get your way, don't like what's on tv? Change the channel, don't like what's in the book? Don't read it.

Don't like the song, the food, the people, the color of their skin, the way they talk, the politics- left or right. Then walk away.

It's their world too and you have to share it.

Sit down, strap in and deal.
Matthew Mar 2019
Do Everyday People
want
relatability
or
professionalism
IZ J Oct 2019
Her name is dangerous but her face is a disguise
She's an enemy who fights with peace and rivals any previous jealousy

She's the exemplification of teenage relatability and she knows it

She's the movie you watch when your boyfriend breaks up with you,
You know she's bad yet you crave the cringe of all her qualities

She's enough to turn any girl into a *******
Daynah Hartman Feb 2019
It’s a blur of reality
A sense of something there but never being able to really see it
To actually contemplate how and why and who
To know one of the wonders of the world and to also know the wonders of the individual people
Because As they walk by you see nothing,
You hear everything from laughing to crying
You start to see through the blur that has been created
They start see through the blurs they have created
We all stop seeing nothing, stop hearing everything and instead we feel, you feel...
You feel not their pain, but...the individuality and the relatability of your own
MissNeona Dec 2023
****-take mushroom & ZZ muffintop
Midnight Mini Stirrings
Stank *****
Farta fartus stuffed
Stank ***** toot morass ed. Kamikaze! Breaking divine wind
Darkmatter meseeks
Dubh black dove
******* city
Dead beat deity
The shipyard - hindquarters
Erotici, inquisition, questionable greek behaviours, 20 questions of sexytime
"Έλληνες”— Hellenes not all Greek to them
Lokas of Control
Ayo shorty, el shaddai
Blodiau flowers
Veer to where we look - the human body vessel
Empath/Narcissist Identification Battle
Boning a FROG
Self-save spiritual checkpoint
Phi-low-so-phi's lodestone powerbottom beastmode
It is se on. Super se on
Lumatic highway
Hippos, whales and guinea pigs, whoop science.
Cymraeg comerades
Is it actually pleasing a person, the people or is it just complex placation?
Arose from the dead the re-in-carnation
Can't find your sol-song singing somebody else's words, relatability doesn't mean originality, cover songs still deviate, bring newness, otherwise it's just a rendition.
"Past life" knowledge doesn't excuse ignorance of this existence, stories change, or maybe were never comprehended to begin why it passed instead of kept...
Why? R U ikigai?
Late Game Strategy
'Ohelo papa = hawaiian strawberry
Kyrios or kurios (Ancient Greek: κύριος, romanized: kū́rios) is a Greek word that is usually translated as "lord" or "master". Curios-city
Military Swinging
Thic phuc tap, like complicated
Cheating for leaderboard status just confuses
Animal crossing guilt lording trainer
Playing highlander with scarecrow... still losing, dummy thicc
Moose will pu. Svenga kuin hirvi.
Iphimedeia - thirsty crotch, seawater4poisideon
Great big mari sea horse
Sartanistic evolution leaves crabby animals
Mustakala kalmari
Every year it rains fish lluvia de peces en loro
Lackey, lost their chi, the key, the qi
Nyawww nho little
Elementary school, deities in the basics, dirt bodies, aetheric breath, water flow, fire chest/divine spark
Dubh snake moana
Aleph tau indicative of spirit soul, not faux alpha ommegid, cyclical abuser and gaping *******
That's Cap!
Robert's Stafford, friar tuck'd, made a mary out of men
Femme bots and gay frogs are like **** mosquitos
ascended self-mastery not ***-ended self master bait story
Cuckoos & Cowbirds
Invasive self-replicating mutant lobster-like creatures
Marmorkrebs have arrived into ontario
Harwell Dekatron
Dome is slick circulation system - vector curve argument heats up
Ich ky, selfish
Polish this Hungarian milk is klingon scientist - tej, thats french, jeter dumped it/threw it down my trivial extensible job-submission
Toki, usagi, konijn, tho, shasha/shosho, coney
War Tortle & A Half Shiell'd Maiden legend of zelva
Minogame, Chelona, Teknosbeka
Jigglypuff's song - tone, support, attempts
Orchestration, blue whales & summer of salmon hats
lend me your external auditory meatus
Llama glama
Persian carpet flatworm esque ****** fencing alpha omeggids for dominance
Lies and thievery need other people, stay in own lane means more success.
repeated bout effect - can learn almost anything with normalization, but why?
Queen Tyra. KeyRa.
Silvas & Kin - forests & gold
Zena warrior princess
Here kai di kai di
Air bhioran = Scottish gaelic excited
Address and listen to the man
Paying damages vs. Demonstrating repentance with bonus joy
Dzieki polish apppreciation, dzjinke czech out this djinn, jinkies, scoobie!
Velma willhelmet wilhelm william
Shalom implies wholeness
A shiva, a she ra, aethera
Win-win-wind condition

Fibula Dragula bone placement
Presented:
https://www.youtube.com/live/nAmlDS1L31s?feature=shared
Squid May 2020
It shouldn't have to sound beautiful for me to say it
For me to think my feelings are valid
But i cant put a frustrated sob or a tight gut into words very easily
And I cant simply say exactly what things are
It wouldnt have the same effect
The same relatability
The mystery
The same dramatic flair
It captivates the mind.
It reveals untold secrets.
It speaks for the heart.
It searches within the souls.
It brings back the memories.
It expresses hidden feelings.
It exposes the truth.
It understands the pain.
It transforms your thoughts into words.
Not everyone comprehends it.
It carries with it relatability.
The amazing feature called Poetry.
Here I describe how I see poetry in my eyes.

— The End —