"weirdly" poems
I like to play horror games
Amnesia was the first one I played
The monsters were scary
The envoirement was eerie
But if I'd call the monster Steven
Instead of scared I'd be merry
Steven was such a funny guy
He looked funny
He walked weirdly
Nothing of him would terrify
The only time he'd scare me was when I'd open the door
Sometimes the jumpscare would make me fall to the floor
Many years I have played these games
Even though I was scared, in the end I'd be okay
That was until I stood next to my brother
He was not yet in his grave
This experience was like no other
It crashed on me like a giant wave
I'd never seen him lay so still
It was hard but I wanted to try
Though I knew it could only go downhill
I wanted to touch his hand one last time
I lowered my body and reached out my hand
I was pretty sure he would scare me right then & there
But my brother didnt move, not even a hair
And I realized at that moment how much I wanted that jumpscare
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 11:03 PM UTC
Sensation, intuition, feeling, and thinking,
Is wrapped inside a ball,
A small pink ball inside our head,
That won't stop till we're dead,
Analytical bedrock inside oozing theories,
Elemental atoms sizzling logic,
The imaginative stranger,
One abstracted and eccentric,
Walking with shadows,
Talking and mocking,
Through these theories inside us,
Tilting our caps ‘til we’re shaking our heads,
Pensive love in storming analysis,
Sapiosexually excited, piqued interest,
Unemotional and thoughtfully attuned,
Absently minded, always condoned,
Unconventional and impartially stringed,
Weirdly wired in auxiliary functions,
Misconstrued and misunderstood,
An ****** intelligence bleeding paranoia,
Knocking unto me,
Into you, inside us all,
It’s something we all yearn to be,
And when you fail and prevail we laugh,
Crickling crickets thinking nothing,
Washing down the storm drain,
With no thoughts fluidly sliding down my throat,
Pop goes no questions into absolute concise words like freshly broken glass,
Again shadows await, but different shadows,
Blinking at me staring at you,
Wondering what’s what, inside this dementia made sense of a lovely afternoon,
Inside your sane, autocorrected, predetermined, twitching, little…mind.
Inspired by Myers Briggs Personality Test
Tyler is INTP... Logician (Introverted INtuitive Thinking Perception)
The drifter, dreamer the absent minded professor!
SassyJ is INTJ... Architect (Introverted INtuitive Thinking Judging)
The starry-eyed idealist manoeuvring life as if a giant chess board!
What Myer Briggs personality type are you?... See link below
It would be great to know.Please comment!!
http://www.16personalities.com/intp-personality
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
You call it weird
I call it normal
What do you even think about
When you see these things
Do you even bother
To mind my hurt
For the things you call weird
Are the most adorable in this world
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC
It was a rainy night. He took out his umbrella, opened it, and it soon engulfed the both of us. "Hey, you're getting wet," he said. He pulled me closer to him, his arms like the umbrella protecting me, protecting us from the drizzle.
I snapped out of my daydream to find him weirdly staring at me, and asked him, "What, do I have something on my face?"
"No, it's just... why are you staring into space?"
Our footsteps made little splashes, puddles reflected a thousand images of us. These pictures from nature will not last for a lifetime but the rain was our witness, as if the skies were crying at a matrimonial ceremony.
I took a step away from him to let the memory of him soak in me. He stands there in the rain innocently, with umbrella in hand, waiting for me to respond. Breathing out, I told him: "Ask me what I think of you right now."
"Wait, what? Are we going to play a game?" That usual what-is-going-on look still stupidly plastered on his angelic face. "Well, what do you think of me right now, then?"
I didn't hesitate and the first word that automatically left my lips were 'umbrella'.
"Umbrella? Do I look that thin to you, really?" He said dryly as he gave me an uninspired look. He shook his head in disbelief and pouted. "And I thought you'd relate me at least to the rain."
"Umbrella: definition for a protecting force or influence," I told him as I stood in place. I side-glanced at him to find a spark lighted up in his eyes as his shoulders loosened. "You're my umbrella because I need you in rainy days and sunny ones. Literally because of your stature to block the sun or cover me when it rains," I laughed. "And it's not because you're thin like one, silly. But how you comfortingly stretch out your arms to me when it's a bad day for me. How you guard me from others' icy remarks. It feels like a need to have you around wherever I go."
He cleared his throat jokingly and added, "Might I say I also take you high like Mary Poppins' umbrella." He burst out laughing as I glared at him for his poorly done innuendo.
But right there and then as I rolled my eyes at him, he dropped the umbrella, grabbed me by my waist and kissed me as light as the raindrops kissing our skin. He broke off after a while and said, "Getting wet, are we?"
Before I could claw at him for his second pun, he released me as I chased him down, not caring if I would get a fever later. But sometimes I just wonder how did I come to like, fall in love, and love him-- basically feel every emotion with him. In all truth, he wasn't just my umbrella, but also my home whom I'll always return to at the end of all my days. Umbrella or home, he is my shelter.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:46 AM UTC
Twisting tendrils of realization
Run through my evermoving mind
Up unto the age of eighteen
I abhorred alliteration
The seemingly simple
Style showed, I thought
An easy way of writing
Whatever
Just finding fitting words
With meanings matching.
Untill I read The Raven
Poe penned what is
I think, the epitome
Of epic poems
All while writing, in a weirdly
Woven way
A story of love lost
Of wishing gone awry
So since then I sometimes
Try to match "my" master
And in writing wishes
With no reasonable rhyme
I uncover my understanding
Of my own simplistic stupidity
But beside that also, always,
Of how beautiful a language loved
Can be.
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 5:29 AM UTC
you see i am very very hungry, so much in fact
i burp very weirdly, yeah i feel so weird
i burp loud and i burp soft when i have a nice cream bun or a nice beef nachos
and i feel like a nice packet of chocolate biscuits
ya know to have with my coca cola
i was watching ellen degenerous and i felt like eating the pie that went in the contestants face
yeah i feel like a bag of popcorn as well as choctop at the movies
because my mouth is burping very weirdly
i don’t want to have this burping feeling
i feel like a strawberry milk and i am fighting myself saying, no, i don’t need it
the strawberry milk says yes, i do, but i don’t want a strawberry milk, it’ll just make me fat
i wanna lose weight but the burping is making me want food, i want a nice chocolate bar
and i want a bag of marshmallows, i want to have more energy
so i can be a cool person, that i am,
i know the burping really is bugging me
and i do want it to stop, STOP, making me feel this way, i want to an artist and a writer and not an eater
please leave me alone strawberry milk and leave me alone chocolate biscuits, i don’t want to eat you
i feel like a chocolate biscuit, but then i say, i will grow fat, ya know keep the fat on me
i don’t want to be fat, i want to lose weight, so leave me alone ya ****** strawberry milk and coke
i want to feel fit in my mind, so i can write and be creative
please leave me alone, junk food, i don’t want to eat you
but the junk food gets in my mind and makes me smell the nice chocolate
i know coke used to be a medicine, but i don’t wanna drink ya
i like to have a healthy lifestyle, and i want to lose this burping because
it’s the medication making me wanna eat, like donuts and vanilla slices and cream buns
and dewok chinese stir fry’s and chocolate biscuits and chocolate desserts and strawberry milk
and a large bottle of coca cola, as my medicine, I DON’T WANT THAT
i had a garden salad for lunch as well as a few glasses of water
i hate being fat, so that means at 2-30 pm, i will go for another walk, whether i feel like it or not
because i must get rid of all this food from my body, so i don’t get diabetes
so if you feel fat, because you eat too much food, push yourself into walking
and walk a regular pace, so you don’t feel sluggish
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 10:06 PM UTC
all of you too,
ask what shall we call you,
and I smile/grimace, for lack of a
proper witty, worthy, weirdly perfect
pithy reply
which is why I offer you
a free option,
call me by my other name,
a What~You~Will,
your preference is my desire,
it is within your hidden possesions!
your chosen attribute?choice,
now mine,
multi-faceted
multi faced,
every name has its own unique
poet
hissing hiding inside,
wary of confessing he's/she's a sinner,
ask, and you shall be both
deceived,
and
well received,
for we live in a thousand of words,
all disordered
and when you inquire,
then they be re~sorted into new combinations
and for you,
**when you call me,
you may call by that name**
that name,
of the poem that
will be given and taken
expressly
for and from you,
it is the only way my
teachers taught me
to take,
in order yo give you back
your uniquness
…
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 10:20 PM UTC
We blink quickly,
so that we miss nothing,
we compact an entire lifetime within an allotted time of two hours and a small two minute window for creditentials that acknowledge 1,326 people,
not including "special thanks,"
we indulge on the dramatized events that may or may not have happened, We thrive on sports that televise a group of ten to twenty-two grown men that run fast jump quickly, and
dance weirdly,
but that is the pursuit of thrills
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
Words should express sincerely
It shouldn't be spoken rudely or weirdly
Or it might be misunderstood by someone else.
In the situation that merely just go
Where all the tense and massive form of air
Inhaling and exhaling deep inside
It's ironic life could feel
Looking for a word that could fit in
Bringing some thing that could break
"The awkwardness"
Why is it so hard to start a conversation?
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
i am reminded again of why i hate hospitals,
especially when there alone.
maybe it's the scuffed floor or ugly upholstery of the chairs,
or the doctors half-attention,
or the way everybody stares,
or the way i try not to....
or the way that one guy just needs to ask me what book i'm reading.
"it's... well, it's a book about these writers who are deceived into isolation
and they write all these stories of life and desperation"
(he doesn't actually care)
i hide in my hair.
at least we tried to have a conversation....
and then we just sit there,
until she calls the next patient.
i hope i'm next.
i am reminded again of why i hate hospitals,
especially when there alone.
maybe it's the stale air up against the smell of warm blankets,
or being fully clothed but feeling totally naked,
or being wheeled around to some other location,
or that being wheeled around kind of feels like
a ****** up vacation....
(you just get to lay there)
((and be numb))
but i think it's the way she rubbed that gel **** all over my tummy
and that when i say tummy,
i don't feel like a woman i feel like
a baby
and the way those plasticky tools let her see right through me
and the way men just do not know what to do when
women are bleeding
the nurse named jeff asks me, "oooh, which palahniuk?"
"it's... well, it's the one about twelve writers who fall into the clutches of
this crazy guy who locks them all up! this story's about guts n stuff,"
"nice," he weirdly smirks,
and thankfully gets back to work.
jeff touches my arm a little too much,
and i didn't really want him to have my blood,
and maybe that's just vain stuff
but the conversation was... good enough...
and i am reminded again of why i hate hospitals,
especially when there alone.
only got mister palahniuk*
trapped in a purple book,
this paper-bound blood work,
to keep me company.
i lay back with the iv drip next to my bed
as i sweetly surrender to his gory head....
this book, it's called haunted.
*i wish i had chuck's guts ~ literally and figuratively,
he has no ****** and incredible creative bravery.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
**Scattered Thunderstorms
The radar shows a band of multi-green storms,
Parallel running to the East Coast,
Stretching from So. Florida to Falmouth, Rhode Island.
Path-dependent, the edges skirt my present location,
Instrumented, but not weather resistant,
Water teases, invites me to a head clearing session.
Breezy gusts of overcast, caramel salty bay waters,
(weirdly calm),
Spray sprites whisper, scattered thunderstorms, starboard side
I am the only boat out, especially,
The only one going for sure aimlessly,
Radar non-discriminatory, stupidity legal,
So fools like me go out alone.
Scattered Thunderstorms,
Unavoidable, summer's favored annoyance of choice.
The melancholic platelets budding off my bone's marrow,
Forming wondrous clots of sadness,
Running strong in the currents of my veins,
Downtempo'd, there is no relief for
Inside of my radar scanned brain, the scattered thunderstorms,
Have arrived much earlier today.
What sourced this elegiac distich,
Too many poets, fully disclosing their downbeat, aroma of defeat?
The world is in a **** mood, not one of us, got nothing
Good to say, seems that love storms ripping hearts
With no trace of mercy, the radio has elected nonstop
Taylor Swift and Jonas Bro's
Just to make the point!
It is so easy to feel ******
When the sun is unshining, elegant distich, **** me.
Thinking back, getting a good idea,
Found some long necked Corona overlooked,
Turn on the tv, pretend I'm a real cowboy,
And for god's sake, shut down poetry,
Good Bye Poetry, for the rest of the day
Value you more than me, but you've worn me down
My blood streams your anguished distress,
I cannot survive these scattered revolver-repeating
Anguish-Cries-For-Relief from the Thunderstorms,
That now having reached, breached,
That now, having infected my heart which started
This day brow beaten,
First poem of the day, already shell-shellacked,
Now, I must shut me, batten me, down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The average lifespan of a platelet is normally just 5 to 9 days. Platelets are a natural source of growth factors. They circulate in the blood of mammals and are involved in hemostasis, leading to the formation of blood clots.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
Maybe I should even try to both be
the sooner you'll get rid of feedback because they're all
Sometimes I should sing most when my state of mind
Not in a set of cards with yoga pose instructions I'm currently going
I'm tired and beautiful and cute
I'm tired and bored out
...
Oh yeah I need all
People are somewhat murky and shallow in order to show you
WHY DO something
I'm tired of *being a ****** person.*
...
It's really don't wanna impose anything.... But anybody want
...
I'm tired and conflicted.
Ugh I've been wondering about for ice cream to attempt to message certain people
Uck. It say
...
I really don't know
never thought I'd hate for the person
Sometimes I feel and smell of things to do
That's not an ice is weighing me
It's really painful most of the base of personal information about me, or going
...
But eating shrimp feels weirdly like
...
No, everything is predestined to die from embarrassment and/or maybe guilt. But it's just like
That magical feminist is running the only have you
You have a finger at getting people
...
My staircase is bizarrely comfortable to everything ever
Aluk op oal ilcä aäcij ulrü cujy ulsu wäsyn cujy rincy cyykky cujy ürsäüpyu ipuincy kurky jü siij urir cu lina uij rüyl opam suasäcij kyäc kuläypincy di.
That magical feminist is the stuff
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC
The phone ringed, I gazed at the screen.
I had never seen the number before.
Baffled, I handed it over to my handsome husband.
"Answer it," shoving it towards his head.
He hurried and said "hello, who is calling."
He looked at me blank and weirdly saying "I will grab her. Wait briefly."
His eyes blazed into me, "it's your grandma."
Shaken, I said, "Hello."
She did a joyful, "hello Kara Jean."
Determined to figure out what was happening.
I proudly said, " you must have the wrong number both my grandmas are dead."
She replied "I'm so sorry what a coincidence.
My granddaughter is also Kara Jean.
I swear we've been here once before."
Giggling I commented, "that's remarkably crazy. I'm not remembering."
Silence hit the air.
The old cracked voice women said, "or maybe it's just your grandma calling from heaven to tell you she loves you."
My throat being choked nothing would really be announced.
Finally my voice complied, " What did you just say I'm not comprehending."
An earth shattering laugh went over the phone, "You sound pretty amazing.
I know if you were my grand baby,
I would be proud to be graced by you."
Words failed me being a first.
Before I could get it together enough to say what the hell is happening.
She exclaimed hastily,
"I must be on my way, "know your grandmas undeniably love you."
Click went the phone gone with no trace.
Uncontrollable tears gushing out of my face.
Reacting as if everything was falling away from my body.
Was I hallucinating.
Could someone been playing a cruel joke?
Who would have the audacity.
Considering, could it have truly been a toll free call from heaven.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
I was in a
dreamy state
as we drove through the
mountains,
the bright
Colorado sun reflecting
almost too bright
off of the frozen creek.
The ridges of the
giant turf were
a little too brown for what
I had expected this time
of year,
but the snow had not been
as bountiful as
winters past.
My cell phone lost
service as we glided
along a windy
highway,
so I was left to nothing but
my earbuds and
the thoughts I had avoided.
I felt a strange sensation
of relief as
I realized I didn't have to
speak to anyone,
how I could be left alone
in the midst of a wide expanse of nature,
perhaps the humble surroundings
I needed to
recollect myself.
In the company of
my loving family and
in the presence of
my grandfather's wisdom,
I was bound to find some
sort of peace,
gain some sort of clarity,
for if you couldn't find
serenity in the
Rocky Mountains,
surely something was wrong with you.
I spotted elk in the far
distance beyond the car windows,
and, despite the frigid
single-degree-weather that enveloped them,
I was weirdly envious of
their tranquil presence in the snow,
their freedom to be lost in the wilderness,
their security in the pack that accompanied them.
In that moment,
I wanted to be one of the elk,
running free
into a realm of wild openness,
running free
in the mountains and valleys.
In that moment,
I wanted to be
free.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
My big headed people said ity, i trusted, 'hiriz' has never dissapointed themy,
my hatred for non conformity, enormous, i surely hated the conformity truly,
i almost lost it for 'hiriz' sakey, **** it, ill never have wanted to lose this beauty,
i had it weirdly thinking ablazey, loozing?, no, i hadnt and you n they didnt realize fastly,
loosing soo fast about lowly sinking sinly,curse all day i ,ever had thee meeting to lyfy,
wit all the a vitue TRUELY INVESTMENT *** no lievly, forget me darl; once and for ever dony
one more what you waznyt quetly, cool openly, man must lively sweetly
that a day woud spoily truely, madly mey, sooooooo losty i had made a choisy,
refusing my being theiyyyyy, lucky me doing, buty, i love thater that am no longy
your timey was wanting by virtuey, truey. luck **** spyty this shiety oul
endy began truely sure truelly, fukciey, its thats badyy, me lost it shortlley
man must livevy or diiey, truely, gotta ity, man look for bread i wannaity
withought even hiriz it all worked welly, herey, i am. fu**** like ity
dead
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 12:28 PM UTC
night just wants some sun and the sun wants to sleep
but neither can get either with being alone every week.
some people sleep all alone every night
and that's what scares me to death.
am I one of these fools,
or can I follow these rules.
and that's why I'm so scared of my bed.
the monsters in the closet are just my memory's in deposit.
so I can sleep like the rest of the dead.
i know i'm not one
to laugh or complain
but weirdly my pain,
is the only thing
that wants to keep me sane.
for better or worse, we all have a Cain.
who would stick us in the heart.
if only he could remain.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 12:53 AM UTC
Weirdly wonderful caterpillars,
liquefy, transform, and reborn;
Wonderfully beautiful butterflies,
Who taught you how to do that?
Mother Nature, the mother of gaps;
Magical hand hides ignorance,
Misdirects from real question:
Why do we even ask at all?
Curiosity satiated we move on,
Forgetting blindness unremoved.
For if sighted, a new tongue to learn,
Mother Nature, the new alphabet.
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 2:19 AM UTC
One of my most vivid memories of us is that one time we were on the phone and you told me you felt uneasy because, your friend Morgan said that everyone changes.
She said no one ever stays the same, and with enough time, you'll become a whole new person.
You said this to me warily, I guess I stood quiet for more than I should've because you then softly muttered "are you gonna change?"
Of course I swore I wouldn't. And I meant it. I really meant it when I said I wouldn't change. WE wouldn't. It'd always be like this.
Late night talks on the phone, exploring the universe within our own minds, opening every door and walking in every aisle inside each other, carefully peeking into the cracks in the walls and kissing them better.
That night you said that you loved me so much, you felt the need to open the window and shout it at the whole world. You wanted all Paris to hear it.
If it was true love, how could it change?
Laying against you in bed felt right. Like we had grooves and keys carved into our bodies that aligned us together perfectly, like it was supposed to be like this.
It felt like we were the lucky ones. The lucky two that, against all the odds, found each other in the sea of hearts of the world.
But the years went by as they do
And slowly the fire started to cool down
We memorized the way in and out of the labyrinth of our bodies.
Weirdly, the grooves and keys that snuggled us so closely together before, didn't seem to fit all that well anymore.
We didn't realize that time had put new cracks on our walls.
Some doors were closed and others were opened. I guess We were lazy to remap the whole thing, or maybe we didn't even notice.
But we kept walking the same way in and out every time. It grew... Tideous.
Without me realizing, you stopped shouting your love for me to Paris.
And When I turned my head and looked behind, it seemed like it was just a faint whisper.
After that, all I could hear was the echo.
To be honest, I was mad for a long time. Thinking that you let everything die. That our hands didn't fit together like they used to because you didn't care to make it right.
But Lately I'm thinking that, it's not that you didn't care. It's not that I did something wrong. It's surely not a matter of true love, because it was.
No, we didn't let it die
We just... changed.
I guess Morgan was right.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
Oft do thoughts trickle through my idle mind.
These plays by the soul is what for it's designed.
Or so thought I. Entertaining the figments
Entertaining, remembering, my soul forments.
Stories I wish never were or at least never
Was ever a part of. But they're mine to keep forever.
Never cherished the light as I did the dark.
When puppies slept and the doggies would bark.
A mouse through the thickets, while she'd move,
Got swooped at once. Death from above.
It was an owl. It didn't hoot. It just killed a mother
But this was for her owlets so ... Necessary ******
The paradoxes that seem weirdly against what's moral.
Like the tale of the spider in the ******
I digress far, and the night is passing fast.
Pains of the future, which comes but never lasts.
Sprites from the past which stay and never die.
The long night puts many to sleep but keeps open my eyes.
As my thoughts dwell, the tears swell within my lids.
Intrepid imaginations assault my heart. Courage what it needs.
I think why it is that we hurt and we feel.
The scars asking me, do we ever heal?
Can't help the noise or the silence or the madness.
The grieving soul isn't oblivious of it's vastness.
The scars ask again. Did we ever feel?
The incomplete stories that my heartbeats seal.
Threatening to be revealed with every breath.
Too sharp to be left bare, like a sword in it's sheath.
The tales you sought for me to tell you.
Will only prove your fears come true.
Bones under putrid skin and open sores.
Maggots festering and oozing from the pores.
Dead ones in the open fields, vultures hovering.
Hyenas on the corpses, jeering, devouring.
Jackals eagerly waiting their turn. The aftermath of war.
Grey matter seeping through an eye the bird tore
Out. Dream of war, little soldier, and thus demystify
The mysteries of demise and my lullaby.
Nov 8, 2021
Nov 8, 2021 at 10:28 AM UTC
Yeah
well I sat in the barbers chair while you walked up and down the crowded aisles in a half deserted Tesco store
I wondered why
what was it for?
The freezer stood alone at home
freezing cold as was its wont but it was stacked with want me nothing more at all
for it was full up to its freezing chin
with something brought from albuquerque
and two fifths of London Gin.
The barber gave a weirdly grin and gave me one of number two
I should have fekin known that's what the little *** would do
but you just wandered round and did you see that skinhead passing by the deli' counter?
that was me
I waved atop my fresh shaved head
but I was dead meat on the cooked meat and it shook me wide awake
I need to take a breather
might even leave her
she would not care
she's got Tesco's in her brain and not to mention in her hair with apple summer fresh smell,how much dumber can one get
well if I stick about just watch this space
look out for the smiling vacant face
that will be me
taking her
to do her hair
just like mine.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
I held onto my mother's hand
As she lead me, bare foot
Into the cool water.
A man look's at me weirdly
My mother said it was
Because of my skin color
But I couldn't see
Much difference between
him and me
Except he was a man
and I was a little girl
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 9:17 PM UTC
I was always weirdly rebellious as a child.
As a teen I never pierced my tongue,
Snuck boys over the house,
Or stole candy bars from the convenience store.
Not me, when I was little
I would refuse to take my naps.
I'd fake sleeping and then sit there and hum to myself,
Waiting for my matka to come back and check on me.
I cut my own bangs,
Even when I was five.
Even when I was five the day before school pictures.
Matka wasn't pleased.
I didn't want to learn the Polish I was being taught.
I wanted to be different.
I didn't want chocolate milk like everyone else.
I wanted plain milk,
Not sweet milk.
Everyone liked sweets.
I didn't like the sun,
Because everyone liked the sun.
I liked the rain.
I wanted to be different.
My favorite word was podnóżek.
Do not be fooled,
It is nothing pretty.
It means footrest.
I liked it because it was different.
I wanted to be a rebel.
The coolest rebel of all.
One who fakes her naps, cuts her hair, drinks plain milk, and enjoys the word footrest.
The coolest rebel of all.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 12:25 PM UTC
**Ugh
Not again
You have that pensive look
the slurred algebraic expression
that algorithmic stench
Molten into confusing matrix
Geometrically weirdly shaped**
*Please shut up
I can't take it anymore
Your meagerly written poems
the frustrating metaphors
baked with suffocating syllables
dude, what the heck is a pensive look*
**There's a huge probability it won't
delve out any logical statistics.
the equations alone will alienate you
the calculus involved is far ahead of your time
just stick with trigonometric thoughts
C'mon you already know the plane of your thighs are sophisticated**
*is that a compliment
Painting splendid imagery
that nobody else understands
a poet lurking in words
always writing
Unfiltered intricately worded poems*
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 2:27 AM UTC