"whiny" poems
i. when I was young, I was never complimented. I never felt good enough and it hurt and somewhere along the line I began complimenting everyone because I was never complimented and I never wanted anyone to hate themselves the way I did. just because I call a girl pretty does not mean I want in her pants.
ii. we live in a country where a gay poet spoke at obama's second inauguration, where five openly gay senators serve, where all fifty states have had a gay elected officer in some capacity, so if I were to be gay, what's the problem with a relatively unknown sixteen year old girl from a relatively unknown town in a relatively unknown state being gay?
iii. do you want me to be gay? do you want a better, more socially acceptable reason to make fun of me? is my weight not enough?
iv. I was taught the term fluidity by my best friend Alyssa. she firmly believes that sexuality is a spectrum, like many other things. I have a different view on sexuality because I see it as a spectrum, not something that's set in stone.
v. I like making people happy, I like completing people, I apologize a bit too frequently and I was taught how to accept people.
vi. just because I call a girl pretty does not mean I like her. just because I say a dog is cute does not mean I want with the dog. just because I say a painting is pretty does not mean I am going to **** the painting.
vii. aesthetic is a very important word.
viii. there are three kinds of attraction, aesthetic, romantic, and ****** just because you have one does not mean you have all three. just because I like the way something looks doesn't mean I am going to have *** with it.
ix. sexuality is an Identity. not a YOUdentity.
x. I'm not gay, but if I were, trust me, I wouldn't go for such a whiny little *****
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
.
A hard-on
doesn't count
as personal gro
wth.If you want
to hear the pitte
r - patter of littl
e feet, I'll put s
hoes on my cat.
This isn't an off
ice , it's hell wit
h florescent lig
hting.How do I
set a lazer prin
ter to stun? I m
ajored in Libera
l arts. Will that
be for here or t
o go? Too many
freaks, not eno
ugh circuses. I
have a comput
er, a ******** a
nd pizza delive
ry .Why should
I leave the hou
se? Stress is wh en you wake up scr
eaming and you re alize you haven't fal
*** asleep yet. I like dogs too . Let's exch
ange recipes. And yo u r c r y b a b y
whiny- assed o pinion is? Al
low me to intro duce my selves.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
when a lost muse is no excuse,
when the mundane and the profane
are away on summer holiday,
and you are currently on the divine’s
'u **** - no write list'
nonetheless the itch in the private
spaces is driving you crazy,
write a poem, write a poem,
in the way a grandmother
(or a mother to a grown child)
whiny nags,
*its a nice day, go outside and play
with a strange man*,
whatcha ya gonna do, the walls are all painted,
and the good bad boys are out of town, all with the
*other bad good girls,
who got there first,*
but we will write of
nipple-rings and
other crazy songs you sing
it is not important you the reader understand every verse,
like Patton said, "it only matters that I know,"
which line is a joke,
which around your neck is
your customized yoke,
which is why:
plaintive wail to no avail,
the regret that never can be sated,
the frustration cratering inside the chest,
which is just,
(and unjust)
just enough
to make a semi-satisfactory smile
upon the lips appear
whose lips?
who cares?
as long as you don't have to hear me sing my poetry
but hear me smiling at
the power of whimsy writing
and the return of
my no longer muzzy^
Ms. Minx A. Muse-me
<£>
2:13pm
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
I think about you.
I think about you hard.
I didn't like your attitude;
it left my image of you marred.
You were immature,
sometimes a nasty ****
But there’s a thought about you
that’s a real perk:
It might be naughty,
it might be sick,
but I find my thoughts turn pleasant
when I think about your ****
You annoyed me day and night,
and drove me a bit crazy.
There are some things that I remember
that I wish were hazy.
Your voice was whiny,
your habits loathsome.
You smoked and stayed up late;
I'd wish that I was lonesome.
Except for that bit about you--
the key that fit my lock--
it’s what I miss about you.
My dear, it’s just your ****
You talked too much.
You weren’t very bright.
I pretended I was listening
as you rambled on all night.
You didn’t pay the bills.
I mostly cooked the food.
Our stupid arguments
left me in a foul mood.
But even when my thoughts
about you were at their meanest,
I somehow changed my view
when I thought about your *****
There’s no way to separate
you from your biggest asset.
