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Just Maria Aug 2018
I get up in the morning
Ride the bus to work
Hoping it'll be on time today
Cause my boss a real ****

I sit at my desk
In front of a computer screen
I'm already getting ***** looks
From patients waiting to be seen

Do this and that all at the same time
I spend the day multitasking
When will I get a break
That's what I keep asking

Well at least I have job
And money has to be made
Cause come the first of the month
The rent has got to be paid
For all you daily grinders... I feel ya
Kewayne Wadley May 2018
In the morning her eyes paint the cities horizon.
Stretching and yawning.
Getting dressed; Her blue tapestry.
Opening the door to her apartment
She climbs down broken stairs.
It's payday Friday.
The mail man is late again.
Opening her box closing it right back.
She considers direct deposit,
Climbing back up those old creaks in the stairs.
To a notice on the door.
Excessive noise complaint
Rent past due
Jen Dec 2018
Two words
Written on
A sign,
Insignificant.

These words
Mean nothing,
Or do they
Speak of something?

Why did someone
Write them there?

In black marker
In the middle of
A Roundabout.

Two words:
“Free Rent.”

Something
That doesn’t exist.
zebra Aug 2018
The new # 69 hoochi coochi smoochi
rubberized *** robot ****** sucker model 2.0
now available

*******
feelin lonely
tired of spats
credit cards charged up from dates that don't put out
don't like the same restaurants
not ***** to your taste
cant stand the in-laws
you wana live costal, they like Kansas
or
tired of internet dating
and no time for a quickie

when the one you love tells you they aren't in the mood

well bunky
its a brave new world
take a spin in our new model
robot 69, 2.0
they talk
they walk
warm all ova inside and out
scented oiled perfumed *** optional
and flavored
to include
chocolate crunch, vanilla, strawberry
and
phooey
replete with an array of assorted interchangeable
*****, *****'s and butts
extra sturdy for ware and tear
and those little irresistible spankies and whoopins
you just cant live without
plus any colors, or rainbow rubber chasse
*** straight or mix it up how eva
trans trans gender

buy out right
or rent ala cart
deluxe or standard
voice activated

advanced multi lingual
baby talk and hits the high notes
talks back software program
and
NO always means YES
plus
screams
cu cu cu cu cu cummmmming
cooes I love you
**** me now *****
shred me you ****** ******
and many others
in over 50 languages

Other optional features include

age play
ethnic fetish
banjee
blow jobs
tipping the velvet
**** to mouth
salad tossing
*******
spit roast
bare back
chicken head
death grip
*******
mammary *******
*******
Netflix and chill
*******
*******
brown bath
cream pie
*******
motor boating

and the shocker  
two in the pink and one in the stink
adult ***
I have grown old,
My hairs are all white,
And my eye-sight is failing rapidly;
I no longer trust my body.
I am now left
With the strength of my mind
And the will-to-live
Which make me think and reflect
In my past experiences.
The intimacy with myself is rent
And I have never cared to inquire
About the kind of world hidden within me;
I have never thought
About my final moorings
And I have never been informed
About the sweet nectar of true happiness
Available everywhere.
I have tried to wander on my own
And refused miracles,
But where ever I go
I swiftly follow me
As if I exist yet do not exist,
To remind me that I am always alone.
Haddy Jobe Apr 2018
I left him in the alley
Derailed as much as me
I’d thought I’d won the lottery
When I met him by the sea

Thought he’d be a blessing
He’d give loving me his all
That he’d try to give me comfort
That our life together would be a ball

I looked and found him handsome
Decided not to consult my brain
But when dawn came
It revealed he was a pain


A wedding ring adorned my finger
Pretty irony indeed
For with its prettiness came much ugliness
Him behaving like a ****

Did nothing but hinder my progress
He had my success in a choke hold
Wanted me to be the adult
While he acted like a three year old

Demanding extra privileges
Expecting that I do his chores
To him I was daddy and mommy
I’d  simply had it with the tantrum wars

With his antics, I was fed up
A proper one hundred percent
I placed a notice in his window
Saying help wanted ‘’Job for rent’’
Hope White Mar 20
I can't pay my rent today.
I can't write poetry, either,
because I took a pill,
that I spent my rent money on,
and I can't write on this pill.
But this pill promised me
it would make me beautiful.

Imagine making a cocktail
with crushed glass
instead of ice.
It would **** you,
but it'd be so beautiful.
Blood would drip from your lips
like lipstick, deadly and red,
but it'd be so beautiful.

Imagine paying your rent with poetry.
You'd be back on the streets,
and strangers probably would think
that maybe, pretty white girl,
you're a self-inflicted martyr,
a heroine against the culture
or maybe just that
you just do ******,

but it'd be so beautiful.
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
She's spent all the rent on
cigarettes and cider,
so pull out your **** and put
it inside her.
No need to bring your polished game,
for this one's a **** and that
is her name.
In her **** or up her ***.
The choice is yours,
where d'ya wanna ***?
Say "You ******' ****, get down on all fours, 'cause this is how I **** little ******!
Impale her on your hardened stick and explode inside her, creamy and thick.
Bangin' her *******,
it used to be tight.
It's not anymore,
it gets wider each night.
Then when you're done,
wipe the rest up her back,
letting her know most got
shot up her crack.
Next week she'll be suckin',
an appetizer before ******'
This **** she don't care,
for a TGirl with red hair.

*******
Poetry by Kaydee.
Just a creative imagination, I guess.
;)
Yenson Dec 2018
The Rent-a-Mob loonies, the gangsters and the Racists
damaged scums of society and contemporary politics
Ignorant arrogant sociopaths who want it all for nothing
Indulgent wasters in nation awashed with opportunities
In idle union they scream, feed us poor and **** the Rich

Strangers come Poland, Bulgaria, India and all over
to work in farms, hospitals, hotels and Constructions
Building futures and faring in endeavours with sweat
Crimson gangs and Renta Mobs states we serve nobody
**** the wealth makers, **** the parasites and let's drink

Our shyster gangs of Revo-comrades and malcontents
See killing fields, whereas strangers toil and find rich pickings
Our Revos Distract, confuse, sow seeds of dissent, make strife
Blame all others, lie and decieve, fling indulgent political turds
Rent brainwashed Mobs,into ***** bridgard to do their ***** work

We all know life is unfair and even roses have imperfections
Some are born to riches in spades and some born to beggars in dusts
Those with time, sit and ask God why, just a fact of life to accept
But from dust has risen billionaires, whilst riches have made duds
Insane Crimson sits in spurious guise and odious fallacy playing God

Yeh, **** the Rich and feed the poor, why hide and use Rent a mob
Why not air your case in broad daylight and stand your conviction
The coward you are knows it hold no sanity for those with sense
Except for thieves, the workshy and wasters who cheat to survive
In your city of merits aplenty, Revo-crimson is beneath contempt
Rahim Sterling - Nothing annoys the Racists more than a successful Blackman or a black male with potential. The sick of the Society will all rise up in arms to Destroy them. They can only abide the subjugated and oppressed black male, the ones they can use in Rent-a-Mob...
Really my Lady, such was not my Intent
To be the Bordered Jack who ***** your Consent
Your Basket remains yet much Food was Spent
And yes - the Reason - it's Bottom was Rent
Should we blame the Urchin? That I guess not
The Market was charged in Prunes worth to Sell
Else I peel each Fruit and leave it to Rot
Then shoulder the Rage of not being well
There She is: The only Unforeseen Truth
Distempered with my Touch of Forks and lies
Which I should have learned in her Peeling Youth:
That a Prune once tasted tastes better with the Eye.
All this I learned in a Lesson so Big
That the Grape recovered was born a Fig.
#toniacouch
By: Cedric McClester

Her explanation
Best explains,
She’s living rent free
Inside of his brain
A mere distraction
That always remains
The motivator of
His outrageous claims

She’s been vetted
A thousand times
All they’ve come up with
Are imagined crimes
“Lock her up,”
His base always chimes.
She’d be rich
If they paid her in dimes

I guess we could have
Anticipated
Him calling for her
To be investigated
For spying he says
Kind of belated
They used to be friends
But now she’s hated

He’s talked in the past
About giving out pardons
But when it come to her
His attitude hardens
It’s like the war
Of the ancient Spartans
Not like a stroll
Through Tivoli Gardens












Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019. All rights reserved.
duane hall Nov 2018
Your riding on empty, your riding on fumes
Aint it about time you started paying your dues?
Hey snowflake move out of daddy's  basement
Aint it about  time you started paying your rent
It's been years since you've earned a red cent
Hey snowflake move  out and live in a tent
The cronies you adore are taking you for a ride
Aint nobody here that's digging your jive
You have no concept of wrong and right
News flash: You're just a young parasite
You have this idea  you're better than most
The sad Truth is you're nothing but toast
It's about time you owned up to it
You're nothing but a societal misfit
Hey snowflake you're on the wrong path
Hey snowflake start doing the math
Nobody seems to be safe from your wrath
Do us all a favor by taking a bath.
ConnectHook Sep 2015
†           †           †    

A quorum of biblical scholars
turned their doubts into thousands of dollars.
Armed with Document Q
they revealed nothing new
but the dirt neath’ the white of their collars.

A proud “health & wealth” Oklahoman
was renowned as a gospel-tent showman.
While the scriptures he twisted,
their tithing assisted
his rise from poor hick to rich Roman.

A sexually diverse professor
(assured he was not a transgressor)
spoke only of openness
glossing sin’s brokenness;
rainbows and tolerance – yes sir.

A Mormon, who lost his own ephod
Realized he was running quite slipshod
and invoked Joseph Smith.
(Yes, it may be a myth –
but it’s not like misplacing your I-pod…)

A Christian whose faith was prophetic
held to views that were truly pathetic.
This crazed Pentecostal,
not quite an apostle,
had taken an End-Times emetic.

A sober and staid Presbyterian
was distrustful of thoughts millenarian.
After smoking some bud,
he awoke with a thud;
in his sleep he’d become Rastafarian.

A preacher who fleeced his disciples
overdrew his own balance of scruples.
He was finally captured
(defrocked and un-raptured)
and rent by his destitute pupils.

A sister who waxed Pentecostal,
mistook herself for an apostle
Speaking pure glossolalia
she sure could regale ya’
with prophecy; crazy – but docile.
What's wrong? Too hard to LIKE me ?
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha  

         †           †           †
Antino Art Feb 2018
South Florida
if you were a body part,
you’d be an armpit.

You’d be a bulged vein
on the side of a forehead
forever locked in a scowl
behind sunglasses.

You speak the language of horns
middle name, finger
blood type, combustible

You're a melting ***
that's boiled over the lid
sweating salt water at the brows
eyes red as the brake lights
in the maddening brightness,
you’re torrential daylight
heating nerves like greenhouse gasses
waiting for a reason to explode.

You’re a tropical motilov cocktail
no one can afford
2 parts anger, 1 part stupidity
melting in place, thirsty for attention
full of yourself in a souvenir glass with a toothpick umbrella
You're all image

You’re the curse words breaking out the mouths
of the angry line mob at Starbucks in the morning
You’re the indifferent silence
in the arena at the Heat games leaving early,
showing up late
due to the distance
from Brickell to Hialeah,
West Palm to Pompano
the gap between the entitled and the under-paid
a skyline of condos in a third world country
You’ve always been foreign to me.

You’re winterless, no chill
you attract only hurricanes
and tourists,
shoving anything that isn’t profitable
out of the way like the Irma storm debris
into the backyards of the Liberty City projects,
onto Mount Trash Can off the side of the Turnpike
hidden beneath Bermuda grass, lined with palm trees
you’re cold blooded
crawling with iguanas
blood-******* mosquitos
parking lot ducks and people not afraid to get run over
you get yours, Soflo
and you'll go as low
as the flat roofs of your duplexes
and the incomes that can barely pay the rent to get it
latitude as attitude
temper as temperature
if you were a body part
I swear you’re an *******

south of the brain, one hour
in all directions,
I’d find you.
You’d impose your way
onto my flight to the Philippines,
to Seattle, to Raleigh
You’d follow me like excess baggage,
like gravity,
bringing me back when asked where I'm from:

That area north of Miami, I’d say
(the suburbs, but whatever, we are hard in our own way)
I'd show you off on their map
as if some badge of grit,
certificate of aggression
I know how to break a sweat
walk briskly thru Walmart parking lots, drive evasive
ride storms in my sleep
I know you, I’d say,
“He’s a friend of mine.”
and I’d watch them light up
and recount
the postcards you've sent them
of the sunrise
welcoming brown immigrants
onto white sand beaches
You were foreign to us
yet raised us as your own
in the furnace of your summers
edges sharpened, iron on iron
the forger striking softness into swords
built for survival
I'm made of you

my South Floridian anger cools down
in your ocean breeze

if you were a body part,
you'd be a part of me
a socked foot in an And1 sandal
pressed to the gas pedal
as my drive takes me north
of your borders, far from home
You in the rear view mirror
tail-gating
like a sports car on the exit ramp
the color of the sun
"We exist on the edge between the gloss and the reality: the mirror's edge."
And the glass has shattered
in a spiderweb of a fracture,
Ensnaring our very lives, so
we run. Immersed in flow.
Gliding over rooftops,
Knowing everything as intuitive.
Run, jump, climb.
No refrain,
Just a blur in time.
It only pauses for one moment:
The deadpoint;
Pendent suspense,
Caught without rise or fall
as the arch is rent.
Here we make sense of it all.
Faith is instinct,
Our grasp of it is immense.

Sometimes I can hear the broken reflections'
whispering echos on this fragmented mirror,
The edges of it running parallel to my ear.
She speaks to me,
My city.
Softly,
Like it's a dream.
But I've never felt so real.
What she told me,
Taught me how to live.
When you don't know what to do,
Run for it,
If not to get away then to feel.
Quote:
Line One by the character Faith Connors (voiced by Jules de Jongh) from the game Mirror's Edge (written by Rhianna Pratchett)
That boyish heart rescinds,
Others call it growth,
What of worth has he,
If not the love he's known?

Now here stands the man,
Or that is what's supposed,
Whatever happened to,
His storybook betrothed?

The way we touch no longer lingers,
With butterfly tipped and desperate fingers.
We kiss here on the dotted line,
Rent will pay in full on time.
This is not what he has read of love.
So simple to refuse,
The art of growing up.
Would be nice to be 15 again kissing a love for the first time but alas, life only goes forward. (I usually ****** it up anyways. /shrug)
AnxiousOcean Jul 2017
One thing about rain:
it's not just water nor droplets
but bullets of different emotions.
A match stick that burns your soul
in a deep, vague coldness.

Some found happiness from it;
I once did.
And some did find something
they did not want nor expect.

But a thing about rain:
you will always find something.
It will always give you a thing,
even if you're not aware.
And when you're not aware,
let me tell you,
it is the rain.

A thing about rain,
it's a door.
A door that leads to places you once went.
A door that opens widely for a rent.
It is more than just water;
it's a memory
You can't assume it is the same place
you once longed to be.
We can't say that door is safe
nor the door is free.

Some were trapped,
some managed to escape,
some managed to smile,
and I managed to fear.
I fear that rain would prolong and
would bear a fruit.
But it didn't, it just plucked up
a great root.

How wonderful the rain could be.
How it crashed to ground a resilient tree.
How one could change with a single memory.
And how rain triggers my anxiety.
Rainy weather makes me anxious sometimes.
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