Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Read My Feelings Sep 2015
Such a restless mess,
wishing you could
count the steps,
you pace across concrete.

Threads catch,
scuffing clean socks:

Ants emerge from tunnels
in your heart, marching
toward cranial burrows,
carrying answers.

Birds flock, strike, and take.
Your porous skull sits
open and empty, waiting.

The persistent flow of time
bears no change:
only the steady beat
of footsteps.

Neurons fire without purpose,
like legs plodding across the floor,
wearing new socks,
now tragically tattered.
This needs work.
7 September 2015, 6 pm
The uniVerse Oct 2016
A girl stood before me at the supermarket
a few random items littered her basket
pink socks poked out from her sneakers
they were covered with little creatures
an inch of flesh stood between
those ankle high socks and her jeans.

Nice socks I exclaimed!
she turned around inflamed
looked at me and said
I have a boyfriend
her face now red.

Are they his I asked?
her face broke into a laugh
sorry I got so defensive
guys make me apprehensive
I don't really have a boyfriend
sometimes I just like to pretend.

*I know how you feel I replied
in embarrassment I've often lied
and whenever I'm struck by beauty
of someone new I meet
I can't look directly at them
I look towards their feet.
Lilith craved Ficus carica,
Mr. Robot brandished
a branch of Olea europaea.
Would either care to comment
on the state of the world? Their intentions
clear. Is it that "all the world's a stage"
or that all we are is a mirror?
Should it matter that I feel the motions of my mind, and
long to escape without the aid of their counterparts.
Subtle contrarian. Every reaction has its equal
in emotion; each moment has its fulcrum.
Line Six from William Shakespeare's As You Like It, spoken by Jaques in Act II Scene VII.
Autumn May 2018
today my grandma told me something
something I never knew
and something she'd never forget
she told me I was baptized in tie dye socks
tiny little feet
tiny little socks
baptized in tiny little tie dye socks
my life makes a lot more sense now
annh Sep 16
At five,
For matching socks;
I meet my train, asymmetrically dressed.

‘Improbable as it may be, the day still has a few indignities left.’
- Colson Whitehead, The Colossus of New York
s Jun 2018
your hug is like
that blood pressure gauge
- that slowly inflates
to check all my vitals;
or a dash charging socket
for all my circuits & bones
- twenty minutes -
for the battery to be whole.

cupping my feet on cold days,
and breathing into my toes
because these socks  have too many holes.
And on any day, you swivel me up
when I run into you for a no reason hug.

starting to forget how it would feel
to not have access to these tiny luxuries.

Ashley Chapman Jul 2018
Pressesd tenderly,
your carnal flower opens,
its butterfly released,
hovers like a hummingbird
drinking from the bill.

Oh, I too would steal you away
and cage you happily,
to get under your black-fringed skirt; 
to see that pretty dress,
fly off once more,
and see you bare;
burned now forever in my banks,
a first sight,
of dark curls!

As I think of it,
my desire stirs,
but of us
I have already masturbated twice:
hips pinned,
sliding over our wet perspiring bellies,
in our jungle heat:
'cause in the firmament of our embrace
- it's hot -
where glued we **** into each other,
stoking flames,
until sleep,
when we disappear from each other.
My mind crowds,
with niggling neurotic inanities;
yours with manic dreams where bed-wetting criminals in cages beg to be freed,
before better spaces overtake.

When I awake,
I am lying next to you,  
Gwen over the horizon of your fertile valley,
a mountain,
white and reposed.
murmuring desire for me.
I can't wait to answer.

It is late,
late morning,
and we are all half asleep.
You have your back to me,
as we lie,
rubbing feet,
stroking hands,
(the oiled bulb at the end of a finger),
your fine shoulders,
(that delicate but persistent bone in your wrist that stretches with pointed elegance);
as quietly inside,  
(warmly enveloped),
my couched *****,  
rocks us:
each diffusing into the other
like the early morning brew.

Lust and love,
which for a good while on edge had been:
the weeks,
faint promises from afar;
sometimes a little closer,
our shadows in daylight cross,
as one over the other storms;
and once (or twice),
a sleeve brushes,
even better,
hair crackles,
as a speaking lip touches lobe,  
and for a moment,
taking in the other's scent,
a hint sublimely overpowers.

And these,
dearest of fancies,
are just some,
with which to penetrate your mind,
as you have mine:
the energy of my yielding tenderness,
inviting you to complete me,
as I spread for you with desire.

Much later,
those daring looks you have,
the way you walk our stage:
your beautiful elongated face,
those quick-fire arousing eyes,
your sultry self-assuredness,
your pre-possessing self.

I could talk about your couple,
of generosity,
reaching up,
beyond mere comprehension:
of the fact that I like Gwen
(his love gift for you, me);
but actually,
in truth,
I prefer to take this moment to make love to you;
to say how wrapped I am,
folded in your limbs,
in our mingling sweat;
how with your joy,
you touch my desires,
into yours,
so they flow,
run rather:
honeysuckle from your blessed nymphae.

You love my smell,
you say,
and I dream of gathering you in pheromones,
of drugging you,
of intoxicating you,
so once again you will find me,
take me,
have me.
Entice you once more like a creature from its shell:
where I can ravish you,
all of you,
lay naked to me,
your very bones;
those fine elbows,
those knees I would like to ******* over;
wash their smooth surfaces in my come:
from these cliff heights,
rain ***** on the rocks below.

To once more cast aside your socks and get at your toes,
to pour oil on 'em,
to rub and squeeze' em,
while in the moist cavern of your insides,
we ****,
half washed over by our own tide.
And as we do,
I quail,
speaking sweet nothings of appreciation;
from full lips,
your sounds return,
the hypnotic rhythm of your breath:
I engorge and in our labyrinth,
- the maiden and the bull -
we consume ourselves.

Sweet Lentiform,
you did it,
you got me rolling in flesh,
lusting after your intimate parts,
wanting you in bed as I know you must have me:
pulling me on you,
kissing and biting;
my arousal in your palm,
as you run a curved finger over my nethers.

lying prone,
lying ******,
never unconsumed,
please us,
with more;
so rarely,
unfucked even for a pause,
nothing doing more than sleeping and carousing;
our sustenance barely enough to keep us at it,
an occasional comic thrown in.
throw the ******* comic at me,
will you?
Beat my ******* flesh with it if you like.
Anything to see you standing in all your pearly naked glory!

And if you can,
keep texting me,
so I can hang on your every word like a ******* puppy!
skin tight,
gorgeously wild,
woman ...
Now pull me by my **** into your **** -
where I love it best.
Michael Dec 2018
Fresh and comfortable
They hug my tootsies
When I put them on to start my day
Walking with me every mile
[even when I stray]
Different colors
From ink wellers
Brighten each step
As I am headed out the door
I can even slide across the floor like Tom Cruise
They even hide in my shoes
Until it is refreshing to take them off
After a long day, and a walk with the dog[s]
Copyright 2018
Anastasia Jul 6
On mah feet
Got cats
On mah socks
On mah legs
Wearing cat socks
Eryri Feb 7
"I found it, the other day"
(she'd kept it out of the way)

"I don't recall putting it there"
(sadly, this is no longer rare)

"I thought you had it last"
(her memory is fading fast)

I asked where it was:
"With the pants, socks
And God knows what!"

She'd searched for it,
Forgotten about it,
Remembered it,
And searched for it.
A curse of old age:
So hard to bear
For those who Care.
Paul Hansford Jan 2018
Even from behind the glass,
you can smell the chemical
that keeps the moths away.
A vast mound of matted sheep’s wool
you would say, except (they assure you)
it is original, all two tons of it,
the human hair that was left
unused at the end.
The rest went for socks
to keep workers’ feet warm.
All grey now, sixty years on, it has aged
as those that owned it never did.
They went naked to the shower room,
clutching the soap
they would never use,
and then to the ovens.
A lorry’s engine drowned the screams,
and the Governor’s wife tended her flowers,
making a garden “like paradise.”
This is at least the fourth major re-write of this poem .  "A poem is never finished, only abandoned."

Schrödinger's cat
failed to see just what

all the fuss was

It was all such
a reductive absurdum.

The cat couldn't understand
collapsing wave functions

entanglement or whether

reality was really

to save its life.

It was aware of
one thing & one thing

. . .the diabolic device. . .

Cat in a metal box
with a Geiger counter

with a radioactive substance
blah blah de ****** blah

an atom decaying or something or
other &

releasing a hammer to smash
a phial of hydrocyanic acid.


"I do not like thee Dr. Fell!"
thought the cat.

It was a very literary cat.

So all this palaver
about a cat( me? how! )

being both dead or alive or
neither dead or alive or

. . .wot!

So this is to be my great

Welllll excuse me!
Say...doesn't the cat have his say?

So, I( clever cat that I am)
merely claw my way to the top &

disengage the device
by taking out the hammer.

So no cat was harmed
in the making of this

thought experiment.

It almost drove Schrödinger
out of his tiny little mind!

And he( hee hee )
never did discover

what ever
happened to his socks.

I forever stealing
one sock from a pair

from the open
washing machine.

Leaving him to ponder
just where socks go?

The other side of the Universe?
Oh come on's not

rocket science!

Now, to get back to
describing the behaviour of

a quantum entity.


"Naw....I still don't get it!"

"Say ya couldn't see yer way
to giving me a scratch...could ya?"

"Up a bit....upabit....yeah...yeah
. . .there...just...there!"
Emma Jul 2018
She was never sure it was what she wanted,
arguing with a man who wanted her to carry a piece of them both.
But sure enough a small bump formed,
and from the first heartbeat she fell in love.

Everything from then on was tiny socks in tiny shoes,
fluffy cribs in shades of pink and blue.
Excitement and worry and fierce protection,
arms curling on top of her belly in intense affection.

But when the time came, something went horribly wrong,
when there was no screeching and crying to break the calm.
A child, still, unusually peaceful and serene,
she held the tiny shell where her baby should have been.

Everything in her life reminded her of her pain,
and nothing inside her could ever be the same.
Not even he could understand,
how she was stranded in her ****** wasteland.

Clothes and toys quickly packed in a box,
her body still creating milk for a being that would never grow.
she'd have to find a way to move on, living with the constant ache,
of the loss of a person she would never know.
Glow Jan 12
Wet socks
Dry me
Wet socks
Dry seat
Dripping clothes
All can see
But no one knows
About my feet
Molly Nicole Sep 2017
Taking off my socks
Is my favorite part
Of taking a shower
Or having *** with someone else
We always used to wear ours when we felt vulnerable
But the memories of you scattered throughout my room
Make me feel vulnerable all the time
I wear my heart on my sleeve
Or more accurately my ankle
I procrastinate spending time with you
Like I procrastinate all of the good things
That may eventually cause me pain
I'm afraid to be happy
To the point of appreciating the loss of the cause
When I'm with you
It's like the city of Ember
And someone turned on all the lights
It's not quite beautiful
But at least we can see
My first major heartbreak.
Next page