"wannabe" poems
Look at all these wannabe gangsters
Terrorising our streets
That one's wearing camouflage trousers
Just wait till you hear him speak
'Dems bear skills mate'
'Can you lend me fifty bar?'
He sounds like he's from Los Angeles
Doing time in the yard
But he's not
He still lives at home with his mum
And his pregnant girlfriend
And he's under the thumb
You see them outside Tesco
But they're not shopping for pesto
Let's go
They've seen the old bill
He's known around this town
For selling dodgy pills
Guns, knives and slang
That's what you need
If you wanna be in their gang
No education
Just a stolen Playstation
And don't forget the ****
Even on a school night
They're out doing speed
You'll see 'em in the park
With a bottle of cider
Then they'll start
On a poor old-timer
Tracky bottoms
And a Burberry hat
Chav fashion
Cause they think they're all that
But the funny thing is
They don't have a clue
They don't think like
Me or you
They think that they're rap stars
Dreaming of fast cars
But they're just wankers
More like 'wannabe gangsters'
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
Ice Ice Ice
Ice Ice Ice Ice
Capital I
see eee see eee
Ice Ice Ice
Ice ice ice ICE
Ice ice ice iceice
Ice Ice
ICE
Cream cream
Cream Cream Cream
Cream Cream Cream Cream
Cream Cream CREAM cream
CREAM cream cream CREAM
cream cream CREAM cream cream
krrr eeem krrr eeeem krrr eeem
Ice cream I love you
like a love song baby
But Ice cream is lovely
Cause it's such a wannabe
Cause ice cream is cream
who pretends to be ice
What say you ? Let's roll the dice
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC
I want to be a psychopath.
It is so thrilling, the thought.
One day I'll rule the world
And **** people and never get caught.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
Ignore the itch you can't scratch deep in the palm of your hand.
Ignore the morning alarms, just sleep right through them.
Ignore the sound of the coffee bubbling over, let it spill.
Ignore the toothpaste stain on your new shirt.
Ignore the voicemail notification, who listens to them anyway?
Ignore the mailman at the mailbox, he didn't really say hello.
Ignore the stare of the drunk man in your lobby.
Ignore the morning brigade of children running behind you.
Ignore the damage your heels are doing to your feet.
Ignore the whistle from the man half your height.
Ignore the traffic light, the cars are going the other way.
Ignore the loud honk from the trucker as he speeds off.
Ignore the liquor store, and the desire to take a shot.
Ignore the "Baby let me talk to you," from the **** wannabe.
Ignore the text message, don't let them know you have a phone number.
Ignore the cigarette smoke invading your lungs.
Ignore the baby boy getting slapped by his mother.
Ignore the bakery with the tres leches cake you like.
Ignore the bank, you're probably broke.
Ignore the homeless woman, she just wants to buy drugs.
Ignore the Facebook notification, just another ALS challenge.
Ignore the time, you're at work early.
Ignore the habits, listen to your conscience and speak loudly and clearly.
You are so much more than ignorant.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
Aries-
oh what have you done to deserve this?
so much hate in your heart for yourself
yet you were living a lie
I hope you're happy now
Taurus-
sweet child, what a pity that people can't help
but leave you
how many tears did you shed when he said
he didn't love you back?
I hope you find peace within yourself
Gemini-
I'm sorry he doesn't see you're the one
you're both stuck in this never ending
paradox where no one wins
don't change yourself just to please
the unpleasable
I hope you're whole again one day
Cancer-
you poor, tired soul. take a seat and look in the mirror for a change.
you are nothing if not beautiful.
please be kind to yourself
I hope you find happiness one day
Leo-
oh what a warrior you are. wartorn land and heart.
you're much more than your mistakes.
take a look at everyone around you.
I hope you realize you're not alone
Virgo-
my honey bear, my sweetie pie
your hands still shake when they call your name.
stop pretending you're okay.
there's nothing to be afraid of
I hope one day you find clarity
Libra-
you beautiful creature, how many times has someone failed to compliment you?
that number is in the negatives now and you're still on your high horse
get off for a second and ground yourself. it's only a matter of time.
I hope you forgive and forget
Scorpio-
my light, my dark, my everything in between
stop and smell the roses
can't you hear them singing for you?
your eyes always did make my heart stop
I hope you forget why you're hurting
Sagittarius-
baby bear cub, you sweet little thing
how many days have you been at sea? enough to not love them back
just remember where you came from
I hope your dreams come true
Capricorn-
my one true love affair, you're mighty small for someone who loves to talk
your nose freckles never seemed so prominent
I love your laugh, I love your cry
I hope you realize what you've done to me
Aquarius-
my life and my wannabe lover, you're drowning in regret
I can smell the whiskey on your breath
yet you're too drunk to see straight
I hope you remember who you are
Pisces-
my soulmate and best friend
I know you're still hurting
but open up for a change and let them know the real you
you can't sweep it under the rug forever
I hope you can be yourself
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
High Priest Paul stalks them in the night
He promises forgiveness by the edge of his knife
He never stops to question or hesitates to bite
Believe in him and he will make it right
Scar-Faced Jake doesn't like to wait
He murders Myan time and claws the hands of fate
He bullies his way to the top of the state
He wears a velvet hat and sells you ****** bait
Senator Chris keeps his lovers on a list
A check for every thrill and a line for every kiss
Somewhere, out there, far beyond the bliss
There's kids wondering where their daddy is
Groovy Jungle Jim buries his guitars
Played them like a fiddle in middle country bars
Slept with the lowlifes and wannabe a stars
His voice is the air and his clothes are in the yard
Ali of the Valley sees the starry sky is clear
Reflecting in her eyes like a cosmic mirror
Wondering if the universe looks at us and sneers
While the people on the earth scoff and call her weird
Mr. Priestess Slim puts the bottle on the floor
It's full of whiskey eyes but just a moment more
Someone is rapping on his chamber door
But when he opens it up, he starts a holy war
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 1:09 PM UTC
Mr. Jones you’re an All Star
You broke my Achy Breaky Heart
Because you’re cold as Ice Ice Baby
I saw The Sign but
I Would Do Anything for Love
If you don’t want What I Got
Good Riddance
My Heart Will Go On
But if you Wannabe
Living the Vida loca
Play that Funky Music
Baby One More Time
What’s my Age Again?
Smells like Teen Spirit
Its My Life and I feel like it’s over
Just Say My Name or
Quit Playing Games with my Heart
Genie in a Bottle please grant me three wishes
Because my life Don’t Impress Me Much.
I’m Blue. Da ba dee.
Im Torn.
Its been One Week
And I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing.
And of course there is No Rain.
Because all my Tears are in Heaven
I think I would enjoy an Iris
Much more than a Kiss from a Rose.
Feb 14, 2010
Feb 14, 2010 at 3:49 PM UTC
I take my imaginary pen
I write down my anger
I close my eyes and count to ten
just to breathe a little longer
It's laughable really
when I see you justifying
Sure, you're all touchy-feely
only goodwill, so hard-trying
When you said that to me
where was your heart at?
Why calling me your better-half-to-be
when all you wanted was a shoulder pat?
Oh you, with your wonderful poetry,
oh, lies so beautifully written down
please just stop, you don't know no poverty
in your emerald sea everything you wanted me to believe is to drown
I never thought you would make me think
the worst of you instead
And I swear I could only stand and stare and shrink
when you didn't care to lose your head
Now you haunt me like the headless horseman
and you will forever
but I do not worry for my sanity, oh boy of thoughts turned cyan
I walked with ghosts before and a headless one is so less clever
And if you ever come back looking for this head of yours
Think twice, try a little bit harder wannabe
It might stick out of the sand at your emerald sea shores
Your love for me was never poetry
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 11:06 AM UTC
oh my sister,
there are 77 dreams
I wrote in a journal
there is a glass of water I left
on some patio
there is a box of wisdom
I buried at a dusty crossroad
there is a beach where you are
I can see you in the waves
the razzle of the sand
like a billion speckled stars
and the horizon—black galaxy
next time I see you
you’ll be tan
like Cary Grant
but alive
and without the baby turtles
I asked for
I’ll ask how it went
and you’ll say
*like a book
like a dream
like a starfish*
are there even starfish
where you are?
if there are, please don’t
eat them
it would hurt your mouth
until then
look at the sun
she is beautiful—even I
a wannabe recluse poet
can appreciate nature
through my window
Dewy
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
The cranes flew and the city grew and what did I do?
put my head in the sand,
so I could no longer see the change that was happening all around me.
A land fit for heroes,city tycoons and wannabe Nero's and now't left in the stew *** for me or for you lot,
and how do you feel about that?
More money than sense and scant recompense for the builders who toil,who make the monsters that rise and eat up the soil, despoiling the land,more heads in the sand but holding out hands for that scant recompense.
Reconciling the bile in their throats with those city gent suits in their trilby's and coats and soldiering on until the earth is all gone.
A legacy indeed for them who would scramble in scrub land and grow things to feed the dysfunction of family,
what seeds we have sown,how defectively grown we've become and all for the buildings that greedily search out the sun,
somewhere up in the heights.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
Unbeautiful, unbeautiful
Unhandsome and unimportant
This one goes out to the losers
All the liars and the thieves
And the wannabe beauty queens
You're never going to shine
Not even for a little bit
So get off the stage
Before the booing crowds take seize
Unbeautiful, unbeautiful
This one goes out to me.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
I don't want to walk in to a room full of strangers
have you even thought of the dangers?
Well I have at 3 am each night
they sure do bring me great delight
I don't want to walk in
oh my god give me some gin
They won't like me
I'm just a wannabe
Imposter syndrome
I just wanna go home
I don't want to walk in
They're looking at the white's of my eyes
I don't mean to dramatise
but I might die
I don't want to talk in
and I can feel my chest
I'm so ******* stressed
I'm walking in
Is this auto-pilot because this is your captain speaking and get ready for a crash and ****** burn
I've reached the point of no return
Walk in you big ******* baby
whats the worst that could happen?
I talk too fast with too much passion?
so what if they don't like me I already sound like banshee
At least try to be care-free
I can't make any guarantees
but step by step in to the room
it won't be all doom and gloom
Just walk in and see you might even make a friend in the end
who didn't want to walk in to too
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
I let my guard down
you kept yours up
slipping my questions
like Ali bob-n'-weaves through a flurry'
untouchable
Beautiful like a butterfly, but still stings like a bee
shes got a degree in kicking ***
and enough sass to harass me
painfully, playfully.
Shes a sweet pea,
who listens to indie
drinks peppermint greet tea
a spirit so free
its something to merit
you would never believe it
In the cage, shes a killer
shes no wannabe petite bourgeoisie
shell be on a killing spree
crush you like a flea, under her knee
that's a guarantee.
Shes the queen bee
ink to show it
i'm not a poet
'but a potent moment of expression
that's my confession
and so I question;
motionless, face buried in the canvas,
why did I let my guard down.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
slaying playing
member of the ******** clan 4life
hashtag no life
wannabe motar so i can potar
******* trying to motar boat
punch em in thoat
picken them little kids with thee
HEY I GOT SOME CANDY
work everytime and i always say evrytime
*** baker4life
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
This is not a poem
I am not a poet
Inspiration caught me
I am now on fire
Selfless indication
Word wasting alliteration
Help me rhyme
I'm such a wannabe
Give me
A metaphor as stupid as a simili
I am trying to write a poem
But this is not working
I know no inspiration
Can't make it rhyme
I'm pretending I'm a poet
But I am wasting your time
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
Here's a few legitimate refugees:
political, poverty, drought, war, and religious.
They're right in the top drawer zone,
But who gives a flying Whoopi
That Miley will claim assylum in Bali Bali;
Or Rosie will fly over camps on her way to Switzerland.
I hope Cher,
Doesn't apply for residence on Cape Breton Island:
We don't want you, Babe.
These are the celebrity refugees,
Bailing out on the touted
Greatest Democracy on the planet.
**** if you don't like what you elect,
Look to history,
Stove pipe hats,
And the wonders to be achieved
Before the end of this decade.
They got enough cash for space,
For Mars!
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
Church
A place we call sacred
Though it is far from holy
Plagued by the lying,
Fake, judgmental, deceptive, wannabe,
Overly religious, ignorant, bigot, crazy,
Hypocritical curse upon society known
As Christian
A place said to be filled with love
So sadly love is not the first thing seen
Rather, we feel the ever-watching eye
Looking down because our clothes don’t
Seem as clean, our shoes are not free
From dust, our scars, they bring disgust
But not all who walk these golden
Streets of Christianity bring hate
Some do not raise their head so high
These few who know love
This minority who is actually true
They are the church
Even though these phony haters
Infiltrate the lovers’ ranks
They are not Christian
They are not the church
They’re nothing but arrogant imposters
And close-minded fools
A tree must bear fruit to be a fruit tree
Likewise a Christian must bring forth
Faith and hope and love
They must bear their fruit
Otherwise these Christians
Are not so Christian after all
So remember, the church is this group of
People who love, not the building
Filled who those who destruct
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
the air is so thick that even your thoughts melt away
in the Southern heat. sweat starts pouring until your
clothes start clinging to you like an unwanted lover. heat and sweat seperates the true Southerners from the wannabe's,
who don't truly love a place even when it's too **** hot.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
If I wanted to talk
about the hyper-spiritually-"honest" hippie roommate
who wears his heart on his sleeve and kangols
when he's working
at his cumbersome office
corrupting and invading the minds
of the masses to promote glasses, salad dressing
and laundry detergent,
it would take too much time out of my day
to point out all the hypocritical ********
this meditation obsessed wannabe "writer"
tries to passively fling on others.
He means well, but let' be honest,
all that dope he smokes
probably turned his brain to ashes
as the pile blew away some time ago.
Besides, I'd prefer not to talk about myself.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
They tell me to lay down
and to please look at the fish.
Notice how they glide
in-and-out of the cool-blue
water; how they don't have
a care in the world -- they're
fish: one out of millions;
mindless; alone in packed
tanks; alone, jammed in
metal cans full of corpses
and low-quality mustard.
Putting the mask over my
perfect nostrils, my straight
teeth, they say Don't be afraid;
listen to my humming; how it
will blend with the high-pitch
screech you hear, now; becoming
an equilibrium of torture and
fantastical strangeness, unbound
by Gods, by Persons, by Loves.
Inside this perfect dark,
you cannot think beyond
the giant broad strokes that
is the world sweeping by --
and it is marvelous, the
buoyant miseries floating
above your head; my head
of ambivalent visions;
the Earth's core, a furiously
violent brilliance, ablaze
beneath my feet, under
layers of confounded
deathly masquerade; a
mask much like mine:
an egotistical reflection
brought out by one's
feeling of gigantic import-
-ance, despite hanging
from the vastest of ceilings;
a wannabe church in the sway
of jungle mind; primitive instinct.
*********
You know you can wake up
at this point, or so they say.
What does it all mean, to which
I murmur, I don't know. It's
hard to say what I know; if
anything, all I have is doubts.
All I can muster are regrets;
I wish I could return to that
perfect dark, confused and
semi-philosophical; all-
pretentious: a feeling of
being bound by brokenness.
They tell me to chill out;
you use semi-colons like
they're heartbeats. Focus
on whether your chest
holds validity.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 3:00 PM UTC
Oh Baby, you've done.
Captured my essence
and made me think
that
I
exist.
For a
slit-wrist second
in "time".
Until them sparks
make fire.
& take you up in his flames.
A bad dream.
Filmed right between my
starry-eyes.
Soul Photography,
uhhhh
Flashbacks of missin' you.
Until then,
I will be all black
& nothing more.
Than a wannabe-writer in the
mourning.
And a secret-screamer at night.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 1:30 PM UTC
he said he writes
like Bukowski
he doesn't even drink
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 4:54 PM UTC
Black out, fade in,
spot light on the boy with his guitar.
Dim light, dim blue flush,
she sits in the corner,wishing on her imaginary star.
Same stage, same adrenaline,
same passion but time never intended for them to meet.
She plays on her role,
and he strums away at his gig.
Sound of guitar coming from his window,
no audience and no standing ovations.
On rented wings, she takes flight,
no rehearsals, no scripts,just tucked away passion.
In his camouflaged green,
he wakes up to his responsibility.
In her traditional prints,
she's all set for the working society.
The clock strikes twelve,
it's the end of two thousand ten.
He's at the eating place
and she comes by with her friends.
He's sitting at the corner
and she's at the other end.
Their eyes met for the very first time,
when they reach out to shake hands.
No lights, no stage,
no audience and that adrenaline.
Just the boy with his guitar, strumming
and in his room she sits, watching.
She talks about the plays, the roles
and in his room he strums, listening.
No lights, no stage,
no audience, just he and her,and their spoken adrenaline.
Twenty-six February,
two thousand eleven.
He and her,
like a match made in heaven.
You know what they said about heaven and earth?
A new chapter begins
for the guitarist and the wannabe actress.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 1:04 PM UTC
I wrote a book once
but every page was breakup letter to myself.
It’s not you, it’s me appeared to be the theme
yet I found those words incredibly hard to believe.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 9:02 PM UTC