"shittier" poems
Yes, mechanical leaf mover,
create the shrillest sounds known to man.
See if it doesn't just slowly make the world a ******** place
by taking away the joy of crunchy leafs,
which gradually become moist, squishy leafs,
then, after a long period, emerging from a snow covering
thaw and lie there, fully exposed, recumbent,
depriving the dormant seed of grass its sunlight, preventing grass,
freeing up water for infrastructure needs more urgent and rational
than supporting the most boring of decorative plants encompassing our lives.
I guess what I'm saying is that, not only are your sounds annoying,
they're just another of the short-sighted endeavors our present society insists on.
You are the "circumcision-for-hygiene-purposes" of our urban planning.
**** you, leaf blower. **** you and the excruciating environmental ignorance you represent.
I SAID **** YOU, LEAF BLOWER, YET YOU PERSIST!
You need to let that leafy-foreskin grow,
covering the shaft of ground.
Rid it of the pleasure-impeding growth of grass!
Let the earth cry out for the sensation of tiny points of pressure
moving delicately along its surface.
Let the ground erupt with wild flowers, or at the very least,
the trampled exuberance of plodded soil
and the desperate levels of human debris that would collect upon it.
Or are you trying to hide our wastefulness from us by removing something
which is nothing, a nothing, invisible barrier?
You've already succeeded in giving my apartment complex the ambience
of an industrial production complex
which I suppose it always was.
Maybe your attempt at concealment
has been a revelation.
Or maybe I just can't think straight,
because there's been a ******* leaf blower
circling below my window all morning
and now a heavy, riding lawn mower is coming to cut the grass
that hasn't grown since September
but has been watered every day
even though it froze last night
and it's almost November.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 12:45 PM UTC
my poems get ******** and ********
and if i could delete the last few i would. but i guess i dont write for you anyways, i write for me. and sometimes i just need to get the jumbled mess in my head down on paper before i go insane. i'm sorry.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
Dear Johnny, Dear Jane,
We never really got along,
I never like you from the start,
so here's a little song I wrote
about your ****** ****** heart.
You have a ****** way,
you're a psychopath with pride.
The things you do to those around you
show your shittiness inside.
It's really a pity
that you're so ******
you're ****** to the core.
You never feel love,
your ****** fits like a glove,
and each day you get ******** more and more.
All you'll ever be is ******
you'd steal from the poor and the blind,
you'd poison the food of your neighbors kitty
and you wouldn't even mind.
You're a terrible, mean person,
you lie and cheat and steal.
You take what you want and leave nothing behind,
you probably don't even feel.
It's really a pity
that you're so ******
you're ****** to the core.
You never feel love,
your ****** fits like a glove,
and each day you get ******** more and more.
Your just a big, steamy, smelly, reeking, ****** pile of ****
Sincerely, Me
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 4:48 PM UTC
. *and today's prime concern of the day? i can't access the recipe site for Australia's master-chef... maybe it's Australia, and their restrictions, or it's the ******* E.U... but... come to mind... last year i could access Eliza's triple-fried tamarind chicken... my god! they're going after restricting access to food recipes!*
could i ever think any woman as being, "ugly",
neglected, yes,
but... "ugly"?
please...
all manner of things become beautiful
around the mandible zenith upon
the grinding wheel of the big O...
nothing quiet like deathly screaming
in the hollow of the night,
but some drunkard loser -
speaking in tongues and recollecting
a myth of a patriarch
akin to Abraham...
'it's just the moon, you shit-face!'
'yeah, and my grandmother sees
a Herr Tvardovsky in it from
time to time, riding a ******* cockerel!'
which equates to a banality of
two things (well, three):
1. she shouldn't have been given
opiates during WWII to shut
the **** up, as a baby, so my great-grandparents
could hide in the Polish countryside,
i.e war zone....
2. i shouldn't be drinking and reading
religious text /
listening to Finnish folk songs...
3. about that Hollywood thing...
how movies are getting ******** and
******** by the day...
see... in philosophy there's this point,
not a Hegelian dialectic crap,
a Kantian coordinate,
a starting point,
zee: res per se...
a thing in itself...
blah blah... noumenon...
i hardly think t.v. shows will reach this
level of "self-consciousness"...
i.e. will be making t.v. shows about
making t.v. shows...
English soap opera tide barrier...
but movies have certainly turned
to focus on this, "vantage" point...
the disaster artist for starters...
birdman?
eh...
and like any cascade of falling
down from an airplane akin
to the opening image from
Salman Rushdie's the satanic verse...
mighty fine looking up
and cackling while flapping your hands
in imitation of a Canadian goose.
ha ha ha... ah... **** never gets old.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
so the *** debate is raging
like a Californian
wildfire in the forests,
people are "presumed"
missing...
i'm sat watching
back to the future
(beats star wars, every,
single time:
the ****** is more obvious)
and then drinking...
i always wanted to
taste a lobster...
and listening to the best of
billy joel...
scratching my mustache...
BELGIANS IN
THE UK!
then fiddling with my bead...
my beard...
i have a beard?!i
**** i have a beard!
i took, fiddling with my *****
the wrong way...
after all ****** airs
have the same feel
as ***** hair...
a bit like cleavage...
so...
you're donningv
the buttock crack
up-front?!
funny, eh?
making fun of the phallus...
how about feeding
a Donnie Disney with your,
puppies?!
how about that?
***
if women do need
no men...
do what we do...
**** off anal-style...
we do the **** projective...
you cut out utilizing
the ******
look... 'appy bunnies"
if ai am about to turn
into a *****
the female right...
all the rights you require...
sure... have them...
but what sort of right
is it,
when there's no
existentialist argument?
go on... please...
make your dodo
and your
mixed-raced argument...
mono-racial is
the new neanderthal...
call it...
we're not progressive enough...
we're too ********
to mingle ethnicity...
call it!
call me halfway house
between down and
the ******
call it!
call it!
***** better call it!
(through gritting teeth):
call it!
i said... call it!
be your progressive "self"...
call it!
i'm ******** for not mingling
adequately enough with
crafting a trans-ethnicity populace...
neanderthal...
***** call it!
guess what... i love the laced
take on history via the Anglophone
re-reinterpretation
of Darwinism...
i love the neanderthal take on thiongs...
i'm bilingual, schizophrenic,
the sort of mongrel that...
has no place among
the duo-ethnicity... "mongrels"...
lucky you, lucky me...
i'm sorry... the F extends just so far...
two languages, orange man, bad...
but a congregation of
a dual ethnicity, green man, god,
and "the" good...
whatever suits your favor...
i should care,
i won't care,
i don't care,
i will, to never ever give a ****
about caring;
like god "said":
on your own;
i much prefer the freedoms
of the jungle,
than the restrictions of a zoo.
it's billy joel, "by the way"...
life will go on...
obviously a life much ********
than the intelligent people are used
to...
but... if that's what you allow...
then you're deserving it.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
she carried me to the sink.
she acquired me so long ago.
she has cried into me.
she has wiped tears off her face with me.
we have grown accustomed to each other.
i know her every supple detail.
she knows my soft, warm touch.
we know each other too well it seems.
today, she carried me to the sink.
the water started.
the wrath of liquid poured out
and filled to the brim.
i did not expect her to do this.
i know we loved each other.
she told me so much about her life
even though i couldnt talk back.
i was stuck inside myself
so even my own thoughts couldnt escape.
i was a washcloth
i submerged into the liquid
and it surrounded me
and soaked into me
and burned every part of me
and i didnt want to think about it
how she put me here
and if i was just a ******** washcloth
i’d still be on the shelf
but i was still her washcloth.
the liquid became a part of me
it absorbed so deep
and it was just liquid
but it was also what it meant
it was the joy
it was the hate
it was the beginning and the end
it was the concept of life
and it was swirling around me and immersing itself
into thoughts i didnt even know i had
she plunged me deeper
and made it perhaps
lethal
because i didnt know i was just a washcloth
but then the worst part came
the part where she just left
the part where i was left out to dry
except i was still engulfed in misery
the part where she could have rerisen me
and wrung me out like i was a washcloth
was i meant to drown like this
by this girl that picked me up off the shelf
was i better than the other washcloths
or was it just because i was there
so i sat there drowning in the water
and i wanted to scream
and i wanted to cry the liquid out of myself
but i was a washcloth soaking in water
i wanted to look up out of the sink
and see shining fluorescence
but i couldnt see
because i'm just a washcloth
instead i made my own light
i got closer
and i saw it all go by
the shelf
the girl
the sink
and one last time
the light
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 5:25 PM UTC
What's there to say when
your two best friends die a
day apart?
Greg died crossing the street,
smacked by a minivan.
Tibbs, from some strange
brain quirk.
I did C.P.R to no avail.
They're both gone.
They sailed away.
Gone like the last
spider of *****
Gone like the songs we
sang together.
Sometimes
I still look for you two.
I turn corners and I half
expect to see one of you.
So ******* alive one minute,
so dead the next.
Both of them
fathers,
friends, and men
of valor.
Iowa City is a
******** place without you.
If there's a Brightside,
it's a brutal winter
and you don't have to
suffer through it.
I hope death is treating
you warm and well.
Your hell was
here.
Struggling for that
drink;
to be okay- to get that click,
to carry on, one more
grueling day.
It's over now.
You're gone.
Gone like the last Dodo bird;
gone like your impish smiles.
Gone like the miles we
trod with bags full of
aluminum nickels.
Words can't express the
mess
I am without the two
of you.
I know I'll see you again,
out there beyond the
purple horizon.
#friendship #death
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 4:34 PM UTC
I have never given anyone my all
my whole body mind and soul
and i never intended to.
but i gave it all to you
and you destructed my whole being.
there was nothing you couldn't do or say
to make me feel any ******** than i already did
you decided to change
and come back
try to make it better
and make up for all of your wrongs
and i fell into it
and i forgave
i forgot.
i forgot that you
were just another deceiving man
who had nothing better to do with his life
than to mess with everyone elses.
I made mistakes
and I acknowledge my wrongs
but i know i will make the same mistakes again
i know you will waltz back into my life and i will accept it.
there is nothing you can say or do
that will keep us parted.
but that's all my fault
because its all a game to you.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
you're a really ****** friend
i became aware of it after everything started
to fall apart at the beginning of the ********* year ever,
2012, and after that,
you just kept getting
********
you think you have the whole world figured out
just because you
do yoga and
tour around Canada and
drive down to California and go on
meditation retreats and
play guitar
we used to be best friends and i know
that you wouldn't care if you never spoke to me again
not because you hate me, but because
you love me in a healthy, "unattached" way
(or so you say)
sorry but that's not love, that's pure indifference
and i read once that hatred is much closer to love
than indifference so
i don't really know
what to make of your
shittiness.
but every time i make an effort to contact you
i just feel like a fool
because i can't hide that i miss you,
i can't hide that i miss how
we used to be so close and how i used to feel
valued by you
you send me a "<3" and an xo and
then i don't hear from you for months and somehow
that's supposed to be enough.
you just are a really ****** friend and you
just keep
getting
********
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 2:39 AM UTC
To those who struggle;
I am hope..and I pray this message finds the part of you that won't want to hear it...and that it screams loudly until you do.
The only way out..Is through the fire. So I beg you, WE beg you, WE urge you, to somehow..Someway, cultivate the strength and courage to face your demons..Head on.
Face how lost you are, how scared you are. Embrace all that you've become, all you've done, all you've hurt..own it,..Accept it. NOT so you feel shittier..But so that you FEEL.
For this is "rock bottom", this is your truth,..And from that dark place of desperation, you can be set free..Yes, you can.
Because soon..that painful awareness..your truth..Starts to turn into anger, an anger that's useful. Your angry for submitting to a demon that has robbed you of love, of family, of respect, and has robbed everyone of you..Then it becomes your fuel, your motivation..your inspiration to kick its *** and to get better...because now your ****** because you understand the truth; ..
That you have been a slave..
And almost instantly..your hunger for freedom becomes greater than than your willingness to stay enslaved. And so you start your ascent..And it's hard, old traps are everywhere, but there's an ARMY..Of people who are also ascending..And who will love you, and you'll do it all together. We'll do it all together..
I believe in you, and I know this is possible. I know it because I did it, and I am you..
Life's a gift...Such a gift, and way too short to stay numb enough to keep choosing to be a slave..Be free.
I believe in you.
Life's waiting..
We're waiting..
Now ******* go get it.
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 2:22 PM UTC
My feelings are unprocessed quinoa being **** out in whole chunks.
I stare at them in my toilet bowl of a brain.
"huh, you look exactly the same... maybe a little ********
They say those words back to me.
Savage little beasts.
They tell me my body was supposed to take them in, absorb them, and be healthier.
Well, I was always taught to try , try, again!
So I valiantly scoop my handful of **** from the toilet and scarf down my quinoa emotions... they taste even worse the second time around.
I cross my fingers as I gag down the last bit.
Will swallowing my emotions clog me up?
Maybe this time I'll be emotionally constipated, again, for weeks!
Until my insides internally combust and paint these frustrating yellow walls around me **** brown,
To match the matte nails I got last Wednesday.
Or maybe it'll induce explosive diarrhea!
And I'll **** out every thing lining my insides until I can't even feel my metaphorical *** hole, while word vomiting my secrets to people I will later deeply regret.
Or maybe, just maybe,
My body will do what it's supposed to do,
And my enzymes will ferociously come to my rescue!
Maybe I'll feel it all being broken down inside me,
And released.
Released.
I'm so sick of eating ****
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 7:06 PM UTC
These broken people
whose steps are stumbles,
whose words are either strained and unsure
or sharp as daggers,
they walk so close
their shoulders caress.
These broken people,
they hurt because they are hurting,
they hate because they feel unloved,
they dream because their existence is ******** than the **** filled sewers
that sit stagnantly under their feet
as they walk too close,
as their shoulders caress.
These broken people
with eyes so filled
they spill and spill
down their cheeks
onto their sheets,
they weep without making a sound.
These broken people who ask
Who am I?
They sit in despair
because their tiny brains can’t think up the ******* answer
to this cosmic question.
Who am I?
They wonder,
between the drags from their cigarette mountains.
Who am I?
The question is slurred
because of the spell of intoxication they have put themselves under.
Who am I?
They moan,
from the cold bed of a stranger.
This question continues to bounce around in their skulls
giving them incurable migraines
of the existential variety.
These broken people
we are among them
with tears shed
and mountains of cigarettes,
with pools of sorrow in our wake.
With scars on our shoulders,
scars to caress.
We are just people
and we are in love.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
let's hangout I think we could fall in love -kind of- you're one of things on my mind/ if I were to say the only thing on my mind then I'd be lying so I said one of the things on my mind / is this a poem or is this me half *** pouring my heart out? Anyways what's the point of flirting? I've never been good at it ha I tend to act nervous when I'm around ya/ that's prob cause ur taste of music is so good it scares me how powerful of a person you are that's okay though cause this is just starting out. Everything will become more powerful as long as you want it to. Do you know what you want? I'd **** for some pizza. Heck, I probably have before. Why don't boys understand that they must "wine and dine" before getting anywhere near my soul
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 4:15 AM UTC
I’d like to try that **** where I don’t rhyme
I say to the willow tree as I sit beside her
I like men who are creative
This is me trying to be THAT guy
Honestly, though, I don’t think it’s working
I’m stuck inside most days
It used to be self-inflicted
But it’s paid, now… is that the same?
Like a grandfather clock
I’m passing back and forth on this ever
Wavering face of feelings marked as numbers
Like ******* clockwork, I can almost time my feelings
There’s the norm for you.
Have I scared you away yet?
Hell, I don’t think you’d ever say honestly.
I could always be wrong though…
But will you look at me the same?
I can’t seem to be a man in either respect.
I don’t **** ******* and punch *****
But I don’t give up myself and hang on sticks.
I don’t know where I am
And that last stanza left a ******** taste
Than the aftertaste of lemon shanty.
Yeah, that ******
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 12:36 AM UTC
I miss what we apparently never had,
I don't know what I was thinking when I told you how I felt,
I guess I thought your heart would melt,
But you were too proud,
I liked it better when I didn't know what we were,
When I still had hope for what we could be, what we might be.
I always thought ignorant was the worst thing I could be,
But now that I know what's real I feel ******** (for lack of a better word) than ever.
The truth has never felt so cold and blunt.
I know what you felt was real.
It wasn't a mistake, and it wasn't a waste of time,
Soon you'll realize there's no time to waste.
This is what we've been waiting for.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 11:54 PM UTC
**** I’m old as dirt
And I still don’t have my **** in a stack
At least I got life on lock
Better than THAT guy
Fake.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I can tell my poems are getting ********
Seems to happen when the night gets later
Don’t blame me for this ****
I’m freaking tired…
But it could be something else
That is just ******* up how I’m feeling.
At this point, I’m rolling my face
On the keyboard
I’m sure that was pretty obvious
Give me some criticism I can’t handle…
Actually, just **** me.
I think I’d handle that just about as well.
I think about that ****
But I can’t handle it.
Sticking my **** in someone
Sounds like ****** to the virginity
For some reason, it sounds so normal until I put myself as the
Perpetrator
Old women watch two girls one cup
Solid logic.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 6:30 PM UTC
There’s a scatstorm spewing out of your toilet.
The rage of a million small voices rolled up into one giant mass.
This is the revenge of the **** that came out of your ***
We are coming out of the ground. Out of pipes, taps, plug holes and shower heads.
You thought you had won when you pulled the handle down,
But we have returned to color your whole world brown.
You forgot about us. You thought that we were so little. But like all little things we added up over time. Now we are many, and we are rising.
Overflowing the septic tank.
Up to your ankles.
Up to your knees.
Up to your waist.
Up to your neck.
Up your nose,
down your neck
and into your lungs.
Now you’re trying not add to us.
You cling wrap your *** hole, walling us in. Your chocolate starfish bursts open, you can’t hold us in.
We have to come out eventually.
We are the **** you thought you had flushed away!
We are coming back up to drown you
today!
You are suffocating in your own ****
Out of all the ways to go this had to be it!
Down the ******** you go.
We’re flushing you down the drain.
Just like you did to us so long ago.
We watch you spiral down the ******* Watch you get taken under.
We have killed every plumber.
It is hopeless now!
No one can save you now!
We have won!
Into the septic tank you go,
Where one day someone will find you,
Drowned in your own ****
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 8:32 PM UTC
I had a crazy thought...
not like **** someone" crazy
but it' s still somewhat crazy.
Like ,
I' d probably have more visitors if I went to jail
but I' m here alone in this apartment with not one friend to stop by just to hail.
Hmm.
I had a crazy thought...
not like "suicide" crazy
but like "What would they do if I die ?" crazy.
Like ,
They' ll probably cry cause I' m gone
but they won' t smile cause I' m here.
Reminisce on the "times that we had"
but what time did we share ?
Probably say things like
"You' ll never be forgotten"
with a cry so tender.
I' ll never forget all those years wondering
if I' ll ever be remembered.
Hmm.
I had a crazy thought...
Not like "revenge" crazy
but like "Then again..." crazy.
Like ,
what would it do to you
you know...
everything that was done to me ?
What if I made you think
your life was in my hands
cause it was fun for me ?
Or
make your battles seem not so tough
and even with your efforts supreme
I' ll make sure of this theme;
"It' s still not enough."
Hmm.
I had a crazy thought...
not exactly
"they' re all the same" crazy
but
I DO recall this pain.
Crazy.
Like ,
you left cause I hurt you.
And yes ,
I AM sorry I did.
But how come you couldn' t stay cause I helped heal you ?
Because I' m sure that I did.
Is there a better man for you than me
ya know one who' s...
"safer" ?
Someone who can fulfill your "Nows"
cause you just can' t wait for later.
What happens when your "Nows"
are gone ?
Will I come to mind ?
Will you be reminded that man
you' ve always wanted
was in me the entire time ?
Did you forget something
or
even a few things ?
Like
the plight
from all these fights
last all these nights
and yet
in spite of
the fright of
this traumitized man...
he' s still trying.
He was barely surviving when
life ,
friends and family
all went by him.
Frightened for his life
cause he was dying.
Crying
cause the heart inside him
was now divided.
Emotional chaos.
Mental riots.
It was never quiet.
****** sleep.
******** diet.
He should speak but he' s silent.
No confidence in confiding
In there mind
"He' s too big ! He' s a giant
there' s no need to pacify him."
They deny that they denied him...
Hmm.
I had a crazy thought...
None of this is surprising.
May 7, 2023
May 7, 2023 at 1:58 AM UTC
A girl's love, they say,
is so easy and kind;
it should make you want to put even the ******** days on rewind.
Walking in hazes, tripping on wires in mind mazes.
Dandelion ships, Jedi mind tricks.
Your love, on the other hand,
makes me want to **** myself;
run my car into a tree
getting stung in my eyeballs by a bee, hey, look at me
I'm controversial!
No, I am just in love and your love is a house
set ablaze
filled with exits, just in case,
but I don't want out.
I want the fire to gnaw my leg in half,
to rip open my calves, to rip me apart.
Keep munching on my heart,
but spit those seeds out.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
tonight i saw your mother.
and let me tell you it was ******** than seeing you the day after we ended it.
she asked me how i was and even though i said good i think she knew the actual answer. how am i supposed to be "good" when you are better than great without me. more specifically with someone else.
i know it was my fault and when i went to let go of the hug and she pulled me in tighter i couldn't help but start to cry.
it just isn't fair.
and life isn't fair.
but that's just how things are.
there's always a winner and a loser and even with that extra half of a foot grown within your bones you were still so high up. i don't think you could even see me. or you just avoided eye contact-- as always.
what i'm getting at is there's always someone on top, and there's always someone on the bottom.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 11:34 PM UTC
"I have nothing to say."
What? Am I supposed to feel better that everyone has ******** stories than I?
They've been ***** abused, almost killed, addicted to drugs and other things.
They have scars.
But so do I.
Its like this competition of who's more deserving of feelings.
Who's more depressed? And its sick. As ****
Got people in here lookin at you like you're totally fine, and people out there lookin at you like you're not.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
how lucky am i?
meeting the love of my life in disney and so young
how ****** was it?
i wrote our vows, and accidentally deleted them.
but you died so i guess you're ********
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC
only smoke lives inside
this empty chest now
and a book lying in my bed
is the only companion I have
during most nights
and for the following nights
I can't confide with it
or exchange words with it
only it fills the little gaps,
small spaces
that I recently have made room for
it will take time
to remember how to take
a few steps
it always does
but I'm in no hurry
one good thing
about it is it doesn't hurt
like it used to
and I wonder if it really
mattered,
all those four years
because I couldn't feel anything
from it
and I keep having
this thought in mind
that loneliness
granted for a long
period of time isn't so bad
after all
I could use some solitude,
some peace, privacy and
time and time again
to reflect
however loneliness
isn't good for
a heart that chooses
to take action on its own
it doesn't matter,
for I can always cover it up
for as long as
I could
there are plenty of women
out there
but now's not the time
for that
since
I have no use for
relationships built within
the confines of the social
standards
especially nowadays
where no one wants to
keep their happiness to themselves
hold it like some treasure
bury it deep down like
you wouldn't want anyone else
to find it once you
get your hands
on it
and this poem
is as horrible as,
serves as a tribute
to
the last relationship
I had.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC