"vary" poems
***** What are those?
creation of some great architect.
they vary in size, shape and dimension
also in weight, width and assimilation...
one touch takes you million stars away
heavenly bliss, on the earth nevertheless,
squeeze them to the delight,
hold them to their perfect shapes,
Hands in joy and trickling liquid SomePlaceElse..
moaning body, screaming someone's name,
dude! you are the luckiest, keep up the fame..
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 6:42 PM UTC
Vaginas are all shapes & sizes
Not many vary from the fold
there are very few surprises
Seems nature's gone & set it's mould
But the ****** has such allure
A pull on man to lesbian alike
A calling so strong and pure
Enough to turn a straight girl ****
Is it the promise of warmth & touch
A memory of a time inside
The scent of our matriarch's crotch
Draws us to those legs held wide?
It was nature's way of ensuring
The human race continues on
So that our presence here's enduring
Never ceasing. On & on
Instinct has been subject to a ploy
To harbour this hypnotic power
Sell it back, a high class toy
Put to work this delicate flower
Control the basic urge of man
The essential need to drink & eat
Once you create the ultimate fan
Then the surplus you do deplete
Until it feels that a simple look
Purchased, from a few feet away
Is as good as one hard ****
Copulation they do delay
And so vaginas became a mystery
Sold back to all who do desire
Remember to look back in history
The vaginas are for more than hire
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
Those happy Morris dancers make for a happy sight
They wear bright scarlet ribbons and their shirts and trousers white,
They clash their sticks whilst dancing and you hear the timbers ring
Though 'twould seem that Morris dancing is not a female thing.
I've never seen a female Morris dancer I stand corrected if I'm wrong
It has it's roots in England and to England it belong
And I hope that Morris dancing will not go the way of rhyme
That in a changing World it won't lose out to time.
They brought their culture with them from England far away
A culture perhaps fading like many of the old cultures are today
With the old dances of Europe I see a link somewhere
And sad to hear that Morris dancers are now becoming rare.
At the Dandenong Ranges festival east of Melbourne they perform every year
And after in the ***** tent they laugh as they drink their beer,
They brought a thing of beauty when they brought their dancing here
And to those marvellous Morris dancers let us raise our glass of cheer.
Morris dancing vary from English Village to Village or so I have been told
Though the times they are a changing and fading are the ways of old
But those marvellous Morris dancers may they dance forever more
In the sunshine of Australia far from England's rainy shore.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
I can draw different pictures ,but From where should I start ? I can draw with a pencil As a reminder that I can do something ... I can draw pictures ,but In my mind this time ... I can draw with my eyes ,but Through different sights ... My drawings vary from One thing to another ...
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
critical thinking
as you call it;
that which
I seem to lack.
need to
improve
upon.
and I agree in ways.
you said,
it is observing
the situation,
the pieces,
I have at hand,
and deducing
the best possible way
in my knowledge
to make them
fit together.
sounds
quite simple -
common sense.
simple,
if my mind
ran as smoothly as your own.
a trait of yours
I admire greatly.
a trait of others
I am envious of.
but critical thinking
is different when
my mode of
thinking
is not the same
I do not see
my surroundings;
my life,
my reality,
as cogs and gears
that progress
this existence.
I admire
the way you,
and others
pick up on the
little
small
hidden artifacts
that allow yourself
to discover
the best
possible way
to proceed.
if I were to say,
you noticed
the overlooked
and finer details,
I would say
I notice-
no-
I experience awareness
of it's entirety.
how it feels
to me
and how I feel
about it.
if our
individual
thought processes
were placed
in an ever changing river,
whose currents
vary
and are unpredictable?
yours
would be
picking up the driftwood
the sticks,
and objects in grasp.
and as the current carries it,
it would be constructing
a raft
to stay afloat:
safe
and
in the most
comfortable way,
so it could eventually
construct
something suitable
and sturdy
to rest upon,
and relax with content,
while enjoying
the splashes
and warm sunlight
from a safe spot.
instead of
deducing the situation
as yours did,
my thought process
would drift along
the same river,
letting the current
take it under -
if that is where
it felt like going.
finding logs
and debris
to hang on to
when the current
became too much
and it needed a break.
yours may be
high and dry,
but mine has felt
the pebbles
along the bottom
of this river -
the depth and pressure
almost frightening,
but the experience
in itself
always beautiful.
mine floats upon it's back,
like an otter,
enjoying the sunlight
as yours does,
experiencing
this journey through
the rivers path.
and maybe,
if the current gets rough,
if mine is struggling,
it will find the hand
of yours
lifting it up
to keep it safe
until the rocky waters
have passed.
