"trendy" poems
I'm a Barbie Girl,
in a Barbie World.
Life's fantastic: I
feel like plastic,
aiming for an eighteen-inch waist because I can afford to throw my internal organs away.
I feel like plastic,
having to choose
between eating and breathing with not enough space for two tubes.
I feel like plastic,
a thirty-nine inch bust and three times the forehead.
I feel like plastic,
a size nine squeezed to a three, spending
three to nine avoiding mealtime because my weight loss book says
'Don't eat.'
I'm a Barbie Girl,
in a Barbie World.
Life's fantastic, but...
I'm not plastic.
I've sat here listening while you complain about society but I don't think you realize that
society is made by you.
You complain about masks but you're masked by your poetry and
trust me,
it's trendy:
Psychiatry.
A bottle of capsules captures your soul and your dreams,
fading
reality.
I cannot be defined because a definition leaves no room for change and I
am a flame,
ready to burn the cardboard box of priority you put over me.
All the cool kids are lesbians and thespians on about repressions
and I care,
I do,
I mean... I'm standing here among you.
But words are just air.
You can stand on this stage and tell me I'm beautiful, but
I am more than my face so
disregard my mild distaste for your
inspirational speech.
Now, this...
This isn't a call for help.
This is a call to arms.
This
is a battle cry because
I
am sick of waiting for a future that should've happened yesterday.
So use this air to live the words you say and
rally.
Do not soothe, because we've already been cocooned by soothed reality in
Shawnee,
Johnson County.
I'm a real girl,
in a real world.
Life's fantastic, and I
refuse to be plastic,
aiming for generic weight range based on content, not scale number.
I refuse to be plastic,
a neck moulded perfectly for both eating and breathing so I don't have to choose.
I refuse to be plastic,
a bust that you don't need to be sizing
when I've got eyes
a green not of romanticized meadows but of drunken
puke.
I refuse to be plastic,
a size nine foot in a size nine shoe,
spending three to nine
enjoying my meal times,
because my weight loss book is
chucked down the chute.
I'm a living girl
in a beautiful world.
Life's fantastic,
because I'm not plastic.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
The only proper way to be a conversationalist is to convince yourself that you’re boring. If you can strip back the hard shell of the ego, and look down on yourself from the eyes of an apathetic God, you will likely (and hopefully) see just how boring you really are. It isn’t a sin to be boring, in fact there are many advantages to honest self-depreciation.
The main advantage, is the way you approach a conversation. “Interesting” people find it difficult to silence the affected score-keeper that dominates their internal dialogue and ruins any chance of an honest and engaged conversation. It is the voice that reminds you to show interest with your body language, and keep a dumb happy gaze laser pointed into their eyes. This dialogue is obsessed with authenticity and genuine conversation, and therefore a natural sociopath.
Luckily, you are the stunning definition of boredom, an extracted dictionary cut-out of un-interesting, and nobody could possibly give a rats-ass what you have to think—least of all the Voice that controls the inner-dialogue. That Voice has packed it up to find a more interesting vessel…maybe the person standing across from you in conversation.
Because you are so boring, and they are the Oxford personification of intellect and fascination, you should pay careful attention to what they say—no time to worry about how they’re perceiving your reaction to whatever it is they’re saying. You are too busy to notice what sort of body language you may or may not be using to validate their half of the conversation. Instead, your time is spent carefully hanging on their every word, digesting it and projecting the whole bit into a colourful scene in your imagination. Instead, you’re too lost in the excitement of their infinitely more interesting life and impossible wealth of knowledge offered to you with each word that they speak. Instead, you are actually listening to the words that come out of their mouth and not the ones that speak to you from the inside of your own mind.
This is what it means to be in conversation. This was the point of our social nature. And in a world of needy social-media junkies grabbing at the cuffs of potential ‘followers’ and ‘likes’ and trendy passer-by’s, the last thing anyone needs is the high-pitched whine of another “interesting” millennial.
Lucky for you, you boring sack of yawning sloths, that you aren’t interesting too.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
<><><><><><>
Talk nerdy to me
It's my thing!
Use words so pedantic
They're obtusely romantic
Let's politick and homilize
(For philosophy use French and Chinese)
We'll ramble until we're halfway wise
Or let's invent a new word, at least
Talk nerdy to me
SNL and X-Men
Then note the plot holes
With a trendy quill pen
If you can't talk nerdy to me,
Just be yourself. That's also gutsy
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
You agree
When you want to shout, curse, and swear
The Almighty....answer this weeping willow
Made of concrete air
Of unfeeling movement
You cower behinds browned bodies, montezuma minds, and your license
Power to go as you please, be as you please, please help me to see
The inner child trapped in mordant cornerstones, and sitting on your own weight
To grasp the folly by the throat and twist him into existance
Not so much absolution
In agreement with other fancies
Prayers unanswered
Dwelling on ginger hands and knees
In *********** when his course has never enter into being....real
Or really close
His path to plunge thick into purple passionate trance
His path askew from my own
Though a followed trendy line
A drink
When it makes your journey into trees, and speed, and gluttony
A laugh
When scorned mouth spewed and sput into russet wounds already *****
A smoke
When it clogs your memory into patchwork and quilted thoughts unwoven
Youre unspoken!
You agree?
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
Dissociation:
noun
the disconnection or separation of something from something else or
the state of being disconnected.
CHEMISTRY
the splitting of a molecule into smaller molecules, atoms, or ions,
especially by a reversible process.
PSYCHIATRY
separation of normally related mental processes, resulting in one group functioning independently from the rest, leading in extreme cases to disorders such as multiple personality.
Dissociation is not trendy.
It’s not just depression or starring into space.
It’s so much more
It’s crawling away form reality and making
a home in your head.
Losing contact with your body.
Dissociation is not knowing who you are.
Dissociation is watching yourself in third person.
Dissociation is feeling so scared that you’d rather loose
yourself entirely then live in the present.
Dissociation is not always multiple personalities
but sometimes no personality.
It’s losing time.
It’s not recognizing those you love.
It’s having little to no memory of
anything that happened after the fifth grade.
its knowing faces but not exactly sure where
from.
It’s a defense mechanism.
It’s writing your name on the back of your hand to not
completely lose all of you.
It’s wearing a rubber band to snap yourself back
because you have taught yourself to know
when you are losing yourself
It’s getting help,
because you know in your very few
lucid moments that this is not normal.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 9:37 AM UTC
I like to laugh and smile
like any other kid
but you decided that
I was undeserving
of being liked
of being loved
of being myself
I wasn't cool
I wasn't trendy
I wasn't sporty
I was just being myself
I am quirky
I am intellegent
I am creative
You Don't care!
You are relentless
You are misguided
You are ruthless
Who hurt you so bad?
You have friends
You have fashion
You have popularity
Is that not enough?
I am now untrusting
I am now anxious
I am now depressed
It still hurts till this day!
I have grown to resent you!
I have grown to hate you!
Why aren't you dead yet?
I'm sure the feeling is mutual
You hurt me
because
Someone hurt you
When does this vicious cycle end?
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 12:06 PM UTC
She may not have been your prototype teen or hiree.
Or of the masses. Or herd.
However, she did walk into a McDonald's
approach the counter
emit an esoteric exchange for help with the cashier
and with knowing eyes
the cashier directed her to the starting gate.
Now
with application in hand
and blue ribbons in her eyes
she was off to the horse races,
nervousness riding on her shoulders.
In my eyes, she was a longshot to win,
where I could see her shoes falling off
before the race started.
And her imaginary jockey falling off her horse
from laughing so hard,
for she presented herself through the restaurant
and a job interview with a Starbucks frappe,
totally oblivious of her unwrapping.
It would be like turning up for a Yankee's job
in a Red Sox outfit.
Who would do this?
As the rubberneckers, I looked on.
Incredulous.
She took her seat at a vacant table
carrying her youth awkward.
Her looks of brown hair, eyes, and raw innocence
complimentary.
But those jeans, high risers, with holes in the knees
with a white Bebe shirt that hugged her shape
shouted trendy but not job interview.
Oh, my.
She continued the procession
extracting info from her phone
and filling out her application.
No doubt with votive candles at her side
and prayers on her lips.
And perhaps blue ribbons awaiting.
After all, this was her foot in the door.
It was at this time
I had an epiphany moment
tears welling in my eyes
as I slipped on hamburger choices
and sipped on past life on a teether,
totally oblivious, too.
It was like looking in the mirror.
Her youth and awkwardness and my growing decadence
towards the light.
When the manager came in and summoned her
to the interview table,
which was located in the dining room,
I saw a little kitten purr inside of her,
where her eyes nervously checked her surroundings.
At first introduction,
the reddening blush on her face and Adam's apple
stood pronounced
but her low voice was choked.
Almost inaudible.
As the manager put her calming hands
into hers
the light turned on
all foreboding escaping.
All misplaces and tense faces replaced with aces.
This was a defining moment for her,
as the golden arches braced her feet,
making all the rubberneckers, me, proud.
Logan Robertson
6/6/2018
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
I'll have me an Irish Coffee,
make sure the coffee's fresh and stout,
add a dash of dairy cream,
and do NOT leave the whiskey out!
http://beautyineverything.com/4819896887
Here's the ****** recipe:
"Black coffee is poured into the mug. Whiskey and at least one level teaspoon of sugar is stirred in until fully dissolved. The sugar is essential for floating liquid cream on top.[11] Thick cream is carefully poured over the back of a spoon initially held just above the surface of the coffee and gradually raised a little.[12] The layer of cream will float on the coffee without mixing. The coffee is drunk through the layer of cream. To ensure the integrity of the ingredients of Irish Coffee, NSAI, Ireland's national standards body published an Irish Standard, I.S. 417 Irish Coffee in 1988.[13]"
D-NOTE--It doesn't say a ******* THING about adding Bailey's Irish Creme or canned whipped topping and a plastic shamrock to the top of the ********* drink, now does it???
Anyone making Caife Gaelich with trendy ******** add-ons should be beaten with a shillelagh!
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 3:07 AM UTC
Pretty Little Cup Cake Store:
I walk through the door.
Somehow I think it will
Cheer me up.
A white iced-pink sprinkled cupcake
Will help me forget.
While unwrapping the trendy black and baby blue doted baking paper
Will bring back the past again.
But, even I know it is a ruse
A joke I play on myself.
You know the owners are some super hot soccer moms whose family invested in their latest project.
Those **** bakers with pretty white aprons
And size two retro-pink waitress uniforms;
Smiling and cooing at the lavender infused cake
That makes this treat go down so smooth.
A gluten-free icing with a garnish of kumquat.
This will land their pictures on the local news.
I am not a size two.
I will just as soon eat a nutty-buddy by Little Debbie
But, this trendy cupcake cafe, makes me feel I am one of those
Pretty ladies in the retro pink waitress uniform.
Kinda like a celebration, for a party of one.
I am not a hot pretty stick chick
I will buy four, five or six of those pretty cupcakes.
Pretending I am buying a hostess gift.
But, the truth.....
My husband forgot that we married
8 years ago this day.
I will pay too much for too little product: but the cake box is cute
I will sit in my car
Eating, till my teeth hurt.
I will rationalize; that I will cleanse tomorrow.
I will go home.
He will ask how I am, while staring at the TV.
"Shussh" he will say, "I'm trying to hear."
There is no use to remind him
He will play the tired "I'm-in-the-dog-house game."
I prefer stuffing four, five or six pretty little cupcakes
Into my mouth then listening
To his tired apologies, weak little lies and false promises of a planned
Surprise.
Instead; I will go to my room; then my private bath:
I will stick my fingers down my throat
And cough up my life.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC
whenever i go online shopping,
no matter if it's
high end, low end, or in between,
i would always sort the items
from low to high.
not only because it's a safe way to shop
and that it makes me look like
i take budgeting seriously,
but that's the only thing i can afford.
talk about me,
a high middle class kid that tries
DESPERATELY
to not spend so much on
the things he wants
rather than the things he needs
while still unemployed
and in college
as well as getting many allowances from his parents.
you are COMPLETELY allowed to say
that i am spoiled,
i understand and am aware of that.
as i scroll down and observe
the price tags slowly rising up,
$10, $15, $29.99, $49.99, $79.99,
until it hits $3,000,
i not only thought,
"how do you think that
it was a good idea to make that
simple, plain jacket
in such a high price?"
but i also had to admit that
i really did wanted that jacket
since i thought it looked cute.
the problem with that is:
most of the stuff i wish i have
in my wardrobe,
they would all usually be so expensive,
especially since most of the stuff
i want to have is from
high end streetwear brands.
i would see almost every celebrity
wear my future wardrobe,
all looking so confident,
trendy,
iconic,
stylish.
oh, how i wish to be like them, sometimes.
how i wish to be rich.
how i wish to not worry about saving money.
how i wish to just show off iconic outfits
from amazing high end brands.
how i wish to have what i always wanted.
i know i should be content
with what i have.
i mean there always will be
other solutions to wear something
inspired by designer clothes
i've dreamed to have.
but **** would i look good in that
$3,000 jacket.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 1:51 AM UTC
Upper East Side
The Hamptons
Aspen, Colorado
The plastic people
Follow each other
Moving in herds
Like cattle to the
Slaughter
Drifting
Floating
Shifting focus
From one charity event
To another
Whatever’s trendy
Whatever’s fashionable
Whatever’s happ’ning
Whatever’s the need
Tainted new artists
Society’s rejects
The film-maker who fits in with
The flavor of the month
The disease or the cause
That captures the moment
Stigmas overlooked
Deformities relieved
By one hyper exertion
By one pseudo good deed
Changing bedrooms
Changing partners
New alliances
Noblesse oblige
Mrs. Astor’s
Four hundred
Reinvented forever
Reinvented with fervor
On the edge
Of hypocrisy
Keeping up with the Jones’s
Maintaining the houses
Paris, Rome, Cote du Jura
Malibu, Palm Beach
Couture fashion
Madison, Rodeo
Worth avenues united
Avenues of the liege
Location, location, location
The right address unspoken
Dinner in the right places
Sporting events to be seen
Three martini luncheons
Halcion evenings
Business is business
Where money’s retrieved
Look to plastic people
For fashionable guidance
No matter the moment
No matter the need
Remember to catch them
While jetting to Santa Barbara
Saint Maarten, San Troupe
San Marco, warp speed
They live in their milieu
Can’t function outside it
Can’t follow a shadow
That others believe
It’s easy to find them
They leave behind footprints
But barely a mem’ry
Or singular creed
Other than finding
The latest in fashion
The latest persona
Or new plastic breed
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:19 AM UTC
Anybody that is anybody knows the most fabulous and trendy accessory are socks.
Crew, No-Show, Knee high.
The ever versatile socks are the most righteous thing.
The Ancient Greeks may have had some dark ages, but they were the first people that we know of that thought,
Hey shoes are cool, but what if we made them more flexible and soft.
Thus the mighty sock was born.
Now there are some of you who may think completely different about socks.
Maybe they are boring, or annoying.
You are feeling the Albert Einstein side of socks. (He didn’t wear socks because he didn’t see the point, tragic huh?)
Well friends, though you may be genius you are completely idiotic.
Socks are little hugs wrapped around your feet. All day. They are like butterfly kisses that mae you smile every time you look down. What is better than that?
The answer is nothing.
Queen Freaking Elizabeth loved socks and went to the inventor of the knitting machine (which was originally created to make socks) to have custom socks made.
Not only are socks just incredibly wonderful and stylish, they were invented to help save the world… from sticky feet.
Socks help prevent your human sweat drops from seeping into your shoes, making a perfect nesting place for the teenage mutant ninja turtles. Disgusing
In conclusion, nothing can or ever will be more awe founding or perfect than socks
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 8:53 PM UTC
Dear Santa
all i want for Christmas is a penny lover
a women that enjoys the small things in life
the lincolns instead of the benjamins
thrift instead of trendy
peanut butter instead of steak
my bottom shelf written poems instead of polish
the small things in life, Santa
the small things
is that too much to ask for
your gift to me
sans the star spangled spangled
the fireworks
the silver, glitter and confetti
i would endear
can you help me Santa
i dream
i dream real
a simple snowfall
me with her on the bunny trail
doing the bunny hop
later sharing a hot cocoa
borrowing heat, and time
Santa in my dream
i can see my mirror
a pincher
a thinker
wrapped pretty
maybe in ancient ski gear and attire
but together
and maybe in love
santa, in retrospect
i ask for a lot
because my heart would be filled
Merry Christmas
Logan Robertson
12/3/17
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 7:45 PM UTC
A few years back,
I used to look like a hag,
Dark circles,
Plain cheeks,
Messy long hair,
No sleek,
Shaggy clothes,
All creased,
Now, penciled eyes,
Powdered face ( not literally ),
Short hair,
Neat ponytail ( I'm almost there ),
Branded clothes,
Gucci, Dior, Chanel and many more,
Red lips,
Ready to glaze,
Trendy clothes in my closet,
Still yearning for more,
Shoes of all kinds,
Heels, sneakers and boots,
How time passes,
Transforming into puberty.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 5:43 AM UTC
the way mental health is treated really bothers me,
you shouldn’t want to be
depressed
or anxious
because you think its trendy or fun.
disorders are not adjectives you can just spew out at your leisure,
they are real things that hurt people and ruin lives.
you shouldn’t fear telling your friends,
your parents,
your lover,
that you might have a serious problem,
that you are worried about yourself.
you’re not sick or broken,
you might need help but that doesn’t make you a bad person,
right?
you shouldn’t be scared to see a doctor,
to see someone that can help you,
simply because you don’t want to be characterized as:
"they just couldn’t handle the pressure",
"why are you doing this to us?",
"you just want attention",
the walking freak show.
with all your faults,
character flaws,
every cell and every misconnected neuron,
you are still a human being.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 1:34 AM UTC
**Tupac said: **** the world**
And on the first day he wept
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Because he knew God had slept
**Tupac said: **** the world**
No promises to be broken or kept
**Tupac said: **** the world**
This baby was already in debt
**Tupac said: **** the world**
In anger there is no word of thanks
**Tupac said: **** the world**
*He **** sure wasn't shooting blanks*
**Tupac said: **** the world**
So I ask why am I so sheltered?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
And act so self-centered?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Is it because my Mom held me?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
And she was always there for me?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Why can't I see his point of view?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Why are white people so scared of you?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
He was a product of real life
**Tupac said: **** the world**
His bottle was a switchblade knife
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Yeah we thought he was a criminal
**Tupac said: **** the world**
His anger was not so subliminal
**Tupac said: **** the world**
So while we give thanks and pray
**Tupac said: **** the world**
It seems we really just look away
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Man what's wrong with that boy?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
A gun in his hand ain't no toy
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Where was he supposed to go?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
*What if you were raised by a **
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Are we in a position to judge?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Maybe it's us we should begrudge
**Tupac said: **** the world**
What should offend you more?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
The reality you try to ignore?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
The shock of all the profanity?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Or the fact of his poverty?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
He knew he was disposable
**Tupac said: **** the world**
A gangsta rappers's not so lovable
**Tupac said: **** the world**
That was the only way to survive
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Nobody cared if he lived or died
**Tupac said: **** the world**
The industry only wants the money
**Tupac said: **** the world**
But they never called him honey
**Tupac said: **** the world**
He was dead before he was born
**Tupac said: **** the world**
But he could rhyme about scorn
**Tupac said: **** the world**
And now he's dead and gone
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Did you think he was wrong?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
He knew how to die better than you
**Tupac said: **** the world**
What do you pay attention to?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Reality tv and some situation?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
*Being trendy and ************
**Tupac said: **** the world**
The money really didn't really matter
**Tupac said: **** the world**
He kept up the harsh street chatter
**Tupac said: **** the world**
He wasn't climbing no social ladder
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Because his heart could never gather
**Tupac said: **** the world**
All the Lord's blessings
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Like flowers and angel's wings
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Living on the streets instead
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Where the ladder is full of lead
**Tupac said: **** the world**
The lead of pain and bullets
**Tupac said: **** the world**
And not soft golden nuggets
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Of love and tenderness
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Just blood and nothingness
**Tupcac said: **** the world**
So who is holding him now?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Is he where love will allow?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
A man to become a boy?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
A boy with happiness to enjoy?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
You don't like gangstas rapping like crooks
**Tupac said: **** the world**
There's no page for him in the good book
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Were his sins from his mother and father?
**Tupac said: **** the world**
And those who would string up a brother
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Try to just say no when your ship ain't sailin'
**Tupac said: **** the world**
Hey God what is it that you were sayin'?
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
that trendy heroin(e) addiction
becomes you- and your fiction
goes well with the pale
-skinned thin western booted
blue-eyed shooter
riding sidesaddle
on your scooter
does she kiss like me
and bring you coffee?
i could lay you both down
in the in-betweens
and make heaven-
til hell is heavy as a monday
track day in albuquerque
while she sells your jewelry
in sante fe where it's trendy
-i'll be waiting
on the blue mesa.
r ~ 9/19/14
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
Bigger things are easier to see. You might miss a humming bird or bee. You won't miss a condor or eagle. The opposite is true for people.
How can that be? If there's more of me, why am I impossible to see?
Invisibility isn't a cloak or spell. It's your fat pants stretched thin and worn as hell. It's the T-shirt you never thought you'd fit now threadbare and torn in the armpit.
There's just more of you to love, I thought the saying went. Well there I was feeling only torment. Faces fell when I said no, I'm not pregnant.
Does love bloat like this body of mine? Does it get watered down like cheap wine?
My back, my legs, everything hurt. My body just didn't work. If not by plane, by train, or car, I wasn't getting very far.
I longed for someone to scoop me up, to cradle me and gently rock.
I didn't fit in anyone's arms and briefly flirted with self harm.
Twice at work I took to crying. It went unnoticed without my trying.
The wrong solution looked too friendly and as of late, far too trendy.
Left alone I pondered fate. If I died, I'd be dead weight.
I felt stuck forever like dried cement. Sinking too low even to lament.
I watched my waist size raise and fall with the tides. If the full moon swells with admiration, why was round me full of desperation?
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
our promised land is mortgaged
waters poisoned
your daughters legs are spread
mass culture ready to eat her out.
she buys it all-
the gossip rags, fake tans, cherry-flavored condoms.
she aches for it and it takes her gladly
leaving behind only a faint scent of perfume.
blood nails and *********** lips and artificial **** carry on.
girls lose their virginity only because it's trendy
and people obsess over the human interest
pieces on the nightly news.
i lash out with coffee breath
and short nails and unkept hair
and no religion
as my mother sits me down and
asks me not to step on any toes.
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 9:54 AM UTC
Call me the greatest adventure of Indiana Jones.
Call me the Graeters of tasty ice cream cones.
Call me the Ed Rosenthal of relaxing stones.
Call me the Natasha Trethewey of meaningful poems.
Call me the Pauly Shore of Bio-Domes.
Call me the Jack Hannah of Columbus Zoos.
Call me the Martha Stewart of delicious stews.
Call me the Bob Ross of independent creations.
Call me the Dr. Phil of mending relations.
Call me the Albert Einstein of mathematical equations.
Call me the Captain Kirk of Space exploration.
Call me the William Shatner of monotone greatness.
Call me the Jim Morrison of open doors.
Call me the Mr. Clean of shiny floors.
Call me the Hugh Hefner of stupid ******
Call me the Bob Dylan of traveling trains.
Call me the Samuel L. Jackson of snakes and planes.
Call me the Arm & Hammer of tough stains.
Call me the Blade of a vampire.
Call me the Froto Baggins of the Shire.
Call me the Firestone of a pumped tire.
Call me a Christ of ignited passion.
Call me a Lucifer of trendy fashion.
Call me a Shiva of shattered illusions.
Call me a Buddha of peaceful institutions.
Call me the Ron Jeremy of KY Jelly.
Call me the Emeril Legassi of food for the belly.
Call me the Tupac Shakur of spitting ****
Call me the Eminem of full sentences.
Call me the Smoky the Bear of a campfire.
Call me the Jim Carry of Liar Liar.
Call me the That Guy of desire.
You can even call me an *******
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 5:20 AM UTC
*blink an eye and it will disappear
blink the other and you will cry
a thousand tears of joy
blink them both and watch
fireflies alight the azure sky
in suspenseful darkness the alabaster moon
croons its romantic breath over all those vineyards
angels taste the dryness of the grapes
and laugh at the waste of another year’s wine
move out of the way of human frailty
share your space with our immortal stakes
a slavery more terrible than any mankind has yet to try
the Goddess is our home
sower of seeds for those that fast internally
rise the quickest
and dance the hardest
seek the longest roads
give more than you’ve ever known
swallow whole this ocean filled
with the bones of your daughters
forsaken in trendy delicatessens
our heroes are just myths that drift
like derelicts in psyche’s mythos
i am pathos, eros and shadow
i am daylight’s twin brother
her-eyes-on the horizon
yet she could see through to his soul
her-eyes-on the horizon
if we are destined to find our way back home*
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
I’ve summed up the equation for my isolation
It's People who look up, look down, left and right
Desperate for information
We never looked inside for much needed inspiration
Instead,
We lead a life of impulsive behavior mixed with preoccupation for our own reputation
I've lost toleration for the weak minded population
Individual thoughts slowly decay and eventually cut off circulation
Sending thoughts on permanent vacation, worthy of respiration, ideas now suffer suffocation
If this is my "generation"
I’d rather live in hibernation
You can take this as retaliation
I just don’t understand why we seek gratification for having no imagination?
I swear,
It’s like the world around me is nothing more Than telecommunication
Different voices yet the same conversation
Broad interpretation leaves room for destructive **********
Shedding uniqueness for trendy consolidation
**Who the **** do you think you are? a star?**
You're no constellation
You expel no illumination
Your personality is a narrow cultivation of
Seedy corporation,
Media publication,
And lack of moral stabilization
Let me give you clarification
Meditation is my detonation
Put words in your mouth before you die of starvation
We all have a fixation on giving into temptation
Putting ourselves in situations were
Passion is stimulation,
Trust is manipulation and
Love is ***********
Pour out your heartache in perspiration
After *********** we expect a standing ovation
*** is nothing more than sensation*
....are we lost beyond the point of navigation?
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 12:35 AM UTC
Farce!
False!
Fantasy maybe. Even still,
It’s far from fact.
Fiction!
I've seen more accurate depictions
Of Love
In abstract pictures.
At least it’s fierce colors
Show so form of passion
Fashion!
Artistic? It can be
But this is trendy
It'll fade as a
Fad!
True art is timeless
Truth? It can be
But this is candy
Not fruit
This is pop
Not soul
Technically it’s music
Because of it’s movement
But this needed no muse
Only tech
No chords
Piano or vocal
Only vocoder!
Inhumane, alien maybe.
But even the Vulcan
Shows some form of fire
Folktale!
Fog!
The misleading smoke
Shows no water
In the vicinity
Only industry
The only esteem
In this engine
Is steam
Gas.
The closest thing
To nothing
Fodder!
Deflowered. Devoured
By self-expression
Selfish innovators imitating life
Forgetting to live it.
****
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC