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"specifically" poems
When people ask if you're weird, or tell you, or want to believe themselves strange, eclectic, or odd. It's vaguely disgusting to me, cringeworthy in a mild degree. We think we're so different, but we are not. The individualism of people should be and is comparable to the individualism of ants. Who looks at the anthill and sees something in particular, something behaving specifically "uniquely" from every ant and every anthill? Why do you believe in yourself? I see this, as a conversation about depression, and your partner does not respect you but instead wants to tell you how they feel worse, or have it worse, or "understand" more about the affirmation or situation. A person looking for individuality through a lens of misery, anguish, and sadness, is truly alone in their minds, and missing the reality that these depressions exist without them. The statement, "you are not alone" is an attack, or an offense to these people, because it says "you are not as unique as you think", it strips them of their identity and individuality. This is true of many ideologies and affirmations. I quit individuality, this constricting sense of holding everything of yourself in center, to be a drop in the whole, something fluid. If you split your affirmations from yourself, you'd see we're all the same; Affirmations are just currents in the ocean. I look at myself; and people see a man, a radical feminist, and sometimes a musician. As labels, these each have their own presupposed notions, [especially, "man" or "male" in the patriarchal gaze] which hardly, if ever, are true, but as affirmations, when I consent to using them, these are no longer stereotypes that constrain me, but similarities that I realize I can embrace or shut out in others. Affirmations do not make me more unique, but similar to more people. If I remove these affirmations to try and get to my "true" center, my purest form of self, I see I am without meaning. This is why I quit Individuality.
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Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
"Why I Quit Individuality."
When people ask if you're weird, or tell you, or want to believe themselves strange, eclectic, or odd. It's vaguely disgusting to me, cringeworthy in a mild degree. We think we're so different, but we are not. The individualism of people should be and is comparable to the individualism of ants. Who looks at the anthill and sees something in particular, something behaving specifically "uniquely" from every ant and every anthill? Why do you believe in yourself? I see this, as a conversation about depression, and your partner does not respect you but instead wants to tell you how they feel worse, or have it worse, or "understand" more about the affirmation or situation. A person looking for individuality through a lens of misery, anguish, and sadness, is truly alone in their minds, and missing the reality that these depressions exist without them. The statement, "you are not alone" is an attack, or an offense to these people, because it says "you are not as unique as you think", it strips them of their identity and individuality. This is true of many ideologies and affirmations. I quit individuality, this constricting sense of holding everything of yourself in center, to be a drop in the whole, something fluid. If you split your affirmations from yourself, you'd see we're all the same; Affirmations are just currents in the ocean. I look at myself; and people see a man, a radical feminist, and sometimes a musician. As labels, these each have their own presupposed notions, [especially, "man" or "male" in the patriarchal gaze] which hardly, if ever, are true, but as affirmations, when I consent to using them, these are no longer stereotypes that constrain me, but similarities that I realize I can embrace or shut out in others. Affirmations do not make me more unique, but similar to more people. If I remove these affirmations to try and get to my "true" center, my purest form of self, I see I am without meaning. This is why I quit Individuality.
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52
Oh motherland, at your feet may all moments of my life lie sacrificed This strength of my youth, these breaths, All are surrendered to you To protect your honour I would forego hundred lifetimes I would either embrace death or vanquish your enemies Touching your feet in reverence I take this solemn oath until the end of my life I would be loyal to you Those who have died in your lap their spirits bask in eternal happiness *Oh motherland, at your feet may all moments of my life lie sacrificed* My mother tells me I will go on without you bearing the pain of your passing by turning my heart into stone However, if in your lifetime there is a threat to this country and being fearless you do not fight this threat, my son, then, I will think, I birthed poison instead of life or that my nourishment did not give enough strength Listening to these words my head lies forever bowed *Oh motherland, at your feet may all moments of my life lie sacrificed* It is not only said by my mother but all mothers of this country to give birth to a Narsimh they bear difficult pangs of labour Those brave warriors who wrote history with their life blood carry their images in your heart and placing your hand there, promise, you will forsake everything else at the call of your motherland Your body, soul and life surrendered to your country *Oh motherland, at your feet may all moments of my life lie sacrificed* Narsimh - an avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu,often visualised as having a human torso and lower body, with a lion face and claws. He is known primarily as the 'Great Protector' who specifically defends and protects his devotees in times of need. Translation is given by karishma ji
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Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 7:21 AM UTC
For motherland :-Mohit mishra
Oh motherland, at your feet may all moments of my life lie sacrificed This strength of my youth, these breaths, All are surrendered to you To protect your honour I would forego hundred lifetimes I would either embrace death or vanquish your enemies Touching your feet in reverence I take this solemn oath until the end of my life I would be loyal to you Those who have died in your lap their spirits bask in eternal happiness *Oh motherland, at your feet may all moments of my life lie sacrificed* My mother tells me I will go on without you bearing the pain of your passing by turning my heart into stone However, if in your lifetime there is a threat to this country and being fearless you do not fight this threat, my son, then, I will think, I birthed poison instead of life or that my nourishment did not give enough strength Listening to these words my head lies forever bowed *Oh motherland, at your feet may all moments of my life lie sacrificed* It is not only said by my mother but all mothers of this country to give birth to a Narsimh they bear difficult pangs of labour Those brave warriors who wrote history with their life blood carry their images in your heart and placing your hand there, promise, you will forsake everything else at the call of your motherland Your body, soul and life surrendered to your country *Oh motherland, at your feet may all moments of my life lie sacrificed* Narsimh - an avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu,often visualised as having a human torso and lower body, with a lion face and claws. He is known primarily as the 'Great Protector' who specifically defends and protects his devotees in times of need. Translation is given by karishma ji
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48
The shopping channel calls to me It wakes me up at night To sell me things I do not need Nor would buy, if I was right But apparently, there's something wrong My brain should be re-wired I only purchase things on here When I am really over-tired I have a room specifically For things bought on TV I've ginsu knives and shredding blades And juicers!!!...ninety three!! For some reason the kitchen things Just seem to catch my eye Especially at three a.m. That's the time I need to buy I've magic bullets by the score Processors,  I don't need But, if I ever put them all to use... An army I could feed I've got socks for diabetics Things to make your ******* stand out I've got exercise machines galore I've got three things that help gout! My credit card's at the limit I know the numbers off by heart The post man knows me by my name I even have my own **** cart To deliver all my purchases They just load it and deliver It almost comes here by itself It's enough to make one shiver I don't know how it started I think the countdown clock...ah, yes I thought it meant the game was ending I phoned in and bought a dress!!! I've got jewellery by Joan Rivers George Foreman grills...they fill my den I've got perfumes for the women And lots of things that make you men! My wife cannot contain me She's sent me off to get some aid But, if they sell it on the telly I'll buy it sure as getting laid I've bedazzled all my clothing I eat dried fruit and jerky too I get Christmas cards from Ronco I'm a shopping ****** through and through Each month we have a garage sale I sell off some of what I've bought But, then I go and buy it back again Without a second thought My friends have all but left me I rarely go out of the house I just sit here and go shopping I don't even see my spouse Set it and Forget it That's a phrase I love to say But wait, there's more...is another one That helps me through the day I used the last one on my wife One night while having *** She told me "Set it and Forget It" I'm off to dreamland Tex!! My shopping's an addiction One I hope to beat some day But now, the operator says... I have to get my card and pay!
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Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 7:19 PM UTC
Shopping addict
The shopping channel calls to me It wakes me up at night To sell me things I do not need Nor would buy, if I was right But apparently, there's something wrong My brain should be re-wired I only purchase things on here When I am really over-tired I have a room specifically For things bought on TV I've ginsu knives and shredding blades And juicers!!!...ninety three!! For some reason the kitchen things Just seem to catch my eye Especially at three a.m. That's the time I need to buy I've magic bullets by the score Processors,  I don't need But, if I ever put them all to use... An army I could feed I've got socks for diabetics Things to make your ******* stand out I've got exercise machines galore I've got three things that help gout! My credit card's at the limit I know the numbers off by heart The post man knows me by my name I even have my own **** cart To deliver all my purchases They just load it and deliver It almost comes here by itself It's enough to make one shiver I don't know how it started I think the countdown clock...ah, yes I thought it meant the game was ending I phoned in and bought a dress!!! I've got jewellery by Joan Rivers George Foreman grills...they fill my den I've got perfumes for the women And lots of things that make you men! My wife cannot contain me She's sent me off to get some aid But, if they sell it on the telly I'll buy it sure as getting laid I've bedazzled all my clothing I eat dried fruit and jerky too I get Christmas cards from Ronco I'm a shopping ****** through and through Each month we have a garage sale I sell off some of what I've bought But, then I go and buy it back again Without a second thought My friends have all but left me I rarely go out of the house I just sit here and go shopping I don't even see my spouse Set it and Forget it That's a phrase I love to say But wait, there's more...is another one That helps me through the day I used the last one on my wife One night while having *** She told me "Set it and Forget It" I'm off to dreamland Tex!! My shopping's an addiction One I hope to beat some day But now, the operator says... I have to get my card and pay!
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68
SURRENDER YOUR HEART REMOVE THE GUARDS AND RELINQUISH THEIR SHIELDS. YOU NEED TO FEEL THIS THOROUGHLY LOVE WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE SAFE OR MEASURED SO, LOVE IRRATIONALLY. JUMP OFF A CLIFF WITHOUT CONSIDERING CONSEQUENCES, LOVE SPECIFICALLY. PAY ATTENTION ON THE SMALLER DETAILS OF THE BIGGER PICTURE, LOVE UNCONDITIONALLY. BECAUSE THERE WILL BE DAYS WHEN YOU DON’T LIKE HER, BUT THE LOVE MUST REMAIN AND IN THE EVENT THAT LOVE BREAKS YOU, LET IT BREAK. DO NOT CLOSE YOURSELF OFF OR SHUT YOURSELF DOWN. YOUR HEART WILL BE SHAPED AND RESHAPED, BUT IN THE END IT WILL STILL BE YOURS. AS HUMAN WE ARE BLESSED WITH THE SKILL OF ADAPTATION IT’S KEPT US HERE FOR EONS, YOU WILL ADAPT.
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Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 5:08 PM UTC
IF YOU DECIDE TO LOVE SOMEONE
You will always be able to have what you want Unlimited canvases of soft inner thighs and painted lips, curled hair I saw into you and found that you will always be content I saw this in the way you slept Have you ever looked at someone and thought they were too attractive to ever deserve to be sad Your cheekbones and chest, your arms and back are better than anything specifically crafted Your words are sugar Unbleached but naturally craving Your voice is one of my favourite things I don't know if I believe you when you call me beautiful I should be too embarrassed to write you notes I prefer your blue eyes to the sea and sky. I would always choose to look at them over the static nature
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Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
For gorgeous one
I love listening to you. In any way possible. Whether it's big or small. Sometimes I get lost in not just the words you speak. But the actions that follow. I hate interrupting. Adding on to previous statements. Until I know that your completely done. Not wanting to make you feel unappreciated. My hands following yours in the deepest form of flattery. Open ended questions that lead to hour after hour of communication. My fondness for you growing deeper and deeper. At times I can't help but interrupt. Our pauses taking a bit longer after each statement. It's the anticipation that I want you to know. That I am listening and take to heart what you are saying. Stretching myself to cover every part of you. Completely attentive excited that you'd consider my opinion. To sit back and reflect without jumping to conclusion. The one thing that I can do to improve myself. To love you better. To accept any and every change that may occur. A safe place where we can do and say anything without being judged. I love listening to you. Specifically without interrupting. Noticing how happy you are being heard. With the intent of hearing what you are truly saying. I appreciate you for truly understanding that if I do interrupt It's truly the sole purpose of how much I care
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Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
Listen
Intro: Start with a hook sharp enough to catch many fish. Move into a broad outline of topic. Add some examples to peek the interest. End with a sentence that captures your thoughts. (Start the way you feel it should be). Body: Flavorful topic sentence to open paragraph one. State in detail specific examples and definitions. Follow with a reference or two, This keeps suspicion off you. Keep same format for paragraph two and three. (Continue on the feel that increases how you started). (Or retrograde and start a new direction). Conclusion: Wake the reader back up with thesaurus found words. State again the reason for your thoughts. Honing specifically on what you want to say, Without of course bringing in new info. End with a memorable sign off. (End with completing your thoughts). (Or start a new idea entirely), (Not leaving enough room for explanation).
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Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
English Is Format (Creativity Is Free)
They had the plastic coffins ready Before the panic hit, Ebola was a planned Population reduction project A good distraction from Economic collapse Governments always divert your attention At critical moments in history The elite wish to keep their control Ebola had no trouble infecting Medical professionals, but they assured us It’s not airborne, it’s only an exchange Of fluids, so cover up your eyes Ebola carries with it the heat of Africa Able to make your blood boil form the inside A post-colonial bioweapon specifically designed To make you fear, to make you a follower I think my stomach can feel it spreading Around the world, in months, years You cannot contain something like this By simple quarantine? Even the medical staff Don’t want any part in it, so cover your eyes The black plague drips sinister News In our times, the mainstream media plans Consumes with its grip, like Ebola It has the power to consume, a portable Killing-machine, enough to linger about doom? Ebola is an outbreak, taken more seriously The closer it hits to home, what is home On a planet of billions of travelling people?
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Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
Ebola as a Black Plague
Drip. Drip. Drip. A bone slowly woke just in time to become brok(en). Once spoken, there's no point of lending an ear. There'll be a violent jerking of the wheel, deceptive *** appeal, and an unrequited (love). Now, unwillingly,  it's open. The rhyme is deliberately late, but it's not tardy enough to satiate Swelling lungs-we're just getting started. Both for respiratory and broken-hearted. Here, we speak of energy-specifically kinetic Because you can't live in love and good faith with right hemisphere real, and left prosthetic. AND THAT'S WHERE THIS BEAUTIFULLY KICKS IN. Picking up faster and quicker and clearer and headlights have never come nearer. But I'll be somewhat content lying at rest. While lively and enthusiastic is best, unemployed potential is all I can be. It's something to unwillingly see. You'll watch the clean breaks as the marrow escapes. As I steadily gush onto pavement you'll see how idle I can really be. As I Drip. Drip. Drip.
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Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
the potential energy of bones
To tell you exactly, specifically, precisely why I love you I'd have to reinvent an alphabet, create a language, learn to sign The feeling that bubbles within when I look into your eyes cannot be captured or explained I feel like the world stops moving My breath struggles leaving my lungs All my fears, worries, washed away What is so powerful about loving you is the way you love me in return I feel confident, unstoppable, beautiful You tell all the dark parts inside to quiet whispering, no shouting to them: I am worthy of love To be worthy is all that I have ever wanted, needed, cried for in the middle of the night Although there is still so much to learn about each other Adventures to be had, moments to share I am giddy with anticipation your love gives me strength Replenishes me Fulfills me I have yet to really write down how I feel about you until now I've been afraid words would take our magic away I'd wake up one morning and realize is was a mere dream You steal my chapstick with your kisses Put up with my sassy abrasive nature You encourage me to work The way you look at me sometimes gives me the courage to begin to look at myself the same way With your arms tightly around me, our legs intertwined, I begin to imagine what heaven could actually be like When I'm with you, I say I love you honestly Eeach time is unique. I realize how incredibly lucky I am to have you to be loved by you every syllable is as sincere as the last You make it okay All the bad, dark, sorrow filled places within me that sometimes consume my light. You accept those places, You make me forget they even exist You make my light shine brighter We joke about my ego but since you have been in my life, I feel okay Even when I'm not, I know I will be. Granted, it's not solely what you do for me but what you let me do for you You allow me to love you Accepting my love welcoming it like you would a long lost friend you do not turn and hide you embrace me with arms open wide It's magical It's what I've waited for my whole life What I spent so much energy convincing myself I could never have It's everything that I'd ever want and more It's love It's life It's you
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Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
It's you
To tell you exactly, specifically, precisely why I love you I'd have to reinvent an alphabet, create a language, learn to sign The feeling that bubbles within when I look into your eyes cannot be captured or explained I feel like the world stops moving My breath struggles leaving my lungs All my fears, worries, washed away What is so powerful about loving you is the way you love me in return I feel confident, unstoppable, beautiful You tell all the dark parts inside to quiet whispering, no shouting to them: I am worthy of love To be worthy is all that I have ever wanted, needed, cried for in the middle of the night Although there is still so much to learn about each other Adventures to be had, moments to share I am giddy with anticipation your love gives me strength Replenishes me Fulfills me I have yet to really write down how I feel about you until now I've been afraid words would take our magic away I'd wake up one morning and realize is was a mere dream You steal my chapstick with your kisses Put up with my sassy abrasive nature You encourage me to work The way you look at me sometimes gives me the courage to begin to look at myself the same way With your arms tightly around me, our legs intertwined, I begin to imagine what heaven could actually be like When I'm with you, I say I love you honestly Eeach time is unique. I realize how incredibly lucky I am to have you to be loved by you every syllable is as sincere as the last You make it okay All the bad, dark, sorrow filled places within me that sometimes consume my light. You accept those places, You make me forget they even exist You make my light shine brighter We joke about my ego but since you have been in my life, I feel okay Even when I'm not, I know I will be. Granted, it's not solely what you do for me but what you let me do for you You allow me to love you Accepting my love welcoming it like you would a long lost friend you do not turn and hide you embrace me with arms open wide It's magical It's what I've waited for my whole life What I spent so much energy convincing myself I could never have It's everything that I'd ever want and more It's love It's life It's you
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55
There was a bird flying above my head the other day. I apologize for my stories delay. The sun was out, the skies were blue - only quick glances today would do. There is just something about birds, the way they cut through the sky. Ugh. I wish I could fly. My Grandmother absolutely loved birds - Cardinals specifically. I have a few on my arm, so she and my Papa will never leave me. They have been gone for quite a few years now...wow, how time flies. Writing this is even bringing tears to my eyes. I think that's why I like birds so much - I imagine they are my Grandparents. Soaring the sky, exploring the world, checking in on me every now and then. The year he left us, the Cardinals won the World Series. The year she left us, the Cardinals lost the World Series. Good one, Papa - I'm sure Grandma didn't appreciate your joke. Each time you fly over me it brings a smile to my face and a tear to my eye, knowing you'll fly over me until the day I die.
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Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
Cardinals
What is love if is not to be in love with you What is life if its without you I can't think unless am thinking about you Can't breath if breathing is without you I got suffocated when you are away from me You gave me strength to fight on even when I thought I lost the fight You are always there now and then Singing my favorite songs and reminding me their lyrics I have a puzzle left unsolved The puzzle is "Sometimes I wonder what life would have been without you" Helpless? Will living worth it if its without u? Can I move on when you are not there ? I think its gonna be worse than I thought You gave me reason to live You gave my life a meaning when its meaningless You see something greater in me that even I cannot see You inspired me into greatness Now I have no doubt about guardian angels Because you are my perfect guardian angel Angel from heaven specifically sent to me, to guide,protect and love me I have a kingdom called my"heart" And you are the perfect Queen of that kingdom And I know my people (my soul, my body and my mind) will accept you as the crowed queen of my great kingdom I welcome you my Queen Sometimes I imagine my great kingdom without my Queen My kingdom would have been incomplete Long live the Queen of my great kingdom.... Long live the Queen......
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Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
WHAT IS LOVE WITHOUT YOU
"Guns for Hands is talking about- I want to tell you that I know you have the ability to hurt yourself, you do, you have that ability. I feel like a lot of the older generation when they hear about someone struggling with it their first reaction is “No you’re not, you’re not struggling with that- think about something else. You’re just trying to get attention”. But this song was really trying to say “Listen I know that you have the ability to hurt yourself, I recognize that, but let’s take that energy and let’s point it at something else, let’s divert that, lets kinda shift momentum and look at something like art or something like this music specifically, or even point it at me, you know- just point it anywhere. Just don’t point it at yourself." -T.J.
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Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
Tyler Joseph -
When I get in one of my funks And specifically tell you "I need you, right now" You're supposed to come running I thought we were going to make this work But I'm not sure I can trust someone Who used to always Come to my rescue And now ignores my cries for help I can't be that girl anymore I won't be that girl anymore I never thought I'd be the one to walk out When you so easily can
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Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 12:29 AM UTC
I Guess That's That
it doesn’t take a genius to understand grammar “i before e, except after c” to know the difference between a comma and a semicolon but words in parentheses should not count. books letters poems songs parentheses parentheses used to explain something an after thought an “i didn’t think of this before but i have now.” and words in parentheses really should not count. it does take a genius to understand people or more specifically you and why you did it. (i love you) (i’m doing this for you) (i’m cleaning up) (i’m better now) words in parentheses just should not count.
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Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 6:30 PM UTC
(words in parentheses should not count)
Life tends to kick you quickest when you're down Like the little pithy scratch of jealousy On your neck as you see the signs When your girlfriend's stale eyes Begin to wander Begin to wander too specifically For your personal Comfort
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May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
Summer Shudder: Hanging With Smokers
I took my ****** sister Marigold to the cinema, she had asked specifically and eventually (she doesn't speak a lot on account of her awful stammer and amazing cleft palate which has won prizes) so I knew that this was something she really wanted, and I teased for her bad taste when she told me that she wanted to see "Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Charlie and the Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Chocolate Factory". It was a Saturday evening and the local picture house was showing a re-run of the classic starring Gene Wilder as the enigmatically stylish ***** Wonka, and not that steaming great pictorial **** served up by Tim Burton and I knew that town would be busy with oiks so as a treat I dressed her up better than usual, and even gave her a hosedown to get rid of the poopy pong. She had stopped crying by the time the feature started and I think the Ooompa Loompa costume grew on her but that maybe the orange paint was a bit of a bad idea as people had stared as it was Day-Glo and she stood out like a bulldog's ******* but I stand by my decision to dye her hair green, it had taken thought and planning; it was meant to add to her excitement of the day, so I meant well, even if I was ineffectual in the end. I sat her on my lap in the picture house but still paid for two seats but I do get one ticket half price though because of her disabilities, so it wasn'€™t all bad, every cloud and all that, you know what I mean? She tends to get a little down every now and then but a £1 cinema ticket partly makes up for being born legless. I knew from past experience that the cinema staff prefer me to carry my stunted sis rather than wheeling her in (I do recall that the time I taped her to her skateboard proved somewhat a disaster - but really, the fat usher had a torch and should have watched her step or otherwise she wouldn't have bust her neck). The Ooompa Loompa costume allowed Marigold to amuse herself during the screening (as there were no leggings to the costume). She barely noticed when the fat little hero got blown up on screen except to dribble "chocolate" from her own little chocolate factory. It was, all in all, quite an eventful outing and one I might consider repeating but probably in a different cinema next time, mainly because we got banned for life when the manager saw the condition of the seat.
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Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
Marigold Goes To The Cinema
I took my ****** sister Marigold to the cinema, she had asked specifically and eventually (she doesn't speak a lot on account of her awful stammer and amazing cleft palate which has won prizes) so I knew that this was something she really wanted, and I teased for her bad taste when she told me that she wanted to see "Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Charlie and the Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Chocolate Factory". It was a Saturday evening and the local picture house was showing a re-run of the classic starring Gene Wilder as the enigmatically stylish ***** Wonka, and not that steaming great pictorial **** served up by Tim Burton and I knew that town would be busy with oiks so as a treat I dressed her up better than usual, and even gave her a hosedown to get rid of the poopy pong. She had stopped crying by the time the feature started and I think the Ooompa Loompa costume grew on her but that maybe the orange paint was a bit of a bad idea as people had stared as it was Day-Glo and she stood out like a bulldog's ******* but I stand by my decision to dye her hair green, it had taken thought and planning; it was meant to add to her excitement of the day, so I meant well, even if I was ineffectual in the end. I sat her on my lap in the picture house but still paid for two seats but I do get one ticket half price though because of her disabilities, so it wasn'€™t all bad, every cloud and all that, you know what I mean? She tends to get a little down every now and then but a £1 cinema ticket partly makes up for being born legless. I knew from past experience that the cinema staff prefer me to carry my stunted sis rather than wheeling her in (I do recall that the time I taped her to her skateboard proved somewhat a disaster - but really, the fat usher had a torch and should have watched her step or otherwise she wouldn't have bust her neck). The Ooompa Loompa costume allowed Marigold to amuse herself during the screening (as there were no leggings to the costume). She barely noticed when the fat little hero got blown up on screen except to dribble "chocolate" from her own little chocolate factory. It was, all in all, quite an eventful outing and one I might consider repeating but probably in a different cinema next time, mainly because we got banned for life when the manager saw the condition of the seat.
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47
If you had the opportunity to live a high-risk lifestyle, would you? I'm not asking this to be derogatory, nor to be accusatory I simply want you to think on what it is to live a high-risk lifestyle. As a mass, we seem to think of it as an undesirable thing. Now, isn't that just ******* quaint? Probability favors a percentile: That which is unique enough to leave it's mark on our realm. That includes us. Risk, unless done in ignorance, is the acceptance of probability More specifically, the pursuit of the more improbable chance. Perhaps when you think of high-risk, you think of constant parties perhaps of ***** needles, and/or STIs unprotected *** or doing psychedelics but I ask you to ponder just how high risk Life is to begin with: Some wish to claim that Life is a granted gift by some benevolent Father figure who has our back, (but not theirs) but I say that's just selfish, arrogant and, frankly, quite foolish to claim. This Universe was not made for us and us alone as if we were some sort of Sims for a bipolar teenage boy on ******* We were not molded after anything intelligent with the exception of the Universe and her Nature itself. The probability of the Universe existing is not %100. The probability of the particular combinations of atoms within the strands of DNA in your body are not "guaranteed" to occur. Ever. But they did. They. Did. They. ******* Did. As if the Universe were the soil to the roots of our existence and Her Energy is as the water to the roots and her Chemistry allows it all to happen. And her physical laws, for lack of a better term, allow that to happen. On top of that, you ******* exist! You! In particular! With your experiences, thoughts and feelings, insights and interests, passions and even DNA! You! Wonderful, temporary you! Mortal you. Ethereal you. Spiritual you. Intrinsic you. Extrinsic you. You exist, if nothing else,  in a relative way. There is no way to be certain. What are the friggin' odds on anything existing at all, let alone you? There is no way to be certain. If you could bet on your existence, would you? There is no way to be certain. Nothing is granted; everything is permitted by the brain. There is no way to be certain. Perhaps it is deeper than that. I hope and think so, yet, there is no way to be certain. ~Addendum!~ Statistically, about 93% of people accounted for by census information who have lived- have died. Statistically, that gives you a 7%ish chance of surviving this life!   That seems like a high-risk Life, to me.
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Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 12:38 PM UTC
"High-risk Life"
If you had the opportunity to live a high-risk lifestyle, would you? I'm not asking this to be derogatory, nor to be accusatory I simply want you to think on what it is to live a high-risk lifestyle. As a mass, we seem to think of it as an undesirable thing. Now, isn't that just ******* quaint? Probability favors a percentile: That which is unique enough to leave it's mark on our realm. That includes us. Risk, unless done in ignorance, is the acceptance of probability More specifically, the pursuit of the more improbable chance. Perhaps when you think of high-risk, you think of constant parties perhaps of ***** needles, and/or STIs unprotected *** or doing psychedelics but I ask you to ponder just how high risk Life is to begin with: Some wish to claim that Life is a granted gift by some benevolent Father figure who has our back, (but not theirs) but I say that's just selfish, arrogant and, frankly, quite foolish to claim. This Universe was not made for us and us alone as if we were some sort of Sims for a bipolar teenage boy on ******* We were not molded after anything intelligent with the exception of the Universe and her Nature itself. The probability of the Universe existing is not %100. The probability of the particular combinations of atoms within the strands of DNA in your body are not "guaranteed" to occur. Ever. But they did. They. Did. They. ******* Did. As if the Universe were the soil to the roots of our existence and Her Energy is as the water to the roots and her Chemistry allows it all to happen. And her physical laws, for lack of a better term, allow that to happen. On top of that, you ******* exist! You! In particular! With your experiences, thoughts and feelings, insights and interests, passions and even DNA! You! Wonderful, temporary you! Mortal you. Ethereal you. Spiritual you. Intrinsic you. Extrinsic you. You exist, if nothing else,  in a relative way. There is no way to be certain. What are the friggin' odds on anything existing at all, let alone you? There is no way to be certain. If you could bet on your existence, would you? There is no way to be certain. Nothing is granted; everything is permitted by the brain. There is no way to be certain. Perhaps it is deeper than that. I hope and think so, yet, there is no way to be certain. ~Addendum!~ Statistically, about 93% of people accounted for by census information who have lived- have died. Statistically, that gives you a 7%ish chance of surviving this life!   That seems like a high-risk Life, to me.
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When is it that you give up? That you let infernos fire devour your strength That you let delusion's screams chant a lamented melody for you to sleep by That you let pain kiss your every waking thought goodbye When is it that you get up to that point? When you let the palpable tension of fear tighten a noose around your neck When your mind doesn't register the calls of anguish any more because its numb When  everything around you dulls to a faint buzz, and the colours drain with malady and the light shines with hate When is it that you shatter? That the limbs of your body tear to stones, That the hate which he possesses drowns you into storms That every tears which falls from your eyes carry an anchor to the deepest pits of ocean That the simplest motions reduce you to screams and blades And the only waking thought in your mind is suicide. When is it that you decide enough is enough? That you decide you can't do this You can't try anymore You can't pretend to be strong You can't smile anymore You can't be happy ever again. That the only thing you want to do now is sleep for eternity... Should I answer this  question? Should Itell you when specifically you give up? It's  not up to me though. You don't have to listen to me. However if you want to know what I think Then the answer my friends Is Never So when is it that you give up? Decide that you can't do this anymore? Never
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Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
Don't give up...ever
The living reality of a metaphor, almost every ounce in-taken, Every nuance, every pronounce, measured, weighted and weighty, Fluid or firmament, each encapsulated, prior to release, scaled, Tabulated, ordered, noted, recorded, and ultimately judg-ed. Totality of it all, the varied quantities of the ingested nutrients, even the forecast of the future, if every day was a metaphor for like todayDO I speak of the day's headlines? Of the quantity and nutrition that passes through my lips? Or The surround sound of the surrounding sounds of this day, the flocks of bandito geese who exist only to torment, the landscape working crews, with their tools, like a 7::00an wake up buzzing about, for the entire street, going house to house, looking for itinerant grassy knolls of patches of bright green, overnight sprung up and needy to be guillotined, laundry to do, rugs needy for clothesline screaming/beating or merely super fast vacuuming; they, hawking their skills available for the old and infirm, or the fatty catty cattle lazy, (somewhere in there is moi); and the decibels of their machines, the rat-a-tat of their rapido, voluble speech that feeds me poetry by the ounce of their laughter, but more exactly of, What do I speak, to what do I allude? Why all and none, everything and specifically nothing, for the metaphor is meta! (1) It is life itself, from the quarter teaspoon to the overflowing bath, it is life at its most incremental, the moment of flushing face, the second of ah ha! recollection, the, long term trends trending, the flatline of my EKG, the weighty pronouncement of my talking scale (you've been bad), IT IS THE EVERYTHING that is measurable, weighable, isolatable, defined;  it is our existence of our each & every of action and inaction strung together like a necklace and a chain We are metaphor, reality, is, the script, which is the product of you. scriptwriter…/
0
Aug 8, 2025
Aug 8, 2025 at 6:17 PM UTC
The Measuring Cup (The reality of a metaphor)
The living reality of a metaphor, almost every ounce in-taken, Every nuance, every pronounce, measured, weighted and weighty, Fluid or firmament, each encapsulated, prior to release, scaled, Tabulated, ordered, noted, recorded, and ultimately judg-ed. Totality of it all, the varied quantities of the ingested nutrients, even the forecast of the future, if every day was a metaphor for like todayDO I speak of the day's headlines? Of the quantity and nutrition that passes through my lips? Or The surround sound of the surrounding sounds of this day, the flocks of bandito geese who exist only to torment, the landscape working crews, with their tools, like a 7::00an wake up buzzing about, for the entire street, going house to house, looking for itinerant grassy knolls of patches of bright green, overnight sprung up and needy to be guillotined, laundry to do, rugs needy for clothesline screaming/beating or merely super fast vacuuming; they, hawking their skills available for the old and infirm, or the fatty catty cattle lazy, (somewhere in there is moi); and the decibels of their machines, the rat-a-tat of their rapido, voluble speech that feeds me poetry by the ounce of their laughter, but more exactly of, What do I speak, to what do I allude? Why all and none, everything and specifically nothing, for the metaphor is meta! (1) It is life itself, from the quarter teaspoon to the overflowing bath, it is life at its most incremental, the moment of flushing face, the second of ah ha! recollection, the, long term trends trending, the flatline of my EKG, the weighty pronouncement of my talking scale (you've been bad), IT IS THE EVERYTHING that is measurable, weighable, isolatable, defined;  it is our existence of our each & every of action and inaction strung together like a necklace and a chain We are metaphor, reality, is, the script, which is the product of you. scriptwriter…/
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i've always suffered with acne. i've written about it before. but yeah, it started really in 7th grade. it was one then two then a whole family then before i knew it, my face was red and bumpy and it hurt. i've tried everything. i really mean it. every home remedy, every recommendation, every tip, every product on the shelf and a few online. nothing's really helped. throughout these years and i'm now a ------ and i still deal with it. because of my acne, it's taken a huge toll on how i view myself and how i feel about myself. i used to hate myself. i would only look in the mirror once every day and that's to put on makeup to cover scarring and acne that's still there. i hated myself. so much. i wouldn't go out. my parents, specifically my mother, had a lot to say about my face. she would point it out even when i had makeup on and it made me really insecure. now, i think differently. i'm currently breaking out because i ate a small piece of meat. (which i don't really do, because i don't eat meat anymore. i did it for reasons which isn't relevant right now lol) so yeah, my face is red and bumpy again. washing my face with my eyes closed, i can really feel the pimples. it made me feel disgusting for a moment. but i had to remind myself that it's okay. i'm different now, i don't really care if i break out anymore. of course, i still feel a bit insecure but i don't hate myself because of it. i still feel like i did when i wasn't breaking out. seeing my face like this has really been a sign for me as saying to myself: 1. don't eat meat anymore, under any circumstances/situations 2. it's okay i'm okay with my acne that i had in the past now and i'm okay with the breakout i'm currently having.
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Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 2:02 AM UTC
acne and how my face is looking right now and how i feel about it
i've always suffered with acne. i've written about it before. but yeah, it started really in 7th grade. it was one then two then a whole family then before i knew it, my face was red and bumpy and it hurt. i've tried everything. i really mean it. every home remedy, every recommendation, every tip, every product on the shelf and a few online. nothing's really helped. throughout these years and i'm now a ------ and i still deal with it. because of my acne, it's taken a huge toll on how i view myself and how i feel about myself. i used to hate myself. i would only look in the mirror once every day and that's to put on makeup to cover scarring and acne that's still there. i hated myself. so much. i wouldn't go out. my parents, specifically my mother, had a lot to say about my face. she would point it out even when i had makeup on and it made me really insecure. now, i think differently. i'm currently breaking out because i ate a small piece of meat. (which i don't really do, because i don't eat meat anymore. i did it for reasons which isn't relevant right now lol) so yeah, my face is red and bumpy again. washing my face with my eyes closed, i can really feel the pimples. it made me feel disgusting for a moment. but i had to remind myself that it's okay. i'm different now, i don't really care if i break out anymore. of course, i still feel a bit insecure but i don't hate myself because of it. i still feel like i did when i wasn't breaking out. seeing my face like this has really been a sign for me as saying to myself: 1. don't eat meat anymore, under any circumstances/situations 2. it's okay i'm okay with my acne that i had in the past now and i'm okay with the breakout i'm currently having.
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8
The emotions of a human Can be lightly Played and strummed It can resemble the steady beat of a heart The sound cannot be replicated Repeated or duplicated Once the disturbing melody starts The highest strings Penetrates the mind Representing the sadness and anxiety For now you are quite alone The shrillness will increase in strength But will remain dark in tone The lower strings They are the loss of hope Relaying disillusion These strings are taut Specifically for you In my composition I will most certainly use them To complete my vengeful melodies The strands I pluck and choose Shall be your life's situation For you, my sly one are the harp And I am the musician I strum the strings one by one In a familiar rhythm, you know I am smiling at your rapid demise As your heart implodes silently and slow I will continue to play you Throughout your life My tunes filled with retribution Have no doubt We both know it is true You are the harp And I am the musician The strange and eerie song I play Notes chose for their intent For all the damage you have caused my dear The strings I choose will represent Now I perform this song For your blackened soul Upon which there will be many lesions Till the echoes of this music Shall drive you into madness For you are the harp my darling I am the musician This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
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Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
You are the Harp
The emotions of a human Can be lightly Played and strummed It can resemble the steady beat of a heart The sound cannot be replicated Repeated or duplicated Once the disturbing melody starts The highest strings Penetrates the mind Representing the sadness and anxiety For now you are quite alone The shrillness will increase in strength But will remain dark in tone The lower strings They are the loss of hope Relaying disillusion These strings are taut Specifically for you In my composition I will most certainly use them To complete my vengeful melodies The strands I pluck and choose Shall be your life's situation For you, my sly one are the harp And I am the musician I strum the strings one by one In a familiar rhythm, you know I am smiling at your rapid demise As your heart implodes silently and slow I will continue to play you Throughout your life My tunes filled with retribution Have no doubt We both know it is true You are the harp And I am the musician The strange and eerie song I play Notes chose for their intent For all the damage you have caused my dear The strings I choose will represent Now I perform this song For your blackened soul Upon which there will be many lesions Till the echoes of this music Shall drive you into madness For you are the harp my darling I am the musician This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
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50
It was 8:45 after my bathe I dried my *** and put my favorite moisturizer Looking at my reflection I’m feeling **** So I put red lipstick on and decided to wear my see-through lingerie I went to distract my husband playing virtual game, PUBG specifically He drew attention to me — his hand is caressing my face, you’re gorgeous he said He then pressed his lips against mine and started talking... Talking back to his playmates about what strategy are they going to use So I went to bed to write this lol
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Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 9:56 PM UTC
A Gamer’s Wife
Kindred spirits sharing love from around the world, Touching each other with their welcoming words Having never seen another face to face at all Embracing life pages as their words are now heard We find great hope in the hearts and minds we meet Eating from the same table of Gods creative delight As are filled daily with amazing genuine words Finding our great love for sharing helps us to unite Daily together we lift up hungry spirits in this world With our individual gifts trying not to leave one behind As we all are part of the same beautiful sharing coverlet Full of the real love which our God always had in mind Even though we as humans in many ways are the same We each are gifted specifically by His heavenly design Being bound to the loving spirit of sharing our words To shine radiantly through others His true love divine United we become a real compelling power to others When our written words genuinely carry true weight Because the strength of our inner spirits great vigor Over time helps many lives in this world be reshaped.
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Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 6:08 AM UTC
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE
wind like a south wind carrying a plane south deposits him, beneficiary of a backwards current on a branch with nothing companionable in sight - no answer, no voice to answer, no voice, no alarm, no succor - just an afternoon and nothing pressing. No urgent business, maybe only the rigors of trying to prevent there being urgent business later. He's not all smooth. A little feather cowlicked on his narrow jaw, and I don't know how he bathes, what he eats, what he wants, who would want to eat him. I don't really understand anything that is going on around me. But look, I understand more than him:   the tree is dying. Oak wilt blew in from Canada, took a long time coming and finally cracked the veins and this one is all bad on the inside, a meal of corked-up flesh, big spongy patches and tainted roots at the search. (Amateur diagnosis. The tree is probably fine.) There is a similarity neither tree nor bird know about. Or his legs know it, and that message is stuck somewhere. Or he's afraid. The blighted oak is all fungus and refusal, and he: his skeleton is spun from delicate copper. If you open him up, he's like a penny - pretty, and useless in this economy. People and things always trying to get rid of him, and he's listening because he knows it, and he's singing because he knows it. Open the tree up and the whole food chain comes down with it. (Listen to your sweet flesh that wants to go on living.) It's not a curse, not specifically: just one fragile thing standing on another but - count mercies - too light to break it. A basic brazier licking behind a splash of yellow, he chirrups. His song comes from the throat. His song is about something he saw once. His song is unquestioned, muscle moving without will.   His plumage is mostly air   And the tree is anchored in the ground   by the very thing that chokes it, and we're all standing together: me, tree, bird. At least until I finish my sandwich, packing the greasy paper in a rectangle, with unquestioned neatness, and leave whistling.
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Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
Birdness
wind like a south wind carrying a plane south deposits him, beneficiary of a backwards current on a branch with nothing companionable in sight - no answer, no voice to answer, no voice, no alarm, no succor - just an afternoon and nothing pressing. No urgent business, maybe only the rigors of trying to prevent there being urgent business later. He's not all smooth. A little feather cowlicked on his narrow jaw, and I don't know how he bathes, what he eats, what he wants, who would want to eat him. I don't really understand anything that is going on around me. But look, I understand more than him:   the tree is dying. Oak wilt blew in from Canada, took a long time coming and finally cracked the veins and this one is all bad on the inside, a meal of corked-up flesh, big spongy patches and tainted roots at the search. (Amateur diagnosis. The tree is probably fine.) There is a similarity neither tree nor bird know about. Or his legs know it, and that message is stuck somewhere. Or he's afraid. The blighted oak is all fungus and refusal, and he: his skeleton is spun from delicate copper. If you open him up, he's like a penny - pretty, and useless in this economy. People and things always trying to get rid of him, and he's listening because he knows it, and he's singing because he knows it. Open the tree up and the whole food chain comes down with it. (Listen to your sweet flesh that wants to go on living.) It's not a curse, not specifically: just one fragile thing standing on another but - count mercies - too light to break it. A basic brazier licking behind a splash of yellow, he chirrups. His song comes from the throat. His song is about something he saw once. His song is unquestioned, muscle moving without will.   His plumage is mostly air   And the tree is anchored in the ground   by the very thing that chokes it, and we're all standing together: me, tree, bird. At least until I finish my sandwich, packing the greasy paper in a rectangle, with unquestioned neatness, and leave whistling.
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