I experience
as I feel,
which may not
be the best approach
all of the time.
but with this,
I am able to
feel
what I believe
is the best choice,
based
on my experience
of the whole.
you make me
feel
and want to
try
new ways of thinking,
new ways
that may help.
you are always pushing
pushing me
to do more
to be more;
which is just one
of the many reasons
why I love you.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 3:49 AM UTC
This was just published so it is copyright 2015 by Holy Cow Press ~ mce
Poverty is the fence around your life. Poverty wakes you up at 4 AM only to whisper meaningless slogans in your ear. It is the school of Piranha nibbling at the back of your brain. It is two hours waiting in the anteroom of despair for $22 worth of food stamps and being glad to be there. It is changing your phone number frequently because bill collectors are such boring conversationalists. It is the empty space your heels used to fill. It is letting your hair grow long and scraggly and your grizzled beard sprout because you know that although you sleep in rented rooms tonight, the street is not far off, and you want to fit in when you arrive. Poverty scalds the lint from your pockets. It is your private Treblinka within which you rage but are crushed. It is desperate prayers against dental catastrophes, blown tires, surprises of any sort. Poverty is when everything you own is frayed including your nerves from sleepless moments spent trying to solve the equation that will make X number of dollars cover X + ? number of bills, knowing that such math would defeat Newton or Einstein. Poverty is eying the cat's kibble imagining that with a bit of sugar and a splash of milk it might be fine and then eyeballing the cat himself thinking of protein of last resort and trying not to measure him against the microwave door. You ration your cigarettes; whiskey is a fading memory. Passing a diner on the street, you catch a whiff of burgers too expensive to consider and experience a Pavlovian moment. Poverty is trying to keep your head up and then remembering you pawned your neck. Poverty is watching the needle eat your last few gallons of gas. Poverty is the archeology of despair. It portends the death of irony. There is nothing ironic about a car with 217,000 miles and no insurance on it. Facts are facts in the world of poverty. Poverty is the last quarter reclaimed from beneath the cushions. It is too much time and not enough quarters. It is the specious logic of the self-righteous proclaiming that you deserve to be poor because you are, which in Amerika passes for wisdom. Poverty makes each day like the next because nothing does not vary. It is who you are and where you are going, although you won't get far. It is the life you lead inside the fence. It is the sum of what you lack. It just is.
- mce
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
Don't ever ask me what am I, an ancient story
of a battle lost to remain in the realm of the sublime,
unmitigated grief that visits, again and again,
reminding the journey of pain though galaxies,
far of yore to the days of present.
In a moments of desperation I discover the bard,it could
be rather told thus, he meets me at last, as was his wont
Bard, celestial lover, before my eyes you appear thus:
I see you holding in your hands a magic lyre, so rare.
that goes on strumming non- stop, to bring birds, the tunes,
that lives in far parts of the universe,even unknown to most,
they do vary,have colored feathers;memories living in
different layers of my consciousness,always buzzing like a beehive.
I am the single, magic , potent, word, a mantra
that in it's kernel carries the , seeds of eternal, "I am that"
I hear the speakings of the words,that brings to life
experiences of different kinds,on their beaks some one
carries ripe fruits, the result of long days of sweat and tears.
Each fruit has a flavor distinct,each word carries a seed
that will grow to be a mighty tree,many birds would roost.
Bard you are a wonder,tying past and future with one string
of a lyre converging in the heart beat of the ebullient present,
you easily transcend the three, and every other dimension
of time that mingles in your heady brew,unrivaled it stands.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
I've been around for centuries.
And will continue on.
I don't control my action.
I don't control my operator mood.
I just get accused.
When I lay a person down.
I didn't purchase myself.
A human purchase me.
I didn't load myself.
A person fulfilled that need.
I've been carried by the law enforcer legally for years.
And by the criminal influence a little longer.
When you have me in your hands.
You're the one in control.
Smith and Wesson some call me.
Other names seems to vary.
I'm protected by the second amendment.
And have the power to make a robber or burglar flee.
Yes, I am a gun.
Design to protect.
Design for show.
Create no problems.
And I lightly I won't be seen.
Except there's always one source that needs to meet me.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
Oh let’s sing
Church bells ring
Dingaling ling.
Sing out loud
Boldly and proud
Enormous crowd.
Hear those chants
You debutants
Some breathless pants.
Poetry starts here,
Perhaps with a beer
Ask Shakespeare.
Oral tradition
An ongoing mission
So start the audition.
A memorable rhyme
Lasts for all time
Let’s make it chime.
Free verse is still fine
Bring in the wine
And vary the line.
Who cares if it scans
You grammatical fans
We don’t need your plans.
So free up your souls
Whatever your goals
And loose those controls.
Yes let your heart sing
A bird on the wing
Tingaling ling.
If singing’s your thing
Think what you’ll bring
Tingaling ding.
Paul Butters
© PB 7\9\2018.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 4:44 AM UTC
Mattel is proud to present their new doll
Barbie as a mom
Barbie as a mom let kids explore their nurturing side
Barbie as a mom comes with exclusive accessories like
A child
And a bottle to keep them quiet
Barbie can now look responsible and put together between her friends
Barbie can now proudly show her offspring and receive compliments
Enjoy all the perks that Barbie as a pet owner didn't have
Barbie as a mom can also wear matching outfits and upload them to Instagram
Wouldn't she look so cute?
Accessories don't have names
Doll cannot stand alone
Colors and decorations may vary
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 11:04 PM UTC
A fisherman is drifting, enjoying the spring mountains,
And the peach-trees on both banks lead him to an ancient source.
Watching the fresh-coloured trees, he never thinks of distance
Till he comes to the end of the blue stream and suddenly- strange men!
It's a cave-with a mouth so narrow that he has to crawl through;
But then it opens wide again on a broad and level path --
And far beyond he faces clouds crowning a reach of trees,
And thousands of houses shadowed round with flowers and bamboos....
Woodsmen tell him their names in the ancient speech of Han;
And clothes of the Qin Dynasty are worn by all these people
Living on the uplands, above the Wuling River,
On farms and in gardens that are like a world apart,
Their dwellings at peace under pines in the clear moon,
Until sunrise fills the low sky with crowing and barking.
...At news of a stranger the people all assemble,
And each of them invites him home and asks him where he was born.
Alleys and paths are cleared for him of petals in the morning,
And fishermen and farmers bring him their loads at dusk....
They had left the world long ago, they had come here seeking refuge;
They have lived like angels ever since, blessedly far away,
No one in the cave knowing anything outside,
Outsiders viewing only empty mountains and thick clouds.
...The fisherman, unaware of his great good fortune,
Begins to think of country, of home, of worldly ties,
Finds his way out of the cave again, past mountains and past rivers,
Intending some time to return, when he has told his kin.
He studies every step he takes, fixes it well in mind,
And forgets that cliffs and peaks may vary their appearance.
...It is certain that to enter through the deepness of the mountain,
A green river leads you, into a misty wood.
But now, with spring-floods everywhere and floating peachpetals --
Which is the way to go, to find that hidden source?
4.6k
Evil & crime so predictable & stale.
Stupid how arrested suspects get bail.
Convicted when their victims tell.
Prison is where some stay & are jailed.
They have to communicate by mail.
Sometimes their focus goes in another direction.
Where probation happens after correction.
Child & spousal abuse, drug use, & rehab that is no use.
History repeats
Wives & children still get beat.
Their isn't always a Superman or Batman to be your hero.
With a sword or crossbow.
Details of armed robbery , drug dealing & smuggling.
Stabbings & muggings.
On the inside homosexual love with cuddling.
Human trafficking & prostitution.
Violating amendments & constitutions.
They are how they are from how they were raised.
If their victims could speak from the grave
Or had they been saved.
They could explain & describe how their rapists & killers behaved.
Male & females do their time.
Years in custody for their crimes.
Seriousness of their offenses vary.
Some educate, get jobs, or marry.
Behind bars is where violence belongs.
To be punished for all that they did wrong.
Some from death row are now dead.
Similar to the wildlife in a zoo behind bars they get fed.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
Through the white, beating Texan heat,
water towers cry out titles
high above the flat land
where kids from the roadside houses
run around in stained tank tops,
dreaming of their own names up there.
The long and burnt grass cuts their ankles
and the dry cement scrapes their feet.
The midday ritual begins in a racing circle
raising dust over the roofs and into the shy afternoon.
Around 5, the roadside families reunite
in front of their houses to watch the daily traffic jam
and observe the variety of faces through the glass windows,
which after a short while do not seem to vary at all.
But today, something else had their full attention.
The sky was never seen this low and the clouds
turned a shade of black
so dark as to be almost green,
so the eldest women on that single row of houses
declared bad omen. The next early morning,
the closest water tower laid gravely against the ground.
Already, a small boy had climbed on top of the tank,
soles bleeding, and waving
his shirt into the wide clear sky.
©2018 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
I am trapped on an island in my mind.
I cannot escape this false paradise.
A higher power has placed me here against my will.
If I am Odysseus, where is my Calypso?
I am floating along, unsure of my way,
Surrounded by unknown dangers.
I don’t know my goal, or how to get there.
If I am Odysseus, where is my Ithaka?
Times are changing, people are moving, going ever forward,
And I'm standing still, unsure of my next move.
The paths ahead of me vary. Some light, some dark, all frightening.
If I am Odysseus, where is my Athena?
May 23, 2011
May 23, 2011 at 10:53 PM UTC
Intelligence isn't based through an IQ score, nor through ones ability to count to ten.
Intelligence is based on an individual's ability to grasp a concept in an exceptional fashion.
Rather it be math, social skills or even ones ability to make others laugh. These all show an intellectual and subjective level of intelligence.
Although regularities may vary, the general outcome of one's ability to stabilize information is no different then those of a "higher" place.
"Everybody is a Genius, but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid."
-Joseph B Schneider
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 3:46 AM UTC
Next two years, college, poetry, poetry,
You, me, *** condoms, birthcontrol?
Mother, permission, cleaning room, cleaning life, windex, lemon scented windex.
Windows, escape, Ani Difranco, 32 flavors, 32 flavors and then some
I am 32 flavors and then some.
My grades are 1 A, 2 Bs, 3 Cs and 2 Ds?
Atleast I vary. Colleges look for variation.
I can cross my eyes. Only one other person in my family can cross their eyes.
This was my last quarter to make an impression.
Impress. Smile. Eye contact. I have to meet your mother.
I have to go shopping
With your mother.
I lied to my mother
Mothers dont like lying
My parents asked me if something tragic happened to me
I used to wish that something tragic would happen to me
Nothing tragic has happened to me
Unless you call immense boredom with tiny people on a tiny state tragic
Which for a matter of fact I do.
You ask me whats going on
I’m a smart girl
Im flattered that you think so
But I doubt your surgeon parents will agree
How many AP classes am I taking...
0.
This is so out of character.
Youve never avoided your problems like this before
Silly parents
You’d avoid your problems too if they were
Life ambition, college, *** condoms, birthcontrol?
1 A, 2 Bs, 3 Cs and 2 Ds, cleaning room, cleaning life
Cleaning out my character
Because I have to impress your mother.
Should we get you a therapist?
We shouldve gotten you a therapist last year
Dealing with stress is hard for anyone
You just need help.
I do not want your help.
Dealing with stress is not hard
Put your head in the sand and listen to Ani Difranco
32 Flavors
32 flavors and then some
I am 32 flavors and then some
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
Move rack to lowest position,
Set to three seventy-five.
Pour in one and a third cups water,
Sprinkle egg whites (package A),
Blend on LOW till moist.
Beat on high (but remain patient)
Stiff peaks will form when gently
Dunking a spatula into your batter
(Be sure beater is AT REST before checking).
Sprinkle in cake flour (package B)
A little at a time on LOWEST setting
(Don’t forget to scrape the bottom and edges).
Pour batter into your ungreased tube pan,
Cut through batter gently with a butter knife
In a circular motion
To eliminate air bubbles.
Bake for at least thirty minutes
Or until top crust is golden brown
(Ovens vary so keep your eye on it at all times).