So though you looked like trouble,
in every single facet,
I tolerated much--
more than I’d like to remember--
because of my strange attraction
to your firm and friendly member.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 8:33 PM UTC
You aren't the first to walk these roads.
These lonely, gravel trails covered in broken glass and nails.
Every time a rickety car breaks down and fails
it leaves it's wreck along the side of highway,
just watching the traffic pass them by.
They are monuments to every effort we have made and given up on.
They are why you MUST try.
Whether you live in a town or a city,
there are going to be some pretty ****** moments in life.
It takes a lot of strife to get a small amount of satisfaction
but the chain reaction
of doubts and down 'n' outs
is drowned out by the radio static and
I don't mean to sound dramatic but
I understand.
I just want you to know
you're not going to go on your own this time.
Every moment spent crying is time that could better spent trying.
If I told you I don't have these moments,
well, I'd be lying.
Because I've felt the color drain from my face
as I try to remember the last place I left my courage
because it's not at arm's reach this time.
Sneers and eyerolls draw spirals around me
like I'm at ground zero of an M.C Escher painting.
I can rephrase suffering so many ways.
But at this pace, I still can't outrun my own thoughts.
I find my courage at last
but there is no sticking place to ***** it to,
so I just say ***** it."
I can't say I knew it would end this way,
but if all this poem comes down to
is a whiny teenager trying to be edgy
than I guess I...
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
Look at the grass grow,
look at the spirits flow,
look at the sun glow,
look at your sons go.
Look at the rip tides,
look at the grey skies,
look at the black flies,
look in your own eyes.
Look at the hurricanes,
look at those in pain,
look at the pouring rain,
look at those showered by fame.
Look at the burning coal,
look into the black hole,
look deep into the soul,
look at the world as a whole.
Corporate conquerors conquer the economy.
Seven sickos ****** with ******
Honest Al has no honesty.
Endogamy?
Some poor sinner selects to sin.
Whiny woman want to win.
Crazy killers **** their kin.
Fin?
No! Lets keep the show going!
Skies are clear, but it is snowing.
Rowing, flowing, with the stream,
is this all a dream?
A dream?
Awaken me!
I scream!
I flee...
I'm floating on a stream,
crying in a dream,
waiting to be seen,
by you.
See me,
hug me,
kiss me,
love me.
Hate me,
shun me,
as long as you loved me,
then I can die,
I can dream,
in peace.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 1:04 PM UTC
A Bountiful Sky for Foolish Old Men
early up, haunted-stoked~woked by a multilingual sky,
an impish childish creation of an immature god,
inconsistently incapable, of making up his moody mind,
whiny then smiley, cloudless besotted, morphed
into crystalline blue of a well behaved in Sunday best,
warming the souls of the begotten and the misbegotten,
the hardened and the poetic souls, tho he laughs at
himself, for he too is both, curmudgeon and a mr. softee,
whiny child in rapid aging body, wearing of discovery
of new places for to ache, pains that don’t fit med scales
of 1~10, unless it is the Richter Earthquake formulation.
despite all, his eyeballs seethe, immaculate degeneration still
allows the seeing of broad brush paint strokes of the team of
angelic artistes that do the detailing of the palette above,
how!
they, love their big bold brushes that sky swipe atmospheric
residue into 31 Baskin Robbins flavors, with swirls of caramel
chocolate butterscotch that make the man’s complaints whisked
into who-cares-a-damn anyway ice creamery reverie and all
that other stuff disbarred from the aborning morning clarity of
“good morning ole man, where’s my coffee” diurnal tuning that
the women hums, reminding those in the earshot crowd of one,
that s’mores and chores, tasks and at lasts, dogs need walking, gardens watering, cushions plumping, evening dishes moving from dishwasher onto wallpaper-covered shelves, geese-away-chasing, and loving poetry
by a poetoftheway scribbling…
8:01 AM Frieday, Jun 30
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 8:32 AM UTC
Dear Whiny Fat *****
Stop whining you fat *****
I don't find your curve(s) beautiful as it falls short of feminine,
breast and hip bring forth lust like a tray of holiday cookies,
helpful internet sayings are fatty hoe-deurves
you devour them,
greedy mouths pointed teeth digging in to every bit of it because why work hard when you can talk loud?
Why go for a jog when you can misquote Marilyn?
Why choose the salad when the big mac's just as beautiful?
It's not
I do not envy gluttony,
I do not envy sloth,
I do not lust for them.
double zero may not be attractive but throwing a 2 in front of it is fatty-icing on the cake,
so talk about "oppression" while you scoff down more than Ebo and his family have had in a week,
starvation and desperation dancing intertwined tip-toeing around his house,
he wakes up one morning to his sons tears because all he's had is a slice of bread
while you decide to treat yourself to an ice cream cus' you didn't supersize today
You can call me an *******
let molten words flick from your tongue,
lace'm with lava and let them fly
but at the end of the day you only have yourself to blame
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
My eyes smell sleepy, he, refusing to depart,
But there is coffee on the nightstand,
The odor, infiltrating the dozy brain's heart.
Annoyed with each other,
They shout and fight
Like teenage siblings Commissioners at the SEC,
Arguing over bathroom monopolization,
The tongue stays sidelined, feigning net neutrality.
The bed smells empty,
For the **** has crowed,
Yogi David commands your presence
At Saturday morning Eight O'clock yoga services.
To get to his Sinai on time,
Early departure, an FAA requirement,
Car, ferry and foot you will deploy,
In the winter, special skis and snowshoes,
That blessed by his mantra,
Enable you to walk on water.
In the kitchen there is sisterly conversation,
Yes, puttering and muttering and discussing,
Sister's grown child texting, he's making the pilgrimage
To see Mama, alone, unexpectedly,
Six hours driving.
Friends and countryman,
That is how you spell t-r-o-u-b-l-e
Sleepy master dwarf refuses to concede,
Says when kitchen noises retreat,
Back to him you will supplicate,
They (the other dwarfs and body parts),
Have a big convention to better communicate..
Departure comes without a kiss,
But not without complaint,
She always says I love you first,
Which is natural,
She being a girl.
Now the bladder starts to whiny~chatter,
What about me, what about me,
Don't you love me, and me rhymes with P!
While the stomach quietly snores
Have been well-fed
but a few hours before,
He dreams of some more....macadamia crusted s'mores...
I could verse you more,
No problem that's for sure,
But you got the point:
The morning smells.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 7:18 AM UTC
I am not who you see,
I am me
The Clumsy, dorky, sometimes ******
The one who will try to make you feel
When you cannot feel anymore,
The one that will stand up for you,
When you are limp, on the floor.
The person that will make sure,
Your information is correct.
Sometimes to be a pain in the ****
The one who will cook, but only if its
For her and another, or more.
But never for herself.
The one that tries to give the best advice,
But never asks for them to listen.
Sometimes she thinks she is male,
For always wanting to be right.
But at the same time, she is female.
Whiny, crabby, always up in your face.
She is indecisive, she doesn’t know half of the time.
Her name is Chelsea.
She is pretty cool.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 12:20 AM UTC
It came upon a Christmas eve not so long ago
A beast deformed in stature, walked out from the snow
It’s eyes were sharp and wild, jagged teeth like shards
It went from house to house leaving hoof prints in the yards.
Glancing into windows warm with light and life
It was here to reconcile an old and bitter strife
It had a bag that screamed and cried as it dragged it on the ground
An awful thing just an awful thing, to have to hear that sound
It threw its nose into the air and began to sniff and snort
This demon was on to something but what I can’t report
In the bitter cold, you could smell it’s breath of rot and discontent
The chains that draped its frame, made its spine look broke and bent
The wind it howled in vain to warn the people of this beast
It’s cries went unregarded as people sat before their feast
The demon ceased its searching when it came upon my house
I did my best to hide and stay as quiet as a mouse
I walked back into the shadows in the corner of my room
Voiceless, breathless, terrified what was this thing of gloom
I heard it leap onto the deck and drop its sack upon the floor
A resounding thud caked in mud, it wasn’t crying anymore
I left my room and crept down the stairs to see if it got in
Hoping it wasn’t that demon who they said would eat my skin
It stood before the fireplace, the front door was opened wide
I don’t know how this thing got in but I had nowhere left to hide
It turned its face from the fire with a scowl you’d have to see
The demon had a quarrel alright and the quarrel was with me
It pulled out from the pocket of its robe all blacked and charred
A burning piece of paper then it handed me its card
The card read only “Krampus” before I felt it’s claws upon my throat
Now I’m in a bag with other kids set for some other place remote
We were bad and didn’t listen to our parents and their orders
We broke a lot of rules and disrespected borders
Now ole Krampus has us and he’ll probably sell us off as food
This is what you get if you’re whiny, mean, or rude
Now have a merry Christmas and do as you’ve been told
Lest you wind up in a demons bag being dragged upon the road
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC
Some are shrill and some whiny,
Some are deep and hoarse or smarmy.
Some sing, and others scream,
Some are lazy, some are keen.
Some are there to comfort and to reassure. Or there to ridicule and to exacerbate an emotional sore.
Mine are, mostly, the latter type.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 7:52 PM UTC
Dear Mister Splee, I have a story for thee.
A man of humble attire, went fo’ a walk on a dull wire.
Skilled he kept balance, with nothing but a lance.
With a great long stride, he made it to the other side.
Back he went from one side to the other,
he grabbed nineteen polar bears and a ladder.
He carried them across just for fun.
Amazingly it was all at once not one by one.
The whole audience,awed with just a glance,
While monkeys surrounded and began to dance.
He dropped the ladder down, until it reached ground.
And the monkeys climbed up, pouring tea in a cup.
The polar bears climbed down with elegant ease.
I swear one of them sneezed.
But skilled he kept them balance, with nothing but a lance.
The acrobats were on the trapeze, they looked humbly appeased.
Thirty elephants all whiny and giddy.
Climbed the ladder all silly nilly.
Rhinos and Tigers performed ballet.
I hope you might get to see their performance someday.
The monkeys now on tightrope now hung,
By their tails they now flung.
The humble man on tightrope did sat,
collecting the teacups into his hat.
The elephants dove from the top,
into a pool, splish, splish, splop! splop!
O how I wish fo’ you to see the Tigers dancing.
O how I wish fo’ you to see the Rhinos prancing.
A lion or two just fo’ show,
Jump through hoops caught on fire
And a smile caught my eye from the man on the wire
He jump off, down the ladder.
He walked up to me, with glee
and told me to “tell this to Mister Splee:
Come visit me O’ Mister Splee
This circus was designed just for ye”
I told Mister Splee
And a tear rolled down his cheek
Sadder than he could be
He said: “That circus has long since been dead.”
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:44 AM UTC
Gilded cage so small and tiny
Even singing comes out whiny
Stinking of fake fresh and piney
Tis the season
Leaking water warm and briny
With good reason
Christmas cheer and glasses toast
Loved ones smile and laugh and boast
I sit perched upon my post
A tinsled column
Invisible reluctant host
A heart that's solemn
A longing for a love so distant
The melancholy is persistent
A smile could erase it in an instant
On a face cherubic
For my heart is not resistent
It's theraputic
So that smile that is perfection
Is mirrored in my own reflection
Without a thought about rejection
Hallucinations
About the subtlest inflection
In Salutations
Surrounded by the merrily intense
With drunkard tendencies immense
A bar with all accoutrements
They pound tequila
Drinking away the sacraments
Oh yes, I feel ya
Merry time with old Kris Kringle
Guests all lubed enough to mingle
Mistletoe hangs and sleigh bells jingle
Gifts homemade
Tables adourned and glasses tingle
Gold brocade
Still I sit all caged and flightless
Blind to joy all sad and sightless
Drink could make it hurt a mite less
I'm going backward
Laying here all limp and lifeless
Broke and fractured
Surrounded by the fake and vexing
Artificial and quite perplexing
Reality they are rejecting
The devil may care
Bellies bare and muscles flexing
Lost underwear
So ******* dancing to the jukebox
Lost alone here in the boondocks
There is no snow upon the rooftops
Ahead they forge
Find a room before that thing pops
It's so engorged
Neighbor ***** all dressed in orange
Wearing gold to make the poor cringe
Stripping time to fill her syringe
I'll be her hinderance
Still too drunk from her last binge
Faulty remembrance
Ridding riff raff from the party
People still drunk on Bacardi
Noxious gasses burp and farty
With toilets makeshift
Worn out makeup on the smarty
She needs a facelift
Time to let the people go
Too tired to keep watching the show
Drinking hard and walking slow
Verbose yet listless
Honey I don't want to know
It's not my business
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
they will smoke cheap, borrowed cigarettes.
they will drink cheap, borrowed *****
and they will stay miles away.
and they will experience the most complex emotions.
writing small town songs,
dealing with cheating girls
and
****** bags and godliness.
they will play at veteran bars.
they will play at festivals.
and they will flicker.
and they all will dissolve.
living at home with mom.
dealing with whiny girls
and
************ and defense mechanisms.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 7:20 AM UTC
We share blood you and I,
and have shared
golden pocketed memories, sticky ice-creamed fingers
back seats,smelly packs of cheese and onions crisps
and jokes about the two in the front arguing over directions,money- us.
Yet we couldn't be more polarized,
Your a young soul but your older,
you used to whisper scandalous grown -up things
and I would swallow your information as gospel.
Under sapphire skies,
I'd follow you around just wanting your attention
and I know now how annoying it must have been
to have a whiny little sister wanting you to play Barbies.
And I won't lie,
I love you most days and hate you the rest
for all those times you'd beat me up(really just a punch)
and pronounce me the Loch-ness monster and call me fat.
It'll always be Love/Hate with you and I
I'm the chalk and your the cheese
but you make me laugh until my sides ache
and I know you love telling me the news of your latest exploit.
There's a camaraderie well that implied,
I've got your back and you've got mine.
we table tennis tease but we both draw a line
and we won't cross it.
because we share blood you and I,
despite nurture over nature
or blood is thicker than water
know this big brother
I love you as a person.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 5:28 PM UTC
Everyone is thinking it
You are the only one who
Don't see
Nobody else will tell you
Nobody else, but me
Here you sit
So whiny
Insulted as you can be
All I can say is
You're welcome
For my obvious honesty
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
A bad, worming feeling in your belly
because
you've had nothing to eat today,
and
you hopped in your car,
giddy as a bird,
and rolled over there.
There being the magic store;
the store with it's keychains of glory,
bottles of distilled religion,
and a whole lot of prayer
that your debit card sings.
Tomorrow means work
and the evil dollar that drags Jamaican children across
intersections
as they scream at the Americans in taxis.
It seems we all need a break.
We all need a chance to forget
and say we're not culpable
for anything.
This is the magic that'll save you from your whiny conscience.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 11:55 PM UTC
Just get over it
That's what they all say
You have a good life
You aren't depressed, you're just whiny
Oh, that's right
It's in the past
Because the gleaming eyes of a too-old man
Dark rooms out of the family's sight
The way you can't live without those sick memories
It's all in the past, right?
You were a young saint
A little boy with nothing to lose
But his too-big hands and his too-wide smile
Ripped your white angel wings from your back
And pressed your fragile body
Ever harder to the mattress
It's been almost a decade but you don't forget
Like the way America has not forgotten
September 11th
They remember 2500 lost lives
But you're not allowed to mourn your own?
"They" is just another pronoun
But you know exactly who I mean
The bitter faces that turned away from you
Accusations of lies on their tongue
When all you needed was someone to be there
Forget them
You've grown and changed and you are not one of them
They need to get the **** over it
Not you
You're strong
You're unique
You're alive
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
I have issues,
Lots of them,
I could fill a library with my issues,
My problems,
And self-loathing.
Whole buckets full of issues.
Like nails driven into my skin I can't quite get out,
I try to fix myself,
To find the things I lack and lost along the way,
But I find myself breaking even more,
Like a porcelain doll.
I feel like a liar,
Smiling like this in your face,
While I go bring pain upon myself by crushing the hopes and dreams I struggled to hang onto.
I've forgotten myself somewhere in the darkness,
And can't get out.
My sadness is only temporary,
It happens when I'm alone,
I put my mask on,
And take it off when I go home.
But my mask is fading fast,
Pealing away to reveal the things I lack,
As people get close to me,
I push them away,
The people I do keep close in mind,
I tell them all the time,
Of my issues,
And my hurting,
And they get bored of me and leave,
They don't want a basket-case,
A whiny little girl,
A problematic teen,
A pity party indeed,
When I do learn how to trust you,
I'll come to you with all my problems,
But soon enough you'll give up on me because you don't know how to solve them.
My issues are like chains,
And life is like water,
The more I struggle with these issues,
The faster I sink into the water,
Drowning.
Suffocating.
I don't want people to treat me different,
I don't them to try to fix me,
Because I'm a lost case.
I just want some friends to talk to,
Not to tell me what to do.
I don't you to try fix me,
Or cry over me,
Just go.
I don't want pity,
I don't want your pity,
I don't want anyone's pity,
I pity myself enough,
And hate myself too,
I've hurt myself worse than anyone ever could,
Worse than you.
I just want to keep my scars safely hidden away,
To push my issues so far beneath my skin,
You can no long see them,
And you and I both win,
I don't get pitied,
And you think you fixed me,
See?
isn't everyone happy.
But the problem is my mask it fades,
My issues are resurfacing,
And you can see everything that's wrong with me,
I try to pick the nails out of my skin, but more get jabbed in.
I'm too tired,
I can't sleep.
I'm too mad,
I can't eat.
I'm so happy.
...I feel sad.
So sad this happiness can't last forever,
But this sadness...
This sadness will last forever,
These wounds will never heal,
These scars will never quite fade,
I'll never learn to feel,
Happy,
Is word,
I never quite learned,
My dictionary is limited,
By me,
And my melancholy.
I can tell you words like,
Sadness,
And apathy.
I can tell you words like,
Ugliness,
And stupidity.
I can tell you words like,
Anger,
And rage.
But the word I'm most familiar with is
Melancholy,
Melancholy is me,
Issue are me,
I am made up of lies, melancholy and issues,
I have so many problems I don't know who I am!
Who am I?
This happy girl?
This sad one?
This mean girl?
This evil one?
This liar?
This quiet one?
Who is the real me?
Who are these people I try to be?
Which one do you see?
Which one do I portray to be?
Which one is the true me?
I have problems,
I have fears,
I have issues,
Like nails in my skin.
... Sometimes I don't think it's melancholy...
I think it's something worse,
Something that people know as the d word,
Something that you don't say,
Something that can get you on medication,
Something far more sinister than any old melancholy...
Do I dare say it?
What I think I have?
Yes...
I think have depression.
.... I have depression.
Sad.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
With a hint of Otis I say:
"Sittin' on some steps by the...ocean,
"Watching the people of today,
Puttin' on that lotion...
Couples walk by
Never say hi.
Pondering the meaning of life,
Woah! My god, look at that girl!
I really like her...shirt.
Wow my sunburn really hurts.
Ah, the beach. What a soothing feeling
The ocean can reach...when one can
Hear it over screaming kids. Parents
Smoking as they push the cribs.
Foreigners ...Probably judging us Americans. Finding
Importance in life by being more tan.
Hey look there's a seagull. So free
To fall in the air. It's just not
fair. I wish I could steal fries from
Strangers and get away with it.
Just made awkward eye contact
With a runner. She was cute
But what a ****** I couldn't
Catch her if I tried. There's a
Rent-a-cop. He may yell, "Stop!"
But a nerf-gun can only do so
Much. What a job. Authority and
Such. This boardwalk is repetitive.
Needy kids and whiny parents.
I might need a sedative...there's
A choir of noise in the background. Arcade
Schemes...games...some bells, the ocean and
The screaming kids that are yet to be tamed.
Smh @ r generation.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
We went to watch a movie tonight.
no
You and I went to watch a movie tonight.
We were not close, again. You went with your friends. It's understandable.
But I'm selfishly in love.
My heart selfishly belongs to you.
I don't know if I should take the blame for it.
All I ever wanted was to share a moment with you, but now here I am, writing.
And I seem whiny. Again.
Should it hurt? Should you hate me and rip my love away like a band-aid?
Or should I keep living this guilty pleasure of a lifetime?
Tell me please. I'm lost without you. Lose me, so I find my way-- no stay.
Do it. Free me. From doubt, from love. I want you. I can't want you.
What's this gray area? You made it clear.
I'm your friend. Why must I carry this amazing feeling? I love it! Take it away!
If I could hate you, it would be so simple.
But I will never hate you. I am physically incapable of hating you. There's nothing that will make me hate the wonderful person that you are.
But you can hate me. Do it. Despise me like you never despised anyone.
I'll try to come back. I'll ask you to stay. But I can't live this way... even if I want to.
Kiss me goodbye. Take advantage of my feelings to give you an opening and run away. Just don't stick around, or that might not be just a kiss.
Am I of value to you? Then prove it. Do what's best.
As always, in your hands,
That boy who doesn't know what he wants (but does know who he wants)
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 3:15 PM UTC
Be the barcode on my bra strap so maybe
I can finally be sellable skinny. Be my relationship goal,
the text to check outside my door, the 5k, 140 character post
about a teenage dream ****** through low brightness screens.
Be the slam poet screaming whiny, new written love songs
on the shareable Facebook post. And maybe I’m just as bad,
but at least I recognize when my eyes fall numb from staring
at self-expression turned self-obsession. Maybe it’s Jack talking back
through my shot glass or maybe it’s the blacklight absorbed
into my skin. Or maybe it’s a girl in a “vintage” dress just sizing out
bigger than the edges already cut out for her. Maybe it’s me
bending backwards over chivalry and **** coming back from the 90’s.
Don’t blame me for biting into the media sandwich that is magazines
and the indecision of being too clingy if I just freakin’ called you.
Cause picking up the phone is a lot more risky than the kissy-face emoji
at the end of a message. Don’t blame me for consuming
tissue paper lies designed to target my own vulnerability, or my lack
of understanding the truth because all everyone
has ever told me is just a step in the manipulation blueprint
to get what they want, or just get me to bed. I only trust old photographs,
things I wrote down when I couldn’t sleep, my mom, and the dirt
I used to bury my own reflection. Be the 50% off on my receipt
just so I know I got something off. Be the nicotine in my cigarette,
the Blink 182 voice inside my head, the joints that hold me up
where I stand, and maybe I’ll finally know who I am.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
HEY YOU
...who?
me?
YEAH!
Zoom out for a second, *******
While you're sitting there
Some sorry
Sob
Messed up
Girl
Who's so preoccupied
With every drift
In some idiot's mood
WILL YOU TAKE A FREAKING SECOND
And think about what you're doing?
Your GPA is probably off crying somewhere
In the fetal position
Stop worrying abou -
HEY YOU
YEAH YOU
WHEN DID YOU GET SO PISSY
yeah i'm wallowing in misery
but i'm only human!
i guess i shouldn't have
let him get to me
but he
is so sweet to me
when he wants to be...
Like I care!
You wanna be a failure
Forever?
You've been doing a great ******* job of it
For almost 20 years
Guess you don't wanna
Mess up your streak...
...well that was rude.
do you mind?
i can't help what's
on my mind
i really think i love this guy
just not the coward
he's shaping up to be
love should be anything but
cowardly...
FORGET ABOUT IT
Forget about him!
You don't have time for this!
See that great
Big
Ugly
Threatening
Thing over there?
Yeah, the one with the
Baseball bat
That's all the homework you've got
This weekend.
Stop being such a whiny ***
Pull it together.
alright!
alright!
i won't talk to him
tonight
i'll try
i will...
to get back on
track...
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 4:31 PM UTC
There are some evenings…
You just happen to tilt you head back and dusk is already right in front of your face.
Sometimes it’s just you, sometimes, some dude taps on your shoulder and while pointing straight upward he goes “Hey…look at that!”
And of course you’re gonna look, ‘cause what’s to see is just not real.
The sun is suddenly more than a big ball of flaming gas, the clouds more than some vapor. This red hot blood spread across the sky seems to come right from your veins.
You gaze into this huge scenery and you realize that it’s taking everything away. No more endless commute to your office, no more ******** for your missing pencil sharpener, no more reports, boss, todesangst… **** for what it’s worth girls don’t even have ***** anymore.
Right that moment, it’s all burning along with the clouds and slowly sinking.
Then you just have enough time to blink twice and it’s dark already. Daddy Sun is gone to his other family.
You’re still there though, staring at nothing, feeling your existential mess creep back up your spine, cramped between the pencil sharpener and some girl’s *****
What are you supposed to do then?
You’ve just been the enlightened Zen monk from the movie for a full minute, and now papa’s gone home, you’re back to your old whiny self. **** it up.
How are you supposed to return to your everyday’s plasma screen craving and internet **** when you feel you’ve just been dumped by the Sky itself?
I mean… how are you supposed to survive a sunset?
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC