"servings" poems
Why you lie?
Why you say there's three servings,
When everyone knows, it's only one?
Rude, Haagen Dazs.
Just Rude.
Sincerely,
Lonely, Sad Girl.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
Calories.
When I was 6 years old,
my mother told me I would consume
too many calories.
I would consume them by the hundreds,
by the thousands.
I was Godzilla and they were the people I dominated.
When my parents left one another
I had to fill myself with some other source of affection.
And the insulin rushes were tremendous.
When I was 11,
I had to see the doctor to be in fear of getting Diabetes,
and being grossly overweight.
At at age of 15, I was over 280 pounds
of walking disappointments.
I had always believed my stomach carried my happiness
and the fat under my chin kept my head high.
But after being rejected for so long,
I snapped.
I always had an attachment to food,
a sort of inseperable bond.
But I remember looking at myself in the mirror one night,
completely disgusted, tears welling in my eyes,
and I puked from the anger I felt inside of me.
So don't tell me the calories I consume today
don't burn more
than the bleach Amanda Todd drank,
or that the more hollow my stomach becomes,
I am not able to better hide my sorrows.
Do not dare tell me eat something,
because I've craved biting the bullet for the past 8
******* years, and carbohydrates
has caused more sadness in my heart than anything else.
Do not tell me other teenagers do not cut open their arms,
to let calories out,
because they are scared to Christ that someone may judge them,
if they eat an apple.
Because the first woman that ate an apple, ****** humankind.
And by having a sip of your Iced Tea,
or a french fry, might just dissolve the earth from beneath us.
Why we hide from nutrition labels,
and run from anything with a number greater than
ZERO
on it.
I was taught that happiness comes from a nutrition label,
and how many servings one consumes,
not the smile on ones face,
or the good in one's heart.
Calories have ruined my life,
and I will never forgive any nutrition label for that.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:57 AM UTC
What Relapse feels like
Relapse- a proper noun that steals your attention and commands your obedience
Every person that was a part of your recovery had been lying
The recollection that it did not **** you but it did not make you stronger
Reliving the moment it stopped your living and when it prevented your dying
The feeling that you will not survive much longer
That is how relapse feels
The first taste of fruit after a long and barren winter
A moment of peace in a life measured in seconds
The perfectly straight lines of a newly aligned printer
A demand for piled servings and SECONDS!
That is how relapse feels
The need of a familiar place; of a familiar face
Desire for someone to hold you tight
The need to go far away; to go to outer space
Desire to leave this world for the light
That is how relapse feels
It's a ripping motion
Between wanting it to end and wanting its intensification
Between having to much and too little emotion
And the worlds between the brain speak languages with no translation
That is how relapse feels
It feels so good just to be so bad
The beauty in the human body's ability to mend and to break
It feels so bad just to be so sad
And the repulsive face of being awake
That is how relapse feels
It's a tearing
It's a tugging
It's a pulling
It's a shoving
Relapse is looking at the sky and thanking God for the ability to be alive
ten minutes before a battle in the head
asking if it's worth it to survive
ten minutes before tears stain so silently alone in bed
It's a promise broken
It's every moment spent clean wasted
It's the truth unspoken
It's the loss of happiness that had barely been tasted
That.
That is how relapse feels.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
I focus on your eyes
those two deep blue oceans
and wonder why you wave over me
yes, it's true that I'm imperfect
but are you any better?
You can't feed me servings of silence
like an unsolved piece of a puzzle
please move your stiff ghost occasionally
let it consume something other than
your tortured, self-consumed mind.
These walls keep you from leaving my sight,
yet why are they the closest from tumbling down?
Only prayers keep me sane anymore.
...
Resting my eyes as you call out my name
you whisper it to the shadows within the clouds
but only because it's forever the name of a stranger.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
Into the bubbling blue bath of my bliss
my body breaks free of all bounds;
enchanted melodies cavort across my tongue,
unchained continents of merriment.
Shooting stars; cool satisfaction coats me completely.
I have lost all curiosity for torture technique,
while this melody bounces across the cosmos.
My imperfect lovely: Perfectly fractured,
all my shattered pieces fit your holes,
and even now, I glue pieces of you into the slots they fit.
A singular petal glistening with dew,
Deep crimsom; long stemmed tulip.
Black eyes, its stamen. Shedded insight,
I lowered my body before you, as offering.
How will you devour this dream of desire?
It is a feast to be consumed, in small bites,
and copious servings of seconds.
Do not allow this flower to fade,
it may save you from yourself.
Blessings bestowed before bedtime
often fade away by dawn,
give thanks for the present,
draw strength from the past,
take heart, what is meant to be
will always last...
in the end.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:20 PM UTC
Let's go grab the money
Hidden in the Christmas Tree
Shoppe mason jar with the
Frosted stencil designs,
Ornate and resembling flora.
Let's take that money,
The three separate wadded
***** of once crisp
Green pieces of paper
That somehow reach the
Arbitrary total of one
Thousand, three hundred and
Twenty dollars and
Fifty lonely cents.
Let's take that 1,320.50
And go see the desolate
Stretch of sprawling
Humanity deferred between
These hiked peaks and the
Dangerous mountains
Separating the west
From the rest.
Let's go there!
Let's go there!
We'll make it across,
Be sure of that,
Be sure of nothing
But that!
Let's use the remaining
Seven fifty
To buy some
Seven Eleven sustenance
To have while
We walk backwards
Down backroads edged
With the encroachment
Of the wild back into
Negative space some
Long-ago engineer
Carved and paved.
Let's tell the driver of
This beat-up
Time-worn down
Overcast grey
Buick LeSabre
That we can pay her
Ten dollars to replace
The juice necessary to get
Us back to our sick aunt's
House in Poughkeepsie.
At the gas station
We'll tell her to stop
Real quick
And hope she leaves the
Auto to go
Pay the schlup at
The teller's booth
And jack the beater
And hope we won't
Have to bolt
Again if she doesn't.
Let's call my cousin
And find out who will give
Us four hundred dollars for
The stolen used parts store
And take that four hundred
And buy:
Two (2) greyhound tickets to get us
Back to our ****** apartment
In Stamford: 64.50 American
Three (3) damp-bunned flimsy
Beef patties glued between
Pieces of government-issue
Yellow American cheese
With all the fixins we please: 3.24 American
One (1) zip of dried out
Seeded and stemmed breaks
From the boredom of
Our own conscious
Processes: 120 American if lucky
At least eight (8) servings
Of amphetamine based
Pressed little buttons
Of confused energy: 200 American
One (1) bouquet of
Red yellow and oranges
Mixed on the petals of
Your mother's favorite
Species: whatever's left American.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 12:40 AM UTC
The wandering hours
Create pondering towers
When instead of talking
You are always walking
Steadily ahead of me
Like you're dead to me
Like a small centipede
Walking for centuries
With the intent to be free
Yet constantly ambulatory
So we become slaves to your movement
When settling would be an improvement
You begin to freely flake
As I start to starve
You say let them eat cake
And my heart you carve
Into servings appropriate for your appetite
While I know something isn't right
But still forced to accept this plight
Of being your minor distraction
Chained by my love's infraction
Of settling on you
I shouldn't stay
But I bet I do
I wish I loved or hated you a little more
So I'd know what to do
As it stands I'm always looking out the door
But I'm unable to move
I want to stick around and see if you do something amazing
Like love me back
Instead of attack
With your acidic apathy
You mercilessly grapple me
And never decide to let go
Of love you never let show
We've been driving down this road for a while
And for the last million miserable miles
You've presented me unpredictable trials
With your nonchalant instinctual style
You've let yourself become extremely impaired
As I understandably grow more and more scared
I feel the answer is in the love we seldom share
But you're never lost when you're going nowhere
And I cannot follow your wandering stare
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 3:02 AM UTC
Sweltering insurgencies of electric power chords
Tribal reverberations of skin-stretched drum boards
Rolling and filling; syncopating the noise
Of the tit-less toys
The dick-less boys
Enraptured in the music
The anthem
Of invidious phantoms
My eyes hurt inside and
I want to pull them out and
Scrape out the gunk and rust
that’s behind my self-indulgent perseverance
so I can cry
for the first time in years…
Wrapping my hands around his slender torso
Licking away the paint, the dripping ooze; more so
Than hastening my ****** and mordant urges
To bite what emerges
And my mouth purges
The obelisk from underneath
The iron-pierced jester
The voracious molester
My hand tightens as I grip
his throat tighter and
I want to squeeze until his eyes pop
from his sockets and
laugh until I puke against the walls,
watching the ****** fluids mix
like an execrable marinara sauce…
I turned thirty while still being sixteen
The vivid beauty of the world was only in dreams
But none of mine, none that I can recall
Many years have passed since I took the oral fall
Where no one saw
Intransigent need to live
For the snake in my veins hungered for more
So many had their way
until I was limp and sore.
Defamatory fingers of mire and strife
Probing and stretching
My insides
And devilishly comforting
With limpid ambrosia
That’s infected by bilious worms and maggots covered in icing
And fruit
Amatory gauntlets fastened and secured over
Handless limbs that retract under matriculated frictions
That fracture, crack, morph, distort
Emphasize, marginalize
Rationalize, desensitize
Acts of *********** evasion, moral drainage;
Pieces, bits, chunks, sections, portions, servings;
Arms, legs, eyes, tongues, fingers, toes,
Love, lust, infatuation
Adoration
Boys, girls, women, men,
Angels, demons, monsters, humans
Creators, gods, titans, divas
All extended and limited from the minds that worship
Sanctify, mesmerize, glorify, rectify
While humans eat more, love more, **** more
Than the angels, demons, monsters, and titans
We ponder and cherish
Nevermore, for me
Ever lore, for all
Crows surround
And chaos found.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
She tells me
Lumpia is her taste of home.
Traditions she had with her aunt when she was small
Hands *****
Dark hair messy,
But she smiled as she hovered over the hot oil.
Halika dito, Come here.
Gutom ka ba? Are you hungry?
She tells me
Her mother
Would have her scrub her nails,
Before sending her to set the first few servings
In the oil to fry.
She tells me
That warm phillipian-lumpia memories
Have their own special place
In her heart,
In her mind.
On her tongue.
Warm times standing speckled with youth.
She speaks soft sweet days to me
As she hands me the tongs to place the first servings in the pan.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
Who minds getting
Choked?
Slap me,
Kick me
Leave your marks on my neck and hands
(I wiped out on my bike
It was only gravel
Honest).
Skin me alive
Glue me back together
White-out and saline solution.
White
Out
And Sailing solution.
My heel
Is so
Ripe.
Grind it
Boil some stock
(Vegetable, please)
Season it with teeth
Discard the rest.
Dispose
Compost
Get it in the ground
Let the rain take care of the rest.
[Yields 4 servings]
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 2:58 PM UTC
-
Not cupcakes or brownies
or butterscotch drops
Peppermint patties,
nor big lollipops
Caramel ice cream
with sprinkles so nice
Apricot pudding
or pie by the slice
Banana split servings
cinnamon buns
Pink cotton candy
just now freshly spun
Sherbet or popsicles
purple and green
Milkshakes or sodas,
red jelly beans
Oranges, peaches
bananas or plums
Coffee cake, cookies,
their left over crumbs
Chocolate, vanilla
or strawberry too
None are as sweet
as the love found in you
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
if poets ruled the world
i shall be at peace
for no amount of pain
will evolve into bullets
just petals, some wilted
but never not fragrant
watch men and women
and everyone in between
ignite chasms with sparks
then joy will be served
in generous servings
but never ignorant
the angst you give
will be crystals until
forgiveness cradles you
for tears will be valid
the triumphs kiss the sky
but never arrogant
if poets ruled the world
everything will turn
from beautiful to ethereal
wrecks, clouds, smiles,
hearts, storms, bees,
dreams, humanity, havoc.
if poets ruled the world -
watch the world burn
ethereally.
and like a phoenix -
watch it resurrect.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 2:28 AM UTC
Once upon a mealtime
When salt had gone away
He had left in such a hurry
And with no sub to work his day
Poor pepper started panicking
Mostly missing his dear mate
But also with a worry
If he alone would taste so great
So he soon sent out a message
To all the pots upon the shelf
'Partner needed quickly,
I can't dust dinner by myself'
So suddenly came rescue
In fact response was vast
The rest of all the condiments
Took triumph for him fast
First of course came ketchup
So used to being shared
But pepper didn't quite believe
That they would be best paired
Then came Mr Mayo
With a winning stance he stood
But too eager for the winning
Pepper didn't think him good
In butted boisterous barbecue
Believing there was no other
Unless there could be any left
Of his favourite sweet chilli brother
But pepper wanted neither
For he cared about this dish
And they came in heavy servings
Which wouldn't be salts wish
Still with plenty choice left
He looked upon his friends
Mustards, chutneys and pickles
Fine flavours they'd all lend
But then he heard herbs and spices
Who were giving a loud shout
'If you want salt not to be needed
Then you'd best not leave us out!'
This quickly made him realise
That the best friends he could make
Would come not squeezed all over
But served with a gentle shake
So he rounded up the shakers
But he wouldn't work them all
'You're right you'll help me nicely
But who mostly? It's your call'
The chilli taking charge of things
Addressed pepper with this test
'Well what is this dish we're warming
And we'll tell you what works best?!'
When they looked upon the oven hob
They saw mix of veg and meat
Chopped finely and frying in a pan
Slowly taking up the heat
So suddenly they knew now
Who would win the role to take
Cajun and paprika
A fine taste they surely make
So shaked upon the cooking
It was served with a success
No one need ever know
That peppers day had been a mess
So later in the evening
When salt stumbled his way home
His apologies were heartfelt
'I'll never leave you all alone'
But pepper soon forgave him
He said 'there, there, it's ok'
For now he knew the secret
Of how to cook in the best way
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
When I was little
I would stare up at
My mother and think to myself
That's what I want to be when I grow up
I wanted nothing more than
To become my mother
Who tucked me in
Kissed my scrapes
Who nurtured me
Brought me water when I was
Sick and sang me to sleep
And who told me how strong I was
Little did I know
That moms are dished out
Their own servings of problems
But my mom was different
She was served piles of
Left overs and week old bread
Water unfit for a dog
And dessert was scarce
Later I learned I was the dessert
So was my father
Though he was more sour than others
She didn't care, she loved it all
But as I've grown older
The piles of unfit food
Are tumbling down
Right on top of me
My mother's food labeled
Bipolar, depression
Anxiety, self harm
Body image issues and so much more
More than one person should
Be dished up, more than
One person can stomach
Too much for the plate to handle
The plate is cracked, chipped
Used, with a residue still blanketed over
And we've learned our eyes are bigger than
Our stomachs and we attempt the plate alone
But you can't handle a full course meal
If you're stomach is so small
I've learned that even though
Doctors label my mother
Crazy and unstable
I still crave to be her
Because she's survived through
What seems like everything
And she is not only alive
But my mother is living
Maybe not the way she imagined
But she still tries to make
The best of each day
She does so much with so little
Yes, I still want to be my mother
I want to be strong and brave
Kind and nurturing
I want to be everything she thinks she isn't
Because she is my everything
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
Holding hands around
a table
the rim of the toilet seat
Listening to
mommom recite prayer
the voice in my head
Passing
food around the table
on second servings
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
~
This love, our love
intoxicating as peach wine
fresh from the tree
low hanging,
tempting
picked ripe and sweet
nimble fingers
translucent syrup drips
when warmed deliberately
on the coral flames of
fruit bearing eyes
drenching my skin, sticky
refined sugarcane butter
smeared over
delicate lips
love note servings
harvested moon light
illumined desires
orchard promises
in delicious sips…
this love, our love
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
hey there comet
sorry about throwing you away
i mistook you for a bad idea
i missed the can and you ended up in orbit
***** little snowball without a place to land
spinning in space without a ship
when i was little i did not want to be an astronaut
i wanted to be a teacher and a mom
i wanted to be responsible for shaping little souls
i thought it would be like play-doh
i thought it would be like dress up
because when i put on mommies sweater
daddys glasses
growing up was just about getting larger
so that this dwarf planet could become a sun
with a few more servings of vegetables
and some glasses of milk
stretching my bones by hanging off the monkey bars
gravity worked for me
and gravity kept me grounded
and gravity kept the planets in place
and gravity would grant me permission to grow
but i would never become a planet
because i was born a bit too fast
and a bit too cold
so just make sure
to orbit on back around this planet
my little comet
and I won’t miss it this time
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
surveying, spectating, struggling
with high ceiling tire swing sets on midsummer daydream i fell asleep on a plastic wrapped hammock in string bean circuit space too much junk jamming our brains with thigh high fiber rich and mold free savings or servings or sweet sugar taken twice daily
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
Take the key and twist the lock,
Cross the threshold down into
The Hotel of Hearts.
Look inside the vernacular mini-bar
Sample its delights in pearl strewn luxury
As you lie on a soft bed of nails in
The Hotel of Hearts.
Cover you with diamonds.
Mount you in ebony.
Feed your ego on servings served on
plates of ivory at
The Hotel of Hearts.
Draw the alligator-eyed blind down.
Hide your eyes from the ugly outside world,
The true outside world, kept hidden by the
Hotel of Hearts.
Man so naked under that shirt;
Silk now covering crystal mirrors
Barring their faces from truth and lies
Embracing those who stay at the
Hotel of Hearts.
Pay your bill with a view of your soul.
The clerk smiles petal-soft
Your bags are kept as you leave
The Hotel of Hearts.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 10:44 PM UTC
I want more, and I will lie no more.
Call me greedy; I don't care anymore.
I want more money. Who doesn't?
They are never enough. Never enough.
I am but a **** poor untalented peasant,
I just want to numb myself with more stuff.
With more money, I can buy more books.
The more pages I flipped, I lose myself more.
More money also means more toys that hooks
My inner child - he now knows freedom more.
I want more food. OM NOM NOM FOOD!
I hunger for simple gastronomical richness:
Multiple mint teabags to better calm my mood,
Serve with upsized servings of buttery tastiness.
Yet, even the simplest desires, Need. MONEY!
What's that you say? Learn to have less desires?
Let me write it down on my list; oh that's funny;
This long list, of desires, do you think it expires?
Nay, I say, for all my wants, shall grow evermore!
MORE! MORE! MORE!
May 14, 2021
May 14, 2021 at 10:41 AM UTC
Inside my head at all times
I slowly begin to believe
that all of these poems
are self-serving servings of selfishness
can I accept that for what it is?
self-acceptance is accepted as the way to go
but improvement sounds just like superficial small talk
I smell like pickles and meat sauce at any given time
but these ink stained fingers
know no bias based on heart beats
Hysteria in the streets
watch the ants swarm over the abandoned picnic
watch the ants lose their **** over mixed chemical signals
Mary is calling me home to her embrace
and I'm too nice to say no
but if I could just get a small lead
I'd open up the highway and discover Eden
regardless of how many times God ***** his teeth
blood is blue until it meets oxygen
and the blues were stolen from a people who truly knew them
but hey - whatever sells, right?
put the bullet in my head
should I ever become one of them
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
She's looking for this perfect guy that only exist in heaven.
But she don't pray on him
She prey on weak men
Little that she know; the smaller the meal,
The more servings she needs
So her deeds seem like she doesn't wanna get saved
Her last dude make her resentful
Her new spirit is sinful
Yet, she looks for a guy to be forgetful
Someone who turns to the other cheek
Who don't mind when she creeps
Just praise him every now and then
All the things she thinks makes the perfect man
She won't even settle for a priest
And she far from a Nun herself
How many perfect men do you know?
None.
Or else...
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 5:36 AM UTC
she went from two servings
to one
to none
hoping someone would notice
but no one did
-(e.h.)
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 10:31 AM UTC
Silent lunch alone in a room full of people
Stringy spaghetti
Quiet lunch with a cute boy across the table
Bubbling Raman noodles
School meal next to the cute boy
Toasted bagel
Cafeteria date with the boy
Steaming bean soup
Dinner date with a new boyfriend
Gourmet pizza
Perfect picnic on spring hills
Juicy strawberries
One year anniversary celebration
Succulent chocolates
Meeting with his parents alone for the first time
Slimy spaghetti
Breakfast in bed after passionate nights
Sugary waffles
Late night movies together
Buttery popcorn
Two year anniversary family gathering
Barbeque ribs
Romantic dinner for a marriage proposal
Roasted oysters
Nights alone after he says no
Greasy pizza
Following him wherever he goes
Rotten strawberries
After receiving a restraining order from the police
Molded chocolates
Sleepless nights staring at his picture
Stale popcorn
Insane asylums daily lunch servings
Undercooked Raman noodles
Mental institutes only breakfast special
Disintegrating waffles
First meal after faculty release
Boiling bean soup
Plotting revenge for a broken heart
Crumbling bagel
Violent lunch with a cute boy tied up across from me
Burnt oysters
A picnic over his chopped up body
…
****** ribs.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 12:43 PM UTC
We are in the future now.
In the past yesterday
is tomorrow, but some of
us didn't notice.
We subdivided dreams
into half gram
servings so they wouldn't
end. We
concentrated those into
the smallest possible dose
so we could savor every
morsel, taste every drop
of our life's Kool-Aid.
We lived sugar-free
to enhance the sweet,
and then ignored all of it.
We wrapped our fists around
excitement and squeezed its
juice out dry to ****
adrenaline cravings.
i have read enough Rimbaud
to see the symbolism.
i have read enough Hudgins
to know i, too, used to be sure.
i have read enough Petrosky
to sympathize...
Look, i'm a bear now, too!
i was wasted enough on land
for Eliot,
as fractured as cummings,
as subversive as Ginsberg,
but in the end i settled for breathing.
**DAS SOFA KING,
VICTORIOUS AT LAST.**
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC