"thrifty" poems
724
It’s easy to invent a Life—
God does it—every Day—
Creation—but the Gambol
Of His Authority—
It’s easy to efface it—
The thrifty Deity
Could scarce afford Eternity
To Spontaneity—
The Perished Patterns murmur—
But His Perturbless Plan
Proceed—inserting Here—a Sun—
There—leaving out a Man—
5.8k
Thrums the bee waggle-dance in a haunt of Indian horsepaths,
Or the shaking leaf one second past the strike of galloping rain
/ Parsimonious lightning, thrifty in its jagged stalks
Against this night of heavy-hearted oaks /
Then the hay-fringed bale of sleep, rolled into a valley of slowed breathing,
Through parting cloud-diabolique, poison-peers the wet toadback of Autumn,
Glowing moon-gristle in the bosky wolf’s beard with its wireframe of teeth.
Sep 30, 2021
Sep 30, 2021 at 8:19 PM UTC
This terribleness. The blur of traffic lights and puddles paints Los Angeles on my face at night. It's so hard to know who will doze in my blind spots. Sunflower seeds and ******* lining the carpet. I sat on the front porch for five hours gutting the wolves from my appendices. Usually the headaches go away with the squashing of the lights. Fluorescents are the worst, halogens second, and 60-watt 120-volt light bulb the bane of my existence. I look at my phone but I cannot summon a quirky 120 character quip. I need excedrin but all I have to grape flavored children's aspirin. I should have asked for the water. How many unfinished glasses of water have I left around this world?
Maybe Bruce and I will squash after work. I can hear his weekly catalog of two night stands with those married transient women who drive from Santa B. I hate golf, I could have made carried a career in this resentment. Maybe rolling down the window will alleviate some of this pressure. Maybe it's barometric pressure, The Baby is here in time to drag the houses out to sea. It feels like Michelangelo is carving The David in my head and it's the chiseling I've never wanted. It's Tuesday and the drugs were horrible. They killed five of them today. We wrapped their heads in blankets from the Thrifty, and had to have the interns find clothes that would fit for the Christian caskets. Two days until Giving Thanks Day.
I am wrapped in copper and stuck in amber. I am acquitted by nonsense and stipulation, sick with nausea and pushing my forehead into the steering wheel. This is all terrible. The lying I've never told myself. The people that don't even know it's lying. Her and I always seem to escape with our happiness and pleasure in tow. The odds are slim, but our clothes have never fit too tightly.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
The Annual POCU Fashion Show held by the campus organization “People of Color United,” was held in the Student Activities Center on Saturday, April 18. The fashion show is the final activity of the year held by POCU. Junior Martell Prayear and senior Miranda Jackson were the show’s hosts and announcers.
The fashion show is a competition where various designers, or teams of designers, are required to create outfits that adhere to a general theme, but also incorporate the designer’s unique, personal concepts. This year, the general theme for the fashion show was: Thrift Shop. Each designer, or group of designers, was required to utilize clothes purchased from the local Goodwill and maintain a $50 budget. Preparations for the event, Jackson said, were very short. “I was really surprised how well it turned out, because we started practicing for the show at four o’clock that day,” Jackson said. “They typically start practicing way a head of time.” Despite the delayed preparation, the fashion show was an overall success. The first designer to present at the fashion show was Victoria Webster.
Webster’s fashion line was inspired by professional work attire. “I think it can be hard transitioning college wear into professional wear, on a budget,” Webster said of her outfits. Webster was able to find three models to wear the clothes, which she said was a combination of the model’s personal items, as well as those purchased through Goodwill. The second fashion line presented at the fashion show was designed by Iyana Lynch. For her personal theme, Lynch designed outfits that were inspired by the different seasons. The third designer to present that evening was Alyssa Nieset. Inspired by 90’s menswear, Nieset designed a line of androgynous outfits. The final clothing line presented was a team effort from: Jeanita Blue and Angel Powell.
