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"youngblood" poems
Like every youngblood in love I want to write something that gets away from me, the next Great American ___, sprawls like the city I live in. Still these Northwestern scapes're contained by rivers, valleys alike, and mountain range. these lands are fertile, the soil tangible, dig your fists deep, bring up handfuls, the people tenable, shrouded in the times, still waiting awhile whilst consumed with fever. Feverous of injustice as done by Evil. Amongst all these radicals and activists, must wax progressive: hell, I can fix this. Crack the can, a forty down to sixteen, still the same American Malt I've been in. No poems but my belly's getting swollen. I don't wanna write no odes to bottles. If I'm drinkin' in heaven I haven't the heart in which to dwell upon our... A sprawling poem leaves lines undone to be penned in, in half-heart, without a care that I gave them. I've seen the best m- Oh what have I seen? What I knew, nothing new just the cacophony of windy trees. But'cha wait for these moments when it's clear.
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Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
Youngblood
Hey everyone, what's going on? Why is Everyone running around going nowhere fast? Yelling into their phones, driving crazy-what's going on? Yesterday seems like forever ago and Other days seems like they will never come. Underneath the stars, I sit, & wonder if people even Notice the beauty around them or if since they're Going to fast they miss ever little Beautiful thing around them? Life is short. Live for the present! One day you'll regret it. Once today is gone, you'll never get it back. Don't regret. Live for the moment. Love each other!
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Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
Hey Youngblood
I am not the blithering, sad poet type. With a foundation comprised of bone dust, brittle petals crumbling at the first sign of danger. Think of me Fondly and fiercely as Persephone's flower Dreaming tenderly upon a case of aging dynamite. - Rhiannon || Yeti Youngblood
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Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 12:45 PM UTC
Dynamite.
make love to my tattoos. kiss them, brilliant. breathe into them the elegant way that you live easy, free, alpha. my tattoos are who i am they are my insides as much as my outsides i am turned inside out, even lover girl, with flakes of skin dusting inspiration windowsill collection graffitied DNA Physical sins a wrist left heart broken I lost my eden somewhere in the night counting the flakes of my dreams for tomorrow that gather on the floor alongside my memory foam coffin in a clump of yesterday’s skin. Yeti Youngblood
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Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
make love to my tattoos.
Freedom Insane Divant Elementals Love Integrity Thank you Youth Bravery Ravishing beauty Applying oneself Value Energy Revival Youngblood Intelligence Nuture Tibetan Evening wrongs Great mother Reading Intuition Techno music Your mind.
0
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
FBI.
hey im alright with opening up scars if it means i can remember you, buried underneath my skin, are you red or blue?
0
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
oh youngblood, doesn't it feel like time is running out
once – oh – we were young glorious an' burdenless so sweet the youngblood candydness heroic an' iconic shouldn't that been written down on leaves of gold? tryin to reach the stars dying in our skies the purpose orphaned - and of less than any kind of size once – oh – I was young ignoring good advice called fate to arms & dice and never and to-none-the-less the demons dearly died the road of burning youngmanhood so perilous and broad the pride of lacking country, ethos or a god. stupidity! – oh privilege a bashfool in his prime i got a glimpse of my turn to good   oh glittering prize      oh heavenly burden of light.
0
Apr 8, 2022
Apr 8, 2022 at 3:23 AM UTC
once we were young
Mad archangel 2020 scam, dead weatherman noos report blam                                                be live-r to the umbrella storms; “Stiffen up, you needa chief more                                                                   kid, you’re riffin’ with a legend— as it is,          it’s a sewage drain,a bed                                                              Pan the pipes of dawn’s crack;at end of the tusk,                                      the silverback-gorilla camo on the lawn           kept the rusted metal on a locket-chain                                                          hanging off his pocket;pocket-watch                 hang from his eye-socket; .seed sewn, from the cornrows in his carriage-patch,      3-wheeled rig and [a battery-pack                                       lithium frame,        told him, ‘slow down black’          —ain’t no money in that”                                      magazine gass’ed up -let me hand em the curls; code to the Source,name the names, bigstick for walking a sideways polemic                                                                             fortyoz forecast for                   hisshadow stringed-up a harpwing tune                                                the maddog politick; Show ‘em on the map                                                                            -where it rain tonight?-                    (not that alley X the liquor store—sea the eagle          swim gelatinmass of marvelous cherrylime-green sky; posse told him to pass                                                his flying colors, vomitspittle—                                                Magnesium flare—was all his                                                                   day in the dunya,(we all got’em)                                                                   bent youngblood ear like a                                                                                                      bloodhound:                                                                   What’s the static charge? Smash!pumpkin brain s-p-l-a-t,  rush to eat the seeds?    all the sparrows scatter cuz the lights is red,white&Bluuuue on L juice           —Ah! Hell’s loose, call me a river and                                                                                                        press                                                                                               snooze.
0
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
Deadweather Report:
Mad archangel 2020 scam, dead weatherman noos report blam                                                be live-r to the umbrella storms; “Stiffen up, you needa chief more                                                                   kid, you’re riffin’ with a legend— as it is,          it’s a sewage drain,a bed                                                              Pan the pipes of dawn’s crack;at end of the tusk,                                      the silverback-gorilla camo on the lawn           kept the rusted metal on a locket-chain                                                          hanging off his pocket;pocket-watch                 hang from his eye-socket; .seed sewn, from the cornrows in his carriage-patch,      3-wheeled rig and [a battery-pack                                       lithium frame,        told him, ‘slow down black’          —ain’t no money in that”                                      magazine gass’ed up -let me hand em the curls; code to the Source,name the names, bigstick for walking a sideways polemic                                                                             fortyoz forecast for                   hisshadow stringed-up a harpwing tune                                                the maddog politick; Show ‘em on the map                                                                            -where it rain tonight?-                    (not that alley X the liquor store—sea the eagle          swim gelatinmass of marvelous cherrylime-green sky; posse told him to pass                                                his flying colors, vomitspittle—                                                Magnesium flare—was all his                                                                   day in the dunya,(we all got’em)                                                                   bent youngblood ear like a                                                                                                      bloodhound:                                                                   What’s the static charge? Smash!pumpkin brain s-p-l-a-t,  rush to eat the seeds?    all the sparrows scatter cuz the lights is red,white&Bluuuue on L juice           —Ah! Hell’s loose, call me a river and                                                                                                        press                                                                                               snooze.
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39
At the LAUNDROMAT / the sign, all in Caps. Time : Midnight at half past It’s like a home for my home-girl And that Chicano Youngblood Cutie with his family duties / in the lateness of tonight, doing laundry: Folding his brothers’ Johns His Tia’s Lacey skimpy's Crumpled like tiny ****** / scrunchies. He’s Methodical, his eyes don’t waver From his work, Tries to not notice mines I feel like I’m in a rap video, My chick being clocked by dark eyed, She does not notice, & while at tumble dry I can’t quit ogling at **** Hanes-shirt white, Mr. homegrown boy / guy. Headphone Speakers have his ears Texting back at spam / females, Smartphone shiny thick ‘uns While I watch salivarily, licking lips **** so Fine! My muffled salutations—hot **** He’s Adjusting himself front faced my window to Things that makes you go hmmm... I feel I should somehow Cater to these wiles inside Aquiver / wrought / A high Willowing / body admonishing the vibrations of deep bass like hard hip-hop rap beats from Impalas riding way low, Tinted windows vs. blind faith Reality vs. perceptions from our Fantasy / briefly close shuddering eyes Awake not a dream spared. (Hello there!) Midnight at the Laudromat, This is some reality at that! Home grown boys And drool drops / swimming in thought From the corner of mouths Words are ***** Past the late of moonless nights In the neighborhood of Twain and Corona beers (hold the virus) We’re all marked by the streets And the big empty inside us... The hunger pangs, Homeless outside chitchat on black Skittering past City Wildlife At Midnight at the Laundromat. Yes ****** &        Too **** at That (In all caps.)
0
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 6:07 AM UTC
At the Laundromat
At the LAUNDROMAT / the sign, all in Caps. Time : Midnight at half past It’s like a home for my home-girl And that Chicano Youngblood Cutie with his family duties / in the lateness of tonight, doing laundry: Folding his brothers’ Johns His Tia’s Lacey skimpy's Crumpled like tiny ****** / scrunchies. He’s Methodical, his eyes don’t waver From his work, Tries to not notice mines I feel like I’m in a rap video, My chick being clocked by dark eyed, She does not notice, & while at tumble dry I can’t quit ogling at **** Hanes-shirt white, Mr. homegrown boy / guy. Headphone Speakers have his ears Texting back at spam / females, Smartphone shiny thick ‘uns While I watch salivarily, licking lips **** so Fine! My muffled salutations—hot **** He’s Adjusting himself front faced my window to Things that makes you go hmmm... I feel I should somehow Cater to these wiles inside Aquiver / wrought / A high Willowing / body admonishing the vibrations of deep bass like hard hip-hop rap beats from Impalas riding way low, Tinted windows vs. blind faith Reality vs. perceptions from our Fantasy / briefly close shuddering eyes Awake not a dream spared. (Hello there!) Midnight at the Laudromat, This is some reality at that! Home grown boys And drool drops / swimming in thought From the corner of mouths Words are ***** Past the late of moonless nights In the neighborhood of Twain and Corona beers (hold the virus) We’re all marked by the streets And the big empty inside us... The hunger pangs, Homeless outside chitchat on black Skittering past City Wildlife At Midnight at the Laundromat. Yes ****** &        Too **** at That (In all caps.)
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59
Happily Ever After Alls well it ends well Ending and beginning a different story, slightly less intriguing than the last Still there Still charming Just dull Dull when hands swim in hair every night When minds meld and eyes dilate When your skin burns for theirs And then it doesn’t And then you sit side by side Having the time of your life as your life passes you by Staying sat and saving money Making lists of things to do And their name sits between laundry and dishes When their kink becomes coupons And your fetish is a foot rub after a long day And you wash it all down chamomile and sleep And you fall back into their grasp Never having left And still feeling far away Youngblood with old souls Barely a history to have had Sorting through the things that happened when nothing’s happened in ages Still knowing this is yours Where you belong Carrying the torch to a fire unlit But when embers never die They must be nurtured Through meaningful breath and dry brush Until they sting your leg with a spark And you burn them with your silence As you climb back onto their lap And smoke rises to your mind And smothers your doubts As you light a bonfire scented candle for the night And for every night Rekindling the spark and rolling over to read on your kindle
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Nov 3, 2021
Nov 3, 2021 at 8:00 PM UTC
Happily Ever After