Cool by hanging tube pan upside down on bottle,
Loosen by making up and down strokes with spatula or knife.
Gently remove your cake.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 1:23 PM UTC
Go, Soul, the body’s guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant:
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.
Say to the court, it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Say to the church, it shows
What’s good, and doth no good:
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.
Tell potentates, they live
Acting by others’ action;
Not loved unless they give,
Not strong but by a faction.
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.
Tell men of high condition,
That manage the estate,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate:
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending.
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell zeal it wants devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it is but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust:
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.
Tell age it daily wasteth;
Tell honour how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favour how it falters:
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.
Tell wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of niceness;
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in overwiseness:
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.
Tell physic of her boldness;
Tell skill it is pretension;
Tell charity of coldness;
Tell law it is contention:
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.
Tell fortune of her blindness;
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
Tell justice of delay:
And if they will reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming:
If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools the lie.
Tell faith it’s fled the city;
Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood shakes off pity
And virtue least preferreth:
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.
So when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing—
Although to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing—
Stab at thee he that will,
No stab the soul can ****
3.5k
Connection
From the past just a voice memories come strong and fast the school its walls doors and windows dissolved they live still
They were an integral part you can’t interact daily come to know them how ever wide the divide extends over years
They were life then now in shadows they still command your imagination never very far from the heart quietly they thrill
Sometimes alone you deny and go but you can’t leave them they were implanted ingrained in your life always they exist
Difference opposite levels vary the constant going and coming a circle one in front one in back this defines grows character
The rubbing and friction goes beyond outer circumstances it reaches inner reality from this constant exposure an unbreakable bond
This is not mundane life these are core components we cheat and allow failure if we close ourselves off our own worst detractor
You will change yourself forever when stimuli and good will is rebuffed there pulsates defenses more than we know in past friends
A prison we make when we choose isolation brick by brick we wall ourselves in close out the sunlight that shines out of other hearts
Mix words with action and then allow yourself to be moved images possess power they can forcefully carry you to unequaled heights
Those long ago days hold seeds from a harvest that can be birthed again and of all times now is crucial the time is now get ready start
The sun at your back the future ahead speak without faltering you are the guiding light of all that is to be shared and made brand new
How strong the future will be is determined by how willing you are to reach into the past being selective you draw on all that is good
Fellow students your parents their history and victories all are your guideposts unerring unwavering their spirits lead a guiding star
Many battles long has been the fight discouragement drags your smile down enlightened others beat fear now you have understood
Yours and their quality is like timbers tested in great sea storms you have come into your own now masterful owners of life now give
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 8:26 PM UTC
Hello everyone,
I try to make a poem,
Out of something short and sweet.
But I want to thank all of you for
your kindness and generosity.
Everyone here, has emotions that
vary from big and small...
but all the same goes,
we are unique
and that's what brings
us together as a
wholesome community.
Our lives walk on different paths,
and each time the days go past,
we come on here to share our feels,
to help us spread emotions that cannot be felt.
So ever so kind, thoughtful and emotionally heard...
as I Thank You all
to take your time
to read ones poem,
show's the true hearts
of another poet...or simply
you are here to read...
so I thank you for your
greetings and salutations
as we continue to speak.
Jul 23, 2021
Jul 23, 2021 at 3:29 AM UTC
This week, Jesse Herndon has more on her plate than the typical high school student.
She has spent hours after school each day making calls, finalizing details for an event happening Sunday.
Collecting donated items for an upcoming silent auction. Calling every bakery in Greensboro.
“It’s very stressful,” said Herndon, a junior at Weaver Academy.
But it’s all for a good cause.
She’s organizing an event with free pastries, live music, a fashion show and a silent auction, which will be held at 7 p.m. Sunday night at The Blind Tiger, 1819 Spring Garden Street in Greensboro.
Admission is $4 with the donation of clothing of any size. The goal is to collect clothes that would comply with Standard Mode of Dress, or SMOD, the uniforms required at some local schools.
The fashion show will feature clothes from Plato’s Closet, Mack and Mack, and Patina Bridal and Formals.
The silent auction would include items such as Weaver Academy student artwork and a gift bag full of beauty products valued at about $200. Herdon is still seeking donations of items to auction.
The event will benefit Backpack Beginnings, a local organization that provides food and clothing for thousands of local needy children.
All 127 Guilford schools have a dress code, but a few dozen require students to wear uniforms.
Some parents have complained about the cost of buying the uniforms. They’ve also complained that the uniform dress codes vary from school to school, requiring additional clothes purchases if a child changes schools.
Parents and some students also described dress code violations for wearing a jacket with a hood, a logo deemed too large or the wrong color shoelaces.
“SMOD is really expensive,” Herdon said. She knows because her sisters have attended SMOD schools.
In January, the Guilford County Board of Education unanimously approved changes to its policy on SMOD. Principals of current SMOD schools have until June to survey parents on whether to continue requiring students to wear uniforms in the 2015-16 school year.
Now, school administrators at traditional schools also have to get public input before requiring uniforms. Ever two years, traditional schools with SMOD have to reconsider requiring uniforms and demonstrate public support for the policy.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
The types of people
vary as they do.
And here I will count
the types of people for you.
Type 1:
They pull you close
and say it's okay
and you would just nod
so they could go away.
They pretend they understand
and that you're like their soul.
They try to help
but in your heart, they leave a hole.
Type 2:
They say they don't care
and just leave you to rot.
They say that you always think
they're something that they're not.
You think you're lovebirds
They think you're less
You always expect the best from them
which leaves you in a total mess.
Type 3:
They're there when they need you
but not the other way around.
When the sky starts turning gray
you won't be hearing a sound.
Do what they want,
then leave them be.
That's what they're asking
from you and from me.
Type 4:
They give flowers and roses
and say they'd give you their life.
They smile to your face,
and to your back, they hold a knife.
They talk sweet all the time.
At least when you look.
But when you turn they wouldn't think twice
about hanging your head on a hook.
Type 5:
They like to see the pain.
It gives them joy.
They like to remind you
of how you're a little boy.
They hate you openly,
which is better than type 4,
but only if you could take the curses
and the hurt anymore.
Type 6:
They're the closest to your heart
and the best you'll ever find.
They understand your soul
just like they understand your mind.
They care about you,
but they're so very rare.
They're the type of people
you could never spare.
So check on yourself
and see where you belong,
for sometimes with less than a word,
everything could go wrong.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
As
Boundaries
Create
Distance
Egos
Fluctuate,
Giving
Hollow
Insecurities
Justification,
Killing
Likely
Manifestations,
Nullifying
Our
Purest
Qualities,
Reducing
Satisfactions
That
Usually
Vary,
Welcoming
Xenial
Yin-yang
Zealously
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
The Cut-up cut out and cut down The Middle man then cut in while he and his date were dancing
He tried to strike up a conversation but struck out when she struck down upon him blows of reigning rejection
Now The Psychopath and The Sociopath are at odds
The Psychopath thinks The Sociopath is sloppy and his ideas have no longevity
The Sociopath thinks the Psychopath is just having growing pains and need to learn to live a little
The Psychopath was born into this, but the Sociopath was born onto it
The onset of calculated impulses
Contain yourself
Control yourself
Looking at it from an ethnocentric point of view
Entertain the idea that you may be the antisocial one
Humor me on this one
Would a smart person waste hard earned money on an "I'm with Stupid" t-shirt?
Postulate the theory that their are six degrees of separation
That you are a few hellos to someone who is a friend of a friend every way you turn
And that person may or may not rupture the cycled path you've been treading
Told to be prompt
To have good posture
To do regular pruning to our appearances and keep them up
But price and participation always vary
Is it a tad underwhelming or did I speak too soon?
Was it lost in translation?
It's called acorn theory
Not what you came with
Not where you came to
Or even where you come from
But what you came as
And will continue on to be
The hustle and bustle
Packing heat
Flexing muscle
In the big bad city
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 9:49 PM UTC
Hurt…..
By silence
Unanswered questions
Harsh words
A look
A false smile
Glazed eyes
Sad eyes
A wanted touch
A unwanted touch
No emotion in a cwtch
A hard hand
All these and more
Are served with or without intent
Consequences vary
Both parties feel the pain
The confusion
The misunderstanding
So why hurt……
It just the human condition
To feel and be hurt.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 3:39 AM UTC