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zebra Apr 2017
i'm your o so wanna be lover
I'm afraid not what you would expect though
i admit to being a difficult pleasure
a tad strange looking
squishy with long tentacles
half man half octopus
with a winking cycloptic eye

i entreat you
looks can be deceiving
how many pretty boys have you loved
crawling worms for a soul
that have left you a ruined creel
a jagged cry chattering tears of desolation

have you ever asked your self
who adores you
who would give all to protect love and cherish
i'm waving my eight arms at you
from the center of the universe
i eat black holes to kiss your ***
am i not a cosmic horror
with my big Cthulhu smile
quivering with tenderness

do you hunger for butter **** lollypop
i have two big **** heartbreakers
with teardrop curves
a feast for your two ravenous holes of emptiness
and many armed tentacles to hold you tight
to slither all over your tender woven caves
to pull you into me
with suckers that thrill
during swirling inky *****

i will unravel your mind
your soul tilthed
if you can get passed
gray rubbery boneless head

i can push this shape-shifting balloon face
through your annul tubular contours
all the way up your beautiful ***
tickling into your
tender bowel and throat
like a great dancing tongue
a stretched waving goodness
entering your mouth from the back side

can pretty pretty do that?

come slowly unto me my beloved
i am all chromatophores
endless glittering nightlights
so we may wander our way through long dim nights ******
in the deep deep dark
with tentacle ***** galore
an infinity of entertainment
for every crevice and desire
and one winking cycloptic eye
that pierces your soul
Knit Personality Dec 2014
Blues with a feeling—the raw, authentic blues—
The gut- and bowel-twisting, sick and sad,
Loneliest day you’ve ever ever had
Blues—all sunless and soaked with two-bit *****—
I’d never known: unknown to me were shoes
Silent but deadly, hazardously bad
And shake-y ***-pourri, and meals a tad—
Or more—imaginary,—the honest blues.
And had you never put me out the door
To wander with the wind like a rolling stone,
Those deep and loaded bends where live the moan,
The mud, and the howl—the uncut, moody ore
Of bluesy sound—I never could've blown,
Since, foolishly, I valued comfort more.

* .
ryn Dec 2014
Proud little peacock
Plumage up for display
No need for repeated mocks
No need for you to say

I can clearly see
For we may be quiet but we have eyes
Strutting conspicuously
Showing off your prize

We already know you have it
We all do
On the sidelines we sit
Seeing you through

Tell me little bird
What do you get
When you say your words
Were your objectives met?

Everytime I hear them
Just makes me gag
I'd roll my eyes
Just hearing you brag

People'll give you
When accolades are deserving
But I suppose they're never enough
'Cause I still see you parading

Well I know I may be unpredictable
A tad bit capricious
To be honest, you...
You're simply being ostentatious

*...and it's annoying the hell out of me...
Hate show-offs.
ryn Apr 2016
Many have come to pry me open.
Many have come asking for the key.
Offering promises that the doubt would lessen,
flaunting their oaths as currency.

Plenty have assured that they're not like the others.
They promised that their words were forged in steel.
They had come with nothing else except to offer,
their ears and support just so to seal the deal.

"Forgive me", I'd say... I am still a tad apprehensive.
But I do feel the need to speak...
I do long for ears attentive,
Not the ones which are attached to mouths that easily leak.

I know that there are such ears...
Hard to find but they're definitely there.
They'd be ready to catch my tears,
more than willing to show concern and care...

Yours seem rather reliable... That much I see.
They've come with intentions seemingly untainted and kind.
Don't suppose they'd take my words ever so lightly.
They won't lap up my secrets with treachery in mind.

Again I find myself here at the same spot.
About to hand over the duplicate key.
This familiar leap I hope you'd have me caught.
Please don't give away my secrets for free...
Plush and Prim is your White, Feathery Plume
Soft the Inertia of your Thighs update
I pray this time, your Victory resume,
Revive your Year's Fortress not far too late
In your eyes you reject the Gambler's View
For no such Attitude ever won Hearts
The Paddles you took - timed and faster blue
Were enough for us to make Key Remarks
This Beauty, defined as Hair-Painted Wind,
Tad effort needed to brush your Canvas red
Pour out! Pour out! Pour, Passion's Purest Sprint
And let your Spirit drape these Words instead:
I'll just be right here, cheering for your Cause
Whether win or lose my Soul will not pause.
ryn Oct 2014
Looks like you need a drink...
What'll it be, let me think...

One thing you should know, Little Miss,
I'm not a bartender... I'm just winging this...

Arc in a cocktail shaker
Filled halfway up
Throw Melz in the mix
Just a dollop

Let's see now...
Spoonful of rhymes
Make that a table
Few drops of Conor
If he's up and able

Almost ready...
A touch of Tea
Maybe a tad more
A dose of Frank
In a little pour

Just about done...
Cap it up
Shake that shaker
Pour it out
Top with Silver

In a cocktail glass
Now sprinkle with Dani
Let's not stinge
Sprinkle aplenty

There you go, Hon... Take a full swig
When you see the bottom, your pain wouldn't seem so big...
ryn Jan 2015
Say the words you're afraid to say
You know I want to hear them
Say the promise that we will be in latter day
Say I am the life force that runs through your stem

Say the words you can never bring yourself to say
You know very well that I've been waiting
Say the words that will cause dismay
Say that I'm fueling a fire that's dying

Say the words you can't really say
Fearing the commitment I'd hold you to
Warn me of the rope that threatens to fray
Say that all my wishes will not come true

Say the words you've always wanted to say
Truthfully that there isn't a future
Please... Say the words you mean to say
Just need this knife to go a tad bit deeper
Father time
Father time
please don’t run and leave
Can you stay
for just a tad bit longer?

I can’t wait
I don’t wait
Goodbye Goodbye
I’ve gotta run
I’ve gotta leave

Mother Fate
Mother Fate
Please spare me my life
Give me a year more
I’ve got things left to do

I’m sorry
I’m sorry
Terribly sorry
This is my job
What I’ve got to do
Kara Jean May 2016
I remember my first time writing on here
I was nervous, scared and a tad naive
This is my stomping ground
My battling
My push to give my everything
The constant vibrant words being heard
Now a poet grave yard, deserted
I miss my poetry home
The loud boisterous words constantly being thrown
I came back
It's my dysfunctional love, all I can say to that
I feel Sentimental, never wanting to leave
There should be no reminiscing about poetfreak
Although, we stand here grieving
zebra May 2016
i was looking at you
and thought it would be fun
to shoot you in the ***
and use a big gun

you shook your **** hips
and said do me in bed
you pursed your pretty lips
and said i like to be dead

how do you figure
i'll look good when i splatter
please pull the trigger
and watch my skull shatter

no not in the head
id rather shoot you in the belly
please, baby, i said
you know i love jelly

you prefer stench
to a hole in the skull
whats wrong with you
are you really that dull

ok lets compromise
a bullet in the ****
wow that will hurt
i will scream i will grunt

i'm getting the fits
i'm upset just a tad
i'll shoot off your ****
before i get mad

alright honey
let's make it fun
ill open my legs
you shoot the big gun

i shot her once
she ****** my ****
i did her again
she went into shock

i'm not dead yet
but i'm starting to fry
whew i am really wet
but when will i die

soon darlin
do you think you can ***
i'm tryin hard love
but i'm gettin pretty numb

i shot her and shot her
she spassed and she lurked
i cumed in her mouth
then she died when she ******

i kissed her good by
she was **** to die
i ****** her some more
and went to the shore

now she's dead
i'm in a bad mood
layen in bed
i'm starting to brood

two days later
i met someone new
she said i like guns
what about you?

i walked outside
i started to cry
she kissed my mouth
and said im ready to die

i fell on the ground
ready to scream
what a merry go round
what a ***** dream :)
Simon Soane Nov 2
You do look a little bit older
than you used to

these days;

your youthful visage
a tad thumbed by turning many page:

but despite the so called age process
you still simply merry everything with the fantastic of elan:
oh what a guy,
oh, what a man!
matilda shaye Nov 2014
Touch me, I am fragile but I know I will not break. If you look at me long enough your eyes will start to water based on the saltiness of my skin because of the sea's I've swam to get to the place I'm in now. Open, closed, I've ran back and forth a hundred times, I am the weakest link and the leader of the group. If you sawed me in half you'd see three things: my barely pumping heart, a toxic amount of love, and a will to survive.

Touch me, but be gentle, because although I learnt to withstand even the deadliest of summer heat your cold heart isn't something my body is used too. Close your eyes, count to ten, am I on your mind? No. Throw me into the ocean. I'm no use to you then. It's cloudy but it doesn't rain, mid 70's but no humidity, my heart is sore, but I'm breathing. Oh god, I don't know how, but I will continue.

Touch me, be rough, *****, make it a melody and prove to me all I'm missing out on by not being enough for you. Afterward, I want a list of ten things I can change so that I will be enough for you. Make it a hundred if you have too, I just want to be enough for you. Staple it to my forehead, toss me in the ocean. I'm not here for your approval, only my own, and I don't think I'll be content in who I am until I'm something you think is worthwhile. Push me on the ground and kick me as hard as you can, make this pale skin your canvas, I want bruises and blood, six broken bones and a concussion to match. Make me hate you. Babe, all I've got is love.

Touch me, one last time, but don't let go until the end of this lifetime. This love became a competition long ago, and boy do I love to win. Tonight the universe spoke to me and it told me here is where I need to be, and I think it wants me to fight. Put on your armor, give me some weapons, I'm here for the long haul and I'm taking every prisoner I can. Touch me because I am weak and I need to learn to be strong so I can withstand this, 'cause baby this love feels like seeing a doctor coming towards you with a needle the size of your head, "oh don't worry sweetie this will only hurt a tad", *******. I still felt it a week after. But this one, ****. I'll be lucky if it doesn't still sting in a year...

Touch me, please. I'm begging you. I need to feel alive, but you've been suffocating me and my heavy heart. How am I supposed to survive when loving you feels like death?
Jo Barber Apr 2018
I'm jittery as ****,
just plain out of luck.
Wishing I could duck
out and take just one drag.

Surely, that wouldn't be so bad.
I'm going a tad mad.
My will has never been ironclad.
Jarret M Spiler Dec 2015
He crawls out of the mud,
starving for light,
no matter what the cost.

All he needs is an inkling,
just a tad,
just a moment,
just a rhythm,
To know he's winning.

he seeks
may be pure,
may be white,
but absent of light,
for the man in blight.

A great man doesn't fall from the sky,
He crawls out of the mud,
wet, raw, and ready to fight.
Charity starts at home don't we say?
Be kind to your kith and kin come what may.
A family's not only your safe haven
Tis pals your very own roots
Water these shoots with love devoid of hate
So they bear you sweeter fruits.

Maybe you'd say that's not so easy
but perhaps that's coz you just too busy
Or your clock just don't chime
for quality family time?
For if you can't make time for a letter or a hug
Then let my poem give your conscience a gentle tug.

And if this may sound like a very preachy homily
Deserves much more mention and affection the family
If you can make time for so many other things
some of them not even worthwhile
Try discover the happiness family brings
Just a tad modify that routine lifestyle.

My words in crystal clear clarity
sing compassion is likewise a charity
Charity need not be for strangers only
Find out who needs help in kindred and family
Ties of kinship severe not
Value the relations you've got
Your siblings, cousins from your family tree
and all else that you call family.

What supports and buttresses your family tree are your very own roots
And what keeps the tree living on are your beloved offshoots
Love and regard is quintessential to reaping  sweeter fruits
My cover pic reflects my newest poem, it's selected from the Internet
Shlomo Jan 18
And…it’s here. A future. Agile? I was not enough to be.

Black in it’s entirety. A new beginning and a new ending.

Clockwork. As though a plan hatched by some supreme being.

Dear dog, which came first? Was it the white or the black?

Either way, it effortlessly taints your profoundly glorious genes.

**** this! Atrocious. Drugs?!

Goodness me. How did we get to this?

Horrible, dehumanising, and it’s here to stay.

“Suppresses”. But really only in the mildest of ways.

As if to constantly remind you of the control you once had.

Now ceded in it’s entirety to a tad bit of fad.
Genaro Talavera Jun 2017
Peace at unbalance,
Slightly cocked to the left
is as good as it might get
Center is unnatural

my stomach can near, not bear it
Slightly jealous
Just so my heart can hurt
A tad, a bit.

Handsome in a monsterus way
Lazy eye
and a beard that quite won't fill

It took awhile to learn how to tie my shoe.
It's fine , I like laughing
Poetry too, I'd like to think so
Almost good
mariamme Mar 2018
is a thought i had the other day
thinking, as one does, back
to when life was
just a little more junked-up.
as easy as it may seem, i was
a little bit more verbose those days,
foul-mouthing my way through my problems
and strangely,
call me a printer's press because
the grease kept coming and the pages kept coming
(and i was one squeaky wheel, you know)
and it seems to me a tad lopsided
how junked-up living overflows
into creative spaces, and
while picking through the flotsam and jetsam of
your overhyped depression and paranoia,
lightning strikes from a fed-up God,
tired of your long-winded prayers,
sizzle the brain's juices
and out comes a fresh verse to lay down
into another page of those worn out notebooks
so why does a person seem prolific
when they've just got a lot of problems?
frustrated with the vast amount of work i was able to create during a rough patch in my life as opposed to a more calm period in my life, producing very little of merit :(
empty seas Nov 2018
the fire whispered apologizes in her ear
begging for her embrace once again
she began to waver
just a tad
but then she looked around
at the fire’s history all around them
she saw the destruction, the hate, the lies
and suddenly she remembered
the healing burns
on her skin
her resolve hardened
she would not excuse the pain
fire does not regret what it hurts
it only begs for more to burn

bad metaphors? bad metaphors
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