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Evie G Feb 2022
Who here loves *******?!!!
I mean, dogs
Obviously…
Immature people.

I love ***** shows.

Seeing them all groomed to perfection, not a hair out off place
A shame some cute faces will just go to waste.
While some may whine and some may resist,
If it’s not monetised, well… does it exist?

Lined up in a row
Look at them go
Praying and hoping to win best in show, just for a itty bitty wittle headpat, while the owner gets useful things like money.
Cause a dog can’t use money, that’s just silly

Nails perfectly trimmed
Intelligence dimmed
Watch how they walk with a little trot, so proud of themselves,
its like they forgot they only have the same rights as their owners in 6 countries.
But dogs don’t need equal working rights, that’s just silly

Look its absurd
When they whine all their words
Clogging up space with their frilly likes and their silly ums that totally like inconveniences like everyone because they have to um like listen to a ***** talk for um longer than they like totally like um have to like ***.

But they aren’t so bad, especially when you’ve had
A ***** that wont behave, a ***** that’s gone mad
Howling at the moon with their wandering wombs
It’s like there’s no party, only balloons.
If a ***** wears pants, do they go on all fours
Or do they get sent home for showing more than their paws.

Gasp at how they growl, protecting their hairy bodies, which, silly them, they don’t own.

They must be culled
Anger dulled
Knock in their thick skulls they are nothing but a *****.

We all love ***** shows, we love the ******* even more.
So come on ladies, get down on all fours.
Addi Anderson Dec 2018
All my pwoblems,
who knows, maybe evwybody’s pwoblems
is due to da fact, due to da awful twuth
dat I am SPIDERMAN.

I know, I know. All da dumb jokes:
No flies on you, ha ha,
and da ones about what do I do wit all
doze extwa legs in bed. Well, dat’s funny yeah.
But you twy being
SPIDERMAN for a month or two. Go ahead.

You get doze cwazy calls fwom da
Gubbener askin you to twap some booglar who’s
only twying to wip off color T.V. sets.
Now, what do I cawre about T.V. sets?
But I pull on da suit, da stinkin suit,
wit da sucker cups on da fingers,
and get my wopes and wittle bundle of
equipment and den I go flying like cwazy
acwoss da town fwom woof top to woof top.
Till der he is. Some poor dumb color T.V. slob
and I fall on him and we westle a widdle
until I get him all woped. So big deal.

You tink when you SPIDERMAN
der’s sometin big going to happen to you.
Well, I tell you what. It don’t happen dat way.
Nuttin happens. Gubbener calls, I go.
Bwing him to powice, Gubbener calls again,
like dat over and over.

I tink I twy sometin diffunt. I tink I twy
sometin excitin like wacing cawrs. Sometin to make
my heart beat at a difwent wate.
But den you just can’t quit being sometin like
SPIDERMAN.
You SPIDERMAN for life. Fowever. I can’t even
buin my suit. It won’t buin. It’s fwame wesistent.
So maybe dat’s youwr pwoblem too, who knows.
Maybe dat’s da whole pwoblem wif evwytin.
Nobody can buin der suits, dey all fwame wesistent.
Who knows?
--JIM HALL
Wayne Pritchett Oct 2010
to my wonderful parents
i love you
flaws and all
you made me
this handsome young man
grew to be six feet tall
i have my mother's skin
but my father he lies within
the strength and patience
to fight through the wicked
i have done great things
in this world of
hate and corruption
but my parents virtues
show the light
in the darkest situations
you showed me the truth
when i told you lies
dont do dumb ****
or on the floor i lie
life's lessons started
with you two
god blessed me
with a father
and mothers
HA HA i have two
Cynthia came along
what perfect time she did
made my father happy
im so glad you slid
into our picture
made it all sappy
from love and affection
for us and our pappy
i love you and thank you
makin my life
so near to perfection

William
my baby brother
earth's finest gentleman
you make me proud
day in and day out
makin moves to
move on from another
showing genuine feelings
something i thought
the world was without
you give me reason
to keep my best face
cause you carry the
worlds face on your brow
lighten up baby bro
it only gets worse
but if u let it
your world can get better
continue to love
your enemies and friends
cause hate gives them power
that wont let you live
happy and stressfree
so pick that chin up
hold ya head up high
cause i love you bro
your a better guy than I

Toni
my wittle sister
the twin sent from above
we share the same bday
as well as the same love
thank you for showing
this lost boy turning man
how to treat these ladies
with love and respect
even on the days when
those horns start showing
the wild child of us 3
you have given me
plenty of laughs and memories
without you in my life
half would be missing
our birthday would be
a celebration and a funeral
that means yay
Wayne is older
and boo whoo
the anniversary is no more
we are too much alike
not sad but true
my mirror image
if i were a girl
i would have been you!

to my friends
old ones and new
imma take this time
to give shoutouts
to each one of you
the days i sit around
lookin worn out and through
your face shows up
then mischeif we get into
so many stories
they lead into great tales
ill forever be greatful
in this poem
you can tell
cause im thanking
each one of my comrades
multitudes of gratitude
all you fools
feed my soul food

to those in my life
who **** me off
and cause more strife
i thank you
a little more than most
so i can boast
my victory when i conquer
the obstacles you set
and the limits you show
since you are
too cowardly
to let a brother
go the distance
this body will allow
im shootin for Pluto
but when i listen
to the **** you throw
i dont shoot past
the dusty *** flo'
friends might fit here
family members fit also
so if you figure
you fit in this stanza
dont get angry
sad or discouraged
cause you help me out
more than you ever knew it.
(c) Wayne Pritchett September 2010
elizabeth Mar 2017
Heart beats and paper wings,
Tattered clothes and souls that sing.
Beauty that relies on grace,
Salty tears that run down the face.
Hopes that give a crown and throne,
Fears that wittle down to the bone.
Angels protecting with all their might,
Demons killing out of spite.
Making sure another dies,
She won't live to be a butterfly.
March 21, 2017.
I'm not sure what exactly this is, other than a culmination of my mind.
Miss Masque Apr 2010
Sitting in solemn silence
all around me the deafening roar
of thoughts flooding through
my mind

Heads bent over their work
as they contemplate the
significance that this will even have
ten, twenty, thirty years from now

Looking around and seeing
stress on people's faces
as they sit and wittle away
the fifty minutes of
fluid time

Twiddling their thumbs
the equivalent of me
here
writing this poem

Bland revising conversation
with an overtone of educational
******* wrapped in a blanket
of disconcerting melodrama

Whispers of unfocused chatter
and my mind wanders lazily
from one thought to the next

Conflicted as I should be writing for
another purpose
to complete an assignment
that I couldn't possibly
care less about

Oh the joys of institutionalized
education
and yet
the irony:

I want to become
a part of it
in order to remedy
its imperfections
from the inside out
Written: November 20, 2009
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
you should see having Chinese slit eyes after smoking back when i was 21 and was in the prime... miss those days... not's it's about reaching the 36th hour threshold of not sleeping, getting fidgety hallucinations of objects rather than themes, not even bothered about a deeper meaning of life by dreaming: **** dreaming... ever heard of the Soviet sleep experiment? well, i have a detonator to knock myself out, the perfect combination: a cure for chronic insomnia, or those who suffered the highest damage from what might be a one-punch-knockout-let's-handshakes-with-Hades... you think there aren't rich people who'd need someone to cure them from chronic insomnia due to a brain haemorrhage? do i look like a ******* saint of Calcutta? ENCORE! whiskey (depending on your previous intake of the stuff, not any old spirit, Scottish perfumery, i told you Edinburgh was the new Paris and the already established Athens of the north) -  AMITRIPTYLINE (25MG - milligrams) - and 500G PARACETAMOL... i once mentioned that other painkiller... why am i putting myself through this? well i know i'm suffering, no point hiding it... **** the liver recharging, i need my brain more... the Soviets didn't find what i found... a cure for insomnia of brain haemorrhage sufferers: alpha rat? me... hence the added flow of subjectivity, pondering more than the ****** Zodiac premonitions - there's always a doctor for whatever condition is probably not as celebrated as a charity run for cancer... so as Socrates said... i'd be charged with making pensioners rebels, since they seem to be only ones who are on my wavelength - they're worried about the silent scythe, i'm worried about the all-too-loud scimitar; ******* complimentary like a burger and chips.*