Their theme was considered “90’s Reloaded,” and featured various throwbacks to 1990’s pop culture such as TLC and The Spice Girls. Blue said that most of the outfits in their fashion line were inspired by “eco-friendly fashion,” and were intended to decrease hesitation toward shopping at thrift stores. While the judges finalized the scores for each designer or team, the Urban Dance Association entertained the crowd with a quick performance. The judge’s scores resulted in a tie between Jeanita Blue & Angel Powell, and Iyana Lynch. Despite the general tie, Blue and Powell were awarded first place, while Lynch was granted second place. There was an off-campus reception held in Cleveland after the event. Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/purple-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/green-formal-dresses
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
No,
not short poems.
honest to goodness
short shorts,
jean-like short shorts.
No,
not those kinds that
the young girls wear,
jean lookalike stretch fabric,
skin so tight it makes
their ole daddies' faces
wince the same color blue.
in the middle muddle of fall,
now you write of short shorts?
Well, I was told I could not write this
till after the summer was final gone
from the rear view mirror glass.
Once I wrote/imagined about
a woman of a certain age,
who emptied her armoire drawers,
time to transition and take things
that could no longer be,
to the thrift shop,
for others to be
thrifty in.
Except for one bathing suit,
a two piece back from the days,
when two pieces meant
you were proud
of what you had and
what you didn't have -
the same suit she was
wearing grabbing her little son,
then a man of six or seven,
(now a dad with a son,
of three or six or seven),
in the photo on the night table,
some thirty dreams ago.
Man you take a long time to make a point!
what's all this got to do with short shorts?
one summer day,
a woman I know,
an actual
fire-breathing dragon,
went thru the drawers
of her ***** blonde armoire.
there she "found" a pair of
shorts shorts, from some
thirty dreams ago.
it did not take
too much encouragement,
just a little courage
to try them on,
thirty dreams later.
now these short shorts
were the old fashioned kind,
they look liked cut off jeans
but were not, they had rolled up
cuffed bottoms to increase the illusion.
They no longer fit!
Yup.
******* short shorts were
loose
around that curvaceous waist,
known as my favorite place.,
where I rested my head once again,
after,
we celebrated.
that is my poem about short shorts
that I've been carrying round
until the curfew was lifted.
but even tho I like short shorts,
I'll never ask someone to wear them,
risking scorn and mockery,
but I know for a fact,
those short shorts did not
get thrown out.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 8:10 AM UTC
You can identify your own flaws by scrutinizing strangers.
I watched a woman
from across a platform
at the subway station:
Straight, dishwater-blonde hair
glimmering in the subterranean fluorescence;
striking posture—
a dancer's figure—
and a thrifty ensemble that bespoke good taste
in spite of budgetary constrictions.
She pulled a circular compact from her purse
the way people in films exhume a pack of cigarettes.
Then, in deliberate fashion,
she removed a pill and swallowed it.
Birth control is like receiving a governor's pardon
in the process of planning a crime.
I resent her having that kind of indemnity.
I pass judgment on assumptions of character,
high on the blissful soapbox of bigotry.
As that pill crested the ridges of her teeth
and met the soft tissue of her tongue, then esophagus,
my mind conjured a phantasmagoria of lewd images
on the surrounding subway walls--
more a reflection of my character
than hers.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
Be afraid.
The breakdown of civilization
is at the hands of our well-meaning,
overly thrifty,
spoon-wielding mothers.
Be very afraid.
They are entranced by spices
and covering condiments,
pepper and powder,
onion and garlic galore.
Gingerly they add cumin and dill,
cinnamon, nutmeg or cloves
with thyme to add sage and curry,
parsley, paprika and allspice.
Their casseroles become
zombie food
as the dead
reanimates.
These cheese-added monsters,
hungry for mystery-meat,
render brains to mush
and bind our bowels.
They stiffen our gait
with numbness and nausea
until we are rendered victims
of another pepto-pandemic.
And in the night
of the living dead,
feeding us salt
in a casserole apocalypse,
we panicked victims become
the casseroles we consume.
Now paralyzed
in fear
by the light
of the open refrigerator.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 1:00 PM UTC
Like sugar from a shaker, snow falls on Saul the baker
delivering steamy biscuits from the shop he calls his home
to a drafty run down mansion where the princess on her pension
can be testy with her tension, hence she's living on her own.
Today he took her order, "One fresh bagel, for a quarter
'cause I haven't seen the likes of one since I left my childhood home".
Well he'd never baked a bagel, but he's not one to finagle
and wanting just to please her, finds a recipe from Rome.
And he's thinking to himself, "I must be way out of mind~
no woman's gonna want a baker's life"
but he carries deep inside his heart, the will to be a friend
hoping someday she will come around and one day be his wife.
So to win her deep affection he packs up his best confection
takes his chances on the back roads, now iced over in the storm.
Finds her waiting in the foyer with her thrifty 5 cent lawyer
complaining 'bout the day old bread and... "this bagel isn't warm!"
So..... he heats it on the fire, 'cause her heart is his desire
but she won't accept the bagel for it's not quite the right form
And he's thinking to himself, "I must be way out of mind
no woman gonna want a baker's life"
but he carries deep inside his heart, the will to be a friend
hoping someday she will come around and one day be his wife.
So he runs back to his bagel board and pounds the dough and rolls a cord
and shapes the perfect circle to a bagel lovers dream,
He boils and then he bakes it and to her mansion then he takes it
piping hot but now she wants it with churned butter from fresh cream!
Well he's starting to get antsy but he knows the farmer, Clancy
whose butter is fresh-churned and known by counties far and wide.
He heads out to the pasture and he buys what he is after
and returns to find, 'tis so unkind, the princess, she had died.
The baker in his stricken state swallows the bagel off the plate
he calls the cops, pulls out the stops and serves the day old bread.
He gives the details more than once of how he ate the evidence
and though he thought his story bought, they arrested him instead.
"Tis a likely story", was the only thing he heard
although they'd bought his baked goods, they could not buy his word.
"The Baker is a Butcher", is what the tabloid said,
"better to take your bagel cold than take it in the head."
But all was not as it appears, she owed the butcher in arrears
and when they went to check her craw they found a hunk of mutton.
It ended all without a trial, the butcher he did reconcile
and posted "Pay the butcher now and do not to be a glutton."
And Saul was thinking to himself, " I must be way out of mind",
no woman's gonna want a baker's life",
but he carried deep inside his heart the will to be a friend
and it turned rather nicely as she willed him in the end.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
Jamming jellyfish
Top-Me
((Giddy App Seahorse))
The horseradish on
my lap______
The jolly Jelly
Gefilte Fish
Little help from my friends
How we click the laptop
One dent to Deceive me
The Rock and Rolling
Stomach his smoke went
Like *** Cheese)
he leaves me
The spicy tongue map
Z-Top Zany Chilli Pepper____
your # tap dance tap
Italian top of
the cheese designer skirt
The outskirts of Naples
Her sweet dimples, please
The Islands of Sicily
So many Cheese forms
Terms of Endearment
Mama Mia Murano-Positano
Her lips of Romano Cheese
(To Top Me) Challenge me
Cheese doesn't mix
with cappuccino,
she's the Capri
Ala Denti
Cheese Wiz chair
Mediterranean Wines
Bear men doing low
sips of time
the grisly(Z) pour
The car smelled like
Flight (Top Me) Swiss air
Meet Dominique
How it went La Cirque
Anti Christ Devil Red-bed
cheese mystique
SOS to their notes
PS the junk car in
Midas the makeover
Make-up artist counter
Clinique
I could paint over your hood
Creamy mind put at ease
He's so displeased
New castle disease
Mingling social disease
She's so infectious
ZZ- Top me rock me
Eyes bloodshot you got me
And nevertheless
With twelve and V
V- Vamps tramps
and 14 karats
The French Lieutenant
Mistress Brie with heavy
bite teeth like garnets
Cher turning back time
The burlesque striptease
Come back little Sheba
Z Top Queen of Sheba
I know it's coming soon____?
All Tight claustrophobic
The tight squeeze
Him speaking
Mandarin Oranges
The British Colony
Unique Chinese languages
Her hills, San Francisco
Jack Nicholson
Comedy of China town
The American Women
Smile cheese at the Disco
The food Cantonese
style
Z muscles Hercules
Joan Rivers
Fashion Police
The Cheese of Portuguese
Its the meat market
With his nifty thrifty Neice
All Socrates
(Gromet and Cheese)
Those Brooklyn
workers
The Falcon Matese____*
More cheese Z-Top
Who could ever top
The string cheese
Silken strings became
to rest, I rest my cheese
What cheese fascinates you
Tell me?
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
busy verbalizing my merchandise
a display of teeth reefed behind my smile
because merchandise is what i am after
and The Revels watch over me
and laughter drains down through sewer grates
i am watched over
my potential client walks away
but returns again with queries
on this hot day
a smell like burnt hair raises from the gutters
and these are the streets that radiate
on this hot day
an honest clash and not some some touchy bout
and here we are
the costly coil of pushing business together ;
a lively thrive
thrifty **** you"s and a dressing down
circling the other and striking their buttons
interlaced within is a genuine pressing
toward each other goals
this partnership
swiftly made
has an extreme edge and chaotic balance
the both of us must master or abandon our productivity
shall we be served by this union
or sever fighting ?
unfit
it swerves and suffers a pity
let's keep this one brief
we manage business
handshakes
and scowl away with our wares
each of us feeling equally scammed
(we've made useful enemies at best)
i break out laughing all the same-how
and howl because i feel
that feeling that this could go on forever
and business has roots in all my moods
i crouch at the curb
the curb is abrasive
i sit
i look at the dry heat radiating off the tarmac
the slight greasy lime taste of the air passing
the roof of my mouth
the electric wires running hum into the buildings
the storm drains at the edges of the roads
where laughter siphons down to the magma of Hades
it is waning off now
and i feel vague
i stand and i scan for more players
i spot a vivid orange one
one that i may barter their aura of vigour
traded for my sketchy wares
Mar 12, 2022
Mar 12, 2022 at 9:55 AM UTC
<>
thirty years apart/making love at the midpoint/Zeno's minding the gap
<>
*we are a thrifty thirty years apart
but we make love as if it were an
after school, really hungry, special snack
laugh at myself once again
for this tom, **** 'n harried foolishness
knowing no good can come of this
other than what has already
come and gone,
life's reaffirmation is not age dependent,
we love in the light of embers brightest glow
the older man is at the midpoint trap of
Zeno's Paradox^
can never grow down to be
closer to her to her youth,
given his head start,
his slowing motion,
can never catch
her down,
or she,
up to him
physics laws forcibly insist they both have lost this race*
"In a race, the quickest runner
can never overtake the slowest,
since the pursuer must first reach the point
whence the pursued started,
so that the slower must always
hold a lead. "
as recounted by Aristotle, Physics VI:9, 239b15
*too quick to be born,
now the fastest and oldest,
though having reached
the equidistant point between,
will forever never be able to
close the gap
I mind the gap,
I mine the gap
for rousing poems,
from passion piercing fierce love making
prayers preserving the falsity of a
magic illusion of a growing nearness
that we will never grow apart,
burdened that truer is,
never ever closer
she asks me with great tenderness,
why I moisten mine eyes
after our great joy
replying, honestly
I am minding the gap
answers the broken joyous
poet of now, no way*
<>
"Mind the gap" ( listen (help. · info)) is an audible or visual warning phrase issued to rail passengers in the United Kingdom (and elsewhere) to take caution while crossing the horizontal, and in some cases vertical, spatial gap between the train door and the station platform.
^https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zeno%27s_paradoxes
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 7:44 AM UTC
oh hey, what's up? I'm your next interview!
What's that? Oh yeah! These are my favorite jeans,
you know the ones so comfortable, they're you,
so ripped and faded, comfort seam to seam?
No way. No wearing suits, that's not my style.
My hair? I like the messy look, why ask?
My favorite show starts in a little while.
Could we get on with this, speed up the task?
Your company? I haven't heard a thing.
Don't you guys sell, like, thrifty shoes and socks,
and bells? Oh, closing bell! The one they ring,
the floor, you're trading with the Payless Stocks!
Yeah, no. I don't know anything 'bout that.
I'm anti-corporation anyway.
But hey, you want to see my brand new tat?
I show it off at every gig we play.
I don't know spreadhseets, Word or Powerpoint,
but my new iPad's got those Angry Birds,
and I can show you how to roll a joint.
Hey, where's the bathroom? Got to drop some turds!
Aw, **** It's out of order, you should know.
Oh sorry dude, that silent smell's a ****
I think I'll get a mohawk, let it grow.
I'm hungry, are we done, when do I start?
This Monday? Are you kidding? Yo! High five!
Oh, wait, I'm going fishing with my girl.
How 'bout next week, whenever I arrive?
I'll celebrate my new job till I hurl!
I'm glad you like my honesty, that's fair,
to give more guys like me an equal chance.
My laid back mind's a breath of fresh new air.
and honesty's a virtue at a glance.
When I come in I'll do the best I can,
with all the missing knowledge in my head,
the many skills I'm lacking in my hand,
and all the bad production you all dread.
I'll see you when I see you Mister Boss,
I never asked your name, who gives a ****
There's something on your lip, is that lip gloss?
Oh, wait, you're not a dude? Oh, sorry ma'am!
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 11:03 PM UTC
Unsurprisingly, I'm numb.
I suppose it hasn't hit me;
Then again, I'm emotionally thrifty
When Death swings his scythe.
So many people weep and wail,
Their arms flailing
As they cry and rail
Against the All Powerful.
Yet, I am empty.
I've been to funerals aplenty,
And I'm indifferent.
Death is inevitable--it happens to us all.
For me, it means a feast of fried chicken
And lots of finger lickin'.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
We Hold These Truths to be Self-Evident
My life is bequeathed to me alone.
Title passes to me,
With my first breath.
Thus endowed, thus entrusted,
T'is my duty to throw off the
tyranny of fear and despotic rule of a
Life of looking over one's shoulder.
Therefore,
My life is mine to take,
Should I wish to choose the
Place, date, the time
To let the poetry cease,
I will announce it mostly gladly
with a blessing of
Shehecheyanu* and a
Smiling "by your leave."
Thrifty, stinking-thinking, I could hoard joy
Until such time, when best savored.
Backload the best for the latter days,
When worry was deceased,
Self-preservation necessity not a daily awakening curse,
The daylight-reminder, of my human status,
Check the box next to human stiff.
Choice,
Picking the time and place,
Freed me in away I had ne'er known,
Confounded the mind's logic,
For the heart murmured, joy is not
A penny earned and a penny saved,
But a disposable with a short shelf life.
Spend and spent it fast,
Be a spendthrift of life,
Viewed the miracle of the
Canister of oil and the burning bush
(Neither could be consumed)
Become me, and my song's refrain.
Ode to joy and self evident truths,
Owning this truth gave me
Pleasure without measure, for it
Replenished itself by daily use,
Evident then to preserve one's self
Best served by wild, mad living.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
You could never picture me in the pockets of my West Coast.
I flew out of your story and into another, and then
Even into another, always the phoenix.
No longer yours, but his.
No longer his, but mine.
Perhaps I suffered these little deaths to forge a heaven with him.
A king, he’d follow me to the ends of the earth, thrice over.
His queen I’m still too shy to let shine through,
A star stubbornly obscured by cloud.
Though before I complained of rain,
On the Island it never bothered me.
Even in the dead of winter it kept the grass emerald-green.
An emerald city:
Ivy shrouded trees; moss fluorescent.
Our castles were those green giants.
Siamese blue to denim blue.
Betwixt the Spit & Seabroom.
It was all I dreamed and ever wanted.
The only thing missing was the garden, the garden,
Sheltered by walls made of cob.
Or a whole house, the air inside delectable.
Tendril of dream,
Is a cinder girl deserving of bees,
Turning honey into mead, of wild things?
No. Exiled to a foreign land,
A barren land; the ghetto forest.
Those halcyon years now only a memory.
Ridiculous to expect the bald
Rocks to yield to a surfer’s paradise, of
Blue-green ocean. Long hairs cannot thrive under puritans’ eyes.
Green things tremble for sun.
For all the rain, I remember the sun,
Filtering down through the forest canopy,
Upheld by the cathedral’s true pillars
Rather than these thrifty spindles. In reverence of true
Beauty, all is quiet & hushed.
The birth of a princess may bring us back.
Pioneers, we’re still in search of our happy ending,
To live lush in nature’s majesty.
I know the Pacific is still out there
Roaring somewhere,
Crashing itself onto stony beaches.
Mists wreath those mountains.
The drums beat.
That muted boom, my thud of heart.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 7:32 AM UTC
What is dark and depressing is bittersweet
as what I write is wrong
and what is wrong is right
As what is thrifty is hip
and what is popular is expensive
As the caffeine in my bloodstream helps me sleep
and what keeps me awake are my screaming dreams
As my clean face is a mask
and this foundation is natural
As dollar bills can be torn
and so can this paper waste
As ants are strong creatures
but I exterminate them with my smallest finger
As your words are so soft
but are breaking me to pieces.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 5:36 PM UTC
I wonder if the music
is too loud
or if I
am just too soft.
Cut my lip
bleddin' blues into can
RED, WHITE, BLUE
My sunglasses
are $ store commodity
& clothes thrifty.
Got my all-cotton
white shirts
runnin' roun Tejas
Gallopin' legless
into
this can
& that can
SUPER IMPOSSIBLE is
Bone dead ol' wives tale.
A little trickery
Here, there, everywhere
Justa make
ma shoes fit.
Cuz no matter where ya walk there are bagpipes in the rain.
Don't forget
bout the ol'
Beer cans in the road
And numb legs
dangling
in Amsterdam Canals.
Oh buddy, & I'm
drinkin' another.
An just like that:
The blood had run
And my
can
was DONE.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
he askin' why I ran out in the rain
can't tell him he made me feel this way again
that boy's goin' to vegas at the years end
I know he likes his thai massage with a happy end
I know if I say my soul all this will end
-- Boy you've got me turning
in circles
crazy like bipolar
red hot then an icy shoulder
lost my composure
walk home rainy night
total exposure
I see the train coming
what if my shoes moved
I think my favorite-red-dress
would look best on the tracks
I see your past relationships
I'm gettin the scraps
you built an empire outa bricks
I got sticks
wolves come huffin' and puffin'
I let em' in for 120
you got the dough
my wallet empty
treasure the penny
livin off tips
just the tip
for an extra fifty
takeout thrifty
took a showa
I feel filthy
-- he askin' why I ran out in the rain
can't tell him he made me feel this way again
that boy's goin' to vegas at the years end
I know he likes his thai massage with a happy end
I know if I say my soul all this will end
-- Boy you've got me turning
in circles
crazy like bipolar
red hot then an icy shoulder
lost my composure
walk home rainy night
total exposure
guess I'm looking for a little closure
too much left to interpretation
tryin to be patien
but it's got me down in the pits
these hairy pits itch
but if you need me
call me
what's the sitch
I'll be there on the fly
'cause you my only guy
in my head I'll be asking why--what who when where
but my vocal chords would never dare
afraid one word will end it all
I just want you to give me your all.
he askin' why I ran out in the rain
can't tell him he made me feel this way again
that boy's goin' to vegas at the years end
I know he likes his thai massage with a happy end
He can get whatever whenever
nervous of all the girls passin by
he got his arm around me can't see why
scared I can't match up to the pharo
feelin' like a popper in his maro
windows covered in steam
marry me
make me a queen-
-- Boy you've got me turning
in circles
crazy like bipolar
red hot then an icy shoulder
lost my composure
walk home rainy night
total exposure
I see the train coming
what if my shoes moved
I think my favorite-red-dress
would look best on the tracks
I see the train coming
what if my shoes moved
I think my favorite-red-dress
would look best on the tracks
I see the train coming
see the train coming
see the train comin
what if my shoes moved
what if my shoes moved
my shoes moved
my favorited red dress
it looks best on the tracks
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
I meticulously pick the cracked and peeling fingernail polish from my fingers.
Staring down.
Focusing on anything but your eyes.
The beating of your heart like a metronome,
setting the rhythm of the room.
You've whispered me your secrets, stumbled in love with my evasive glances, blotted out my smudges and redecorated them in your mind.
I am your thrift store find,
a treasure, nonetheless.
I put my head against your machine of a chest,
My mouth shape the empty words into something resembling truth.
My hungry soul is a picky starving child.
Not so innocent,
I greedily collect hearts in my hands and groan as they grow heavy, too afraid to give them back.
Yours is the freshest.
I am the one weathering your heart.
With my silence. / With my tears. / With my selfishly stolen kisses.
I want to tell you to run away, but my own fear of loneliness paralyzes my tongue.
"you're beautiful, you have cute feet, and I love you."
As you slip a delicate silver shackle around my neck.
The tiny silver heart dangles above my own.
I want to tell you to run away, but my own fear of loneliness paralyzes my tongue.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
"So how much will the rental be?", he hollers.
"A thrifty fee of fifty three green dollars."
May 6, 2021
May 6, 2021 at 3:49 PM UTC
I am Authentic,
I am Beautiful,
I am Charming,
I am Delicate,
I am Elegant,
I am Faithful,
I am Gifted,
I am Honorable,
I am Idealistic,
I am Jolly,
I am Kindly,
I am Liberal,
I am Moody,
I am Neat,
I am Octavious,
I am Persistant,
I am Quaint,
I am Responsive,
I am Shy,
I am Thrifty,
I am not U,
I am Violent,
I am Wonderful,
I am X- pensive.
I am Youthful
I am Zilliant.
I am Me.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
I passed through
And it said 24 hours
And mine were running away from me
So I grabbed enough to make me forget
And I almost wanted someone to stop me
Handing them enough bills
And I walked out
And I walked to the corner
And tried to feel something
Until the bottles were empty
And so was I
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 11:08 PM UTC
Im shaking and weak,
My Face is numb I cant speak.
Still Youve gotta laugh.
Drinking Tea cos ***** makes me die,
When mate's ask I have to lie.
Still Youve gotta laugh.
In therapy for a life that knows how to ****
Oh and cos I was young when I learned to ****
Still youve gotta laugh.
Doc says I'm gonna die before im fifty
So with my time I have to be thrifty.
Still Youve gotta laugh.
Wont ever settle down when push comes to shove,
It's not fair on any one for me to fall in love.
it's such a sick joke so why not ******* laugh?
Mar 17, 2010
Mar 17, 2010 at 7:00 AM UTC
Tell me who you are.
Tell me who gave you the right.
Tell me who told you it was okay.
Who told you it was okay.
To tell a girl she isn’t beautiful because she is secure without makeup.
Who told you it was okay.
To pick on a girl because of the clothes on her back.
Who told you it was okay.
To laugh at a single teen mom who struggles on her own to give her baby life.
You.
Alone.
Being selfish and insecure.
Not knowing where you belong.
Does not make it okay.
Who gave you the right.
To take away her confidence, and smear makeup upon her beautiful skin.
Who gave you the right.
The make her hide in her home because her clothes aren’t enough.
Who gave you the right.
To take away her strength and give her baby up.
You.
Trying to fit in.
Looking for a place to belong.
Coming from a broken or ****** up home.
Does not give you the right.
Who are you.
To tell her, her confidence is ugly.
Who are you.
To tell her, her thrifty mind makes her poor.
Who are you to tell her, her strength will never be enough.
Tell me who the hell are you.
Who the gave you the right to play god.
Who the hell made it okay for you.
Ignorance isn’t bliss.
Its pain in the making.
And you are nothing but a *****
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 1:04 PM UTC
What Do Women Want?
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what’s underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I’m the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment
from its hanger like I’m choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,
it’ll be the *********
dress they bury me in.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC