"sidelines" poems
Soft melodies of the deep sea echo
Moonlight dances on my pretty scales
And icy bubbles whirl under my chest
Through my slippery hair
And down into my lungs to clear the way for overflowing foam
Laughter splashes behind my lips as my anticipation rises
Waiting for a night of twisted fairy-tales and uncalled for surprises.
Shimmering bodies swarm in spirals
Grinding in unison with the waves crashing at the surface
We're anxious for overflowing foam and hidden treasures
Purple light pierces the dark like shards of crystals
Casting a ghostly shade on bulbous faces
Pressure rises as each wave surges
Whirlpools of hot breath suffocate our gills
But the sidelines are shallow
And stragglers float motionless
Hair like seaweed at the nape of his neck
Unbuttoned linen soaked and dripping
Her hollow eyes glow green
Like the jelly orbs of a fish under florescent lights
She’s pressed against a boy who has hooks for fins
Searching for the parts that are edible
Tender, Scale-less, Slippery
Nothing wrong with being the catch of the day
Right?
Bubbles rise and pop as the last melodies drown
Schools of us are begging for shiny hooks and bad decisions
A handsome boy has been smiling all the while
He’s caught in a fisherman’s net
Craving salty lips and the spell to make him a man
But fisherman don't care for little mermaids
With hearts like sea glass and no hidden treasures to steal
Sweaty fins splash and cheer
The fishbowl shatters
Sea glass spills out onto sand
We squirm and flop onto land
Gasping without air to breathe
As our mouths and ***** thoughts dry in the sun
Leaving behind fresh meat without mouths to feed.
Rainbow confetti was stuck in the grooves of my scales
Wet clothes left on the floor of a steamy bathroom
Gasping and moaning into tile
With the face of a handsome stranger
Because this meat shouldn't go to waste
And I'm drunken with desperation
For overflowing foam, jewels, and shiny hooks
But I'm just another fish in the sea
Tumbling in the waves with my rainbow confetti scales.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
If you gotta dream, show me
Reveal it to the world
And own it
If you gotta passion,
Disown your inaction
And make a habit of climbing the steep hill of your goals,
Or else dissatisfaction will echo in your soul
Go after your dreams fearlessly,
You've got all the potential you need,
Just find the why for the motivation you lack,
Conjure the reasons why you've laid low and cut yourself slack,
Well, you can't hide behind excuses no more,
Because you're a dazzling star and you're too bright to hide behind confining bars
You think you're a nobody?
Too scared to show your true colors?
Hey, you better get out there on that red carpet and like a peacock flaunt all your magnificent beauty,
And not even for a moment doubt yourself
Or listen to the chickens cluck **** about you on the sidelines
You've got a dream
Stop hiding it under your bed
And make it into your reality
You ain't think life got magic,
But it's full of meaning
Once you awaken from your brain dead anxiety
Because you worry too much of what people think of you
Your heart will come alive, beating with all the colors of the rainbow and the music you love will revive you,
I speak from experience,
Stop letting your fears hold you back,
Because they are just lies
No one is gonna believe in your dream as much as you do,
Not until you accomplish what you dream of, when you get there then they'll believe you
What else have you got to live for
But your dream!
It's your purpose
And it's your responsibility
To make your dream a reality
Not until then will you be able to see
The magic that both surrounds us and lives inside of you and me.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 4:44 AM UTC
I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman.
Does it mean that I am always in competition to be the top of my species?
Does it mean that I need to be perfect without a single curve out of line in order to find love?
Does it mean that I am only defined when owned by a man?
Does it mean that I can only find purpose in childbirth?
Does it mean that I will forever live in the shadow of men?
Does it mean that I am an object invented solely for a man's pleasure?
Does it mean that I'm forced to confine to gender roles and live in someone else's story?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to accept it when I'm harassed from across the street?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to lie there silent when he puts his hands up my skirt?
Does it mean that I am only worth 77 cents to a man’s dollar?
Does it mean that I am defined by my looks rather than my intelligence?
Does it mean that I will never be capable of holding a major position of power due to my mood swings?
Does it mean that I am defined by how many men I have had *** with?
Or does it mean something else entirely.
It's difficult learning to love being a woman.
Obvious and damaging disadvantages are visible to observers.
We are regarded as second best, property of our man.
We are erased from history, our pain is minimized and forgotten.
We are oppressed and have to fight for our rights.
We are afraid to walk the streets at night, afraid for our lives.
We are harassed without care and without penalty.
We are ***** and murdered for refusing proposals.
We are expected to live on the sidelines as a housewife whose only priority should be her children.
We are expected to keep quiet in situations of domestic abuse.
We are expected to be perfect, and pretty, fresh for a man’s picking.
We can’t even advocate for our own equality without being demonized.
There are times where I wish I wasn’t a woman.
Being a woman comes with innumerable expectations, pressures, and responsibilities.
My existence is not defined by a man, or by the patriarchal expectations that have been placed on me.
I am breaking free of my confinements and I’m not afraid to admit that,
I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman. And that's okay.
//sarahmann
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
I am lonely, not lonely
the choice up to now
has been mine
I will slip away
(at will)
into the recesses
of small shops
of empty rooms
or quiet spaces
to avoid her touch
or his gaze
or their judgement
our subconscious desires.
But all swallowed up
deep in the belly
of fog, of smoke
a vast, impenetrable
night sky
suddenly the
all-encompassing fear
grips me
washes over
so suddenly
I realize
I have not lived at all
that I am
suddenly
(forcibly)
the only one left.
Down a long, winding road
that trudges on endlessly
into the fading silhouette of trees
and broken sidelines
dim headlights
I am lonely, not lonely.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
Julie had never been one to partake in
Girly things, dollies and frills
Julie was one of those tomboy like girls
Who looked out for adventurous thrills
She loved riding bikes, down the hill at high speed
Screaming loud with her hands in the air
But Julie could not play in organized sports
Her mum said the cash wasn't there
She sat on the sidelines and watched all the games
To not play the game was a sin
But Julie Macado would spend her whole life
On the outside of things looking in.
She knew all the players on all of the teams
She wanted so badly to play
But Julie Macado would learn pretty fast
She was one of the have-nots that day
In gym she was better than all of the guys
She sank every shot that she tried
But organized sports was just out of her league
She was still sitting on the outside
Her friends that she played with said
"Go see the coach", maybe he'll let you join up
When she told her poor mother that that's what's she'd do
Her mother told her to shut up
"I've done my best girl, to give you a life"
"And charity...I'll never take"
"If you're gonna play then you'll pay your own way
"For you learn more when somethings at stake"
So Julie went out, hustled, working part time
Doing all that she could to make bucks
But, when she had enough money to finally join in
The season was done...and that *****
Even though she had shown she could be on the team
She was finished and did not begin
Poor Julie Macodo was still not on the team
She was still outside looking in
She worked all that summer making money galore
She'd be ready to sign up that fall
She had enough money to pay for herself
She was going to play basketball
Her mum lost her job in early July
The plant that she worked at had closed
Now she too was outside looking in at the others
They would move...that was what she supposed
Again Julie Macado would miss out again
All of her money she gave to her mom
She would be an outsider for all of her life
Never playing a game...'cept for fun
Even though she was better than all in her school
She would never be in looking out
Until that one day, when a man from Kentucky
Had come up to Freeling to scout
He'd heard of this girl, who could shoot from the floor
She had skills that he had seldom seen
He signed her on up to a four year free ride
It was all like a really good dream
He told her of how, he had gotten a letter
About a young girl ..that was her
It was written in crayon and a little bid blurry
And it stated out with a Dear Ser,
the spelling was bad, but he read it completely
It told of how Julie could play
But she had not school record, no history so
He set out to see the girl play
He contacted the school and he asked them for game films
They said she played only in gym
So he set out directly to see for himself
The decision would be up to him
Now, Julie Macado has realized her dream
Her life is all set to begin
She did it herself, with a note from her Mother
She was no longer out looking in.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 6:20 PM UTC
what happened to all the feeling? am I becoming less and less real to you? can't you see that I have a heart and it's dying because of you? you say things I know you don't mean,
please don't mean them.
it only seemed like yesterday when we were laughing without a doubt of whether the future would swallow us up. i still am not quite bothered by it just yet. but if I ask you all about tomorrow you'll say you're unsure.
you won't plead for me to stay anyways, so why should I bother waiting?
why should I bother pinning down my insides to submit to the practicality of my own mind?
why is there an ambivalent voice telling me that this isn't about how I feel, but instead a test whether my love is real?
To stay means to trudge through the thoughts and thorns heavily scraping my chest
To love means to set aside what might benefit me, and instead continually asking "how are you?" even if I know you'll answer that you're more than fine.
And it probably won't bother you that I'll fade away sooner into the sidelines, where the present is the future, and I remember how unsure you always sound--- but that's alright. I still just might be hoping for the best of us.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
Sometimes the poem
doesn't want to come;
it hides from the poet
like a playful cat
who has run
under the house
& lurks among slugs,
roots, spiders' eyes,
ledge so long out of the sun
that it is dank
with the breath of the Troll King.
Sometimes the poem
darts away
like a coy lover
who is afraid of being possessed,
of feeling too much,
of losing his essential
loneliness-which he calls
freedom.
Sometimes the poem
can't requite
the poet's passion.
The poem is a dance
between poet & poem,
but sometimes the poem
just won't dance
and lurks on the sidelines
tapping its feet-
iambs, trochees-
out of step with the music
of your mariachi band.
If the poem won't come,
I say: sneak up on it.
Pretend you don't care.
Sit in your chair
reading Shakespeare, Neruda,
immortal Emily
and let yourself flow
into their music.
Go to the kitchen
and start peeling onions
for homemade sugo.
Before you know it,
the poem will be crying
as your ripe tomatoes
bubble away
with inspiration.
When the whole house is filled
with the tender tomato aroma,
start kneading the pasta.
As you rock
over the damp sensuous dough,
making it bend to your will,
as you make love to this manna
of flour and water,
the poem will get hungry
and come
just like a cat
coming home
when you least
expect her.
8.7k
Love will never invite
A
Sweetheart
Into
My life.
My place in her eyes,
Is to watch her
At
Work, on the sidelines.
Therfore,
For a
Decent price,
I pay to have
A
Good time,
Under the covers
In
The night.
Nov 26, 2021
Nov 26, 2021 at 10:32 PM UTC
Sleep, sleep,
still your breath
and just sleep.
Sleep through
the drum-circle,
the neighbour's garden,
sleep through
the fever,
the sentence,
and the eventual pardon.
Sleep, sleep,
blot your eyes
and just sleep.
Sleep through
her hands touching,
the solemn submit;
sleep through
the wastelands,
the war-zones,
and sleep with the deficit.
Sleep, sleep,
in the castle keep, sleep.
Sleep for the potions,
the poisons,
the crimes you commit.
Too steep is the gangway
to an easier life,
too far is the leap
and too impossible, the wife.
Sleep, sleep,
still your mind
and just sleep.
Keep to
the sidelines,
with intellect deep;
fall to sleep
in the limelight
of your day,
for you have
earned your rest,
you have found your way.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
Proud little peacock
Plumage up for display
No need for repeated mocks
No need for you to say
I can clearly see
For we may be quiet but we have eyes
Strutting conspicuously
Showing off your prize
We already know you have it
We all do
On the sidelines we sit
Seeing you through
Tell me little bird
What do you get
When you say your words
Were your objectives met?
Everytime I hear them
Just makes me gag
I'd roll my eyes
Just hearing you brag
People'll give you
When accolades are deserving
But I suppose they're never enough
'Cause I still see you parading
Well I know I may be unpredictable
A tad bit capricious
To be honest, you...
You're simply being ostentatious
...and it's annoying the hell out of me...
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
She walks down pavement
She makes the government’s infrastructure look like beauty
Her beauty turns away the rules of the snooty conservative government
The constitution loses its soul
When she bends over to check the hood of a car about to roll
Her boyfriend accompanied by other boyfriends who hit on her
I stand on the sidelines
Problem is I murmur
You probably thought a stutter was worse
She’s such a high class gal
Despite her sultriness and I’m not judging
But I must mention she goes to Church
So you might still mistake her for being an uptown sister
She dances to rock music
Her head doesn’t even sway to the EDM that the plebeians surrounding her play
She’s an anachronism
But she just needs me to introduce her Monet’s impressionism
I bet her cultural values force her to mould Picasso’s Cubism
Even though I’m not a man’s man
She without influence is not enough
Because influencing is love
And I hope it is to this cute rebellious dud
I suppose from her house she ran
When she looked morose in school during period nine
It was English Drama and suddenly she couldn’t seem to remember the line
With her friends flanking her she walks and talks
She’s on the phone while she’s wearing her socks
She’s on the prowl she’s an active girl
That women is close to my heart
And I hope to treat her like a clam treats its pearl
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 11:56 AM UTC
I wish I could break
Shatter into a million pieces
Of sharded glass, waiting to be stepped on.
Causing you to bleed wouldn't hurt me
Because I would already be broken.
This universe doesn't give a ****
Whether we're moving
Or camping out on life's sidelines.
The doers, in the end
Meet the same fate as the dreamers.
I want you to break me.
Work me until I fall apart
Until I can't take it anymore.
At least then
I will overdose on my need for perfection
Before I die of it.
You can take my needle from me
Before my heart stops beating.
Before it turns my blue vein black.
Then maybe I can stop craving
Everything that hopes to **** me off.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
like a good poet, I whine and whinny:
the muses are unreliable, get too much paid vacation,
unlimited unpaid, and pretend their cells are out of range,
even when they are in bed with you and you’re near desperate
to cop a feel of inspiration
my problem is a variation on the theme. Everyday I jot down
too many possibilities, a handful of words added to the list of
pound bound childless titles, sad faced orphans, dogs and cats,
squeaking “pick me, pick me,”
our reply a casual
“you on the list” rather than admit they are titled, but bodiless
until cupid smashes a cupcake in my face and the bell rings
there they stand - at a friendless crossroads - direction home,
path unknown, awaiting a poet tour guide to complete them
if this sounds a bit like a bad achy breaky country song,
then you and I, on the same side of where I could be headed
cause at the friendless crossroads, always unsure, left foot first? that first line, first step, could be a false messiah,
or a free-at-last, a free-at-last emancipation
but there are no sidelines in a forest there no sidelines in a poet’s mind; there are the minefields of mindfulness that can explore explode and explain why it is tempting to believe that every gifted one deserves a break today
but you cannot be broken or break off from the community
“Hillel said: Do not separate yourself from the community; and do not trust in yourself until the day of your death. Do not judge your fellow until you are in his place. Do not say something that cannot be understood but will be understood in the end. Say not: When I have time I will study because you may never have the time”
my friend,
substitute writing poetry for study, for study is for us the analysis of everything, that is, everything we say, see and know the need to communicate
so
those who abide in the life of good words will not suffer an abdication (yours)
do not think
there are friendless crossroads,
there are only crossroads that the eye cannot yet see a fellow sojourner coming toward him,
bearing an oversized load of
the inside insight of responsibility
that demands sharing
that is why we call our meetings at
a crossroads,
a cross
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
All I do is win, for I'm an Ace
Painting a bulls-eye on everyone in the place
In my plane I leave everyone else
bailing out of the fight in disgrace
If I was a horseman, I'd be War
'Cuz like the card game
I win against Kings and Queens
and take them out of the deck
like the Joker on the sidelines, alone and bored.
I don't need a Diamond to win you Heart,
and I don't wanna join your Club,
this was skill and not luck from the very start
I am the Ace of Spades,
and I'll use my ***** to dig out your graves
I've been painted on the sides of planes
cars and trains
helicopters, submarines,
and the munitions that deal out the pain
I'm a trick shot Ace with the pool stick
As a quarterback, I've yet to throw a pick
As a pitcher, I make the other team sick
The starter and the backup plan
the Ultimate Ace in the Hole
The best card in a poker hand
lay me down and the money's in the bag
I run solo, streaking across the land
You only need to hold me in your hand
and your enemies will become ****
and I'll give 'em a taste
of this whirling dervish's mace
Leave them breathless upon the ground
as I rob the air from out of this place
you'll stand in awe of my greatness
take a picture, make a statue
Fill up every empty space with my name
For I am an Ace!
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 2:39 AM UTC
this makeshift democracy
yearning endearing
breeding festering aristocracy
petrified on the sidelines
black hispanic asian european
the manifesting minority
which built this republic
political policy withered to marrow
echoes of Washington
fade in graves marble halls
politicians etches unsheathed
to feast in bribery sorts
the gleam of monetary value
blinded patched pockets
burning the fabric
to be later devoured
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
American Democracy
is setting a trend:
American Democracy
is a Sitcom, or perhaps a Game Show
of demagogic, narcissistic sociopaths
tricking and manipulating the Public
via various sources in a highly consolidated Media industry
into thinking they vote for a particular flavor of Tyranny
when in reality Today's flavor of Tyranny is all decided for you
because the burden of Choice is far too stressful
for the Moderner without proper medication,
and the power of Choice may require some sort of educated critical Thinking,
some sort of re-edification
which is far too much for us to handle
in this socially sanctioned doped-up state
and with such an intentionally failing Education system
from K through 12 and beyond.
With American Democracy,
We have a grand Illusion of Choice.
It's so convincing that many believe the Illusion is True.
(Sort of like hew we think of Reality, but with Choice of Government!)
For American Democracy,
They don't want mass Education.
They don't want mass Edification.
They don't want Critical Thinking;
Those things prevent a Control by few.
In American Democracy,
They intentionally destroy progresses made, like Rights,
They perpetuate stigmas about things like genders and the concept of "race" itself
They propagate Terror as their Sheeple scream from the sidelines for more
They defile the sanctity of Human Experience, of Reality itself
and chain us to a system that benefits only a few
while destroying everything else,
like Climate and Environment.
These Demagogues are Satan, if Satan is real:
They tempt us with the things we don't need,
filling us with Stress, Desires, Prejudices and Fears,
and ceaselessly wage war on institutions of Education,
all the while keeping us from finding the things we already have within each of us.
This System of American Democracy
has degraded into a corrupted fractal
of the ages-old ways of Tyranny and Terror:
Aristocracy, Plutocracy,
Patriarchy, Oligarchy,
Kleptocracy, Demagoguery,
Bankocracy, Corporatocracy,
Fascism;
Tell me,
What is the ******* difference?
I mean,
even Adolf ****** was elected democratically
under the pretense of "Change"
then, for weeks later, suspended civil rights indefinitely
after a likely false-flag 'attack' on the Reichstag in 1933,
(for which the Nazis blamed the communists.)
under the pretense of "Security":
Demagoguery runs Amok
Among disedified Minds.
They say "Freedom" and "Democracy"
as if it vindicates their Totalitarianism.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
People keep asking me how I’m doing.
If I’m getting better or if I’ve taken the time to process what’s happened.
If I’ve sought professional help for the metal percussions induced by my career-ending injury.
In all honesty though, professional help is futile. It can’t save me now.
I’m walking through hell and sitting in a ring of fire discussing the temperature of the searing flames would be idiotic.
Why would I allow the flames to dance along my already seared skin longer than necessary?
I know they’re hot.
I know I’m in hell.
I know the pain I feel every day is real and crippling.
Talking about this pain wouldn’t end it. It wouldn’t diminish the heat. It wouldn’t help.
I need to keep walking.
I just need to keep walking.
My crippled body can’t run anymore, but I’ve got to keep walking.
Others continue to rush by. Frantic because they’ve never felt the flames.
They aren’t familiar with the burn. The idea of being in hell is novel.
They are novices.
But life hasn’t been kind to me.
These flames are familiar with every curve of my body and they dance around with trained feet.
I’ve been in hell for years.
People continue suggesting I find the light at the end of the tunnel, but that’s near impossible here.
I’m too blinded by the brightness of a vehement flame.
Sizzling with an angry vigor for the lack of gratitude I bestowed on my past life.
It mocks the speed at which I used to be able to run. It laps sardonically at the feet that used to run cheer-inducing speeds without thanks from their owner.
But crowds don’t cheer my name anymore.
I now stand on the sidelines and watch my team play.
I burn alive for the game I used to breath and as I watch each and every game, the deep breaths of oxygen only continue alighting the fire.
There’s no way out it seems, but I will try to keep walking.
Because talking is futile.
Note:
Spinal diseases are crippling mentally and physically. Watching the body you've sculpted for years turn to mush because you can't workout is dilapidating .
The despair and helplessness are unfamiliar feelings, feelings that can't be overcome. Disease is disease and sometimes it can't be stopped. Sometimes, it just becomes a burden to bear.
And sometimes people aren't strong enough.
It's different when careers end after four years of college. An expected end, an anticipated end. But when things you love are taken from you abruptly, before your finished. The pain is exponentially worse.
Exponentially. Worse.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
I have been treated like a game and people ask me why.
I just want to sit on the sidelines.
Do you know what it’s like to be looked at as a number,
As flesh, as something that can fulfill someone’s temporary
Needs when all you want is so to be wanted as a person?
You start to believe it. You start to believe you can only
Be beautiful in the context of one night, one picture.
You start to believe you are as shallow as the compliments
That are copied to you and several other people.
You start to believe you have to fight for someone’s
Attention when you should never have to do that.
You start to believe that only certain clothes
make you attractive because when you’re wearing them, they notice you.
You start to believe your opinions don’t matter because
they don’t want to hear them.
You start to believe you will have to settle for an empty
day or week of flirting just so you can feel something.
You start to believe that there isn’t such a thing as love
because no one seems to be looking for it.
At least that’s what I started to believe.
I have lost sleep over people who didn’t even
consider me a loss. I have waited for texts and
phone calls that were never coming.
I have romanticized words and gestures that
were far from romantic.
I have fallen for people only to realize it was
because they pushed me. I have broken my own
heart on the behalf of other people.
I have laid right next to people who might as well
have been 100 miles away.
I have believed words that were empty.
I have let all of this happen in an attempt to find love,
and I have found the opposite.
Maybe there are people who don’t need or want something
that lasts, something that’s real, something that you want to
share in the morning light and not hide in the night.
Maybe there are people who don’t realize the games they
play have losers. Maybe there are people need nothing
more than a night or a weekend or repeated words.
And I guess all of that is okay. But I am not like that,
and that’s okay.
I want someone that I can fall asleep next to with
a smile on my face. I want someone who doesn’t make
me wait and wonder. I want words that are spoken
just for me. I want to fall for someone with the promise
that they will catch me. I want someone who tries not to
hurt me and cares if they do. I want someone who feels like
they’re right next to me even when they are 100 miles away.
I want to feel something that even scratches
the surface of what love is.
No matter where I go or what I do, you'll always be the one person I hope I can one day come home to.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
Iced Coffee for Two
it’s more like milk with sugar than coffee, but the ice is a dead giveaway
yet when i drink them, so do you
or rather, i buy one for myself, and you put your distracting lips on my straw
thank you for asking, by the way
it’s not like i would say no- how could i??
how could i ever deny that face of yours anything you ask me for
my love for you is as black and white as my iced coffee and your backpack are
we are not total opposites
on the contrary, our similarities are why we are bestfriends
but you come along, with your smile and those compelling eyes of yours and
you drink my coffee
you smirk and make conversation and i laugh while
you drink my coffee
you talk to your girlfriend
you hold hands on your way to class
while i stand on the sidelines watching
you
drinking my coffee
then she kisses you
tasting my coffee
she drinks my coffee
don’t you understand??
you drink my coffee
i drink my coffee
this is the way it is supposed to be
this is what is right, the way it should go but instead
you drink my coffee
and when your cold, perfect lips meet with hers in what i’m sure is
an electrical kiss, a display of love
she too, drinks my coffee
she tastes the delicious, sweet flavor of my creation
she drinks my coffee
but it was not meant for her
to drink
no, it was meant for me
i bought it so i could drink it
savor it, enjoy it
then share with you and watch
you drink my coffee
don’t you understand??
this is the way it goes, the story of our
iced coffee for two
k.m.c
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 4:26 PM UTC
The secrets you shared
Opened my eyes real wide
Had to take the burdens
That you bared
Couldn’t let them lead you to death
I ****** out the poisons
Plaguing your mind
I wasn’t about to sit on the sidelines
I’m a fighter
Takes a lot to knock me down
It’s gonna take a lot more to take me out
Demons
Hunt me down
All of the darkness
I took that from you
Now I’m wanted
Demons
Hunt me down
I’m not one to be outgunned
in a fight
This time around hells wrath
may have me bested
In its fury
Demons
Hunt me down
I’ll do what I have to, to stand my ground
Once purified
Now drowning in darkness
Opened eyes
Fill these abandoned woods
Everywhere I turn spirits haunt me
I’m not scared, I’m not afraid
It was in this place
My life was made
There’s comfort here
And I’m alright
I don’t second guess
The decision I made
Alone with the ghosts
You gave to me
I told you I’d take them from you baby
Demons
Hunt me down
All of the darkness
I took that from you
Now I’m wanted
Demons
Hunt me down
I’m not one to be outgunned
in a fight
This time around hells wrath
may have me bested
In its fury
Demons
Hunt me down
I’ll do what I have to, to stand my ground
Heaven shut me out
Long ago
I’m just another abandoned soul
I’ll walk these deserts for the rest of time
Taunted by the nightmares that kept you awake all night
I hope you sleep peacefully in dreams
You deserve the best baby
I’m the one who took your pain
Made it my own
Cuz I could not watch it hurt you, no more
I’ll fight for you forever
Your angel in the darkness
I’ll fight until the end
Until my wings are ripped from my back
Until my eyes run black
Demons
Hunt me down
All of the darkness
I took that from you
Now I’m wanted
Demons
Hunt me down
I’m not one to be outgunned
in a fight
This time around hells wrath
may have me bested
In its fury
Demons
Hunt me down
I’ll do what I have to, to stand my ground
©2018 Written By Benji James
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC
Life is all around you
Live each day like your last
Don't sit there on the sidelines
Life goes by so fast
Listen to the music
Sing songs that you don't know
Don't sit there all in silence
Turn up the radio
Life's a dance, get on the floor
Life's a dance,
Life's a dance, get on the floor
Life's a dance
Don't matter who you came with
Dance with who is near
Wave one hand high above you
With the other, hold a beer
Live each day so loudly
so loud that nothing drowns you out
Make up words while singing
And dance, and scream and shout
Life's a dance, get on the floor
Life's a dance,
Life's a dance, get on the floor
Life's a dance
Come on and get dancing
Feel the rhythm of the saints
Just feel and then go do it
And ignore all noise complaints
Sitting doing nothing
Living, silent in a trance
Get up, and start to party
Come on...welcome to the dance
Life's a dance, get on the floor
Life's a dance,
Life's a dance, get on the floor
Life's a dance
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
**The allure of everything bad
The allure of vices that nullify circumstances which make living seem sad
The 'Hollywood' cigarette, the hard liquor... ******* crystal ****
All very romanticized but in reality, isn't that really just a self-induced slow death?
We don't talk about it, until we watch from the sidelines
If only for a second
When partaking one repeats quotes like 'it is what it is'
'I am not a quitter'
You've built up a tolerance for one, so you beckon
The bartender to pour you a second
Social trend like a hot topic on twitter
So now you want more
You ignorantly jab the needle inside you like you don't know what your signing up for
In a sense you don't, for you choose not to
Addiction entraps... but who?
Not you
And the moment you decide to go cold turkey
It appears more enticing in another movie, or in the hands of a fellow druggie
Impossible to reject
Relapse... rubber band effect
Yet even he that doesn't use gets a little curious
One day the stress becomes too much to handle, he's peeved
He's furious
He's heard of pills sold over the counter, and also of those available from dusty cobwebbed shelves
By dealers with hollowed out eyes, ghosts of their former selves
In an alternate reality
Where 'it's all good'
It's all about finding solace in one happy, high family... 'It's all hood'
A distorted image of zoned out smiling faces
Floating around in temporary elation
These vices have comforted and haunted many, way before our so called 'X-rated generation'
The druggie, the alcoholic or the *** addict you see... could be your's or someone else's dad
Or it could very well be you or me
Seduced by the allure of everything bad
I write this expecting it to be misunderstood by many...
For a judgement between bad and good
I myself could be affiliated to one of these vices... or many
Someone reading this may have already renamed it 'The allure of everything good'.**
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:01 AM UTC
Whirlwind,
Sky is grey,
Then the sun
Emerges some,
And it’s a beautiful day.
Windows down,
Listening to
That song,
The one that’s
Always on.
Makes me think
Of an idea,
Ever fleeting…
Long lost melody,
Repeating…
Emotions always bleeding.
Ending
Before
Beginning.
Vertical lines,
Confine
Trees of shadowy green.
Sidelines to the street.
Waiting for
A unicorn,
To appear.
Maybe you’re right.
There is no such thing,
In this life
As fantastical tales
Come to life,
Because there is always
A dark side
We hide.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 11:36 PM UTC
whatever happened to communication?
i'm trying to speak to you
wanting to get through to you
and what do you do?
ignore me.
that hurts.
maybe it isn't intentional,
and i know i'm overly-emotional,
but don't put me on the sidelines when i speak to you,
not in the middle of a conversation i'm trying to have with you.
when i'm trying to help you, trying to have you...
i just feel so ignored.
i just feel so...
lonely when you don't speak to me.
it's a lack of communication causing separation
and it makes me feel like my life's wasted
when all you do is forget me here.
well... it's all i can do to say i love you
and that i hope you come back, i really do,
and i'm doing all that there is to do
to get you here, to be closer to you.
that's what i'm trying to do
through this lack of communication.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
He watched his sons football game
with a set of binoculars
from the parking lot 300 feet away.
His ex-wife sat on the sidelines
texting her latest boyfriend
while making eyes at her sons coach.
She didn't care for football, or
for her son much for that matter.
She would go so far as to beat him on occasion
when she'd had a bad day, but he did care,
to him that boy was everything.
For her that was all the reason she needed
to file the falsified police report
which lead to the unnecessary restraining order.
He watched his sons football game with binoculars,
she didn't even know what number was on the back of his jersey.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 1:04 AM UTC