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Lefa Mzondi Jun 2017
I want that typa relationship
That pinky swear typa relationship.
That "you hang up, No you hang up."
That speaking as 3rd person type of relationship. That "Lefa is not talking you." Typa relationship.
Lol, that "I'm never talking to you, I'm still mad," but yet remind me every 10 minutes that you still mad at me.
That relationship when you dead mad at me and still bring me a blanket cos I'm cold.
I want that relationship.
That "Babe how do I look?"; "Wow babe, God must've been showing off when he created you", typa relationship.
I wan't you...
You're my typa relationship.
Selcæiös Feb 2018
your eyes don't glisten like they used to
just saying it's not something usual for you
so I guess you're heavily imbued
with this crestfallen attitude?


yea I know,
I've changed in the same way
my own little reverse-breakthrough
Risque foreplay with ultramarine Bombay
before stepping in to emcee the Devil's soiree

And no, you really don't --and honestly never did-- know me;
you only knew one of many façades I brazed
on my face
in the midst of a cliche
New Year's day typa haze

During the phase of
my infamously tempestuous craze
I was precipitously (ignited
quite possibly by my own
flaring sparks)

set ablaze with praise
but my mores seem to be misplaced
probably somewhere in the frenzy and hysteria

So I guess I'm left to embrace my untraced boundaries
*And get my viridian eyes back to glistening
on their own viridescent terms
Not codependent on the hollowed adulation
and sweet-talk from bamboccioni
(:
Crandall Branch Oct 2017
I grew up on a farm
Happy smiling childhoods
Running to & fro with the cows
My very best friends
Little did I know
This would soon end

I moved to the city
While singing a ditty
I was pretty sad
But I knew that here, fun was to be had

I bought an apartment
But I reminisce about the farm still
Oh boy do I miss it
Enough to ****

I still dream about the farm
So one day I took a visit trip
I saw the cows again
My thoughts were running wild like snip snip

Oh boy the farm is fun
Just like the rays of a sun
I recommend you try it
Before you forget to try it
please comment and feedback below! thanks :)
Jet Nov 2019
Mama used to describe love as such a beautiful thing
That when I fall in love, I should feel happy and safe
That one day the man of my dreams will buy me a ring
And when he proudly hands over his last name, there should be no other female in the whole world he would rather claim
And when I thought I found such a lovely thing
I truly thought I was in love, but then I started hurting
I had no typa freedom, didn’t experience any typa love
My days felt like they were becoming longer, perhaps even colder.
I obeyed his rules, or else I was punished. I prayed I wouldn’t get beat
He saw the tears form in my eyes and roll down my face
He leaned in to kiss me, as my body froze over
He cried as he said he was sorry and that it was love
That it was love who took over.
That he had to punish me because he loves me
That it was love!
He said this love was destined, and how I could never leave his side because the connection we had, that it just had to be fate. But I felt that I was slowly dying on the inside.
I was in pain, physically and emotionally
I couldn’t tell anyone what just happened. Nothing of what hes done
Im going into shock, mentally drained.
But he held our hands tightly together
Spoke gently into my ears and said, babygirl it will all be fine
This love we have, its gonna last forever
I thought to myself… forever? This love… was gonna last FOREVER?
And it was as if he could hear all my thoughts, he said
Forever baby, this love is forever ever.
Mama didn’t tell me bout this part of love!
No one told me about this part of love!
I didn’t know this was part of love… because my body was aching, some parts bruising
It was as if I was locked up, my true emotions were always contained
I swear im slowly going crazy, I think possibly falling in love
I started falling in love with the man who had me mentally restrained
I didn’t find the love mama was talking about
But- I think maybe I found one even better
The stockholm syndrome typa love
Sometimes, its not that they cant leave, its that they dont want to. its crazy how love works
Miley Cyrus Jan 2015
Dude i have no clue
no ******* idea...
why i continue to fantasize about chue....
idk...
what is it...
like 8th grade...
you...
the memory
continues...
after these past 2 years i still fantasize about you
....and i cant picture you accepting me...
for who i am
i can't
....like
when i picture you
...like i have to be o some mila kunis, megan fox, kim k typa ****...
its like i have to be this trophy in order to keep attention
...its like i knew you liked me
....and it was an interesting attatchment ill say....
but...
i guess it wasnt meant to be
i was looking for a **** buddy back then
and so were you
we were 8th ******* graders
i was immature af....
i didnt know **** tbh...
i was an air head...
who only cared about boys, popularity, friends, and herself...
i was a ***** lowkey
i wanted to be on top...
of the world
...of that school
...of him lol
but i was on the inside
...insecure
but he made me...
he fooled me
..into thinking he was securing me
....like ****
i was a fool
and i was def crushin on em
but now....
its really embarassing to think about
like....****
***
was 8th...the ****
ya know
that whole shabang
was really messin up
and im done with that past
pretending...
insecurity..
attention..
like....
i am over that
you were real to at the time
i was insecure looking for someone to clench on to
keep me up
motivate me
....but you did the opposite
you were like a demon in disguise
...no offense
i mean at the time speaking
but i dont want to cringe...
when i see a pretty *** girl
i dont need to pretend to be "pretty"
nor what you want
nor be that *****
because im not
...im so much more
....like....****
im done living a life in the shadows
a hidden life
my life...is what is what it is
take it...
leave it
i dont care
you are gone
im never gonna see you ever again
but i mean im sorry we couldnt be friends
but the tide
the flows gotta flow
ive gotta go
take ****
and ill keep it in the toilet...lets say that
AFJ Dec 2014
it was a tuesday afternoon, in the middle of june,
this barternder and blue moon will surely be my demise..
Its become a routine, every week im a fiend but suddenly to my surprise...

A woman walked in standing at 5'4, seeemingly hungover and beat.
Eyeliner & lipstick fading..lookin as if she couldnt find sleeep,
her hair has half *****, half curly and partly braided.
she sat on the stool next to me partly *** what i stated...
I said "welcome! take a seat, this is the sober section, besides. all the good seats are taken".
She smiled, more like a smirk, then proceeded to sit, at first oddly looking a bit shaken..

i noticed she was young, pobably barely 21, and she had a tattoo on her back, as she reached for her purse...
Clearly i didnt kno her origin, but an idea i was formin, especially when her art read, 'beauty is a curse'...
Clearly she was gorgeous. Green eyes with a brown complexion..
I asked her in awe which town she was sent from?..

She said she was from the bay..
grew up in her mommas house but now shes living with her bae,
I said oh word, whos the lucky man who gets to keep you???.
She said God......
*** she doesnt need to mess with people.

what brings her here,?
in this bar by the pier,
where theres something in the beer, making normal people fear.

She said she came to spread the word of God....
immediately i figure shes a fraud.

Hows a 'martini, piercing on her lip, tattooed from her back to her hip,
looking like she wont tip....'
typa girl claiming to be holy?

She smiled, more like smirk, and whispered,........
you dont even know me.

And proceeded to say she came in this bar because there was a presence of a demon in disguise..

I laughed are u sure it isn't just u?
She held up a mirror. I saw a demon in my eyes.





-afj
Jay Jimenez Dec 2012
Time to get untop
Been drug down
and stepped on
im untop now
and your being smashed on
Use to say my **** was alright
Now you callin me every night
I get my **** hard
cause you bout to break my bed board
your *** so fat it looks like a fat kids face stuffed with cake
and **** can you make dat *** shake
its almost terrifying like that anaconda typa snake
so yeah im smokin and ashin on your back and them ****** jigglin
So they ain't fake
for gods sake
For gods sake for gods sake
Prayin for a snow day,
a lay at home day.
drinkin hot cocoa, bumpin some old Drake.
like "come winter"
and hope it comes we do!
pimpin season is over
i jus wanna lay here with you.
we know its not that serious,
talkin from experience.
this thing'll probably last a couple months,
maybe a few.
But im down to make it somethin
unforgettable
incredible
typa winter u throw up on a pedastool.
Till just after Valentines,
hear the last romantic chimes.
and pimpin seasons back on,
then you cant be mine,
and neither of us would mind.
at least,
I hope to find.
ZL Sep 2014
daddy was a lot of woman typa man

mama was fast
a one night stand

drugs; they had in common
crack was in demand

heard he was crazy, so she ran

I fell from hell

wasn't given no hand

I got up anyway
*and tall I stand
E l l e Jun 2018
Disposable likes

Dispensable loves

I wish I could throw it all away.

Somebody tell all these recyclable guys
To step down from their endless pride
and just be sustainable- but reusable for later

Reducible heartbreaks

Reprized 'I love you's'

I wish there was a safe way to get rid of our minds.

Without polluting everything around our youth
Because none of us want our children knowing
That one day they might be susceptible to that typa thing...

The world would be such a better place if we didn't waste

Maybe if we all knew

Sometimes we need to dispose of things the right way;
Instead of putting in on top of another pile-

It would be.
Take it how you want it, but this is definitely not about the earth.
i just can’t stop adoring you
you’re all i think about every hour on the hour

fresh love is the best love

the typa love that you can’t even think of the next love
cause there’s no love better than this love
it fits just like a glove, no need to shove
let the doves fly away
and we just get our way
till our last days
i love you
Norbert Tasev Sep 2021
The prodigal son on the outskirts of Tartarus stops soon, contemplating contemplatively: the edges of hell with a omen and a cheap tomb and a swirling-throbbing wind shining like a Sisyphean stone! Seeing ready-made, you can find dense darkness on your own who looks into your soul: selfish clumsiness! We always trusted the buoyancy! He tormented our minds until our forgiveness for Doom no longer runs! His existence interrupts his Golgotha district and falls into a chasm if he is not careful! He fluffs up his ravine-like food like a soft linguist scratching his consciousness, which immediately cut his fears in his ears!
 
Who are the dots of a starving conscience: has he done all that was left and what was needed? Did you care for the cats' legacy?! As a farewell prophet, he sends a message to the world with frustrated shadows from his fiery eyes! Among the gnomes who uttered the words of flea-souls hoeing in typa, He is still a Man! Even among a multitude of law-free spontaneous line walls, one cannot be completely satisfied and happy! "Many remained among the naked, who cast out the holy mockery as a mocked mockery, and were immediately turned back into animals!"
 
In their luxury robes, they invited those who compromised with themselves to a parade! Everyone feeds themselves with a fearful loneliness, as an insidious parasite grows and the Insecurity of Being lives from them! This is how we ***** in our relationships with unrecognizable contours! "We're deliberately scared of hiding, killer looks!" Blood-freezing deeds like guarding lighthouses can quickly rise and even collapse! "It would be good to cling to the sincerity hidden in the proud depths of pupils."
It is my job to like myself
I am not gonna sell out
And be the typa person
I cannot like.
Things that are only my own business
But this is only how I feel about me
Whether you like you
Is your business, too
ash 7d
the bone:

i laid down the framework,
scratched along my skeleton.
bared myself to the very core—
i feel like
i’ve been here before.


someone once asked me what love is.

first things first,
this reminded me of something i’d written a couple years back.

love isn’t always in between people,
or romantic for that cause.
sometimes, it’s as simple as falling in love with the way the rain falls over you,
tipping down your face,
the way you get to breathe in the scent of wet mud—
love can be anything.
different for everyone.
but just the same feeling for each.
(if not similar)


love is what i feel
when i look at people i cherish,
things i like,
things i need,
things i have—
my family,
my friends,
my baby bunny.

i love love.
(i hate it.)

it's so unique… isn’t it?
like magic almost.

how someone can suddenly enter your life
and become such a big part of it,
that to think of them not being here—
beside you—
it’s simply impossible.
either here, or not at all.

it doesn’t make sense
how we can feel this much
for someone.
an animal.
a memory.
a friend.
a lover.

to be honest,
i don’t think love is love
as they show in movies.
hypothetically, even if it were—
i think it'd be a lot less dramatic.

it’s beyond that.

it's holding onto the one you love—
the thing you love—
holding onto the memories you made.
holding onto the feelings you caught
in that one situation,
the visions where you envisioned them in,
the smiles,
the warm floaty feeling within
when you have the one you love,
close to you.

because that’s love—
something pure.
something innocent.
something deep.
something warm.

something alive.

you want to know that it is/they are—with you.
at a distance,
far away,
no matter.
but in terms of feelings
and heart
and bonding—
close by.
close to you.

it’s happiness.
and pain.

ah…
to think of not being in love?
it’s such a crime.

i wish every person in this world
gets to experience it once.
doesn’t matter if heartbreak comes later.
i feel like pain from heartbreak
would be more pure.
raw.
a reminder of a heart
that still beats—
probably for someone else,
something else.

i get the meaning now
behind the words:

my heart beats for you.

to say it,
i think it means
loving someone
just oh-so-much...
that to think of them not being here…
physically hurts.
loving someone so much
that you feel like you’re alive for them.
breathing for them.

and it's toxic.
but it’s magical.

capable of setting you alight,
making you taste
what poison might feel like.

it's insane
how something so psychologically toxic
can be so emotionally divine.
(is love a drug of some kind?)

and to think—
to wish—
for it to happen to me
and everyone alive?

maybe it’s mean of me.
but i guess i can be mean this once.
call me arrogant, call me rude
i curse you with the truest hue
one that love shall pour over you
thank me later, i know you'll do.


if humanity doesn’t know
the depth of love,
what are we even doing?

love isn’t that bookish,
movie-typa thing.
it’s beyond.
different for everyone.

i could be in love
with an animal,
a person,
a thing,
a memory,
anything.

and i love the feeling.
always will.
despite the pain
of losing it.

it’s the circle of life.
and i’m here for it.
alive.
still.



the muscle:

they told me to maintain.
i held the weights,
flexed every part,
endured—
reached here,
and tore myself apart.


wrote the above thing
close to two years back or so,
but reading it—
i’ve missed out on loads
and well—
this piece of text
is as messy as love gets.

now, i write—

love is—
a verb.
an action.

in terms of emotions—
it's an intense feeling
of admiration
you feel towards someone.

for me—
i don’t know.
i’ve never known.
perhaps i won’t—
or perhaps it’ll click
some random day,
i guess—
when i feel that way
about someone?
(do you care?)

but love is also—
care.
it’s friendship.
it’s the world around me.
it’s myself.
it’s you.
it’s everyone around you.
(shh, i'm onto—)

the word is simple.
the meaning—
yeah, well—
it’s complex.

but not complicated
as we make it out to be.
it’s simply complex,
like that one chemical equation
that always seemed scary
until you finally understood it.

seems scary.
but once you fall—
it’s a trust fall.
either you do it
entirely all at once—
or you take a step back.

and that "all at once"
might seem like it’s happening
in steps,
but that’s the complexity of it.

besides—
falling is easy.
maintaining is hard.
staying is hard.

which brings me
to the romantic type of love.
the relationship one.
and that is where i pause…

because to share that too
would be like—
(won't give out my secrets,
what you'll do?)

i'll jot down the keys:
three of them,
that’ll carry forward
any bond that needs maintaining—

effort being the core,
communication being the key,
the way the brain matches,
cognitive,
behavioral,
telepathy way,
and nervous—
won’t go into science—
but psychologically.

let’s just skip over this.


the skin:

surface.
it’s all on the surface.
i’m merely any perfect.

porcelain-like feelings,
perception of all of them—
temporary towards me.
oh,
but will you touch it?


you don't say—i like the rain
but directly, i love the rain.
never, i like you, directly—
often, i love you.

loving is beyond liking.
you can like something,
you will love it—
but loving can also happen
when you don't like the thing.

liking someone
for the idea of them—
that’s just liking
the view you've built in your head.

but the real person is so much more.
won't find that out
until you talk to them,
until everything between you two
is transparent,
no secrets anymore.

that’s how you know
if you love them or not.

you can like someone,
and then love them.
but you can also love someone
and not like them.

like your family.
like some friendships.

sometimes,
you love first,
and then start to like
the smallest of things they do.
the tiny, silly things
that make them them.

don't try to fit people
into the ideal mold
you've made in your head.
we're falling in love,
not baking cookies.

let them be.
see them for what they are,
not what you want them to be.
(cookies can be decorated,
like love on a human being.)

that’s what we miss.
that’s what makes
humanity feel so hard to find.
(we become bakers,
forget the baseline)

we demand perfectionism.
even in people.
and perfectionism in love—
is impossible.
imperfectly perfect.
you and i, i term it.

you're love.
i'm love.
well made outta love.
(shush, not that way.)

every single one of us is love.
and perhaps it's easy to digest
when you think about it,
poetically— say
love yourself, do you?


the nerves:

pulses and poison—
like the extremes to a function.
chaos. sensitivity.
squelching organs.


synapses i’ve been sending...
here’s the current
that’s been reeling in its wake.



love is care.
love is pain.
it's anger—disguised as unsaid words.
it's the unspoken, undeterred mess of emotions
you feel
when you look at something,
or someone,
and you realize—
you want it.

not in an owning way,
but in a way where you want
to see it / see them
every day you wake.

you want it beside you,
close, in front of you,
the same way—
for the rest of your life
and beyond
(if that even exists).

it's not ***.
not touch.
not kiss.

those are just forms.
you kiss your pet.
you kiss your mother.
you kiss your lover.
three kisses,
three different galaxies—
same name.
kissing.
loving.

loving is
feeling all the positives
and all the negatives.

i guess it's loss.
it's care.
it's anger.
it's pain.
it's hatred.
it's hurt.
it's admiration.
it's hope.
it's happiness.
it's the cloud of anxiety.
it's the fear of losing.
it's the ache of loving too much.
it's—everything.
it is us.

just don’t say i love you
if it’s the same love you feel for the moon,
or the way flowers bloom
in front of your eyes.

don’t say it
unless it has encompassed you whole.
unless you’d want to repeat it till the very end—
in anger,
in resentment,
in between a brawl,
or even when you’re hurting,
feeling everything in all it's might.

in those awful,
quiet moments
when everything feels like too much.

don’t say it—
even though you feel it.

because often,
the i love you that feels like everything
isn’t rooted deep enough
to grow and stay.
the strongest roots—
they spread when you wait.

when you feel those feelings
again and again,
until you realize
you’re not bored of them.
until they’ve become your normal.
the way your heart chooses to beat.

don’t say i love you
if you aren’t ready to commit your life
to the sin
that is called
loving.

and if i say i love you,
that simply means
i may or may not like you—
but i accept you.
and i need you.

not in the way you’d need me,
not the way you'd call it romantic,
not like i need my baby bunny,
not like i need my family—

but in a way
i wouldn’t want to see you go.
i’d want you to stay right here,
beside.
and every day i wake up,
i’d want to see you.
to feel the same exact feelings—
and so much more—
than what i feel
when i say:

"i love you,
stay here, whole."




the whole:

the being
culmination.
philosophical abomination.
quiet truths—
anatomy resulting.


i am,
therefore i live.
i am,
therefore i love.



i’d written about loving
like it’s something that happens.

beautiful.
tainted.
untainted.
unpredictable.
messy.
ra­w.
visceral even.
magical.

it was everything around me,
everything that could be,
everything that was.
and is.
and me.

it was innocent.
it was inevitable.
it was heartbreak.

and then it was anatomy.
if the previous me
termed love as bone—

the bones laid down the structure,
i poured in the muscle,
covered it in skin,
gave it life through nerves,
brought a whole being—
alas, i'd forgotten
there was a shadow—
that it was bound to bring in.

