Anya Jun 2015
i was the cell in your body

who lived in every part of you
who made you feel alive
who took care of your flaws
who completed you
who loved you



who got easily replaced
Xyns Apr 2015
"Now if you're talking body
You got a perfect one
So put it on me
Swear it won't take you long
If you love me right
We fuck for life
On and on and on"
Tove Lo
Higgs Oct 2012
A pair of English teachers.
They work in local schools,
Both sticklers for grammar,
They're strict about its rules.

But when the day is over,
And marking has been done,
They behave a different way,
And start to have some fun.

He says things that he shouldn't,
A big turn on for her,
He shouts out double negatives,
Says "was" instead of "were".

He splits all his infinitives,
His pronouns are not right,
He knows that he'll be punished,
They do this every night.

She beckons him to come to her,
He bends across her lap,
She tells him he's been naughty,
And gives his arse a slap.
anonymous999 Apr 2014
i am tired of talking to adults no i do not want to see a dermatologist or a psychologist or a psychiatrist or a nurse no school counselor i am definitely not having suicidal thoughts and no doctor i do not want to talk about the results of my mental health survey. of course dr. cook i am totally open to the idea of taking an antidepressant dear god i am tired of talking to adults do not want to be diagnosed i do not want to talk about it stop worrying about me, no, 'i am not depressed,' this is my life so thank you for not making me sign a life pact but leave me alone i am not going to cry in front of another strange adult. do not diagnose me. all i want is to be normal, i am tired of the pills. i am done with talking to adults
i hope you can't relate
Lixian Ng Apr 2014
I talked to a girl,
Who was texting,
On a white iPhone.
A quiet person,
forces herself in,
A conversation
with someone who isn’t interested.
Small talk.
Empty fluff.
Electronic letters,
Whet her appetite.
Chit chat is nothing.
Nothing more,
Than a pointless lesson,
On how to deal with odd people.
Lehua Lokelaulii Jul 2014
We used to talk everyday.
Having deep and detailed conversations
Talking about everything that was happening in my life
Laughing and talking for hours
But now those days are just memories
sitting in the dust
where im leaving it
because we're not the same anymore.
Steele Sep 2015
Never been there.
Can't talk about it much.
I've seen shadows on the wall.
Crying faces in my dorm hall.
I've seen reflections of friends
in the communal toilet while they Puke-TSD.
Can't talk about it much.
It's not a subject I like to touch.
Never been there.
Never talking like I've seen it all.
They have. Ask them what it's like to fall
down and check your face for scrapes
and have other people put band-aids
on your ass. ("Oops, my mistake!")
Or better yet, don't.
Don't ask me.
Don't ask them.
They can talk.
I've never been.

If they ask, you can answer with the voice of a friend.
But don't ask. Don't reopen the PTSDen
of pain and the past. Just listen if they ask.
Have some fucking courtesy till then.
Not Patty Nov 2015
It burns so much to think that his hands touched another girls' the way they touched me
I waited for him and he took advantage of me never being able to say no
and I couldn't smell the cinnamon whiskey on his breath because I was already drowning in it
but he could never touch me unless he threw a few back
Nico Reznick Jan 2016
The things we say to one another:
we could
choose
to make them mean something.

I could tell you that I love you,
even though we've never
really met. You could
tell me that you're dying
and it scares you.
We could talk about the rise and fall
of injection-moulded empires,
the rise and fall of your
mother's chest, as she
took her last breath.
We could vow to behead tyrants together.
We could promise
that we'd never fall victim
to that same sickness. We could
compare our hurts and find a
connection
in our mutual pain. We
could try to share our loneliness,
and maybe the world
would be less lonely.

Or at least we could
speak,
like you're a person
and I'm a person, like we're both
made of the same
beautiful, doomed matter,
only separated
by social convention and
accidental skin;
we could say something worth saying.

Instead: plastic bag tax, The Match,
weight loss and where to buy
the best factory-seconds shoes,
the televised finals of something or other,
the rising cost of corned beef, the
obligatory conversation piece
about the weather.

Can't we talk
just a little bit
bigger than this?
Video version available here: > https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ebHYpkKzZok
From my Kindle Collection, "Gulag 101", available here: > tinyurl.com/amz-g101
There was once a little banana
That lived in a grocery store
He loved to hang out with the other fruits
But mostly to explore

Late one night when all was quiet
He slid onto the floor
Slipping and sliding
Outside the Bakery door

Tiny cries were heard inside
Springing into action
The Brave Little Banana
Was gaining some real traction

Spinning left and spinning right
Rocking less then more
Harnessing all his banana power
He spun right through the door

Glancing up and looking down
He spies a cookie of butter
Draped across a cookie sheet
He thinks somebody cut her

She lifts her head to see his face
A tiny smile upon her lips
He reaches up to help her down
Holding her sugary hips

He steals some frosting from a knife
To patch up her little tummy
And in his best banana voice he says,
“You’re looking rather yummy”

She laughs out loud and says to him,
“It’s time for us to part,
Thank you sir and you shall be
“Forever in my Heart”

Heading back to the vegetable aisle
A super hero ”disguiser”
Hopping up on the cooling tray
No one will be the wiser
Nike Kaffezakis Sep 2010
Tap, Tap… Tap, Tap
Morse code at its finest
Each time pencil drops
A resounding click is made
Marking letters and words
With sound’s punctuation
Click, click… click, click

I wonder what it means
The code the pencils use
To communicate their thoughts
Does the pencil shout
About its abuse and misuse
Or does it cheer
For guiding hand and beauty made

What does it feel for me
It knows me as I am
Through the love poems
And the angry words
Does it agree with what I say
With what is in my soul
No matter, it’s still my closest friend

The pencil knows my confusion
But with each “tap, click”
We whisk the fogs away
With each line we write
We feel more free.
Alexis Danielle Mar 2015
Darling talking to you is better than sleeping for hours.
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