Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
MeanAileen Aug 2017
***** *** and cigarettes
bad decisions, no regrets.
Painted lips and fingertips
lace, leather, gags and whips.
Cheap motels, steamy nights
sweaty flesh and candlelights.
Pushing limits, breaking rules
naked dips in swimming pools.
Getting high while living low
riding rails, pure white snow.
Playing games & telling lies
the look of lust in lovers eyes.
Rendevouz in seedy places
sloppy kisses, hot embraces.
Ménage à trios, or even four!
Anything goes behind locked door...
Shots of Jack make it all alright-
just another dirt-bag night.
50% fiction...
CK Baker Jan 2017
they stained the back deck today (with a hard to match 7 periwinkle)
400 square feet of knotted pine (in a striking rivet sequence)
red ant drivers (who can forget those little ******)
caked fir needles & feather cone
bug hologram & cedar moss
graffiti crack & cut joist
wheel rut & pick
pike stain (s)
sow bugs
electric
blower
purple
fueled
washer
missing
foul bits
and two of
its former pins
somewhere near
the erratic 9th stroke the
side kick (and his sloppy dullard)
fell sadly in a cacophony of sick laughter
anxious peckers, poinsettias, grub box, rail stems
lacewings (womanlike in their task), third door down windows
old ergonomic chairs (so highly touted in the checkout isle at Lowes)
all for not, I guess ~ seems they never reviewed the Homestead Manual on Fine
Deck Painting
Lizzy May 2015
I get this feeling,
It sinks through my spine.
Sits in my bones.
Like an unwanted guest,
And I, the unwilling host.

The intruder finds its way to my feet.
Making my toes curl,
And tap.
Restlessly twitching,
As if ready to run.
But I'm not ready for anything.

My hands do the same.
Hard to hold anything,
With this earthquake
Terrorizing my body.
Cold and uneasy,
They cling to each other.

Is it just a chemical,
Artificial affliction?
Or a symptom,
Of all lost direction?
Where do I put
All this misplaced disruption?

Now find the pieces,
Paint the picture.
Find some reason
In this sloppy meter.
My understated explanation.
de Negre Nov 2018
sloppy joe, why do you keep
yelling when you cross the road? your
meat keeps falling from your
sides and i swear you are beginning

to scare the neighbors. the dogs keep
chasing you, yet you never seem to care
about those hounds and terriers. self-
preservation (though you are a sandwich,

and a quite enjoyable one at that) seems like it
should be an instinct which someone as
tasty as yourself should have. you never seem
to worry about those massive hands reaching

out to bite into you and taste your
guts and innards, and all the sauce in between
them; but for some reason, i'm beginning to think
we should all be as relaxed as you,

sloppy joe. even though maybe we should
be more cautious about how our grease
gets all over everywhere. however other than
the grease we should still be like sloppy joe.
idontevenknowaboutsloppyjoewoahbroslowmotoes.
Poetry
Is my life
The words Inspired by my life

The many moments
Acceptance of the new
Cherishing the old

Striving not to be sad
When the moment is unhappy

Sometimes the couch and I wear the same size, sloppy

With age comes wisdom
Can’t do without my reading glasses :)

The many shades of life
Hidden, what’s to be revealed
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
You're properly pro and exclusively first
I'm sloppy and slow and obtrusively worse
you're steadily shrewd and notably neat
I'm sweaty and stewed and bloated and beat
you're refreshingly free and benignedly blessed
I'm distressingly me and resignedly messed
you're gold-plated and awed and hairless and pink
I'm outdated and flawed and careless and stink
you're so reveled revered you're the death of my will
I'm disheveled and weird but with my last breath I'll still


©2012 Lyn
Carter Ginter Feb 2019
My heart broke 700 times

I'm glad you found your closure
It feels like it opened a cavity in my chest
A billowing hole ******* the air
From out of my lungs and
Away from my brain
Away from the sanity I've created
Where I thought I felt secure
But instead the infrastructure was so weak
That the simple memories you mentioned
Left a mark on me yet again
As my heavy heart weighs me to my bed
And I wish so desperately to be alone
I feel as though I'm dying
I must accept reality as it is
I know that all too well
That's why I agreed to meet
To see you
To see me
To see us
Now
We're different than we once were
And while I understand how and why
My soul mourns the moment
And I know I should just live it fully
Because so soon it'll pass
And once again
We'll be strangers on the street
One heart armored with reinforced steel
The other a sloppy mess of
Broken shards and what ifs
Rotting until it turns to ash
And new flowers bloom from its death
Rhia Dec 2018
On the first day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: a bowl full of doggy food.

On the second day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: two sloppy kisses and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the third day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: nine wee-wee markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: ten tails a-waggin', nine wee-wee markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: eleven rawhides hidden, ten tails a-waggin', nine wee-wee markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: twelve stuffed buddies, eleven rawhides hidden, ten tails a-waggin', nine wee-wee markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.
Yet another poem written by my brother circa 2006-ish in honor of our illustrious beagle, Kirby. My family all marveled at the poem's accuracy.
Matt Shaw Aug 2016
there is a cage around Lansdale
with a hole in the roof

orange street lights
make sloppy kisses with the muggy summer air

moths flutter,
and it smells like wet trees.

how many empty slabs of concrete
like crooked teeth all along the road
will i have to traverse
before i'm out
before i'm able to deploy my wings?
Arke Aug 2018
they say in life
everyone has their first love
their great love
and their true love

he was late night parties
weekdays of loneliness
games and teasing with a smile
he knew every button to press
anger like spring rain
beautiful but messy
sloppy rain drops cut into my skin
I knew I would never be enough

he was innocence entangled
shy syropy sweetness
summer sweat on his skin
vanilla and steel, always cold
best friends over lovers
intensity met with nervous laughter
every night confined to tedium
I knew I would always want too much

you had shown me something
I never even knew I could feel
you gave the way love ought to be given
autumnal warmth surrounding me
leaving behind fire for more
inspiration, honesty, and conversation
your mind weaves gold silk
and maybe I could be enough
Madisen Kuhn Aug 2018
if you look up, you will see
the bright-eyed and
the wide-mouthed—
the interesting, the casual, the adored
glistening in the warm night
peered at through microscopes and
telescopes and stethoscopes
far and far away

we are so desperate to be close
close and close and
close enough to see the blemishes
the scarring and the peeling
effaced by obvious and biased inner-commentary
they’re just not as red or sore as mine
perhaps they were formed under
a different kind of sun

what does the unfamiliar heart say?
does it sound at all like mine?
will i ever escape the sloppy grasp of dullness?
will the world swallow me whole?
if i count the days on both hands
on toes, on eyelashes—
if i only eat green things and
read tattered books and
pretend that i don’t mind—will i ever
break the mirror?
will i find seven years of good luck
between the jagged edges?

to exist as a reflection
is to not exist at all
there are lonely, dark purple heavens
waiting for you to sever your longing gaze
to stop lying to yourself
to hop onto the back of the cow
and begin living somewhere beyond the moon—
to realize, with closed eyes
you belong to the sky
DivineDao Apr 2016
When an Author of poetry gains zero likes
                And the reads did occur:**

- you're unlikable, no one loves you, or your poems anymore

- your poem is a total crap

- your abstract art is so intense, people have to yawn and yawn, on and on, to get more oxygen for their brains (if there are any left, right ;) especially when being "deeply" in love => therefore => the lack of a like       
                            implies   =)             Pure Magical Love

- your poem was dealing with the fatal and devastating love nobody else could have possibly comprehend. To you the love-pain is still mean in its torterous palid beauty; and where the poem becomes an altar where you go, when you need to cry out all those beautiful teardrops.

- your descriptive sloppy skills repel the mighty sand castle grainiacs who claim they've reached to the bottom of a tremendously important words  ----> "The cunning Itch" and "This ****** **** Anguish" ~ long before they could have conjured and
      comprehend the totality of an idea of fertile feromones colliding with written opiats of a maddening desire

- your poem was overlooked because it does! I repeat! It does not play on the like-ability or un-like-ability of other writing subjects whose libido has to be saturated and satisfied as when dearest bjork and pj harvey are having a slowly approaching ****** of a concert which was deleted from the u-tube ( from un-understandable reasons ), but never from the sweet memory images and ability to play the song just for your self satisfaction

- your poem' is flying up up up above the mundane passing~stream of warhol's 15 minutes attention ... cosily stretching across the heaven's cerulean grey sky like a fine artistic sofa would undoubtfully do ~ in its utmost beauty : ;engaged to offer the after tired bohemians a nectary respite and those unutterly ******* delights

- you're probably having the enormous amount of the incognito anonimous league of wild n' witty obsessive admireres who pretend they don't read your poems < ==> when they don't press the like, you know you were pressed to any convenient dreamy surface in their daydreams

- or   you   absolutely don't write poetry at
All
zoie marie lynn Aug 2018
i can't breathe

you're touching me under the stars with hands that venture too far while the moon smiles at us showing every row of pointy perfect teeth
you're touching me and

i can't breathe

you're holding me in a way too tight hold and way too strong arms wrapped around a place i'm supposed to call home with termites eating away underneath
you're holding me and

i can't breathe

you're kissing me with lips of nicotine and breath like fire embers and words of forever and tongue that's sloppy and serene
you're kissing me and

i can't breathe

you're following me in between buildings that shouldn't be this close together and its another dead end another dead end another dead end, why does the sidewalk get to leave?
you're following me and

i can't breathe

you're whispering to me because this is what lovers do, you scream this is what lovers do but i don't want to love you and my lungs ache for you to let me be
you're whispering to me and

i can't breathe

you're laying next to me snoring very loudly so that the neighbors can't hear the sheets suffocate me and i'm dying i'm crying i'm dying
you're laying next to me and

i can't breathe

you’re saying you love me and you’re pulling me so tightly into that lovely body built from forever's and never’s and i’m screaming in your perfect little ears over and over because didn’t you hear me?

i said i can’t breathe
i don't love you but my mouth says it anyway
zumee Aug 2018
"So...how is it?" (looking up at him)
"The wallpaper? or the *******?"
"...both."
"Well, one's kind of sloppy. The other's kind of perfect."
"My thoughts exactly."
jt Jun 2014
Don't do bad things. Karma will bite you in the *** and you'll regret whatever wrong you committed. Scratch that, humans are inherently evil.

2. Don't ever, ever believe someone when they say they will never leave. Please, just don't. You'll end up sad and miserable until you find someone who feeds off your sadness.

3. Never ever use Comic Sans unless it's for something ironic.

4. Don't ever get too attached to anyone. When they get tired of you and leave, the only thing on your mind will be, "How does emptiness feel this heavy?"

5. Try not to fall in love with a poet. When you fall in love and crash, he won't be there to break your fall. He'll write about how beautiful it was when you fell, and how he got to see you unravel in the most graceful way possible.

6. Watch reruns of America's Next Top Model and binge on ice cream when you're sad. The ***** fights are simply excellent. And the drama too. Mm.

7. Wake up early to see the sunrise and immerse yourself in waves and be one with the forest and you'll thank Mother Nature for all the beauty in the world.

8. Don't sleep around with other people. You'll never understand what making love is because you're used to ******* and only *******. The act of breathing together is more personal than the sloppy one night stands people bustle through on lonely evenings. Or drunk ones.

9. Love yourself. Is it possible? I believe this is what we all aspire to achieve in some point of our lives. Good luck.
it was a cold and long bus ride when i wrote this & i don't think you'll ever leave my mind
Next page