"shopped" poems
My poem is my true selfie,
An X-ray of the inner me,
A snap-shot of reality,
A close-up of what's really me,
Un-shopped pixels of beauty.
Me.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
her ring sits on the mantlepiece
worn thin on one side
that dull warm yellow
that gold sometimes takes on
i remember it cutting into my hand
as she held it tightly as we shopped
it was bright and shiny then
she used to wear it on her longest finger
after dad left us, she left it off for awhile
and then wore it on the other hand
it was tight on her workworn hands then
she took it off again before she went into
this last home, but kept it locked in a security draw
now it sits on the mantlepiece, waiting
for me to find a safe place for it
for it is the little bit of my mother's spirit
that will one day be part of my son's wedding ring,
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 10:41 AM UTC
Is A Birthday A Birthday
Without
Celebration
A child of God on his creation
Is A Birthday A Birthday
Without
A cake
The sweet smell plus the time it took to make
Is A Birthday A Birthday
Without
Blowing out candles hot dripping wax
65 candles fire to the max
Is A Birthday A Birthday
Without
Singing the song
A sadness lingered all day long
Is A Birthday A Birthday
Without
A friend to share it with
Or are all these reasons just a myth
Pouring Rain fierce winds rocked my car
I walked the mall
Beauty Salon new look cut style my hair
No one to notice or to care
Shopping
Victoria Secrets, things I did not need
But made me smile
The happness only lasted a short while
See’s candy, picked out my favorite kind
Still sad loneliness on my mind
Bed bath and beyond; rosewater candles
Surely the scent would cheer my mood
Perhaps
Chinese’s food
Wonton soup and *** stickers To take home
Painful knee ended my time to roam
Reading comments ,well wishers who
Remember my Birthday
I’m done celebrating now
Ready for the end of this Day
Text messages Facebook too
I wish I understood I wish I knew
Why I feel this way
Tomorrow
Will be
A bright
New Day
Inspired Song
1) It’s my party by Lesley Gore
(And I’ll cry if I want to)
2) Happy birthday the new kids by on the block
3) Happy birthday by John Lennon
4) happy birthday by “Weird Al” Yankovic
5) happy birthday by Loretta Lynn
6) birthday by Katy Perry
7) happy birthday by Stevie Wonder
8) birthday by The Beatles
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 5:44 AM UTC
Regret & Remorse
Are photo-shopped
Pixels of fragmented
False memories.
Reboot.
Enjoy the whole show.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
The old man who worked at the grocery store,
Stopped talking to me.
He said I wasn't like him
and I never would be.
The lady who shopped at my dad's store,
stopped coming.
She said she was afraid of
Who she was becoming.
Dad and I agreed,
Blind obedience was to be.
People doing as they're told.
Afraid to act brazen and bold.
Speaking up or acting out,
was something people didn't do,
simply a sense of doubt.
But at what point do we stop following,
lead our own?
To do what's right,
Even it if it means to
Stand alone.
Father said the war would soon end,
But days went by,
and it would only extend.
All of the farmers, grocers, and school teachers,
Continued on their day,
Ignoring the torture, put on display.
Father went to the right
and I went to the left.
Tears fell,
But he wished me the best.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
My momma went to Paris
She danced near the Eiffel Tower
She shopped at L'Oreal
She walked through the streets of the City of Lights
My daddy waited for his wife to come back from
dancing near the tower
shopping at L'Oreal
walking through the streets.
My sister, a waitress in a quaint Texas town
Waiting for the woman she adored to come back
to their little town.
But momma never came back.
She found a better life
dancing near the Eiffel Tower
shopping at L'Oreal
walking through the streets of the City of Lights.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
She never made it
To Morocco
Rode ’cross the desert
With her Bedouin lover
Shopped for bargains
In the Souks of Rabat
Sipped mint tea
From a frosted glass.
She never went sailing
In a catamaran
And on a moonlit beach
Made love in the sand
Or drank espresso
In a café in Lima
Or danced the flamenco
In Puerto Rico.
She married a man
Cause no one else offered
Had three kids
And moved to the suburbs
Wrapped up her dreams
In brown butcher paper
Tied them with twine
And shelved them for later .
She never made it
To Morocco
Her life was four walls
Plastered in stucco
And she sighed as she thought
Of the things that she lost
The dreams that she wrapped
And shelved in the past.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 9:32 PM UTC
If you give me long enough
I could paint a vivid portrait of myself
with every blemish and pore behind a brush,
and hush the voices that would criticize
unsubscribe and dance it up over in wonderland with the sycophants
put on my bedazzled pants
let the local singles know I'm a dancer
just a beating heart away
From being another square upon a lattice
a writhing mass of hair gel
and cologne working up the ladder to fuckboi status
Imma walk the line between
a marble arch eclipsing the sun
over an angel statue kneeling in prayer
and a black leather boot clad
bad *** with bad habits
but he's so cool he doesn't care
Look at him go
all on his own
with only a thousand or so, little paintings
that are equally as photo shopped or filtered
just floating around waiting to see the show
and letting other people know they liked it
or not
What a spectacle destined
to leave us senseless and restless
what a test of the patience to be a slave to the masses
to see my juxtaposition against the rest of the best of us
and think "I should go with clever with glasses."
What a brutal twist of civilized life
to have an AI made for driving my car
so I can shimmy down and sneak another **** pic
THROUGH SPACE, to some guy who works at taco bell's wife
Laura something or something
I'm so social
What a medium,
Exchanging ideas,
and hunting body heat from out of the ether,
to have the pleasing distortion
of the speakers
drowning out all the wearisome noise
of our contortions
"You gotta learn to love yourself"
She says, and posts another photo
buried somewhere under 60 layers
of dog noses and rainbows, and angel wings
Oh **** this isn't boyfriend material let me change some things
-
You don't ever need to change girl,
there ain't anything, in this world
That I wouldn't do, to be with you.
And the Brief exchanges we had,
didn't reveal any red flags,
that I am willing to skip on *** over.
So somewhere down the line,
when the filters start to fade,
we'll just kick that can down the road,
and neither of us will change.
And the picture's that we painted of our Love
will degrade.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 12:29 AM UTC
Build a ***** workshop
(Where we feed on your insecurities for profit)
Don’t like what your mirror has to offer
In need of a quick fix because your size 0 jeans won’t fit
Well destroy your body like our ecosystem
With plastic to make you look fantastic
Because looking like an overstocked toy is the new ****
Change your completion until there’s nothing left
While tosh points out how you’re worthless without *******
which brings out insecurity galore
You need to be Barbie if you want
Ken and his Malibu beach house
Everyone knows you’re only worth as much as your waist line
Don’t judge a book by its cover
But my generation doesn’t even read
Photo shopped teens as far as the eye can see
Post photos
That strips away your dignity
For a spot on a that new reality TV series
Forget about the news because the kardashians bought new shoes
Mom asks So what did you learn today at school
A cool equation that the other kids taught me
My body – eating + surgery +pills= picture perfect girl
Or new American dream
Big ******* small waist, always sleeping around, never complain , don’t feel ashamed that’s the only way to play the game
How many pills did you take to look that anorexic?
Who made you feel so uncomfortable in your own skin?
How many meals did you shove down the bathroom sink?
How many surgeries did it take for you to become this fake?
The sad part is I bet you even Barbie didn't have this many plastic pieces
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
Oh no, I didn'tstagram
Don't want to share my selfies
Don't want you to know what I ate last night
Or what I did on Roofies
I twitter at your followers
And no, I won't "Follow you back"
The only people I'll re-tweet, my dear
Have all the things you lack
Won't go in One Direction
So hate on me, make a fuss
Don't think they'll oust the Beatles
Just because Harry does
Oh, what's a SnapChat?
Don't think I have that
Oh wait a minute, I don't care
Cos that app's neither here nor there
Don't think I'll find an online mister
Or reply to a "How about we.."?
Yes, I'm cyber challenged
So said my little sister
Everyone's a super model
But I mistrust Facebook photos
You probably photo-shopped your flaws
Or whitened your teeth with risottos
#nofilter equals #somanyfilters
Enough with all the fake
Because in this unreal world
This is more than I can take
So, take a step back
Post a candid shot
Don't hang around for them likes
Show them what you've really got
Make it stop.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
We went out back
After the meeting
when we knew we had nothing
and had a long way to go and were now
much happier
To the little barn
Stuffed with donations
from magical beings with money
who bought things from stores and used them
and then left them silently
in crackling plastic bags
We had listened and found
all the he's were the same
We were not alone and strange as he had said
Those he's always said that
we had nothing that he had taken and we were not ashamed
Digging deeper into the bins
hoping for treasure
Lingerie with lace
Sparkling silly bling
Shoes for work
I still have the purple lamp
you picked out for me
Your check for tuition
bounced as we shopped
and we thought it was funny
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 9:33 PM UTC
Jingle, jingle, Mr. Kringle
Please drop by my house.
Don’t miss it like you did last year
Don’t be that seasonal louse
That brought cheesy kinds of toys
From the local dollar store
We shopped there all the time
So we had seen them before.
I don’t want to sound ungrateful
But Action Tommy is not the same
As GI Joe. Between the two there’s
More difference than the name.
And Lego blocks fit together
To build some amazing things
Those copycat toys from Taiwan
Do not build much of anything.
Jingle, Jingle, Mr. Kringle
If you are real, please heed.
None of those toys and junk
Is really what we need.
It would be better if you could
Bring a job for my poor Dad.
Make it better than minimum, like
The one he most recently had.
And maybe a raise for Mom
Who works a full time job too.
Would a dollar an hour be such
An earth-shaking thing to see to?
So, just in general, Kringle dude,
If it wouldn’t make you awful mad
Could you twitch your nose and
Make this Christmas not be sad?
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC
When in the pasture
They don't offend;
We avert disaster,
When they're penned.
But that crusted crap
Is everywhere;
If not aware,
We step right in.
We'll scrape the pooh
To no avail,
The smell's
Stuck to our shoes.
We can't quell
The **** we're in.
There's one steaming
On my walk,
Leading to my door.
Leave your keys
When you leave,
That patty leads
To court.
The Internet's beset
With bullish threats;
Hard to miss
The patties here;
Our lives and much
That we hold dear,
Is shared and smeared
For all to read,
Milking us of privacy;
An abattoir,
It's piracy.
It's utterly insane.
They entice us,
Then enlist us,
Like leading
Cash cows
Down the lane;
Then tap
For one drop more.
Friends may offer
Cow pies
With an aromaticfluence;
They pressure you to choose:
Step right or left,
Then smear you with
Their cocksure ********
What enemy
Could do less?
Shopped pixelled patties
Are reprehensible,
Making one
So susceptible:
You *****
Then starve,
Then lose your hair
Until one day
You disappear.
We get caught up
In the flash,
Of all the stars
And fast cash,
But they have patties
Underfoot,
They slip and slide,
Get clean,
Then smirk.
We can smell'em
On those jerks.
There's a patty
At your boyfriend's place;
You're deep in it
If you're late.
There's a patty
At your girlfriend's place,
And you're deep in it
If she's late.
Some patties
Are so well disguised
In the colours
Of lover's eyes.
Intoned in lover's lures.
But step in it,
They call you *****
Some patties
Are good
At getting you high,
But one mis-step,
And you may die.
There's hidden patties
Lying within,
Crusted beneath
Veneered skin:
They waft with doubt,
Fear and longing;
Side-step that mass
At all costs.
Don't crack the surface.
You're better than
You think.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
*The Girl who spent heartbeats
Her currency was heartbeats
She only shopped with time.
She paid for things with seconds
As she waited in a line.
You cannot put heartbeats in a money box.
To save for a rainy day.
You either use them or you lose them
Heartbeat’s are made that way
She would spend heartbeats on strangers
As they shared their troubles and woes
Because kind hearts are worth more than riches
And go much further than money goes.
She would spend a heap of heartbeats on moments
Visiting old and precious friends.
Who wondered how she was so happy
With so little money to spend.
But money only buys possessions
While heartbeats buy much more.
They buy you friends and love and laughter
And a warm smile at every door.
It a fact you can’t buy heartbeats
When you have used them they are gone
So spend your heartbeats wisely
For one day you will have none*
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 10:53 AM UTC
*Her currency was heartbeats
She only shopped with time.
She paid for things with seconds
As she waited in a line.
You cannot put heartbeats in a money box.
To save for a rainy day.
You either use them or you lose them
Heartbeat’s are made that way
She would spend heartbeats on strangers
As they shared their troubles and woes
Because kind hearts are worth more than riches
And go much further than money goes.
She would spend a heap of heartbeats on moments
Visiting old and precious friends.
Who wondered how she was so happy
With so little money to spend.
But money only buys possessions
While heartbeats buy much more.
They buy you friends and love and laughter
And a warm smile at every door.
It a fact you can’t buy heartbeats
When you have used them they are gone
So spend your heartbeats wisely
For one day you will have none.*
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
In Lisbon, we blended
ended the day with spectacular culinary
Shopped and hopped side to side
In Dublin, we vented
as the whisky and Guinness was **** good
Shipped the hire car to Galway
In Italy, we invented
dropped coins in fountains of love we already held
From Florence, to Milan, to Rome, to Bologna
In Paris, I rented
alone in protests and hippies at Place De La Republique
Dreamt of you as they skated
In Romania, I persisted
up on the icy Tranfagarasan highway traps
I saw a bear and it had your eyes
In Stockholm, we insisted
As the Vasa sunk on tables of *****
Pecked on the trains and shied away.
In London, we protested
It was an ordinary day and the flowers didn't bloom
The Thames was gloomy and stale
In Oslo, we transmitted
The reindeer meal and cranberry was a disaster
The gloom followed us to southern skies
In Copenhagen, you were sorted
Smiled and amused by the Tivoli gardens
The night became day and the wind withered
In Amsterdam, we did what we did
Stored the memories on the reclaimed lands
Free-spirited in love and in eternity
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
This is for the girls who lie awake at night,
Pulling at the blankets to keep them warm,
Drenched in sins of deprecation.
Tossing and turning on their twin size beds,
because there is not enough room to fit expectations,
let alone their own.
This is for the girls who stare at themselves in front of their mirrors,
Pinching at the extra layers of skin that hang around their tummies.
Rolls of "fat" as they call it, I prefer the term "beauty."
This is for the girls who have shoulders are backs plastered in scars.
From the bras that were one cup size to small, overly adjusted and tightened straps.
This is for the girls who fall prey to the fallacies of magazine stands,
captivated by the cold letters bleeding off the covers:
"Three hundred, sixty-five ways to style your hair!"
"How to get the perfect ****
"Turn off the lights to look good naked!"
"How to make him love you!"
Pull apart the flesh, look beneath your skin,
you are not defined by the number of eyes that manifest lust towards you,
you are not the hands that plead to saunter their way toward your hips,
You are not the number of inches that space out your thighs.
Or the visibility of muscle that line up on your stomach.
You do not need to look good naked,
don't turn off the lights.
Your **** looks fine
Stop falling victim to the media
To the photo shopped ads of puppets who look nothing like you
Because your real
and if you want a man to love you, he must learn to accept you
with your extra flaws, our scars, and rolls of fat.
Because that sack of bones known as a model on a Cosmopolitan cover will not keep him warm.
It is inscribed in the atoms that make you a person
you are a three dimensional beautiful masterpiece
you are not a computerized pixelated image
reshaped and resized retouched and revised
stop letting society dehumanize a woman
your a woman
all the fury to slither through you limbs until you shake with and anger and purpose, acknowledge the value of your worth for you are more that just a waste of paper and space, you are space, you are human, your alive, and beautiful
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
He was not your average hermit,
he was not unkempt or *****
He camped out in the woods of Maine
for years, now, nearly thirty.
He burgled food and propane tanks
when folks were not at home.
His carbon footprint was quite small
He didn’t even have a phone.
With a high school education,
He liked living off the land
He oft” shopped” at a summer camp
but was caught on security cam.
Finally they captured him
and put him in a cell.
Now with murderers and rapists
The hermit’s forced to dwell.
His distinctive “Woodsy” odor
Keeps them at bay, I swear.
This fugitive from Walden Pond is
smarter than the average bear.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:47 AM UTC
*The Girl who spent heartbeats
By
Jude Kyrie.
Her currency was heartbeats
She only shopped with time.
She paid for things with seconds
As she waited in a line.
You cannot put heartbeats in a bank.
To save for a rainy day.
You either use them or you lose them.
I guess heartbeat’s are made that way.
She would spend her heartbeats on strangers
As they shared all their troubles and woes.
Because kind hearts are worth more than gold.
And go much further than money goes.
She spent a heap of heartbeats on moments
Visiting old and precious friends.
Who wondered how she was always happy.
With so little money to spend.
But money only buys possessions
While heartbeats buy much more.
They buy you friends and love and laughter.
And a warm smile at every door.
It a fact you can’t buy heartbeats
When you have used them they are gone
So spend your heartbeats wisely
For one day you will have none.*
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 11:47 PM UTC
he was forty but lied about his age,
told everyone he looked young for his age,
and still shopped at hot topic
he is in late forties now, still thinks he looks young,
and still shops at hot topic
he buys the same stuff that people were buying
in the 80's before hot topic existed
he describes himself as having such a brilliant mind that he is easily bored with people. he is an intj, so this means that he knows everything. he is very intelligent according to the re-occuring craigslist misc. romance ads he has been posting for the last decade.
when he gets inspired, he updates his fetlife profile
(or his ok cupid profile)
i met him when i was too alone, but not numb enough yet
he kept on telling me that depressed people were really just narcissists who couldn't stop thinking about themselves
i couldn't tolerate him, but had nothing else to do, so i had to be drunk and ****** at all times in his presence and i don't drink very often
prior to that i was only a weekend stoner,
but that changed real quick
he made himself too comfortable
and bought me a bob dobbs book for my birthday
because he thought and still thinks bob dobbs is hilarious
he kept on using my bathroom for long periods of time
and bringing the bob dobbs book in with him every time
i told him he could keep the bob dobbs book
but he said, "no, it's more the kind of book that i want to read when i come over and use your bathroom"
so i swallowed the throw up in my mouth, asked him to leave, threw the book away, and never had anything to do with him after that.
shortly thereafter, he started diagnosing me and every other woman who is not attracted to him as having borderline personality disorder via craigslist missed connections and/or his fetlife profile (which i still read for laughs).
then he broke into my apartment through the back door the night before he got married to a woman who needed a green card. i'm not sure why he did that, i'll never know. he broke the door, so it wouldn't shut properly anymore and i smashed my fingers in it once while trying to shut it. my fingernails fell off.
and this is why i have been celibate for the last 7 and half years.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
A man wore silk designer suits
Rolex on his wrist
His shoes were made in Italy
Had trillions in his fist
He had the perfect trophy wife
Kids in private schools
Drove Bentleys and Mercedes
He was no one's fool
He had mansions worldwide
Shopped Paris on the Rue
His address was a penthouse
On 5th Avenue
-
There was a man without a dime
Who lived upon a grate
Where warm air from the subway
Could share in his "estate"
He wore the rags which he had found
In shelters on the way
He sat and watched the rich man
Who walked by that day
His groaning and his mumbling
Annoyed the wealthy man
Who took care to walk around him
As he went about his plans
-
The rich man died a hero
His widow & kids drew hence
His many friends came round about
They spared no expense
The poor begger had no one
Had no money saved
He was thrown on a dungheap
They call a "pauper's grave"
-
The rich man had been lavish
He'd fared well every day
But he was a corporate mobster
So he had hell to pay
The poor man was redeemed of God
That is why he lost his job
He wouldn't serve up to the mob
And so his end was like a sob
He thanked God with his last breath
With grace endured ignoble death
But it had no strength to sting
The angels bore him on their wings
*Eternity in everything*
So which was the human being
Who had greatest gain?
This is an age old story
But the fact remains
The rich man saw the poor one
Again after his death
In heaven... joyous... *SINGING!
While He could not draw breath!*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 8/17/2016
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
What I want for christmas dont fit under that
tree.
Cause it dont involve to much shopping.
Just very little clothes a warm bed and you and me.
You can warp yourself in a bow.
Well share some special holiday cheer.
Over the bed is the perfect place to hang the misletoe.
What I want my dear ya dont have to buy.
Have Ibeen good all year.
Well honey I did try.
Why miss claus I never knew you shopped at
fredricks of holywood.
Spike that eggnog turn down the lights.
we'll try to keep it a silent night
but I dont think we could.
Baby I want the same pressent every year
and for that matter why not every day?
Im just in the holiday spirt what can I say.
Yes from santa I expect a lump of coal.
Makes me wonder why santas so jolly.
Hey I wonder do they gotta strip club at the north pole?
What I want for christmas is a bottle of wild turkey
and you in my bed.
Yes it's more like the ******* mansion.
Than sugar blums dancing in my head.
So my wish for this christmas to yours and you.
keep these holidays happy instead of crazy pulling
out your hair listening to Elvis singin bout a christmas
so blue.
Dec 14, 2009
Dec 14, 2009 at 5:59 AM UTC
The bracelet curled around your wrist
skin embracingly ornamental....representing
eternity. I remember when we shopped
windows lit up to enhance the jewelled effect
Wore bright smiles, coats that salvaged
hid the chill from our bones. The cold air paid
a high price to gatecrash our sentiments,
it did not succeed and skulked off to bite
into the heart of one whose flesh was delicate
who wore woes, like parrots clinging to
Shoulders of pirates at sea...all at sea...for dear life
Clearly slipping in and out at sea level
I saw them pegged out, unaware of those tagged
Expressions, labelled on the outside
And me, fingers grasping the secret of our love
Affair, bought and paid for in gold
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC
When Mr Manfred shopped for clothes
he always sought the best
long johns for the winter nights
and a stringy summer vest.
His Chevy was his pride and joy
he used it on weekends
and drove it down to Illinois
to hook up some old friends.
To neighbors he was the perfect gent
who never raised a fuss
so happy was this malcontent
he drove the high school bus.
But Manfred had a secret
it kept him so discreet
his captives couldn't run away
because they had no feet.
Moody Manfred kept them hid
force fed them through a straw
he wrote in chalk upon the lid
disappointment number four.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC