"religiously" poems - Hello Poetry

"religiously" poems

Torture myself religiously, Call me a ******* martyr. I met up with the devil, And had no soul to barter. Life is getting harder, I don't see no ******* peace. All I see are people, Starving in our ******* streets, Getting beat by the police Can you stop the violence please? I just want some silence, geez I will not go quietly, You will have to fire me. Out the chamber, Down the hall, Through the house, And Past the wall, Out To the street, And into Paul. All because, They made a call So If you wish To have it all, Know if you run, Then you may fall, Don't waste no time, Don't try to stall, Stay head strong, Tear down your wall.

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May 12, 2014

May 12, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC

leonard-steven-declan

Talk about rap.

Torture myself religiously, Call me a ******* martyr. I met up with the devil, And had no soul to barter. Life is getting harder, I don't see no ******* peace. All I see are people, Starving in our ******* streets, Getting beat by the police Can you stop the violence please? I just want some silence, geez I will not go quietly, You will have to fire me. Out the chamber, Down the hall, Through the house, And Past the wall, Out To the street, And into Paul. All because, They made a call So If you wish To have it all, Know if you run, Then you may fall, Don't waste no time, Don't try to stall, Stay head strong, Tear down your wall.

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I never really wanted to have an agent Just one day I met this lady and she starting arranging my gigs and stuff She gave me this kelly green handkerchief and told me to wear it in my left back pocket at all times I have followed her orders religiously and now own more laser discs than all my friends combined Do you know where the Trinidadian bakery is? I'm supposed to meet the paperboy there and give him this pencil case May the black cats of January be afraid to cross your path

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Feb 1, 2013

Feb 1, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC

Godfather Slice And A Medium Coke To Go

I never really wanted to have an agent Just one day I met this lady and she starting arranging my gigs and stuff She gave me this kelly green handkerchief and told me to wear it in my left back pocket at all times I have followed her orders religiously and now own more laser discs than all my friends combined Do you know where the Trinidadian bakery is? I'm supposed to meet the paperboy there and give him this pencil case May the black cats of January be afraid to cross your path

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The fiscal snare is drawing tight Putin’s day... now courting night, Rouble tilts vertiginously To Satan’s **** religiously. Fiscal snare is drawing blood A trickle then... is now a flood, Russia’s central bank adjusts But ineffectually, combusts. Hard line prospects elbow dance Aligning for assasins lance. Perhaps…. Better now, the Devil known Than facing down an Unknown throne….. Facing down an Iron call With finger poised in nuclear thrall. What choice now for ego’s Prince Retreat from Eastern Ukraine’s wince? Retreat Crimea’s balmy shores To face the nationalistic howl of hordes? Brinkmanship…the other way A gamble that the West might sway? Either way the game is up Now bitter wine brims Russia’s cup. M.

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Dec 17, 2014

Dec 17, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC

The fiscal snare is drawing tight Putin’s day... now courting night, Rouble tilts vertiginously To Satan’s **** religiously. Fiscal snare is drawing blood A trickle then... is now a flood, Russia’s central bank adjusts But ineffectually, combusts. Hard line prospects elbow dance Aligning for assasins lance. Perhaps…. Better now, the Devil known Than facing down an Unknown throne….. Facing down an Iron call With finger poised in nuclear thrall. What choice now for ego’s Prince Retreat from Eastern Ukraine’s wince? Retreat Crimea’s balmy shores To face the nationalistic howl of hordes? Brinkmanship…the other way A gamble that the West might sway? Either way the game is up Now bitter wine brims Russia’s cup. M.

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“I remember the bed just floating there” is how Phil Kaye started his ‘repetition’ poem. I remember pausing the youtube video after the poem ended. I remember burying my feelings under 3 blankets and 4 hours of binge watching spoken word poetry. I do not remember the dreams I could have had. I remember the set of nightmares that visited religiously like the downstairs neighbor tired of how loud my heart pounds at late evenings. I remember, very clearly, how they went. I do not remember if I have written them down. Dream one: he peels my freckles off my skin; he says he needs them because his coffee is too light. I scream while he calmly adds pints of the cheeks to his cup. He says I can never be as quiet as the girl who managed to sneak into his ribcage and build herself a bedroom. Dream two: We are standing in the great library of Alexandria. He pulls the sea from underneath my feet and stuffs it into his back pocket. He says he needs it because he is tired of drowning himself in uncertainty. I start to cry and he says: Aries is the god of war, and women born under this sign confuse war for love. I remember the mole on his left ear growing bigger in my nightmares without me ever watering it. I remember he smelled of tangerine trees and broken records. I do not remember if his face looked like the man I almost fell in love with last winter, or my father. I remember the first time I saw my father after he came back from Ukraine. I remember his brown leather shoes that oozed of old spice cologne and neat scotch. I remember his hardly worn pair of glasses and the pieces of me they never cared to read. I remember the wrinkles that seemed newer than his glasses slowly colonizing his hands... the hands that never held me as tight as the dress I wore to my school prom hoping it would catch my ex’s attention. I remember that dress. I remember it had a floral print reminiscent of the season that I was named after hoping maybe it would remind him I’m part him. I remember realizing he will never remember. And now, I sit on a carpet of autumnal leafs as crisp as my tied tongue and as dead as my fears, trying to turn my love for him into more than just a memory.

