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muslimaofficiel
قوة الأرواح والقلوب ذكر الله
vincentfitzgerald
Can't Be Tamed
firecalypso
Untitled
momostodoroki
I voted for you.
pinkgatcha
G(atcha)-cup
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It's Glittering
Three remarkable girls
Run over to you while you’re lying all over the grass
They give you a small red box
And run away
You open the box
.
.
Three remarkable girls
Knock loudly on your front door
While you’re out shopping with Drew
They leave because you haven’t opened the door
Yet
.
.
Three remarkable girls
Knock loudly on your front door
You open the door
They give you a small red box
And run away
You open the box
Now you have two of them
.
.
Two small red boxes
.
.
Three remarkable girls
Come around sometimes and give you small red boxes
So that you can open them
.
.
Really remarkable are these girls
Really pretty remarkable these three girls are
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Broken Blinds
Was it all a lie?
Every blink that escaped the tips of your eyelashes
Did you really live for me?
The time you grabbed the third belt loop of my Levi jeans and pulled me towards you
You said I was your all, was it true?
Even when you caressed the crown of my head then followed it with a gentle kiss on my forehead with your light pink, plush lips
“The world is yours as long as you love me,” you said with the invisible dagger in your left hand concealed behind your back
Broken, torn, battered and bruised
As you zipped up your Wranglers and gathered your socks and shoes
You turned around towards my twin-sized bed
And I could see that “cute boy” smirk on your face illuminated by the moonlight coming through the cracks of every other blind that perfectly covered my window
A loveless tear rolls from the corner of my left eye
Everything I felt for you now escapes through the blood that flows from my still, bothered body
As the doorknob turns and you begin to let yourself out
I muttered the unbelievable
There are rules to life and in the case of yours
It just so happens it doesn’t exist
A straight face forms as you slowly jolt
You feel your life leaving through your fingertips
The invisible dagger I possess as well
And now it’s lodged in your heart through your favorite brown, leather jacket
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Hey Dr. Doom,
I am a really great writer that no one knows about. No one. Not me. Not you. Not the robot that comes through every so often holding six to twenty (depending on the weather) newborn babies in his arms. I am a really great writer than no one knows about. I am sitting on a sofa. It is a blue speckled sofa and it usually has truly fantastic things to say to me when I ask. At times I start to think the sofa is sitting on me. I start to gasp for the air they took away from me when I told Kyle that I have been the victim of rape every single night for the past six-hundred years. I told him in secrecy and now he wears the crown my gramgram hand-sowed for me on my 15th birthday. I might be a really great writer that no one knows about. Kyle is my ex-boyfriend. He thinks about everything it is soooo impressive there is not one single thing that Kyle has not thought about and every time we meet up to fuck he meets me in the back of Starzies and we fuck each other without legs, neither of us have any legs we chopped them off when Blockbuster got bought out we decided that there is no real reason to keep our legs around if Blockbuster is no longer and so we did it and we’re happy a lot of the days. I am absolutely a really great writer that no one knows about. Not me. Not you. The netting around my face is starting to burn and a person is here. There is a person here. And I never had an ex-boyfriend named Kyle I’ve actually never dated anyone ever I made all that up probably to sound cool and I’m sorry to say this but I’m not sure you ever really deserved the truth… you doomish thing you. I’ve done this so many times I’m starting to believe that the 22nd was right. The only one who deserves the truth is May. May because may never questions my reasoning for voluntary dismemberment. May because she looks great in teal. May because the last time we spoke on the phone I felt as though my legs were back and I was running with June up the steps of the Main and when we got to the top we screamed this black and blue scream that I still hear every time someone asks me for my spare change…
There’s no way that I’m a really great writer that no one knows about. Not me. I’m sitting here on a blue speckled sofa eating sum linguine that keeps asking about the post. If Kyle calls tell him I no longer want to dance. I would rather sit here without legs and count the weird ways in which I’ve made a living man find out. I would rather lick these stamps and call it twelve and a half or so. I would rather you just trust me on this one. Or the next. Not the one after that though, that would be a fucking disaster.
Love You Longer Than the Merchants Holdress in Cotton Little Spikes That Can’t Find Out,
Saturn The Second
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Cucumber lime dry flowers, flowers floating
soaking in the soda water
Washing the half putrid body of a young girl’
Eyes opened as she found something she has been looking for, A life time
Her body doesn’t smell rotten
rather it smells delightful but addictive
I lit up a cigarette but the smoke didn’t come out’
The glass on top of her old photograph crashed before this second this second'
I felt like a black goat got shot by an old hunter, with his last bullet in his palm
‘ |
A knock on the back door
An envelop slide in my room
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Yes, And
She walks in bakery mouth open wide. Yes, and he fills her with baguettes.
He pays the IRS with Monopoly. Yes, and the collector wears a monocle mustache.
The robbers enter daycare. Yes, and the children steal their hearts.
The dweeb pops pimples. Yes, and alone he sits at lunch.
He dances with his mother. Yes, and Oedipus is well and alive.
She slips on ice in old man’s driveway. Yes, and sues for ten cents and an apple.
We perform as peasants in a crowded hall. Yes, and coins rocket from the sky.
He massages the dead man. Yes, and the soul is gravely soothed.
The singer enchants forest creatures. Yes, and they sew gowns in the moonlight.
The jock makes weight with pudding cups. Yes, and toilets know he cheats.
We make movies in our minds. Yes, and films burn in dust of empty promises.
She spreads jelly butter sandwiches. Yes, and peanuts mourn intact shells.
He cries with tree limbs in snow. Yes, and neighbors complain of night noise.
She stirs pots in vengeance. Yes, and stew is served best simmered.
They linger with finger tips stained. Yes, and bystanders refuse to stare too short.
The hand gropes and beats pulse. Yes, and I’m lost.
The signs change and eyes gaze. Yes, and as the earth turns I’m dizzied.
She stays in bed with sheep. Yes, and wastes away banana peels.
He eats his truth and swallows honey lies. Yes, and it’s sweet and goes down smooth.
They sit daintily on wires. Yes, and the wonder worlds stay still in dusk.
The edge of dawn is open wide. Yes, and the bloody dose has no remedy.
We drown in paper cuts. Yes, and sleep slips away in fear.
I am what is. Yes, and we are rootless.
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There was one in the second wardrobe
In the brown room
Where the curtains cover nothing
But small bowls of blue ashes
I remember a song
A bitter lullaby after dinner
A sweet voice would crawl into my ear
And her white long fingers tremble every time the clock strikes 7
If you look into the window you will see
The shadow of which you will be
It shows up every morning at 4:05
But if you don't look up it will haunt you for 33 days and 4 seconds
Her green eyes will make you fall in love
With the thick material of a gun
And someone else will pull the trigger
While holding your hand
A path surrounded by temptations
Your parents call for you
Your little sister wants to play
What's the time?
I know you want me
But they say if you turn around at the sound of their voices
You will be forever trapped
with the pointy tail of the devil pointing right at your throat
And if you flinch
You're out
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Inspired by Samuel Beckett's play "Waiting for Godot"
There is a girl that lives in the in-between of today and tomorrow.
Today she is waiting to hear the ring of the telephone from the call she waited for yesterday until she is told that she must go to the store and pick up the chicken and broth that she ate last night.
At the store she will see the boy at the supermarket with the icy blue eyes that she dreamt of last night. He will smile and she will turn twice as red as she did the day before.
Today she takes a walk to see the stray cat she took home yesterday evening. She carries it inside and gives it milk to drink.
She makes a poster and hangs it on the telephone pole next to the address of the owner of the cat.
She walks back home to receive a call from the cat's owner.
She then waits by the phone patiently for the call that she waited for yesterday,
which is today,
which is tomorrow.
In the in-between of today and tomorrow, she waits.
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I've been waiting on the tip of an iceberg,
She said
Waiting for the moon to explain his love for the skyline's curve around her old tea kettle
She told him its not about the crooked money
And he said he can't feed a family with a career that makes him happy
Or plastic silverware and microwavable shoes
Or the old velvet highchair sitting in their dumpster
But when the horizon bent around the steam of her teabag
And she watched silently a fist and a cry and an empty baby's crib
She took off sprinting for the paper Mache orbit
The atmosphere slipped a corsage around her wrist
She bent down as they honored her with a sash
A star slipped in through her cracked lips,
Exfoliated her skin and scrubbed at her misery
Memories
Of hard winters and unwashed socks and empty clotheslines and the cold spot next to her in bed
An empty bedroom down the hall painted yellow
Pink comets clawed fruitlessly at the edge of her skirt
Gnashing up with jagged molars the last of her satin memorial
She took the clippings of a spring robins wings
And glued them to the insides of her eyelids.
So when she closed them, she remembered what cement sidewalks felt like on bare feet during their morning strolls. And the way cheap wine always tasted delicious when she was in her kitchen with good friends. Satin nosebleeds. Coral bed sheets. Flaming notebooks of things half-learned. Roasting ivory coffee and underwater picnics.
He told her its easy to lose yourself after something like this
But an empty stroller and a parade at dusk?
She wanted to soar with the moon dust and cradle cheap meteors' extensions.
He placed a soft teddy bear in her arms
It's easy to forget what's real
But the speckled rings of Jupiter felt more alive than the awkward toast crust at breakfast
Pearls of the atmosphere, carved out of by her fingernails, floated softly into their bedroom
There she said there there they are, my baby is here and the moon is spilling tubs of bathwater into my bedroom and we will drown in the empathy of the sun's cosmic strawberries and our 1990 wedding photos.
And he shook his head, closed the windowpane to put an end to the downpour of the sky, the influx of the celestial barrage and said goodnight.
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Mommy once told me of a magical place. Nothing bad ever happens there. It’s so nice and peaceful and quiet. Maybe that’s why daddy killed her. He wanted her to be happy. That’s what the Deer told me while we were running through our meadow. Makes sense. I guess that’s why he killed himself after. He wanted to be happy also. I want to be happy too. But that mean lady won’t let me. She hates me. That’s why she keeps me locked up in this room. It’s ok though. I have my friends, like Deer, and Herbert and Shelly and Susan. But no one likes Susan, but she brings the best cakes to our tea parties. Yeah, that mean lady won’t stop me from happiness. My friends tell me that they’ll help by distracting her, but they’re scared of her. Every time she comes into my room, they hide from her. I would hide too, if I knew where. What was that? I think I heard footsteps coming. Oh, it’s ok. That’s the nice man. My friends don’t hide from him. It’s because every time he comes he does some magic that makes us all very sleepy. I must go now, for he is about to start his magic.
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A Young Malcolm
There I stood, stuck in History
I was dumbstruck, Dumb Stuck equating a red a skittle to rounds of silver bullets
Loud music to rounds of silver bullets
It was eerie, how the sun set over “The Hood” before shooting a few rounds through the panels of Higher Education
I saw my skin get 15, reflected on my 15, that was black
CNN Breaking News, I read the Tagline like “Ain’t that a bitch”.
Stand Your Ground!
Means in the midst of getting
Willie Lynch 1712- I have a full proof method for controlling your black slaves. I guarantee every one of you that, if installed correctly, it will control the slaves for at least 300 hundreds years. My method is simple. Any member of your family or your overseer can use it. I have outlined a number of differences among the slaves; and I take these differences and make them bigger. I use fear, distrust and envy for control purposes.
Means in the midst of getting lynched
Don’t flitch because we still blame the victim, well I rather hang the hung Jury.
Looking like, it’s not about race, we don’t see color
Well most of my white’s friends never seen guns flashing and bullets passing like buses, no 15’s for the babies that died and the baby that Died
Because Fatal does not always mean Death
Death of a dreams is often Common, Assembly
Lines run 24/7 competing with Mickey D’s like
We pushing that Organic Shit
Because it’s 2014 and lord knows Black doesn't equate to White which equals “Smart”
So if you can’t run a few 15’s, or spit a 15, then face it! More likely than not, a 1 out of 4 chance that you will just be the 15th on cop’s quota facing 15
Now aint that a bitch
It’s the 15th and food stamps don’t come to a felon, the rents past due and you’re on probation for carrying 5 nicks, now you’re always going to making less than 15, and your baby been crying for about 15 min. and you thinking Damn I got 15 ounces left, of this formula. Spread out in front of you is 15 papers, you thinking how can I hold down 15 jobs and you get that 15th ring like, You ready to push this or what?
It’s ironic because it cost a minimum of 15 thousand to keep a man down, I mean behind 15 years, I’m talking about economic progress now .. If can catch up...
And what do you call that
The White man’s burden?
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Risqué Rick
Fuck taking risks
I’d rather cut my legs off with a rusty spoon then take a risk
I’d rather drown myself with unadulterated sludge
I just want to live in a house with a wife and two kids
I don’t want to have a plethora of partners or live an incestuous life
I just want to write poems for my wife:
“I love you oh so much
You are my butter cup”
I don’t want to write poems about sex and drugs in free verse:
“My dick throbbed as I stared into your silicon creations
I stuck the uncleansed needle into our asses as we descended into outer space”
Remember that song, by a dude named Gil Scott Heron? Well it went like this:
“All I want is a good home and a wife and a children”
Now that’s some classic old timey shit that any fella can get off to
I’m getting off to it now, but the bald man’s tears are of joy and hope
I just want to be fat and happy and not have to worry about taking a chance
Taking a chance is overrated, along with sex, rock n roll and oxford commas
Risk taking is shit facing; ain’t worth a tennis acing
Calm down and slow down is the new low down
Fuck the estranged and become the new lame
I’m going to get fat and happy and make more people like me
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Margo is okay with being so damn naked
She wonders if she is going to get kicked out of school sometimes, for public indecency
There Margo is, lying in winter
Other students’ footprints censoring her body
She is red not from embarrassment
But the cold
Her family believes she fell in love with self-harm
But Margo believes it an amity of honesty
Everyone knows she loves Neopets, reality television, crying,
Her Mom is her best friend and she owns footy pajamas
Margo draws a target on her bare stomach
Even though she knows her friends love to play darts
But Margo thinks them not sadistic sportsmen-
They’re Eves that have known betrayal
Who once lived naked in Eden
Where they talked about their love of Kim Kardashian and their secret hatred of bras
Until the candor coming out was replaced by an apple going in
Seduced by ground humpers clothed in social armor
Because they once ate the apple, too
Now all of Margo’s friends get dressed every morning
God didn’t tell them to put clothing on
They were too afraid not to
But Margo loves to eat apples
And she still walks around campus naked
“Cover me in footprints”
With the shoes that conceal the feet that brought you to this hiding spot
Margo would rather be a bruised Margo
Than have to do laundry so often
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Cleaning a room is an arduous process
You contemplate why you are such a messy person
You see the underwear still attached to the pants
The 60 pages of the unnecessary philosophy readings
Bottles and candy wrappers lay throughout
This should bother me
Entering my room every day is like a warzone
Trying to evade each thing on the floor as if it’s a landmine
Ready for an epic explosion
I should clean my room!
I should clean my room!
Look at this funny video on YouTube!
Stalk this person on Facebook!
Get the trash out
Shit I got liquid trash all over my shirt
Do some laundry
Do I really have to fold all of these?
Stuff wrinkly clothes in drawers
Stuff all your socks in another
Matching is for losers
Discard all the take-out food containers
Pick up all the wrappers
Vacuum the floor
Clean
Order Chinese Food
Spill on the bed
Take of your clothes
Leave them on the ground
Drink Pepsi
Too lazy to get up and throw it out
Fuck School
Throw all the papers on the floor
Return to the landmines
It’s a warzone
Cleaning a room its an arduous process.
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I wish I learned to Surf
I lost myself last Tuesday.
Drifting into the dark abyss between couch cushions.
Drowning myself in the waves of the Internet.
I'm hooked! Like the mackerel on the end of your line.
Waiting for a Snap! Back to freedom.
And I'm trapped!
Trapped like the carbon in your coke fearing a syrupy demise.
Helplessly waiting for that chance to burst out of this tomb.
Nothing. Still nothing!
Deeper I slip until I hear the blood drain from my feet.
Like an adolescent waterfall under duress.
I look like a fool! A goddamn fool!
Swimming in an ocean of stale crumbs
Digging into my flesh as Legos would on a Saturday morning.
At this point I'm not even human
Nothing but fingertips and pupils
Basically a robot searching for a charge
And only finding loose change and stale food.
All I ever wanted was to rewrite the story
But my pages aimlessly drift somewhere in the abyss between couch cushions.
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I Will Let My Best Friend Title This Poem 1/21/14
** disclaimer: this is a simile
My best friend is like my brain
All my weird ideas get stored with her
There is no filter when we talk
I tell her everything
There’s no point in lying because,
Not because she could know,
But because I don’t want to.
What’s the point in that?
I don’t like her to not know stuff about me
And I know everything about her
Shit what’s her favorite color…?
I’ve known her longer than my brothers.
Woah..
She knows my life like I do
My best friend
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The Disease
There is no known cure.
It can not be controlled.
The cause appears to be somewhat genetic.
You feel everyone staring.
They quiver in fear.
Do you receive frequent dirty looks?
Or perhaps you often hear the phrase, “Wow. I just thought you were a bitch.
I’m so sorry.”
If any or all of these symptoms apply too you, you have it.
The Disease.
Chronic Bitch Face (CBF) affects 8 out of 10 women.
CBF is a serious condition.
The afflicted person is unable to look pleasant in a resting facial position.
The natural resting face is, in fact, bitchy.
Until a conversation is had, the ill is seen as a bitch.
So, do the world a favor.
Don’t judge a book by it’s cover.
Actually, don’t judge a bitch by her face.
(CBF is not to be confused with Actual Bitch Face)
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I taste good with everything
I walk like a Drunken AA addict when sober
And I am constantly cold that I am probably part reptile
So I think I am probably a dinosaur
Probably those vegetarian ones
Vegetables....?
or actually I am probably a tomato
People think they are a vegetable
Wrong
Best fruit ever
I am the best fruit ever
I go well with everything
Especially cheese and wine
Maybe that's why I can't walk right
I walk like a drunken tomato
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