You are as convicted as a poorly blown nose
Often, I will catch brief gossip here and
there about you planted in some other debacle
about as fascinating as an overflowing toilet
decorated with bits of shit and mottled paper.
Why people think of you when chatting with me
is hardly a mystery? They don't know me, and
they certainly don't know you.
I would never walk out on my family.
I am loyal to the innocent,
and wicked to thee unjust, and dishonorable.
I believe in more than myself, but less in you.
And I would never, ever, buy a plastic plant,
or artificially scented flower, and
think everything's that fucking perfect.
Author notes
Written February 24th, 2004
In a list
A contest entry
- I want to read something posotively beautiful by Saaara.
400 points, ended May 8, 2004, 13 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 14 of 14
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well! looks like theres some anger there... it was a great poem, but nevertheless, not what i was looking for.
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I didn't know who this poem was about until I read your comments, but I had figured it was your father. . . but, i figured wrong.
On the surface, this poem is very direct. . . but, things are never as they appear -- it's obvious that there is pain in your life. Poetry is an excellent way to 'manage' pain, and pain is an excellent source of inspiration.
Poetry loves misery. -
That's because I wrote it in English, and not clicks and goos and baby fluffs.
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Exactly.
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Like fingerbanging a chandelier all hung up on prostitution.
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Tennessee Williams. All that symbolism.
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Actually, this poem is about my mom.
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Loyalty in my opinion can never be compared to a flower. Flowers wilt, and petals fall to the ground brown like the shit you described on the toilet paper. I guess I'm cliched when I say I compare loyalty to a rock ..and more than likely, I'm wrong altogether with my comment, all the same, moving on seems the wise thing in most situations doesn't it? And really, speaking of people you don't know is just ignorant (at least in my humble opinion) ..so shatter the glass flowers..as I do marble pedestals ..and hmm anyway done rambling.
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yeah. girls don't usually do that shit. they just fuck the boyfriend behind their girlfriends back and then strike up all sorts of conversation with their girlfriend later during the week while shopping at the mall. which is worse, really?
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i hate when people can't find anything to talk to you about but shit that you've already moved past, you know. Like if your girls gone, and your buddy that's always really just wanted to fuck her, is checking if he can now?
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welcome back. i hope you found things in good order. we missed you. this is good. very good. i consider myself loyal but have considered leaving all sorts of things but never the innocents just the mottled shit paper, i guess. and in that thought often pause because i think "people will think less of me". so once again, you've captured a moment for me in your poem. thank goodness for poetry, music and fresh flowers. love the perwinkle blue of this background. peace.
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Neither, send them real flowers.
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shouldnt it be 'the' unjust think theres a finger slip there...otherwise its gt lovely imagery of the toilet that everyone fears...and then i love the ending thank goodness we have someone with morals that stands up for the real and despises fakes...i confess i have a plastic vase of flowers in my house in fake water thats glass really but it was a present so i have to have it on display as well....dear agony auntie horus what shall i do i have got myself into a predicament and have a plastic flower on display in my hall that was a present should i shoot myself or the person who gave it to me or both of us....lots of love from desperate in england
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glass flowers are pretty to look at though...
im good with plastic plants, i can't kill those
some gossip is like this, exactly like this, like an overflowing toilet, crowded with a shit party that never seems to be able to fix itself, and just keeps getting worse.
Nyx...
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