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Aug 8, 2018

Aug 8, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC

“I remember the bed just floating there” is how Phil Kaye started his ‘repetition’ poem. I remember pausing the youtube video after the poem ended. I remember burying my feelings under 3 blankets and 4 hours of binge watching spoken word poetry. I do not remember the dreams I could have had. I remember the set of nightmares that visited religiously like the downstairs neighbor tired of how loud my heart pounds at late evenings. I remember, very clearly, how they went. I do not remember if I have written them down. Dream one: he peels my freckles off my skin; he says he needs them because his coffee is too light. I scream while he calmly adds pints of the cheeks to his cup. He says I can never be as quiet as the girl who managed to sneak into his ribcage and build herself a bedroom. Dream two: We are standing in the great library of Alexandria. He pulls the sea from underneath my feet and stuffs it into his back pocket. He says he needs it because he is tired of drowning himself in uncertainty. I start to cry and he says: Aries is the god of war, and women born under this sign confuse war for love. I remember the mole on his left ear growing bigger in my nightmares without me ever watering it. I remember he smelled of tangerine trees and broken records. I do not remember if his face looked like the man I almost fell in love with last winter, or my father. I remember the first time I saw my father after he came back from Ukraine. I remember his brown leather shoes that oozed of old spice cologne and neat scotch. I remember his hardly worn pair of glasses and the pieces of me they never cared to read. I remember the wrinkles that seemed newer than his glasses slowly colonizing his hands... the hands that never held me as tight as the dress I wore to my school prom hoping it would catch my ex’s attention. I remember that dress. I remember it had a floral print reminiscent of the season that I was named after hoping maybe it would remind him I’m part him. I remember realizing he will never remember. And now, I sit on a carpet of autumnal leafs as crisp as my tied tongue and as dead as my fears, trying to turn my love for him into more than just a memory.

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~ *Lipstick to void. She is a race against time. The beveled past a disruption in her lines of influence. Travel is dangerous, and tonight it darkens the highway of blood vessels coursing through her extremities. She wants to be luminous and under the skin. While Dorothy dreams of tornadoes in Kansas, she dreams of remote climbs in lesser Glasgow, of party drugs in Tokyo. How many lights does she see? In her hair are sixty circuits. But she waits, religiously inclined on the hotel bed. She drove through ghosts to get here wearing nothing but Las Vegas. So strange at this hour, in a city full of sleepwalkers for the taking, she now dreams she's a bulldozer, she now dreams she's alone in an empty field.* ~

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Dec 26, 2022

Dec 26, 2022 at 4:36 PM UTC

Queen of the Surface Streets

~ *Lipstick to void. She is a race against time. The beveled past a disruption in her lines of influence. Travel is dangerous, and tonight it darkens the highway of blood vessels coursing through her extremities. She wants to be luminous and under the skin. While Dorothy dreams of tornadoes in Kansas, she dreams of remote climbs in lesser Glasgow, of party drugs in Tokyo. How many lights does she see? In her hair are sixty circuits. But she waits, religiously inclined on the hotel bed. She drove through ghosts to get here wearing nothing but Las Vegas. So strange at this hour, in a city full of sleepwalkers for the taking, she now dreams she's a bulldozer, she now dreams she's alone in an empty field.* ~

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You get the know it alls Their noses stuck rigidly in books like bookmarks You get the geeks Gamers with eyes shrunk; shiny braces flashing You get the quiet ones Assessing everything going on; owlish blinks You get the cheeky ones Hilarious antics all around; always surprising You get the nosy ones With obnoxious questions and averting eyes You get the prissy neat freaks Panicking religiously over messes; loud moaner You get the bossy buck tooth's Spit spraying whilst barking out orders; drone-like You get the wannabes *Prepping up as the popular chicks; total **** ups* And you get me With total judgement and disdain evident Making me a **classic ***** ; plastic With her typical high school stereotypes

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Aug 15, 2015

Aug 15, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC

the-silent-catastrophe

You get the know it alls Their noses stuck rigidly in books like bookmarks You get the geeks Gamers with eyes shrunk; shiny braces flashing You get the quiet ones Assessing everything going on; owlish blinks You get the cheeky ones Hilarious antics all around; always surprising You get the nosy ones With obnoxious questions and averting eyes You get the prissy neat freaks Panicking religiously over messes; loud moaner You get the bossy buck tooth's Spit spraying whilst barking out orders; drone-like You get the wannabes *Prepping up as the popular chicks; total **** ups* And you get me With total judgement and disdain evident Making me a **classic ***** ; plastic With her typical high school stereotypes

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Oh, may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence; live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge men's search To vaster issues. So to live is heaven: To make undying music in the world, Breathing a beauteous order that controls With growing sway the growing life of man. So we inherit that sweet purity For which we struggled, failed, and agonized With widening retrospect that bred despair. Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued, A vicious parent shaming still its child, Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved; Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies, Die in the large and charitable air, And all our rarer, better, truer self That sobbed religiously in yearning song, That watched to ease the burden of the world, Laboriously tracing what must be, And what may yet be better, -- saw within A worthier image for the sanctuary, And shaped it forth before the multitude, Divinely human, raising worship so To higher reverence more mixed with love, -- That better self shall live till human Time Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb Unread forever. This is life to come, -- Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven, -- be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, And in diffusion ever more intense! So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world.

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4.6k

The Choir Invisible

Oh, may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence; live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge men's search To vaster issues. So to live is heaven: To make undying music in the world, Breathing a beauteous order that controls With growing sway the growing life of man. So we inherit that sweet purity For which we struggled, failed, and agonized With widening retrospect that bred despair. Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued, A vicious parent shaming still its child, Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved; Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies, Die in the large and charitable air, And all our rarer, better, truer self That sobbed religiously in yearning song, That watched to ease the burden of the world, Laboriously tracing what must be, And what may yet be better, -- saw within A worthier image for the sanctuary, And shaped it forth before the multitude, Divinely human, raising worship so To higher reverence more mixed with love, -- That better self shall live till human Time Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb Unread forever. This is life to come, -- Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven, -- be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, And in diffusion ever more intense! So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world.

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Toking on a cloud with ******* Jesus and his family Lame folks ask me how, its cause I ******* smoke religiously No God I smoke religious tree, I get ****** in the name of heresy You angry penguin ****** preach acceptance So praise the Lord and ******* shame on me My guise is Satan ***** and my swag is undisguisible heartless and no conscience, sicksicksix most recognizable -that statement may surprise a little but since we all surmise a little Why deny me as the devil when When I clearly play a golden fiddle. . . From Hell I made a deal and there is no repeal nothing you see is real, I will invade and pervade your mind So wait in anticipation, life's a figment of your own imagination I'll watch you dissipate into oblivion Pound for pound, I'm a cenobite at heart, I just haven't a heart to be found It's not hard for me its profound, the sound of suffering your soul is ours now and I will tear it apart Here's a toast to our orchestral Symphony of the flesh My swag's so ******* flawless 100 carrot diamonds, ******* love me cause I'm gorgeous can't stag no more, fat stacks galore embrace the force it opens doors Is there a source, but of course - it just lies dormant/ What's a ***** to a floor except a doormat And you know that I'm no diplomat It's just a fact I ******* hate those stinky ratchets And I sharply lack tact tell that ***** her ***** smells like Magikarp Body language, that of Snorlax someone once asked why don't have an open mind brains would spill out if my ******* snapback weren't so tight Its the season to seize C's and hallucinations be dazzlin em don't believe your eyes son, its only a phantasm but Words are like playdough, fun to play with not to eat So clap your ******* trap and get lost to the beat I can't be defeat So suckle my teet My verses are perverse I'm high as **** words: failing Get low ill as **** so ******* sick, blowed half past belligerent, tweaking off my nasal drips, There's serenity in debauchery - ***** I ******* bask in it have a taste basketcase, I drink red bull it gives me ******* wings "Memento quod sumus lascivio venatus" Remember that you are playing the Game

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Nov 29, 2013

Nov 29, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC

Anomalous Phenomena

Toking on a cloud with ******* Jesus and his family Lame folks ask me how, its cause I ******* smoke religiously No God I smoke religious tree, I get ****** in the name of heresy You angry penguin ****** preach acceptance So praise the Lord and ******* shame on me My guise is Satan ***** and my swag is undisguisible heartless and no conscience, sicksicksix most recognizable -that statement may surprise a little but since we all surmise a little Why deny me as the devil when When I clearly play a golden fiddle. . . From Hell I made a deal and there is no repeal nothing you see is real, I will invade and pervade your mind So wait in anticipation, life's a figment of your own imagination I'll watch you dissipate into oblivion Pound for pound, I'm a cenobite at heart, I just haven't a heart to be found It's not hard for me its profound, the sound of suffering your soul is ours now and I will tear it apart Here's a toast to our orchestral Symphony of the flesh My swag's so ******* flawless 100 carrot diamonds, ******* love me cause I'm gorgeous can't stag no more, fat stacks galore embrace the force it opens doors Is there a source, but of course - it just lies dormant/ What's a ***** to a floor except a doormat And you know that I'm no diplomat It's just a fact I ******* hate those stinky ratchets And I sharply lack tact tell that ***** her ***** smells like Magikarp Body language, that of Snorlax someone once asked why don't have an open mind brains would spill out if my ******* snapback weren't so tight Its the season to seize C's and hallucinations be dazzlin em don't believe your eyes son, its only a phantasm but Words are like playdough, fun to play with not to eat So clap your ******* trap and get lost to the beat I can't be defeat So suckle my teet My verses are perverse I'm high as **** words: failing Get low ill as **** so ******* sick, blowed half past belligerent, tweaking off my nasal drips, There's serenity in debauchery - ***** I ******* bask in it have a taste basketcase, I drink red bull it gives me ******* wings "Memento quod sumus lascivio venatus" Remember that you are playing the Game

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When my daddy leaves me, I will sleep in his button-down, collared shirt. I will smoke one cigarette each year on his birthday. I will always sit in the last seat of the row at the movie theaters. I will set a pack of junior mints down on his grave religiously. I will learn how to play 'Stairway to Heaven' on the guitar. I will always address my waiter or waitress as Sir or Ma'am. I will become lifelong friends with perfect strangers. I will always keep a pack of minty gum in my car. I will watch National Geographic documentaries on how the universe works. I will learn how to make delicious, impeccable chicken fried rice. I will never, ever spank my children. When my daddy leaves me, I will remember him With all the little things I do.

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Nov 1, 2012

Nov 1, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC

We Become Our Fathers

When my daddy leaves me, I will sleep in his button-down, collared shirt. I will smoke one cigarette each year on his birthday. I will always sit in the last seat of the row at the movie theaters. I will set a pack of junior mints down on his grave religiously. I will learn how to play 'Stairway to Heaven' on the guitar. I will always address my waiter or waitress as Sir or Ma'am. I will become lifelong friends with perfect strangers. I will always keep a pack of minty gum in my car. I will watch National Geographic documentaries on how the universe works. I will learn how to make delicious, impeccable chicken fried rice. I will never, ever spank my children. When my daddy leaves me, I will remember him With all the little things I do.

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City rush me Pretty push Did he see? The wish on Hard on_____ Sunday I thought A rush of pluses +++ He won Be on time if not - - - Monday be good to me Rumors Fantasy thoughts I am What I am Not Popeye Going day back I need a third eye I am All free Robin Bird From everyone Wait!! Don't rush me I love everyone______* Newspaper's Sunday Daily News Poem touchdown My poem stood With the others I bowed ((Gladly))______ Waking up To a Racers- mouth Ray____ speed lover No homework All game Sunday____ Candles burned The House flamed "Procrastinator" I'll be back "Destroyer-Terminator" Coffee drug me percolator He April fools her Shopping Sunday right up magnifying dress He is back Not the future Smart *** tricks On the Escalator He Jeremy irons out her clothes That's it!!! Never rushed on Sunday To make a mob hit The call girls Busy- tight pants So Panicked Monday's religiously Hooked in Scientology So ****** in Not to ever kiss her on a Sunday He bunked into ((God)) Poem ritual bunk bed Well NYC Cabbie, he will never take it on Sunday The big game crazies The flower shops of horror Emptied out with Moms Tiger Lillies Smelling Mad Men hungover Rush hour Tv movie Hangover Jet game Sprinkler shower Opening up The door to his apartment Big Girly hoarder mess After a long talk night Saturday Night Brooklyn The Disco Queen bridge-sight His Mom is still oiling His BMW Racecar with Hot fire Crisco he will never be rushed out the door His car never starts Sunday or a Monday Teased on Tuesday Wednesday shes wild Thursday Ladies drink for free____ She got her husband to buy her cushion cut square On Sunday Do it or dare She's hanging low Times Square Girly rough Brooklyn tough Channel blush On Sunday he is so wired bushed

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May 8, 2018

May 8, 2018 at 1:01 PM UTC

Never Rushed on Sunday

City rush me Pretty push Did he see? The wish on Hard on_____ Sunday I thought A rush of pluses +++ He won Be on time if not - - - Monday be good to me Rumors Fantasy thoughts I am What I am Not Popeye Going day back I need a third eye I am All free Robin Bird From everyone Wait!! Don't rush me I love everyone______* Newspaper's Sunday Daily News Poem touchdown My poem stood With the others I bowed ((Gladly))______ Waking up To a Racers- mouth Ray____ speed lover No homework All game Sunday____ Candles burned The House flamed "Procrastinator" I'll be back "Destroyer-Terminator" Coffee drug me percolator He April fools her Shopping Sunday right up magnifying dress He is back Not the future Smart *** tricks On the Escalator He Jeremy irons out her clothes That's it!!! Never rushed on Sunday To make a mob hit The call girls Busy- tight pants So Panicked Monday's religiously Hooked in Scientology So ****** in Not to ever kiss her on a Sunday He bunked into ((God)) Poem ritual bunk bed Well NYC Cabbie, he will never take it on Sunday The big game crazies The flower shops of horror Emptied out with Moms Tiger Lillies Smelling Mad Men hungover Rush hour Tv movie Hangover Jet game Sprinkler shower Opening up The door to his apartment Big Girly hoarder mess After a long talk night Saturday Night Brooklyn The Disco Queen bridge-sight His Mom is still oiling His BMW Racecar with Hot fire Crisco he will never be rushed out the door His car never starts Sunday or a Monday Teased on Tuesday Wednesday shes wild Thursday Ladies drink for free____ She got her husband to buy her cushion cut square On Sunday Do it or dare She's hanging low Times Square Girly rough Brooklyn tough Channel blush On Sunday he is so wired bushed

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Almost everything in the fairytales turned out to be true: Horrible witches, nasty curses, dark demons, and guarded fortresses. But princesses? I thought they were figments of our imaginations. And yet little girls read storybooks religiously, dreaming of winning over the Prince Charming. Well ladies, you can keep your pristine and spotless princes. I know where love and honour truly lies. It is in the dragon's keep, Where she is locked away and hidden. The walls of her own heart blocking everyone out, Burning everyone down who dared face her inner dragon. But there is determination running through his veins, Bravery in every bead of sweat, A fighter's honour gleaming in his eyes. Breaking down the barriers to find a damsel in distress, he did the strongest thing: Held the wretch in his arms. A soldier with the ability to find perfection in the weakest of souls. My knight in ***** turnout gear, The firefighter who discovered a princess. My love who proved the reality of fairytales, And found our happily ever after.

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Apr 18, 2013

Apr 18, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC

Almost everything in the fairytales turned out to be true: Horrible witches, nasty curses, dark demons, and guarded fortresses. But princesses? I thought they were figments of our imaginations. And yet little girls read storybooks religiously, dreaming of winning over the Prince Charming. Well ladies, you can keep your pristine and spotless princes. I know where love and honour truly lies. It is in the dragon's keep, Where she is locked away and hidden. The walls of her own heart blocking everyone out, Burning everyone down who dared face her inner dragon. But there is determination running through his veins, Bravery in every bead of sweat, A fighter's honour gleaming in his eyes. Breaking down the barriers to find a damsel in distress, he did the strongest thing: Held the wretch in his arms. A soldier with the ability to find perfection in the weakest of souls. My knight in ***** turnout gear, The firefighter who discovered a princess. My love who proved the reality of fairytales, And found our happily ever after.

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I break, Under your hands, Conforming, To your pressure, And substance, Religiously studying, The design you've made of me, Fitting the corners, Becoming the curves, Filling arms, And leaking, Inconstant, From moonlight eyes

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Nov 6, 2011

Nov 6, 2011 at 1:28 AM UTC

I break, Under your hands, Conforming, To your pressure, And substance, Religiously studying, The design you've made of me, Fitting the corners, Becoming the curves, Filling arms, And leaking, Inconstant, From moonlight eyes

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I miss you like sadness. I used to wrap around myself like some lovelorn python with a desire for suicide blondes. Called yourself a wrecking ball, but you had no choice. Maybe you wanted to caress my house softly without destruction. Maybe you cried afterwards like a lost child on a mountain of doubt. Full of maybes! You make me full of maybes! I was taught as a child that maybe was just a watered down no. Stop watering the truth down, I'm not your flower. I'm a **** And I'll just continue to grow until I can't fit in anything except for my own grave. You make me want to go to church. I was baptised once, I forget as what. I honestly don't even know what religion is, but I can religiously blacken my lungs with nicotine and lies. Lie with me. Caress my sins. My body is world war three, I have nuclear bombs in the dips of my collarbones and every single freckle you used to compare to the galaxies are bullet holes. Save your prose for someone who gives a **** Pull the blinds baby, we don't need light in here. Did you know that with three minutes of asphyxiation you become brain dead? Let's try it baby, suicide pact? Let's dance with the dead darling. You always said the devil was our best friend. My tarot cards turned black when you turned them over. You said that I was hard to read. I had trouble reading anything except the bell jar. And now it's my turn to ring it. You're prettier with a necklace made of fingers. I want to collect your energy in a mason jar and sell it at a garage sale. I want to smash it in the middle of a highway and lay in a ditch until the wolves eat my body. I want to be lost. Lose me baby. I'll lose myself in your lies. Lie with me. I just want to be held.

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Aug 20, 2013

Aug 20, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC

darkness has a hold on me

I miss you like sadness. I used to wrap around myself like some lovelorn python with a desire for suicide blondes. Called yourself a wrecking ball, but you had no choice. Maybe you wanted to caress my house softly without destruction. Maybe you cried afterwards like a lost child on a mountain of doubt. Full of maybes! You make me full of maybes! I was taught as a child that maybe was just a watered down no. Stop watering the truth down, I'm not your flower. I'm a **** And I'll just continue to grow until I can't fit in anything except for my own grave. You make me want to go to church. I was baptised once, I forget as what. I honestly don't even know what religion is, but I can religiously blacken my lungs with nicotine and lies. Lie with me. Caress my sins. My body is world war three, I have nuclear bombs in the dips of my collarbones and every single freckle you used to compare to the galaxies are bullet holes. Save your prose for someone who gives a **** Pull the blinds baby, we don't need light in here. Did you know that with three minutes of asphyxiation you become brain dead? Let's try it baby, suicide pact? Let's dance with the dead darling. You always said the devil was our best friend. My tarot cards turned black when you turned them over. You said that I was hard to read. I had trouble reading anything except the bell jar. And now it's my turn to ring it. You're prettier with a necklace made of fingers. I want to collect your energy in a mason jar and sell it at a garage sale. I want to smash it in the middle of a highway and lay in a ditch until the wolves eat my body. I want to be lost. Lose me baby. I'll lose myself in your lies. Lie with me. I just want to be held.

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No matter how religiously you bleached your skin You remain Daughetrs of the Sun Your sun kissed skin The beauty exotic to others Perfectly baked by the Gods Shining like gold. They have taught us to use skin whiteners To wear sun glasses even inside a scaffolds When our skin are made to be protected From the rays of the sun Our eyes, black and brown Beautiful as the fruit of the duhat tree Our hair, our skin Choco like from the cacao tree. Fit for our climate's concoction. We were born in the land where the sun is abundant, hospitable and magnanimous. Flaunt thy color Savor its malt flavored goodness Embrace the complexion you were endowed with Embrace your own spirit Hail thy Motherland The sacred space you were gifted.

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Aug 24, 2016

Aug 24, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC

mary-ederline-mamburam

No matter how religiously you bleached your skin You remain Daughetrs of the Sun Your sun kissed skin The beauty exotic to others Perfectly baked by the Gods Shining like gold. They have taught us to use skin whiteners To wear sun glasses even inside a scaffolds When our skin are made to be protected From the rays of the sun Our eyes, black and brown Beautiful as the fruit of the duhat tree Our hair, our skin Choco like from the cacao tree. Fit for our climate's concoction. We were born in the land where the sun is abundant, hospitable and magnanimous. Flaunt thy color Savor its malt flavored goodness Embrace the complexion you were endowed with Embrace your own spirit Hail thy Motherland The sacred space you were gifted.

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I never asked you for the things you gave me I never asked But you didn't even care If I had asked, would you have shut me out? Or would you have given more? Of your overflowing wine of life or love or energy ( or whatever it was that you folded into my hands like the most secret-sacred treasure map ) You would sometimes catch me In a gaze like a doe Ask me things That took time to sink in Because I was being distracted By my urge to count your eyelashes We could never go outside in the cold Because you were terrified That your breath would crystallize and twist inside your lungs But you loved to see how long you could hold your breath for Underwater There would be pauses As time stilled to take a look at us To check that we really were still there And everything around us swirled Like autumn leaves or glitter stars Our glances would solidify And memory struck out to capture snapshots Everly, I never asked Not even once, but you still gave Everly, I can't quite grasp I see you sometimes When the sunshine's wounding bright Yellow, cheerful, heavenly And I look into the shadows To find rest for my eyes I can never keep straight the present and the past So when I look in the shade I see ghosts of you sprawled out, laughing, head tilted back, hands splayed Your sighs were soft But you only ever sighed them When your face shone With a lovely glow of indulgence We watched Hitchcock religiously We wouldn't give them up You said that you liked Vertigo the best But you never told me why I'll hold your friendship In the cup of my hands While wonder fills up slowly Where my thoughts should be I'll peer over my thumbs To steal a peek at the clear blue crystalline Effervescent memories I will remember you foreverly My word

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Apr 5, 2011

Apr 5, 2011 at 11:37 AM UTC

antoinette-christensen

I never asked you for the things you gave me I never asked But you didn't even care If I had asked, would you have shut me out? Or would you have given more? Of your overflowing wine of life or love or energy ( or whatever it was that you folded into my hands like the most secret-sacred treasure map ) You would sometimes catch me In a gaze like a doe Ask me things That took time to sink in Because I was being distracted By my urge to count your eyelashes We could never go outside in the cold Because you were terrified That your breath would crystallize and twist inside your lungs But you loved to see how long you could hold your breath for Underwater There would be pauses As time stilled to take a look at us To check that we really were still there And everything around us swirled Like autumn leaves or glitter stars Our glances would solidify And memory struck out to capture snapshots Everly, I never asked Not even once, but you still gave Everly, I can't quite grasp I see you sometimes When the sunshine's wounding bright Yellow, cheerful, heavenly And I look into the shadows To find rest for my eyes I can never keep straight the present and the past So when I look in the shade I see ghosts of you sprawled out, laughing, head tilted back, hands splayed Your sighs were soft But you only ever sighed them When your face shone With a lovely glow of indulgence We watched Hitchcock religiously We wouldn't give them up You said that you liked Vertigo the best But you never told me why I'll hold your friendship In the cup of my hands While wonder fills up slowly Where my thoughts should be I'll peer over my thumbs To steal a peek at the clear blue crystalline Effervescent memories I will remember you foreverly My word

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Erotica! Its when other girls want u, I stand confidently Cos I know I'm your fantasy and your reality me cooking you meal, you step up to me, you pull my hair, kiss my neck. Draw me closer, kiss my lips, down to my navel. Please Baby don't stop Erotica! Its when you let me aspire to inspire you to take me higher, fulfill my desire. Memories of you is all I need, to believe and achieve a ****** so sweet. I wanna watch u eat, while on your knees, listening to Alicia Keys. This love is not just for anybody. Erotica! Its the way you feel while discovering me Holding my hands down right next to me The smell of your cologne, it urges me to Hold u close and pull u near, call you my dear cos your kind is so rare Erotica ! its when u emancipate my body Liberate my soul Touch me in all the right places Excuse my funny faces I see vanilla skies When you lick my chocolate thighs **** I'm feeling so high Erotica! Its when ! love you endlessly And follow u religiously Don't mislead me Please just give me A touch of your lips As u take swift dips While I Twist my hips Erotica! Its when you are downtown, taking my emotions uptown My head spinning Because I'm winning Erotica! Its when we do it on the tiles, the rug, on the rooftop, or even the kitchen counter top Take me to another world, another dimension, I dare mention the bedroom is too conventional **** my thinking is irrational!! Watch on Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Twh5bQ33v0 Visit my official website: www.tonipayneonline.com Follow me on Twitter @tonipayne http://twitter.com/tonipayne

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Feb 15, 2014

Feb 15, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC

Erotica! Its when other girls want u, I stand confidently Cos I know I'm your fantasy and your reality me cooking you meal, you step up to me, you pull my hair, kiss my neck. Draw me closer, kiss my lips, down to my navel. Please Baby don't stop Erotica! Its when you let me aspire to inspire you to take me higher, fulfill my desire. Memories of you is all I need, to believe and achieve a ****** so sweet. I wanna watch u eat, while on your knees, listening to Alicia Keys. This love is not just for anybody. Erotica! Its the way you feel while discovering me Holding my hands down right next to me The smell of your cologne, it urges me to Hold u close and pull u near, call you my dear cos your kind is so rare Erotica ! its when u emancipate my body Liberate my soul Touch me in all the right places Excuse my funny faces I see vanilla skies When you lick my chocolate thighs **** I'm feeling so high Erotica! Its when ! love you endlessly And follow u religiously Don't mislead me Please just give me A touch of your lips As u take swift dips While I Twist my hips Erotica! Its when you are downtown, taking my emotions uptown My head spinning Because I'm winning Erotica! Its when we do it on the tiles, the rug, on the rooftop, or even the kitchen counter top Take me to another world, another dimension, I dare mention the bedroom is too conventional **** my thinking is irrational!! Watch on Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Twh5bQ33v0 Visit my official website: www.tonipayneonline.com Follow me on Twitter @tonipayne http://twitter.com/tonipayne

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I watch many shows About a savior Who is separate from the world They were chosen To save everyone Yet they are so depressed Being seperate from everyone Buffy wished she was normal She considered herself a freak Eventually stopped being alive And inside she died She had friends But felt so alone She could not socialize And show her trueself She was a freak But everyone saw a hero She was empty inside She wished for death But only could hide I watch these shows Almsot religiously Becuase I feel i grow As buffy losing reality All i wished for As a little girl Was to be normal And see the world All I get Was being a freak While everyone else praised me For being innocent and sweet They look to me as a saving grace Their last fall When they hit their face Then they leave The hardest thing in this world Is to live in it Buffy said As she dove into her death Only to awaken even more dead Inside a deep grave Living life depraved Of basic emotions Everyones falling apart All around her But she has to work And be a good girl I dove head first Into numbess I died And woke up With no bliss I see your suffering I do not care I'm so gone I'm going nowhere I lost my morals And sense of heroism I wish to destroy The city of hell That is my prison Maybe then i can be free And see my reality Show love to those around And finally be proud Like a normal girl

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Mar 10, 2019

Mar 10, 2019 at 2:15 PM UTC

I watch many shows About a savior Who is separate from the world They were chosen To save everyone Yet they are so depressed Being seperate from everyone Buffy wished she was normal She considered herself a freak Eventually stopped being alive And inside she died She had friends But felt so alone She could not socialize And show her trueself She was a freak But everyone saw a hero She was empty inside She wished for death But only could hide I watch these shows Almsot religiously Becuase I feel i grow As buffy losing reality All i wished for As a little girl Was to be normal And see the world All I get Was being a freak While everyone else praised me For being innocent and sweet They look to me as a saving grace Their last fall When they hit their face Then they leave The hardest thing in this world Is to live in it Buffy said As she dove into her death Only to awaken even more dead Inside a deep grave Living life depraved Of basic emotions Everyones falling apart All around her But she has to work And be a good girl I dove head first Into numbess I died And woke up With no bliss I see your suffering I do not care I'm so gone I'm going nowhere I lost my morals And sense of heroism I wish to destroy The city of hell That is my prison Maybe then i can be free And see my reality Show love to those around And finally be proud Like a normal girl

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*You giggle for the simplest thought Of pickup lines. Next to you, feeling Like I won, feeling like I’m new, is to feel That I have lost the sadness somewhere, As we fearlessly fall, further, entwined, My baggage, unfurling like a parachute. You came for my love That I would love to love you with, A romance rid of readjustments. It is like, each day, all I would want To believe-in is that, when I feel like Putting my best foot forward, I must do otherwise, act stupid, for there is Nothing sweeter than a woman’s laughter. There is nothing sweeter Than your ever-laughter. And now, with so much pent-up Energy, and synergy, my soul, sweetly Soul-touched by your eyes, I feel like kissing you, over and over, For showing too much teeth, And tongue, and chin, those paired Provocateurs on your cheeks, I religiously swoon over, All calling out to me. So now, I advance, move forward, Braving forth to the heavens, Your humbling haven, For your smile is for my lips, Your lips are, your laugh is.* © 2015 J.S.P.

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Dec 8, 2015

Dec 8, 2015 at 7:37 AM UTC

*You giggle for the simplest thought Of pickup lines. Next to you, feeling Like I won, feeling like I’m new, is to feel That I have lost the sadness somewhere, As we fearlessly fall, further, entwined, My baggage, unfurling like a parachute. You came for my love That I would love to love you with, A romance rid of readjustments. It is like, each day, all I would want To believe-in is that, when I feel like Putting my best foot forward, I must do otherwise, act stupid, for there is Nothing sweeter than a woman’s laughter. There is nothing sweeter Than your ever-laughter. And now, with so much pent-up Energy, and synergy, my soul, sweetly Soul-touched by your eyes, I feel like kissing you, over and over, For showing too much teeth, And tongue, and chin, those paired Provocateurs on your cheeks, I religiously swoon over, All calling out to me. So now, I advance, move forward, Braving forth to the heavens, Your humbling haven, For your smile is for my lips, Your lips are, your laugh is.* © 2015 J.S.P.

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I saw her everyday As I walked home from school She would stand against that same “No Smoking” sign I never really understood How she could stand against that sign And disobey it everyday Or maybe she didn’t understand it I mean after all she did stand there In her fishnet stockings and 5 inch heels with money slipping out of those stockings Smoking Just smoking until there was nothing left to smoke on that ole cig She smoked that thing religiously everyday As if it would make her immortal Although, ironically, it did the exact opposite Maybe it’s like her So stereotypical But maybe she’s the exact opposite She stands in those infamous heels and fishnet stockings Like a stereotypical ***** But maybe she just got off her minimum wage part time job at the costume shop down the street Maybe she’s not a stereotypical mother But that doesn’t mean she’s a stereotypical ***** either And she’s also not a freak nor an outcast Just because she is NOT a stereotype She’s just a person Just a woman Standing at that same “No Smoking” sign In her favorite 5 inch heels and fishnet stockings Who likes to smoke so much she may even think it’d make her immortal

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Jan 22, 2017

Jan 22, 2017 at 6:55 PM UTC

Fishnet Stockings

I saw her everyday As I walked home from school She would stand against that same “No Smoking” sign I never really understood How she could stand against that sign And disobey it everyday Or maybe she didn’t understand it I mean after all she did stand there In her fishnet stockings and 5 inch heels with money slipping out of those stockings Smoking Just smoking until there was nothing left to smoke on that ole cig She smoked that thing religiously everyday As if it would make her immortal Although, ironically, it did the exact opposite Maybe it’s like her So stereotypical But maybe she’s the exact opposite She stands in those infamous heels and fishnet stockings Like a stereotypical ***** But maybe she just got off her minimum wage part time job at the costume shop down the street Maybe she’s not a stereotypical mother But that doesn’t mean she’s a stereotypical ***** either And she’s also not a freak nor an outcast Just because she is NOT a stereotype She’s just a person Just a woman Standing at that same “No Smoking” sign In her favorite 5 inch heels and fishnet stockings Who likes to smoke so much she may even think it’d make her immortal

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Equality will never happen because our actions and fantasized habits contradict what a perfect match is. With society's eyes high above the mindless horizon, many feel stranded between what wrong and right is. Therefore many have chose to win rather than lose the mold of plastic. Although, hope lies with the few who choose to refuse the use of closed eyelids. Few still choose what is morally, rather than religiously, righteous.

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Jun 27, 2013

Jun 27, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC

Equality will never happen because our actions and fantasized habits contradict what a perfect match is. With society's eyes high above the mindless horizon, many feel stranded between what wrong and right is. Therefore many have chose to win rather than lose the mold of plastic. Although, hope lies with the few who choose to refuse the use of closed eyelids. Few still choose what is morally, rather than religiously, righteous.

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WHISTLING AND SNIFFING SIMULTANEOUSLY Whistling and sniffing at the same time Can’t hold hands or rather get married United and collaborative in any case This duo may perhaps land into the life of some person The kind of man whose who acts, Performs duties of the shepherd on the flock. Like his initial master, He condemns wickedness, Goes against what is religiously evil, And exults the righteous. But he soon he craves for another pair of his robe For he does accumulate an avalanche of resources, His eyes are soon blinded. Would his robe evade being soiled? Co-operative sniffing and whistling, Can hatch into temptations to anybody, Even the half-human, half God Did he not get tested in the wilderness? Our big man opens his eyes one day, Finds himself campaigning and competing for, Trying to woo for citizens’ keys, Essentials for serving the people in a wider circle. Perhaps his whistling guides his path. Brings him in the companionship of Other servants of the people. Any devoted service present in that house really? Brotherly whistling and sniffing, May make one’s conscience slither backwards, Two or more steps into mud. He is now influential, A famous societal figure. His fat salary seconded with some allowances. Or even thirded with public developmental resources, Guarantees him total luxury. Is this not an opportunistic opportunist? Our Sniffer and whistler is contended, Complacent with his success. Jubilant with him servant is his ‘first Master ’ For keeping to the ‘sacred’ scriptures. The vehicle which carried him straight, One way to heaven gets crippled, It can’t manage to hit the road Like its American, British and Chinese counterparts, His sincere promise goes unfulfilled Unmet due to his pretentious pretence. His ‘second’ Master gets extremely mad. For loyalty and faithfulness denied. And furiously plucks him from glory. Simultaneous whistling and sniffing, The ‘initial’ heaven can’t simply put up with them. A wise servant of the masses A true leader should only whistle at a time, Sniff at a time. But not sniffing and whistling simultaneously.

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May 6, 2013

May 6, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC

Whistling and Sniffing Simultaneously

WHISTLING AND SNIFFING SIMULTANEOUSLY Whistling and sniffing at the same time Can’t hold hands or rather get married United and collaborative in any case This duo may perhaps land into the life of some person The kind of man whose who acts, Performs duties of the shepherd on the flock. Like his initial master, He condemns wickedness, Goes against what is religiously evil, And exults the righteous. But he soon he craves for another pair of his robe For he does accumulate an avalanche of resources, His eyes are soon blinded. Would his robe evade being soiled? Co-operative sniffing and whistling, Can hatch into temptations to anybody, Even the half-human, half God Did he not get tested in the wilderness? Our big man opens his eyes one day, Finds himself campaigning and competing for, Trying to woo for citizens’ keys, Essentials for serving the people in a wider circle. Perhaps his whistling guides his path. Brings him in the companionship of Other servants of the people. Any devoted service present in that house really? Brotherly whistling and sniffing, May make one’s conscience slither backwards, Two or more steps into mud. He is now influential, A famous societal figure. His fat salary seconded with some allowances. Or even thirded with public developmental resources, Guarantees him total luxury. Is this not an opportunistic opportunist? Our Sniffer and whistler is contended, Complacent with his success. Jubilant with him servant is his ‘first Master ’ For keeping to the ‘sacred’ scriptures. The vehicle which carried him straight, One way to heaven gets crippled, It can’t manage to hit the road Like its American, British and Chinese counterparts, His sincere promise goes unfulfilled Unmet due to his pretentious pretence. His ‘second’ Master gets extremely mad. For loyalty and faithfulness denied. And furiously plucks him from glory. Simultaneous whistling and sniffing, The ‘initial’ heaven can’t simply put up with them. A wise servant of the masses A true leader should only whistle at a time, Sniff at a time. But not sniffing and whistling simultaneously.

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Happy anniversary every day I say I celebrate religiously every single day Cause every day is special, my hope is you relate And can keep the party going till death steps in the way You may ask the purpose, throw questions at the need Well every day is special if it's an anniversary So light the candles on life's cake, you soon too will believe This day was made to celebrate...Happy anniversary!

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May 9, 2014

May 9, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC

Happy Anniversary

Happy anniversary every day I say I celebrate religiously every single day Cause every day is special, my hope is you relate And can keep the party going till death steps in the way You may ask the purpose, throw questions at the need Well every day is special if it's an anniversary So light the candles on life's cake, you soon too will believe This day was made to celebrate...Happy anniversary!

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there are days where I sit and stare at myself in the mirror picking apart every little flaw, every extra roll and every bit that's not the right shape or colour and I think, almost religiously, that I am not good enough for you. Becuase the truth is that I'm not. You deserve sunshine and flowers on a summers day, not a work in progress as dull as a winters night. I say this to you and you pull your lips together with a sad smile, look down at me say "But what if I prefer winter" My boy that is not the point. All I do is make you worry and I wanna be your sunshine but I just don't think i can be that yet I'm a work in progress. Incomplete I was shattered just before we met and putting the pieces together is killing me And the things we don't talk about things we shelve for a conversation in the future. involves things that only "I love you" might be able to fix. through everything recovery is hard and each and every day is a choice I need to make to be better and I'm not always strong enough to make that choice. I just want you to understand my boy my lovely amazing perfect boy that sometimes I don't eat and sometimes I want to die more than not that anxiety is a being that rocks me and sometimes I need the rush of pain from scrubbing hard at my skin or dragging a blade across it it's not about you. it's not something your presence is going to necessarily fix But i want to try for you. Maybe i can't be your sunshine but maybe i can be your cup of tea your jumper your girl wrapped up in your bed sheets on a cold winters night you once said you had no problem helping me pick up my messes and if you stand by that ill be your girl. In whatever season you want me.

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Mar 14, 2018

Mar 14, 2018 at 1:24 AM UTC

there are days where I sit and stare at myself in the mirror picking apart every little flaw, every extra roll and every bit that's not the right shape or colour and I think, almost religiously, that I am not good enough for you. Becuase the truth is that I'm not. You deserve sunshine and flowers on a summers day, not a work in progress as dull as a winters night. I say this to you and you pull your lips together with a sad smile, look down at me say "But what if I prefer winter" My boy that is not the point. All I do is make you worry and I wanna be your sunshine but I just don't think i can be that yet I'm a work in progress. Incomplete I was shattered just before we met and putting the pieces together is killing me And the things we don't talk about things we shelve for a conversation in the future. involves things that only "I love you" might be able to fix. through everything recovery is hard and each and every day is a choice I need to make to be better and I'm not always strong enough to make that choice. I just want you to understand my boy my lovely amazing perfect boy that sometimes I don't eat and sometimes I want to die more than not that anxiety is a being that rocks me and sometimes I need the rush of pain from scrubbing hard at my skin or dragging a blade across it it's not about you. it's not something your presence is going to necessarily fix But i want to try for you. Maybe i can't be your sunshine but maybe i can be your cup of tea your jumper your girl wrapped up in your bed sheets on a cold winters night you once said you had no problem helping me pick up my messes and if you stand by that ill be your girl. In whatever season you want me.

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or In One of the Bars in the City You remind me about the brightest spots here in the city. The spots that used to be your memory, lavishing into the thought of the moon, how it chiseled itself for the night to claim it as its smile. So, this night, perhaps, is a freckled smiling face. Your face to be exact. How the stars scatter correctly to form your freckles because of your genes. Beautiful, sparkling on the clean sheet of your skin. Yes, this is how you remind me about the city that seen and told our story. How each wall of each skyscraper is a page to tell a chapter. The flashing headlights of each vehicle, how they became our crayons. We are merely children playing, drawing pictograms on counter doors. I mentioned skyscrapers. I was wrong; there were no skyscrapers in Manila. Only in Makati. But that never changes the fact of this city, an open book for all of those muggy nights when you religiously places your lips against mine and eventually against my skin; when you first made friction talk. And it spoke every language I knew so fluently that even our moans are words fit for a poem. Ridiculous, jaded, fading, but still, this mug of beer sparkle against the spotlights of this bar. And yes, you are sparkling like a city so alive at the dead of night.

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Apr 23, 2013

Apr 23, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC

jefferson-lexus-jonson

or In One of the Bars in the City You remind me about the brightest spots here in the city. The spots that used to be your memory, lavishing into the thought of the moon, how it chiseled itself for the night to claim it as its smile. So, this night, perhaps, is a freckled smiling face. Your face to be exact. How the stars scatter correctly to form your freckles because of your genes. Beautiful, sparkling on the clean sheet of your skin. Yes, this is how you remind me about the city that seen and told our story. How each wall of each skyscraper is a page to tell a chapter. The flashing headlights of each vehicle, how they became our crayons. We are merely children playing, drawing pictograms on counter doors. I mentioned skyscrapers. I was wrong; there were no skyscrapers in Manila. Only in Makati. But that never changes the fact of this city, an open book for all of those muggy nights when you religiously places your lips against mine and eventually against my skin; when you first made friction talk. And it spoke every language I knew so fluently that even our moans are words fit for a poem. Ridiculous, jaded, fading, but still, this mug of beer sparkle against the spotlights of this bar. And yes, you are sparkling like a city so alive at the dead of night.

Continue reading...