"sob" poems
"i'm watching you, stupid ***** Madison pointed at pyper as the girls made there way out of the dining room. "thats enough madison." Cordelia scolded. Nan followed pyper up the stairs into her bedroom. "why are you following me?" pyper asked, looking at nan in disgust. rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "you have madisons money." nan crossed her arms and smiled. "excuse me??" pyper replied as if she were offended by Nans accusation. "mhm, and you have zoeys sunglasses.., cassies ipod, and 25 dollars you stole from emilys purse. along with her art pencils." nan replied. "wow, you're A cleptomaniac." Nan laughed. "okay, how do you know all of this???" Pyper asked, her cheeks red from embarissment, and her head lowered in shame. "i'm psychic. i can read minds." nan explained. suddenly cassie walked past pypers room in search of her stolen ipod. "has anyone seen my pink ipod???" Cassie questioned, it was sitting on my bed, and now i can't find it anywhere. " she looked around hopelessly. "well then look in your room cassie. give me 5 minutes and i'll help you look." pyper shouted. "wow, you're a real piece of work arent you?" nan rolled her eyes and chuckled. "what is your angle, nan?" Pyper questioned, rolling her eyes aswell. saying names name as if she were mocking the whole idea of her. "my angle, PYPER. is this, you give everyone there **** back or i'm telling cordelia and you're out of here." Nan smerked. "you're not going to tell on me anyway?" pyper asked sadly. "no, not onless you do it again." nan sighed, "we stick together here, we're a family, we don't steele eachother down thats not what we're about." nan explained sympatheticly. "wow, thats funny because that's all my real family ever did." pyper replied with big sad puppy dog eyes. nan nodded, "i'm not here to listen to your ******** excuses or your sob stories. if saying that you've had a hard life, and never had anything given to you. and the world owes you. helps you get to sleep at night then fine, cool beans. but i'm not buying that shit. and these girls don't owe you anything. now, i expect everyone to have there **** back by the morning, or i will tell cordelia." nan sighed and rolled her eyes. "okay." pyper nodded with a wounded look upon her face. Cassie stood outside of the door, still listening. her eyebrows raised in anger. and then made her way up the stairs and into madisons room. "what are you doing here pipsquick. im NOT in the mood." Madison sobbed. "oh i think you're in the mood for this, i know who took your money." Cassie smiled.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
When no one else was there to save me,
it was.
It always wraps me in its warmth,
Listens to my every sob,
Pats me in sympathy and comfort.
It's been my lifelong friend.
Most kids are afraid of the dark,
But really there's no need.
Darkness has always been my friend
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
My body somehow knows
The grief tomorrow holds.
I ache and throb
But I cannot sob;
The urge to cry
Stings my eyes.
My feet drag heavily
In the depths of this valley.
Every year without fail
I remind myself I am too frail.
"You're strong without the numbers,"
Yet I was too weak to pull you from your slumber.
Each March 22nd
Feels just like the 1st end,
When your heart stopped beating
And mine started bleeding.
I'd skip this whole day
But I'd miss the chance to say:
I miss you, lovely little hurricane.
It's all I can do to keep sane.
The smell of mint
Hurts just a hint.
The skinny jeans and hair bows
I could never disown.
I wear your effect
On my forearm *****
The pain of loss is akin
To etching you into my skin.
My hands shake with cold,
Though not as cold as a headstone.
Oh, how my body knows
The grief tomorrow holds.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
An old soul,
Curled up on the street.
Marks of burn,
Peeling skin,
Silent cry from the parched throat,
Agony on every turn,
Howl for food,
A sob in between,
Or was it the muscles' twist and turn?
Why did the burn,
Take just the skin,
Why didn't the heat,
Make some food,
Or give some heat,
On this cold street?!
And just then,
A passing gentleman,
In a black suit,
But without a boot,
Dropped me a drop of food,
And said, 'Look at that tree,
Burned in fire, jealousy and heat,
Soaked in rain, vain and pain,
Gnarled beyond the shadow's recognition,
Death has found him no definition,
So, you just rest in peace,
I will drop you daily,
Life in bits and pieces.'
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
During a walk through the hallway
of the primary school
I find hallways
filled with turkeys and leafs and stiff scrawled characters.
What is Mr. Smith's class thankful for?
Flowers and toys and cars and dresses and pink and purple and soccer and skirts and barbies and family.
How could you sum up all of the things you are thankful for in one word?
At the end of the hallway I am faced with a choice:
*What are you thankful for?*
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What am I thankful for?
Happiness, and family and security and nature and
friends.
I am thankful for friends.
I am thankful for laughs and chatts and cries and sobs and games and smiles.
I am thanful for ****** contortions and 80s dance sessions,
for inabilty to speak.
I am thankful for hobos, eating on the side of the road,
and for devious scheymes of intoxicatation.
Hep beni anlayan bir arkadaşım var müteşekkirim
and who listens to my sob stories.
I am thankful for singing in the rain.
And styling hair in the sink
for screeching and howling
and hissing.
I am thankful for obkirchergasses,
for Ströcks and for ice cream plarlours.
I am thankful for mentos,
and walnuts.
I am thankful for bad lip readings and hilarious youtube vidoes.
I am thankful for unknown languages and nymphs
and for eloquence.
I am thankful for good taste in music
and for strong opinions.
I am thankful for dancing indian pirates with demon chicks and fireballs.
I am thankful for two-headed teenagers and barbeques.
I am thankful for God and healthy choice prayers,
and Hawaii get aways.
I am thankful for huge, hanging sweaters and crazy, funky leggings.
I am thankful for deep talks about the world's lack of beauty
and for poetry buddies.
I am thankful for dodgeball playing mice,
and poor old wenches.
I am thankful for pirate and mermaid adventures.
I am thankful for the looks we get:
looks of loud disapproval,
and whispers of quiet exasperation.
I am thankful for golden men and loud singing,
for crazy dances with crazy cousins and cute brothers.
I am thankful for Aunt Jemima.
I am thankful for banging on metal bars with rocks and shouting at the top of our lungs.
I am thankful for climbing over gates in order to not step on cracks.
I am thankful for amazing humanities teachers.
I am thankful for a laugh when the day is over.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How those kids manage to fit all of their thankfulness into one word is beyond me.
Even the one-word things we are thankful for, must be described with a million words.
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 7:42 AM UTC
A piece of you
Reflecting back
The bitter words in your mouth
Too raw to speak
A poet is
Someone in pain
And someone in love
Someone who looks at the world
Through a kaleidoscope
Who takes a magnifying glass to each
And every
Word you say
And lets them imprint on their heart
A poet is
A star gazer
A dreamer
A chaser of
The improbable
But hopes anyway
A poet is
Tissue paper skin
A heart of glass
And a soul of titanium
A poet is
A sharp tongue
And a gentle kiss
She is a sob
He is a sigh
A poet is
The sun at midnight
Bright and
Burning
Hot
Alive
But cloaked in a darkness
They cannot shake
The brightest day
And the darkest night
A poet is
The human experience
A paradox
An oxymoron
So complicatedly
Simple
A poet is
A lover
Who refuses
To stop wearing their heart on their sleeve
No matter how much it bleeds
But rolls them up
So you can’t see
The blood stains
A poet
Is Poetry
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
What if
I had fallen to my knees
On the cold parking lot concrete
Tears washing over my cheeks
And cries no one should ever have to hear
Bellowing out from beneath my ribs
Screaming at the sky
Looking up at your face
Forcing you
(and everyone else)
To see me in this godforsaken state
Of absolute chaos
Heartbreak
In it's rawest form
What if I had begged you to stay?
What if I'd told you I can't do this without you?
What if I'd told you how much I needed you
What if I did anything other than fighting back the tears
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Mostly for the crowd of people gathering
Saying their goodbyes
Anxiously looking around to bear witness to everyone else's reactions
And I didn't want to be that girl
That girl who falls to the ground
Kicking and screaming and crying and begging
But what if I was?
What if I was any girl other than the one I pretended to be that day
The one that held her tongue and kept her mouth shut because she knew the second she opened it to speak she would sob
The one that wrapped her arms around you for the last time,
and the one that let go
The one that couldn't bear to watch you walk away
So she kissed you goodbye
Got back in the car
And drove home
What if i wasn't that girl who didnt allow herself to completely fall apart until she was alone in the privacy of her own home?
What if instead I'd made a scene,
Doing what everything inside me so desperately wanted to
Grabbing hold of your hand and refusing to let go
Losing the facade of confidence
The charade of strength
But I'm not that girl
And I never will be
So each and every time you leave
I kiss you goodbye
I unclench my fists and retract my anchors
I untether my heart from it's human home
And I put on a brave face
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Or maybe
For that girl.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC
A melancholy ***** we came to adore
in mournful tone, finish the tale abruptly
and sob, uncontrollably;
"Memories of my melancholy ******
including "Love in the times of cholera"
are now part of our folklore, this land
of cashew groves and banana plantations
in Indian landscape, far far away from Latin American shores.
Her lascivious days are over
death visits the house of love, blood splattered
and a haunt of dark happenings, that begets children with tails,
shame, honor and secrets creep out of manuscripts.
Gabo is no more, no more"Living to tell the tale"
the Part Two, promised before.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, after three false starts
goes to his final abode for rest, now.
A coded manuscript, written in
in classical Sanskrit,
(the language of all divine texts
of Indian sages of yore)
scripted by the mysterious gypsy,Melquiades
predicts the wipe out of Buendia clan
of five generations
Torrential rain and deluge engulf Macondo,
ends "One hundred years of solitude".
Gabo you point towards east
what is the answer to the conundrum of Buendias?
In Mexico city
they were preparing to take Gabo to his last ride
to the origin of all magical realism he'd return
In a land far away,
yet exactly the same landscape as Latin Americas
we grieve his death as that of one of our own
Gabo, in past thirty years, you mysteriously taught us
to discern the magical realism of cosmos
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
"No! No! This cannot be happening"
The words stumbled out as I tried hard to keep the sogged eye from draining
My vision became blurrer
And blurrer as I turned and run out of the house
Grabbing my stiletto as I did
Under the pear tree in the garden I stopped
And allowed the now heavy eyes
To drain the burning water
They flow on like pain from broken heart
Bitter and hurt
Bitter from the disappointment and forlon
From a mixture of shock, disbelief and loss
Served in a glass of betrayal and a tray of painful regret
I raise the dagger in a drunken cognition
For my sob now has become the cry of a damage soul
A disfigured spirit
I can barely hear them from without in the midst of the caos
Those little voices in my heard
Screaming out at me
Hitting hard on the walls of my mind
Pushing my conciense
"Do it!" one says
"It wouldn't solve the problem" the other retorts
"But it will end it!"
"Leaving bigger problems"
The blood in my head boils
The heat rising in exponents
The tension now causes my whole body to trob
To ache
My mind cannot hold it any longer
The quicker the better
I opened my mouth to say my final words
But all the came out
Was a scream.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
My mom says "frick"
or "fiddlesticks"
even when kids aren't around.
She's holding in
some of that pure, unfiltered rage
each time a plate is dropped
or toe is stubbed.
If only she'd just shout "OH ****
she wouldn't lash out
at grandma or sob uncontrollably later.
Someone once said to me, **** you!"
and I was happy.
It means they won't ****** me in my sleep
because they expressed verbal and not physical rage.
I was happier when someone told me "go **** yourself"
because I went home and did just that.
Speaking of pleasure,
the act of *******
burns between 85-250 calories,
improves sleep & your immune system.
Google it.
I've been ******
a realization &/or learning experience
having gone broke without a way to pay rent
resulting in the lesson of moving back in with the parents.
We can get ****** up.
A couple too many tokes &/or shots of gin &/or punches to the face.
We learn the perils of excess.
In third grade, I was ****** up by a group of 6-7 kids.
I learned I never want to experience THAT
uncomfortable feeling again.
Why is **** such a bad word again?
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 11:58 AM UTC
(I love) Dignity
*tearing words apart,
a part
of a joy I cannot
explain or share exactly*
knew a man once,
forty two years gone,
died too soon enough,
soon enough,
he and I will be
the same age
this man
a duck out of water,
a stranger in an adopted land,
trouble-stooped, a hard life, well lived,
never bent,
dignified in every step
I cannot remember him
ever kissing me, tousling my hair,
holding my hand, loving me in
a manner I wanted beyond desperately
yet here I am, 5:22 am
weeping tears recalling him
in glimpses long ago seen,
adding them all up to get a
single sum
Dignity.
*tearing words apart,
a part
of a joy I cannot/explain,
share precisely*
dig
in
to
my
chambered memory storage units,
unlocking those rusted locks with freshly oiled
tears
and loving the dignity he exampled
to the son he could not kiss, hand hold,
but taught him the one lesson, digging deep
to respect life and stand apart,
stand with dignity.
all else will follow
the son kissed his children plenty,
in a vain attempt to make up his missed
homework
now the grandfather,
now the grandfather
is still kissing
his last hope, his newest babes,
rolling on the floor,
so silly kissing belly buttons,
smelling their skin repeatedly,
in a manner most
undignified
still weeping
the son,
he tries to sort it out
and forgives and does not forget
the man that taught dignity
in everything,
even, especially,
in slow dying,
forty two years is a long time to wait
to weep.
it takes two hands in the dark
repeatedly
to collect all the waiting patiently
wetness and the
accompanied sniffles,
so undignified,
the son smiles at himself
declaring unabashedly,
digging out from himself
a poem, a self-reflection
on time tarnished reflections
clear enough to make him
sob,
believing*
I love dignity.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 5:51 AM UTC
Fat, fat, fat.
All I see is fat.
I am the "chunkiest", the "chubbiest", the "roundest" and the "ugly pig".
I might as well be a rat, the biggest of the big.
Fat, fat, fat,
All I see is fat.
I am "just right", "average", "normal" or "perfect size."
They lie every single time, and hell, just 'like that'.
Fat, fat, fat,
All I see is fat.
I am "too skinny!", "I wish I looked like you", "wow! Size zero jeans?!" and "underweight".
Yet, I refuse to touch this cold, stocked plate.
Fat, fat, fat,
All I see is fat.
I am "awful", "dying", Miss "eat something" and "throne of bones".
Yet, this body will never be my souls rightful home.
Fat, fat, fat.
All I ever will be is fat.
Even in a long gown and stuck to the end of an I.V pole,
With doctors and psychatrists and loved ones crying and begging me to just "recover, please come home!"
I am still fat.
The hospital bed is empty,
My bed is left untouched,
There is a silence as the wearers in black all sob and stare silently at the body in the ground.
Devasted and hushed...
I see them, but can no longer speak.
No longer able to feel, no longer live,
Forced to watch time pass and hearts mourn...
Their days now heartbroken and bleak.
My best friend doesn't speak, she now sits alone,
My mother sobs every night, family reminded
so often of my presence,
The one who secrelty loved me has loved no more,
Even my pets still wait outside my door.
Those who knew me, only can remember me in the things left behind,
Even the sun itself rarely shines.
Dead, lost, gone.
I am no longer fat,
But I also no longer- belong.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 12:59 AM UTC
“You are not an artist.
You are not an artist.”
What photos must I shoot
How many cigarettes must I smoke
It is scary, but - I want to embody the things which destroy minds
Summer vibes feel like radiation
Use this alcohol to eradicate
The proposition - that I will be ‘okay’
My phone is on airplane mode
My ambition is floating - as a feather might -
Down to the depths
I cannot finish my own sentences
Bury my expectation with my religion
And it’s funny
Because I have resolved my mind to avoid romantic
confrontation
But, alas - I do day-dream
Of a girl’s face & hair - for it has appeared in my dreams four
times
And I awake to Deja-Vu as her face appears in conscious
frames
So…
I can imagine & I can see, but - they have become one in the same
Could not fantasize asking
Your hand in mine
Oh how I wish to cry
To sob in any light so long as you are in sight
Someone to reassure me, that - yes
“There is an end to the night.”
But I cannot. I suppress it in drives. In music videos. In writing. In self-speaking when I have only me to keep company.
Kick me off the team.
I do not know what I need.
If I could lead, as I once did.
But I have left concern in the refrigerator
With empty bottles & cans
Maybe I will return tomorrow to salvage the cents of my malleable integrity
Won’t you reliquinish me of it ?
For I have sipped the poison of honesty
Regretfully it tastes like honey
Lustful - Fleeting - Sugary - Intoxicating
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 12:38 AM UTC
She reads
And she sleeps
Way too much
It's her coping defence
When nothing else will suffice
She needs to get away
Without actually leaving
Because she's too scared
And too tired
To leave her bed
So she cracks open a book
To escape somewhere far away
And she'll sob for the characters
Whose brokenness resembles hers
And then she'll sleep
And have sweet dreams
Of realities that are not her own
Because pretending is so much easier
Than facing reality
So she'll sleep and dream
And secretly wish she won't wake up
So she can finally escape
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
When the moon sails out
the bells fade into stillness
and there emerge the pathways
tha tcan't be penetrated.
When the moon sails out
the water hides earth's surface,
the heart feels like an island
in the infinite silence.
Nobody eats an orange
under the moon's fullness.
It is correct to eat, then,
green and icy fruit.
When the moon sails out
with a hundred identical faces,
the coins made of silver
sob in your pocket.
8.9k
The crash of us together
A wave caressing dancing sands
We kissed with tongue for hours while our mouths were full of glass
You cradled me so softly
and kept my heart inside a jar
I took your brain, made you insane, our adhesive made of tar
Can I **** myself with you?
I want to stick to you like glue
Our fingers intertwined as they turn stiff and blue
The world is scared of dying,
Always looking for a sign,
But if I died with you beside me
I know that I'd be fine
We inflict upon each other
pain, despair and passion
undying devotion
has always been in fashion
You hurt me so bad
But always hold me after
We sob together yet always end in laughter
Can I **** myself with you?
I want to stick to you like glue
Our fingers intertwined as they turn stiff and blue
The world is scared of dying,
Always looking for a sign,
But if I died with you beside me
I know that I'd be fine
A space is in between us now
A shield so to speak
But I miss the way it used to be and every night I weep
I wonder if you miss me too even though I'm still right there
Its as if now that we're better we have nothing left to share
Can I **** myself with you?
I want to stick to you like glue
Our fingers intertwined as they turn stiff and blue
The world is scared of dying
Always looking for a sign
But if I died with you beside me I know that I'd be fine
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 7:42 PM UTC
you are
annoying and unfaithful
greedy and habitual
poor baby
what must you lust after now
and sob rivers with no reasons
you lack directions
and standards
and thrive on attention
of unattractive actions
you are eleven
going on ten
and have yet to blossom
we give up on you
since i occupy the back burner
behind rats and redheads
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
I started with my dress,
The white one with the black flowery design.
I added my black scarf, draping it
Casually around my head,
Trying to stop my thoughts from drifting
To what I was dressing up for.
I slipped on my sandals and then
Slipped out the door,
Not slamming it because that felt like
An ending.
I didn’t want another ending.
Walking into the church,
The temperature went up 50 degrees,
And my anxiety went up 100.
I shook hands with the extended family,
Hugged your widow,
And comforted your grandchildren.
I made it through the opening liturgy,
Your favorite hymn, and the obituary.
I even stopped my tears from falling
During your granddaughter’s touching eulogy,
When she started sobbing up there on the altar.
Afterwards, I sat through the meal,
Everything tasting like cardboard in
My mouth as the temperature kept increasing.
Near the end of the night,
When the church was clearing out,
I went back to the food,
Craving a final bite of cheesy potato casserole
Before I could finally leave this night behind.
Yet when I get there,
The tray is cleaned out,
And there is no more cheesy potato casserole.
That’s when I finally break down and sob.
I didn’t get that last bite of
Cheesy potato casserole.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
XLI
I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all
Who paused a little near the prison-wall
To hear my music in its louder parts
Ere they went onward, each one to the mart’s
Or temple’s occupation, beyond call.
But thou, who, in my voice’s sink and fall
When the sob took it, thy divinest Art’s
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot
To hearken what I said between my tears, . . .
Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to shoot
My soul’s full meaning into future years,
That they should lend it utterance, and salute
Love that endures, from Life that disappears!
7k
So I'm just sitting down
Beside a stranger
Playing his guitar beautifully,
Meditating on the idea of how we
As human beings can only go so far.
As far as you can go
Exceeds as far as you can see.
I'm physically near-sighted.
I'm not sure if it's because of that long ago accident
When a tsunami of gasoline soaked my eyes,
But everything far is a water color blur to me,
Is it in fact the same for you?
There are addicts on the curb,
Abandoned dogs without a home.
How did they get there?
I can guess and assume,
Without the slightest clue.
I'm as anxious as an alcoholic
In a state of withdrawal.
Did I fall from Heaven like Lucifer?
Slightly overweight
Then slightly anorexic.
I've thought of less lately,
Less of fate.
Struggled with labels,
"That kid is anti-social."
As soon as
Words *** like fertile *****
You regret the consequence's backlash.
Why am I even bringing up **** from the past?
Don't get me wrong,
My story is not a complete sob story.
Anything I hold back,
I will admit and confess and address,
Always.
Originally written 2/4/11
Revised 10/15/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
I yell and I yell
enclosed by the air
and yet I can't feel it.
I want to hurt myself
just so I can feel something
So I try and I try
but not a drop of blood shed.
I shoot and I shoot
I clash my cymbals
I set myself on fire
I bomb the whole **** cloud.
Nothing moves.
I am stuck in an infinite circle of an alternate reality.
Isolated from life.
I sit and sob
in a cloud of white air.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 9:44 AM UTC
the lightning won't **** you
the thunder will
boom
eardrums squeeze!
pop pop pop
bust! can't hear
slip in the grass
dropped amongst bugs and wet smells
curl up into a ball and sob
you can't even hear yourself sob!
lungs burst like eardrums
you're a mess
the thunder will
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
I knew she was like water, she'd probably wish to be compared to a sea but she was more like a lake. Still, calm, never moving without an outside force.
But still I loved her. Her calming waters soothed my wounds and her reflective surface forced me to see myself the way I am. But still she never moved. I could ripple her surface, make her waters splash upon new sides of her shores, but in doing so I watched in somber wonder as she washed the people in her shallows up upon her banks, sore and bruised down to their hearts, and neither would reach for the other, trapped in the curse of stillness.
She assured me she loved me, she assured me I'd always stay in the deepest depth of her heart. And yet slowly, what was once a depth so warm and vast, I found my toes grazing the bottom, and every time I did I tried to swim back, back to where the water was endless, bottomless, yet never could I stay there long. Other people were causing wakes, and fighting against them was becoming difficult, for I am not the strongest swimmer.
I began to wonder whether I was still welcome, for her silences were getting longer, her ripples I could cause we're so much smaller, and in my self doubt those wakes moved me ever closer to the shore, and with each step I could take full footed along the bottom I began to sob.
I tried curling myself into a ball in those shallows, tried to allow the water to cover my head and tell myself I still mattered. But the water here was so frigid, my lips began to turn blue and my lungs burned. I'd return to the surface and take long breaths and use them to scream silently.
From where I stood, the water only knee deep I saw the figure of a man at her center, and as he raised his arms my scream became caught in my throat, and as his arms slammed upon her surface I saw the wave come rushing toward me, the longer it moved the more it grew and I said silently to myself "this is the end."
In those surreal seconds I remembered the others, and was reminded of her stillness, and in those horrible moments I knew I was nothing anymore, just another piece of useless trash to be lying upon her shore.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
It is your birthday and
I hope you don't sob
Into the birthday cake.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
Smokey the bear had fought lots of fires,
he was a good guy, didn't have any priors.
But after so many years committed to the job,
Smokey started to feel as if he would sob
every time he got a message calling him back to work,
to put out a fire started by some drunken ****
No matter how many fires Smokey put out,
it never seemed to gain him any social clout.
His so called “friends” never invited him to hang
though all Smokey wanted was to be one of the gang.
They would hold fancy dances and dress in their best,
but poor lonely Smokey was never a guest.
He rented a tux and showed it to one guy,
who immediately retorted with quite the rude reply!
“Are you kidding,” he said, “Smokey tuxes aren’t for bears,
besides, you’d have to return it all covered in hair!”
“No,” the guy said, “It’s best you stay home,”
“Besides, I know you don’t mind hanging out alone!”
But Smokey did mind, he minded a lot,
and later that night, he had a brilliant thought.
“I’ll go to that party and show them, they’ll see,
you can’t just leave out a fun bear like me.”
However, Smokey's idea did not go as planned,
his first mistake being that he arrived in a van.
A van that looked like something a molester would use
while trolling the streets for a child to choose.
Smokey’s second mistake was his puke yellow tux,
the one he had bought for only two bucks.
When he finally entered people gasped in surprise,
unable to believe the strange thing before their eyes.
There Smokey stood, all covered in yellow,
holding a cane and top hat he thought made him quite the “fancy fellow.”
After a moment of silence there was a loud roar,
as laughing people asked, “What look were you going for?”
Embarrassed, Smokey tried to claim the whole thing was a joke,
Stuttering, “C’mon you guys know I’m quite the funny bloke!”
Eyes brimming with tears Smokey decided to leave,
but this embarrassed bear had something up his sleeve.
“I hate them,” he thought, standing outside,
and decided to make sure none of them would have a ride.
So he slashed all their tires while giggling with glee,
Thinking, "Now they’ll feel bad for laughing at me!”
But this was not enough, Smokey wanted to do more,
so he grabbed a gas can and started to pour.
He saturated the grass, the trees and the flowers,
and then sparked a fire that would burn on for hours.
This was one fire Smokey would not put out,
he simply stood, and then laughed as he heard the first shout.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC