"stepchild" poems
could someone please tell me
of the moons intentions
and of their affair
with Jupiter's rings
when lo and behold
Io has a fire in her belly
snowy volcanic fields
burning ice in her spring
Europa stands by
displaying cold shoulders
with oceans below
life she does bring
brother Ganymede
pulls it together
dark are his regions
light his terrain
beaten and battered
Callisto the stepchild
unchanged in its matter
and the song that it sings
is this all true
of Jupiter's moons
and of their intentions
could someone tell me
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
The room is bouncin
Wall to wall base so fat you can walk on it BLIP BLEEEP :-).
Chant and grind on syntho growl. Strobes hittin all the corners...locked on the groove bouncy move.
Mechanical funk....Double dutchin.
Hollan-daze orange crushin the room. Afro pulse Housin you down..Blip Bleep.
Two hours straight epical trance.....Old disco gone techno high. Strobed out on that techno Applejack meet Afrojack.
New trance city.
Luda an fitty
Ear hustlin this one
NuUrban stepchild drivin the beat...Blip Blip Bleeeep.
Hop til ya drop ta Tiesto
Super techno out your mind
More bounce to the ounce.
Got GaGa goin gaga
Dont stop.
Dont quit.
Blip Bleep.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
Outside looking in
Like a redheaded stepchild
Like a dumped cat
Like Belushi on the ladder
Just...FUCK YOU, alrite?
You hurt me
Lick sweat off my *****
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
The beast cobbler somber suited to putrid minions,
And picked apart the whiskers of death and scribed a diction,
"He hath no fury than an arcade weapon scorn"
Tis I blasted through virtual vitriol levels with life unborn,
Licking the literature scriptures and propagandizing dilemma,
I trained Cerberus into a vicious ************
Biting heathens with the molars demons fear to run from,
Too **** farmer to sail away from my problems,
I reaped too many seeds to bleed,
So all your fuming won't do absolute **** to me,
I'm a dark stepchild of instability and fertility,
Shallow stocking delinquent seeking fire with an angel match cracking humility,
I'm a typhoon buffoon with Hanna-Babara tendencies,
**** with me and get a lethal dose of dynamite and Trojan Horse remedies,
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
I found no comfort
Cradled in Mother’s arms
And I never believed Father
Could protect me from all harm…
So I should have seen it coming
A world without love
Empty of compassion, void of mercy
False faith in gods above…
Faceless now, nowhere now
Is my loveless yesteryears
Abandoned as the stepchild
Who pretends to disappear…
I found no comfort in
Studying ancient words
It all adds up to trusting in
Stories so absurd…
So take me now, wash me now
There’s nowhere now for these pieces that won’t fit
Force a square peg of logic in a round hole of superstition
And brokenness is what you’ll get…
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
A stepmother's love is pure and true
For her stepchild, she cares anew
She may not have birthed this little one
But in her heart, she's already won
She cherishes each moment spent
Hoping to make a permanent dent
In this little one's heart and soul
She longs for a bond that's whole.
But the mother's lies are hard to bear
She tries to turn the child's love elsewhere
Her manipulation and deceitful ways
Make the stepmother's heart ablaze.
She wants to scream and shout aloud
And tell the child, her love is profound
But she holds back, knowing the damage done
By the mother, her battle is just begun.
For the only one who it's hurting is the child,
Innocent and fragile, yet so easily beguiled.
The stepmother continues to love and care
Her stepchild's heart, she'll never snare
For her love is honest and pure
And in time, the child will find the cure
The cure to heal the wounds of deceit
To understand the love she tried to beat
And in the end, the stepmother will win
For her love was stronger than the mother's sin.
Apr 5, 2023
Apr 5, 2023 at 9:21 PM UTC
Shooting a premature dream
Within diapers,
Never stressingout,
But I remember feeling,
Left behind like a stepchild
Thy were not feeling me then
But I'm a threat now to thee
Right afterwards feeling like Kratos
Now stand up tall and fe/male up.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
time
takes out it's loaded gun
shoots holes in us for fun
daring us to try and run
time
knows the game and plays it well
watches from the side or there about
has us play against ourselves
time
laughs at you in your shame
takes delight in giving pain
whispers to the passing wind, your name
time
is the wicked stepchild
the mad dog running wild
the haunt in the midnight howl
time
takes what you offer, gives back no change
feels that it must rearrange
places on you all the blame
time
holds tight to lost memory
takes it's que from history
spits on you before it leaves
time
draws on another cigarette
exhales the stench of death
till up in smoke is all that's left
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
I’m so alone
No ones home
I am afraid
Of better days
No one is home
I am so alone
I am afraid
Afraid of today
No one is here
To steer me clear
Straight out of here
This hole that I’ve been living in
I cannot seem
To help myself
I haven’t been
Been in the best mental health
I fell down that rabbit hole!
I don’t know what to think no more!
I tell you I am afraid
My world is straight drawn out upside down
I don’t know how to live my life now
Our town has driven me dead and insane
I want to dance and sing
And scream at these walls
My anxiety has shook me up
No words come out
I ask for help
But who? To where?
I’m scared I’m scared
I don’t know how I got here anyways!
I can’t even begin to tell you what I went through
It’s dark and dreary blue
My curiousness and confidence almost killed me
Or maybe it was my insecurities
I’m no doctor
I don’t know what it is
All I know is what I’m feeling
I just can’t seem to shake these bad feelings I wonder if Alice always felt spiders crawling up on down her back
I only know that I tried to **** myself after that tea party
Ribbon noose, I’ve been blindfolded by smoke ever since
It didn’t have to be this way
I know hearts are hard to change
The thought of your existence makes me want to throw up
I always get these bad feelings whenever you’re around
I cannot seem to get over the impossibilities of empathy and reality
Sitting here wasting away
Done with today dreading tomorrow
Can I ever get out of this place?
Can I make it out alive?
This doesn’t even feel like I’m living anymore
This ain’t even surviving
I’m barely afloat
I’ve lost myself
Where am I?
It’s the same old game
Let’s play the pity party of death reapers
We’re begging for the end
Begging for some kind of new beginning
This kind always flies by too fast
Can’t make the good times last
Fast forward to the *****
Yesterday’s honeymoon was never meant to last
This life is the ugly stepchild of Garden’s Eve
Meeting a snake is all I ask
Just gotta get right out of here
May 12, 2021
May 12, 2021 at 11:58 AM UTC
The acquisition of a son
With an adequate corporeality, albeit with certain caveats,
Certain limitations in terms of progeny and posterity,
Had awaken something in the old man,
Certain forces leading him to the altar
And, subsequently, to the nursery once more
(A second son, brought to bear in the established manner.
With a minimum of drama and fanfare.)
The child was loved, in a rudimentary fashion;
While his flesh-and-blood bona fides were beyond question,
He was a consumer, a thing of constant need
More akin to a hardship than his celebrated half-sibling,
Whose command of the spotlight
Served as a gravitational pull for parental affections.
The old man passed on after a spell,
Hanging on long enough for his second son
To stumble onto the precipice of adulthood
(His mother had hot-footed it out
Almost immediately after the burial,
Choosing to stage-mother her feted stepchild)
Though his fatherly wisdom
Was limited to matters of his craft, his business,
Which was left to the young man, though grudgingly at that,
As a sop, a means of getting shet of two unwanted encumbrances.
He’d proved to have much of the old man’s gift,
Whittling and carving puppets and toys and dolls
(Though with a certain grim fury making it evident to all
That the work was not a labor of love)
Rarely stopping to speak to or even acknowledge his clientele,
Except if one of them happened to repeat the time-worn chestnut
That the toy chooses the child, in which case he laughed harshly,
All but barking *It’s the purse that closes the deal, not the ****
And then he would return to carving some doll or marionette,
Which would always seem to have a certain wan look
Around the corners of the eyes, the edge of the lips,
The look of a child’s toy equipped with the foreknowledge
That it was destined for the back of some closet shelf,
The bottom of some attic-bound chest.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 9:11 AM UTC