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"sandwhich" poems
having the low down blues and going into a restraunt to eat. you sit at a table. the waitress smiles at you. she's dumpy. her *** is too big. she radiates kindess and symphaty. live with her 3 months and a man would no real agony. o.k., you'll tip her 15 percent. you order a turkey sandwich and a beer. the man at the table across from you has watery blue eyes and a head like an elephant. at a table further down are 3 men with very tiny heads and long necks like ostiches. they talk loudly of land development. why, you think, did I ever come in here when I have the low-down blues? then the the waitress comes back eith the sandwich and she asks you if there will be anything else? snd you tell her, no no, this will be fine. then somebody behind you laughs. it's a cork laugh filled with sand and broken glass. you begin eating the sandwhich. it's something. it's a minor, difficult, sensible action like composing a popular song to make a 14-year old weep. you order another beer. jesus,look at that guy his hands hang down almost to his knees and he's whistling. well, time to get out. pivk up the bill. tip. go to the register. pay. pick up a toothpick. go out the door. your car is still there. and there are 3 men with heads and necks like ostriches all getting into one car. they each have a toothpick and now they are talking about women. they drive away first they drive away fast. they're best i guess. it's an unberably hot day. there's a first-stage smog alert. all the birds and plants are dead or dying. you start the engine.
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11.1k
Another Day
having the low down blues and going into a restraunt to eat. you sit at a table. the waitress smiles at you. she's dumpy. her *** is too big. she radiates kindess and symphaty. live with her 3 months and a man would no real agony. o.k., you'll tip her 15 percent. you order a turkey sandwich and a beer. the man at the table across from you has watery blue eyes and a head like an elephant. at a table further down are 3 men with very tiny heads and long necks like ostiches. they talk loudly of land development. why, you think, did I ever come in here when I have the low-down blues? then the the waitress comes back eith the sandwich and she asks you if there will be anything else? snd you tell her, no no, this will be fine. then somebody behind you laughs. it's a cork laugh filled with sand and broken glass. you begin eating the sandwhich. it's something. it's a minor, difficult, sensible action like composing a popular song to make a 14-year old weep. you order another beer. jesus,look at that guy his hands hang down almost to his knees and he's whistling. well, time to get out. pivk up the bill. tip. go to the register. pay. pick up a toothpick. go out the door. your car is still there. and there are 3 men with heads and necks like ostriches all getting into one car. they each have a toothpick and now they are talking about women. they drive away first they drive away fast. they're best i guess. it's an unberably hot day. there's a first-stage smog alert. all the birds and plants are dead or dying. you start the engine.
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62
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Bored still keen for that sandwhich, hopefully it isnt soggy wait what if it is **** thats my only food zzzz keen for a sleep or maybe xbox i dunno lol
0
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 7:47 PM UTC
Write a poem
No more komakazee crows No more angry nehibors and Their apple guns. No more slow winks. No more toilet bowls And no more ham. No more wet hair after a shower. No more drooling on my face. Remember that **** dog. Remember you and him kissed like eskimos. Remember sleeping in my train tunnel. I wish I still played with trains. I wish I still played euphonium. I wish we never lost our house. My old friend, is it time for me to go away. You were the last. The last pet mom ever will own. She told us no more animals. She cried tonite, She said im so sorry soxy. A longntime ago A longtime 6 hours in school felt. A long strected out cat Waited for us on the steps. I rubbed my face in his glossy chest. I rubbed my third grade nose up and down His body hoping for a play bite. His tongue licked my ears three times, Three times until he took a bite. My hands resembled the bird, The bird he never killed. He turned me into a contortinist. He made my leggs cramp. He made my matress his middle ground. His middle my yoga sleep. After showers he hunted my head. He layed on my face. He licked my dripping buzz cutt. He licked the milk off of my first mustache. He ruined the left over ham. He made my favorite sandwhich A challenge. He could smell me open the can and mix the Mayonase with pickles. He left me a dead mouse on my train tracks. He had white drops of paint on his paws. White furry paint, Mom told us he had sox on his feet, He was born with the name we gave him Sox not socks, Not the socks you get tired of wearing. Not the socks you get mixed up durrning laundry. Our sox kept us on our toes. Our sox. The **** cat That really owned our house. Hell always be sox, The **** cat, The **** voice my brother made up. The **** drool I let rub against my face Will never go away. Ill kiss him like an eskimo. Ill biuld him a eskimo fire And hope he chooses to rub noses with My dog J.C again I hope he goes gently into the nite (Dylan Thomas).
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Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
I Think Hes Going To Die Tonite ( Our Cat Sox)
No more komakazee crows No more angry nehibors and Their apple guns. No more slow winks. No more toilet bowls And no more ham. No more wet hair after a shower. No more drooling on my face. Remember that **** dog. Remember you and him kissed like eskimos. Remember sleeping in my train tunnel. I wish I still played with trains. I wish I still played euphonium. I wish we never lost our house. My old friend, is it time for me to go away. You were the last. The last pet mom ever will own. She told us no more animals. She cried tonite, She said im so sorry soxy. A longntime ago A longtime 6 hours in school felt. A long strected out cat Waited for us on the steps. I rubbed my face in his glossy chest. I rubbed my third grade nose up and down His body hoping for a play bite. His tongue licked my ears three times, Three times until he took a bite. My hands resembled the bird, The bird he never killed. He turned me into a contortinist. He made my leggs cramp. He made my matress his middle ground. His middle my yoga sleep. After showers he hunted my head. He layed on my face. He licked my dripping buzz cutt. He licked the milk off of my first mustache. He ruined the left over ham. He made my favorite sandwhich A challenge. He could smell me open the can and mix the Mayonase with pickles. He left me a dead mouse on my train tracks. He had white drops of paint on his paws. White furry paint, Mom told us he had sox on his feet, He was born with the name we gave him Sox not socks, Not the socks you get tired of wearing. Not the socks you get mixed up durrning laundry. Our sox kept us on our toes. Our sox. The **** cat That really owned our house. Hell always be sox, The **** cat, The **** voice my brother made up. The **** drool I let rub against my face Will never go away. Ill kiss him like an eskimo. Ill biuld him a eskimo fire And hope he chooses to rub noses with My dog J.C again I hope he goes gently into the nite (Dylan Thomas).
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66
This is killing me. You are killing me. You sick little **** I'm not going to answer your calls. It is making me feel like I'm in a baracade. And you have opened fire. You're trying to luer me out With ****** voicemails "Baby I wanna **** you". "I love it when you scream no". "Make me a sandwhich doll face". "Let me **** you to death". I will rip out my own heart before I answer. Before I leave my bunker. **** off you sadist pig.
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Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
General
today I realized that I'm perfect with who I'am atlast in my life I know who I'am What things im good at and what I need to work on IM NOT PERFECT infact im fragile and weak I'm scared of knowing so much about myself It's the truth I KNOW who I can become either good or bad I know what the future holds for my good decisions or my bad If only today myself could talk to the young boy who struggled so long trying to be someone he was not. I'd tell that boy to not follow the crowd that he thought was so cool That to listen to your mother to stay away from the drugs even if the other kids called him a loser for not playing along The really unique kids are the ones who dont follow the normal teenage rebellion the real rebels are the ones who study hard hang out alone and even wish they could go out and get hammered drunk and puke everywhere or sleep with a random girl not for love but just for *** But they dont I want to tell my rebel self to be a true rebel like those kids the kids who later on in life will have money to go out and enjoy the things I enjoyed as a rebel teenager to be able to hang out with there grown up friends and to fun doing grown up things. Instead I'm a 24 year old sandwhich artist the teachers always said keep partying you'll look back and regret these days I told them they'll regret saying that when I make it big years of writing years of sitting up late with a bottle of ***** and a lit cigarette like my life a long ash forms off the cherry as it burns waiting for the whieght of itself to break off. I KNOW who I'am I'm a voice for this plugged in generation I'm the sticky **** on the bottom of your shoe I'm the viper in a room full of gardner snakes I'm the demon with a halo a hybrid of a soul hell hound instincts but a butterflys swagger soft but hard sweet but sour I'm the reason for a middle im the reason why things stay balanced for not for people like me the Balanced the Beaten the hardened and the Understanding the Counter Attack the person who has seen the roughest parts in life has been down to pennys to his name Im here to tell you dont give up because even during the rain the sun can shine those days amaze me when its pouring but sunny Does it make since no but do we watch in amazement when it happens yes That my friends is me thats who I'am
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Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
Me
today I realized that I'm perfect with who I'am atlast in my life I know who I'am What things im good at and what I need to work on IM NOT PERFECT infact im fragile and weak I'm scared of knowing so much about myself It's the truth I KNOW who I can become either good or bad I know what the future holds for my good decisions or my bad If only today myself could talk to the young boy who struggled so long trying to be someone he was not. I'd tell that boy to not follow the crowd that he thought was so cool That to listen to your mother to stay away from the drugs even if the other kids called him a loser for not playing along The really unique kids are the ones who dont follow the normal teenage rebellion the real rebels are the ones who study hard hang out alone and even wish they could go out and get hammered drunk and puke everywhere or sleep with a random girl not for love but just for *** But they dont I want to tell my rebel self to be a true rebel like those kids the kids who later on in life will have money to go out and enjoy the things I enjoyed as a rebel teenager to be able to hang out with there grown up friends and to fun doing grown up things. Instead I'm a 24 year old sandwhich artist the teachers always said keep partying you'll look back and regret these days I told them they'll regret saying that when I make it big years of writing years of sitting up late with a bottle of ***** and a lit cigarette like my life a long ash forms off the cherry as it burns waiting for the whieght of itself to break off. I KNOW who I'am I'm a voice for this plugged in generation I'm the sticky **** on the bottom of your shoe I'm the viper in a room full of gardner snakes I'm the demon with a halo a hybrid of a soul hell hound instincts but a butterflys swagger soft but hard sweet but sour I'm the reason for a middle im the reason why things stay balanced for not for people like me the Balanced the Beaten the hardened and the Understanding the Counter Attack the person who has seen the roughest parts in life has been down to pennys to his name Im here to tell you dont give up because even during the rain the sun can shine those days amaze me when its pouring but sunny Does it make since no but do we watch in amazement when it happens yes That my friends is me thats who I'am
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61
on the side, on the sly, fix me a sandwhich of tuna and rye. grab my stick, point to the sky. look at my **** to poke you in the eye. pull out my ***** to poke you in the pie. hmmm... hmmm... hmmm... cherry fuckin' pie. on the side, on the sly, fix me a sandwhich of tuna and rye.
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Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 6:40 PM UTC
cherry pie
Strings of wisdom flow through my fingertips like front-porch-swing storytelling. The stars are visible through the window tops as moon eyes stare up at their sisters. The truth is, I could listen to you ramble for hours in the backseat of that car. I listened to you ramble for hours, just to hear every thought and pun and "but like" that escaped your once clenched teeth and locked lips, and after prying open your brain, my jaw was left ajar in awe of the reality that a shy girl with seafoam eyes could ever open mine that wide in such a short amount of time. The truth is, I want to dig my hands into your thoughts and pull up roots from the dirt and find that I've got a green thumb. I want to climb the tallest mountain in Tennessee and have your smile welcome and invite me into your home. I want to watch your children grow older and want themselves as a mother like their mother did when she wasn't much older. I want to hear every flirtatious remark dangling from that bracelet of yours clink together as you lift your chai latte from the counter. I want to question what the time of day is and wait for your mind to create a clever counter-clockwise comeback that throws mine for a loop and sends me spiraling back down to earth on the dials of the sun and the mills of the wind. I want to stop and read every spray-painted sentence on each step of the stairs leading to the perfect amalgamation of essays and creative journals, and analyze the way your cursive gets lazy and then cleans itself up while maintaining an enlightened tone. I want to venture into abandoned shacks in the middle of the night that are hardly recognizable two seasons later just to find out that it's the wrong house and the open windows mean someone may be home. I want to see the scribbled out "sandwhich" corrected in red ink. I want to drink your words and refill and recycle the bottle. I want to blend the blacks and whites on the palette and create a shiny sensitizing zinc. I want to be the one who genuinely understands the way you think. The truth is, I have this irrevocable desire to listen to music that no one else has ever heard in a pair of headphones until I find a harmony, and then let it play on the radio for those of us with complexity to sing to as we stare down the road of an alligator bayou and become hypnotized by the beat.
0
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
Charm, Wisdom, and Minimalism
Strings of wisdom flow through my fingertips like front-porch-swing storytelling. The stars are visible through the window tops as moon eyes stare up at their sisters. The truth is, I could listen to you ramble for hours in the backseat of that car. I listened to you ramble for hours, just to hear every thought and pun and "but like" that escaped your once clenched teeth and locked lips, and after prying open your brain, my jaw was left ajar in awe of the reality that a shy girl with seafoam eyes could ever open mine that wide in such a short amount of time. The truth is, I want to dig my hands into your thoughts and pull up roots from the dirt and find that I've got a green thumb. I want to climb the tallest mountain in Tennessee and have your smile welcome and invite me into your home. I want to watch your children grow older and want themselves as a mother like their mother did when she wasn't much older. I want to hear every flirtatious remark dangling from that bracelet of yours clink together as you lift your chai latte from the counter. I want to question what the time of day is and wait for your mind to create a clever counter-clockwise comeback that throws mine for a loop and sends me spiraling back down to earth on the dials of the sun and the mills of the wind. I want to stop and read every spray-painted sentence on each step of the stairs leading to the perfect amalgamation of essays and creative journals, and analyze the way your cursive gets lazy and then cleans itself up while maintaining an enlightened tone. I want to venture into abandoned shacks in the middle of the night that are hardly recognizable two seasons later just to find out that it's the wrong house and the open windows mean someone may be home. I want to see the scribbled out "sandwhich" corrected in red ink. I want to drink your words and refill and recycle the bottle. I want to blend the blacks and whites on the palette and create a shiny sensitizing zinc. I want to be the one who genuinely understands the way you think. The truth is, I have this irrevocable desire to listen to music that no one else has ever heard in a pair of headphones until I find a harmony, and then let it play on the radio for those of us with complexity to sing to as we stare down the road of an alligator bayou and become hypnotized by the beat.
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32
I always spell wierd wrong. It takes me 1.35 minutes to cook minute rice. And it takes me more than an instant to cook instant noodles. I pull doors that says push. I once tried to give a blind man a high five. And I killed my own cactus because I gave it too much water. But I am really good at making grilled cheese sandwhich. So I might survive.
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Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 6:46 PM UTC
I am bad at stuff
I have to hold back my tears. No one can see me like this, vulnerable and not in control.  They think that i can fend for myself, what do they know? Truth is im in need for their help, for their opnion and inspiring words. For a long time it was me in the middle of the sandwhich. My older sister covering me, and i protecting my ypunger twin. Its funny how the sandwhich turns into how my life is today. My older sister takes up all the spotlight, claimig it allfor herself. Absorbin all the attention until there is none left. I shake at the words she wont utter, like a simple please or thank you. How she would never help my mother how she leaves my mother fighting so hard, as she sits on the couch and jist watches. When my mother asks for her help she will make it more like a burden then helping out of respect. I will do any of those thigs in a heart eat just to take the stress off of my moms shoulders. But again thats how we differ... As for my twin the one that i had felt the need to protect since we had been in the wound together 16 years ago. How can i put in words all the feelings she leaves on me? She is so irritable yet i yearn to watch her succeed. She is as slow as a turtle, yet sometimes shes as sharp as a knife . Some nights ill catch her talking to herself, it pains me to see her over think things. After so much effort of tryin to help her all i can do now is make beleive im sleeping, pull the covers over my head and let the tears roll down my cheek, burning it under their touch. She has this problem and the tendency to ovetthink thongs from the stipidest things to the most important. She lays them all on the same scale not considekg the dfferences betwene them . As muh as she overthinks , when she has an idea she lets it cloud her judgement.l  I remember thst one time in our cribs its blurr but i still feel it in my blood. Diane had my moms attentiom absorbed for she was alsay a cryer even when her head hutt a lottle bit. Michelle  was sick with strep having my moms also and my dads granparents. Then my head throat and whole body was killing .. All i remmeber was keeping my mouth shut. And waitig for someone to come ask me how i was feeling. Which no one did.And still as i cry typing this no one will ask me how im feeling, for i have middle child syndrome
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Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 6:29 PM UTC
Family
I have to hold back my tears. No one can see me like this, vulnerable and not in control.  They think that i can fend for myself, what do they know? Truth is im in need for their help, for their opnion and inspiring words. For a long time it was me in the middle of the sandwhich. My older sister covering me, and i protecting my ypunger twin. Its funny how the sandwhich turns into how my life is today. My older sister takes up all the spotlight, claimig it allfor herself. Absorbin all the attention until there is none left. I shake at the words she wont utter, like a simple please or thank you. How she would never help my mother how she leaves my mother fighting so hard, as she sits on the couch and jist watches. When my mother asks for her help she will make it more like a burden then helping out of respect. I will do any of those thigs in a heart eat just to take the stress off of my moms shoulders. But again thats how we differ... As for my twin the one that i had felt the need to protect since we had been in the wound together 16 years ago. How can i put in words all the feelings she leaves on me? She is so irritable yet i yearn to watch her succeed. She is as slow as a turtle, yet sometimes shes as sharp as a knife . Some nights ill catch her talking to herself, it pains me to see her over think things. After so much effort of tryin to help her all i can do now is make beleive im sleeping, pull the covers over my head and let the tears roll down my cheek, burning it under their touch. She has this problem and the tendency to ovetthink thongs from the stipidest things to the most important. She lays them all on the same scale not considekg the dfferences betwene them . As muh as she overthinks , when she has an idea she lets it cloud her judgement.l  I remember thst one time in our cribs its blurr but i still feel it in my blood. Diane had my moms attentiom absorbed for she was alsay a cryer even when her head hutt a lottle bit. Michelle  was sick with strep having my moms also and my dads granparents. Then my head throat and whole body was killing .. All i remmeber was keeping my mouth shut. And waitig for someone to come ask me how i was feeling. Which no one did.And still as i cry typing this no one will ask me how im feeling, for i have middle child syndrome
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6
"You're a monster" I hear it every day. Every single time I give up. When I lose courage. When my strength withers. When I fail and take a bite. The sandwhich mocks me. The fruit laughs in my face. "oink oink" says the burger. "Drink up" taunts the milk "don't want to choke on that big bite" Eating makes me sad and the sadness makes me eat. om nom nom nom nom goes the little pig- goes me. om nom nom nom nom seems like I'll never stop because I try to eat the carrots and I try to eat the fruits new and improved cookie monster but the cookie monster will always be the cookie monster.
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Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
Cookie Monster
ive been on this website for about 10 minutes and not a single like or anything? did that maddest **** this morning hit the bowl and everything while in me crack dont even give a **** no pun intended xxNoSxco0perxx umad? :)) eshay ler Louis bitchop is the man yo, still waiting for that sandwhich fml ****
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Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
wow sick of this
Making subs Tomatos and mayo one swipe and a sprinkle of lettuce Busy away filling the oregeno tub I hear the door ring and in walks this drop dead gorgeous girl I instantly say hello she's so gorgeous I nearly fall on my face. I notice her collar bones something about a girls collar bones drives me crazy as she talk  tells me what to do my mind races to me sprawling her out over this sandwhich making table lettuce and mayo everywhere haha that'd be the **** but instead I finish her sandy and watch her walk out the door. Luckily I took some mental pictures
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Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
Untitled
Still, still, in the silent revelation of an undiscovered thought, violent by nature tempestuous undertones of gradient succes mindless tests, confrontational mess still the new leaf, lovers in the light of fright, the night with milky shades of sight, sound as still, still, like the silent revelation of an undiscovered thought wake to still calm thy head the cavities of unrest, numbness at best mess, of mind tangled thread much, too much mild mannered maneuvers, meek, passive and complacent stuck in the basement of forward moving stagnant lowly, little steps descending, ascent pending for a revolution jacket too stiff, no peace from pollution, human heart pollution grey faced institutions, failure soup, smooth money, compelling sandwhich of gold-toothed grannys insanity, death’s locker a spray painted noir and n’er to do better than sell, sell the well wishers a lock of lamentable whiskers, unshaven unclean a force of mean momentary pleasure of possession, empty and quick in succession your price, of niceties is too high for me eyes red with subtlety
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Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
Still Mess -- A Freewrite
Hunger sets in. A PBJ sandwhich would be nice. Though looking into the jelly jar, it's almost empty. I wonder if I'll have enough. A friend is in pain. Empathic nature sets in - I'd like to help her. Looking within for that uplifting wisdom, it's seems I've run dry for its felt seldom. I give the little advice I have. I wonder if I gave enough. I've fallen in love. The goal is to be alive with her. If everything works out I'd like to start a life with her. Though looking at all her memories, mine seem almost empty. I wonder if I'll have enough. I wonder if I'll be enough.
0
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
Enough
She says I'm funny, She says I remind her of money, Because I smell like I could buy her diamonds, She's hooked by the way I'm nutty like almonds, But we have problems, like dogs have flea's, With every romantic notion, she splits and flees. I don't know what it is about her, I just know I can't live without her, So I'm the druggie and she's the crack, I'm hoping one day she'll take me back, To a time that's close to a brighter tomorrow, Yet the present without her feels like sorrow. Oh, if I could have her for just one day, Maybe the rain and clouds would go away, To reveal a magnificent, shining sun, So I can be Superman again and save everyone, But I'm not lucky, I guess I'm not, Because all she does is make me rot. Like someone's favorite sandwhich left out in the cold, I'll remember every moment with her until I'm old, Because even without her, she's still my valentine, The feeling of being inside her gets me every time, Just make it happen God, stop keeping us apart, I know she's the moon, I'm the earth, but love is art. You have to draw the line between the dots, You have to carve a groove in all the slots, To get to the heart of the woman in charge, Of your soul the one that's very large, I hate this feeling, like, what am I missing? A boat, the open sea, us... Kissing? That's right, that would be the perfect moment, I hurt her once, but that wasn't what I meant, To do, that's why I'm telling you this, Moments of happiness may feel like bliss, However, when you meet the perfect one, If she says something like, we're done, Just take off and run, As fast as you can, Don't worry about the tears, It's a part of being a man.
0
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC
She Says Something...
