Maddy Van Buren May 2015

Fridays nights always start the same
and they go like this:
I've got a hopeless wonder
you've all got bad intentions
hit me once, I can't hit back
it's a ragged jumbled way
to start a weekend
start anything really
and I'm more of a loser now than I've ever been
sitting in the blackout
maybe starved, maybe just tired
knowing someone
it can't cure Friday nights
because I never really knew anyone
seemingly
had the world at my feet
and no one by my side
but you who sits there
you need to listen
because one day I'll be gone
I will have the world on fire
and the nights I needed
and maybe then you'll understand why
I spent so many Friday nights
at the top of that hill
crying

ZinaLisha May 2014

weekends are made of
passion,
pleasure,
and pain.

passion makes us do things
like fall in love with strangers
on a two day binge
doing unspeakable things
to one another
making our bodies cringe
moments of pleasure
we'll both soon forget
but living fast is fun
the best time spent!

Monday always forbids us
introducing the heartbreak game
you used my body
and I forgot your name

weekends are simply a fantasy
with their share of pain
"it was nice knowing you,
glad you came."

Hannah Beth Oct 2014

I want smoke in
my lungs and gin
in my veins and
lips on my
lips and chills down
my spine to feel
nothing but
pleasure blurred
dreams sweet and
brief I don't want
a thing but craving
and need

short n quick burst of frustration at boring weekdays
TheExpat Jun 2014

For too long I've worked      
Run errands not shirked  
I've obeyed the rules
Done with work, down tools      
Almost end of day
Yaahaa! It's Friday!

Liam Lost Dec 2011

Such a great weekend
spoiled by the end
aching
like a little boy
who doesn't
want to leave
the fair

Kylee Abigail Sep 2013

it's friday night
and you're intoxicated
you seem excited to talk to me
we make plans for a road trip
i know we will never take
but even still
i'm ecstatic that we're speaking again
it's saturday afternoon
and you're back to your old self
you seem bored with me
we talk briefly about the weather
that really does not matter
but even still
i'm glad that we still talk
it's sunday morning
and you're not talking to me
you seem to be ignoring me again
you're visiting your mother
i'm sitting in silence
but even still
i'm hoping that you're thinking of me

Three small chunks of my soul
Ripped right out of my chest
          Every weekend

       The same damn thing
The hugs, tears and kisses goodbye
               With them
The screaming, mistrust and hateful words
               With him

The pain seems neverending
And never getting any better
       All the bridges burned
   Without
          a single
                look
                      back­

But regret can build and build
When you realize some bridges
             Can't be rebuilt

And yet
         I can't regret him
Or the pain he dealt to me
    Cause he helped to create
Those three small pieces of my soul

          And they may be small
      But put together
   They create my life as a whole

    Every Weekend
The same damn thing
        And it hurts
   Finally having that feeling
Like you're actually whole
         Then all three pieces
             Get
            RIPPED
       Right out of my soul


And until next weekend
I cannot feel whole

For Krystalyn, Klairety and KJ, my three beautiful children that I love dearly and miss even more when they're away from me.
Update: I haven't seen my children on two months, please copy and paste this link www.gofundme.com/r5wnpsd5  read my story and help if you can, thank you.
Lucas Lowman Apr 2014

Waking up in a hazy fog
Regular Sunday Morning
It is Sunday right?

Bits and pieces of last night rushing to the forefront of my mind
but a feeling that there's a missing piece of vital information

aaaaaaand there's a stranger next to me
she's so still!
she's alive
God I hope she's alive
My jeans are still on so we obviously didn't do anything
wait why are my jeans ripped?
Did they come this way?
No they didn't
did they?
my shoes are still on too
well at least one is anyway
where the hell is my other shoe
how does somebody lose one shoe
losing a pair is actually more understandable

I should probably go wash the glitter off my hands
wait why do I have glitter on my hands?

aaaaand I have a black eye
who did I fight?
probably got my ass handed to me
or maybe I beat up an asshole!
no probably the former
I can't fight for shit

My head is killing me
part hangover
part concussion

I should probably call somebody
help fill me on what the hell happened last night
Aw shit where the hell is my phone?
wait where the hell is my wallet?!

Well fuck... shitty memory, comatose stranger in my bed, ripped jeans (although I'm 73 percent sure they came this way), missing a shoe, glitter hands, black eye, sore head, no phone, and no wallet

I fucking love saturday nights

I was out late with friends when I first saw her.
It hit midnight, she was just waking up.
She was just getting out of bed.
It was four in the morning.
She was putting make up on.
She was getting dressed after morning sex.
Five in the morning she clocked into work.
She cracked the horizon.
I saw her first.
The first in the neighborhood.
I saw the weekend first.

Amy H A Mar 2015

Sunday.
The coffee knows,
and my toes;
I can't move either.
Sunday.
House is quiet,
after the riot;
it's a breather.
Monday.
Comes too fast,
a weekend passed;
not a pleaser.
Sunday.
Through a week,
your silent break
is just a teaser.
Sunday.
Feelin' lazy;
it's all hazy...

feeling lazy
Raj Arumugam Oct 2014

so  it was the weekend
and I had no dates
nobody invited me over
(I suppose because
I never invite anyone over)
and so I stayed home
and by Sunday night
my parrot was telling me:
"Shut up, you
damned parrot!
Shut up, you
damned parrot!"



Oh shut up, you damned parrot!

2nd in my series of poems on my imaginary parrot pet
Llahi Fuego Feb 2012

Saturday night, offered to read your palm

When I don't even know how to read palms,

It was just an excuse to get to touch you.

And oh, touch you I did,

All over.


Sunday morning, nursing hangovers with scenic strolls,

Holding hands

Until our palms get sweaty and we let go.

And next weekend we'll do this again,

All over.

Snehith Kumbla May 2016

all those in favour
of the weekend
say aye

AYE!

All those not in
favour of
the weekend
say nay
-
-
-

HURRAY!

The
AYES
have
it!

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