To be cringe is to be free but I am in a prison of my own making

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To be cringe is to be free but I am in a prison of my own making
No one:
Part of my brain that spews shitpoetry:
I would if I could
Change my name to
SnoodleWonker
Go stomping through the woods
Chewing on some
Noodles going hoola bonkers
I eat with my middle fingers out
They do not come with a safety
So why don't you think twice about
Fucking with the likes of a faux satan
Remember the name (Snoodlebonker?)
Because I'm starting to forget the band names
I saw at that one concert
Some were actually famous, some were sponsored
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
But at least I queened out to some
Magic City Hippies
And how can I forget Cheshire Gyat
Or as some would say
Trippy Chonkers with a Vanishing Act
Now you see me, now I'm twerking
Don't bother me when I'm working
. . .
Whistling to the tune of . . .
. . . it's a mystery why anyone . . .
. . . tomorrow always comes early
Remember that
i crave love, the aching, throbbing, raw love that i write. written love will always be my love, maybe that's why my spoken love is so mechanical. my sexual love electronic, my physical love programmed. i only ache through word, word and word alone.
am i a machine? spluttering out yearning that i will never yearn
Ode to Summer
Bumblebees and sunshine
Buzzing through my head,
Singing songs of Summer
Where fairytales are bred.
Dandelion soldiers
March across the lawn;
An army full of wishes
To scatter in the dawn
Sunflowers and sweet peas
Reaching for the sky.
A symphony of cyan,
Where golden finches fly.
31/01/22
Shit poetry Day 11
I had a beautiful dream last night, no it wasn't wet :\
I was a pizza delivery girl, a hot one, yeah you bet.
Roaming around like a free bird was the highlight of the dream,
Other good things were obviously pizza and ice cream.
"Tininini" - that's my alarm sound, and we're back to reality,
Sitting with my lame laptop, I'm writing a poetry shitty.
when you said it was the best thing since sliced bread
didn’t you really mean
the best thing
since
knives
Between DNA and Destiny
Caught between DNA and destiny, We search each chromosome For what’s meant to be. Caught looking for home between religion and science, A delicate balance of the mind Grasps at a strange alliance.
To define mankind, Is it providence To leave providence behind? Are we the creation Which we’ve designed?
Between the arguments Of saints and scholars Is an equivalency no greater, Than fifty cents to half dollars. For neither can answer With all their dogma and their all their odds; If along this pilgrimage were we the gods, Who made gods in our image?
-ahauntedtypewriter
"She knitted the truth into a scarf,
wore like a noose under the mistletoe,
she felt antic for her rosey blushes.
They were doting her like she did to them,
their lips tasted like
bellies of snow,
warm hugs in the frost.
Like icicles on powerlines,
Their kiss melted away
Leaving the ever burning heat
Of cinnamon tea on her lips."
Riley Ross