People's Shitty Poetry

Uncold

Tue, 29 May 2012 19:48:18 -0400

verreneyes:

Your hands are cold

but not like ice

cold like the absence of a fire.

indelible's poetry: Desperate attempts at Cementing the evergreen rainforest

Tue, 29 May 2012 19:39:31 -0400

indelible's poetry: Desperate attempts at Cementing the evergreen rainforest :

Yo no comprendo

indelibility-poetry:

I rip the staples out of my forearm,
with the aggressive energy of a hungry and callous vampire,
a narcissistic power-hungry vampire,
taking its first bite,
—pinning her down and entering her arched neck,
with sloppy lust and gluttonous over-slurp.

The staples shine in my hand and I feel

Not an ordinary Girl: Perception and Neglection By: Ashley B.

Tue, 29 May 2012 19:31:37 -0400

Not an ordinary Girl: Perception and Neglection By: Ashley B.:

jesusgrl102892:

I’m addicted to boys

I use them like their toys

Nothing to me but things of entertainment

I see them as the way to feel pretty

It should be more like petty

I don’t look in the mirror and acknowledge my beauty

I look at the reflection and seek for some detection

Of anything but…

WORDS: Saturday

Tue, 29 May 2012 19:21:39 -0400

WORDS: Saturday:

prlmnts:

you’re so polite

hands crossed

legs bent

and teeth straight.

you’re around here

too much and your mouth

is starting to go stale.

it’s a lot of work

to walk around

with that planet

on your

shoulders.

i want to be the

doctor that splits you

open and fixes all

of your body’s mistakes.

My personal bliss: Curled up passion.

Tue, 29 May 2012 19:07:26 -0400

My personal bliss: Curled up passion.:

Please don’t remember this verse.

marselogy:

It’s already midnight,

and you’re still out of sight.

You never said your goodbyes

that’s why I am here waiting to die.

Where are you? I don’t know.

I believe infinity is what you owe.

I’m still here, waiting for you..

Waiting for what will you do.

I never thought I’d reach this end,

I…

sometimes...

Tue, 29 May 2012 19:03:51 -0400

sqyrel:

Sometimes I see people being happy, and I ask myself “why isn’t that us?”

Sometimes I see people walking with their families, and I ask myself “why isn’t that us?”

Sometimes I see people holding hands smiling, and I ask myself “why isn’t that us?”

then I look about…

and there is no us…

only me…

sometimes I wish someone else was me.

-me…

(James Meline IV aka Sqyrel)

Limerick for Sophia (inspired by true events)

Fri, 04 May 2012 14:42:12 -0400

poemsaboutbridget:

Limerick for Sophia

There once was a boy from Ukraine

Whose sweater acquired a stain.

“That’s bullshit!” he cried,

“I’ll kill you, you bitch!”

Then he ran out and cried in the rain.

I've Seen Too Much

Fri, 04 May 2012 14:41:36 -0400

poemsaboutbridget:

I’ve Seen Too Much of His Underwear

Elastic waistband crinkled smiley faces on a sea of blue

Melting over the top of cargo shorts

Obscuring the brown leather belt.

Pull your fucking pants up or don’t wear them at all, jackass.

Jockey

Fri, 04 May 2012 14:41:08 -0400

docmarek:

When I was a
child,
I wanted to be a
jockey;
not a disk jockey
but the ones that
ride on the horses
and fly off after
the horse breaks its
leg and has to get
shot in the
head.

Photo

Thu, 03 May 2012 22:13:09 -0400

Late Night Blues

Thu, 03 May 2012 22:11:53 -0400

whiteleeaaf:

Now everything is falling fast,
Nothing has ever proven to last;
The nurses nourishment is now gone,
All that has faded abundantly rolls on.

The willows of tress, here and there,
Take our hope and leave the fair;
And the sounds must sparingly ease,
As I desperately fall to my trembling knees.

All is numb from toe to head
See the message that he is dead;
I never wanted grief or observation,
Only love and stiff obligations.

Now that I’m starving on the brink,
Pick the scab and kill the sphinx;
And the nightingale will scream
And misery will then see me.

The words in the clouds are naive,
They tell lies and teach women to leave;
The clouds whose white waterfalls bless
Call for rain within their sad distress.

I was no fool or liars tongue
Only raw, starved, and hung;
Beauty is wicked and voluminously large
But any lover is selfish, and asks for the charge.

Ineradicable, cold, and ahead,
Each night the stars twinkle for her bed;
The mist then settles darkly,
The seeker looks for a taunted marking.

The sky longs for rainbows like tears
Our emotions let free for all to hear;
And the water is deep and black,
Stars tease its surfaced cracks.

Now everything is falling fast,
Nothing has ever proven to last;
The nurses nourishment is now gone,
All that has faded abundantly rolls on.

A heart's haunted words

Thu, 03 May 2012 22:11:43 -0400

themagicaltypewriter:

themagicaltypewriter in italics, flawsstitchedwithgoodintentions in bold

You’re my only sunshine

In a world of rain

The balm to every wound

Saviour from my pain

I don’t know how I’d be

If fate intervened

Took you aside one day

And stole your breath away.

You’re the only source of shade

On these long and blistering days.

‘Twas with love that you were made

And your respite keeps me sane.

Without you, I’d know no relief

From this constant life of strain.

I’d stand in stark disbelief

If I could never know your heart again.

If I'm The Michelangelo Of Screwing Things Up, I Guess That Makes You My Sistine Chapel

Thu, 03 May 2012 22:11:24 -0400

threeforthursday:

Let’s begin, the corpse of us is starting to swell
Hold your breath, light a match to kill the smell
I’m gonna cut this one open, record everything that I find
Cause of death unknown, autopsy report: “You’re still on my mind”
And every night I go bare knuckle with you in the sheets
Just to wake up with a smile spitting out teeth
(And I know) it’s an unorthodox way to score a quick win
But it’s simply tradition that I gut you with a pen

Yeah

Clip your heart next to the knife hanging from your hip
New weapon of choice, a quiet curse on my lips
To have them always taste of you and bleed from my gums
Till I’m wrapping them like arms around the barrel of a gun
Cuz you know that I’m constantly painfully aware
That you’re pressed against some chest sweating me out somewhere
Laughing about that boy with his jealous little lines
(Well try this one out)
“If it weren’t for me making you look good, you wouldn’t be worth his time”

Yeah
Dig me out
Re-bury me deep
So I leave a better scar
Dig me out
Make me the wound
That got you a purple heart
Cuz we both know that you’re my finest work of art
You’re my finest work

Yeah
Dig me out
Re-bury me deep…

Poem From The Shower

Thu, 03 May 2012 22:10:40 -0400

docmarek:

I was alone
and cold
and naked.

I know at this point
you are probably concerned,
it was okay though
because I was in the
shower;
but whoever was in
there before me
decided to
make the shower head
aim high
so when the cold water
came out
it hit me in
the face
and made
me look like
I hadn’t hit
puberty yet.

Disclaimer:

Thu, 03 May 2012 22:10:23 -0400

docmarek:

1. My poetry is obviously NOT safe for work if your employer fails to recognize how poetry has shaped language.

2. I don’t care if I offend you. I have PLENTY of avid readers/fans. If you don’t like my work, leave. I’m surely not holding a gun to your head and I definitely don’t care about your bitching.

3. If you’re offended, there is probably a problem. You’re probably not the right kind of person to be enjoying poetry. As a poet, I use a thing called “metaphor” and another thing called “simile”. If you don’t have a firm grasp on these terms then you will probably think that all I write about is pussy, killing, and a bunch of shit that nobody understands so that must be why they like it (am I the Lil’ Wayne of poetry???).

4. If you are one of my avid readers/fans, then I love you. If you hate my work then I love you more. Why? Publicity is publicity kids. Even if you’re talking negatively about my work, you’re still talking which sparks interest and gets me more readers which is exactly what I need to do what I’m doing.

5. There is nothing that I write that does not have meaning. Keep that in mind. Every single poem that I write has a moral.

6. Have a nice day.

rightwritecj: A poem for the last person who saw me naked You don’t have to say “I Love You”, You...

Thu, 03 May 2012 22:09:53 -0400

rightwritecj:

A poem for the last person who saw me naked

You don’t have to say
“I Love You”,
You just have to
come to bed.

A poem for the last person who saw me naked pt. 2

I know you.
I’ve memorised
your curves.
I love them all.
I’ve kissed them
and I will again.

A poem for the last person who saw me naked pt. 3

Is this what you wanted to see?

A poem for the last person who saw me naked pt. 4

You know that I have
endless competition and
you still only utter your
desires for a girl in your bed.

A poem for the last person who saw me naked pt. 5

I know you and
I’m aware of what
you long for.
I love them too and
I’m in love with the curves
on you.

A poem for the last person who saw me naked pt. 6

Will you be coming back for me?