Well Aren't I A Pretentious Little Twit
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blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | Read it, love it, hate it, but comment s'il vous plait! Oui? Merci beaucoup! 1. How Stupid, But How Normal, After All I Am A Teenage Girl 2. Heart-Shaped Balloons 3. Groove It Up 4. Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall 5. The Herculean Effort 6. A Harsh Appraisal 7. Frank Sinatra and Truth 8. du sens 9. Things that Speak Poetry Competition Poems: 1. Existential (Tied for first place) |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | 1. How Stupid, But How Normal, After All I Am A Teenage Girl When I'm alone I think; I think of things I wouldn't dare to say. the things I try to keep at bay. the things that slink into my mind, like creeping vines they do entwine I doubt: do i look good, do i look bad, do i look fat, is this too much, is that enough, do people even like me at all? I think these things when I'm alone. I face my fears all on my own. |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | 2. Heart-Shaped Balloons heart-shaped balloons, floating in the sky so many hearts, just floating by i'll send a note, all truth no lies and to my heart it will be tied i'll set it loose to drift up high one more heart, floating in the sky |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | 3. Groove It Up It's like, step, step, swing and twirl Shake my hips and skip and whirl Stop for breathing Chest is heaving Spin and stop again And then... Step, step, swing, and twirl Dancing, dancing girl |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | 4. Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall Have you ever heard of mirror twins? They're said to be complete opposites. One would be right handed And the other, writes with his left But if they where to play a game, When one twin wins, Does the other lose? And if one has his heart on the left side, Does the other have a heart on his right? I thought on this for an awful long time And finally came to a conclusion One twin has his heart in the center, and the other? It's simple Because he simply doesn't have a heart |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | 5. The Herculean Effort It takes much energy to fire off my neurons, For they sit in apathy, unused, dulled by many days of laziness. Sparks burn the cobwebs, the sparks of half-formed thoughts, also burning my brain, setting fire to my contemplations, and when encountering an idea devouring it like a starved citizen from a third world country. But because of my brain lethargy the idea is an unborn fetus of thinking and thus it provides no substance to the fire that has by now consumed my wits. There is too little essence and the electric charged blaze dwindles. I struggle, my own thoughts, that very fire, are too deeply involved in the vicious circle of my human emotions. My words are tied down by my sentiments. My sentiments that act as shackles, heavy un-rusted lead chains that nail whatever fragments escapes the fire to dirty, earthly, hell. Like a plane with no fuel, Or more like a bird, that possessing the tools with which it can fly, is forever condemned to ground beating it’s useless wings, with a pitiful hope that it too, might soar in the sky like all its brothers and sisters. Having no means to lift themselves, they wallow in the ashes of my intellect. And so it is with a Herculean effort that I manage to free myself from this existence, to exercise my gray lump of matter. Too light a candle there that does not burn, rather I cup my hand around it and while it’s glow, it’s illumination recedes it is protected, and my reason, my logic, my is safe from it. It sputters, as the drafty winds of discontent blow, unhappy with the new approach, grasping at the last straws of sloth, that the candle, even in it’s dimness, has scattered. Once my neurons flicker, and again they spark, not chaotic now not out of control. Heaving, with a stitch in the side like the out of shape runner that lags behind, They begin process, begin to interconnect, speak, and flare. Reaching at last a state of being that is more aware, that is awake at last. |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | 6. A Harsh Appraisal Brown hair, brown hair. Blue eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes. Big chin, slumped shoulders Short? No. Tall, too tall for a girl. Not tall enough for a boy. Big hands, big feet. Uneven tan, freckles, acne, disgusting. Façade of confidence, pretense of poise. Detach the mask: Nothing Less than nothing Unfit for life, not good enough to die |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | 7. Frank Sinatra and Truth Frank Sinatra is playing at the pool A companion to the ever never blue Do-re-me-fa-so-la-te-do, on cue Quarter notes cutting through the breath that is licking up the residue Painting with light, the truer hue And the masterpiece reflects off prisms of dew The soul is resonating in the lungs Reverberating in, and through the young Syllables that roll of the tongue Stepping up the ladder rungs Becoming the anthem of songs unsung Certainty becomes, idly undone And the placid rest is among the brokun’ The fossil fuel of the summer is fragmented reality A wasted spring of genuine vitality Spent, squandered, substituted with fallacy Lapsing into a requiem of morality When the split ends are trimmed with brutality To be the conventional mentality That with its perverse attempt, rejects mortality Return to those lavender, rose petaled days of raspberry kisses that set fawn eyes ablaze The gathered band, of steadfast strays while cares wandered in a corn field maze They held a revolution of Rutherford B. Hayes A museum of existence on display, Captured the attention of everyman and held his gaze. So salvage the memory of Frank Sinatra playing by the pool When summerside lives spoke only truth. |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | 8. du sens I am staring at dizzy disco colors. I am standing on the cracked asphalt of hope. I am saying the only time was now, now is a relative term. I am walking from a parched reality into flood waters of delirium. The breaking waves are petroleum on a beach composed entirely of glass. I look around and for miles all I see are the breaking waves and the glass beach. There is no sun in the sky, but a soft feeling reminiscent of daylight seems to caress my senses. To my right is the sea of oil and to my left is a mist, a mist so thick I am unable to discern anything in it's smothering grip. I begin to walk, not too the sea and not to the fog, straight forward, walking the border of the two. I am content to walk this way forever, treading the border of two lands, but a voice filters through the deadened silence off to the murky left, calling for help. I stop, I think, I turn to my left and gaze into the deceiving innocence of the milky white haze. I step into the mist, one step, two steps, four steps, eight steps, the world closes around me, bleached bone white. I close my eyes. I open my eyes. I am staring into dizzy disco colors. |
Modern Zero. Bleeding on the Floor Age: 31 Gender: Female Posts: 1669 | wow, i really love heart shaped balloons =D they're all good =) |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | thank you. : ] that one was actually inspired by a pretty depressing event.... |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | 1. Existential Content. I am content. Insects buzz Chirrups of crickets, droning bees, The silky whisper of milk butterflies A mosquito, slapped away. A slight breeze brushes my face and brushes my mind Sun warms my dark skin Sweat trickling down my back and brow Heat hangs heavy in the air But is not humid, rather soothing Tinkling bells of children’s laughter Giggles interrupted by snorts, gasps for breath Lazily, raising chocolate eyes to chocolate eyes I smile. She smiles. We are content. |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | 9. Things that Speak I see you see me see us see them I see you see me If we can believe If we can stop the grieving, the ringing in our ears, the smears of blood, there’s a flood comin’ stop screamin’ and start running’ Before it overtakes you, and makes you Into something you’re not, it’s whatever that they want Burn the real you in a haze And leave our whimsical daydreams to drift in a daze, smothered by an uncouth haze. The hypocrisy creates a maze; winding, weaving, stopping to the left, starting to confuse we are only stumbling through Now comes the Metamorphosis, the chrysalis that stimulizing, arises Amid the butterflies, disguised, I am distracted by sunspots in my eyes All the lies, all those butterflies, little or big the spell our demise. But away they float into the sky, disappearing into the sunrise. Like a spider’s skyrocket they fly Burning up in the atmosphere no longer here, nothing to fear. I breath a sigh. |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | (number two under poetry competition poems, can't edit my table of contents, hopefully that will change soon) 2. First Tears For Freedom 9 years 9 years old and no sense of self Not sure she’s alive Not even sure she exists 470 weeks 7 nights a week, forced to work the streets Husky voices and smoke choked laughter 3,287 days Every day is a new hell, new suffering, new pain Scars upon scars, bruises on bruises, until it doesn’t hurt anymore 78,894 hours The hours are filled with silence The only thing she can think of is the hunger in her belly and the hunger in her heart. Forget what you see, forget what you feel, that’s the only way to survive 4,733,640 minutes Respite is sparse, minutes or less Minutes only, but the dearest, most treasured moments. Then back to a corner, bare feet on blackened concrete Payments paid with her body, and no hope for freedom The first tears where for the freedom, the last tears where for the end. |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | (number three under poetry competition poems) 3. The Sweetest Gold is Bronze They said we couldn’t One out, two out A slapdash team of alternates and barely made its Tossed aside and tossed away Adding injury to insult, twisted tendons spelled the end “Not yet, don’t count us out yet.” “No chance, no way, not with those greenhorns.” “We won’t stop trying, don’t you count us out yet.” Falls and fumbles, but we’re trying, don’t give up hope. "Keep watching, you’ll see, we will do this." And we did. 15.35 Sasha’s saving grace Now we’re slaphappy high Intoxicated by the sweetest of all nectars Our ambrosia is victory with the taste of we told you so They said we couldn’t We said we can. We said we will. We did. |
mychemicalromance91 Killjoy Age: 32 Gender: Female Posts: 82 | omfg i loved them all but my fav would be heart-shaped balloons i dont know y though it just is. they are all beautifully writen but you do have some typos. thats all im saying oh and 1 more thing dont stop writing poems your really good at it |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | mychemicalromance91: Thank you! That one's my favorite too. Typos?! Darn, too bad I can't edit most of my poems, the posts are too old. |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | (under regular poems) 10. The Man is the Law Control, control You don't care. Well no one cares that you don't care. Smoke it up, shoot it up, snort it up . Kick down the door, kick down your life. Soon they'll be kickin' down your door. Soon they'll be taken you away. Say goodbye to the pipe. Say goodbye to the needle. Say goodbye to the powder. The Man is the Law. And the Law is unbendable. The Law is unrelenting. The Law will kick your fucking ass It will leave you bleeding and crying It will break your body, it will break your spirit It will break you. I forget though, you don't care Well I don't care that you don't care. So smoke it up, shoot it up, snort it up. But rest assured, they are commin' for you. |
tiny-t Killjoy Age: 31 Gender: Female Posts: 80 | wow! love love love your poems! your really good! I reaiiy like mirror mirror, on the wall. loved it! |
blow Bleeding on the Floor Age: - Gender: Female Posts: 1137 | (under regular poems) 11. No-name Poem No. 1 I’m trying to play it cool Abandoning conventional rules Doubled personalities that make me the fool Trying to deal with the duality of reality The thing is my mortality has ended up being my vitality And inside my mentality there’s an abnormality. This is a formula for fatality. I would say it’s just a formality but in actuality, I’ve got to say this is a quite serious situation This fakeness is my temptation I know I’m laying a faulty foundation as compensation. For what I lack is the willpower to take off my mask I’m traveling on a one-way track To consumed to admit it To hooked to kick the habit This façade that I’ve become has become my casket |
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