"vivian" poems
2018
Does it necessarily called sad even when there's no tears?
Does it necessarily called scar even when there's no mark?
Does it necessarily called pain, even when it doesn't show?
Heart.
Break.
Heartbreak.
I am used to hearing this word on a daily basis.
Maybe a little too often, but my point here is, everyone knows someone 'utters' that they are in a heartbreak once in a while.
So, what is heartbreak to you?
"When someone can't keep their promises while they have the chance to." —Alessandra A.
"Uncertainty." —Samuel Wijaya
"Friends who leave." —Vivian Loo
"Being a disappointment." —Ryon Regasa
"When the butterflies are no longer there." —Calvina Izumi
"Seeing him smile, but I'm not the reason." —Anonymous
"When someone you love, has another name in his/her heart." —Evadne Richard
"When an effort to love can't be seen anymore because it is sealed shut by a mistake." —David Halim
"When you finally meet someone you love sincerely and somehow they start distancing themselves, and you don't even talk to them anymore and you don't even know why."—Natasha
These are some opinions from my friends that probably represent some/most of your thoughts about a heartbreak, at least describe what comes first to your mind after hearing that word.
And those opinions also described mine, and mostly represent some of the heartbreak(s) that had occured in my life.
Now,
concluding all the opinions above
How would I myself define what heartbreak is?
I would define it as an invisible yet irresistible pain.
Headache is a type of pain.
And heartbreak is also a type of pain.
But we all know that both of them are completely different.
When you're having a headache, you know exactly where it hurts.
But when you're having a heartbreak, it just hurts.
You don't know exactly where the pain came from,
even when some referred to their chest ('cause it's where their heart is) or anywhere else, it's actually just the side effect of having a heartbreak itself.
Just enough explanation to state that heartbreak is like a nowhere and everywhere type of pain.
You can't see and you can't know where it hurts, but it's real. As if it was invisible as it is uncertain.
Just because you can't really point out where it hurts, doesn't mean it's not there.
And another thing about heartbreak is, you can't resist it. No matter how hard you try.
There is no painkiller for your heartbreak, and even if you use something as a pain killer (such as alcohol?), it doesn't necessarily works as one.
It doesn't make the pain go away, it just distracts you from what you're feeling, temporarily.
It shifts your attention and feelings into something less noteworthy for a moment, and then the next day the pain is still going to be there.
You can try to resist it, but only time that can make all of that fades.
And even when it fades, it doesn't go away.
It never will.
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 9:11 AM UTC
You're going to read this wrong,
Every single one of you.
Because you are not me,
And you cannot see what I'm saying.
No amount of stressed syllables in these lines can
ever describe what it means.
To me.
Why I wrote it.
Why I let you read it.
You will never understand
My understanding.
And that's okay.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
I didn't know you were a piano player.
This fact only came up while my palms burned
with anticipation as I reached out into the stillness,
searching for your hands. I found them beneath sheets
and cold promises, where the fingers were dancing
and the nails were scratching and you were looking to have a good time.
You're good at playing the blues.
A man by the name of Skye told me you knew all about snatching secrets
from the moon, and as I felt the scars and scratches along your callous, quick fingers, I knew this was true.
Your eyes never looked down at what you played, which is probably how they ended up this way: scarred and burned and stained a dark red. I
never found out why you liked to play music so dark that it did
nothing but leave bruises, ones you tried to wash away with
old wash cloths and chardonnay. Or why your nickname was *****
even though your mother named you Vivian. Or why you sold me those
tickets to that band you dreamed of seeing. Or why your hands started
shaking whenever you were near me. Or why I'm in love with your fingers,
and all the notes they've played and touched and stole.
I don't mind the fact that their skin is burdened with slices of depressed,
quiet peace, or the way your eyes turn blue even though they're supposed
to be green.
I can only hope in the wake of all these sad revelations, that your fingers will remain on those black and white keys, and tomorrow you'll still be playing.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 9:21 AM UTC
I want that kinda love like the way Obama looks at Michelle
I want that kinda love Like Cinderella in her happliy ever after fairytale
I want that kinda love thats brings you Heaven in the mist of all hell
I want that kinda love thats gonna be there for you at the lowest point in your life when you fail.
