"spose" poems
I'm asking you to accept
something that I cannot
Me at my best
AND
Me at my worst
To be honest you just can't win
But I spose Hearts aren't to be Won
Hearts are to be Given
❤
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC
Haven't slept
****** mess
Up all night
To DMX
Gettin vex
Stress
Unnecessary
In excess
Need you tonight
I fess up!
Fed up
Made it up
The half pipe
Inhaled the High
For my time
And the sight
Now I'm blind
In decline
Spose to fly
But
Yo I'm slippin, I'm fallin...
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
Please excuse my drivel of words as I ascertain my inexcusable lustless love life.
However,
humor me for a second…
But I’m looking for Miss Alabama Worley.
Mississippi Isabel,
**** it, Lady Macbeth would do.
That ***** knows crazy.
Where is the incomprehensible insufferable beast?
That will take my heart in one foul swipe and refuse
Me rest till I’ve given her lust the spearing of a hungry tribesman.
I want the lock and chain around my ***** because my naked vulnerability
Is hers for the taking.
Beat me,
Oh monstrosity of the bedroom
Let the blood drip as I lick your foot.
Indulge me with the endless sweat and tears of the night.
And **** me like a rock star
Till I taste the rubber.
Where is the whirlwind passion?
Love at first sight.
And not the giddy looks of something Michael Cera starred in.
I am talking tattoos on the first date,
Reckless marriage doomed by the 50 pound ring on her finger.
Put me in a ****** east end flat,
Let me starve because ******* is food for the brain,
And her ***** tastes delectable when I’m high.
**** my brother in our bed,
I never liked him anyway.
A best friend is a man who’s shared the same hole.
And trust me, we’re closer than ever.
You’ll be all I’ve got.
I’ll sleep on the couch and crawl back to you,
Because I'm wrong,
I am always wrong.
Laugh at the scars on my wrists
Pity isn’t there for the taking.
Leave me shaking in the corners of my mind,
Let lust grow like anger and revenge
Let anger and revenge grow
When I go soft on you,
Put those cigarettes out on my chest,
And choke me; asphyxiate me from the inside out.
I want to burn in the hellish rapture
Betwixt your thighs.
******* fire in half an hour,
God knows where you got it from.
But those who care share, right?
But then,
Perhaps I’ll just end up like my parents,
Settle down with a nice girl.
A nice normal girl,
Missionary position isn’t that bad I ‘spose.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 7:18 PM UTC
“aquashield+ .. what is this?”
—“sunscreen”—
“no wonder you get burnt all the time it expired in two-thousand-eight ya mad cat.”
“a-ah..”
“ah?”
“good that i use a different one i 'spose hmm?”
“pfft—bronzer.”
“oh come on.”
. . .
—“awshit look at all those dried soap carcasses in the back there. little beached whales”
“exfoliating, irish spring...”
—“hey what's with the two-in-one shampoos anyway?”
“...well,”
—“seems to me like they're just tryna make showering faster.”
“yah. what's your issue?”
"well, what's the point of that? enjoy the ****** thing.
I dare you to find any two things better than being under a hot shower
& the heat of the blowdryer in the hair after...gaw-damnn.”
—“preach.”
. . .
“man, and all the dust...”
Oct 15, 2011
Oct 15, 2011 at 3:20 PM UTC
I'm in love with you n that's the reason why I runaway
I know it hurts u but I know that it'll **** u if I stay
So turn my back on everything n hope its for the best
All this love is from a kiss
Imagine if we added ***
Its a burden being right
Cuz the love we had was left
Know u crying 4 attention but my ears have fallen deaf
If I knew this was yo fate I would never speak a word
I ain't reap what I had sown
I ain't get what I deserve
Love ain't pose hurt
+
Souls ain't pose 2 bleed
+
U ain't pose 2 cry
+
I'm not pose 2 leave
+
I'm not pose 2 die
+
U not pose 2 grieve
+
I'm not spose 2 lie
+
U not spose 2 plead
+
They say that dreams r 4 the children n the truth is 4 the grown
I don't need u 2 b sad
I can wallow on my own
I can do just fine without u
Please don't try 2 call my phone
I don't need u 2 say sorry
I don't need u 2 atone
I
+
Curse the day I saw an angel in the rain
+
That's the day I learned the true meaning of pain
+
I cant help it if I sound a bit insane
+
Beg yo pardon
While I'm dying in the rain
+
(×2)
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 12:02 PM UTC
I remember when I wrote
my first proper story at ten
It was called Gateway to Heaven.
When My grandad died
I found myself preoccupied
With the notion of the afterlife
Cause I could not believe that someone
Like him could simply be gone.
Couple that with an obsession
With space exploration
And what you got was a spiritual sci-fi.
To be honest it was more a screenplay
I bought it into class
for some reason one day
Not sure why
Maybe I wanted someone to read it.
Left it on my desk and went for a ****
And when I got back my teacher
Who had a bit of a flare for the amateur dramatics
WAS reading it.
I was met with an intrigued gaze as I walked back in,
I remember thinking
*ahh why are you going through peoples things?!
That's rude!*
(Although I secretly knew she would)
Tryin not to blush as she asked
Me questions about it,
then asked me to stand up and read the plot out to the class.
At this point what you've got to factor in
is that I was incredibly shy,
hmm no maybe not shy,
more under confident.
Not cripplingly so,
don't get me wrong
I was incredibly social,
was very popular in my class as a child
but when it came to sharing thoughts of my introspection,
any talent or shows of confidence,
well let's just say I'd learnt to keep that **** to myself...
But I stood up and read it.
And was met with a
mass of baffled gazes,
a memory that I don't think
will ever leave me.
To be fair it was pretty out there,
all black holes, theology and grief.
The silence that fell,
matching the silence of space itself
makes me wary of silences still.
That eternal moment
Tryin to Guage the judgement
thinking oh **** it!
now everyone knows I'm weird,
shoulda just stuck to my status quo in my final year.
But it was broken eventually
by my friend Funmi who said
"I don't get it"
I'll never forget it,
it was sorta funny,
mostly disappointing.
I wish I had the mentality at that time to think these guys just ain't ready for me
but I guess that was that,
class went back to what it was doing,
teacher came up with
a look of approval and some words of encouragement which was odd,
she wasn't my favourite teacher at all
and she knew it full well
and i spose that marks my underwhelming moment in the spotlight...
*Although I've always
maintained the belief
that it'll shine bright on me one day
or maybe I'll outshine it*
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
cough, cough
(sonnet #MMMMMMDCLIII)
Yes, I woke after one, as if t'avail
Myself of sleep ere tucking up has sense,
To find that notion snowplows were fr'intents
Upon the prowl in grinding form to scale
Long ere a Friday evning was past bail
Quite true, as snow filled that lone light's beams thence
With whiter mists, a blanket none could hence
Pierce on the blacker world in sheer betrayl.
If rolling phrases 'cross one's tongue in tour
Is grand, choice words the key 'fore their debut
On lo, this wrinkled notebook page, what were
They as I slipped into my nightie? To
Effect: "snow AFTER midnight--". None too poor,
I spose. And how winds craft dunes 'cross the view.
19Jan19a
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 9:37 PM UTC
You said you needed to find yourself before you could be with someone else.
What kind of ******** is that?
That you knew exactly who you were and at the first sight of me
you lost yourself then found yourself in me.
Making me believe that I was your one and only
To then find out id be one and lonely.
Leaving rigid thoughts to never leave,
Imprints of your hands stay carved between my knees,
Left a void inside my chest
and the feeling of nothingness that lies between my *******
Missing the reflection of the sunlight’s rays that shined from your eyes
back into mine.
Tainted ticks sing from off my hour glass figure,
I was a waste of your time.
‘cause you wanted a blow
But I wanted to blow your mind,
Graffiti my name into your memory
Until I was all you could see
And you couldn’t breathe, needing me to stay alive.
Resting my head on the pillow known as tissue to my swollen eyes,
crushed.
Your ice cold words playback lines inside my head
that jam to themselves on the same beat as my heart
does.
Trying to find my truth,
Your truth,
And the REAL truth that separate my love from your lust.
Didn’t need you anyway ‘cause you were unworthy of us.
So all that’s left of you is hatred from a ball point pen
Crying through my paper.
Filling the empty spaces we were ’spose to fill together
Erasing doodles of your name written in my margins
Waiting for the next one so I can begin this process again.
Stored pages with words that will never truly have an end.
Maybe in another life we can try to make amends.
I’m simply wanting to be loved,
But not in bed.
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 10:43 AM UTC
As he sat the trash can back down gingerly
He sighed Well, it’s a long story.
We were drinking beer in my backyard at four in the morning
On one of those sticky September nights
Where sleep was more rumor than reality,
And, as I noted the time on the clock for the umpteenth time,
I heard a song outside my window;
Not some drunken caterwauling of “Danny Boy”
As rendered by some stray tabby in a Dublin alley;
This was…singing, like you’d hear on a CD
Or, perhaps, Live From The Met,
And at first I thought some poor sot with an artistic streak
Had pulled off the main road to sleep it off,
But the singing was punctuated
With the clatter of can-lids and the occasional grunt,
Until I understood that baritone and trash barrel
Were part and parcel of the same man.
As I handed him a second bottle,
He recounted how his lifelong dream of riches, glory,
And a glorious career on the world’s great stages
Came to a sudden halt after a Manhattan debut
(*I sang my *** off that night*, he recounted)
Was met with mild praise, the odd bit of outright scorn
And a healthy dose of apathy.
I ‘spose, he said between sips, *I could have done all right
Givin’ lessons, singin’ bit parts here and there.
You’re on the road a lot, but the money ain’t bad*,
But one day, just before an audition for a supporting role
In a regional production of Carmen
Up in Binghamton ******* New York,
He simply left the theatre, got into his car,
And drove some sixteen hours
Until he hit town here, and then he stayed.
But, I countered, why not go back?
The years of lessons and Julliard,
All for celebrating our refuse and squalor
With roadkill requiems, arias for rats?
Well, some days it’s a hard way to make a living,
He said, stroking his chin thoughtfully,
*But it does give me a venue to sing,
And, to date, I ain’t been panned by no **** cat*.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
...whence? I know, I know, you've the florist's packet of preservative mixt for your cut flowrs don't you? Good luck.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXV)
Lo, tulip capes so thickly clustered they'll
Ne'er blossom, like sardines is it from hence?
Wait greenly by the back stoop for a sense
Of April in the wings. And jonquils' hale
Green tendrils wait likewise for that detail
I guess, as maids whose innocent suspense
We fail to notice, full of vain pretense'
Auld lies as if such might at last avail.
Girls have been known as flowrs, since oh, in tour
God's Scriptures told us that, I spose. Aye, do
Men ink laments of this or that as twere
It's thus: "...her virgins, pure, deflowrd--" they knew.
These latter days we are taught lies, (in poor
'Scuse know by instinct) and cut flowrs down too.
29Mar19a
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 3:54 PM UTC
I was listening to The Decemberists- The Engine Driver when I couldn't help but write this down
NOTE: This is not the actual ending to the song.. Just a spin on it that I was compelled to jot down.
And I am a writer,
Writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
My bones
My bones
But my bones turn to paper
And all I end up doing
Is scratching you deeper
Deeper into the pillars
That pillars that support my soul
My soul
I've written so many pages
That my bones turned to paper
As if you were to ever support my soul
But I spose that's one thing about paper
It don't support much of anything
I let you crumple me
I turned you to paper
Guess my master plan to rid you from my bones
Backfired a little
For now I'm stuck in a crumpled heap
A crumpled heap
Because that ****** paper
Couldn't ever make me whole
Me whole
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
The Pedantic Romantic
travelling through the
World of Delusion
from Pacific to Atlantic
just with the news on.
Sofas the chauffeur
when you've got nothing
to show for a day spent
lament, pent up in the House,
Deep and empty,
spose that's why they
call it a HolEday,
best book the room key,
all expense on me,
no need for money,
this ***** free,
oh the irony!
How long a stay?
1 week, too weak, four?
Life long exCURSEion
not one foot out the door.
Just a fan of fantasy,
surviving on cans
of what could be,
Stored ambition that
cannot be ruled,
rotting through indecision
so now used for fuel,
Zero emissions in fact
devoid of all,
except to keep
you turning over
and it does at night
when fantasy ends
and truth begins,
as the delusion of
the day fades away
its distractions sleeping
where the sun last lay.
Where the whispers you
could drown in music and tv
become allied with the silence
and now they Scream!
When you wish you
had kept those headphones on,
filling your head with thoughts
laid down on somebody
else's song, so those of yours
from your head be gone.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
Surrounded by peals of
thunder,
Little Cat rides the tree,
Gripping with talons
****** deep in the wood
Lashed by the wind that
blows no good,
Soaked by the rain,
So misunderstood,
Then lightning strikes,
Oh!
Poor Kit-e
'spose she'll make a
change,
From KFC.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 1:21 PM UTC
Forty-five...the number of years her parents were married.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXV)
So many things, I spose, beg to avail
Themselvs of lo, a voice now I've fr'intents
Taen up the page and pencil in defense
Of aught. Tis Mum and Dad's erm, in betrayl,
Yes: wedding annivers'ry, as sans bail
Now it was ere and e'er shall be, for sense.
Which other items wanted space from hence
Pale in the light of that note's keen detail.
I yearn to call Dad for that reason, too.
Yet how my pride is shown up as what'd stir
Me, is it eh? Whence ****** ere I (as twere)
Begin, what's left? Pride caused our rift, as to
Effect tis ever what the Scriptures fer
All that 'non prove: oh LORD, save me, won't You?
24May19a
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 11:40 PM UTC
Like ****
With all due respect, I have to object.
It’s like talking to a wall after a simple “out of turn comment.”
Like **** it wasn’t my intention
I apologized sincerely
but you wasn’t having it.
I’ve come to realize that not everyone shares the same humor
But where the hell do you get off thinking that I’m not useful
I gave my advice I shared my thoughts
“Oh, but you don’t know what I’m going through”
Well what the **** you asked me for, huh?
Answer the question, don’t change the subject
Don’t put the blame on me and pretend I’m spose to let you run it;
The sike of course, you can’t act like I don’t know
Like **** you really throwing me under the bus
Cause you knew I was right
You knew what I said hit home
You knew he was using you but you still carried on.
Like ****
How dare you lie to me
How dare you pretend to care
How dare you look at our previous conversations
And say the mutual feelings wasn’t there
You lead me on, you lied.
But it’s okay I moved along
We stopped talking for a while but you came back on some
“hey what’s going on..?”
Like ****
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 6:57 PM UTC
...I spose you musta appreciated that.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXIII)
You sign out "Joey," and say Thursday. Frail
Pink like those bars thet Wordsworth noted thence
Stretch 'cross fatigued blue skies as for good sense
I tap to Russian strains; and we drive. Pale
Heavns wear grey twilight, greens in that detail
Dark, shaggy trees with vast lawns, fields in dense
Green, row on row forever, and what hence
Twill be like in the car with YOU t'avail?
I wonder, itching for the chance, in poor
'Scuse for how slow you're being. O me! how you
Write "I don't do this often--" swears as twere
That caution's in the air, though you kiss to
Effect my hand these days. Firewerks 'non stir,
Ah yes, they do. And you're a dream come true.
03Jul17d
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 8:09 PM UTC
I add insult to injury and bleed into the glass
O2 reserve blinks on, the time to turn back passed,
stuck in this metal shell of stale air and sweat
protein packs and old newspapers the only luxuries I get
*["Sir... we've lost contact with Nova 2-"
"What?! We'll bring her back if it's the last thing we do."]*
I light a cigarette, let the smoke linger,
flinch as the stub burns down to my finger -
the idiots said there was nothin' to fear,
said there was absolutely no chance I would ever get stuck out here
So why have the engines stopped, dead silent and dry?
Transmission's dead, no one to hear me cry -
the stars around light my troubled, ecstatic, nightmares
as polarised glass shields me from a sun that arrogantly stares
*[720 degrees and counting
various alarms at home screaming, shouting]*
it's fat, it's bulbous, from violence born and bred
the heat sears and it's not long before these walls start glowing red,
water near gone, papers reduced to ashes
outside something gives way and crashes
---//-/--
surprised to be alive, well my heart still beats, if you can call that living
I'm down to the last cigarette, the protein vendor's stopped giving,
lighter's broke, along with most stuff inside,
but I can still light it using the heat from outside
*[at home they try using sonar, think the problem's sorted -
argh but the ship's stationery- no longer in orbit!]*
I hope they find me soon, y-yeah 'course they will
surviving has always been my best skill
--///-////--
but my skin has blistered, eyes near closed
it's boiling but somehow most of my body's froze -
finally the exhaustion kicks in, biting --//-
the puny drive to live fighting
[through evaporating tears]
breathing by instinct
mind growing more and more distant
smoke lulling, so sweet
'spose it-
[YAWN]
it won't hurt to have have just a little sleep -//----/
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
It's so "fun" trying to fit these hugemongous Roman names into iambic pentametre.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXIII)
So, read an essay on erm, Virgil, frail
As thinking THAT meant aught, and for pretense
Is't lo, Thucydides, to spose I'd sense,
Petrarca's life in um, a nutshell's scale
Of knowledge, even la, Justinian's tale--
Since haunted by those cobbled streets, and hence,
If not the air of Roman days, fr'intents
Those columned cities sages knew t'avail.
And either that, or Valentines in tour
Have ta'en my spirit from me, til I view
All we had joyed in ere as from as twere
A colder distance, seeing, yet voiceless to
Effect, life upside-down, or mine in poor
Scuse, e'en as April haunts the thought life'd woo.
21Feb19a
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 9:37 PM UTC
Guess I should add, I find 80's fashion abominable. O, I do.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXXXVIII)
So I cut stars of canteloupe to thence
Hang silver ones on string to dance in pale
Hours for the baby showr last week, the tale
Of things I meant to do put off fr'intents,
And now I've chance to breathe, look hence
Upon this buried wasteland's white detail
Which I had noted then was naked, frail
In Death's hands, wishing for what? in suspense.
I spose I wanted to keep all as twere
Unclothed in barren lack, since snow anew
Puts aught in black and white, whereat I tour
What New York's Fashion Week had: ruffles, to
Thet swishing 'round your ankles stylish fer
Is't eighties' taste again?! O, what is new?
10Feb18b
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
I've begun to summon
a voice of my own
but it still falls short
when I need it the most.
I still have so much left to learn and yet
it just feels like I should
already know all of it.
I have only just begun
to dig my own place
in confidence and wonder and transparent faith.
but every time I look up it seems
I'm always losing my grip on more than I keep.
I am not hopeless, but
a little out-of-world, I spose.
it's been a while since I've had
a glimpse of where my path goes.
(stay by my side, Lord,
lend me Your hand.
together we'll walk
upon the dry land.)
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC
8-27-15
I am random, unpredictable, kind, compassionate. caring, scared, brave, a walking contradiction. I love JESUS. I love so many. and care so deep yet all the time. I quietly weep. just on the inside. so I wont bother no one. I am happy and fine. mostly all the time. I love to talk in rhyme. seriously all the time. I make up stuff inside my mind. which is crazy cause its so hard to unwind. did you know first you catch and then you throw (tlc) people who know so much. are those w...ho cannot seem to touch. the ground in time, we live so high above this world. not better than one. just saved by love. people talk , people walk, but people pull away. its too hard some times to do what others think is right, to just stay. im just making this up as I go. (writing in real time new poem, I spose.) my mind is always swayin to and fro...just cant sometimes make it stop...old, sad,bad memories always seem to pop. my heart is sick my heart is sore, it feels like I cant do this anymore. (wondered where this line would go) its just writing, just keep on fighting, look for solutions to all this mind pollution. (dang sometimes don't know where this all comes from.) thanks for reading if you read it all..its a brand new poem..just made it.. thank ya'll and good night
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 12:26 AM UTC
Forsooth.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXI)
Snow. White flakes jostle like small children, veil
This fragile twilight in descent as thence,
Where rain waltzed gaily on these puddles, hence
O me! How white tricks out what's left t'avail
Our fainting souls of colour, as to scale
It blankets all we knew ere in what sense
Calls Winter; and I spose tis ne pretense,
For lo, November closes soon, gone stale.
So crank up class'cal strains to salve as twere
The galling note of Death, is't? Ergo, to
Effect how xmas lights now twinkle through
Nights gone so black, while sales fly; none demur
To put up trees for festive gifts' grand tour,
And I've forgotten what, LORD? say not...You.
25Nov18a
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 5:39 PM UTC
Do ever lie
About the world being your ocean
Have you embellished your devotion
So they'd know you elsewhere from your pride?
If these lies coincide with mine
Your eyes probably glisten with a little bit of wine
And you might tell me something
I was spose'd to find
Because I took my time to get to know you
But maybe you don't mind
You know we both got broken in
By the memories we tried to hide behind our smiles
We should have embraced those thousands of miles
Right until the day we didn't
And I'll never hand you the blame
I'm not ashamed
Of why we both hate our beginnings
But I promise you, my friend
If you stay strong for me
Then I won't give in
So you can stay till the very end
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
Maybe we’re spose to trip when we walk,
Spit when we talk,
Sometimes fall short.
Maybe its ok that we overreact,
From our lack, of personal tact.
Maybe it’s ok to feel disatached,
When we cannot latch,
Or know how to act.
Maybe it’s okey to grow from bad,
Reflect on the sad,
Miss what we had.
Maybe they’ll be A day,
That we can look back,
On days we didnt quite hack,
Or the times we cracked,
And learn to abstract,
With give and take slack.
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 1:33 PM UTC