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KILLME Feb 2014
I don't appreciate
bleeding for nine days straight
Flow so heavy I wanna die
at the silliest things I start to cry
the annoying things never made me twitch
but now I just go full *****
I just lie around like a lump
And everything, I want to ****
Simply, I have no motivation
Golly Don't I hate *******
I just had the silliest wish.
I want to drop everything right now,
and play video games
that sounds so great right now.
Just me,
a can of soda,
the tv,
and a couple games.
I wanna play all night,
until the flash from my tv seems like lightning.
Create crime,
stop crime,
**** zombies,
and play football
on my x box.
Sounds pretty good.
Pull an "all nighter"
I love video games,
without further ado,
*its time to play
something a little happier. =)
CH Gorrie Oct 2012
So...there's this girl who's rather smart
that, when her lips begin to part,
drives me up the wall in a good way.
I sort of want to see her everyday.
She's usually busy though,
so I occupy
time with one constant sigh
until she calls and then I go.

I don't really know too much about her ---
she's Aphrodite's caricature! ---
no,no, that's a bit rash and inflated,
but in my stomach butterflies've congregated
each time her face comes to mind.
Severely interesting,
her hands are often clean
and she's never proved less than kind.

I think it might be good to write her a song
(I should've been writing this all along)
so that she'll feel sublimely delighted
and is happy, though consistently derided
by the upkeep of her garden's flora.
She could use a lot
of things uncommonly wrought,
like poems stuffed with anaphora.

      In time all the snowflakes will evaporate.
      In time the sun will sleep under an iron leaf.
      In time acetylene darkens human hate.
      In time all time will seem quite brief.

So, in honor of her I have created
this mediocre song so dominated
by use of the Yeats-stanza's rhythmic-rhyme,
offering it to her as ends to the crime
of my deplorable mannerisms.
I hope it's well-received,
being arduously conceived,
but I'll openly accept criticisms.

Coral, though you must (and do) work a lot,
work harder at those things which can't be bought
(i.e. relationships, love, and empathy)
for even the natural workaholic bee
requires mutual love.
Even while working
find a small moment to sing
this song. I hope it's enough.
Julie Grenness May 2017
Long ago, way back when,
I was teaching five year olds then,
The funniest things happen to me,
One day I had different coloured shoes, you see,
One brown, one blue, gross, prithee,
Preps said very loudly to me,
"You're the silliest teacher we've ever seen."
So much for teaching them literacy,
The joke was on me, quite definitely,
Still, I guess I can survive anything,
It's called my worst day of teaching.......
Feedback welcome.
Sum It Sep 2014
There is this kind of time in everyone’s life. That was what I was told. I was also told I was peculiar in a nice way. But I am not going deep down all this time and peculiar thing and all. It is just that sometimes I feel so empty and I was also told that when you try to write something you should try your best to describe all sorts of stuffs so that the readers will get to know the kind of thing you are feeling. Like for now, the kind of empty I am feeling. Kind of funny though, who would want to know what I am feeling and on top of that who would want to know the kind of empty I was feeling. Anyway, I was feeling very empty yesterday and I am writing all this because I just thought it was pretty cool to feel empty, kind of, just like that. I am not being emotional and all but that is how it is, you like to feel sort of lonely, sad, happy or whatever at time, just like that. And when I driving on my bike, I speed it up to the most it can bear or most I can bear and twist and turn and run over other motor bikes and stuffs that are moving in the road in a kind of modest way but I know they are as ******* as I am. But hell with that, I don’t want to know if anyone is ******* or not. I can’t even think about the right word to replace the *******. But, you know what I mean. It’s kind of sad to find that everyone is *******. Then, that makes me madder and I speed up more. I start to rip apart my accelerator, literally. You know what literally mean, don’t you? It’s when you do something in a literal way just like when some lousy guy start acting out too corny while they say they will bring down the stars and moons for the girl they love.  To hell with love, love is the stupidest thing that will ever again happen to me and if that happens then I will crown myself with all kind of stupid crowns and be the king of stupid. But love was kind of good feeling too.  Anyway I just try not to end up breaking my neck when I am in bike. But you know then I just intently look at the something something that is coming towards me and then I feel like speeding up more and just encounter that innocent ***** face to face. Yeah, I mean it. I feel like pointing the direction of my bike right to that something something truck or stuffs that, just like you know when an archer aims. You know then, I also have this shrewd kind of look in my eyes, like I am dead serious about what I am going to do. Its fun when you know you won’t but you act like you will. Yeah, I just feel like heading right towards the something something and hit it right on its grotesque face with some silly stupid art. Then, can you imagine what will happen? I can see every ******* retards gathering around me. I am lying down with blood over everywhere. I can see pieces of my grand motor bike here and there. I can see the driver of that something getting out and trying to explain that I was the one who came directly into him as if I was attempting suicide. To hell with suicide. What kind of person does suicide. I can see traffic cops and medics and all. They are just trying to carry me to hospital. But I know I won’t want to go to hospital because hospitals make me sick. There are lots of sick and depressing people around. If they would want to take me anywhere then I would like them to take me to mountain top from where I could see a bluest lake  all the clear reflection of clouds and the greens and rainbows and butterflies and all those stuffs the poets from nature describe in their poem. But I know they are too busy for that. They are some stupid people who just want me to admit to hospital. Anyway, when they start to lift up, I just get off the stretcher and start laughing out loud. I will tell them that I am okay and its all my ****** series of imagination and show them that I don’t have wounds and all but they will just vanish. I keep laughing and laughing because then I could finally feel or imagine the pain that I will go through. The pain that will fill me up and I don’t feel empty anymore. That is the exact kind of empty I feel. But that is not enough, I am still on my bike. If you have lost me, I want to repeat all that happened was just a part of my imagination. I imagine stuffs a lot and I think they are cool when I imagine stuffs about dying and just waking up as if I am just taking nap and waking up. Is there anything like that rebirth or stuffs? Anyway, I am still on the bike. I speed up thinking all these things and then I make my way through a very narrow alley between two moving something trucks or buses and there… That is the right kind of empty that just got filled. You know it or not, when you speed up and make a narrow escape from between the moving trucks just closely to save your life. Man, I can feel the air move through my veins and I can see my heart flying out of my chest. Man, was that crazy? I ask to myself. To hell with it. I am still alive and breathing and I am not feeling empty anymore. But as I keep thinking, I just get so mad. I don’t know at what or at whom. Everything is so pale and depressing. I try to cheer myself up looking at the clouds and green trees and trying to think about witty lines that’s funny to me and all and all and them , all it just makes me so mad, just more depressing.

That right, I then stop my bike on the side rail and start thinking about writing about all these stuffs. Because I have this group of friends who kind of poem and stuff and they are pretty good too. I also poem and stuff sometime but nothing that I wrote ever became good. Because I can tell by reading them all that, the stuffs that come in paper are not everything I feel. Like if I have to use percentage to say how near they are to the amount I feel, it would be like ten percent or around. That is not much. Even the government value added tax is thirteen percent. I was trying to be funny but hell with that. I was just feeling empty and all and now I am on my bike stopped on the side of the huge highways where everything is moving. Its depressing to find out that everything is moving , everything around you and you are the only one stopping to look at them moving. If only there was someone who was there by your side to hold your hand and look at all these moving vehicles and the traffics and kids holding the hand of their mothers and fathers and uncles to cross the road safely and those dogs and oxen lying over the road.  To hell with it, if there was actually someone who would be by my side, I won’t be feeling empty and imagining crazy stuffs and stop my bike trying to write a poem out of it or something or anything just so I can be more cool showing my rad poem to the group of my circle who poems. Man, do I love that ? I can certainly make a good actor out of me if I play in a move but it just make me feel more sad and I don’t know why. I look around if I can find any teashop or anything. Just so, I could sit there and order a tea and stay sad and pale and then someone would come and ask me. Hey boy whats the matter with you? Then I would just ignore his question. People can be real nosy sometimes. I am just siiting here having tea and something man. Head off to you own way, I will tell that. Why would I tell me why I was sad anyway. I was thinking about a beautiful girl like an angel that we see in movies , beautiful like that when the word beautiful fails to describe the amount of beauty she has,  I was trying to imagine a situation when I am sipping over my tea sadly and then this angel comes over and ask me what is that making me look pale. She would say nice stuffs to me and man, do I fall in love again? Man… love is the silliest thing ever. You can have enough of it. I was just feeling empty because some girl told me that she doesn’t have anything for me. Even I didn’t have anything for her . But you know there are times when you actually fall in love like madly in love. It’s the same person everywhere, all around you. You can’t just stop thinking about her. But the one who said she has nothing for  me, she meant no feelings or loves that she can do to me. We met few times, two or three and she was nice and all. I was funny and all. But even I haven’t felt anything towards her. Now she is really beautiful with this hair and this long slender face that she has. And then you know it when you want to fall in love. I wanted to fall in love with her because she was exactly the type of the girl that people have to fall in love with. She was active and hardworking. She has a good smile and dimples too. Man, those dimples drive me crazy. I just feel like diving into those tiny little cheeks and then right into her heart. And on the top of that wavy curly hair, it can drive anyone mad. Well, it drove me mad and that is why I am trying to fall in love with her. But anyway she told me last night or sometime in past that she doesn’t feel like that. I want to tell her that even I don’t feel like that with her. But I don’t want to because that may just drive her away from me all more. But anyway I was just mad when she told me that. Not mad like psychologically but like emotionally. I was just trying to explain her that we should may be spend some time together and get to know each other and all because you know I was kind of trying to fall in love with her and wanted to know more about her and make a lover like impression on her and all but man, was she crazy or something? She just said she doesn’t want to. It just made me so mad that I started my bike , yeah after paying for tea and all. I speeded up again and I didn’t want to stop but I had to stop because of this stupid traffic signal but my legs were all dancing because I was anxious and all and I just wanted to cry for nothing. But I can’t cry because I don’t feel like and when you feel like crying you cant stop it anyway. Those stupid tears will just fall off. Then The traffic signal goes green and I speed up and want to race with someone and feel good by beating them. But then there are other bikes that goes ahead me and that makes me feel more sad and then I just so over the yellow side line and start driving like slug. Man, I am extreme. I can feel it. I try to think about writing all this when I go home but I know I wont because I have done this many time and I have never written anything. Its just like that.

Its just like that. You have all these stupid to intelligent ideas an stuffs when you are walking or on the bike but I never do anything. When I reach home, I change my dress start it all again. I start to become normal like nothing is wrong with me. It just drives me crazy.. everything is so wrong with me. I have to be somewhere is some other good job that I will enjoy and that also pays me pretty good so that I can enjoy and all. I also have to fall in love with this girl. I have to complete one of my research paper so that I can earn good reputation among these technical circle of mine. I have to pen down some good stuffs so that I can perform it loudly in front of everyone and then everyone would cheer for me and all. I will just act modest and bow down. I also have to meet some of these my school friends and all and have some crazy times with them mocking the professional life and all. I have to be with my family, go to temples and stuffs and pray and ask the god to help me focus in my pursuit, which I am not sure what that is so I also pray and ask the god to show me the  right path. Its easy to pray and all and just stay happy thinking god will do everything but hell with god. I also have to prepare for this test and I have to complete reading this book and man, I have so much to do. I can’t just waste my time just like this.  

**There are always enough stupid things to drain the best outof you and leave you in terrible vacancy.
I will look at it and edit it sometime, not too soon though.
Lauren Rayne Jul 2014
My phone went off earlier today.
For the silliest second,
I thought it was you
And then I laughed at myself;
It's too early for you to
Think of me.

There's no way
You're drunk enough for that.
Chelsea Woodcock Jul 2016
For once,
there can never be enough
that will not be gone with a flick
of the wrist, and a little incantation.

Jest is not in the particle,
It is in the galaxies.

Ralf is not a man.
Leaf cries when he is ripped.
But, he will be found and noticed
By the flamenco dancers
Who reside inside
All of the rocks that might
Be outside in the pavement
As we sip mango ***** beverages.

It is the silliest of events.
Kareshma Sep 2014
I smile at the silliest things you do
I laugh at the crappiest joke you crack
I ignore every mean thing you say about me

But there is a time, when I just can't be me
I will not hear a single word, put against me

The time you cross your limits, will make me cross mine
You will then not see, on my face, the same old smile

You cannot then, take me for granted
and I cannot be the same old friend, you always wanted.

You need to once stop and this is the time.
Cos' even before your friendship comes my pride.
JayceeJellies Jul 2015
KPop and horror films,
You're just the silliest girl.
I don't want you to go,
We've been through a lot,
I know.
I'm not going anywhere though.
You don't need to worry about that,
So.. don't.
To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name
Am I thus ample to thy book and fame;
While I confess thy writings to be such
As neither Man nor Muse can praise too much.
'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways
Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise;
For silliest ignorance on these may light,
Which when it sounds at best but echoes right;
Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance
The truth, but gropes, and urges all by chance;
Or crafty malice might pretend this praise,
And think to ruin where it seemed to raise.
These are as some infamous bawd or *****
Should praise a matron. What could hurt her more?
But thou art proof against them, and indeed
Above th' ill fortune of them, or the need.
I therefore will begin: Soul of the Age!
The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage!
My Shakespeare, rise; I will not lodge thee by
Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie
A little further, to make thee a room:
Thou art a monument without a tomb,
And art alive still, while thy book doth live,
And we have wits to read, and praise to give.
That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses,
I mean with great but disproportioned Muses,
For if I thought my judgement were of years,
I should commit thee surely with thy peers,
And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine,
Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line.
And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek,
From thence to honour thee I would not seek
For names; but call forth thundering Aeschylus,
Euripides, and Sophocles to us,
Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead,
To live again, to hear thy buskin tread,
And shake a stage; or, when thy socks were on,
Leave thee alone for the comparison
Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome
Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come.
Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show
To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe.
He was not of an age, but for all time!
And all the Muses still were in their prime
When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm
Our ears, or, like a Mercury, to charm!
Nature herself was proud of his designs,
And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines!
Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit,
As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit.
The merry Greek, **** Aristophanes,
Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please;
But antiquated and deserted lie,
As they were not of Nature's family.
Yet must I not give Nature all; thy art,
My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part.
For though the poet's matter nature be,
His art doth give the fashion; and that he
Who casts to write a living line must sweat
(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat
Upon the Muses' anvil; turn the same,
And himself with it, that he thinks to frame,
Or for the laurel he may gain a scorn;
For a good poet's made as well as born.
And such wert thou. Look how the father's face
Lives in his issue, even so the race
Of Shakespeare's mind and manners brightly shines
In his well turned and true-filed lines:
In each of which he seems to shake a lance,
As brandished at the eyes of ignorance.
Sweet swan of Avon! what a sight it were
To see thee in our waters yet appear,
And make those flights upon the banks of Thames,
That did so take Eliza and our James!
But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere
Advanced, and made a constellation there:
Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage,
Or influence, chide or cheer the drooping stage,
Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourned like night,
And despairs day, but for thy volume's light.
maria Sep 2018
i hope one day you learn to look into the corners and see that the webs were not cobwebs brought about by the lengthy days we had. they are strings painstakingly spun through the tough yet beautiful years that we have, all of those keeping me tethered to you. i hope you learn to read between the letters and the lines, that each one was made as a puzzle for you. i hope that one day you will learn that i cared about you as much as you cared about me. now that it's all over, i hope that you learn that my love does not lie in the open. you know how secretive i am. i would not leave the thing i value the most out in the open, just for people to try and take it from me. no, this is why you thought i never cared. i hope you bothered looking under your pillow or in the books i lent to you. it is in the ruffled sheets of our nights and mornings together. i slipped my smile for you in every single one of the pages i dog-eared for you. i hope you found it at 2 am, in the mornings with me. it was in my sleepy kisses and the way i huddled close against you. i hope you felt it in the way i ran back to you, every single time, when my rain poured only for you. i hope you hear it in all of my playlists about you that i never told you about. i hope you heard it in my giggling to the silliest things you said, and i hope you unraveled it in the way every single night i hugged you good-bye. i hope you felt it in our goofy dancing under the stars, eighteen kilometers apart. not far, but not close enough. i hope you realized it was in my tears, till the very last time i tried to fight for us. i hope you felt it in the way i gripped your hand as we walked a moon-lit street, and i hope you remember it in the way i asked for your embrace for the last time. to be perfectly candid, i was so nervous that night, but the way you held me, as it always did, calmed me down. i will always remember how you smelled that night, like sunshine, and you walked like it too. you brought me home that day, and i asked you one last time if you still loved me. i hope you heard it in my silence, anxious yet relieved, when only nothingness filled the car on the way to my front porch. i wondered why the silence was deafening even when there were no words uttered, even though my world was crumbling down under the tires of your car.
CH Gorrie Aug 2012
From the visions of sparrow vanguards
that fly insatiably onward.
From the tombs of ancient hearts draped
in flowing, moth-eaten fabric.
From the fighter jets stalling somewhere
above solitary and succinct farmlands.
From the bottom of a broken purple
sunset that lies embossed on my brain.
From the silliest half-thought left
unvoiced in the vagrant light of a damp
and desolate lamp lying in a landfill.
From several mouths at once.
From oracles cross-legged in caves.
From the gills of a catfish on a hook.
From mythical forgeries and the perjurer's tongue.
To the subdued hope resting in a
trembling hand gripped round its pen.
To satisfaction that is oneness that
seems to never arrive but is there
all along.
To the peaks of the Himalayas.
To my spidered desk light, shallow with doubt.
To my flustered and torrential page.
Kingafroninjaa Dec 2011
They don't know about the love we have for each other.
Do they know about the silly nicknames we have for each other?
The hearty laughter we shared from our inside jokes?
Or the secret language that belongs strictly to us?

They don't know about the love we have for each other.  
Do they know about the intimate passion that we would constantly fall victim to?
The brief moments when we held heaven and hell in the palm of our hands & spoke to God?
Or the vulnerable moments where we released the private sections of our past?

They don't know about the love we had for each other.
Do they know that we used to be one soul but now we are just two bodies?
The days that we spent arguing and spilling tears over the silliest little things?
Or the day he released my soul so he can rest in the arms of his lioness?

They don't know about the love we had for each other.
Do they know about the fantasy world she trapped herself in to escape the life without him?
The nights she spent wandering when she would finally numb the aching pain?
Or the times she wished she could go back to her past & forget ever meeting him?

They will never know.
brooke Jan 2014
you were once so
scared of what I
thought--that day
you thought I was
going to break up with
you for getting arrested,
for scaling the elementary
school and then running from
the cops. Trust me, that was
the silliest thing you could
have done, not the worst.

I think you had it backwards
about me.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014.
Elioinai Sep 2018
I don’t know why you added pink toaster
to your 23rd birthday wishlist
Except to display on another line
that You so ****** extra
maybe it was just that
Or maybe you wanted to see who was gon be extra with you
And actually go get a tacky pink toaster
guaranteed to never match your kitchen
But sit on the counter doing double duty
Toasting your bread with a sunshine picture
while also warming your heart
a daily reminder that there are some people who will always enjoy meeting your silliest requests
because they love you
I hope you receive 5 pink toasters today.
I also got you some guac, Jamie.
Saraswati Jul 2017
“when was the last time you feel happy?”

i ask this question a lot,

to my friend who seems got it all

to my relative who got his life all settled

even to my parents

they stopped and lost for a moment


is a confusing feeling

you could feel happy

but not really happy,

until you meet your high school friends

your old lover

those warm feelings they give,

hug you with comfort

bring back the old memories,

the wide smile, the non – stop laughter, the feel of being set free, fly and being extremely happy to the most silliest thing, it almost feels like there was no burden

no scary thoughts of the future

no consideration of which bad or good

nothing, just happiness

now i believe you are happy

but dont you miss being really happy?
Byron Silvestri Jan 2013
One dull night as I sat by the fire
Sat by the fire, playing my lyre
All of a sudden I heard a loud crack
A crack that sounded like it was out back
I rushed from my comfy place by the heat
Hurried outside through the snow in bare feet
To find there was nothing; I went back in
Grabbing a blanket from out of a bin
Sitting back down in my seat by the fire
Looked at the clock, it’s time to retire
Retire to my bed to get some sleep
I laid down to a sleep, a sleep so deep
So deep that the silliest things seem real
As real as the closest thing you can feel
I dreamed of a world, a world outside mine
This world was calm, and everything was fine
The air smelt quite nice, the ground was pure white
The people were free, there was not one fight
They had not a care as they lived their lives
Living their lives just so that they survive
Good morning! Good evening! Good afternoon!
They said with a grin, like that of a loon
And as I began to adore this place
I woke from that sleep, in my dismal space
The tapestry hanging, tattered and worn
On a wall that was innately forlorn
These things had been here for many a year
Many a year, but to me just appeared
As bleak, unsightly and just plain ugly
All of these things I used to find snugly
It all just seemed extra, more than I need
I need something simpler, that is indeed
I jumped from my bed and grabbed for my coat
Slipped into my shoes and wrote a quick note
Explaining to any that may come by
That I can’t live here and then tell them why
I’m off to explore, find a new abode
One much more simple, not on any road
Life in the city just isn't for me
Between greed, envy, and monotony
I need something rural, nothing excess
Something less daunting to relieve this stress
As I stepped off the porch of my old home
Ready to move on and willing to roam
I walked one direction, and then the next
Though finding this place should not be complex
I walked toward the forest, just turned and went
‘Till I was there I would not be content
The snow covered forest was so pristine
Everything was so white and serene
As I kept walking past tree after tree
I stumbled across a river, you see
A coating of ice that flowed underneath
I stood there staring with chattering teeth
Flowing water was encased below me
There was no place to cross that I could see
I turned and I walked down the river a bit
Then came to a rock, where I chose to sit
I sat and I looked, as to comprehend
And saw further downstream there was a bend
I ran to the bend to see what was past
And what lay before me had far surpassed
All the expectations that I had made
I gazed at a village where children played
A village so peaceful, it was just right
I walked into town, it was almost night
A polite stranger offered me a room
I walked inside and saw flowers in bloom
Some beautiful flowers, they just fit there
I tried to continue, but had to stare
He pulled me away, led me to a bed
I laid down on it, and rested my head
While drifting to sleep, the room just a haze
I saw something close, to my heart dismayed
A tapestry, not unlike whence I came
Hung above me, in a hard wooden frame
I shut my eyes tight, aspiring to dream
And woke with a fright when I heard a scream
I was cold, disheveled and in a tree
And there was a woman pointing at me
I went to look when I heard a loud crack
I fell to the ground, landed on my back
I never came home from that fateful trip
And all just because my finger had slipped.
Some nights I feel like emerald and wonder if its less than I'm making it out to be.
But I run my eyes through every detail of your face by memory, and I listen to all the different octaves of your sound.
I can't help but remember your words in conversation,
Can't help but remember every conversation.

And I come back to it all and think of the way we touched. That was different than every other one because I can't understand how one person could hug with so much love.

And I follow the silliest rules and I follow the silliest people.
But I can't seem to get to where you are.
I can't seem to find those lights like I did, it feels like they just keep burning out.

And believe it or not, I need you to get through the day.
Just some memories of cold moon light drowning warm lips.

Drowning frozen toes.

Some nights I feel like ice cold and wonder why this is so okay with me.
David Proffitt Oct 2016
As so it was as we put to sea.
The Dark pirate captain and me.
Aboard a ghost ship decorated with bones and skulls.
I listened to hear creaking and the circling gulls.

Twas a dark and dismal day, with a ghost green sky.
Her main mast atop the Skull and Crossbones did fly.
Holes in her jib and Poseidon’s pitch fork on her main.
Our dark and treacherous ship was the high seas bane.

A purple fog hung over her deck, coiling and twisting.
Up the masts and sails dark spirit existing.
Born out of the ancient timbers and the toil.
Born out of heartbreak and roil.

I was first mate on this ship of the dead.
One and thirty nine hands that bled.
On the ropes and the sails.
On the harpoons and whales tails.

I counted 14 cannons on the decks.
I found more on a midnight check.
She had seven eighteen pounders deck under.
She shuddered and rolled from the thunder.

Listing to port or starboard from a volley.
Recoiling on the oaken dolly’s
No cannon ***** would touch her.
The purple fog protected those that were.

Aimed at her masts and broadside.
Swatting them into the deep I watched wide-eyed.
She deep sixed more ships than any other vessel.
Their captains hung from the stern trestle.

We came upon a man adrift in a whaling vessel.
The captain swung the ship around to nestle.
The small boat’s gunwales were shattered and torn.
Her occupant screaming wide eyed did warn.

“Avast your voyage twas Mermaids I fear!”
His face a ghostly pale and his eyes were queer.
The Captain brought him on board.
And he brought with him a fear that roared.

My Captain held him at the point of his sword.
The man’s eyes became as fire and he roared.
Deafening, it was out of his empty mouth it howled.
And with it the very air was fouled.

And the purple fog recoiled from this man.
Round and round on the decks it ran.
We all backed away from this apparition.
A horror straight away from Mariner’s superstition.

And he collapsed on the deck.
His pulse I did check.
And he did not have one.
I listened for his heart beat and there was none.

Filaments of his former self arose.
And Hung over his dead body close.
“Beware of White Cap Bay.”
“Tis where the Mermaids play.”

Came a watery cold voice upon the night air.
And we all stood there and stared.
His tortured soul wailing into oblivion.
And he passed on by aspiration.

Of these tiny stars that surrounded him.
And his likeness became dim.
And then he was gone.
The purple fog again was redrawn.

There was no body from whence this came.
Upon the deck where he laid, a blue flame.
And no man could extinguish it.
The Captain touched it with his sword, it split.

And became two, and ran off the starboard side.
“It’s gone!” the bosun cried.
We all stood there at the Captain we stared.
For the first time ever saw the Captain scared.

“Who’s afraid of some Mermaids Mates?”
“I like Mermaids more than pieces of eight.”
Our Captain said in a falsetto voice.
He did nothing to make our hearts rejoice.

And so we sailed dead ahead into the night.
And the crew held their fear with all their might.
A red litten gibbous moon to steer by.
The wind through the tattered sails sighed.

There came into view a huge rocky bay.
Bathed in the ethereal moon light lay.
To the starboard stood a huge stone monolith.
Surrounded by a ring of small obelisks.

And in its top there stood a giant mirror.
At first I thought its purpose unclear.
The closer we sailed I finally understood.
Twas a warning beacon if you would.

Harken to its brilliance unto its warning.
Listen unto its mourning.
And green sea foam licked round its base.
And the wind howled in its face.

And there were queer holes and vanes upon its top.
The wind sounded through the holes an octave drop.
Which made a strange, deep reverberation?
And it shook the deck and masts with strange gyration.

We dropped anchor in a quiet nook.
The Captain said “Lads let us look!”
And several of the old salts were superstitious.
And mumblings of spells and things malicious.

Ran through the crew like a runaway current.
For reasons of truth and things that weren’t.
Then the Captain became enraged.
Said he’d use his enchanted sword to engage.

Any man not worth his salt.
He’d be locked in the forecastle vault.
With the purple fog and the demons of the ship.
Forever in death’s grip.

So nary a man stayed aboard.
And we all crossed a small tidal ford.
And found ourselves again on dry land.
Our sea legs making it strange to stand.

We came to the monoliths huge door.
Adorned with strange hieroglyphs it bore.
Testament to some earlier time.
To some odd number prime.

I stepped into a gigantic hall that was lit with no light.
And I saw a most impossible sight.
A giant sapphire ball floating over a deep shaft.
It radiated beams of light from this strange craft.

It danced on the walls like a giant kaleidoscope.
The men were about to abandon all hope.
I saw a huge aperture above the ball.
That opened like an iris above the hall.

One of the men found an elevator of sorts.
And its doors had rows of oval ports.
And our Captain stepped inside.
And so the crew filed in wild-eyed.

We found ourselves walking out of a strange mist.
In a room atop the monolith.
A huge mirror affixed to system of lens of strange hue.
And I saw in polar equatorial it would slew.

And our Captain looked upon it with an uneasy eye.
“Tis a light house Capm,” came a wistful cry.
“Not like anyone I seen.. says I.”
The Captain touched one of its wheels, “Aye,.. aye.”

I saw upon the wall an imprint of a hand.
Surrounded by a solid gold band.
And it shown a deep blue.
Its color the same as the orb’s hue.

And the boson’s mate was about to touch the object.
“Hold fast there mate!” the captain checked.
“We dunno what that’ll do?”
A blue halo around his hand flew.

And it pulled his palm unto the wall.
And he could not remove it at all.
There came from under us a rumbling vibration.
The aperture was opening in measured gyration.

Upon the mirrors there came a column of light.
From the orb below a blue-gold blinding sight.
And its countenance you could not behold.
Through the lens and off the mirror it rolled.

And it beamed out upon the sea.
And the men were afraid and began to plea.
And it swung around on its own.
Like some mechanical drone.

Nothing human touched its controls and levers.
For it moved upon its own endeavors.
One of the men was standing above the rest of us.
The beam swung into him and he became dust.

Neither force nor the Captain could stand the men fast.
They ran for the elevator save the Captain for last.
Once again we were in the great hall.
The huge orb was making a strange call.

Calling the Mermaids of White Cap Bay.
Upon the rolling surf they did play.
There were mermaids too numerous to count.
Their passage we could not possibly surmount.

They all began singing as one.
Their mesmerizing melody begun.
These sirens from leagues of the deep.
Soon had us all at the edge of sleep.

The Captains enchanted sword did resist.
Upon our lips it did kiss.
A sharp blue spark awoke us all.
From the lilting Mermaids call.

One of them beckoned to me.
I could not move and I could not flee.
And she came out of the sea.
And was floating in front of me.

Sea-green eyes and golden hair.
A long slender nose and skin so fair.
High cheekbones swept back did blend.
Into her hair unto the end.

And small gold stars within her eyes did move.
In a fathomless green sea did prove.
Their test upon my soul.
Doing their best to take a toll.

On this sailors lost heart.
She weaves her black art.
And her teeth a row of ivory scimitars.
That sparkled in the light of the stars.

She called me by name.
And the gold stars in her eyes danced in green flames.
Her breath smelled like sea breezes and myrrh.
And it reminded me of better times that were.

Then she touched my face her touch wet and cold.
She drew fire out of me and glowed gold.
Upon the night.
As I beheld this wondrous sight.

And her touch was no longer cold.
The spot she touched me turned to gold.
Then she kissed me and I could not think.
The flames in her eyes danced and winked.

And so I was lost to this siren of the deep.
Then her sea-green eyes began to weep.
Mermaid tears upon my cheeks.
Diamond liquid from her eyes did leak.

All down my face and into my mouth.
Salty and sweet, like some wine from the south.
And I began to see sub-mariner sights.
And I soon forgot my own foolish plight.

“For I cannot stay here with thee.”
“For my life comes to me from within the sea.”
“Fear not for I can change thee if you see.”
And she pulled me into the pounding green sea.

So down we went into this emerald abyss.
And I found myself in some strange bliss.
And I could breathe in the sea.
And I felt a oneness within me.

And she beamed at me with her ivory smile.
And pointed at my legs for a while.
As I looked at my legs I was startled to see.
A large broad fluke attached to me.

I could hear her voice inside my head.
We talk this way underwater instead.
And we swam down to a sunken Galleon.
Its deck littered with gold and a medallion.

She reached down and picked it from the deck.
Submerged in the sea this old Spanish wreck.
I brushed away the barnacles and brine.
Etched into its face within fine lines.

I saw on its face inscribed a name.
A name from long ago clouded in fame.
Ponce De Leon from the Queen of Spain.
Her lost explorer who succeeded no gain.

And I saw all my shipmates swimming towards me.
The Mermaids converted them was easy to see.
The Captain looked odd with a large fluke tail.
And octopus tentacles from his face did flail.

He was still wearing his stupid three cornered hat.
The silliest sight I concluded that.
And my Mermaid swam up to me and took my hand.
“You do not belong here you belong on land.”

So we swam up from the emerald deep.
When we broke surface she began to weep.
“When you get old and turn to gray.”
“Come back to sea and we will play.”

And with that she dove down and swam away.
And I think about this Mermaid to this very day.
And in my hand I still held the medallion.
Taken from the deck of the old Spanish Galleon.

A gift to me from my lady of the sea.
At night the wind brings me her singing plea.
“Return my sailor return to me.”
“Return to your home under the sea.”

Now I’ve grown old and my hair turned gray.
And you doubt this tale from me you say?
And I swear it’s all true.
I’ll swear by my tattoos.

Dave Proffitt 2/7/2012

This is a long poem!
Sienna Luna Jan 2017
Sparkly like strings of

red garlands

there lives a little

dustball man

in my lower abdomen

rubbing his tiny

warm hands together

in complete delight.

Always singing

the silliest of songs

his round chubby cheeks

flaming bright pink

just thinking of our kiss

last night behind the dumpster.
kath otoole Oct 2010
I don't suit hats
and I'm not their cup of tea.
My head is just the wrong shape
and it's far too small you see.

So the hats that I have
quite simply have to be
of the jokey, laughing,
giggling, silliest variety.

I've a pink hat with bobbles,
and a purple fluffy beast,
an Arsenal grey with dangling braids,
and a multicoloured feast
of points and tassles, braids and swirls.
I guess I'm not like other girls.

But none of the boys
will walk along with me.

Still, I don't mind. I love daft hats,
and my daft hats love me.
(c) kath otoole - 02/10/2010.
Eager rushing sensations, waiting to escape, finding love and never finding the right words to say. Varied and wondering dreams, restless in all it’s waking threads of time. Rose gardens that house all kinds, like sunflowers for Van Gogh, humming amongst them. The mood helps providing a sense of freedom, though most never follow through. Maybe it’s only peace that I’ve always wanted. Something that isn’t found under a chestnut tree. Poetry a way beyond conversing with oneself, a self portrait for one’s eternal life, opened for viewing, it's something more than wanting street fame. Flashes of knowledge. As pearls. Self-doubt has become normal, something lingering around, it’s tiring in my engagement with it. Clouded mists, dripping over my essence, for I’m guilty for being anxious. Though there’s a-lot of men who stay heated, most of them stay bluffing underneath, hollering at the moon on the roof, passing any yearning for actual love. Because it’s something made out of lust. Now poetry spoils me, maybe it’s too much of a good thing, I’m alone in the world and it’s something I never wanted. For me, it always seems that I end up like this, a darkened world and I’m centered in it. For love, it was all bone and ashes, with poets skills, turned them into something so potent, forming beauty so we all forget about life’s natural wonders. A nightmare for the moment. Thoughts that are vivid, I’m not lost, I’m on a path that’s constructed for me. The only predestined item, in my own existence. Not reluctant. Even when you’re heading towards your fate, it’s still no obligated to provide you all that you ever craved, including the lips of a lover. It’s a sudden and unexpected shock. Sometimes laying a scent of bitterness inside. Yes, it can provide tears. Maybe I’m just impatient. Though in poetry, I take glimpse, into another’s world, another’s experience. I just don’t want to know about love. The experience of it, that's in experience love, far-more illuminating than any poem that anyone can read. It’s a certain grace, a different type of contentment, being in love, maybe a final place for personal progress to stop, rest and let go. Feeling safe in another’s arms. For if the same love is given back. Controlling the movement of the sun with each poem. Salmon sky, starlight, fireflies, providing a sense of romantic aroma, scented poems, kissing, eyes glitters in their flickering. Hands holding, insecurity fades and each lover forgets about them, fear forgotten to the point of it never existed. Love, not belonging to romance art. Violin for symphonies. Some infinities are bigger than others. Changing fates, change paths, I’m a paradox. Whenever I’m glanced at. I’m under no obligation to be the person others are. Like how life is to me. Not out spite. Not to taunt. Just be.The issue of self-awareness, giving me the knowledge to be my own person. Harping in the waltz. Solemn in my own thoughts. Private. Wanting to burst. But I render to myself on my path, dealing with daily struggles. Maybe I’m private in order to keep myself for the one I’m meant to be for. This is all just a prelude to my own enlightenment. This is only a note to a track record. Fire. I look back on times of that self-awareness, what a large lump of weary years. The wanting to live, the desire and dreams, than not having the ability to do so. Till I started the to notice the beauty of life, without knowing the beauty inside, I looked inside and saw a supplication, and produced my own courage, hollowness in others I could always understand, people's wanting to understand, to have friends, to talk, to be noticed, to be helped. To what I didn’t see, original lives, people all just fitting into conformity. Friends and family will believe always in your potential, nauseating in person duality. Always. Without fail. It’s a different story once you want to act on it. Nothing there is spontaneously. Oh frown on that life where it's easier to bleed, than it is to smile. Maybe nothing in life is predestined. And the search to have my own fate come to furitation is all any illusion, a trick to find myself. To create something holy here on earth. And it’s shocking to see how many people want you grounded. Though what do you do, when love turns to hate?For all I know, my own heart isn’t meant to be enclosed. But if you can’t create yourself, if you won’t rebel, stand up for yourself. In order to avoid scars. Beauty won’t belong to you. Not the beauty of the flesh. The kind of beauty that comes from inside.The soul is stronger than the flesh, rendering it more valuable. I’ve noticed the war between Angels and Demons.I could be all wrong. It could just be something of a self-made myth. The smart philosopher will know, the peace is known internally and the externally will never match. There’s few things more pleasurable than *** and revenge. It’s returning to a place of hardship, during success. And no one notices how much doubt affects our own lives. To apply within, to save myself from all those fears and insecurities. For I had meet someone, changing, shifting the patterns inside, I first felt illuminated for the first time. I smiled, encouraged me to stop reading, reading the lives of others, begin to live for myself. He held me hand, caused me to smile, asked me to talk, sat and listened, took an interest, asked for nothing more, than my time and presence, for what we did during that, that was up to me. Putting in time, was the only work required. Projecting ourselves beyond the mundane parts, going forth, passing poetry itself. It was like discovering Mozart’s music for the first time in humanity. We replaced the mocking chants of time’s minutes, moments or angst future to be now, with passion, love, heated exchanges of wanting to dive into one in another. And each lover can remember the first, the last and the only. It’s a brief life. To have it full of something else, like holiness. It’s another thing. Trust me, to be enticed, to be tempted, to be curious. If it’s for true love. Let it happen. It sparked the belief for me, that real love does not live in poetry, paintings, in novels or in some cosmic planet or parallel life. Our soulmates belong in our hands, to have them feel safe to be themselves. It’s funny, I had always wanted a man to come in, storming into my life, to save me. God cannot be everywhere. The most dangerous thinkers are the ones who act on love. For God made lovers, not to be everywhere, for I ended up saving my lover. Poetry only nature's the faith of love, because poems are food for love. But who has not truth in their heart, will not see the beauty of the other. To how I had lost him. It’s on account of the earthly problems. The ego is the ugliest part the human race. As for ignorance. It’s too bad no one can feel pain from it. It was love, at first sight, and everything turned into beauty. It littered this land. Staurating the poets of thoughts of grandeur. Free to be wild. Locked in the heart to be tamed and own, for me, shivering in my frame, providing aesthetic to reality. Burning the sky, dnce all crazy, eyes on fire, we got them in a trance and impending doom of death, drips and melts away. Pulling in dramatic tension towards us, melodramatic and meticulous in our love for one another, ourselves dripped and personally forgotten in the presence of the other. We had broken the fuse of life, it’s living spark, to any predestined wants of it, created our own, anywhere we went, turned to romantic pilgrimage, and finally for the first time, any flaws of life, any poverty, burden or burning want, left, as we shrugged our shoulders, smiling at one another. We have and are, fully absent of any muse that we had once, prior to meeting thee and used for earthly wants and values. Like Milton said, do not think about morals, for they the ability to think about themselves. And our souls, larger than Rome, stronger than any empire. This isn’t a result of dreams, we had lived in reality and said no-more. Because it didn’t watch the throne. What do you do when the willingness to live, turns into something of no more? We just replaced the reality of life and created our own. For the mind is in a place of its own, to what comes into fruition, tangible and touchable. I’ll wonder deeper. Awake and rise. For this isn’t to copy. Something to leave behind. Perhaps this adds charm, shade to the stillness parts of life, colour to the darkness. A feeling of perfection to anything that may of so seemingly born lifeless. And ever since I’ve been left alone, I’ve come to grips in solitude. Out of truth, until this day, I have no idea how to articulate true love, I tell myself, something so beautiful can’t be express in poetry. And if it isn’t true love. I don’t want to know. It’s allowing to continue to believe in love, remaining here under its spell and that we all have a soulmate here, waiting to be discovered. My heart will ache until I find thee. Yes, I’ve heard it’s dangerous to romanticize one’s own past, have it brew to the surface of old sensations, from the secret depths of my own soul, alluring our attention to it and placing a veil to the future, maybe why we romanticize the past, is a simple reminder that life isn’t so bad. Perhaps I’m just a foolish romantic, an expression-mirage of hope. As the thoughts of love, keep coming, I’ll continue to walk, if it’s in exile, alone, parting from everything that I had become accustomed to, let it be. But at least I don’t refuse the potential of life’s fruits and to what I can bear with my own hands.  When it’s in love, anyone can farewell to hope and fear, for the very last time. In heartbreak moments, its singing of torment and personal chaos, collapsing of my private world. To which I deemed valuable on any night meant for you and I to share love. **** and full of fashion. Of how much pain the heart can stand, imagine the experience of tightening strings to crack like glass to the point of no-return. Miserable in the infinity. Just to devour anything worthy of oneself. Huddling together with the darkness and whisper between ourselves. Than by force, burden humanity. And a good poem is the blood for any romantic, but it’s forgotten when love is currently being enjoyed. To the unbearable doubt, I’ll not fall victim to, poetic, I’m fraile inside, like we all are. They’ll be no heros if our inner-worlds weren’t such soft touches of complete tenderness. Mingling glories. Kiss me now. I’ll smile for you than. What is it mean that someone is clingy? Perhaps there is nothing for them. Maybe they had just saw for what I’m worth and saw nothing but beauty. For that, there is nothing else for them, besides to infuse romance. Just wanting to leave me breathless. Tenor for rose beds, shepherd to anything the world made of beautiful, touch it, it will multiple. The breath of life. Hollering at moon on the roof. For the reminds me, of what he thought of me, when he first saw me. But I always answer in response, ‘what about now’. Lowering his head, resting on his arm, hiding his smiling. To which reminds me, it’s always getting better. Like the revolving poems. In spontaneous overflow of something we can’t control. What is the paramount goal between lovers? To self discover? To know another? Be poetic in one’s actions? Oh musing poetry, how can we know how to love thee? How to live? How to write poetry for thee? Now I see the value of peering into the arts made from any romantic period. But what does it mean to pass those poems by? Losing all value of life. It's just passing moments, threading together, stuck to the forefront of my mind, I’m unable to forget. So I lose sense of time and daily obligation. Smoking magic. Spellbound. I’m fully alive and aware now. Constant. There is no change. I’m unable to forget. Though let me breathe in that breathe, an intoxicating perfume. Extravagance. Blunt in twilight. Pierce through obscurity. Temptation to praises. Holding lovers hand under sunlight and moonlight. Pitchy. Eyes convicted of seeing the endgame of beauty, never to look away. Containing fairy tales in dreams, the ability to stain the earth with it. Got to be carefully not to let the evil of this life and earth trap thy. And all I wanted to say to my lover, before I told him, that his voice is my favourite sound, is to say simple words like I love you. So when you see me, our dreams will flicker like the stars of the night, never to fade and when the sun rises, the golden dawn between us, will expand the sun’s glory. In clarity of mixed feelings, we had lived dormant and a calm temperament, contempt to achieve earthly success, to which our heart could never be satisfy with. Drowning in oceans of filling hearts by love, produced by one another. When you’re in love, the world is yours and it spins around. But when one’s heartbreaks, nothing but numbness and you’re alone. Late night, bright lights, lust and lies, everyone with their hands out, no one is giving, but I cannot blame people for trying to get what they can. Loving seeing your lovers smile. Anything goes under this shared sky, who knows what you’ll find. I’m just distilled in poetry. Needing one single kiss and I’ll open my arms, present myself so proudly. As for the naturally wonder, they’ll blink, display itself for everyone, jealous as we walk away. But when your heat breaks, everything is gone and nothing ever seems to matter, plucked into forever. And all wanted, nothing within poetry, is to love. Can one ever get blamed for that? It’s as natural as being born and to die. To my doubt, that no matter how I live, do not engage with me, on how I’m supposed to be. Cello symphonies, tenors. Can I survive a misspirit? Oh for what I’m I really waiting for? For when you open your heart, look how they try to play me, write a couple a poems, now they wave at me. I’ve had my heartbroken, to lovers smiles. From a romantic in desituition, to someone's love. Experience in musings. And to every step I take. Just want to tread over romance and transition into poetry. Smile for me now. From a trembling throb, shaking hands, strengthening of heart, it’s enough for me to know that I exist, not to be contained in any single moment. Do we really know life? I just want love. For poetry, I’m happy to hand out freely. To be beautiful, it’s when one glares at you, to be valued, is for when one knows you. For that, lover? Maybe? Otherwise, it’s not the purpose of existence to be either beatiful or valued for the outside. To which, I can easily do either. A free woman in this unfree world, would be a woman dreams never dared to speak to. A daughter of muses. Dreaming about the romance world. My mind goes boom! For me in the world of romance. To doubt should be a sin. Not to be brave enough to follow through, a sin. Refusing faith that we’re all meant to be for another as a soulmate. A unique miracle for another’s life. For a romantic, a day without love is like no salt on the road for the saint. Ever since adolescence, calling out for my soulmate, until he returns, it’s all eyes on me. I desire, so therefore, I exist in something of an aura, taking in this world’s pressure, without a sound, I slide, I’m unbreakable. It’s not that I can’t make it on my own. I’ve tasted love and earth or this life, cannot provide and other contentment, melting over in illumination. It’s incarnate and inherent. I’ve measured my own worth and dream of someone better. And if they’re less, better go to work to match my eyes. Stars on our door, stars in our eyes, stars exploding in the bits of our brains were the common sense should have been, where anticipation of love making sessions isn’t our greatest pleasures. Unstained by fulfillment for what we can do for each other. When I was younger, my hunger was to let loose in exile, catch me if you can, I giggle at those more vulnerable and impression years. Demand in the present, higher status in the future. Narration of poetry in soft whispers. So fairy tales, folk tales, stories from the oral tradition, are all of them the most vital connection we have with the imaginations of the ordinary men and women whose labor created our world. As for me. I created a love no other human can ever attain, so I’ve replaced every muse that had ever existed. No longer to question my own existence. The lover yet not conceptualize in my hands, is just another unexplored land of flesh and character. Waking each day, a little more, living, movements under the eyes, flicker of light. I gasp and breathe in. Somnolent gestures, it’s a little more urgent and intense, somethings different. More raw and upfront. I’ve loathed and now no more. Piano keys pressed. Heat rises, rains felt colder. Die another day. I huffed and puffed. I came to grips for the life I had live. Parted from it. Moving fingers to wave goodbye. I smiled. For love is funny. It’s comes out of nowhere, at the silliest times, from the most random people, like a fluke. Flutes and melody, along piano keys. Love, hitting me hard, never to leave. Asking in cliches, ‘where have you been my whole life?’ Finally, without effort, a man to understand, even from the smallest glimpses of glance, a single touch, a soft spoken word. Loving each other, not knowing how, but we do. In balance, obliges his self-care, never to allow me to struggle in my own wants of life. Understanding in instant flutters of fury and still yearning for more.  And each stroke of his tongue ripped off skin after successive skin, all the skins of a life in the world, and left behind a nascent patina of shining hairs. My earrings turned back to water and trickled down my shoulders; I shrugged the drops off my beautiful fur. I see him as a series of marvellous shapes formed at random in the kaleidoscope of desire. Filling out my meaning in his living action. To each look, it’s like the first time, in the last few moments, glancing at me, like it his final outlook on life. Our love, devoted to life, but we couldn’t accept life and it’s demands, so, we devoted ourselves, to one another, and it wasn't enough, so, we committed ourselves to holy love and rose above anything that had once been considered as limitations. Dripped off the sides, in alluring colours to the cosmos, left, in supernova fashions and drifted into mythological fame. As we should. Love hits hard, it hits fast and in unexpected times from the most unexpected people. Most of all, it was horrifying at first, made only for the brave, for those who have never tasted love. It’s like, seeing eternity, mastering it and got all the time in forever to stand and glare out to the immense sky. Careful in one’s manner, so no one will notice, eyes opened wide, never to shut, like if I have found creation more than I could explain. The sting of a poem. Why so often my thoughts flustered. Once went everywhere, unrecognised. Time slows. Instead of a mocking face. I regretted nothing in past loves. I am happy that I had an effort. Are the ones too concerned with these earthly concerns. I doubt would ever be themselves, let alone be in love. Don’t ****** me. Now it’s time to be a ghost. For the devil greatest magic, to have the faith that he doesn’t exist. Filtered through my demonic mouth, this is the end and I know how cultures die. This beautiful sigh. A firefly kingdom. Will it be like this, when I cross over to another place? Grief at lost love, when I’m capable of loving now. I’m the romantic, leaning against poetry, filled with love, whisper it’s tone with meaning. Wet summer in low times. Lover without love. Paralysed at my core. Those who glimpsed inside, know of senseless violence. Eyes that not dare no more to meet mine. Pendlum swinging, more selmn than the sfiting emotions. Do not come close to me. Deliberate gestures in the dark. Behaving like the gloom of failure. I know how the world ends. Artists, raise images as homage to death. Is it like this, on the other side, trembling with sobs. No prays to be heard. Valley of dead bodies, steaming ash, sizzling skin to bones. They never talk. Lifeless. Spasm in Zion. rapture over earth, screams from the religious, who pledged their lives to their dogma, slapped in the face. Shadows. Life is short. Between the desire and the action, I’m there, existing. I’m the essence of your desires. I’m breeding new kingdoms. Whimper in public, no-one will hear. For Zion has forgotten you. For I know how the world ends.  
(knowledge variable)
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
He was the only guy I met
Who wore a genuine fedora
And for all he struck a figure
He turned out to be a horror.
He was Satan with a swagger
A thin cheroot hanging in his lip.
He got into every nightclub free
I never saw him leave a tip.

His voice was like his words,
Smooth and slick and few.
When he talked everyone listened.
It seemed the proper thing to do.
But later when you remembered
It seemed he didn’t say much at all.
You just remembered his affect
His posture and that he was tall.

I don’t mean to imply he was a loner;
He had his choice of friendly fare.
And, it seemed the were both genders
So, there were lots of us out there.
We entertained, or at least we tried,
Just to keep him where we were.
And throughout the evening’s fun
Competition is what we all were.

So, we flirted and we flattered him
And we kept his cigarettes well lit.
Once in a while one of the silliest
Of our sycophantic group threw a fit.
Most of the time we stuck to our goal;
Some girl went nuts we’d ignore her.
For some mad reason all we thought
Was to please the man in the fedora.

I never heard anyone talk of him
And mention his accent or race.
In fact nobody seemed to be able
To remember aspects of his face.
And he never seemed to walk away
He just faded back into the flora.
He was like a will-of-the-wisp;
A Flying Dutchman in a fedora.
Vish Jun 2013
The sarcastic talk. Your taunts that flock
The short tempered you! You just make me follow you!
Like the turbulent storm, you’re rough and uptight
But when I look into your eyes, you’re just a small mice.
The agitated you get, with the silliest things around,
The tantrums you throw, like a circus clown
You sure have the energy to take a bear down!
The choosy you get, with outstanding reasons, I bet
Surly makes my stomach upset.
But if I look at you and I see a little frown,
Don’t’ worry baby, I’ll tilt the world upside down!
The witty words, and the pranks you play,
Even kids would be in dismay.
The indecisive you get, with the simplest of choice,
I begin to hear your head voice.
The reasons you give when you get caught
Makes my all senses clot!
But when you know, that I’m upset; you give me that hug…
And then I feel like I’m your love bug.
In the end, all said and done
You’re my favorite, you’re the one…
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
What the hell is a katydid?
Is it near where the carotid is hid?
And, is there a reason we need
To know whatever Katy did?

Why does macaroni have an elbow?
This sounds to me a lot like a phony.
And how far back and forward does it go?
Really? Anthropomorphized macaroni?

What kind of person puts a bra on a car?
I mean, the entire idea is a bit bizarre,
One of the silliest I have heard of so far.
Does anyone know what automoboobies are?

Can people play poker with potato chips?
Maybe they’ll up the ante with avocado dip?
Then Vegas would not be such a wise trip.
Gives a new meaning to being ‘in the chips’.

Who gets to legally use a homophone?
And can anyone properly use it alone?
Since we no longer dial, why dial tone?
Some of this stuff if from the Twilight Zone.

Political parties don’t seem to be fun,
Not even for the lucky ones that won.
It must mean something that people run
But they look like something to run from.

Why would anybody put money into a kitty.
What is the matter that they have no pity?
After all, most kitties are way itty bitty.
So, stop putting money into a poor kitty!

And this putting on the dog stuff annoys.
It sounds like the game of bratty boys;
They finally get old enough to ignore toys
And play word games on a dog. Oh joy!

And what does it mean to horse around?
Is it the pantomime horse worn by clowns?
It can’t be the kind of horse one rides around?
That kind might trample a fool into the ground.
carmella Jan 2018
she said she loves me but
she’s a dream and
i was asleep.
i mistook the disease for
little lovelies for
warm and fuzzies for
cornfields with bumblebees.
i’m brought to my knees
from the silliest of things,
it’s easy to see something crazy
without empathy.
Daniela Sep 2018
One small thing, that's all it is.
One small thing to ruin the happiness I've built.
One small comment to make the water fall from my eyes.
The silliest things, the tiniest hint of hostility. Causes so much pain..

I look down to where my scars used to be. My wrists a sensation begins almost like a tickle. This feels so familiar.
And I can picture the little red lines. Like tally marks.
One for last week,one for yesterday. One for today.

In my mind I know these thoughts are harmful. Dangerous.
I've worked on this.
I learned to ignore it.
My mind says no, but will I really take the blade and tally up the score?

What's the worst that could happen?
After all it's just one.small.thing.
If you have feedback please comment, as this was done rushed. And I needed to get some feelings out. Also name suggestions are welcome(:
Katelyn Arnold Jun 2015
14 days before -

they say one day, you will have to face your
fears otherwise they may become triggers.
there will be places you won't want to visit
because you will end up looking the thing
you fear in the eyes. to get over fears don't
happen overnight, yet placing myself in
positivity is something i fear the most.

13 days before -

perhaps the mountains are getting taller, but this
city is turning into nothing more than a prison.
this city is starting to lose it's vivid orange hues,
and it's evaporating into the sky into a dark gray
cloud of fury and resentment. this wanderlust is
not healthy for me, considering i lose interest in
everything. getting scorched by the heat like this
is becoming something like torture.

12 days before -

regret is remembering something with
the aftertaste feeling of loss and sorrow.
jesus christ, trying to get to know you was
like studying for a test of an entirely
different subject than the material i'm
learning now. even being left with the
aftertaste of something sour, it was the
closest to the truth i've ever discovered.

11 days before -

on my 21st birthday, i found out about your true
wolf-like persona, of those piano-like fingers
being sharp claws that always had me in a choke
hold, and i let you sniff out my vulnerability
without questions or concerns. now why did
i not leave for the paper towns in the first place
when my gut was screaming about bad news?

10 days before -

rain, rain, can you please go away because you
are making me worry about the silliest things
like how i called myself rain on a hydrophobic
world. brain, brain, stop thinking right now
about the silliest things, you have no need
to stoop to this level of sheer anxiety.

9 days before -

i will not be a prisoner-of-war, allowing you to
torture me with sweet lullabies of safe comfort
words, anymore. i would rather you pull the
trigger, since you were a step too late to fix
the fact that you became my trigger. i'm my
own harriet tubman, finding paths to get out
of this slave-like existance you call friendship.

8 days before -

i am determined to make something of myself
because being pliable and rubber-like just made
me deformed to you since your hands weren't
exactly careful with me in the first place. i am
determined to wash myself clean of these sins,
rid myself of the detritus, and make the sun shine
right out of the very *** i wished you kissed.

7 days before -

i will continue to grieve of the afternoon that
we poked fun at mormons because i've realized
you stooped me down to their level unconsciously.
i'll be blunt, this distance between us is only growing
wider and wider and i hope whatever was between
us will end up tearing in half when i'm unreachable.

6 days before -

when everyone sees you explode into a flurry
of fireworks, the way i will see you is as the
father of all bombs, where you will evaporate
everything i've ever been familiar with right
from my very eyes. to think i gave myself
third degree burns to give life to dead things.

5 days before -

The words I couldn't vocalize
The thoughts I couldn't accept
The memories are piercing and heavy
They're becoming stiff, and like lead

4 days before -

i heard the water company nestle is using the
reservoirs of california to make bottled water,
leaving california in it's worst drought in years
and i think of how you used me just to get to
him and how i chased you down state lines
and how i ran for the hills once you left me
in the worst drought i've had in years.

3 days before -

to survive, you must become selfishly inclined.
nobody will warn you of the dog eat dog world
as a child, so you have to run on the course
natural selecton provides you. mother nature
is a real ******* in the way she disguised her
colors as fall, when she is always artic winter.

2 days before -

run from the predators. don't let yourself
be swallowed by the building doubt in your
tummy. although you are small, your existance
is wider than you think it is. you can expand
yourself wide enough so you are not the victim
of mother nature's cruel & unusual punishment.

1 day before -

i have loved and lost, but never once forgot the
places i once fell in love with, with the rolling hills
and valleys and the thunderous roar of billowing
dust storms. the planes are at seven and the trains
at eleven, and i nearly forgot about how i used to
live in the quiet fortress of my forgettable town.

0 days before -**

i want to ask the passengers on this plane
what they're leaving for. maybe vacation,
an adventure i'll never know of, or perhaps
they're running from the truth of the matter.
texas seems like it's going to welcome me with
warmer arms than arizona has done in months.
billiondays May 2017
don't fall in love with me
unless you are ready to face
my unpredictable murmurs
of nonsense things about
politics, religion, death,
***, or even about life.

don't fall in love with me
unless you don't mind
coping with my mental
instability and deadly
mood swings.

don't fall in love with me;
i will take you to museums,
and beautiful places, so
you could taste me every time
you visit those places again.

don't fall in love with me;
i break hearts of people
i love and let down
tons of people who have
their hopes on me.

don't fall in love with me
unless you don't mind
listening non-stop to my
voice when singing to
every song on the radio
on every car rides.

don't fall in love with me
if you want sweet talks
and cheesy chats during
relationships, because i
would most likely cringe.

don't fall in love with me
unless you don't mind me
laughing even from the
slightest jokes or crying
even from the silliest things.

don't fall in love with me;
i like to write, and sing,
sometimes draw, and i
would most probably make
masterpieces out of you;
the worst or the best.

don't fall in love with me;
i'm a mountain, a hurricane,
a living disaster, i'm full of chaos,
i'm made up of gigantic question marks.
so, don't fall in love with me.

– billiondays
don't fall in love with me
written by billiondays on 16th of may 2017
Sam Temple Jul 2016
what sounds good
is that we all write for ourselves
that we write because of passion
we have to
we can’t not write

such drivel
this is a public site
if you post your work here
it is not

just for you /

sure, you like to pretend
it’s all about craft
honing skill
trying to be better

this is a public site

expect feedback ~

lies are acceptable
we are writers after all
poets, really
but you shy away
like that word
hurts you
like embracing your gift
makes you an egomaniac
instead of driven
makes you pretentious
as opposed to free /

each time you type your life
then submit it to this site
you are no longer writing solely for yourself


that bubble needs burst

you are writing for acceptance
for love
for community


you would simply file each writing
into your desk
never to be seen again /
I used to like swimming in the warm seas on a cold day
I never wanted to share my ice cream with you,but anyway
You told me something I almost forgot
And now we're up here, and became little dots

You're moving upper and upper
And I'm moving downer and downer
But if I life seems happier and friendlier
Why waste your time, put on a smile?
Why think twice, put on a smile?

Your world from afar seems bright and happy
And my world up close is far from yours
But if you come closer and see the undergrowth
You'll notice the difference between us

And you're feeling bluer and bluer
But life is painted with rainbow colours
And you keep frowning and crying and shouting
Why deny your face, just put on a smile?
Why live in a hapless place, put on a smile?

And when everybody leaves on planes
Seasons pass and trees will change
And when they leave you alone
I hope you don't feel like you're alone
This world has people on it
Why be lonely, scaredly, frightening and somehow describing
Your way back home, to a stranger you go
And they don't respond anymore
But if you put on a smile, even for a while
Your sad and blue and greyish day
Will turn up for the better and you'll be okay

So if we both go up and down and cry all around
If we somehow laugh at the silliest things, playing childish games
If we learnt to love our reflection in the mirror
Why would you live her and not, put on a smile?
Put on a smile before it gets too late, when your body doesn't move again,
And you're feeling kinda sorry then...

Put on a smile, don't ask why
Put on a smile, don't try to close your eyes
Open then wide, show your brightness
Your happiness ends when you feel worthless
So chin up, chest high
Open your eyes, and PUT ON A SMILE...
This is supposed to a happy, optimistic poem, so sorry if the message gets lost...

It's just that lately I've been adding a lot of grey poems, and I feel like I need to bring sunshine to my life and poetry collection...

This is about forgetting about life's regrets, life's torments. It's about looking forward to new things, and opening your eyes to a world that can become whatever you desire... Happy thoughts!
Martin Illy Mar 2016
You know how people always build homes
in the people they love?
Me being the silliest architect there could be
Built a tiny igloo in you
With little if not no certainty,

Within the bountiful depths and crevices
In your mind of a maze and icy darkness of your soul
I found a spot for myself amidst the craze,
to keep myself warm and cosy from the cold.

In this little safe haven I seek comfort in
I established a place I called my own.
My tiny space of refuge I call it,
but in it I live alone.

As loneliness kicks in
I slowly explore outside of home,
In search of a getaway retreat
Nothing too fancy, nowhere alone.

And then I realise how homesick I get
When I dwell in the heart of another
All I want to do is to return
Back into a pair of arms that wont falter.

Did I mention how I built an igloo in you and called it my home?
Igloos melt in heat
and my love, so did you.

My home no longer.
JayceeJellies Dec 2014
He's the best,
The silliest.
He's an idiot,
The stupidist.

I know right?
For real tho.
You're lying.
You don't know.

Because he's perfect.
In every single way.
But I'd never say it.
Not to his face.

Not because I'm shy,
Not because I'm afraid.
But because I know inside,
He doesn't feel the same.

So I'll keep this smile right on my face.
Call him a baka, just like any other day.
Ingrid Ohls Jun 2016
I find I can be such a silly little girl at times.
Don't you agree my love?
I mean I cry all the time,
much like a child, craving attention, spoiled.
I mean, what reason does this princess really have,
for spending nights crying away?

So stupid of me, quite honestly...
I mean, you are never here, when you are,
you are asleep,
or on the phone,
or fighting with me,
or we are having ***,
or you are laughing with other people,
while I selfishly sit anxiously out of control,
constantly on the brink it seems,
to have an attention seeking, time wasting panic attack.

And honestly, the way I cause a scene,
as I get head butted, punched in the face
by a full grown man.
It is truly unbecoming, yes I do agree.
I mean, the misssing hair too,
from being pulled out,
should just grow back already.
Like, honestly what is wrong with me?
Why do you put up with me in such a state?

And my dear, leaving someone elses home,
leaving me there, day after day.
Like really, what more could I ask for?
Like honestly when I broke, and would
be in a manic depressive and and anxious all the time.
I left you.
So really I should be fine with being alone constantly.

I mean, you were there for me to support me through so much,
the honest to goodness truth right there.
And when my heart was ripped right out of my chest,
and I was told that my children were to be away from me.
Like honestly, I was such a goofy ***** to you.

While I had heartbreak, and grief and resentment
and I lost so much.
I was really quite stupid, not knowing how to process it.
Not knowing how to release my feelings and fears.
I ruined you at the darkest days of mine.

And I shouldn't be upset at you leaving me,
coming and bringing your new little chick right in.
Insulting me, and yelling at me, hurting me.
I mean I broke up with you all the time,
when I was having a depressive episode.

Or was questioning if I could get over the first time still,
when I broke up with you.
And that night you had someone else to ****.
Or was wondering if someone could truly love someone.
Yet , have them waiting sobbing hurt and apologizing
for how my depression hurt you.
While you we across the street ******* someone with the perfect
view of our truck.
I broke up with you,
when you didn't come home, or didn't tell me you were leaving.
Or didn't come to court,
Or make sure I got there, while you had our car.
When you left my dog alone all day in a small room.
Came home at 6pm, then asked me to drive you around,
while you told me how I have been so horrible.
Silly girl, I am such an evil human being in your eyes.
I do honestly deserve to be knocked out don't I?

And slutty and disloyal,
should be my middle names.
I mean any other girl in the universe could pull off,
bailing you out of jail when you were arrested in a hotel room,
with your new **** piece.
There isn't another soul in the world,
that wouldn't even question sending you almost every thing she had,
wouldn't  keep putting money on a line that I answered
and talked to you on for hours everyday.
For you to get angry and yell at me for not doing
all the things you needed done.
While I was homeless, broke at times.
It is also truly disgusting, that I couldn't keep my legs closed.
I mean I should always feel wanted by you.
I am stupid to feel insecure, why would I?

I can be such an idiot at times.
Hurting like I do,
crying when you leave me,
so I know I will be alone for the next 16 hours or so.
While you hang out and go places
that you won't take me.
Cause I am just a miserable ***** when you do.
When I am upset at you leaving me in a car for an hour,
while you sit and chat with an female enemy of mine.
Respect? I'm an idiot if I don't feel respected,
honestly I shake my head at me.
What a joke.

I need to just stop it with this stupid depression
and PTSD thing.
I am lying when I say I can't, just stop is all I have to do.
I am a pathological liar.

And why would my goofy *** hate myself?
With so many insults going around,
With being a failure like I am,
fighting so many battles
and losing them all while I gave it my all.
is just the silliest.

I mean I should feel loved,
when I am sobbing asking you to hold me.
And get hit,
When I am begging you to love me.
And you throw garbage at me
walking away
or I take a well deserved punch or two.
I should feel special while you speak to a bunch of other girls.
and you tell me of the horrible things being said about me.
And when I ask for you to come home,
I should not expect anyone to wanna be around my crybaby self.
If I would just stop it and be happy
then you wouldn't have to  talk to me like that.

If my stubborn, fat head would only just accept that you want me.
While I cry alone all the time,
sitting with no one to talk to
nothing to do.
You are making us money,
so I just need to stop with my nervous breakdown.
It past the point of too much.

I just need to stop hurting, stop the insecurities
stop the panic attacks and just stop hurting and get over the grief.
If could only stop being a ***** with her head in a vortex.
With bad memories, insults and pain 24/7.
Treating you like ****,
stop getting ****** and asking you to want to be near me.
To hold me and love cause I hate myself right now.
Than maybe you wouldn't just be annoyed by tortuous pain in my heart.
Maybe if I could stop going crazy
cause I can just stop it if I wanted to.
I would never be the cause of you to be so angry
that you lash out at me.
Tell me I am the ******* I keep saying I am.

Silly girl, just stop the pain,
Stop expecting him to care,
Stop assuming stupid things like you not loving me..

Maybe I would be worthy of your love,
Instead of your punches.
If I would just end my life myself.

You could be the loving, grieving man of a silly girl who just wouldn't get her head out of the clouds.
ohNoe Aug 2014
You gave up on our forty more glory years,
  agonized over the decision.
You sent us to separate beds in tears,
  sentenced me to poet prison
    (locked in a spiral cycle
       of pain and broken and fatal fetal and bleeding blue eyes stunned open in vicious surprise
           unable to close or escape into comatose)

My actions
  or actually inactions
may have murdered my Miracle
  made You listen to a false Oracle

**** unable to dim or die
  is You being the only ultimate “Why”
that I was created in the first place
  and put in the exact time & space
    to toss pebbles at Yur window
      that exploded into our nova glow

Even as we cried together
  months after died “together”
(You saying Yur not better without me
   yet can't won't be with me)
I swear on the soul that thinks it knows You
  (far more than the mere heart which beats because of You)
that I still feel You having feelings for me
  (oooohhhhh, You Noe You still want me)

Please let yourself see
  all the positives in me
don't ignore Yur desire
  don't lose it in disaster

we are US
  we are Love & Lust
and every like & lick in between
  (I know You Noe what I mean)

the aliens followed us
  cuz they felt our forever fever
their lights in our Arizona skies
  were listening to the bazillion butterflies
burning churning turning in my soul
  fluttering my libido

they knew what You do....
  that I can't play guitar
  **** I can be Yur star
they wanted to watch me & You
  strobe along to our music
  probe the strong of our magic
    read my SJH poems
    and count all our ****

**** they would never understand
  the simple thrill
  overwhelming joy for this boy
    of holding Shannon's hand :)

You may have been able to give up,
  somehow You had had enough,
**** I believe You didn't want to give up,
  and I should have proved my stuff!!

My Love for You like no other ever before,
  My amazement for You that couldn't be more.
The breathlessness bearing witness
  to the simplest silliest move You might make
The blue-eye-blue-eye-soul-gaze-bliss
  wanting to be waiting on when You wake

You do Noe that Everything You do
  biking hiking cooking thinking walking the insane work world
just excites inspires my soul to say WOOHOO
  and then Kahley & Z-O-E show me You as Mother unfurled
    & hurled into too much to be true

There is not a Disney potion
  which could move my emotions
more than the nervous excitement
  coursing full force thru Clint
when there's just a hint of Shannon!

Do You not Noe that even Yur mundane daily details are moments for which I counted the minutes until we could share?
How do you not Noe that even Yur boring is beyond Rare?

My want that is need
  is so hard for You
    that my heart **** as it bleeds

had every substance and experience
  but never any highs
    like Yur eyes
      or between Yur thighs

You may say only friends forever
  and only see me whenever or whatever
You may be able to forget that we are dismembered
  but for me the regret screams as it sobs as it's remembered

Yet hope shall never breathe its final sigh,
  does not Noe how to bid itself goodbye.
    (it wasn't token lust,
       it shouldn't be broken lost)

are You aware how full We were of Wonderful?
can his caress express what was our experience
  (over and over until forever becums forever)
do his words worship your existence
  (friend lover mother mentor sometimes trembling leaf who Loves me and looks at me into me    
      thanking me for holding her as she squeezes the breath into me)
does he slip serenely yet excitedly into sleep each night with Yur heartbeat echoing his own
  (seemingly the only bass beat his song has ever known)
does he dream of You each and every somewhen,
  wake up wishing he was already with You once again?
is Yur daughter his 2nd favorite person in the world
  (oh Z-O-E i'm soooo sorry you had to cry one single solitary tear from knowing me)

does his mind spend all day scribbling away on the insides of his eyelids everything he thinks about you...

and do You realize it isn't only when i'm awake...there isn't a moment in which my subconscious exists when it isn't walking old town San Diego with You or grinning as Yur fire-spinning or Breaking Bad as it basks in bend Yur **** over bike basket banter or holding Yur hand in an ancient cemetery with wine & cheese & grapes & Breakfast Club surreality or walking whispering a Halloween Haunted House with ridiculously brave Z-O-E

somehow for You it was dating
  just some seven month fling
for me it was the penultimate relationship
  the reason i'd learned this whole breathing feeling thing
and 175 days after You designated the dumpster for me
  it continues to transform me
    because of You i remake me

So, Hey, Hi, Here i am,
  Wanna hear who how i am?
Or do You wanna hear what i remember
  as i wonder what You remember?

How many of our memories mean as much to You as to me?? Hello Ladies on the bed together? or when i watched You shower? me not knowing the secrets to Yur frisbee throwing? our only time camping? creative counter cleaning? the every-single-time-spark of touching Yur skin? the way our ***  stroked squeezed rocked my **** and mind and soul and spirit and poet and left my lips on fire with spearmint-cool tingling? and did i mention being wet with electric sweat?

i seem to remember You saying i was **** (me?!?! - with or without a moustache) even as i was nervous & excited every time i realized You were looking my way, whether it was on a biplane or in a kayak beside an island or wishing i was saving You from a river monster or in a kayak beneath a full moon where You couldn't even notice that my pounding pulse was singing Yur name in a beautiful bass beat

i noe that You know Yur cool, **** i noe that You don't know HOW COOL...the coolest hot whose personality was music that instantly inserted itself into my internal playlist and cranked that ****** to a level that would deafen Spinal Tap!

do You know that You are style & passion
  and buffalo exchange fashion?
alien lights
  indian caves
    & ghost towns with donkeys?

You must realize somewhere deep inside on a primal level
  that once Yur eyes let me see inside You
i would need to be part of Yur life to be alive
  as US is the rainbow which gives color to each day's grey

even before kissing and everything on Our balcony
  in Our Sycamore Springs jacuzzi
You were the kiss I miss any split second my lips aren't melding melting into Yurs

You are dreams and fantasies and way too fantastic to be reality
You are The Happiness Joy that defines Happy for this poet boy

from the moment we met
  You are the 1st thing i think of when i awake
   the last thing in my mind as i slip into sleep
   the lead and supporting role in my subconscious when i'm unconscious
   and actually obviously the highlight to being alive each day

and it shall stay that way even from afar
  until just the other side of forever

there are as many Maybes
  as there are Somedays,
so as i strive not to mope
  (and just keep trying to be better)
i let thrive and nurture hope
  (and just keep trying to be better)

and preach to myself my mantra
and remind me of my motto
  don't give up
  don't ever give up
#love #loss #pain #hope
captcha May 2013
Even though we're worlds apart
Even though I think you're too crazy
I still find myself smiling at you on the telly
Laughing your heart out over the silliest things

I never know what colour your hair nor nails will be
The tight slacks and nose-ring you love so much
I would certainly curl my lips and pull a frown  
When I Contrast those with my shirt and tie

Your love for life just shines through
One look at you and the world's a nicer place
It's people like you who make others smile
That deserve to be happy contented and blessed

What I see is what you show the world
I don't know what goes on behind the lights
I don't know how you are when you're alone
I don't know if you ever carry a surly look

I sometimes think it would be nice to see you
Without the leggings, the painted nails, the crazy hair
But then I also think I don't want to
So I can always smile when I see you :)
choupinette Jul 2013
When I was a kid I would pick at my scabs and re-open wounds on purpose. I just liked how it showed that I didn't fear getting hurt. My proof that I wouldn't let anything get the better of me.
Maybe it was all of the 'Xena: warrior princess' episodes I watched. I dont know.

I still check if theyre still there. I still brag about how I got them to everyone, even if it wasn't asked. Even the silliest ones. The one on my wrist from a scared antisocial cat, whom i gained the trust of in the end.

The one on my head which required three stitched, given to me by my brother when throwing a ping-pong racket at me. He felt so guilty that gave me his favorite game, and tried to pay for the hospital bill.

The ones on my knees from when I fell of my skateboard and broke my computer on my way to give a class presentation. I had recieved a perfect grade after having talked to a class who stared at my ****** and shaky knees.
They had all hurt, but each one has a lesson, and a dear memory. Never to be forgoten.

And why try?
Even the ones that you can't see will remind you. The broken bones and the torn muscles. They all leave a subtle mark of their existance.

— The End —