"socialites" poems
I sought satisfaction in stupid sheepishly and shallow strides.
Scared subconsciously, I swallow and sustain substance for pseudo self esteem strengthening.
I seemed of in service to slumber and stinging sadness, shots sank like ships, submerging into the sea of my swarthy stomach in seconds.
I somewhat sympathies as a sailor, sweating, struggling and swimming in slipping sobriety saturated in my sulking style.
Scanning swarms of serial swindlers, striking sculptures stances of self-doubt.
I stammer in a storm of slurs, ******* down my safety, stopping myself at the stoop of the saloon I see a seductive silhouette staging the space.
She stroke my sight, standing sanguine in scarlet, soul sold in high heels.
The smoothest sculptures in seven square miles were subjugated into scree and I was ****** in submission.
Stubborn staggering suitors, stand shaking silently as she is stopped by sharks stalking and snarling sycophantics.
So straightforward in suggesting their secret starvation to strip sensations, seem by seem, like a sub-par **** cinema scene.
They step and speak short.
She smokes off, stranding the scree in smoldering slaughter.
Its sad this soul-less sanctuary soaking up sorrows.
So self inflicting, and so satisfyingly side splitting.
She sported her spurned, scorned off into sadistic solitude and stained sticky stigma, sobbing to sleep.
So spent from simple stocked, stored and supported senescence of ceremonial subjection of ****** status.
I savior my sincerity, and stretched out of this strange stadium of stooges.
So long scarlet sanguine I sang softly, as she stole my sight suspiciously in sync with hers.
Sacrificial seconds split from smearing stolidity to sharing a smile.
That's simple satisfaction, so I seen scripted in sitcoms and shows.
Supporting sapiens in stasis to see sappy stunners on screen, to stare snoopy, as stabs and slashes strike socially into socialites of so called sanity and sovereignty.
To sweetly pay salvage as slaves of soppy studio slander.
Such is this sorry Saturday night, I am solidified in sedation.
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
A child without water,
a rich man drinks his coffee.
A father unable to provide,
a rich kid gets a new car.
A mother lies awake, body ravaged by AIDS,
while the Hollywood hills expose their costly ills.
The dream of equality is nowhere to be found
while the lives of the many are repressed and pushed down.
Executives and suits lived gluttonous youths
while a father works to death to fill his children’s mouths.
There is a solution to this problem of society,
one which the telethon celebs won’t give up quietly.
It doesn’t involve guilt-trips on TV.
It doesn’t need attention constantly.
Socialites shouldn’t seek their own satisfaction
if the only result is our continued inaction.
What is really necessary, what really needs doing,
is to get out there and get ourselves moving.
It’s the work of us commoners
that will fill up the bellies.
It’s the donation of the middle class
that will educate young ladies.
The revolution of giving needs to be started
or else who will care when our own lives grow stunted?
The world all together relies on us all
to give out our hand and make our brothers stand tall.
It’s these simple acts which will strengthen the pillars
of mutual respect for our society’s sisters.
So don’t wait any longer for a celeb to rise up.
It’s these people below them who’ll fill up the cup.
No debutante or heir can fill every belly
by thinking of their pride and unearned glory.
Never before has it felt so right
to be the common man, helping a peer in his plight.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 3:16 AM UTC
swimming in currents,
water dark as our Shadows,
there’s a war going on outside,
and inside we all have our own battles,
don’t know who to trust,
just need someone I can trust,
lost at sea it seems life’s but a dream,
and I’m sailing through on my lifeboat,
I hope,
this lifeboat can find a lifeguard,
because I feel like a criminal that’s escaped prison,
and now I’m living larger than life at large,
like I’m not hiding,
but people don’t see me,
even when I’m out here shining,
or occasionally when I’m on the TV,
see she,
is my Lifeguard,
guarding me to her life,
she protects me from my Darkness,
with the Love of her Light,
swimming fearlessly through the Seven Seas,
by my side she rides relentlessly,
she’s my Lifeguard she’s my Lighthouse,
upon my rock she shines luminescently,
she shows trust in our Divine Nature,
she is what’s better when we’re together,
she is the grass that’s greener the weather that’s clearer,
and every moment together with her feels like forever,
even though we both know nothing lasts forever,
everyone goes eventually,
evidentially,
she is certainly a site to behold,
how could someone be so modest,
and at the same time so bold,
to hold,
and to have,
to love,
and to laugh,
she loves me unconditionally,
never mad,
always happy,
forever sad,
rays of sunlight shine in like insight,
on me from her whenever I’m feeling down,
she shows up just in time to save my life,
grabbing my hand just as I’m about to drown,
more stamina than Pamela she’s an Angel a Savior,
she’s my own personal hero,
she is my Lifeguard,
always watching facing fear without fear so,
I offer her my everything,
indebted gratitude to her like a Samurai,
and yeah even though we’re both socialites,
we prefer when it’s just us as in her and I,
and I know this world is a dangerous place,
but as long as we have each other we will survive,
because she is my lifeguard my lifeboat my lightforce,
she is my lighthouse guiding me home with her loving light…
∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 2:19 AM UTC
The yonder above is forever bruised and opaque
Reigning over glum faces
Complexions washed with a bloodless shade of dispassion
Robotic, disengaged.
Material desires are quenched with vast shopping centres
Credit Cards hold on for dear live
As every last drop of sweet money is rinsed from that plastic rectangle.
Living beyond our means
Whilst simultaneously refusing to give up on Sky TV box sets and liquid lunches.
Hooked to our phones, but not for telephone communication
Rather, for self validation
Defined by the click of a heart or pathetic thumb.
The once friendly communities
With blood coursing through their veins
Are husks of their previous life form, gentrified beyond recognition.
Filtered faces with protruding spines and modified features
Infiltrate mass media
Corrupting the definitions of success and beauty.
Plastic personalities reign supreme
Vacuous minded socialites profess women’s empowerment begins with the flaunting of skin
Rather than the possession of a strong mind.
Many bury their heads in the sand
Residing in ignorance
As mass genocides and civil wars manifest every second.
Or worse, they read the TORYgraph and THE ****
Believing immigrants spawn white genocide
And white conservatives suffer oppression.
Pffft!
I have deep contempt for those behind these ***** tabloids
Murdoch and his monsters
Orchestrating lies and bile
Destroying lives or scaremongering the impressionable
Committing the most savage, sycophantic crimes
In order to extract Monday’s headline.
I do not suffer fools
Especially those who make up the tapestry of dystopia
A failing age of doom.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
Getting to know meShare
Today at 1:23pm | Edit Note | Delete
I wasted years
discussing future employment;
taking the name of that college
and turning it in to a pretty university.
I got half way there...
Did three years of time
under the teachings
of socialites
and successful suits.
That was when
I realised that
the women, the music,
intoxication and the word
meant more to me,
and very little to them.
It seemed to me...
Be successfully dry
or struggle through
with fire.
So now,
I work my *** off
for a meagre wage,
I spend what I can
in the bars,
whilst those I used to know
take out their mortgage loans
and start planting the seeds
without considering
exactly what is left
-or not left-
for them to grow in.
Well, waking up
at noon
with a head on my chest,
a hangover that drags
me to the bathroom
then puts me back
where I started...
Knowing that nothing
takes preference over
personal enjoyment,
decency and honesty,
and knowing that all those struggles
reaffirmed this:
It's a bubble,
one that I know
is now
far too thick
to be burst.
Jan 21, 2010
Jan 21, 2010 at 6:25 AM UTC
Why so little introspection?
Why the superficiality?
Why the incessant conspicuity,
Obsessing over ‘their’ perception,
Not even based in reality,
Living so image driven
With worries 'bout reputation?
Why no motivation then?
Because no one knows your efforts given?
Perhaps there's too much value on what other people think of us
And too little upon ourselves,
Our story that no one tells
And the truths we don’t discuss.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 10:08 PM UTC
The senses, being irrelevant
And often misleading,
Have led me to answering questions,
You've never bothered asking
When "when" is not a timeframe
So much, as it is a
Time of day, be it
Morning over coffee,
Or a digital dessert, I can't be
Made to let go of the
Gasps I grab for, upon your entrance
Or exit, breath becomes trivial.
You steal jealousy from
My eyes, and quite a jealous
Man can I be. Those same portals
You fill up every day with
Smoke and sensationalism, through which
Stolen intentions, kept quiet,
Are made mutineers
Against their vigilant captains.
The how came from surrender.
Realizing you turn me against
Myself. And as the world falls
Down around me I can't
Get that awful sound of my
Own hypocrisy, crashing down, out
From the canals they've found to call home.
Below broken-hearted-bowls,
And lying over the phone, and a
Cancerous presence on the
Stage of Socialites, you still look
Perfect with a cigarette in your lips.
*I've used "portals" before.
To mean eyes.
And cigarettes before.
To mean freedom.
But you just smoke them... Don't you...?*
There are those who marvel
At the size of her, before taking in
The expansive beauty the moon can speak.
Some are willing to court her,
Others rip the hoop skirt off,
And **** her 'til she bleeds.
Oddly, no one is ever jealous,
Of the time others spend with her.
She's taken for granted, as
The passed-around property
Of the Uncultured Below.
But that's not why I'm sorry...
***Or don't you wonder...
Don't you ever wonder?
Who went wrong?
What's correctly missing?***
It is in how I love,
The ways not withstanding,
And reason, remaining remiss,
That I ask you to forgive me.
You are who you are
Because I love you.
And I am who I am,
Because you are.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
Yesterday
I had a birthday that was not
a birthday
went places i did not know
met people i did not know
walking walking waiting
more walking
to finally get in
to not be able to move, speak
playing tail but getting none
some fool who seems to be
having a better time then me
gets kicked out on his kicked ***
screaming obscenities from busted lips
smoked all my cigarettes
to filter to the end
to no end
but the day did not end
on the roof with roaches
then onto the street with socialites
then back on the roof
I guess i must be a lonely individual
or maybe there is something
missing
could be why no one is listening
they come stay here
but do not have the courtesy
to stay here
i do not feel im entitled to anything
i just like being informed
of when im to be ignored
or forgotten
maybe
i should have forgotten
my birthday
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
Tell me all about your silent questions,
The images of life you fail to lose.
Talk about the long and rambling lessons,
The heartless anguish placed in front of you.
I've been down to beggar's end within a
Minute of exertion; I've been
Stripped apart by vagabonds with
Gloves made out of gold. I have
Walked across the valley with a
Donkey on my back, and I can
Tell a thousand stories that should
Never have been told.
Images and photographs of madness,
Lines of black and white, depicting grey.
What your eyes have seen, no-one could fathom,
What you can recall, no-one could say. I have
Seen a row of palisades de-
Fending empty spaces; I have
Witnessed refugees campaign for
Rights they've always had. I have
Seen the towns of concrete turn in-
To a sea of snow, and I have
Seen into the blackened souls of
All the nation's glad.
Resonate with life's emphatic madness,
The tinkering of bells and measured weights.
The litany of lives you have encountered,
Obituary passages await.
I'll recite the speeches made from mounts of
Manufactured diamonds, I'll re-
Late the frenzied feeding of a
Thousand hungry birds. I can
Tell a story resolute and
Free from tailors' hands, but they run
Few and far between, and they have
Apathetic words.
What about the men who walked beside you,
The ones you passed on roads of blackened glass.
The faces you have coloured in your libraries,
The memories of people that don't last? I have
Met a thousand socialites with
Blood upon their dresses, I have
Knelt with sullen faces in the
Shadow of the flag. I have
Studied with a poet, but I
Never saw his face, and I have
Met a thousand children living
Out of plastic bags.
Tell me where your path leads from this moment;
The journey that awaits beyond my door.
Imagine all the roads you may encounter,
The choices you can make, or else ignore. I will
See the face of tyranny with
Holes within its pockets, I will
Cast my piece of gravel with the
Millions I can't see. I will
Watch as boundaries fall, and new ones
Spring up in their wake, and I will
Reminisce on times I never
Witnessed, when we're free.
I will
Stand without a hesitation,
Free from selfish doubts, and I will
Point my finger proudly at the
Ones we've singled out. I will
Ride the waves of emerald wastes, be-
Reft of shallow waters, and I
Challenge all who hear me to ex-
Plain what it's about.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 6:57 PM UTC
Stunted sick socialites
That never touched the light lightness
Of a Spring supported day
With their jewels jumping from party to party
Filming themselves get drunk
**** off
And eat chili frito's till dawn
All the while
Love quarrels over coedine tablets
On the lawn
Awake and listening to the sounds of the world
Which rests on no one's shoulders
Weight that is not rightfully
Theirs
Though they act like it
Obsess and take it
Fake it
All the while secretly breaking into pieces
Far away the singing gulls are full with a song
We can no longer here
And they will be back again
When we are all gone
So
So long
So long
Oh' so long
May 15, 2011
May 15, 2011 at 10:56 AM UTC
Black hill bulging on the north head -
city streets burning bourbon glow along the surface.
Bringing a blistering wind from the southeast,
stinging thin skin and whistling between the leaves.
The stars ***** the papery grey cloud layer.
Company bursts the pockets of air:
supple bubbles,
broken under heavy water poured for drowning in,
from the glands of hedonists and socialites
all round, alright, aloud, alight, a hound,
a beast of the night,
sinking into the black thick tar,
slicked with scotch,
burning, hoarding the air
above him.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
*I sling on my pearls,
and my baby doll dress.
My hair is in curls,
and my room is left a mess.
I'm off to a party in underground London.
We dance in a basement,
our very own encasement,
the place where we can be.
We prance around the room,
screaming words that don't make sense,
but still do at our expense.
We are a movement,
a revolution,
and even an era,
of kids who don't fit in.
Yet, in our own way,
we are freaks of the night,
and socialites of the day.*
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
Faces in a row wait to begin the daily shunt.
Sat aboard we bow our heads to handheld binary,
ignoring the large TV on adjacent walls.
Their broadcast, another repeat of moving scenery.
We sit with thumb in repetition; we know yesterday's story.
But the curiosity of which we serve fails to resist;
the craving for a pictorial record of a faux friend’s breakfast.
Lonely subjects completely surrounded by people.
Yet we hide – validating ourselves as socialites by algorithms of technology.
We sit, hoping to avoid a mundane clone of yesterday,
but facilitate it with various levels of hope for a change of train and different journey.
We’d know the grass isn’t greener on the other train’s TV,
if we looked up to see it.
Appreciate today’s episode, supply a faint smile to another, chat without a digit,
we may yet remedy our hope.
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 5:14 AM UTC
Inhale.
This life of living to loving to longing for too long,
Before we know it winter draws and the song is sung,
But this moment, this is life,
Pain, joy, charity and sacrifice,
The bad molds us just as the good does,
This mortal clay through which our blood courses,
And the life it forces from parental sources,
Becomes ignored so easily,
That clocks tick tock moves silently, teasingly,
So that all too soon meaning is lost in stress,
The mess bore of intertwining consciousness,
It's important to pause,
To take a moment away from economic constructs and socialites laws,
To take one second, to breathe in and breathe out
And within a breaths brief eternity attempt to grasp what life's about.
Exhale.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC
It seems I vary
out of my territory
I change to be what gets me through
I am so polite
when I brunch with socialites
Dress all cleanly, wash behind my ears
going to job interviews
Act, is what I am, an
especially Sunday
Most o' the times I am
drinking stunk on Cuervo's
And skunk
rockin' rollin'
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
Poets speak in spills of sarcasm and satire
Soul searing and smooth saying sentences salvaged from their sins
Stop starting signs and sigh soaked sincerities seep from their seething seams
Soap suds sit in their mouths while supplying
supplementary information seemingly from a somber soul
sought after by so few socialites
Poets speak solely from the soul, as no other place would suit their words a safer home
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
I am living as static
amongst a chaotic mess
I am living as shy
amongst a world of socialites
my sister,
she is living as charisma
she is living as the current
I am living as a shadow,
not to her, but something else
I am living in fiction,
as she makes them laugh with brilliant, life-time diction
she is living as she goes,
doing all things she knows she knows
I am living half; she's whole
I am living as a fool
she is living half; I'm whole
she is living as a fool
I am living as I go
doing all things I know I know
she is living as a shadow,
not to me, but something else
she is living in fiction,
as I make them laugh with brilliant, life-time diction
I, her sister,
am living as charisma
I am living as the current
she is living as static
amongst a chaotic mess.
she is living as shy
amongst a world of socialites
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
Stalking in the shadows.
Whispering false truths.
Flaunting their dignified beauty,
Socialites against a wallflower backdrop.
They scratch without leaving a mark,
And stab you in the back without breaking the skin.
Admired, but nobody really knows them
They’re heroic villains.
Humanoid looking, but they’re really ghosts.
Really, creatures of the dark and the bad can still shine in the light if they’re mean enough.
Feb 24, 2020
Feb 24, 2020 at 6:10 PM UTC
I is spontaneous
I is me -
without the edits from society
I is what in my head, the real her
what's inside,
words without filters
Forgive me socialites
I have yet to let your opinion decipher
Who I am internally
expectations of before and after
...But
Me
me is egotistic
me is influenced
me is the girl that society ruined
Don't say this, never do that
unconsciously self- conscious
under the influence
in tune
part of the group
in a section of the crowd
I shouldn't belong to.
I miss I
but me is the new me
I find that being alone is better
and I find solitude indulging
Nov 16, 2019
Nov 16, 2019 at 5:08 AM UTC
I'm 20 years old now
And I've seen technology advance and what happens when socialites go wild
and I've been mulling this over for awhile
I began to understand why the older generations hate us and always rely on poorly researched "Truths" to debate us.
It's because of how much the world has changed.
The world has changed and immeasurable number of ways since way back in the day
From the rise of the Internet from a finicky gimmick to a major uncut media outlet
And so quickly it seems as though some rewinding is needed to some, in a manner most drastic
However progress is needed even though it is a slow and painful process, whether it be in the church or out on the streets everyone's ideas deserve to be heard no matter how bizarre because that's how we remain so unique
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
We run like telephone poles in the night
Darting through trees
Snaking through the sky
Reaching for the moon on our long wooden legs
Oh, how glorious we are with the moonlight glistening off of us
Beating with power
Pulsing with electricity
Arching through the air and lighting up the world around us.
Chasing an impossible dream to be fulfilled
To make that spark,
To rope in the magic suspended in the space around us.
And light the match.
That cultivates our spirit
Grounds our hopes
Cements them in the earth and
Buries them in the deep rich soil
Never to be questioned or second guessed
Oh how we grasp the air,
desperate to grab handfuls of somethings and turn them into everything
And change the world with the love and positivity we create.
How we long for the semblance of perfection amount the modern robots that surround us, rehearsing their phrases and learning the script of movie stars and socialites.
Rewriting their picturesque lives into our own realities.
And those people suspended higher then the rest of us-
constantly reminding us to jump higher,
Duck lower
Smile wider
Dip Deeper
Explore more
Love harder
Dance better
Filter everything
Raise heels
Tighten jeans
Laugh longer
Try harder
We take advantage of the miles of possibilities lining country roads and lighting up cities
Always expecting more of yourself and expecting less.
Struck down by the lighting rod of life
And burning from the inside out with unharvested potential.
Crumbling with the weight of our possibilities
And tumbling to the ground,
severed from our hopes and dreams.
Cutting off our influence
Shutting down the light in our world
And draining our surroundings of power.
Where we rot and wait for someone with a name tag and an antidote to prescribe us with a dose of energy.
Oh, how we chase our dreams into the ground
How we expect so much and accomplish so little.
How we fight for every breath to live out the ideal destiny dreamed up by society.
We run like telephone poles in the night.
Pulsing with energy and trying our best to light up the world.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 6:42 PM UTC
*** is meant for marriage
yet many escape through vice with ***********
a married man seeks more then the real thing by having a fling
there are lines being driven in the sand
hearts are purged in the under garb of vice
escapism through the portal of lust
paying no attention to in God we trust
like an old car they rust
being carried away by sin, self & Satan
shadows block the full view of there sight
they feel they could sin cause that's there right
like a caged rat hidden in a tiny hole
who could stop this madness
it's just a fantasy it's not the real thing
sometimes a fantasy is all you need
hearts are torn and some that bleed
people do as they so please
cause the girl is such a tease
knock you to you knees
as busy as a bee
a temptation that quickly comes and then it goes
just like ******* goes up your nose
a temporal high but the ramifications is devastating
now what are you waiting for
go do what you have to do
having bitten off far more then you could ever chew
yet this is nothing new its all been done before
remember ther famed Studio 64
the socialites would party like never before
many were kicking in back with a two bit *****
screaming for more
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
filled with the endless buzz
of socialites, social sites
friends abound
and yet
when that connection
the gateway
the path to sweet validation
is severed
deleted
destroyed
mauled in ways unimaginable
it's like the death of a friend
a buddy
a sibling
a lover
something is lost
but it's temporary
yet in those moments just after
when the wound is still fresh
it's like god smited thee
condemning thou to the nth circle
the deepest pit of hell
tartarus
but in the cool clear light of dawn
when the day finally breaks
all is well and thine head is clear
for the connection can be repaired
renewed
reanimated
rebirthed
revived
into something of beauty
of grace
of joy
of life
and the cycle will always begin anew
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 8:20 PM UTC