made it a verb, an action.
less ethereal yet mighty,
more grounded, yet aloof,
capable of setting you alight.

at first it was feeling,
now it was becoming.
it was doing.
it was—its meaning.

acceptance.
showing up.
caring.
moving on.
feeling.
letting go.
breathing.
relieving.
crying.
laughing.
drying your own tears.
hugging a friend.
expressing.

not always a sunshine.
not always glittering.
not always melancholy either.
not always a sad ending.
or an ending at all.

it's irony.
it's metaphor.
it's simple.
it's a word.

it's not clean,
it's poetic,
it's real—
tender,
alive.

it's us.
love is us.

it's you.
it's me.
it's everyone around.

living.
wanting.
wanting to live.
living to accept.
to love life.

that's loving.

it's grieving.
it's accepting.
it's needing, requiring
and yet not tying a knot
to keep it close.

can't lock up the favorite flower
in the garden
just 'cause i love it, no?
it'll die for no cause.

this is my anatomy of love.
i present it to you.

all love is,
and all it can be—
and there's much more
that i can't encompass in writing.

but it's everything
and beyond
and nothing at all.

love is—love.
loving.
it's loving.

i love this.

it's evolving.
it's like us.

growing.
learning.
new ways,
new outcomes,
new lives.

it's us.

it's smiling after a touch with death.
it's grieving the loss
of someone who promised to stay forever
but left.

it's promises.
the broken ones,
the completed ones—
the endings,
the not-really-an-endings.

and if you're looking for an ending to this,
it won't.

because love—
will keep going on.

it's love, no?









the shadow:

in disguise, unwelcomed.
deep,
darkest becoming of the negative might.


full body burn—
a copy.
following.
seething.
my closest enemy.


and sometimes
you’ll fall “out” of love—

which is normal.
it’s a phase—
or well, they say so.

that kind of love isn’t the one i’ve talked about above.
for sometimes
we tend to forget
love means staying too—
staying,
not because you have no other choice
but because you want to.

that sometimes
you might feel
the feelings vanished—
that everything you felt
turned into its contrary.
negative,
i.e. hate.

love was—
and has always been—
a natural.
hatred
is the one feeling
we milked out of it,
the wrong way,
for the wrong reasons.

but sometimes
it’s valid too.

these are all paradoxes.

but in a world
of falling in love
only to fall out of it
and move on—

opt to fall in love
for commitment.
to stay—
even if the feelings fade,
perhaps not in the same way
or not at the same levels—
but accepting and allowing yourself to feel
whatever gave it birth
in the first place.

love isn’t always a feeling either.
sometimes,
it’s a decision.
one you have to remake—
daily.
weekly.
monthly.
every second of your life—
even when you feel like the “love” faded.

it won’t always feel good—
but when you feel it,
it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever felt.

though,
a couple things that love isn’t:

it isn’t psychotic.
obsessing.
snatching.
controlling.

it isn’t something that ought to make you go haywire,
make you forget your own life.
it isn’t something that’s meant
to make you want to die.

if you love someone—
don’t say you’d die for them.
live for them.
try to.
intend to.

like a nutty chocolate
that also has fruits
and a bit of darkness to it—
love is
a mix of paradoxes.

it’s
chaotically messy.


and if the love
hurts you—

find your peace
despite loving
the thing
that brings you ache.

find your comfort,
despite knowing
you loved it.
loved them.

for sometimes,
distancing
is loving—

for them
and for you.

love,
but love yourself too.

it could
wrap around your ribs
like silk—

but you'd realize
the thorns
hidden beneath it.

love
doesn’t have to be monstrous,
forced.

it doesn’t have to be complex.

just
feel what you feel.
express,
and bloom.

the bittersweet,
the happysad,
the syringe
filled with sugar syrup—

this part
is the shadow of love.


i guess i did perform an autopsy over love.
so imperfect, it's almost perfect.
(there's a lot yet to be added)
love isn't as difficult it seems to be, i guess
complex, yes (for this gen)

my take at cultural contribution,
love & regards

— The End —