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D Awanis Apr 2017
She has lost count on how many nights she spent alone,
spoiling her thoughts while sipping her whiskey at the balcony
looking at the stars and the moon with intimate longing,
and wishing to be one of them as if she was one, once

They say that to live is the rarest thing in the world,
as for her, life is always a puzzle with one missing piece,
an endless labyrinth with no way out, let alone the dead end
an unsolved riddles with no absolute clues, let alone the answer

Sometimes at times like tonight, she'd let her mind wander
to streets she has never walked before and people she has never met,
with language she barely understands nor familiar with,
thinking maybe solitude is not a bliss after all—it's an agony
Jon Thenes Jul 2018
Hell shimmies when I am blunted ;
When I take a knock to the senses
When I am skinless,
singing stings
and misdirected by pain

If I had trained better
I'd be deep sea
Sussing distant messages
Operating with slight tremors, vocals and movement
and only when correct...
I'd be home
I'd be instrument

Not an act
Not a pet to society
No mood fool ;
and littered
Rapped at by experiences
Attack reacting
An embarrassment
Watching my own pattern spooling
the same sums
and spoiling with repetition
laura Aug 2018
I'm a table, I'm a bench
I'm an appliance with many uses
I'm a dead girl in the front seat
of your Cadillac

Was hoping to get dicked down
by your Master Sword but
cell connection's kind of spotty
I'll clean it with my pics because I want to eat

spoiling your paradise
tie me down and school me
make me clean your mess
is this what you want?
Sarah Nielle Feb 2015
Tiny hands barely able to hold a bottle,
now drink out of one,containing toxins.
Tiny ears that used to hear bad words and coo,
now spit them like wildfire.
Tiny mouths that would be forced to take icky medicine,
now pop pills and insert drugs into their being.
Tiny eyes looking at life as a breeze,no cares in the world,now turn into
eyes that crave attention but don’t care what we have to do to get it

We are spoiling the pure bodies we once had.
People are sleeping around,
when I remember the worst thing you could do is hand-hold.
We take the things we had as kids,
and ruin them.
We honestly take the cuteness and turn it into ...
well that's for you to decide.
You pick if your morals are guided with a compass,
or thrown away like garbage.
Who am i to judge?
But I've also learned,these days,My darling..
This is adolescence.
Kassiani Nov 2010
I always suspected electricity
Ran rampant through my veins
To make me dazed and dizzy
But unable to sit still
It made me prone to flights of fancy
So I left giddy trails of sparks
Blazing proof of my restlessness
That once brightly caught your eye

Once your gaze had found my own
My moods came in swooning flares
And you crackled alongside me
Filling my aching, empty silence
With shiny, blessed noise
We burned so beautifully
With my electric fire
And your trilling declamations
Light and sound intertwining
Like thunder that had finally caught up with its lightning

It seemed like Nature's order
A completion of the whole
Two halves that followed each other
Unthinkingly and automatically

So one day when I found silence
It felt like Earth itself was splitting

Panicked, I burned more brightly
Stoked the fire just in case
I feared that I had dimmed
And been the cause of this new quietness
So when I still heard nothing
I thought my efforts insufficient
And I ran my highest currents
Until my wires nearly melted
Thinking the sun and I were comparable
And anticipating a response

And still I heard no trilling
No crackling at my side
So I wondered if perhaps
I had shined beyond your limits
Swiftly, I contracted
Reined in my flares and doused the fire
Thinking sudden darkness
Might just shock you into sound

I finally heard the faintest popping
Not quite the rending that I wanted
But a break from quiet all the same
Afraid of spoiling the moment
I leashed my electricity
Kept myself dim so I could hear you
Though I felt the writhing beneath my skin

It finally became unbearable
So I flashed like wild lightning
Lashed out and struck the ground
Hoping for your thunder
A dark and roiling storm
Swirling raindrops and clouds colliding
And deep, **** noise

All I wanted was your thunder
But in the end
It was only me yelling
Screaming out for downpours
Listening to my own echoes
Waiting for you to harmonize

In the end
I was always waiting
Wondering when you'd chosen silence
Wondering why I'd let you dim me
Wondering how it was we'd ever *burned
Written 5/22/10
Here I am sitting on my college armchair
numbing my **** for the sake of waiting.
Spoiling my breath for there's no one around.
Hearing my own pulse for it is too quiet!
365 Poems for my 365 Days

2 of 365
valencia Dec 2018
i am holding hands with a girl at a pet store.
i love how her voice changes for each of the animals, high and breathy for the calicos, round and bubbly for the angelfish, sonorous and slithery for the python. she loves them all, even the great hairy tarantulas that scare me beyond my age.

i am holding hands with this girl who’s halo of hair glows banana yellow beneath the heat lamps in the reptile section, a girl who offers a finger to the teething kittens.
“can’t we have one?” she asks, in the voice she uses only for me.

a voice i can’t describe without using her name, the kind of voice that makes all of time and space obsolete, oblivion just aftermath. i imagine joan of arc heard something similar the first time she picked up a sword.

she is still holding my hand, and i feel like im drowning in my affection for her, sinking into cartoon quicksand. i don’t want to let go. so i don’t.

“are you two...together?”

this is not unfamiliar, but the womans voice, the voice she has chosen, is strangely acdic. this woman has laced her tone with arsenic, without even a teaspoon of passive aggressive sugar to hide her poison. she inhaled, puffing herself up like a frightened lizard before her final words.

“there are children here, you know.”

in the future, i think of a thousand things to say. we are children too.

two girls holding hands after school, two girls holding hands in the movie theatre, two girls in a booth at tony’s pizza, two girls sharing akward first kisses while they hide behind the wall of a library.

two girls holding hands in a pet store on a saturday afternoon.

i know now they see us through funhouse mirrors: distorted, disturbed, our monstrous bodies taking up too much space, spoiling innocent spaces with our imposing sexualities.

our innocence never ours to begin with.
kirk Dec 2018
The Christmas rush has started, and the countdown has begun
Advent doors are opened, but look what you have done
You've ridiculed the Bounty bar, and your spoiling all the fun
Why buy a Celebration, if your not happy after one ?

What's behind the cardboard doors, what did you all expect
A gold ring perhaps, or the keys for a corvette?
Why bother with an advent, when you have no respect
There's no need for chocolate genocide, or coconut neglect

You shouldn't be so outraged, with your Christmas Celebrations
I don't understand the malice, or the advent hesitations
If you don't want a bounty, buy heroes or sensations
It's hardly a matter for Interpol, or the united nations

Celebrations are your choice, there's no cause for your regret
The outcome is quite obvious, why are you so upset
Are the pictures not a clue, to what your gonna get ?
No rarity of Bounty hunters, so don't mess with Boba Fett

Are Maltesers that much lighter, in a Galaxy far away
Maybe you will find Mars, in between the Milky Way
A Twix or Galaxy Caramel, they we're for a different day
But you've dissed your celebrations, and no longer want to play

Some YouTube clips have surfaced, and I have read the blogs
I think it's just pathetic, seeing chocolate thrown down bogs
Your creating your own misery, as well as yule time logs
You won't be very happy, when your toilet blocks and clogs

On day two you still complained, and you wanted to resist
Is that because the chocolate, was not on your Christmas list
Would you be pleased with mistletoe, if you never did get kissed
Christmas spirit has been lost, with your Snickers in a twist

Some people are just morons, that's the message that they've sent
Their expectations are to high, and cruel jokes are never meant
Why is Bounty not as good, to start of an event
A Snickers in your calendar, doesn't mean a ruined advent
Following the recent reports concerning the Celebrations Advent Calendar.
It was reported to be more than a disappointment to chocolate lovers.
Behind door number one low and behold was a Bounty much to customers dismay.
To add insult to injury what did celebrations manufactures do then, they only went and put a Snickers behind the second door.
Can you believe the sheer audacity of some companies especially ones manufacturing Christmas products.
According to some people who decided to purchase these calenders their whole Christmas had been ruined because the worse two chocolates had been used first.
These being bounty and snickers what a choice to begin the Christmas countdown wouldn't you say !
I kind of understand the logic here if you think about it then would it not make sense to incorporate what is considered to be the worse choice within the Celebrations range to be included first.
Then as the countdown commences the excitement then gets better as Christmas eve approaches.
This way there isn't going to be a bigger disappointment as Christmas gets closer.
But I guess it is subjective as to what the worse chocolate choice is, personally I like bounty and snickers, in fact I would rather have those than say Twix or the out of proportion Maltesers which is unnatural to say the least.
******* imagine if these calendars started of with that oh the uproar we would have had then.
I don't know about you but if you can't spread the joy and the Christmas spirit by a simple advent calendar then maybe they should stop making them, just give up on the failure (according to certain customers) of inserting the incorrect pieces of chocolate.
Due to this end I decided to write this small piece on the peoples disappointment in their celebrations advent calendar
Elias Apr 2018
A meal in the morning is made to sustain till noon.
A meal at noon keeps dinner in tune.
The schedule is precise with each meal separated,
By the ticks and tocks of a internal clock.

Yet here the feast has begun.
Too soon for lunch, too late for breakfast, yet just in time to spoil the dinner,
Just as the apple spoiled the dawn of man.

And here my feast has begun.
My insatiable heart, attacks my mind,
Images of what is and what could be make me blind.
The prospect of another taste, spoiling the old bond.
The place where a feast had been done.

The budding plates wisked into my thoughts,
I remind myself,
She's the only one.
I avoid you everywhere I go
I see you on other people’s faces, reminding me that you're tattooed to my heart
Trying to touch my soul and take the few things that make me happy away
You present yourself at the bottom rim of every bottle
And to run away from you, I get another before I get to the bottom
Like a natural disaster, you whirl your way into my vision
Every thought I think
Every touch I feel
Every chemical I taste
I try to forget you
But you creep into my every emotion
Disrupting my every action
Spoiling my fun
In fact, spoiling everyone’s fun
You demand attention
Like you need me to survive, to thrive
So you explore my dreams, looking for a ways to manifest yourself
You want to leave me feeling drenched in loneliness
But I refuse! I will fight you with my last smile
I will stand strong
I will find a way to diminish you
To take you out of my soul
Out of the souls of the people I love
I will not stop even when you beg for mercy
The mercy that you didn’t show me when you scarred me with pain
You will feel the pain I felt
When I saw others feeling joy
The pain you left me feeling when you extracted every piece of my heart from inside my chest .
You will not make me feel ...
feel like this again
SJG Jan 29
(The wind is whistling
Hear it now)

Did you see the ship float in unweathered?
Did you see the ocean solid, baby?

Did you feel Mercury rising?
Did you see it shine upon this priceless junk?

I saw blackstar projected upon the white wall,
Ascending like the happiest man.

I saw his writer's room,
A birdeye's view upon a rocky coast.

He asked me for a lighter.
He asked me for some light, baby.

He told me he was simply dying.
Dying to twist the knife, baby.

What's this Hollywood?
What this Hollywood do
That you and I can't?

Why this arrangement?
Why these stars on screen?

I could have grown up a killer.
I'd have barked the truth at ivory rooms.

I should have stirred things up somewhere.
I should have been an unhappy man.

The wind is whistling,
The song is sowing,
The tether has snapped loose.

The dog is dying,
The actor is crying,
The tether has spoken loose.

Oooooooooh. (Oh.)
Oooooooooh. (True.)
(This stupid house.)

Oooooooooh. (Oh.)
Oooooooooh. (True.)
(They think with their mouths.)

The novelist curves (True.)
Back upon himself (Tru-oo-ue.)
And the work reads like a cave painting.
True. (True.)
They've occupied the stage
Like improper little maniacs. (True.)
(True as blue.)

I saw him cry in a music video
And that's the truth, I guess.

True. True. True.
I read such monotonus verse
From a critic dying to be heard
And begrudgingly respected.

"Truth is true!"
– (A hobbyist seeking a star
And a second verse.)

I saw blackstar on the bay.
I saw blackstar from a passing train.

I saw him on a talkshow,
Grinning like the unhappiest man.
I saw him on a lifted stage.
I saw him slip out from the ether.
Well, that's great,
So you killed the ****?
Did it crow or miss the dawn?
Did you get out in your shoes?
Or limp bare-footed across the snow?

It's been forty weeks of this **** and schlock.
Dogs barking at some kid in management frock.
Five cameras, four lights, a backing track,
Your agent's sat on the line:
"It's the season to be talking smack."


Nice going, kid. Six star reviews are in.
Journalists are clapping and looking thin.
Such amusements. Duh.
Such amusement, begging beliefs. Duh.
Boo. I've got your shirt.
I've got your shoes.
I've got your house.
I've got your past.

I've got your grace.

But I'm too dumb to form the words.
Like you, I am dumb.
It's a fallacy. It's a comedy.
It's a tragicomedy for some.

I shot a deer
Then I shot the deer's son.
No loose ends – a real professional at work.
I built a shrine.
I burnt the shrine.
I fell asleep in my jeans.
I woke up at 2am.
I wrote a song. It went:
"Hey, genius!

Hey, genius!

Hey, genius?"
I stayed in and I wrote a song.
I stayed in and I wrote a song
From here to the heavens.

I swan around, feller,
Like a priest in a cashmere sweater.
Like a dog on a diamond chain.
Like a bullshitter with an acoustic guitar
Singing to you about the night.

And here, love, is God's love.
Three chords, a golden voice, and a muse
With an *** like a mule,
And a face like a slapped arrrrrrr

I swan around, feller,
Like the wine spoiling in your cellar.
Like baby's first love letter.
Like a classically trained actor
Phoning through Lear each night.

History, as they tell us from above,
Was a circus of love;
Performed by malcontents in search
Of a bridal suite, a night of sweat and smoke,
Panicked horses going for broke.

I swan around, feller,
Like an off-form fortune teller.
Like a joke at the dinner table
Which b-b-bombs.

I followed the ocean all the way to the river.
I panned a hunk of gold.
I shivered.
I froze beneath the rain:
"There's good work if you can find it, son."
"There's good work if you can find it, son, son,
son, son, son, son, son."
SelinaSharday Dec 2018

When that man wants you,
Is there for you.
and doing the best that he can.
Tell him.
Just say it.
Tell him.
I love the way
that you eat.
The way you sleep
I love your hands
I love your feet.
I love the way that you love me
I even love your big round belly..
Just say it.
Say I love the sparkle in your eyes
That I want you look that glows like the sunrise.
Tell him that he's gorgeous.
That he's your rock.
Your stability.
He's such a blessing just to see.
Just say it.
Build him up.
Don't be stingy with the ingredients.
You can add to his cup.
Build him up.
With more than just teaspoons of Grace
Bless him with tablespoons of words.
That can bake his confidence.
To high levels.
Spoiling his ego making him walk with glee and assurances. Wherever he may go.
Make him reminisce and daydream.
On the words that pours out of you like a stream.
Oh just do it.. just say it.
Whatsoever things are good give him a good report
You should be able to find the beauty in his actions like
the ways that he supports you.
Again I say give, love, support.
Just Do It.
BY SelinaSharday S.A.M 2018
uplifting, motivating, giving, revealing, speaking and loving
Drusila Apr 5
Lately, I have not loved
I have not loved anyone but myself.
The worry of wanting beyond oneself distresses me
It makes me act like a child in a world of grown expectation

Still, the look of his eyes made me no more than a little girl.
But the world is beyond playgrounds

And the pearl of my centerpiece
made me stand on my own ashes

There was no time nor pain in your house.
I wanted someone who asked me to never let go.
Not a spouse,
A full-time worshiper loved in part-time.

Once you were a given,
I’ve seen that I was the sun for my gloomy days
The sakura of my February spring
There were no more blurry lines from which to be rescued
and no longer giving what could be spared

Indeed I healed the heart I neglected when I left for you
And when it's cold outside and I need to be cherished
There’s no despair
It’s not love
It's only spoiling for an affair
Brittle end to beauty of nature
Appeared so premature
Like an ****** fever
With threat so severe
Ignition of woods
Spoiling the moods
Instantly burning
Eager flamed turning
Raging forest fire
Fire eating the fire
Here nothing is to admire
Blaze outside
Blaze inside
Graff1980 Dec 2018
My sharpest parts
are parallel
to your dull bits.

My quick wits
slice open
your dangling bits
as all of your *******
leaks out of
that flesh bag
and broken brain
you claim
is great.

Sic sewage water
backs up
and flows out
when you shout about
your social outrage.

Stinking mess
of hateful rage
cause you hate your days
so, to feel better
you want to spread
the pain
like spoiling butter
on crusted up
and rotting bread.

Halfway dead,
walking corpse.
What a waste
of potential.
You could have
sharpened your pencil
and penned
a symphony
of love and wonder
for our shared humanity,
but all you let out
are vapid spouts
of fetid breath.
Till, you burn yourself
with all that sourness.
Amanda Shelton Sep 2018
It's quite and calm
when the lights go out.

Burning candles in the
night for the electricity
shut down in the
middle of the night.

We don't realize how much
we depend on modern
technology until it collapsed
unto society causing silence
through out the land.

Some will cry for help,
others will be helping,
the few will survive on leftover
fuel supplies.

No internet,
No lightbulbs burning in their
sockets, no refrigerator to keep
food from spoiling.

What would happen if the world
was to plunge into darkness?
We burned all of our reserve's
we used every ounce of oil?
We burned the last candle?

Science says everything runs out of
gas eventually, just as we age our
bodies decay so does the earth.

Without power we'd have to start from scratch, preserve what is left
before we have nothing.

© 2018 By Amanda Shelton
Veronica clark Oct 2018
A man works for his family
Day by day toiling
Children he is spoiling
Just to have them stay

He never gives up when he should
Always vows to do good
He hopes to never go away
From the loved ones he won't stray

Not always told thank you
He still works everyday
He lets nothing get in his way

That is why this is a valid
Work mans ballad

— The End —