Ayo, I like me me some mayo, nothing special yeah I lay low, and my bars better than JLos, Doja cat better do it if I say so, cash fast yeah I'm on a pay roll dont need it to be happy I'm no Bezos, hyped up like No way home, shape my life like its some playdough, you should know that I dont play though, no games no CoD no halo, but I do like sandwich with some mayo.
Campylobacter I'm on the toilet trying to make one brown, a green, a yellow and a red one fell down With a toilet roll smile, its face wiped clean Yet it feels like it broke my spine and ruptured my spleen I called up the ambulance in an epileptic fit The operator cared not one bit With a hole in my heart where my mind had bled through My body begrudged me my lentil soup Laying awake with a tear in my eye Watching the rainfall from a starry sky I tried to sleep, but my gut began to wrench from where my guts dried like the hardest cement I try to fall asleep to pumpkin facts Did you know that pumpkins are a fruit? Did you know that pumpkins are a fruit? Did you know that pumpkins are a fruit?
So really good stuff here. I'm bumping the thread hoping others will be inspired to write and share something. (Don't try to impress others, writing poetry is to process your emotions.) Here's what I wrote yesterday: The big man Addiction to fiction, it’s is the affliction of the digital age. Situation’s critical, ey! Messed up desires pass through fiberglass, shooting up endazzeled masses en masse. The warning message? “Watch porn and you’ll need glasses!” How fucking fantastic is that! It’s way more drastic than that. Dirty scene on a friend’s screen got me hooked at thirteen, saw things no kid should have ever seen. Sex, which should have been magic and mystical, ended up tragic, hysterical. Fetishes streamed while a little boy dreamed, high on dopamine, it’s truly obscene. And now the big man screams. I am thirty-five now, and I lost my wife. How? Drinks at the mall nourished our first date, but I got malnourished staying up late. While she was lying in bed, I was surfing the net, getting fucked in the head. I would lie about how “I am always working now,” but she’d always work it out. And each time I’d pray aloud: “Love, I’ll stop it, I’ll drop it!” But then a popup, I’d pop it, and always let her cop it. “You should be better,” she’d say, but hey, I was messed up, no way I could have thought straight. Couldn’t stop lying, so she said goodbye and I know the fault’s on my end. But still the big man bends. Instead of rappin’, I’m fappin’. How could this happen, I’m wrecking my life. I feel lacking, acting like a fool, like I’m back in high school. But I’m stepping up to the challenge, stepping up to the plate. I’m attacking the lacking until it cracks and abates! I am moving on now. I’ll do the best that I can, be a big man, standing tall, wow! Rid of this fucking addict—addicted to pixels fucking, that is. Click, click, click, that’s me, crazy and sick! Sick and tired, neurons fired, brain miswired, rigged desires, bound by wire, I got stuck in a mire. Medicated, infiltrated, isolated, till my conscience faded. Found the dark net, fuck that, for it trapped me in dark sad... places. I know I ain’t no pedophile, but I downed some messed up files, sick of shame all the while, steeply caught up in denial. Talking of sick, once tried to cut off my dick. OK, it was an accident. But... what it if it wasn’t? May have been a Freudian slip of the knife to cut away the struggle and strife. All part of the big man’s life. Though my browser’s history might be painful to see, the serenity of sobriety I know lies deep inside of me. Won’t no longer lie to me, or hide indeed the slightest deeds which might well feed my dying needs. Abide my creed until I bleed or lusting fleets. So listen to the beat! of my heart while I run, run away from my past, hard, yo. This time it is forever, I’m gonna make it fucking last, bro! God, Please let the big man go. [Chorus:] You might fall deep, the way out steep. But together me and you, I know can make it through. You might fall deep, the way out steep. But together we will fly and soar, like lions we’ll roar.
Devil Oh Ye, transmit thru deathly pixels: R,G and B. Poison disguised as Love, visitations from above. Seen her before, have to click thumbnails more. Want this to last - cannot finish this too fast. All things come to an end you know - now only regret to show.
Sugar: My Poisonous Friend Darling, how d'ya taste so sweet? Whilst make my energy so deplete? When I'm with you I've no control. When you're gone, I don't feel whole. This is illusion now I see, How can I be completely free? An empty space so deep inside. Things to fill it, fall to wayside. Till I expose this darkened ghost, I'll keep consuming you the most.
Surfing in a hazmat Don’t wanna hold a grudge but it kinda sucks when your chosen drug gets trucked right into your lap. Fuck, no addict wants to budge but you’re outta luck when you happen to be stuck to porn, which everywhere you need to dodge and duck. Don’t wanna minimize others’ cries, but why do alcoholics needa go out and buy, while porn is free and every place’s got wifi? Why do cigarettes warn us that we’ll die, yet these sites are allowed to be noth’n but lies? It’s a toxic spill all on the net That no one will stop, I bet. So my gloves are worn, got my goggles on, Might seem mad, but my life’s like that, I’m surfing in a hazmat. Surfing in a hazmat. You see, there’s a nude section on every other site. And I can’t fight the attraction without personal protection, since society provides no direction, opened me up to this digital infection. Content blockers do nothing but delay. So to keep me going straight, I gotta use the filter of my will and faith. Or else my breath will fail, I’ll choke and salivate, and someone will need to respirate me. It’s a toxic spill all on the net That no one will stop, I bet. So my gloves are worn, got my goggles on, Might seem sad, but my life’s like that, I’m surfing in a hazmat. Surfing in a hazmat. Don’t go there, can’t click here QUICK, scroll past that! Didn’t really look, phew! What’s that, though? NO, press ALT F4! Or simply walk out the door. I’m surfing in a hazmat. Surfing in a hazmat.
Thanks my friend. It's not about improving upon, writing the best poem ever or something. To me it's about expressing feelings, like others may do in a journal, using some creativity and images. The outcome is not important. I've written many objectively "bad" poems which still were very therapeutic to me. If anything is relatable to anyone, gets them in touch with their feelings too, that's a plus, why I post here. But I'm happy you like it. Your last one was also very relatable, very nice. Thanks for sharing! Much love and strength to you!
Thank you brother, I grew up in a very competitive household where family were all pitted against each other so I often see things as a competition when they are not. But this relieves the pressure a lot and I'll post some more soon.
Summer storm swelling Chaos crash chant churn crush chase Six foot silence, please @Brahmacharya_UK Art defies quantification. I personally despise relativism as a philosophy, I believe objective truth is real and worthy and I don’t like it when people muddy the waters with “your truth, my truth” nonsense. But the truth about art and perspective and value is that it’s different for everyone. A thing is “good” when it serves its function, and the function of art is… well even that seems to depend on variables. We build rules around art, we critique and try to reach an agreement on each piece’s value, but we don’t know. If Cricket’s art hit you where you needed it, it’s good. If you create art and expressed something, if your subconsciousness explained something to your consciousness through it, it doesn’t matter what anyone else says about it. It’s good art. Even the attempt to create art sharpens your ability to express, so even if it doesn’t turn out how you want it isn’t bad. The only bad art, I guess, would be lazy art, or deceptive art. I want to win as much as the next guy. Here, though, is the kind of place where everyone gets a turn, and your best is good enough.
I enjoyed this poem, for different reasons I enjoyed others. Ah that's great - I put a lot of pressure on myself sometimes. Tired oh so tired Awake but dead to the world, what went wrong? No energy, depleted, nothing left of me... A forced moment to stop, pause, consider the way ahead. I know what helps and what hinders, why so hard to follow through? Unlimited energy is just as possible, only I have to choose
wow there are so many good sirs and ma'am here! I am a in too. Relapsed -you_can_UK Things are just f*ckin' up like cracker high up in the sky times there we going up and then in pieces we do fly I just wanna ask you why can't I go past you Will I ever beat somethin' else than my meat I am in pmo wagon no meat lets go vegan so lets hold our hands keep out of your pants and show god that you can be trusted too!
"David One Day Beats Goliath" A boy kneels before the towering screen, His features erased under the burning light. Available at all times are its objects obscene Once first seen, the only desire of his sight; Over the sense’s pull, he relinquishes control. Time passes and, older, he was meant to grow. Alas, life rendered so small, it fits in and is consumed from a bowl; Remaining bent, he sees no reason to stand and nothing else to know. A gust is carried over the wasteland behind him, A mere breeze by the time it finishes the journey; Its gentle touch enough to prod—there, all around, his solipsism. All the rubble is useful for only one thing, really. For the last time, he bends down in its presence Only so that he may rise with a piece of crumbled past in hand. Taller than him it may still be, but he refuses to again be helpless. Throwing at the screen what he had let it take, there is a man, and a life, left to stand. Trying hard to believe this after my latest relapse.
This eternal cycle be damned! How wretched am I To strive and strive, ascending to the heights of the sun Only to fall back down into my chains? The eccentricity of my orbit approaches, but never passes one, and so, the escape velocity Is never reached. ~Before I Awaken
Yeah, to me poetry at times was and is a way to let out things. There were times when I was particularly depressed and poetry was a therapeutic outlet for me. I didn't really care whether or not what I was writing was good. I just wanted to let things out. So yeah, what you said was very relatable.