I want that kinda love that if you start Looking into thier eyes you will be put under a spell
I want that kind of love that Feeds your mind knowlege until you both feel Faded.
I want That kinda of love that takes you high and gets your spirit Elevated
I want That kinda of love that keeps you going and movatived.
I want That kinda love where you keep on all your clothes but still be exposed like your naked.
I want That kind of love thats scared
Yes that kinda of love.
I want that kinda love Fitting me like a cold hand to warm glove
I want That kinda Love expressed through the lycis that Jill Scott sings,
That kinda love of how much joy and life loves brings
That kind of love Manifesting the many blessings
That India Arie Compassionate kinda love
That kindred Family soul kinda love
That make soul glow, and your spirit Grow kinda love
That poetic hip hop lauren Hill kinda love
That Vivian and Uncle Phil, Jada and Will kinda love
Yes That Kinda Love
As it Washes away my pain and let me dance in your love like the Summer rain
Kissed by a rose kinda love
Let's Cherish the day as if were are lyrics to the music sung by Sade.
Old school R&B; kinda of love
That Smooth Jazz kem music kinda love
That maxwell fortunate kinda love
That Babyface Whip Appeal so I know its real kinda love
That Cliff and Clair Huxtable Honorable and responsible Kind of love.
That Unlimited, Unconditinal, Uncommon Kind of Love.
That Purpose driven,
On a Mission,
Bringing The vision to fruition
kinda love
1 Corinthians 13 kind of love
You'll be My King and Ill be you Queen kinda of love
That Hebrew Royalty
Showing loyalty kinda love
I want that nourish your soul like Grandmas Homemade Turkey and biscuits casserole kinda love.
I want that Acts 6:3 kind of man with faith, prayer, and a plan.
I want a God fearing man who genuinely understands.
I want a Relationship like Boaz and Ruth,
Taking the journey together living in the Truth
I want a love that will fight for me just as Jocob did For Racheal and I promise I'll always be faithful.
Let it be Pleasing to God's sight just as Leah
But yet As wise As Solomon and The Queen of Sheba kinda love
I want that 1 John 3:18 Kind of love
That Unforseen kinda Love
As we Build like Noah and Nehemiah,
But Weep together like Jeremiah kinda of love
I want that Serve like Sammuel
And Pray like Daniel Kinda of love.
That love me like Christ Kinda of Love.
Yes That is my Kinda of love.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
this time, when i went
to meet Death at his place,
he showed signs of weakness.
he was watching a cricket match
relaxing in his arm chair, legs stretched.
yawns kept rolling
in slow progression
towards the boundary.
'are you well?’ i ventured.
'nothing wrong,’ said he.
stammering, i quizzed him:
which one do you fear most?
allopathy, ayurveda, or
homeopathy?
dear wilson,
have you observed sachin
facing the ***** of shane warne?
brian lara, wasim akram?
chris gail, brett lee?
i was thrown into confusion.
death admitted, unwillingly,
that like vivian richards
confronted narendra hirwani,
he was laid low by the
secret herb
of an old tribal man!
aaha! the panacea
became then
a spin ball!
(aaha…Nothing official about it!)
i forgot to ask
how our people
smuggled away by him
were faring now.
he forgot to comment
“you will see for yourself
when you face it.”
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:14 AM UTC
poetry isn't just for white people, Vivian
isn't a girl's name, and I will
wear these white jeans past Labor Day.
we forget that we could
touch the stars if we *******
tried, but instead we are
here, drowning in atmosphere,
choking on our inhibitions.
there are ten pills tucked
in the very back of your desk;
you love them but
they're about to become a
crutch, and you are frightened.
I don't **** with that
new ****
but it's not like you care.
I'm still the same *******
idiot, total trash, I
deleted your number
and I won't send you
snapchats,
I wonder if you
deleted my dickpics.
lost intimacy, windowsill
cacti, a Ziplock full of ******* stuffed
inside your pillowcase;
I went for a run, your
name traipsing about my
prefrontal cortex, smashing
memories, beheading roosters,
screaming incoherently about
subprime mortgages and
credit derivatives.
the government is lying about
9/11 but no one really cares;
the government is arming oppressive regimes in
Missouri but white people don't care;
would that I had such
willful ignorance, the right to
ignore the slaughter on our
front lawns.
my parents started from the
bottom, they survived in
America, decapitated birds on the doorstep.
I do not have their strength and I am
washing Xanax down with Gatorade and
refusing to apologize.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
in the annals of cricket
those of greatness get a mention
for what they've achieved on the wicket
these men stand head and shoulder
above the rest
their contribution
to the game
has
been written as the best
three men have inspired
younger players
in their homelands
they've accomplished
much on wickets
throughout the many cricket playing
lands
Steven Waugh(Australian Captain)
the master strategist
who had a captain's mind
replete with brilliant tactics
when he took to the pitch
the opposition teams
would quiver in their
collective boots
field placement
over deliveries
the weather conditions
all of these factors
actuated in his mind
so he could
bring an innings
of a notable kind
Sachin Tendulkar (Indian Batsman)
the king of the blade
who none can equal
in test matches
his cuts and cover drives
were worthy of an epic prequel
his style with the bat
twas magic to see
he had a prowess
of majesty
Vivian Richard (West Indies All Rounder)
he was never phased
he held his nerve
with the bat or the ball
a tradesman
who fielded what ever came at him
and in his relaxed style
chewed on a piece of gum
and demolish
the bails
with a Caribbean hum
cricket's hall of fame
that 22 yard pitch
where three greatest of the game
performances
did of fans
ever bewitch
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
Hold my hand dear Benjamin
don't let Professor Edwards
catch me in a dreamscape
challenging me off guard
as we sit in math class
hands clasped together
for when you knowingly
squeeze my hand tighter
scribbling with your right hand
the answer which is required
to be erased so as not caught out
but today as I look out
onto drifting clouded skies
I see the changes and I lose
myself in shapes and smoke
forging out homes, characters
stories into my past, present
and what could be in the future
nothing is taken from me, distracted
in an instant I'm Vivian Ward
racing around Hollywood
with my best friend Kit De Luca
who eats cold pizza for breakfast
and crawls the streets with me
hop scotching across the
Hollywood Walk of Fame,
five star terrazzo and brass stars, names of Hollywood greats
blonde, brunette elegance
Manolo's, mink coats,
jewelled necklines of emerald stones
we'd both dreamt as kids
Los Angeles; the City of Angels
we are the winged, we are the free
inhabiting the land of opportunity
the ladies of the night, grappling onto souls of kids, shared flat
with bunk beds and a closet filled
with 80's short tight spandex
leg warmers, faux gold earrings
bright coloured lingerie, leather bomber jackets, tutus...
oh and those perms and scrunchies
fake eye lashes, an 80's kid high as hell
being courted by an older wealthier man
living fast, dying young, a fugitive
of the land
broken
The silence I succumbed to
bruised by a cacophony of bells ringing
"never change Lou lou!"
he winked and smiled
packing his rucksack
leaving for the day.
© Sia Jane
“She was the amoureuse of all the novels, the heroine of all the plays, the vague “she” of all the poetry books.”
Gustave Flaubert, “Madame Bovary”
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC
Poor sailors and poor students parse the past
Between the paper covers of poor Penguins
Poor crumbling pages and crumbling civilizations
Held together with rubber bands and Scotch tape
And when in middle age The City of God
At last succumbs to the barbarians of time
A fresh one is built up in Oxford blue
By Vivian Ridler, who saved for us the words
And yet - the arguments of several Romes
Were somehow fresher at $3.75
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 4:21 PM UTC
**a tribute to
Vivian Francesca Jarvis**
Allow me please some bragging rights
Of this I will attest
My mom's a brave, accomplished gal
She's one of the Best
Born to be an actress
A director and a coach
She starred in Joan of Arc
I have the right to boast
She's been in countless films
A career of great yield
She played with Sydney Poitier
In Lilies of the Field
She is a character actress
Won many awards
To hear her tell her tales of stage & screen
One is never bored!
Not only an actress
My mom's an activist
League of Women Voters
There is quite a list!
She stood up for the poor man
And during Vietnam
She directed guerilla theater
And was threatened with a bomb!
Someone threw a rock
With a note attached
Saying a Molotov Cocktail
Would go through our window next!
She's had trials and tribulations
Depression. Migraines long
But she always rose above it
The Show Must Go On!
Now she is still acting!
Though West Nile Virus took its share
Of a once sharp memory
And she's in a power chair!
She starred in Mother Courage
And truly this is she
I am grateful for my mom
and proud as proud can be!
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) 3/6/2016
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
A view of the ocean
reminds me of relationships
I watch the rocks either
being kissed by the waters
ever so gently
again and again
Or the rocks being pounded
into a form of submission
by an insistent ocean
ever so violently
again and again
The rocks never move
The ocean never gives up
And yet...the rocks erode ...over time
There's a lesson in there somewhere
I'll ponder it later...maybe in a poem
I carry on with my walk under
the hot summer sun
leaving rock and ocean
relationships behind me.
©Vivian Zems
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 2:08 AM UTC
“stay low, go fast,
**** first, die last,
one shot, one ****
no luck, all skill”
(Unofficial Navy Seal Slogan)
I stand at the graveside watching
as each person steps forward
to throw dirt on the coffin
I study each face closely
and marvel at all humanity
What is it about funerals
that causes all to attend?
And yet in a life well spent
not a visit, not even a scent
I laid down my life, as you see
laid it so they could be free
It must be a sense of duty
now they come to visit me
Oh- the hypocrisy of humanity!
And now another journey awaits me
I soar to meet passing clouds
caught in the upstream of wind
a final glance, and just by chance
I catch your eyes following me
©Vivian Zems
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 5:00 AM UTC
Star and fashion designer Melissa McCarthy shares her guide for feeling fabulous and the emotional inspiration behind her new clothing line. Subscribe now for instant access to this PEOPLE exclusive!
Melissa McCarthy‘s foray into the fashion world with Melissa McCarthy’s Seven7 is already a bonafide success — but that doesn’t mean her daughterswill start looking to mom for fashion advice.
“My daughters have their own sense of style, which is a thousand times better than having mine,” McCarthy tells PEOPLE in this week’s cover story.
Georgette, 5½, and Vivian, 8, McCarthy’s daughters with husband Ben Falcone, are already setting their own trends.
“Georgie is very specific in what she wears,” McCarthy, 45, says. “Vivie can be more flexible, but she’s said to me on several occasions, ‘That’s my style, Mama.’ And I can tell when she wears something and feels good in it.”
The actress says she only intervenes in the girls’ attire when safety is involved.
“For me it’s like: As long as you’re not going to the park in a long skirt that you’re going to trip and fall on, you go for it,” she says. “If there’s no danger issue, wear whatever you want. I can tell you like it, I can tell you feel good about yourself in it, so knock yourself out.”
McCarthy tells PEOPLE she’d support her daughters even if they wanted to wear a shirt “wrapped like a turban” around their heads.
“I just think you’re going to have so many people saying, ‘You shouldn’t, you can’t, that’s not okay,’ that there’s no way I’m going to be one of those people. I’m gonna help fight that as much as I can. So turbans for everyone,” she jokes.
Vivian is so fashion-forward that one of her designs is even featured on a t-shirt in McCarthy’s range.
“My daughter Vivie drew that cat last year saying ‘Le Meow.’ Because, she explained, ‘everyone should have a fancy cat,'” McCarthy explains. “I can’t even think of what I’ll do when I see someone on the street wearing it. And when Vivie sees it? I’d better be standing next to her to watch her little heart fill up.”
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
I can promise you that
I rarely cry at photographs
This is very new to me
But these tears are true
Just as your photos are true
Your photos are the true America
Thousands of photos
Of lives you only knew
I want to cover my house with your work
I want to imprint your photos inside my eyelids
So my dreams are filled with
The magnificent contrast
Beautiful simplicity
The truth shown through your eyes and the eyes of your camera, held at navel level, as you look into the eyes of your subject
What true art you have made!
Art rarely seen
Until after you passed
I wished I could meet you
A true beautiful soul
Why do all the beautiful souls leave me here?
Your pictures of the poor enlighten me
Your scenery inspires me
I can almost hear your faux French accent
You worked as a nanny
And you hid yourself
With fake names
Always a secret
You locked the doors behind you
For years your art was locked in boxes
Boxes and boxes
And photos of dead horses
Crying children
Extreme human conditions
Photos of trashcans
All was art
You could truly see it couldn't you?
You could see the truth
Of which I wish to write
I hope you were happy
Or at least content
I hope the nights weren't too dark
I hope you are glad to hear
The world loves what you have done
I thank you
We all thank you
And I wish you well
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
Wish it could rain, raindrops always soothe my soul
Wish it could rain, that angelic force deafens my sorrow
Wish it could rain; I picture you dancing in the rain
That smile, that smile heals my soul
The tears patter-patter on your large frame
Carefully convince the smile escape your lips
Escape your lips into the lips of my heart;
A welcome intrusion warming my soul
That healing smile trickles in carefully in my heart
Then you smile to another
Your smile rudely escapes the catacombs of my heart
Breaking it so
Wish it could rain, the rain washes my broken sorrows away
Wish it could rain, a sign that He hears my pain
Wish it could, then maybe I’d grasp why, why my heart breaks so.
Vivian Mule.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 4:04 AM UTC
Get on the ball
Rustle up some food
Celery seed
Just make it up on the spot
Circle "none of the above"
Avoid all the **** blocks
The **** swats
And anyone who can read and write in reverse
Visit the maddened mistress
She's at the farm in the barn
She's on birth control so it's okay
She wants the same thing you do
Instant gratification
She has a surplus of lust and seduction
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
*I drink away your absence
I smoke in my nuisance
I sleep to dream you
To wake up to feel you
You gave me a future
I can only abjure
You gave me a cause
I can only pause
You were my love
now you’re my dove
I was your Vivian
now I’m your burden
To you. Out there.by Lou*
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
A Shock from reading alfred hitchcock.
Is it true a shrine displaying the brain of albert einstein?
I feel so revived when I wear chanel #5.
Titanic created chaos, confusion & panic.
The white house is where the president Is a four year resident.
Christina aguilera wears mascara.
Madonna doesn't smoke marijuana.
Cher has beautiful hair.
Vivian leigh can scream as loud as a banshee.
I never met marilyn monroe I would have wanted to say hello.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 5:05 AM UTC
Marian Brown and Vivian Brown
were photographed oft on the street.
Their identical faces and identical smiles
City visitors found quite a treat.
They dressed for effect
In identical garb:
indistinguishable from Heads to feet.
They started their day
Once the sun had gone down;
when most people their age were asleep.
But Vivian suffered a fall in July
And her memories faded away.
Marian mourns the loss of her twin
along with the folks by the Bay.
If Marian paused by a window of glass
That Sunshine strikes just the right way-
It might seem, for a moment, that Marian stands
once again, with her twin by the Bay.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
She is a caregiver.
She who gives complete care is she whose care is completely given -
So much care to give yet none remains for herself.
Built 6 ft. tall she carries:
A Rolleiflex 3.5T,
A phony french accent
And an enigmatical past.
Ms Mayer.
As her lens soaks up the quintessence of normality in
A diluted Chicago suburb or
The emphatic streets of Manhattan;
She was wired to observe.
Her nature, craving to sustain unrepeatable moments.
Instances so human,
A simple photograph just isn’t quite enough
To capture them.
V. Meyer.
She relies unwaveringly on an object whose sole purpose is to
Look through,
To surpass.
But to her it acts contradictorily as
A barrier,
A rationalized blindness.
An outside eye peering into the lives of others
But never within herself.
She is the lady who would rather look through a lens than into a mirror
Because her refracted self is slightly easier confronted than that reflected.
Vivian Maier.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
I seen them come and watched them go
and I know
not one of those spoke of Michelangelo,
it was all about the latest date,
the tricks of men and fate
the risky business, foreplay for the
afternoon,
Spotify,
don't come too soon, but never
Michelangelo.
When and what brings me to
this junction of people,
this queue of
lonely,
this hunger monger looks into space and
he looks at himself and his face doesn't fit,
mirror
mirror
on the wall
**** you,
****
but that's childish and so I edit childishly with lipstick from My Auntie V, which was short for Vivian and Viv died back in '74, not sure why I kept her lipstick but I also kept lots more.
(sore points make for scabby wounds)
And if I cough again I'll wet myself,
jeez,
you'd think the body could hold itself intact.
I only lack the know how and I know that now
and I know that no one talks of
Michelangelo,
just Bieber and Dicaprio,
time to go?
I guess it is and somewhat so
touching on
Michelangelo
because no one else does.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
Lonely boy, why didn't you close the door?
deep down you knew i'd be coming back for more
Banned from heaven's gate
come and curse my fate
Tell me if she also watches you sleep at night
counting every beat of your wild heart
I hope it's not too late
come and curse my fate
It's wrong to destroy someone's dream for your selfish desires
Look what you've done, i'm begging you to set my soul on fire
So pack your things and take the next train to the oblivion
don't leave Valerie waiting, and please be good to Vivian
And when i learn to fall in love with hate
you can come and curse my fate
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
Hey Vivian.
Vivian, Vivian.
Your name echoes in my veins
Vibrating through my body
Inhale exhale
There you are again
My nitrogen, crystal oxygen -
I crave too much.
In the dark of the theatre
We gaze into the screen as it plays Wes Anderson silent films
But half my mind is melted into the thought of our shoulders touching
Warm warm warm
I want to feel warm with you
Closer, touch you, look into you.
You whisper in my ears
Closer closer then you drift
All I can think of is your lips
Soft, subtle, grazing lips
Oh when will you introduce me?
When I touched your hands
I left it there
And it felt so nice.
Your piano hand, my violin fingers
Don't you see the fit?
Let's drive. If I could call you up right now at 1:55 AM and take you out god **** I would
I want to drive into the night with you
I want to rush into the city and find a hiding place
Way up high.
Where we can see the lights of our homes so far below.
In the dark
Maybe we could sit and lay next to each other for a while.
Sigh into each other's rhythms
Still and warm
We'll find honesty, trust and symmetry
You and I will completely forget the world and the people that judge,
forgive me for being cliché.
Maybe then I will finally tell you the truth.
Truths.
Truth!
What is the truth.
How do I even start with this?
Your eyes will listen to my slow forming words
Expectant
But
Oh ****
In hale ex hale I cannot do this
Nothing can stay the same
You are too dear to me
And I can't afford to loose you so
Please will somebody tell me
Tell me tell me
What to do
Because I'm dealing with moral imperatives and both feels like suicide to me.
Perhaps you can uncode
Me without any passing words
Could we ever go back the same route then?
Infatuation obsession isolation
You are my idol.
I run across the river in flames but
Can it be too late to save me?
In too deep;
Only I don't mind it one bit.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
I’m turning from Blanche DuBois into Chris Benoit
taking a streetcar named Desire to Monday Night Raw
after the oppression of the law got stuck in my craw
because the discretion of the flawed became the voice of God.
I’d always relied on the kindness of strangers
only to find the Million Dollar Man’s danger
directing the Army Rangers to Jesus’ manger
letting the Undertaker deal with the remainder.
I relinquished my rightful place
to the bank’s Crippler Crossface
taking everything until I lost grace
going into a holocaust craze.
I’m upset about the places I can’t go
because I’ll be ***** by Marlon Brando
when I ask the referee for a hand though
he just responds with a ****** no.
I have retired my display of Vivian Leigh
now Whatever by Our Lady Peace plays
as the Rabid Wolverine walks to the stage
to fight the Big Boss Man in a cage.
I gave up teaching class to my sister
to fight an *** who’s a mister
whose slaps can blister
so he blasts this spinster.
The law is a tougher opponent than Eddie Guerrero
so I apply my aptitude into becoming a pistolero
after getting jabbed by my French Quarter pharaohs
I can feel resistance down in my Marc Mero.
I start to take steroids
because there are boys
whose terror noise
impairs my poise.
I go all out performing flying headbutts
fighting until I see the dead’s guts
exterminating enemies like bed bugs
but then I start to dread hugs.
Now I assume a stranger’s spite
so I can immediately fight
I’m swallowed by night
wearing these tights.
In my rage I **** my wife and son
now my anger is no longer fun
even if it came from their gun
it’s me who’s the loneliest one.
I changed from a lady to a wrestler losing my ****** mind
fighting Mankind while stepping on landmines
until I can’t find any grand signs
and I’m anger defined.
Jun 2, 2020
Jun 2, 2020 at 5:20 AM UTC
Every day I'm not with you
I die a little inside
I feel the pain closing in
Cornered up in my feeble mind
Its the spirit in my eyes
The moisture is running dry
Sadness falls in my heart every night
And its not your fault
I am my own reason that I cry
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC