"retorted" poems
In the last months of March 2014,
Soldier Othello the Moroccan moor
Was in Stratford-upon-Avon at the graveside
Of William Shakespeare the English bard,
He was observing the anniversary
Of Shakespeare and his European brother Cervantes,
He had in his pocket another charm and amulet
Given to him by his paternal grandfather,
This time round not a charm for love portion,
But a mystique totem to raise the dead from dusts,
As Othello himself has hitherto over-matured
Above the painful torture of *** with aristocrats,
He has left it for the Jewish aristotrash; Frantz Kafka,
Whose torturous appetite for *** with German women,
Was the sorriest eyesore of his thespic efforts.
Like Jesus at the grave of Lazarus
Othello groaned by shouting; William the son of John!
No response, he shouted again; Shakespeare the bard!
Then the mystique powers of Othello’s amulet
Electrified Shakespeare back to life,
What is your problem you black moor,
The ***** of Morocco, the soldier
Who beguiled Desdemona into betrothal,
Not because of glory of your work,
But due to charms of your love portion
Bequeathed to you by your witch mother,
What brings you to my sepulchre,
For only to perturbed my purgatorial peace,
What brings you!?
Questioned Shakespeare the bard.
Am no longer the moor, blackness is class
But not the race, as race is bankrupt,
I come here to salute you with good news,
That your European brother, Alfred Nobel,
Currently rewards thespic bards like you,
Whether black or white, blue or green,
The ***** bards from the natural forest,
He also rewards, so wake up and pick the prize!
Retorted Othello in virtue of truth,
And also tell me the native bricks
Of your beautiful architecture;
Where and how did you mold thy bricks?
Your brown English bricks that walled your culture;
***** clown, leapfrog, mercurial, oxymoron,
Falsitafity, Shyllocking, colleaguery and window,
Cauldron, graymalkin, woo, betroth, infatuation and so on.
From underneath his sepulcher Shakespeare broke
A violent gaggle of laughter as if he was ten English skeletons,
You Othello you are still a beautiful moor
Whose foolishness time has not condemned to oblivion,
You are as a fool as I created you ; I will only teach you
One brick, the window , that you go and put on
Your wind disturbed African huts,
Put the wind door on your hut,
And be flexible in your tongue
To give it English elegance
Combine and shorten wind and door
To get your cultural brick of; window !
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
"What are you up to?" his simple text said
"Just eating cereal and laying in bed."
"What if I was with you." He responded with ease, "I guess I'd get more cereal if i please" and that's when he said it, that simpering lad, that stupid response that makes us all mad.
My mind filled with dread,with a twist in my gut,
I picked up my phone then read "Haha,then what ;)"
"And then what?!" Shocked by his assumptious pleas,
"Leave me alone, I'm begging you please"
And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, he muttered those three dreaded words. Yes, I kid you not. That little *****
I opened his message that read "pic 4 pic?"
The I retorted: "No do not send your unsolicited 'pics', I can surely see past your little tricks."
And that's when things took an alarming switch
The boy with the wounded ego replied, "You're just an ungrateful *****
The very next morning, the boy put on his fedora and let out with a sign, "Why does no one like me? I am such a nice guy"
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
Once upon a harvest moon,
a timid gnome encountered a boisterous baboon.
“Whacha up to tonight?!” the baboon slurred,
yelling loud enough that the whole town heard.
‘You got this man,’ the shy gnome thought,
because for a baboon, she was kind of hot.
“Not much, ya know,” stated the gnome,
“I’ve just been hanging out at home.”
“Well that ain’t fun!” the baboon cried,
“You’ve gotta have fun, life’s supposed to be a crazy ride!”
Embarrassed, the gnome replied with a fib,
“Tonight was a fluke! I got out, I’m no Squib!”
Laughing she stated, “I think you’re a liar.”
“Oh really?” He retorted, “My pants aren’t on fire.”
She laughed, “HA HA HA! Good one honey,”
the baboon didn’t realize his joke was not funny.
Drunk as a skunk, she had no clue,
the meadow she was in was not Club Blue.
The gnome, however, thought things were going well,
trapped in the clutches of her womanly spell.
Being a bit nerdy he didn’t get out much,
the poor gnome had never even felt a woman’s touch.
Feeling bolder he decided to take a chance,
until he realized that the baboon had peed her pants.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
I have been in the moon
In search of love all noon
Searched through deserts
Even through garden of Eden.
I have Searched beneath the sea
Travelled wide even to overseas
Still could not find love.
I went to Vatican
Even to Mecca
Driven through the romantic sites of Paris
Bath in the Brazilian beaches
Flown across the Atlantic
Pitched my tenth for few days on the Antarctic
Spend some more on the arctic
Still I saw no love.
All I saw was lust
Angels with broken hearts,
Rotten roses,
Withered lilies,
Death faiths and monsters on beautiful faces.
I saw bullets in church offering boxes
Just wedded on number plates of ambulances.
I saw wars in diversity
Pain and mourning crowding all cities
The devil celebrating the dead of peace.
I saw three wise men
Where went love, I asked them
They said love has been nailed on the cross
Buried with trust
They are heading to Galilee
To await his return.
I followed with dreams
I met many returning with smiles of frustration
From where I was going with pregnancy of expectations.
We arrived to the scene
Like a nightmare, I witnessed higher sins
I saw men taking pleasures with men
Some with animals, some women with women.
Gun everybody walking sticks
People feeding on people flesh
With human blood the thirsting ones quench their thirst.
Is this where love is expected to return?
The wise men retorted,
Yes, the saints have been raptured
And his seven years reign has just began.
Then in a flash, I remembered that I have been taught
Taught about this dreadful end
I had also taught kids
Under trees at nights
Just to threaten them to live right.
What I thought was a mare threat or a fallacy
Has been awaken against my fate in reality.
Oh! We are among the leftovers
Left to reprove ourselves or be doomed forever.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Smokey the bear had fought lots of fires,
he was a good guy, didn't have any priors.
But after so many years committed to the job,
Smokey started to feel as if he would sob
every time he got a message calling him back to work,
to put out a fire started by some drunken ****
No matter how many fires Smokey put out,
it never seemed to gain him any social clout.
His so called “friends” never invited him to hang
though all Smokey wanted was to be one of the gang.
They would hold fancy dances and dress in their best,
but poor lonely Smokey was never a guest.
He rented a tux and showed it to one guy,
who immediately retorted with quite the rude reply!
“Are you kidding,” he said, “Smokey tuxes aren’t for bears,
besides, you’d have to return it all covered in hair!”
“No,” the guy said, “It’s best you stay home,”
“Besides, I know you don’t mind hanging out alone!”
But Smokey did mind, he minded a lot,
and later that night, he had a brilliant thought.
“I’ll go to that party and show them, they’ll see,
you can’t just leave out a fun bear like me.”
However, Smokey's idea did not go as planned,
his first mistake being that he arrived in a van.
A van that looked like something a molester would use
while trolling the streets for a child to choose.
Smokey’s second mistake was his puke yellow tux,
the one he had bought for only two bucks.
When he finally entered people gasped in surprise,
unable to believe the strange thing before their eyes.
There Smokey stood, all covered in yellow,
holding a cane and top hat he thought made him quite the “fancy fellow.”
After a moment of silence there was a loud roar,
as laughing people asked, “What look were you going for?”
Embarrassed, Smokey tried to claim the whole thing was a joke,
Stuttering, “C’mon you guys know I’m quite the funny bloke!”
Eyes brimming with tears Smokey decided to leave,
but this embarrassed bear had something up his sleeve.
“I hate them,” he thought, standing outside,
and decided to make sure none of them would have a ride.
So he slashed all their tires while giggling with glee,
Thinking, "Now they’ll feel bad for laughing at me!”
But this was not enough, Smokey wanted to do more,
so he grabbed a gas can and started to pour.
He saturated the grass, the trees and the flowers,
and then sparked a fire that would burn on for hours.
This was one fire Smokey would not put out,
he simply stood, and then laughed as he heard the first shout.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
She told me
I was a bad boy
for breaking
her precious heart
& I said, "Well baby,
I'm so very sorry
to make you so very sad,
but I'm so glad, so merry,
'cause now I'm very free!"
And with that
she retorted,
"Right on bad boy,
me too!"
Seems like
she loved freedom
just as much as me,
who knew?
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
behind velvet cloth I saw your quail's eggs,
I saw your gentleman's relish too,
protruding as it was,
an Etonian slap to the face of the marmite jar which
it was reluctantly sat next to.
and although the relish would happily admit that
to sit next to marmite was certainly preferable
to finding oneself positioned next to Bovril or Cup-a-Soup,
it certainly was a far cry from the delicatessen counter
he was once accustomed to.
oh the delicatessen!
how the tear ducts performed with nostalgic aplomb
as memories of stuffed vine leaves and caramelised baby shallots
filtered back to the gentleman.
what he'd have given to be back there now,
to once again share the company of proper food,
of handmade chutneys and pickles,
not this common oafish tar.
this brutish black gunk.
'You may not have been factory made'
retorted Marmite,
'or contain E325,'
'but that isn't to say that your place on this shelf
is any more valid than mine.'
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 10:38 AM UTC
The young poet Evmenis
complained one day to Theocritus:
"I've been writing for two years now
and I've composed only one idyll.
It's my single completed work.
I see, sadly, that the ladder
of Poetry is tall, extremely tall;
and from this first step I'm standing on now
I'll never climb any higher."
Theocritus retorted: "Words like that
are improper, blasphemous.
Just to be on the first step
should make you happy and proud.
To have reached this point is no small achievement:
what you've done already is a wonderful thing.
Even this first step
is a long way above the ordinary world.
To stand on this step
you must be in your own right
a member of the city of ideas.
And it's a hard, unusual thing
to be enrolled as a citizen of that city.
Its councils are full of Legislators
no charlatan can fool.
To have reached this point is no small achievement:
what you've done already is a wonderful thing."
4.2k
Another day, another hour spent looking at cadavers,
Surprisingly fun, and suspiciously fresh bodies-
"Hey Mrs. Johnson, what do you think John did with his life?"
She gave me a look that didn't seem too pleased at my inquisition.
Or the fact that I named our body John.
Morbidly, I thought she looked at me like a zombie would look at our friend John like a cold cut subway sandwich,
Although I figured if I were a zombie,
I'd prefer my meat fresh, and not embalmed
with formaldehydes and ethanol.
"That thought seems inappropriate and not respectful of the medical sacrifice 'john' made " she said dripping with in my opinion too much sarcasm for me to NOT respond too.
"Well, John is dead, I don't think he's getting offended anytime soon," I retorted.
Her smile contorted like the prudish smile John offered me in support.
"I'm not worried about offending the corpse as much as I am the ghost, and this Lab will NOT be haunted under my watch"
(Her pride in her wit inflated much like Johns body inflated with decomposition and bowel gases.)
I apologized internally for the comment and action I was about to make-
"This medical dictatorship has to collapse sooner or later-
and I still want an answer too my question"
And with that,
I took the nearest scalpel to his bloated stomach,
and watched in disgust and glee as everyone else ran for cover amongst the ****** of stomach contents and Johns final retribution in death.
I got an A+ in that class.
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 3:25 PM UTC
in the brightest corner of the forest trees,
rested a gentle and pure autumn leaf
he never quite asked much for anything
just water and a home from his strong tree
but alas! winter was close to being the season
the leaf heard from the tree that he had to leave it
stunned with deep worry, the leaf begged for a reason
but the leaf heard the tree and he had to believe it
so one by one, the little leaf observed his friends
being ripped from the branches to their curious ends
but this leaf stayed strong, he did not waver or pretend
yes, the leaf stayed strong, he was the last one left
but alas! the wind came along and asked the leaf why:
"why do you stay here when the days have gone awry?
pretty soon, dear friend, you'll have to say goodbye
make it easy on yourself and don't live a lie"
the leaf replied: "you would not believe all i've seen
my friends, they've all left, and i'm left here to grieve
i cling to my home, you see, i have to believe
that i'm more than a passing, more than a leaf"
the wind answered with a startling gust:
"is it the tree you believe and not me you trust?
you'll be fine, dear friend, you will not turn to dust
it is a new life, you'll see, but you will adjust"
the leaf retorted, with a shake of his sides:
"i'm afraid for my home, my friends and my life
wherever i may go, will i make there all right?
the world is so big and i'm in such a fright"
the wind replied, "the world is never perfect
at times we must leave that which makes us certain
the harder our path, the longer we must search it
this home will belong to others; they soon will learn it"
the tree, trying to sleep, finally awoke from its dream
"dear leaf, don't you know, you must let go of me?
we've had some great times, but i will soon freeze
we must part ways; i will have other leaves"
the leaf became frazzled, fed up with his options
he changed colors for the tree; the tree didn't want him
"why did i spend all these months to be forgotten,
to be cast out so lonely, afraid and unwanted?"
the wind said, "fear not, dear friend, you may feel lonely now
but i am wherever you are, and i won't let you down
i am your new home, and when you feel me around
just know i'm with you, and i'll lift you off the ground"
the leaf resolved with a steady hesitation
he had lost many friends but gained one with patience
"i am still uncertain but i trust my realization
that new beginnings are endings of greater elation"
so in the brightest corner of the forest trees,
floated away a gentle and pure autumn leaf
where he was to go, he couldn't say with certainty
but he had the wind to carry him, and that was all he'd need
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 2:36 AM UTC
You, you asked for my number.
I gave it to you.
You text me.
You say, honey do you fancy a drink?
I think and retort.
By text in return.
I wish you'd go to hell and burn.
"Don't you fancy me"? said he.
Retorted that, I wanted not a soul.
I need my privacy.
He said "why don't you fancy me"?
Insistently.
Do you maybe think I'm thick.
Maybe somewhat sick.
I said, "I think perhaps you should be dead".
Keeping on at me.
Trying to tear me to strands and threads.
Told him, that I wanted no-one.
Henceforth, ensues a psychological assessment.
Why don't you like me?
Said he.
"Grow up" said I.
Don't feed me your insecurity.
Currently I'm flying free.
Had a gentleman, not long ago.
Left me feeling pretty sad.
I loved him so.
But he's not bad.
Poor fellow, he just couldn't do it.
The guy who did text, he pi**ed me right off.
That imbecile calls me out of the blue.
Suggests, may be a night-time of crazy ***
Reminded me some more of you.
What a prat.
I need it not.
Go get lost and be forgot.
The strange being who talks only by text.
Pretends he likes me, but wanting ***
I think him rather creepy.
He's out of luck.
I don't give a f**k.
Left happy.
Self-respect and dignity intact.
(c) Livvi
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
How Brave you must be~the squaw exclaimed to the Chief. " Why, I am more than a Brave", the Chieftain quipped.! " Just look at my feathers and the scalps hanging by my side, do they not tell of My many Deeds ? Her reply was a simple ,, "YES, I can see how you have adorned yourself ! " He retorted ~ " And you certainly can't miss all the colors by which I have claimed MY-STATUS ! " The Squaw responded~ "YES, the HUES on you, certainly tell me who and what you are, now that I look closely ! " And he added~ "Look at the careful way in which I have displayed my Collection of SCALPS, Spaced ever so carefully around my waistband ! She questioned further, "Have you ,Oh Mighty Chief, Properly named each of the Scalps , SO YOU won't forget from whence they came ? ? "OH, My Goodness, YES, he answered. "I wouldn't ever want to forget where they came from, SO~I admire each and Call each of them, By Name~ Everyday. "SURELY" She continued, "YOU are much more than any other Chief, and by the way , DO you use Windex or Glass-Plus to clean your mirrors ? ? " HE exclaimed, "I, really don't know what cleaning agent my servant uses, to clean my many mirrors ! BUT, they certainly do shine, when I look into them ! The SQUAW queried~ " BUT what about your shoes, moccasins , if you would, WHAT~~ is that Green-Gooey Stuff all over them ? ? HE-Commented~ " I guess that when I take my mighty steps, toes and feet, IN THE WAY, Fall under the Prances that I make ! ! ? " Then,She asked~ "Do you do your War'Dances often, or just as you are called on, by your mighty warriors ? " AND,,this Brave-Chieftain PROCLAIMED~ "WHY, I"ll have you Know, I do all of these Prances and Dances ~BY MY OWN CHOICE, NO-ONE tells me when or what to do. Except my visits with the Prince of the Air !" The Squaw thanked him~turned~then turned back~Asking " Measured by~ Scalps~Prances and Dances ? ?
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC
Her countenance,
had long given up the ghost
Twilight tried to allay the ravelling .
She needed resilience,
for those fiery Sunday visits
endured by her confused Son.
Trumping by prevarication,
until no more, she retorted.
Her honeysuckle dreams
turn ramshackle.
Those plumes of bonfire smoke
before and the after, differ now
on contrite compost.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 6:43 PM UTC
///
A golden past dematerialized within a shadow light
As a full boat of time toted time to a black hole
A shadow canvas of heart has retorted the reality,
Of those darkest stripes of sky-
Your inspiration has created dynamic dream
As like as a kite swings on air
As my springtime I ran with grasshoppers to and fro
An Amour of aroma flowed from flower to flower
A Jerry-rigged time streams as murmur of river
As a gray fade pained pale sky-
Run away together with my past, present and future
Sometimes my child has reacted reverse what I have wished
I float a boat on sea when she is far from me
My mind has grown shrink as my body bended already
Someone has vamoosed toward the horizon within a shadow fog,
A dry but misty memory -
Though faded but has dreamed me again and again -
///
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
“scer- what now?” says another curious passerby yet again.
deep down inside, i resent the attention i gain.
for most peers of mine don't often know the pain.
“it’s scoliosis.” i retorted,
but in reply, they only snorted.
i cant believe they had the nerve,
to jeer at someone because of a mere curve.
it all happened that one faithful day,
after a p.e. lesson when we went into the water to play.
as everyone returned to change, i was left behind to stray.
“i hope nobody notices me”, i thought as i would pray.
to put it simply; it hadn't gone unnoticed,
i had begged for them to to tell, but that had not sufficed.
the cat was let out, it all felt like a heist.
my secret was robbed, when it supposedly ceased to exist.
i was ten back then, had no clue how to handle it.
life was tough, but i’m glad i never quit.
though my torso now has a slit,
i’m safe to say that i'm over with their ********
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 1:34 PM UTC
Drain The ***** Water First
By Risa Ruse
I celebrated my victory over persecution.
I did this by sharing my story of resolution.
I retorted my discovery.
It was related to work done to my gutters in recovery.
When on the latter burling a hole in the gutter the water kept pouring out.
I could not finish my goal of making a spout.
I realized that I needed to stop drilling the hole.
The matter needed time to drain the ***** water to complete my goal.
Like the gutters needing to drain--
So did my brain.
I had to get rid of all the old hurts.
Otherwise my heart was sure to burst!
Now the ***** water was all let out.
I give thanks for the new spout.
Not only that, but my life has taken a turn-about.
I throw up my hands in praise and give a shout!
Jun 27, 2011
Jun 27, 2011 at 12:06 PM UTC
You started off
Creating snapshots out of words you caught,
Shouting out my name calling to my interests.
I was happy to come and be softly
Caressed by words that hate, love, feel, taste
To mediate for my torn heart strings
To just listen to the poem,
Re-understand’em get to know them.
Stick around long enough for soft images
To reconcile lost moral, revive my sense of self.
Opening led to spilled words,
You must have smiled to have heard,
Because you retorted immediately, messaged
A kind word. You became a friend of the pen,
Than a pen pal and then Stepping from
Ambiguity of dark tree limbs you
Climbed into my heart and became my friend.
The only problem is that moment you transformed,
From rhymes and font on page, to a voice
with dialect, Tenor, Volume
and inflection, something changed.
Poems I have read a dozen times,
I just can’t read the same, Because
every time I end a line
I hear a southern twang.
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 11:28 AM UTC
I was told a brain on poem was a terrible thing to waste . To which I retorted ,"Which one is wasted?"
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
He who came, on a weary road
saw little difference in life
of how it was before
and how it revolves in strife ,
but he couldn't perhaps be told
as for what he heard where whispers in his head
and things that were less lively, yet almost dead
He wasn't insane but sanity was absent
and it was winds that whispered to him in their
own soft accent
that in the language of life
but he couldn't hear it
he was deafened
His solitude was his prison
his dwelling, his vision
his presence in his own utopia
where he found himself alone
but to mess his expectations
came other souls
he wasn't there the only one
but there were others too along
who he shared his breath
there was compassion's warmth
and deceit's wrath
and he was disturbed
He wouldn't want to be a label
where one's eyes would tag him
and a free life is a fable
in this world he lives which in grim
is much a pain to his time
Time is so limited yet just to live
in himself he wanted much to believe
but it was exploited
at heart, and retorted
by his own grimaces
because of the judging face
so he became dumb
Not a word heard, not a word said
walking on his own, living or dead
he walks step by step
still judged by many and by some
He is deafened, disturbed and dumb
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 3:55 AM UTC
The remnants of last night's nova
lay scattered in tatters on the patterns
of ballroom linoleum.
Flattened bottles and kids
full throttle on people petroleum.
They whisper, "we're full of them
deaths 'guised as holy gems,"
but no one could hear
through the decoding of the exploding star,
the eroding of that foreboding bazaar,
not even the one whispering,
loose lips left ajar.
The remnants of last night's nova;
it began with a beat.
Melody sweet was distorted just to show the
flipped switch kids who retorted just to grow numb,
with ditched brain space aborted just to know dub,
or love the microchips imported just to throw the
blasting bass bubbles of sound
into the ground,
spinning around,
until they come down,
to frown at flowers
powered by the eye of the storm.
Where it's the norm
for their forms
to be torn from their static.
The remnants of last night's nova
was an illness of stillness;
of dripping dead glow sticks
that knows this
fist in your chest clenched tight,
and the sight of last night,
and the fading lights
just show this restlessness
is not the best of this bright.
The love fights muttered
through shutters of others
echoed soft cotton swab colors
in sunrise skies,
and despised eyes,
and reprized "why?s"
to inspire white lies.
The remnants of last night's nova
are gone.
Dec 19, 2010
Dec 19, 2010 at 5:55 PM UTC
I have been here before
I look around
its the the same **** door
I look towards the waiter
"It seems, I let you right in,"
The waiter said to me
I guess I should listen
He comes around the corner
Puts a plate on the table
I read the label
It reads:
"Deja Vu"
I looked around to the waiter
And he looked around to
He opened up the plate
And then I knew my fate
I sunk my teeth into it
And I said to him,
"This is Raw,"
He retorted back to me
With great ferocity
That it just needed to thaw
I was in great haste
So i just ate
With the absence of taste
I looked to the waiter
one last time
I asked him for a mirror
He said, "Just look into this one of mine,"
What I saw inside the glass
was a shock to behold
It was the same *******
who had walked through this very door
He looked to me
And I looked to him
we, one and the same
I called out my name
He did the same
Then I whisper-spoke,"waiter"
And I was alone
I said to myself
I have been here before
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 9:49 PM UTC
Your words gave me open wounds that are incapable of healing..
The moment you said, "I have no feelings for you," cuts right through my very soul. It leaves an opening through my shallow being welcoming the next words you are about to bestow.
"You are not just my type," it's like raging bolts of electricity running through my body and I can't move, I can't even raise a finger to tell you to stop.. Please, stop this bleeding.
I was about to regain control of my senses but you added, "we can still be friends though," that it's as if nothing happened. Like my feelings never happened, like you never listened, like you didn't cut me open, like you didn't have me bleeding to death, like you never throw me daggers in form of words.
And you asked, for the first time, "are you okay?" I gathered all my strength to forestall my voice from breaking as I retorted, "I'm good." I bit my lip the moment my mouth turns like a time bomb that's a few seconds away from explosion and I'm victorious.
The words "it just hurts a lot," didn't escape from my mouth averting myself from going to the place you've given me. Say, friendzone?
I watched you walked away realizing you actually helped me by closing off the arteries of my wounds by giving me a cold treatment.
I mouthed, "thank you," but you didn't see it. Thank you for releasing my favorite demon, hatred..
..this way, I will prevent myself from massive destruction that is yearning to make me feel something good, something vibrant, something lighthearted.. Say, like love?
Thank you for leaving me wounds that covers my body, and soon enough it will be scars that will remind me of how painful it is to make someone look at you the exact same way you're looking at them. Confucius quote, "there is one word which may serve as a rule of practice for all one's life: Reciprocity."
..But reciprocity is not a decree.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
A Long Long Time Ago
Came a Man without an Ego.
He would Sell Fine Lemonade.
And as Time Passed by
Many Many did accolade.
As time passed by
His clients got bored
And slowly dwindled.
So he had to offer perks
And good discounts.
Soon came many more
who would offer Lemonade and more.
The Market Place got Crowded
And Thousands also doubted.
The Original Seller
had to do something
Else would be wiped out forever.
Retorted to Brainwashing his Clients
Spreading Lies and Deceits.
Some came in his sway.
Soon many Sellers went away
And a few still decided to stay.
Now the Original Seller is still selling.
The Old Lemonade in a new way.
But is always so scared of a few.
Aware that the lemonade has to change.
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 12:39 AM UTC