She says I'm funny, She says I remind her of money, Because I smell like I could buy her diamonds, She's hooked by the way I'm nutty like almonds, But we have problems, like dogs have flea's, With every romantic notion, she splits and flees. I don't know what it is about her, I just know I can't live without her, So I'm the druggie and she's the crack, I'm hoping one day she'll take me back, To a time that's close to a brighter tomorrow, Yet the present without her feels like sorrow. Oh, if I could have her for just one day, Maybe the rain and clouds would go away, To reveal a magnificent, shining sun, So I can be Superman again and save everyone, But I'm not lucky, I guess I'm not, Because all she does is make me rot. Like someone's favorite sandwhich left out in the cold, I'll remember every moment with her until I'm old, Because even without her, she's still my valentine, The feeling of being inside her gets me every time, Just make it happen God, stop keeping us apart, I know she's the moon, I'm the earth, but love is art. You have to draw the line between the dots, You have to carve a groove in all the slots, To get to the heart of the woman in charge, Of your soul the one that's very large, I hate this feeling, like, what am I missing? A boat, the open sea, us... Kissing? That's right, that would be the perfect moment, I hurt her once, but that wasn't what I meant, To do, that's why I'm telling you this, Moments of happiness may feel like bliss, However, when you meet the perfect one, If she says something like, we're done, Just take off and run, As fast as you can, Don't worry about the tears, It's a part of being a man.
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40
you are my sweet sugar pie my ice cream sandwhich you are my cholcate fountain my blue berry mix i could never leave you behind i love you dear its too much to bear but i'm willing to share this love you and i have is one of a kind but all mine we don't have much time i am you lemon you are my lime you are all mine
0
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 6:56 PM UTC
my sweet sugar pie
We know yoga pants were created to be worn during yoga, but so what? Blackberry smartphones were created as a business tool, so what? Timberlands were created to be used as safety working boots, so what? We know Qwerty keyboard was created 2 elimn8 typin lyk dis, so wat? Facebook was created to Connect people not Disconnect people from the world, but so what? We would **** use a knife as a screwdriver if we want to; and take that ****** same knife and make a sandwhich... We make things work, we make a plan.. We do what we want with what we want where we want to. So what if we are a little different? So what if we don't do the same things? So what if the hair we wear is not ours? So what if our skin colour is a bit darker Or soo what if we decide to bleach our skin? So what if our clothes are a bit much revealing and leave a little to imagination; Or so what if we walk naked down the road? So what?... So what if we party too much Or drink too much? So what if i have many ****** partners? So what if our generation has lost repect? So what if our generation has no morals? So what if kids are mothering babies And boys running from fathering responsibilities? So what if we lost sight of what's important? So what if all we care about is a big ***** perfect skin, eyebrows on fleek and attention? So what if we do strange things to put bread on the table? So what if the only key to our hearts is money? So what?... We may be a lost generation, But this is our generation... So what? But what then would happen if we were to wake up only to realize its too late for our next generations? What then?...
0
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC
And So What
We know yoga pants were created to be worn during yoga, but so what? Blackberry smartphones were created as a business tool, so what? Timberlands were created to be used as safety working boots, so what? We know Qwerty keyboard was created 2 elimn8 typin lyk dis, so wat? Facebook was created to Connect people not Disconnect people from the world, but so what? We would **** use a knife as a screwdriver if we want to; and take that ****** same knife and make a sandwhich... We make things work, we make a plan.. We do what we want with what we want where we want to. So what if we are a little different? So what if we don't do the same things? So what if the hair we wear is not ours? So what if our skin colour is a bit darker Or soo what if we decide to bleach our skin? So what if our clothes are a bit much revealing and leave a little to imagination; Or so what if we walk naked down the road? So what?... So what if we party too much Or drink too much? So what if i have many ****** partners? So what if our generation has lost repect? So what if our generation has no morals? So what if kids are mothering babies And boys running from fathering responsibilities? So what if we lost sight of what's important? So what if all we care about is a big ***** perfect skin, eyebrows on fleek and attention? So what if we do strange things to put bread on the table? So what if the only key to our hearts is money? So what?... We may be a lost generation, But this is our generation... So what? But what then would happen if we were to wake up only to realize its too late for our next generations? What then?...
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For the first time in a while I ate a sandwhich and let me tell ya it was the best sand which I ever had. Little things... Make me happy.
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Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
Eat