A long way from New OrleansNumber nine, the speedo needle roars of the engine underneath.A long way from New Orleans7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Yank the throttle, glimpse the horizon, I'll go there,
wherever I want to.
She stood at the roadside, now where did she go?
With me, of course, let's ride into the nothingness,
talk the tales of your tall dreams at the stops we make,
breakfast at noon and tap three times when you need to go.
Cause it's a long way from New Orleans, babe.
Hollywood, hell, I just like to ride,
'specially with a pretty girl at my back.
You told me of your dreams when we stopped for coffee that time,
I smiled politely, cause I barely knew your name then, Kate.
Back when you only had your coat, your sunglasses, your dreams...
You really were a dreamer.
We'd set off again, you claimed you loved the ride,
I claimed I loved the company,
and we'd ride till the sun went down.
Gradually the motel rooms became room,
beds became bed,
and we went from travellers,
Kate, I never forgot the first kiss we shared, over fast-food
Your PoemOn the twentieth day of July 69,Your Poem10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
For the first time in history,
The moon landed on a man.
The first time such move had been attempted by a celestial body,
A great feat of precision,
Didn't crush the man at all.
You see, we see things from our eyes,
And everyone knows our eyes see upside down.
Or is that the right way up?
I could tell you about walking through deserts,
The beauty of running water, of rain,
You'd be thinking of TV shows.
When was the last time you were challenged,
Walked away from a conversation stunned.
Who are you listening to, me or yourself?
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Is meaning in the eye of the reader?
More importantly, are you reading this upside down?
Every word you read is yours,
Make your own sentences,
Take your own morals.
And even though I wouldn't dream of telling you what to do,
Look within other people,
You'll see yourself.
Find out what you are,
Where you are headed.
Find your own moon and land on it.
kinetic lustkinetic lust10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Honest drops of Tuesday night
(what few there were)
drained into electric puddles
of coffee and midnight.
Mournful whistles of
. (and coffee pots)
rang teasingly between the walls,
dancing in their own
of lust and touch.
All that humming in the thick
warmth of 12 o'something
was less than love
but more than just the coffee.
. (Black with one sugar. No milk. No exceptions.)
He was only 1.2 feet away from her
but in the barren wasteland of human wanting
he was a canyon and five full city streets
from touching her
Her polite laugh seemed to resound for centuries
through his high towers
of almost-did's and wanted-to's.
This man was
[sad to be losing the only thing he ever wanted more than his next breath. He lived with every mistake he ever made resting in a black shoebox under his empty bed filled with memories of 'her'. Lost in a constant kinesis of longing, hope, need, desire, regret and desperation. This kinetic sad can not go on for
breakdownI must not breakdownbreakdown10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I can't let anyone see me cry,
I'm a big girl now
I don't need you to wait by my side.
I can't hold on to my comforts
I'm too old to believe
I'm feeling so alone
Why can't someone hold me?
Everyone believes I'm strong
They can't see the lost soul inside
I need help, I'm disconnected
But I'm too wrapped up in my pride.
I'm getting dizzy
My head feels light
My sight is gone
I'm gonna end it all tonight.
I couldn't cope
Now everyone knows
They found me and my note
And my scars show.
I broke down
Now everyone knows
I lost control
I let my emotions show.
Perfect AntidoteYou're about as convincing as the safetyPerfect Antidote9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on a loaded gun.
And about as thrilling as
You're begging for a trigger
to escape your troubled head.
Its like watching a car crash
From a window that I cant break.
You're falling down again
Tripping over tangled thoughts inside your head
That you cant pray away.
Well if you agree to be the patient,
I'll be the best damn doctor you've ever had.
I prescribe the perfect antidote..
Dont scream too hard lovely.
You're going to lose your voice.
For your throats sake,
Use a whisper and save
Some of your precious breath for words that
Deserve to be said.
You're a terrible liar,
With a knack for telling me you're fine.
I can see deeper than that.
I dont understand how someone can have so much to say
and just not speak a word.
Much less a sentence.
We're all listening now..
Deep down I know thats what you wanted.
Heaven is CryingListen to the raindrops on my window.Heaven is Crying10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Heaven is crying.
Was it something I did?
Something I said?
Is there a way to make it right?
The air is chilled.
The warmth of God's love is gone
and the tears are slowing.
Do Angels cry themselves to sleep too?
How I hate her......How I hate her......10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
How I hate her
more than dried up lipstick, spam trying to sell.
than the bitter taste of milk gone to hell
you want me to feel well
And then you tell tell
"don't worry about her trace on my cock
and her blood on my heart
we are no more, and broken appart"
How I hate her
more than dolls prettier than mine.
than papercuts, maggots and people feelin "fine"
you tell me it's over
done and bye
but I still see her in your eye eye
it's such a lie lie
How I Hate Her
More than sickness in a wound, kids gone mad.
than the worst past memory I've ever had
you tell me she is dead
eaten and decomposed, less than dust
so..no more flirt flirt
only playing with dirty dirt
underneath her skirt
How I hate myself
More than all the girls you ever slept with.
than roadkills, wasps on icecream and pants I can't fit
you tell me you love me...alot..
almost as much as you loved her
everything I say
to feel this way
nerudai want to read your bodyneruda11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like neruda poem
written in braille,
my fingers searching
the pages of your skin,
gently brushing away
the hair that falls
like a silken bookmark
across your face.
i will work my way
down the page, hands
trembling with excitement,
anticipating which words
fingers will linger
in some areas, reread,
so that on lonely nights
like this one I will
be able to recite
the subtle nuances of
your neck or the mystery
surrounding your navel.
I would try to interpret
the verse for others,
but there is no translation
for your lungs breathing
into the palm of my hand,
or your heart, beating
its ancient tribal rhythms
in correspondence with mine.
That Punk Rock FeelingShe walks down the street,That Punk Rock Feeling8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Headphones in her ears.
Angry music playing loudly,
To keep away her tears.
Her hair is short and messy,
Her black polish is chipped.
Her combat boots thump loudly,
Her goodwill jeans are ripped.
She likes her rough fashion,
Ahough she hates her face.
It masks her emotions,
Her hearts delicate as lace.
Yet she grins at passersby,
Who stare with pure disgust.
She leaves them speechless,
Coverde in her dust.
The Meaning of the WorldLoveThe Meaning of the World6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is a mystery
I do not understand it
I have come close,
but never reached it
It has searched for me
and I hid from it
When you love someone, you have to tell them
who you are
the person no one ever sees
I cannot do that
A Not-Love PoemA Not-Love Poem9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
[What the stars tossed, salt-casual, onto the not-black of the not-night suggest could be love, but I can't read them.]
This is not a love poem,
not-love, a not-love poem.
Falling waist deep into February
stomping the signatures of lost years
in footprints on the pristine present-
this, not-night has become electric
with memories smashing through
the thin ice of teenage alchemy,
charged, with the possibility of
or even a complete skeleton
of our separate childhoods
we, are the miners of nostalgia, now.
But in this not-night,
with the subtle city lights,
Think about lifeThink about life3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Think about how the beauty of life???
How in the life of the tragedy and how the wounds .... As the joy that grief divide us part ....
When judging the pot and lose a loved one dies the world and left without saying good bye ... no .. not even the memories of it goes consolation ...
Forever like the imagination and we can not imagine again ...
What to do ...??
Do you cry ...??
Do you complain about ...??
The complaint about what we tell ...??
I see a lot of grief when people submit tears on the cheek and removes the smile from the world ... and as if the grief of his life will bring ...
Many of the people Death himself and his life stands for the paradox of a loved one ...
Why do not we see this world in a positive ... why do not judge before he understands the mind of conscience ....
Why not make the sadness in your part does not mention?? To shed a tear ..... what make us laugh .. entertains us and makes us laugh ...
Let us always remember that this world is not our end ... to rememb
_forget you_forget you10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It will be easy to forget you...
I just can't look to the sky
or even remember the sea...
I'll just have to stop dreaming
and learn how to be alone...
I know I'll forget you..
I just can't remember your smile..
your beautiful eyes,
your sweet mouth...
I can do it,
I know I can...
I just can't look to anything,
I just can't remember,
I just can't live...
I'll forget how important you are on my life...
I'll just have to forget myself...
n00b form letters. -fuckspeakDear Sir/Madame,n00b form letters. -fuckspeak9 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
You are receiving this letter due to your remarkable inability to type in a comprehensible language, and your subsequent soiling of the _****_ forum. Those with mental disabilities, and those who learned English as a foreign tongue notwithstanding, one should never allow oneself to look quite so ignorant as you recently did. Should this embarassing and insulting bastardization of the written word continue, a sound pwning will be in order.
This Cut Tonight...This Cut Tonight...10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
There is an illness
No one else can see
All my sanity,
I'm hearing voices
They never ever
They haunt me
Every single day
Telling me that I'm a freak,
Telling me I'm just a slut,
Telling me that I'm too weak,
Telling me I need to cut
Why must my life
Be such a threat?
This cut tonight,
The deepest yet
I'm tired of running
From my past
I take drugs to forget,
But they never last
I'm always high,
Yet I feel so low
No matter how hard I try,
I can never let go
I stay alone,
So I can hide
But it all keeps building
Making me crazy,
Driving me mad
I'm losing everything
I ever had
I've lost myself,
This isn't me
Ths cut tonight,
Will set me free
I can't see
Anything but red
Inside my head
Telling me I don't deserve you,
Saying that I ruined your life,
Telling me to do this for you,
Pushing me towards the knife
I wish I could've made you happy,
My love for you
Was always true
Instead I only made you hate me
This cut toni
Abject GenteelAbject Genteel11 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
it starts off all twisted,
artistic and meek.
the sheets in a tangle, we tangoed,
in the sleek night.
our wrists chained to floarboards,
past my collarbone's palindrome,
(that sensitive hollow)
making impressions in memory foam.
onetwo, and threefour.
yes, go on-
rest your head here, and read what you wrote.
remember last night,
when that spot in my chest soared up past my throat,
and the light in your eyes
swallowed my conscience alive,
and we burned,
with the stars
and cared not to dream, but be rash: come undone.
on the bedpost.
we sang amid silence,
clutching at pillows and pretense,
feeding black scarves on my eyelids.
needing a breath-
as i sank,
through my webbed primidorial,
to the safety of bloodshed.
His HueHis Hue11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He strolls down the beaten pathway
Knowing what lies ahead
Enters his house and locks the door
His futile attempt to keep out
The demon which plagues him
But even that cannot save him
The attention is given to him
But by all the wrong people
His clothing hides the blue hues
Slowly healing, but always repeating
Sometimes people notice the clues
But even that cannot save him
And then, he hears it
More than the beating in his heart
The click of a lock and
Slam of a door
His eyes go dim, as cold as ice
But even that cannot save him
He is kicked to a stained corner
The cracks filled with old blood
In the name of love, he accepts
The torments that trail his troubles
But not once does he shed a tear
Because even that cannot save him
Later the boy can finally stand
Shakily tends to his anguished wounds
The affliction cries out in vain
Tomorrow he shall wait again
To patiently accept his hell
For he cannot save him
Self PerceptionSelf Perception11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Some people, Sara thought,
When they look in the mirror,
See themselves fatter,
Uglier and with less hair.
They work hard to change
Things that are just fine.
When Sara looked there
She saw she was beautiful.
Too bad no one else saw it.
The Talewinder's ServantThe Talewinder's Servant11 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
"Send in the applicant." the Talewinder told me, as I bowed and walked away.
I'd been in his service for the past seventeen years. I was twenty six. I looked nine. The Talewinder liked me liked that. He liked to watch me skip down the stairs of his castle. He wanted me to be nine forever. So I was.
The Talewinder lived in a castle made of stone and dreams; from the outside, it was enormous, half of it hanging off a dark cliff. A river raged underneath, only interrupted by the occasional stone that would fall into it with a splash. There were human shaped gargoyles and beast shaped statues on every ledge, twirled around every cone shaped roof. The stone was black and green with age, with snakes and crows infesting the nooks and the overhangs.
On the inside, it was even bigger. There were at least a thousand rooms, and I'd seen them all during my nightly wanderings. So
The MaskThe Mask11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Yes, there once was a time,
Where I wasn't afraid,
To be myself,
And just to be me.
But now the years have past,
Onto a dreamless time,
Where I grow through the roots,
In a bottomless pit of anger.
I have the scars to prove it,
Both beneath the mind and…
Across my once frail flesh,
I fancy them I do, yes…
Proud to have caused pain,
Towards both family and friends,
What do they care?
I am just me after all.
Perhaps I should get rid of the mask,
That has hidden my identity for so long,
Oh, so long…
But I love it so much, I cuddle it, kiss it.
I cannot part with this mask,
For it has become a part of me,
It has overwhelm too much of my being,
What am I to do?
I cannot just throw it away,
No, hold it, pat it, fondle it,
I do love this mask,
But I also hate it with a passion.
What should I do?
Do I have a choice?
There is always a choice,
Perhaps then… I should die,
So I can be free of the mask.
And be me again.
Be Obscene - Smut StoryBe Obscene - Smut Story11 years ago in Erotic More Like This
They decided to take it slowly, for once. They always came too fast when they fucked. That's not to say that it wasn't fun, but it was lacking something. Romance, she called it. Meaning, he said.
So they went slow. Starting with the clothing.
He went first, thin hands running over her hipbones, rubbing the denim of her belled blue jeans and feeling the bones underneath. His fingers crept inwards, one inch at a time, finding their curious way to the button above her fly. It came off easily, worn and smooth from frequent use, but instead of tearing her pants down in one motion – as he usually did – he allowed his pale fingers to trace the line of her now-exposed underwear, fingering the elastic strap of the briefs. She used to think they were terribly unsexy, until he got her Emily ones. That had been his first gift to her – underwear. He had bought her underwear before he had bought her a cup of coffee. It always amused them both, even just a little.
He hooked his thumbs in the belt loo
The AstronomerThe Astronomer11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The night is a skin around me
I poke holes in to see the stars.
Wakeful hours, wide-eyed trying to see
out there while perched on the trunk of my car.
The night is a skin around me.
Blue-black, straining to see
myself in the blue moon, red of mars.
Inside of me
so many fireflies, in too many jars.
Night. Skin around me
reaching out in tiny puckered pores.
Image through the lens, tiny planet sea
of sometimes sparkles, desert land, drying shores.
forget the scope, forget mars.
The night is a skin around me
I poke holes in to see the stars.
Stupid Note 2Stupid Note 27 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
So there was this one time at headquarters
when it was just me and L, when we decided we
were bored. To relieve ourselves of boredom, I
proposed we play a game of strip poker. Just
then, some guy falls through the glass window-
ceiling thing and splatters everywhere.
It took us weeks to get the blood stains out of L's
favorite white chair.