"sloths" poems
Don't discriminate
Just don't do it
All it is, is hate
Hate is made out of other hate
and hate only fuels more hatred
You pour gasoline on a blaze of loathing
with every discriminatory comment you make
It doesn't matter
if they have done something you believe is wrong
because you have done many things that are wrong too
it is not for you to judge
so black white brown both or polka dotted for all I care
gay les straight bi or into adhesive sloths (we adhesified furry little sloths need a little love too)
man or woman or sloth
punk emo crazy nerdy weird loser REALLY weird bookworm or literal worm sloth or adhesive sloths (like me)
nature freak or homebody
axe murderer or a cereal killer or a cheerio killer
it does not matter who or what they are
they are all human too. or all sloths. that too.
Just don't discriminate
and share the slothified love of adhesiveness
accept everyone as they are
even if they hang from trees and move in slow motion all day like me
even if they are rocks
because rocks are great
in fact this one time, I found this rock and man, it was absolutely hilarious it should have been a stand up comedian
okay well not a STAND UP comedian, because I mean... rocks can't actually stand up... but like a really hard and Sedimentary roundish stone shaped sit down (well more like lay around like a rock all day) comedian
Wait, what was I talking about?
oh right, don't discriminate!! :)
against other humans or other sloths.
or adhesive sloths.
...I'm not crazy! my mother sloth had me tested!
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
The only proper way to be a conversationalist is to convince yourself that you’re boring. If you can strip back the hard shell of the ego, and look down on yourself from the eyes of an apathetic God, you will likely (and hopefully) see just how boring you really are. It isn’t a sin to be boring, in fact there are many advantages to honest self-depreciation.
The main advantage, is the way you approach a conversation. “Interesting” people find it difficult to silence the affected score-keeper that dominates their internal dialogue and ruins any chance of an honest and engaged conversation. It is the voice that reminds you to show interest with your body language, and keep a dumb happy gaze laser pointed into their eyes. This dialogue is obsessed with authenticity and genuine conversation, and therefore a natural sociopath.
Luckily, you are the stunning definition of boredom, an extracted dictionary cut-out of un-interesting, and nobody could possibly give a rats-ass what you have to think—least of all the Voice that controls the inner-dialogue. That Voice has packed it up to find a more interesting vessel…maybe the person standing across from you in conversation.
Because you are so boring, and they are the Oxford personification of intellect and fascination, you should pay careful attention to what they say—no time to worry about how they’re perceiving your reaction to whatever it is they’re saying. You are too busy to notice what sort of body language you may or may not be using to validate their half of the conversation. Instead, your time is spent carefully hanging on their every word, digesting it and projecting the whole bit into a colourful scene in your imagination. Instead, you’re too lost in the excitement of their infinitely more interesting life and impossible wealth of knowledge offered to you with each word that they speak. Instead, you are actually listening to the words that come out of their mouth and not the ones that speak to you from the inside of your own mind.
This is what it means to be in conversation. This was the point of our social nature. And in a world of needy social-media junkies grabbing at the cuffs of potential ‘followers’ and ‘likes’ and trendy passer-by’s, the last thing anyone needs is the high-pitched whine of another “interesting” millennial.
Lucky for you, you boring sack of yawning sloths, that you aren’t interesting too.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
Happiness is hearing your voice
Happiness is seeing you smile at me
Happiness is your laugh when I say something funny
Happiness is your eyes lighting up when you see a dog
Happiness is you being happy about cute animals
Happiness is playing with your hair
Happiness is having your head on my chest
Happiness is you snuggling up to me
Happiness is hearing you talk about sloths
Happiness is you explaining environmental science to me
Happiness is kissing you on the nose
Happiness is you singing Disney songs
Happiness is holding you in my arms
Happiness is experiencing something new with you
Happiness is making stupid jokes at Barnes and Noble
Happiness is a long drive while holding your hand
Happiness is your lips on mine
Happiness is hearing "I love you" and saying it back
Happiness is coming home to you
Happiness is falling asleep and waking up next to you
Happiness is "just a few more minutes" in the morning
Happiness is loving you
Happiness is you
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 1:29 PM UTC
beyond Montana’s yellow lines
there is a field
~a field of painted soles
and laces rubber tread
~a field of ****** curls
and fallen headlights
where kaleidoscope lenses
look onto twisted frames like origami halos
where teddy bears hug stop signs like pickets
fringed in anger
runaway childhoods sleep cautionary tales
beyond Montana’s blushing acne
there are red cup melodies
blasting from blacked out tints
weaving blues notes through Rock & Rap
distant cries are drowned by Bass
or maybe Bud (light)
a haze of teenage eyes
they might as well be ghost riders
whip game copped from GTA
these pubescents are a Vice to their City
blooming sidewalk sloths
like flowerbeds
beyond Montana
is a country of bar stools
where bar tenders play therapists
and therapists play coroners
precedents are shots of whiskey - taken to the head
and reflected in flooded eyes
beyond Montana
is a country of MADD mothers and SADD students
beyond Montana
is a country of unexpecting pedestrians
beyond Montana
is a field
~a field of wing-clipped snow angels
That field is Mariah's home now
and she challenges you to change
yourself
your friends
your country
she challenges you to
STOP DRUNK DRIVING
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 2:22 PM UTC
The sloth is a creature which I can relate.
I do not rush, I'm always late.
It's laboured movements are a wonder to me.
A bit like mine at half past three.
He likes a snooze he sleeps all day.
The same as me if I had my way!
Sloths have beards and so do I.
They hang from trees.
I might just try!
I love sloths and I like their style
They're just like me with my great big smile!
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 4:38 PM UTC
The 3 toed sloth
Rhymes with goth
Or is it oath
Moves slowly
Sometimes algae grows on his head
Joni Mitchell didn't mean him when she said
Wild things run fast
3 toed sloth, he'd come last
Once a week he climbs down from his tree
And that's to have a poo and ***
Now sloths get amorous
But *** is tricky up a tree
He moves too quick, he's not used to it
And hits the ground involuntarily
Randy broke his arm
Kind people fixed it with titanium
He resumes his slothful days
But now he's more careful with his loving ways
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 4:18 PM UTC
The three toed sloth
Rhymes with goth
Or is it oath
Moves slowly
Sometimes algae grows on his head
Joni Mitchell didn't mean him
when she said
Wild things run fast
Randy, three toed sloth,
he'd come last
Once a week he climbs down from his tree
And that's to have a poo
and ***
Now even sloths get amorous
But *** is tricky up a tree
He moves too quick, he's not used to it
And hits the ground involuntarily
Randy broke his arm
Some people fixed it
with titanium
So he can resume his slothful days
But he's more careful now
in his loving ways
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
Time and time again, we experience things that we assume are great,
We soon find out that each thing would lead to our eventual fate.
It’s hard to trust someone that has lied to your face,
It’s hard to get over the past and move on to a new place.
Sick and tired of liars, cheaters and the weak minded,
Living life day by day oblivious to society; blinded.
Saying that things will get better and continue forth,
Believing what we hear daily and henceforth.
Taking in every little white lie and replaying each word,
Ignoring the atrocities that may have occurred.
You claim to be someone you’re not and neglect who you really are,
Actions contradict your words, how truly bizarre.
The words you speak turn to silent tears,
All you stood for is dead after all these years.
Time can’t change the past; it determines what may come,
Time can only heal the hearts and minds of some.
Even if we’re given all the time we may ever need,
Some still can’t hide their lust or greed.
Gluttons for attention, sloths throughout the day,
While pride, envy and wrath control all we ever say.
Those truths that you claim are real are far and few,
Lie to me again and prove to me that hypocrisy, thy name is you.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 2:14 PM UTC
"Sloths!",
she squawked,
almost incoherently,
I'd just took a sip of my tea.
"To most, they remain a mystery".
The remark remained a mystery to me.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
You are beautiful
-love the sloth who has been adhesified
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 12:19 PM UTC
Smooth, like
Top-shelf drinks,
Fresh churned butter, and
A con man’s tricks.
Sharp, like
Well-aged cheese,
Finely honed steel, and
Sarcastic words.
Quick, like
Just-launched rockets,
A jester’s wit, and
Those not yet dead.
Slow, like
Just-woken sloths,
Chilled molasses, and
A Southern drawl.
Stuffed, like
Just-mounted deer,
A child’s bear, and
Stomachs after feasts.
Hungry, like
Late-winter bears,
Inquiring minds, and
Black holes in space.
Adjectives.
Well-spent words,
Crafted with care, and
Filled with meaning.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 9:16 PM UTC
She wears ripped jeans when she's cold and orange sweaters in the summer and still I love her. I have this quantum physics kind of love for her, I don't understand it but I know it makes perfect sense. the only thing I've learnt from dating is: The same love that breaks us is the same love that makes us and no matter how much you try you'll come back to the same spot you were before the break up. in simple terms, feelings never completely vanish. because energy can neither be created nor destroyed same goes to emotions. energy can only change from one form to another, same goes to emotions. is it cheesy if I say you're my universe? or if I want to show you the world does that mean I just have to put a mirror in front of you? that has to be a big *** mirror. I know sloths are slow but my life is an Unau right now, it starts and ends the same way, with you. and I'm happy.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
Animal House
Sweeping dust
storm,
Gazelles leap.
Careening reach,
dizzy heights
Shy Giraffes
necking in
undergrowth.
Creeping tide
menageries
mystic sloths
limb and oath.
Sea mist
breaking wave
Sun prancing
Dolphins
embraceable
moonbeams.
Lizards
shedding skins.
Trine children,
Pan animals.
Golden gleaming
processions
growling purrs
Carnivores
give
Herbivores
last rites
confessions.
We are
the animal house
the hourglass
menageries.
bleating hearts
imminent deaths,
fleeting breaths,
unimaginable
love.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
My least favorite animal would be:
Humans - but especially me.
I’d greet the end of the human race.
And point a gun toward my face.
And pull the trigger - so you’d know -
I’m capable of doing so.
I’d hang myself from a dead ol’ tree,
So that would be the end of me.
I’d blow myself up for no reward,
I’d burn alive or swallow a sword.
You see, I thought the sloth was the dumbest beast.
The most pointless animal, at the very least.
As slowly clinging to a tree,
most die in lifeless apathy.
(Because the rush of finding food,
Is pushed back by the urge to move).
But even sloths make habitats
for little creatures on their backs,
Yes, hardly useful - but more so than I -
So for a sloth to live, I’d gladly die.
The stupidity of human kind
Is that we’re all too dumb and blind.
We’re not important – not a bit –
just good at trying to reason it;
It’s really hard to not be scared
of losing everything life has shared.tu
Dying – that’s what frightens most,
That final eviction from life’s post.
While some believe their worth is measured.
Their souls live on, in heaven, treasured.
Reality is just a curse.
And humanity is by far the worst.
There is no superior tinker -
apparent to the deeper thinker -
That not a God could there exist,
When children die and he resists.
Not a very loving sell:
“love me back or burn in hell.”
life is meaningless, as It seems to me,
pondering in one-of-billions of galaxies.
On an average rocky planet that orbits a star,
And hosts the most evil creatures by far.
We skip the parts that disagree.
With our personal philosophies.
Life is governed by the tax
of being born and paying back
to the corporation we are chained,
and most are happy – they don’t complain.
They work, have kids, and all the rest.
They convince themselves they’re not depressed.
Through trying to see good in other folk.
Or putting faith in some fancy joke.
I hate this world. And all its greed.
There is no good in any deed.
Even goodness has a price attached:
The “You scratch mine, I’ll scratch yours back.”
But beauty is not too hard to find,
for those of us who are inclined,
To run from what has boxed our brains,
To flee the greed, to throw the chains,
and look up into outer space,
and know that we are out of place.
One day our atoms will journey there,
and be free as petals in the autumn air.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 4:10 AM UTC
View from the Streetcar
[[[Come with me to the pow-wow tonight:
we will make toasts with neon shots of jello
in the Medicine Wheel circle.
we will speak in tongues & 0’s & 1’s.
the mixed hues of our skins, the mixed geometries of our bodies,
the mixed dilations of our pupils come together & nod in council
that we should take more time caring for our horses
for they will never let us down.]]]
On my way to the gaudy theme park, alone in the streetcar
I remembered how I left my mother without reason,
the aftertaste of emptiness that comes when leaving on impulse with
instant regret lingered inside me; my ego was miles ahead.
Yet I remember looking through the window,
looking into a forest where bright hammocks hung on trees
abundantly-- canopies filled with hard-covered books.
No people in sight, the books reined the woods,
hanging still like sloths waiting to be pried into.
I remember thinking that was enough
to bring flavor back to my throat.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
For the past few months
Our great nation has experienced great tragedies
But we didn't turn out to be sloths
Though our fates are still bidden
As the brumous weather draws near
A hirareth comes with fear
But the spirit of Christmas gets warmer
The yuletide becomes louder
It's about time to heed this very call
We must stand up for the good of all
It cradles an ambiguous thought
Which the human hear long sought
In this form of literature
I hope to inspire the people of this nation, to understand its nature
And start effecting some changes
To seek out the strangest,
To venture the wilderness of the lost peace & harmony
And restore this country's prosperity
In this season, may we stop all forms of quarrels
For we are no rebels
Of this glorious season
That brings joy to me with a great reason
This Christmas is a grandiose season
Let us stop every kind of treason
Let us set aside all our hard feelings
That has been harboured in our hearts
Let this Christmas be different
Let this be the time when we relent
Let this be the Christmas when we share
Everything that we may share for this season is rare
It's Christmas time
We share not just a dime
Even prayers for our fellowmen
And joy for all men
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 9:16 AM UTC
All things dull and normal
All people look the same
All things are but formal
With quite forgettable names
Each ear another one to lie to
Each mouth another one to feed
We're all but a statistic
And a very ugly one indeed
All things dull and normal
All people look the same
All things are but formal
With quite forgettable names
Hypocrites in their pedestals
As the sloths complain
The truth is hypothetical
And the self-righteous disdain
All things dull and normal
All people look the same
All things are but formal
With quite forgettable names
The sky scraping towers
The roads of traffic and rush
Beauty is only in the papers
And the tip of the artist's brush
All things dull and normal
All people look the same
All things are but formal
With quite forgettable names
Cold hearts shame the winter
Causing more damage than flood
We are but the earth's splinter
And we hunger for blood
All things dull and normal
All people look the same
All things are but formal
With quite forgettable names
Tomorrow is but a conjecture
Today is what we're worth
Will our children even have a future?
Or have we aborted them by birth?
All things dull and normal
All people look the same
All things are but formal
With quite forgettable names
We have guts for feeling
We have eyes to see
But indifference is more appealing
I hope it's just me
All things dull and normal
All people look the same
All things are but formal
With quite forgettable names
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 4:59 AM UTC
Sloths have got it right
Live at top speed you die young
Live slow die never
Seriously man
Sloths know what is up no doubt
Live slow die never
If I were a sloth
I would not write any haiku
Live slow die never
Razor sharp claws for
Nails, wearing algae like camo
Live slow never fail
Time to get out of
Bed no no no no no no
Live slow die never
Fight the power and
Bring the man down, later bro
Live slow die never
Sloth sloth sloth sloth sloth
Sloth sloth sloth sloth sloth sloth sloth
Live slow die never
Sloth grabs his own arms
Falls to his death from high trees
Live slow, die. Splat!
Shifted from the floor
Of the forest sloth rises
Live slow never die
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
She moved away when I turned 9.
She's the best drummer I've ever met.
He used to sing Ocean Avenue when we walked to class.
He said that no one could keep secrets quite like me.
He told me to learn how to say no.
It didn't seem as important as it does now.
She was half my height but had twice the heart.
She was the nicest friend I ever had.
He'd wake up at four in the morning to go running.
He read a lot of books and never spoke to me.
He wasn't quite the fastest swimmer on the team.
I wasn't quite the slowest.
She likes shelves and the color red.
She hates sloths.
He is the fastest swimmer I knew, but I'd never seen him swim.
He told me that he liked my haircut when I hadn't cut my hair.
He told me I owed him four years.
I don't owe them anything.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 3:02 AM UTC
Heat waves in iced water.
Chilled moonshine on the scorching sun.
Blades of green earth on a long-lit fire.
Fresh-water creatures in the salty sea.
A glow, brighter than, and in the ocean of night.
A rock in the sky and birds that can't fly.
A whale on the beach with the sea out of reach. And Blossoms in a dark room.
An infant on his feet soon to fall into defeat.
Ever-greens in winter and ghosts in mid-day. Lungs underwater and gills in air. Like drugs in one's system that slowly pass through.
Owls at dawn, daylight birds in nocturnal song and eyes staring at the sun.
A snake on smooth surface and a worm on the rough.
Like a house cat in the wild mountains and rivers in suburban territory.
Like pillows stuffed with stones and a child with evil inside.
Free spirits in a cage and prisoners freed.
Like a stick in quick sand, a weighted mass floating on a light surface.
Like a dog, a cat and rat peacefully below one roof.
Like a beaten lion and a victorious antelope.
Like the colour of green against the shadow of black. Like hopping on concrete and civil wars. The hood in a college girl and a college girl in the hood.
Like curtains in the morning and yawning windows at dusk. Like an aged oak in the midst of a flood, like a water lily in the days of drought.
Like a forgotten pearl in a waste dump and fake gold on a woman's index.
Like a loud song muted by those who fear volume and a soft one forced to yell above its pitch.
Like a ladybug on a pesticide- poisoned crop.
Like a polar bear in the African Sahara.
Like a camel by the coast, ants with no work and busybodied sloths. A scarf in summer and crop tops in autumn. Plants dying in September and coming back to life in June.
Like a written-on page on a brand new day and wordlessness when that day is old and weary.
Like a torch at midnight. Like cellphones in a filled bath tub.
Like a fat man sprinting and the turtle losing the race. Like a homeless mother in a mansion.
Like a teenage girl with no tongue, and oppressors with no power.
Like David and Goliath, like a insane Albert Einstein. Like a flame on the ocean floor. Like me in this world, I shouldn't be, but I can be and I will be.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 4:29 AM UTC
Lately I have been over taken by a strange urge to high five a sloth. In truth I cannot explain this
at least with any sense of legitimacy.
I just feel like it needs to happen.
When it does it will be like me building a bridge.
Across species?
Maybe a class or phylum?
I have not taken biology so i don't know jack about this hierarchy of life business.
I also feel like sloths can teach us more than we can teach them
Like our lives are so fast paced
like a race and we are struggling to get to a finish line
That doesn't exist...
Sloths are like slow the **** down...
It'll be okay...
You'll get there...
I promise.
I kinda think i need that in my life.
A person...
or a sloth...
to just tell me it'll be alright.
I try and be that for so many other people
But I'm constantly losing my ****
on the inside.
Like most of the time
I'm fine
I can manage life
But that fear of dying
alone
unloved
It's always there
In the back of my mind
That can get the upper hand if my guard is down...
That **** scares me...
It's an irrational fear
I know that I am loved by many
I got buckets of love in this *****
makin the Cosby's blush with all this love.
But still this emptiness persist...
like i am incomplete on some level
Like i have to fix myself
But I know on a conscious level that..
I am enough.
But on some other level
I don't fully believe this...
And I need someone to tell me this...
I need to highfive a sloth...
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 10:26 PM UTC
Every creature has emotions (Maybe not ducks)
Even sloths
We feel
We hurt
We love
We feel hunger
And thirst
And the want to be loved
Animals can't cry
But we can still feel like it
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
She
A caring heart for an outsider that speak few words with the smile each time
She
A talented guardian with a slight psyche to ease the push of the world
She
Showed a guilted heart for crime she believed she commit when no anger held towards her
She
Saved the giant from self extinction just with the simple glimpse of eye
She
Checked in the battleground to see if the shoulder was down even though no battle was fought
She
A hidden support for my journey in the unknown
She
was the example of bridal I continue to seek
She
The first to hear when I made a comeback
Why was I cowardly? Why did I not speak the truth to my mind? Is it me or just she see the same thing? I would love to take her by my side and show her the legends that is growing, she was one of the ones that helped get the seeds sewn in the right place.
I
a giant that shared not a care for others out of shyness
I
a bear in the eyes in most but a teddy to those that care to look
I
loving to the family youth as I care for them as if they are mine
I
a bit ****** to all that catch a glimpse, but a resort that leads to peace for the elder
How many more battle must take over the skies before I can see the starlight dance once again? Where is that old lake that made the lights dance in her eyes? The trash of mankind has fogged the grounds, making it harder and harder to see the paradise I built.
They
judgemental sloths that never bother for the whol story
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
*and some animals didn't evolve, because they
thought higher things of the dream-world,
say bonsai felines, koalas, sloths, having
evolved we shouldn't have allowed a concern
for dreams, after all, there was mining to do,
wheat to harvest, concern for dreams obstructed
certain thing: firstly a privilege of the rich,
and when stated by someone of lesser "rank",
completely disregarded; trying to find the oedipus
but unable to find him: guten tag kaiser, wilhelm das zweite!*
i'd still prefer the laziness
of the diet of a panda
rather than complicating things
with food restaurant critics
and fussy eaters, i.e.:
eat this, or starve, your choice.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC