Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Julian Jun 2018
The ******* of embezzled glory staunchly defend their counterfeit stature by defalcating the public trust of industrious societies governed internally by compunction and sabotaged externally by the tempests of acerbic fate met with inclement aleatory convergence. To supply a society with ingenuity without being complaisant or officious with unctuous pleas to the overlords we must fashion a new vogue that taps the bustle of giants and aggrandizes the margins to oversee their own creative destinies with scaffolded arrangements of titanic promise and justifiable fluidity to conquer the blinkered dogmatism of a dissolute chastity to inveterate apocryphal tenets of factitious but unmerited perspectives. Democracy crumbles when the convenience of sensationalism supplants the resolve of those that fossick hidden wealth and promulgate validity instead of undergirding pomp with precarious prevarications of duplicitous omission guarded gingerly by the gatekeepers of a ****** sanity that whitewashes the discussion with invented hobgoblins and purblind catharsis. To defeat simplicity and enshrine byzantine elegance as the paragon for voguish commentary rather than abide by a bowdlerized decorum for appeasing simpletons with divisive balkanization through identity politics we can overcome the impediments to human progress that are engineered to persist because of the inertia of the listless and the stubbornness of doctrinaire politicization and invent vivacity and festivity anew. We need to divorce ourselves from pedestrian quibbles of hero-worship that endanger the vitality of the common discourse because of fastidious pedantic disempowerment that ravages us with debased dreams by underscoring nuisances and tolerable nightmares that emasculate the virulence of the liberated individual and subvert his ambitions to contend with a picaresque world of limitless promise and self-motivated internal wealth.
      The bane of modernity is how chary the world becomes because of fractured histories intersecting with controversial destinies and the antidote to that poisonous self-defeating self-censorship is the audacity of brazen challenges to expurgation through assiduous resourcefulness and delicate diplomacy in wrangling controversies with outspoken courage rather than whispered resentment. Temerity waged in inclement circumstance is justified and curiosity stoked by lambent flames of fulgurant individualism should be fortified to the extent necessary to conquer the feckless spoilsports of unctuous puritanism and institutional obedience. The quacksalvers that blather about inconsequence strand the imagination in a desiccated desert that is ostracized from the palettes of the artistic whim to wield efflorescence rather than squander life in pursuit of perfunctory lucre or tenuous solidarity around banal idealism promised by social justice warriors that forget the biggest war being waged on humanity is on the ingenuity of the common discourse and the liberty to opine about real issues rather than saccharine conventions of emasculation through linguistic imprisonment and epicurean slavery to fashimites who relish the buzzword but never the enlightened audience that scoffs at feeble attempts at cultural commentary like Childish Gambino’s “This is America” music video. This particular artifact is a demonstration of how childishly fickle the plebeian mentality really is, stitching together a bricolage of violence to engineer controversy and serenading it with the most banal music imaginable and exhorting people to herald it as a high artform while inundating the world with unimaginative comic book movies and Star Wars rip-offs because of the lucrative business of formulaic replication. “This is America” should be regarded as a parody of itself because of how hackneyed its design is and how cacophonous it sounds and mocks its audience with lowbrow tactics of adding tinsel to trash and marketing it as the glory of tatterdemalions rather than the refinement of true cinematic achievements that have been relegated because Warhol’s Campbells-Soup-consumerism trumps true belletrist in the public view.
        Cultural watersheds punctuate our history with salient achievements in experimentation, but the formulaic profiteering of buzzword sensationalism and yellow journalism and the ostentatious glorification of promiscuous boasting and fancy cars tantalize the mice to continue playing slot machines rather than penning a novel or doing something promethean. The world scoffs at Trump but ignores the bigger institutional caveats that endanger us much more than a pragmatic albeit unconventional pontificator who is complicit in constructing a false narrative to enslave mindless people to fret about eminence rather than delight themselves in the consequential nuances of established refinement that used to serenade the world with flourish and spectacle. The world kowtows to the crusade against flavor-of-the-week enemies of the liberal-conservative syncretism because it has been conditioned to believe that synthesis is the only logical solution for the polarized worldviews of churlish people that become parvenus not on their merits but on their marketable pitfalls and their public foibles. Peccadillos are more important to people than virtues and this makes society morally bankrupt if we loiter around Astroturf causes that have been infiltrated by corporatism and venal debauchery and acquiesce as disempowered gossip hounds that hunt in packs to find jest in aberration rather than achievement in self-created narratives that defy the stupid purblind boorishness of the mainstream media and its haughty liberalism or the persnickety condemnation of priggish conservative moralities that had an expiration date 50 years ago. Who the **** cares about transgender-touting-gender-fluidity quidnuncs and the snooty obsession with lurid personal endeavors of reputable people that made minor ****** transgressions in a world policed by wide-eyed feminazis that seek to ransack men of their vital virulence to spotlight their unjustifiable oppression. Women are oppressed but the carnal nature of their calumniation and their vindictive powers of persuasion are deployed with such vehement vigilance and such distaste for the majority that the world relegates itself to quibbles of celebrities rather than substantive issues. There is a systemic feminization of society occurring that seeks to demarcate despotic uxorious pleasantries as an incarceration of vocal dissent against supercilious women and their tamed men that slavishly grovel in repudiation of anything prickly.  Men historically have oppressed women but the solution to this quandary isn’t a reverse discrimination where the minority concern is spotlighted as a majoritarian issue that overshadows the disproportionate nature of our society where nominal accreditation is afforded in a non-meritocratic way to absolve people of their carnality and demote the vigorous defense of human liberty as secondary to compromise solutions that appease more people than they offend but simultaneously result in suboptimal conditions that reward arbitrarily coachable people while jettisoning anyone witty enough to be capable of insubordination of a hedonistic epicurean world obsessed with appearance and ravaged by the decadence of formulaic profiteering at the expense of originality and true promethean art that is herculean enough to defy hackneyed tropes and siphon the best elements from a piecemeal world variegated with complexity but stifled by fomented hatred.
The solutions to these problems is to create a watchdog group of artistic critics who become eminent and ubiquitously heard enough to offer creative consultation to the artistic endeavors that we consume and the music that is curated for fastidious ears that crave euphonic originality rather than the banality of easily dovetailed bass-heavy cookie-cutter garbage and the gaudy tactics of talentless rappers whose swagger derives from  the intersection of opportunism and the divestiture of an industry that rewards gloated supercilious epicureanism and meretricious marketability. Am I the only one jaded by second-rate superhero movies that infest the cinemas that borrow from Michael Bay while thrusting pulse-pounding but narratively bankrupt movies down the throats of consumers that might prize the cinematic originality of the heyday of filmmaking? Is it always high art to invent controversy that is witless or half-witted just because it will create buzz? Shouldn’t we condemn the laziness of society in acquiescing to the penury of the modern cultural narrative which belabors the dead horses of racism and sexism ad nauseum? Shouldn’t we fight the war of against inequity through legislation rather than hibernating about scandalous eminence and testy malfeasance?
          Liberty should be championed above all else and we are turning our backs on the future unless we muster the resolve to diminish the sway of the common narrative and aim our spotlight at consequential endeavors rather than the tropes of prosaic and pedestrian bastardization of art and culture. We need to fight artistic laziness which has ravaged our culture and castigate the tactics of wannabee celebrities that use lurid tactics to attract an audience by bedizening themselves with Pyrrhic ostentations and rampant fakery to create more melodrama in a world that needs to be less histrionic. YouTube celebrities swarm us as they get high on ******* and lean-- at our expense-- and vandalize property and convincing nine-year-old’s like Lil Tay to flex her money like it is infinitely renewable in a finite world where all our attention is wasted on artless artifice of less talented people that know how to engineer a ruckus by strutting themselves beyond all decency and selling out to a corporatist nightmare of enslaved convenience. We need to be more vocal about the dissolution of artistic merit and the formulaic repetition of successful formulas that jade us and make us yawn about another retread of a previously successful idea that is milked to the point of cruelty.                                                         ­                       
       Let’s change the narrative and focus on creating true art rather than reacting to the meretricious tinsel of the vogue consensus which is so impotent in its ability to rivet audiences because it has become so notoriously lazy. Fight laziness in art, dismiss your news feeds, be resourceful, seek true happiness rather than find yourself hoodwinked and duped by the idea that Trump is the most important issue or getting caught in thought loops and brooding about sexism and inequality. Let us strive to be egalitarian but within limits that would also appease hominists rather than just the hypertrophy of the leftist narrative that seeks to cage us with the doublespeak of complaisant conformity.  Reject the unctuous charlatans that pretend priggishness when their banausic purpose is barbaric but beguiling to be a lullaby for laggards. We need to fight for the future of civilization rather than hobnob with convenience and loiter around decrying false perpetrators rather than systemic injustices that could otherwise be rectified if enough people fought for it. We can invent a future that is a great festivity serenaded by cultivated artistic refinement and forget about the trifles that divide us. United in ambition and fueled by ingenuity we can defeat artistic laziness and be resourceful with how we decide what is newsworthy. Spurred by the argosy of proactive motivation we can change the world in a substantial way by deciphering the subtext that governs the world. The subtext is everything!
Madisen Kuhn Sep 2013
I don’t have a problem with saying too little, you don’t have to carve inspiration into a health room desk or vandalize a bathroom stall to get me to tell him how I feel. I have a problem with acting as if it’s four a.m. all day long and forgetting that you don’t need to know about my every mood swing: my Sunday highs and Tuesdays lows and Thursday nothings. I think my biggest fault is bothering you to tell me all the thoughts that have yet to cross your mind (and maybe wishing they had.) I want you to want to know everything I feel at any given moment: what I thought of this evening’s sunset and how long it took me to fall asleep last night and why track two of my favorite album makes me feel like I’m in a dream. I want you to want me to know why you painted your bedroom walls yellow and how often you floss your teeth and which day of the week you feel happiest on. But most of all, I want to know everything you feel, even before you’ve felt it.
Meredith Nelson Nov 2015
I don't think you understand.
I love you.
You are my stepmother
(Not wicked at all no matter what Brother says)
How could I not?
But you think I am ungrateful, rotten, trash on your shoes.
It must be true (you would never lie).
So I must ask,
How do I change?
I will change everything about myself for you,
So you will love me too.
You would never be so cruel as to stop me from doing this,
Would you?
So the question remains,
What shoul I do?
I will ******, steal, vandalize, and injure.
All for you, Stepmother.
I love you.
Why don't you love me too?
a m a n d a Oct 2013
Banksy,
vandalize me!
Write on me
when no one sees.
Color me truth
and let me be.
Reveal to me,
Banksy,
please!
Kiernan Norman Jul 2014
I try to live Here. Here is humid-sticky-underground-dance-hall hot. I’m caught tight in a mess of limbs- bodies stretch and sway from this to Eden. I have never been more lonely. Together we inhale metallic Old Spice. Together we exhale stale tap water hymns. I am breathing all alone.

My tired tongue kicks awake to cheap nail poison as I tap each fingernail against bottom teeth and lightly push three times.
(Four times or eight times. Ten times in one quick, heart-drop minute but who’s counting?
Me. Of course I’m counting. There’s not a beat, rhyme or giggle that hasn’t busy-bee buzzed around my foggy brain. Each thought its own color, each touching down on a different set of crumb-glazed quilts or a different tower of gutted magazines. Each bee is long and thin, pointy in a terrifying way. Each bloated and dripping with a grand idea- which they leave like droppings and are so specifically intense they will never make any sense a breath apart from this moment and this context which crumpled and blew away while I dully, dutifully checked my pulse. I'm alive but my thoughts took off. I can see their exhaust but they fled fast, like they knew I could only begin to gnaw on them. They were born to quickly, maniacally live and die- in and out and there then off and gone.)

Here. Here the walls are chipping off one hundred years, one hundred lives of lead-based paint and are dripping onto the frayed denim of my ****** cut-offs. Impossibly long hair, absurd to call it mine, hangs heavy and wet. The strands shed drops of atmosphere on my (and their and your and-) bare feet. I’m my own sumi brush- my calligraphy is not words, but a footprint-marked path to treasure. Braided bits cling heavy and soaked to the curve of my neck and then billow like sheets hung out in the wind. My sharp, slick scapula must be the laundry line. It’s one of the good bones. Good bones only exist while jutting. The scapula is the beautiful ******* of my skeleton and we finally have made nice.

Here the music is so loud. The bass ignites my dental cavities. They sting and pierce as a reminder of how terribly I’m taking care. Lights blink, the room quakes and I need water.  I’m throbbing and flickering and faces attached to bones slither between each other and grind up into my own perfect focus. They’re smirking.

One at a time they appear with a warm, grainy hand on the small of my cold-sweat back. Each face of bones lean in close, dry and cracked lips that graze my own fever-hot ears. Goose bumps sling up and down limbs and the lips, all smudgy red lipstick and cigarette breath, whisper something to me that is absolutely crucial. It’s something beautiful or something hilarious or something crude but I can’t hear it. I’ll never hear it. They throw their bones back and cackle-laughing so hard it must be painful. All I can hear is my eardrums cracking and breaking, laying the bass for a high pitched dial tone.

One by one they do this and then, with a huge play-dough smile and eyes as deep as I feel, they slowly back away from my flimsy, electric body. I know they’re relieved they didn’t get stung. This goes on for forty straight hours. I feel like the Queen bored and still as they file through to kiss my ring. I feel like I’m at my own wake. I am beginning to erupt. I am lightly vibrating with the burden of militant creativity. I think I'm melting from the inside out. The bones still laugh and the bees, diving like war missiles, are screaming that it’s time to flesh out that novel, string precise words together in a huge, monumental way down golden strings that will change the world for the better and forever hang on God's graceful neck. It's time to record that beloved lullaby and sculpt that masterpiece or put on black clothes, sneak out and vandalize monuments. It is all absolutely crucial and so very urgent. Everything is wailing and I’m nodding slowly because if I do not do it, ALL OF IT, now- right this instant and quickly- I will die having said nothing. I will have wasted my opportunity to matter.

Here. Here the bone-bodies continue to mock me. The room stays dim and damp and I don’t think I’ll ever get clean. After twenty minutes or seventy years the crowd thins out, lights switch on illuminating exit signs and the room slowly, sadly, empties. I am sticky and aching and have never felt dumber. The bone-bodies left their blurry sweat, their empty bottles and their void inspirations like blank fortunes trailing across the bar top. There’s a real, fur, calf-length coat and a fake Birkin bag in the corner. My feet are filthy.

Here. But I’m not really Here. Here is bougy and exclusive. There’s no list but you probably can’t get in because actually Here is utter *******. Here is the moldy bricks and pre-war ceilings inside my head.
Leaving Here is too easy. You blink and you’re gone. Then I try to remember what party I even went to but I’m sitting Indian style and cramped on rough carpet and my back is in knots and everything I’m thinking is slow, melting taffy lose and inconsistent.

The sun starts to rise up pink through broken bedroom blinds and I know that I went way down deep and danced and gripped tight to flurrying ideas and made a big mess and now I’m stuck ripping papier-mâché, three inches thick, off coat-check walls and trying to read the graffiti-ed bathroom stalls but the Sharpie is dripping and I might be illiterate.

The Somethings I came to flirt with are hiding and won’t answer ‘POLO’ no matter how loudly I scream ‘Marco! ******* Marco!’ I’m reeling and under-breath begging ‘and please come find me and let’s make stuff and we can’t waste this and I can’t be a waste.’ But below all the pacing and knuckle-cracking I know that there are no Somethings listening to my panicky prayers. They sneaked out while I was braiding my hair for the sixth time, humming something old and Johnny Cash-y that I remembered and liked and had to Google and perform eight times for a mirror. I sneeze and I want to cry. I don’t think I know how to read. Edges start to blur and the alphabets a mess.

In defeat I’ll wash my face and slide under one light blanket and quickly sweat through it. I’ll lower my heavy, thick-thought and dizzy head onto a stack of three pillows. My vision will fall away from me and stars will explode in a chatty whisper that has be immobile and straining and sore. I will treat them like a sky full of fireworks blazing just for me. I'll ooh and ahh and my heart will palpitate under the weight of them. (Really I do know they're just amphetamine snowflakes falling slowly and burying my wasted night.  I swear next time I won’t waste it.) But at that moment I'll watch the show and feel safe and small and inconsequential, at last.
PaulSta SA Sep 2015
This is no Lament,but an
Ode.I'm on my last hook of
The tune,as I hear voices hollers
On my back.this positivity keeps me
Locked on my de javus.

I'm livin' life like a video,
Onto press forward to my
Ambitions.I'm too proud of
Myself.

I'm on my utmost,every dream
Ends a picture perfect,as I imagine
Myself holdin' a throne at my
Closet.

I'm no Pinocchio but I iPaulistic
Art.im 'til live to the birth of
Next century,'cause I'm the
Third World War Soldier.

I'm a wanderer in disguise,searchin'
Triumph at night.
Guess my dreams ain't real,
Just livin' greatness of my fantasies.
Oh!!this is an omen.

I'm no Osama,but still a Pisces
I vandalize world of neysayers,
Forfeit negativities.

I separate dark and light
'Cause these street lights
Still shows me life on
My grind.

I'm down floor to my knees,
Bow down to all loved,losted
Zulu warriors,for Shaka to
Flourish my greatness.

Dear God,may you please sprinkle
Blessings upon my life,my path
Is grey a winter season.

'Till death takes me,but my
Dreams will forever last.
And if i die today tell me
I will make it through hell,'cause
Heaven is where the heart is.
We did trespass, deface, vandalize, mace all manner of things, frequently, selflessly
What is noble, the non-aristocratic definition:
"having or showing fine personal qualities
or high moral principles". I saw both in places you'd never suspect,
-Anything abandoned and everything unintended
In faces I came to greatly respect,
-All those friends who moved us towards the transcended
In choices I don't (and cannot) regret.
-In what I consumed and with whom I slept
It amazed me,
-That dusk sky
It stays with me;
-My longing mind
What I witnessed,
-From way up high
What I experienced;
-Life and/or death
I never would have guessed
I could be a part of living like this.
For that I am blessed,
Even if only temporary
it's bliss nonetheless.
-Shivers down the back of my neck
But enough,
What tales have I to tell?
I fear mere words would be woefully inept
at describing how I feel about the times we've kept;
My city and I, and the people we adore.

Drizzle descended on the park's benches
but foul weather couldn't stop
our journey through the intoxicants

The night was cold but she was warm,
Under gushing orange lamplight
we were in each other's arms


All a fraction of a shard of that which occurred
beyond a sonder veil, yet I fear even this
shall remain an unspoken tale.

What truly captured my gaze
were not the drugs I've come to glorify
nor the women that caught my roaming eye,
It was the communality of it all; identifiable to a teenage.
We formed clans, became family; now we Grow Up and Blow Away.
Sometimes I do miss those subtle days.
I saw things that would change your heart,
I could scarcely convey such memories as art.
Dante Blades Jan 2011
A few strokes of bad luck
What else could it possibly be?
A ****** up coincidence?
Or lack of empathy

Fingernails grow like ice crystals
Lying by omission
Aiding and abetting
Vandalize all that's beautiful
In this world that's not worth living
  
Love letter in calligraphy  
Doodle in the margins
Images
Of something that's just not me
We're just friends

Lies and and false emotions
Follow you like smoke follows beauty
I wanna hate you
It's not easy
We're just friends

It's not easy
To hate someone you love
I wanna hate you
Like I can hate myself
Meg Howell Jul 2015
Every day we come and go with the same bad habits hidden behind empty eyes. We litter the world with fake happiness and vandalize walls with angry shouts. When do we make the decision to be happy?
I feel this is a more pressing issue in today's society. As I've grown, I've realized how happiness deprived most adults of the world are. I believe it's time to bring the happiness of an innocent child back.
Pearson Bolt Mar 2014
strange
isn’t it

how
memories
pique our moods like
mountains

bursting
through the
stratosphere
only to be sent
plummeting to the
depths of an

abyss
darker
and
deeper
than Marianas Trench
at the flip of a

switch

subtle triggers
found in the way
someone laughs
or when a co-worker
grins
out of the corner of
his or her
mouth

i see you
in the characters of the
literature and
films we used to critique
over coffee
hiding in the vestiges
of Daenerys Targaryen
or
Mélanie Laurent

you are France
an entire country
unto yourself

the smell of the sea
clings to your skin cells
in ways i
only wish
i could

you are in every
solitary
letter of Helvetica
whispering
softly
of things that
were
of things that
are
and of some things that
have not yet come to pass

you float
in the carcinogenic smoke
of cigarettes
a silhouette
corporeal particles
i exorcise
with equal parts
relief
and
regret

every night that i
paint the town
in neon colors
of vibrant life
i write your name
when i
vandalize
and fantasize
that you are
somehow with me
maybe floating happily
in the molecules
of aerosol
spreading across the
concrete

you’re in every song
by Brand New
like the residue of
dew drying on
the leaves
in the
mid-morning
light
lingering
even as
the sun calls you

home
the way i lingered
on your doorstep
to make sure that
you made it safely
back inside your
home

i’ve come to find that
i am equal parts
melancholy
and
blithe
and
i think that i
can finally say
i’m getting better

but
to borrow
a page
from Vonnegut
i’d be lying if
i said i didn’t still
catch
myself feeling
sorry
about the things that
no longer
matter
Mysterious Aries Oct 2015
As my fingers punches each letter
And vandalize the blank wall
Purging what's inside, at most all bitter
The lonely journey of the bliss less soul

Why? Of all emotions
At most I choose the time of my pain
To evaporated into the clouds
And turns the season into rain

I am looking for that colorful sign of hope
But sometimes I'm getting tired
Living my life on this endless loop
Misery always transpired

But why those blind aren't quitting life's game
Hopeful and thankful to the mighty Lord
By then my eyes shattered some tiny white grains
That touches the face of my keyboard


10/6/2015
Mysterious Aries
tamia Oct 2015
My old friend, you've done it again.

You turn the lights out when I can finally see,
You stain my fingers with ink you use to write me letters so cruel,
You scream at me deafening words of hatred,
You let tears flow from my eyes without a sense of pity,
You point out my wrongs the way you like to pick the prettiest flowers,
You push me into the smouldering flames then you're in awe of the way I glow,
You slit me with a blade and watch the blood flow, you say it's as beautiful as waves dancing.  
And you do it, over and over again.

Believe me, I wish I could let you go.

I try to run away in the dead of night
To get rid of you, to forget you

You never seem to leave.
You follow me like shadows on asphalt,
You leave your traces in my favorite blouses,
You vandalize my bedroom walls,
You lurk in the corners I confine myself to,
You're in each window I pass by,
You hide under the sheets I sleep in,
Your sobs echo through my ears in the middle of the night,
You're in the mirrors I look away from,
You're in me.

You are me.
Jake Jun 2015
Lets dance over the phone to different songs.
Lets be drunk criminals and vandalize some condemned house.
Lets forget the fact that you graduate two years before me.
Lets be stupid together.
Because every-time I try to be smart, to think things like this through.
I always end up watching them break.
And I'm not saying we won't.
I'm just saying lets ignore it till we have to.
And then wake up the morning after with no regrets.
Just like the first night we were together.
racing across the train platform,
one hand on our heads keeping our beanies in place,
the other clenching each other's

we slid in through the doors,
catching our breath in between laughter
we make it above ground just as the sun is setting over astoria
and i swear your eyes turn golden

my favourite you comes out at night
we lose track of time, put away our cell phones,
and vandalize this whole **** place with our love

carve your name into my rickety old heart like you did the trees
near bethesda
kiss me long and hard, like the winters
just as refreshing when i open the door and seeing you,
my own wonderland

melt this ice pick inside of me
set me on fire, for all i care
everything is dying right now,
but for once, for once, it doesn't feel like it
Emily Rene Nov 2014
I took you at your word,
when you said you would
steal my heart
This might sound absurd,
but would be my thief
take all of me, every part

Love, love, love is my crime
So baby, come catch me
& let's do the time

I think we might be outlaws,
I think I might be in love
Cause I'm all out of reasons,
like seasons, winter, summer, fall,
they're all washed up
& you're still way over there,
maybe slide on in by my side
cause I'm just an outlaw
wanted if you want me

I love you every day & every night

Lock me up for good
Right here in your arms
You vandalize my neighborhood
with your piercing eyes
& devilish charm

Love, love, love is my crime
So baby, come catch me
& let's do the time

I think we might be outlaws,
I think I might be in love
cause I'm all out of reasons,
like seasons, winter, summer, fall,
they're all washed up
& you're still way over there
maybe slide on in by my side
cause I'm just an outlaw
wanted if you want me

Love, love, love is my crime
So baby, come catch me
& let's do the time

I love you every day & every night
David Lambert
Mysterious Aries Aug 2015
To all of you advertisers
Throw your thing on its proper place
Will you just stop please
Don't vandalize this sacred face

This is where our feelings ride
The journey of our low and high
The future will learn from our joy and pain
For us to move faster, end your foolish game

That's why it's Hello Poetry not Hello Adverts
I know you know how to read lines so please divert
I beg you once again find another room
We are POETS here and simply... this is our HOME...

08-06-2015
Mysterious Aries
Anthony Smith Jun 2017
too FAT too SHORT too WITHDRAWN
too THIN too DUMB too SMART
too OLD too WEAK too GOTH
too QUEER too PARANOID too PREPPY

they judge, they mock, they laugh, they jest.
a game they play, all fun and games.
Who cares what they say, why should i listen
the taunts of the others, out for their own.

I don't care, I refuse to see
They will never get to me.. and yet..

Tune it out, look away, doesn't make it end.
no harm intended, death resulted.

Their words have no conviction, no meaning.
This I know, this I believe, but then tell me why..

Why I cannot stop reading the writing on the walls?

too TALL too GROSS too UGLY
too NERDY too SMELLY too CREEPY
too SLOW too HYPER too SENSITIVE

They point, they mock, they regret, they don't care.
Today, tomorrow, last night and before.
They vandalize the air with words they don't intend.

I don't care, I refuse to see
They will never get to me.. and yet..

I walk away, talk to me back
Put you behind me, i cannot hear.

Your words are mute, they matter not.
This I know, this I believe, but then tell me why..

Why I cannot stop reading the writing on the walls?
And why don't they put down the pen?

Too cruel Too harsh Too unprovoked
Too Jealous Too abused Too angry
Too Beaten Too unheard Too unloved

They've been there, they try to cope.
Lashing out instead of lashing in.
Fighting for the chance they never got.

This I know, this I believe.
I don't care, I refuse to see
They will never get to me... and yet..

Tell me why, even knowing this,
why can I not stop reading the writing on the walls?
We are who we are, the hell with those that want to cut us down.
Liz Apr 2015
My saving grace,
This holy place.
You vandalize my sanctuary,
And burn me into ash.

I know what you do,
I remember how we met.
It makes me sick,
To think you'd go back.

i showed you every part of me,
And all you did was leave.
How could this all change,
Just within a week.
The first real thing you've ever had,
And the last heartbreak I'll ever have.

I swear to god,
This won't happen again.
I swear on my life,
No one's getting in.

I tried so ******* hard,
To be the one.
To make you stay.
While your guilt eats you away,
Remember to hold your head.

I'm too young to be like this,
God save me.
I don't care how or when,
Please got just let it end.

I showed you every part of me,
Saw the scars.
Heard the screams.
How did this all change,
Please tell me what went wrong.
The first real thing you've ever had,
The last heartbeat I'll ever have.
Another breakup song
Harmony Sapphire Feb 2015
Don't cross the street until the light is green.
Hold hands at the crosswalks & parking lot.
Keep poison out of reach of children.
Don't cuss or swear.
Don't smoke or drink.
Don't speed above the speed limit.
Don't lend out cash.
Don't get conned.
Don't drink alcohol & drive.
Don't do drugs.
Don't sell *** for money.
Don't take bribes.
Don't get blackmailed.
Don't play with fire.
Don't use explosives or firearms.
Don't vandalize.
Don't be a ******, stripper, ****, drug dealer, bank robber, killer, ******, carjacker, kidnapper, or shoplifter.
Wear your seat belt.
Check your motor oil & fluids.
Drive on a full tank of gas.
Clean your windshield.
Flush the toilet.
Brush your teeth & hair.
Never use electrical things near water.
Never lie.
Never hire an attorney for anything.
Never sign a stripper contract.
Don't dance naked for money.
Use mouthwash.
© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved
Shaun Meehan Nov 2014
Infant hands
gripping thumbs.
Tired arms encircling adult neck.
Your first smile,
first laugh—
first tooth, step, and word, our
first shared glance.
Moments, landmarks of your life, the
joy of my own.

Infant eyes so full
of wonder,
even the meagre astounds.
Constellations,
planets and moons, asteroids
creeping through space,
world destroyers and raisers of new.
The universe, its
infinitely vast magnificence, at
molecular level iris comprised.
The pupil—centre ajar
serving soul's route,
a window into 'nother realm, the
place of spirit's hailing.
True self temporarily encased,
the pathway to which
in resides of corporeal existence
the pith of life.
Your eyes—as much wonder possessed
as perceive.

A wish;
you might stay young forever, each
day spent together, that
your innocence,
your heart, may
never know break's suffering.
That cheek, tear might never dampness vandalize.
Your life—unspoiled joy,
mere childish disappointment to claim,
might always remain.

A shelter from hate,
from hunger and strife.
The broadcasts of the world
that their weighty burden might never
find home upon tiny shoulder.
In my palm, Atlas' strength I possess,
to keep at bay
war—its further result.
Disaster.
Death,
thunder wind lightning,
the monster under your bed.
The fear of all things fear inciting,
a paladin whom you I serve.

But in that wish
I might deprive,
an incalculable love—life's
blessed comprise.
The force by which
a patriarch's drive—
the reason for being.
By selfish pinning of youth,
fulfilment you may never know

As much to protect you,
I do myself.
A fear of my own finale.
Residing forever in this happy dream.
Terror realized,
contrary to that my inevitable absence—that
I might never leave you, but
that you might never leave me.
My son, I love you, and
in time you will see.
Alan S Bailey Oct 2016
So a person is gay, so they have to "have their way"
With a simple ring,  pizza or cake, a legal wedding day,
Doing things that straight people do everyday.
So a person is black, so they have to "vandalize,"
Even if in a decent non-violence as they demonstrate.
Remove the "threat," gang up on them even if
"Black Lives Matter" is all they were there to say.
So a person is an anti-war hippie, don't listen to them,
Instead go to war EVERY time and "make the world
A better place," especially for our children!
So a person is eccentric, "a dreamer," they have no right-of-way,
You're in this so-called free country,
Leave all of your dreams, your goals, your hopes
At home or take them to another MORE LIBERAL
Country to stay.
Arfah Afaqi Zia Aug 2016
Let me savor each and everytime,
In this world-
That's going to destruct one day,
Vandalize each and everyone or thing important to me,
Let me savor each and everytime in it !

It's been long since I've found something to intrigue me,
It's been quite a while-
Having ups and downs,
My heart breaks and wails,
So poignant and reminiscing are those episodes,
At times I feel so low-
Fall down in my own sorrow,
And spill tears in abyss,

But now I say;
Let me savor each and everytime,
In this world-
That's going to destruct one day,
Vandalize each and everyone or thing important to me,
Let me savor each and everytime in it !
Joe Cole Sep 2014
Tranquil Freedom

I think back to my early teens
To what I had but what we've lost
As kids we would walk about four miles to fish a special pond
In a special place
Sneak in through the gap in the iron railings
We thought we were so clever but the truth is the landowner always knew what we were up to
But he didn't mind. We weren't there to vandalize and destroy
We had the freedom to roam
That quiet tranquil place
Sunlight on the breeze driven rippled water
Bird songs
Lying on the bank, up to the armpit in water
Searching in the mud for fresh water mussels
Always looking for that special pearl
Never did find it
I look now at what our kids have got
Can't go here, can't go there
Nothing left, nothing, nothing
No more the woods and wide green swathes
No more the freedom
No more the tranquility that once was mine
Matalie Niller May 2012
Sliding a can of spray paint out of his mischeif backpack
finger tips began to sense things without touching
they knew they were about to vandalize
and the thought of beautiful work to be created made the nerves fly into a frenzy.
Rattling of  bearing, combining of paint and propellant
pink sneezes out of the nozzle in a wonderful mist smelling of dizzying chemicals
he waves his arm in an arc,
an ark to save a generation from corporate *******,
to eliminate the fraud of the men in suits who shave daily and drink coffee
this kid
wanted to revolt, not knowing repurcussions
or fearing concussions
only the humiliation of being held by the book of laws and treaties,
treating each night of debauchery as a dawn of ingenuity and won victories,
perplexion of the too-calm anarchy of day-to-day America
why wasn't everyone outraged?
Why weren't they naked and screaming and looting?
His thoughts were misconstrued by **** residue
cheap alcohol poisoning
he may as well have huffed the paint
then the cops came
"It's in my rights, I want my rights! I need my rights to write!"
Delirious, disgruntled
he'll tweet about this later,
his first run-in with The Fuzz
while defacing a preschool.
J Apr 2013
Fluorescent drangonflies vandalize my colorless mind,
dancing to the bass of my African ear drums.
Envelope me in this foreign feeling & seal me with a red kiss,
then mail my essence to the fingertips of bliss
& pray Angel Gabriel's feet meet no hinderance.
PaperclipPoems Nov 2015
I don't know how much more of this I can take
You relentlessly push and you shove and you bend me until I break.
Darling, I'm about to snap. So if I do, I suggest you wave farewell
You better believe that I will drag you with me down to hell.
I've let you walk through this break up squeaky clean and vandalize my name
I've heard your lies about me that have circled back around and they all sound so insane.
I try to play nice with you and give you some kind of credit
I've felt so bad for you up until this point and I've really just had it!
Say whatever you want about me to everyone if that's how you sleep better at night
Because at the end of the day I'm still doing just fine.
I don't need to trash your name or embarrass you, like you've tried to do me
You make yourself look foolish enough, you don't need my help baby.
SamBee Jan 2013
I've cried out canker sores
Pulled the drain from the bath of smoke
Slip into a sea of walloping wolves.
Shortly awake from a screeching call
Stumble into my worn down soles
Float along the cherry wood floors
Still caught in a web of dreams
Scoop a spoonful of bloated cereal
Swish it through my teeth
Hopscotch into a familiar car
The strangers seem so distant
A slip of the lip
A twist of the tongue
And I already wish I used my feet.
My mind sinks into thoughts of absence.
I sit and slurp a cup of tea
Conversations with snow monkeys and tigers
Invade my morning
It is I who play the symbols,
Jump through rings.
I cough my day out of my throat
Vandalize the home of dust specks
Sing a cackling song
Taste copper pennies in my cheeks
Engulf my dinner
Sink back out of my soul
Let it rest,
As my body recharges
For the next day to come.
I was lost in the motion of motionlessness, where you feel like you're doing the exact same thing over and over. School can do that to you.
My brain is a train that gets off track
I continue speeding on this rocky terrain
but this train has no end
I forgot to build a caboose
and the gears holding my cars together
are loose
And I see all of this and realize
my train is coming undone

At night my dignity leaves with the sun
as hoodlums come vandalize
my train's frail body
But I realize also
the beauty that now covers up
what's rotting apart
The destruction that molds
my train into a body of art.
Ember Evanescent Oct 2014
I'm THAT person.
You know the one.
The one you want to impale with a blunt object.
You will be texting them and you will disagree on something.
So they will tell you why they are right
And you will send them all these brilliant arguments about why you are right
And they will respond...
By correcting your grammar.
Yes, THAT right there, is ME.
Is it REALLY that hard though?
There is:
There, their, and they're.
Your, yore, and you're.
My friends and I.
NOT my friends and me.
If you're going to upset me, please,
Just kick me in the head or slam a hammer into my face but PLEASE do not say oxes. It's OXEN!.
And don't even get me started on it's and its.
When you mess that up... just ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
It hurts me! Really!  Agonizing torture!  
One day I'm going to snap and vandalize a billboard.
When I get arrested for that, the sad part will be that
It will be because I was correcting the "Got Milk?" Ad.
Got milk.
Got. Milk.
I'm sorry, GOT milk?!!
Did you mean do you HAVE any milk?!!
But police don't feel that improper grammar is a good  excuse for the defacing of property.
Yes, yes, yes I KNOW I'm a grammar ****
But do you know what? I wouldn't have to be one if people would quit MURDERING the English language!!
So please, before I spontaneously combust.
Get. It. Right.

Repost if yous Is one of thoses persons whose bothereded bye theses stuffs and badder grammar makeses yous madder then any others peopleses on earth.
Please comment! I love to read interpretations of my work and really anything else you have to say!
Repost if yous Is one of thoses persons whose bothereded bye theses stuffs and badder grammar makeses yous madder then any others peopleses on earth.
Please comment! I love to read interpretations of my work and really anything else you have to say!
KB Sep 2014
can I swallow your pills / you can swallow my pain / watch thunderstorms travel hills / watch me vandalize old trains / swim with city lights and / smoke night pollen / give up all your fights / don’t hear the daytime callin
Paige May 2014
No one tells you about how lonely it is up here
Supposedly, if everyone is different, doesn't that mean everyone is alone
We all just live in the same space together knowing that we all have different interests and hobbies
And if none of us have the same thumbprint then that means in order for us to understand one and other we would have to touch every single other soul; just because we are all just so different
But in order to that we would have to open up and trust
Have the same sense of serenity when we lean on each others shoulder so that when I am ready to let you in my temple you do not ruin it
Do not vandalize the temple I have studied, meditated, and even felt love in
The sacred spirit I have carried with me has done nothing wrong to you
So why would you want to damage it
#oh
Mark Toney Oct 2019
Caregiver,
You came into our family
As a river of hope.
Ever flowing, always there,
Providing loving care,
So we could cope.

Caregiver,
You became an uncaring taker.
With your undue influence
You spent her money
On your own selfish wants.
Under false pretenses, you dragged her along daily,
Using her vehicle for your own personal errands.
Like a foe you fought our family
As we became wise to your machinations.
And when your goose was finally cooked,
Your last act was to vandalize in secret,
Leaving her heart broken.

Oh, Uncaring Taker,
How unconscionable were your actions.
How hateful you became.
Why were you this way?
How I would like to make you pay,
But it's her wish to leave it this way.
5/9/2018 - Poetry form: Free Verse - Many elderly adults are abused in their own homes, in relatives’ homes, and even in facilities responsible for their care. If you suspect that an elderly person is at risk from a neglectful or overwhelmed caregiver, or being preyed upon financially, it’s important to speak up. Everyone deserves to live in safety, with dignity and respect. Take time to learn about the warning signs of elder abuse, what the risk factors are, and how you can prevent and report the problem. - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
wordvango Apr 2017
the mezcal incident, now
that was surely one doozy/
started out with a shot of Patrone
no lime or salt at ten in the morn'/
at this strip joint in Wicksburg
where they advertise
two hot babes three skinny one's
and one big mama,
on their marquee, which is one of
those lighted portable signs plastic letters things
the kids like to vandalize by
like on the Natural Light Deliverance Tabernacle
I minister at occasionaly, we have one of those ,
had In God We Trust , lettered on it on saturday.
Sunday, at eleven, when we arrived for worship ,
it said in dogs  we gust,
limited letters to arrange so,
I got the teen hoodlum gyst/
I ramble on so much, wouldn't
blame you
if you lost interest,
but anyways/
this day, what I mentioned early in this,
started out fairly innocent, a drink
a gander at female utilitarianism,
and a shot,
thing about tequila
sitting down you don' t know how ****** up you are
get up, try to stand and wow!
I keep digressing,
that day
hell I ******* forgot/
Sorry to lead you on.

— The End —