because he was selling his beautiful lessons,
which are beautiful, i admit,
the meek man said: i'll just cycle down this
park, this square mile, and nowhere else,
because i'll just be a tourist in Jerusalem
as much as a tourist in Florence...
and you know? i'm trying... oh wait, buy
them? paradoxically - the suffering was sold,
then the idiot bought the same suffering,
and the two contested in the Garden of
Gethsemane: you can't lift the word alone,
by trying to illuminate it alone will
cast half the world in night, hence the
scimitar world of Islam, from where i was
released to illuminate the adherents of
your illuminating flock of the Atom
Bomb and the Holocaust...
let's just say a few ordinary Jews,
like the neighbours next door, who are
Jews, the woman converted to Islam,
because the Hasidi Jews believe in
a second coming of... well... let's just
call it a dinosaur sequence...
i don't believe the American hot-dog
machine could create those roving objects...
they're coordinates...
but listen! listen! ha ha! it's a win win
scenario! either those other beings in
the universe will help you to improve
your ways by being stupidly mesmerised
by their Santa Clauses (law term),
or they'll **** you and give you your
wish: not economic unity without
individual strife, but unity per se
without the concept of economics... like i said:
win win... Thor and the Dark Elves -
N.A.S.A., hello! hello! look where Lucifer
falls... and how your ******
think white is the same as red... oh look,
a Polish boy... i give you freedom!
or like Islam predicted, if i leave England,
my one day in England that's a year
in Iran... will just speed up the process...
they'll just hone in on the place where
the coordinates disappeared from -
because you'll be killing off their
scientific investigation, which goes back
to YHWH... and not to Kant's God
or the omnipotent prune that could be
both plum and pumpkin... well...
i heard people like to gamble... let's gamble!
because like you said: Picasso and the
primitive man rather than the Renaissance men...
you interrupt their scientific interest
which will end with my natural death...
or you do something stupid, and change
the timescale... question is...
if i ever travelled back to my home
would they stone me? then you'd all
have to submit to Islam - look how angry they
are... or i could take the scenic route,
get to love sadism and get to love pain...
and... well... what a kaleidoscope
of variations with a thought of an afterlife!
if i'll be able to sit in hell for the duration
of my mortality... i think a radio,
an infinite supply of whiskey, cigarettes
and white pages and ink and pornographic
material will prove anyone's endurance
to get chatting with Wittle Adoolf.
i'm joking... i have a redemption clause...
when i was a fat teenager with acne,
after i lost the weight and started smoking
marijuana, i reached a momentary of
attainment of Nirvana, which is western
tradition involves an induced form
of thoughtlessness: not mindfulness;
for a few golden months i'd smoke dope,
not think, enjoy music, and get on with
work and studying... these poems are
a byproduct for my way toward redemption
of once more experiencing that state
of mind... free from suffering...
by death, i am promised having attained it
once more, rather than having to have
to perpetuate it carefully like a Buddha might...
that's the only solace i have the ****** up
things i usually write:
as i was later the one to teach demons
to appreciate the solace of drinking, by
way of calming their infuriating ontology
inducing them with a sedative they might
perceive as the double-jeopardy of fury...
drink the waters of furore to calm
the otherwise persistent nerves -
all very well with 21st century sensibilities
running and ruining the place,
as if the 21st century was a reason to
have reached a Utopian benchmark and
exclaim the usual shock: in the 21st century?
unheard of! in the 21st century?!
how impossible... yeah, and croissants from
the 18th century never tasted better either...
shock treatment of Darwinism...
the ones that are sitting on cushions
are wondering why anyone would chisel
stones.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
macbeth: it was (once) the owl that shrieked,
  the fatal bellman.

aye, and i too would ask the urban folk
concerning family and congregation
for any event apart from the most cherished:
for i love only those with whom i eat,
and abhor those with whom i drink:
for i deem them sour company.

and if in haste? from Canterbury seek New York,
there you'll learn a thing or two about
gnarling from a yew tree strained against
the ranks and rags of French nobility...
there, dear sir, will you learn the Welsh Churchill
acronym, by the index and middle i say:
pointing toward the sky as if to navigate
a seagull pooping fresh manna
onto a desert plain for an *oasis
of sustenance.
clearly the U was never chiseled into bone or
marble, instead a V... which always confuses
my expertise (2014 GSCE gimmick,
expert-... ease? titillation? prioritising?
no wonder they send spies to south korea to
feed off jealousy of the porcelain skinned
and squinty eyed crap of Zen... because Tao
was the practice of not dipping your head in
a honey jar and running up to a beehive for
a Frenchy) / in Grecian (yes,
poets have abhorring punctuation,
they're donning a take on rasta roots: dreadlocks
  inserted between the talk of personal hygiene
   and vanity performances of family life solidification
to seem the ideal citizen).
      poetry really is an obscurity of prose,
      it's that ****** cousin you hide in the attic,
when you stage poetry against prose
you never, really, get a snooze button fault
while taking a microcosmos of thought to bed
  and "forget" reading something....
   a true testament to poetry? something Mussolini
might say... i am a fascist fetishist: in that
i am also a schadenfreude: a shadowy frau...
   i like to see fascism in others...
          well, you know, Hollywood got sickly sweet
over the years, there's no enough Bruce Lee films
to satiate the palette of middle aged crimbo men...
  don't expect a ****** to know the cartwheel mechanics
readying a girl into ballet...
       cos no attitude brings no Bolshoi, girlfriend.
oh god, how can this age and my contemporaries provide
so many stereotypes?! they're all gay...
         there's me with my pouting but really alcoholic-bloated
face, rummaging in pop culture under the exacting maxim
of: the idiots have all the confidence, the smart uns
      have all things Cartesian...
             you swarm over reactionary talk?
i guess modern people really want to engage in dialectics,
but the current sophistry, the current rhetoric,
     is only based (in bias) against any Cartesian intervention...
the "i think" doesn't precipitate into "i am"...
for example? even wittle Adoolf thought he was good,
but then world war ii and therefore kicked in,
    there was nothing good to be said, apart from
a historical endeavour as to why: the New Year's Eve
Ball of Vienna faked a smile to solidify a permanent
audience...
                      this fire-yawning rhetoric is part of
the zeitgeist (holy ghost) of our times...
                                it's enough that i'm reading the
news review contained in a sunday newspaper on a tuesday,
but another that i'm rereading lawrence lipton's
the holy barbarians at the same time... yep:
the father of the guy that interviews actors on that
show the actors' studio... where we learn all things
sentimental... just before Robbie Williams tightens
the noose and everyone's bloated...
which is odd: it was a promising afternoon...
           i know that society really wants to engage with
dialectics, i've been watching lemon-*******-sessions'
worth of cringe concerning Milo Yiannopoulos -
papa-dough-pu-louse (Greeks have surnames like
dinosaur names: word and verbiage in one go...
a bit like decapitating Anne Boleyn,
executioner on tiptoe) -
                 it would be far more easier to stage
a place by Shakespeare that it would be to stage a
conversation by Socrates... that's how difficult
practising dialectics is... so much so that people invented
diacritical indicators to syllable dissections of words
and then forgot to use them... buttnaked Adam of Essex.
but one thing caught my eye...
  not in a rude way... well... Bruce Willis in mercury rising...
      isn't the Greek a tad bit autistic?
those darting eyes, and whenever a confrontation emerges
the sunglasses are invoked? isn't the confrontationalist
an autistic phenomenon? isn't this autism?
   aren't people rebelling against the spaz?
   the cover-up is obviously homosexual, because there's this
underlying subplot... high functioning autism,
i might momentarily get an eye-contact...
       but anglophone psychiatrists have only two notations
to curate the spectrum of "mental" problems:
1. biting your nails...
          and 2. eye contact.
                  if psychiatry is philosophy without thinking,
then philosophy is psychiatry without being...
              catchphrase? i hope to god no.
               god... well: that's when you say:
i do have limitations in my vocabulary... hence the invocation
to a ulterior being, other than my self
                 (yes, the reflective version of the reflexive myself).
      sure as hell there needs to be a dualism
rather than a monism concerning the 1 + 1 = 2 humanism
of cogito ergo sum, can you imagine a consolidation?
how, in the 21st century (which wasn't that spectacular
even though the evangelicalists stressed was the zenith
and a basis for: no future) the two would never meet?
    if anyone Descartes poked fun at it too:
i'm pink, therefore i'm spam.
                                       can you imagine why some people
were diagnosed with schism that later referred to a mind?
            uncomfortable people for social cohesion are ill...
it's because the healthy people are whipped into
constructing society.
                               adding to the fact that if mental
and physical converged and were made equally obstructive
in hindering people, a fewer number of jobs / specialisations
would exist to counter such grievances...
      you term mental illness i term lethargy and
thinking turned into the equivalent of what the heart is:
de-automated heart turned into poetic muse...
                but otherwise? an automaton pump.
and when thinking becomes automaton prone...
       and when thinking becomes too conscious of perceiving
the body as caged, doubly in a world and earnestly
in the cycle of eat sleep **** repeat... when too much
theory pours into an abstracting pronoun of forgotten Latin
and resurgent Latin with a summary of ego...
   when that becomes a Shiva-likened extra limb...
               when thought becomes automated
  but the body isn't... when thought diverges from any
moral construct to be made intrinsic in the complement
of choice as its sole outlet,
                 all variations of thought necessarily translated
into a narrative die out... because, as it turns out,
              not all narratives are pharmaceutical escapisms
to the equivalent of medicating seriously...
            even though the sky is blue in winter
and all decaying flush of colour of autumn is long gone...
i feel no bolder to stampede against the earth's
tides insurrecting a name and month of birth
                                      as sanctimonious:
other than what the polity deems worthy for me to
inherit, that, which will be my epitaph
is all am worthy of, given such contortions: as already
evident.
    
take your heart to Scotland my good friar,
and then from on-high,
   as if between Edinburgh and St. Andrew's,
take the kingly route back south...
                    and learn to educate those who's
tongue was never kindred to cliche and barbarism,
were it not talk of puritanism and
    a hidden dialect: for no cockney would have ever
heard the seven bells,
                   and definitely shied away, spoilt,
from the meddling cuckoo;
and oh how small this world will seem,
       once you've been woven the greatest attire
of all you command to peacock,
   that operatic Monday through to Friday
that'll always be more than Gucci or an Armani belt...
    routine!
Lover of Words Jul 2013
I don't want a job.
NO.
Like money can stop interfering with me.
I rather would not work for a living,
But I wanna draw and color the world in pictures of it's own discourse and make my world a piece of mastery one can admire,
But I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place to make the payments on apartments and college tuition that keeps rising,
And my knee hurts and I don't wanna deal with customers,
There made of fire and ice, willing to burn me or quick to give a cold and uneasy shoulder,
It's not at all fun,
I just wanna swim all day and think of life,
My mind is full of mystical mysteries to which I have yet to discover,
People to meet and pictures to create,
Something I haven't had any time to do, And I feel like a stump,
Broken and cut down in it's good prime of life,
I'm weaken by the roots,
Discolored and suffering with grief,
Who am I? What is my job and who am I to be,
should I live in BG, or should I make my own path without professors and lessons and a degree that will make me so indented and wittle my brain to complete nothing,
with all that coffee,
I'm so stressed with the complexities and anxieties that life seems to throw at me, envying my sister for her talents in photography,
And what do i have?
nothing but a smile to give guys who treat me nice for awhile then leave,
i guess I am a nothing but a face,
I can draw,
Sometimes, lately it's been in vain and I feel nothing,
Tia Dec 2017
I am not going to fall even if things crumble
I'll make my way up and tower them all
I will not stumble, crawl or roll
I'm gonna show you, I'm the queen of this hall

I know you like the back of my hand
And I'll track you until you're out of my mind
I'll show you I can handle and drive my life
Without you squeezing my neck with a knife

I'll give you a big and loud slow clap
For trying to ruin me with your crap
But no, no, no you little wittle, you fell on my trap
And right now it's not me but you on my grasp

How does it feel?
To question yourself when would you heal?
To feel like you're forever living in fear
To think that you're better off in a coffin
This is for those who have Anxiety and Depression. Show it to that imaginary person who keeps on controlling you to hate yourself that you can do better.
wordvango Mar 2017
once a day I spend ten seconds sorry for me
then ten hours on those worse off
I think about my problems too long
and not enough on what I can do to help others
after all what good is pity for me I don't like it
nor do I pity others I empathize
try to put my foot in their shoe
and it makes my problems dematerialize
and one day I will wittle it down to ten seconds a year
and hope I made a difference
before I go
on to whereever
it is old hippies go to
then
Autumn Sep 2014
when your fantasy fails, and your dreams scatter into the black
foreboding emptiness
come to me
when your hopes are ripped form your ******* weak hands
and all you do is sit there wishing for some apathy that you will
never receive
when your mind is ***** repeatedly and ****** over one to many times
come to me
when she pulls your tongue out of your putrid mouth and slaps your wittle **** with it
come to me
when your on your knees begging, let them laugh in your face, let them spit upon you
for you are ******* nothing
your god has left you
nowhere to be found?
your mind it's being ****** again, sanity where'd you go? stop slutting around
HAHA!
oh the irony, my little ******* piggy
when you are nothing, when you sincerely cannot give two ***** anymore,
when you stop silently screaming for help, when you have given up on any kind of release,
come to me
when you have found pleasure in this game you play all by yourself in that endlessly open mind of yours
see me
when you are here but nowhere to be found
seek for me
when you still don't give two *****,
love me
when your dead,
fear me
when your gone, but immortally in ecstasy
hide from me
when your reality is all but "everything"
listen to me
like you always have
let me ******* one more time
sweetie
dearest
******* innocent pie
come to me
feed me
live with me
don't let go
you are here
forever in fantasy
ecstasy
your sanity, the games honey,
oh how we love them
fear me
speak to me
come to me
still editing things, let me know what you think
Kat Eclipse Moon May 2016
I Wuv U

I wuv u to the moon and back and then forwards again

I wuv u more than any chick could love it's mother hen

I wuv u more than rainbows and big blue butterflies

I'll always wuv u most of all no matter how time flies

I wuv u now, I wuv u tomorrow, and twenty years from now

I wuv u bunches, bunches, bunches more than you could ever know how

I wuv u as a wittle kid and as a big girl too

Through all the world, you can know this, I wuv u
Gypsy Jul 2018
All it takes is one bite
One nibble
One lick
One giggle
And the love floats in the middle
Of a long an winding riddle
Which way?
Listen as we play the drums
The flute
The violin
And the fiddle!
Dance to the winding riddle.
It's a dozy with a little of lust
And lies
And bitter hate of a memory yet to wittle...
Will she find that again?
Zack Witzig Nov 2019
Here I stand in front this mirror that shows this piece of meat I call my body .as I run my hands along the creases and folds I learn to hate each part that creates this feeling of envy. it's such a ugly grip on my life I can't cast it aside. even though it wittle away at me sliver by sliver maybe if I let it run through its course it take enough chunks of this horrific abomination I am. I walk by that mirror and glare at it with the embers wrath that have sparked from inside me but wait was that. I saw something that didn't look like but could it really be no that pain is permanent?
Shaylie Mar 2021
So you think
You make me weak in the knees
But really
I’m just trying to
Carve as many names
As I can
Into this tree, I am
Wittle away at me

— The End —