harusame wo
ki ga fukaku nomi
hana ga saku
robaato a. heisei 15 nen 8 gatsu
Wow, Auntnut…that’s really good.
This next one was something I wrote a while back after watching the interaction between two girls in the food court, sort of in a conversational style.
Of Goths and Preps
Excuse me,like,can you like move or something?You like TOTALLY are giving me the creeps!!
Well sure,little Barbie doll wanna be,Britney Spears lookalike…I wouldn’t mind moving but then again I just might because I enjoy scaring you.
You are like so totally grody and WIERD,do you know that?And like,who like taught you to put on makeup?Your eyeliner is way too majorly thick and dark,dude.
**sounds of insane laughingME?I taught me to put on makeup,you pink glittered fashionista.And I happen to like lots of thick dark eyeliner thank you.It makes me look dark and mysterious.
Well,like if you wanted to look dark and mysterious,you coulda just worn like J.Lo’s brand of clothing…it’s LATIN and that’s way more dark and mysterious than anything you’re wearing.
J.LO??Jennifer Lopez?I wouldn’t wear anything made by that freak.
You’re such a snob!J.LO is like da bomb,ya know?Uh huh!She’s like way cooler than um…Britney cuz she’s got like um…P.Diddy as her boyfriend and he’s a total gangsta dude,ya know?He’s like so hot too,for a black guy that is.
**raises handShut up now before I strangle you,ok?
You’re gonna STRANGLE me?Then what…sacrafice me on your altar of death or something?Cuz I know like EVERYBODY who dresses like you is like a stan warship or something.
You mean a satan worshipper
YEAH!Like,that’s it!
I am not a satan worshipper,fluff for brains.I just like to express my inner darkness on the outside.
Well like DUH!
backhands the blonde
Like ow?I’m gonna like go report this to the like lunchmonitor you stupid gothic piece of piehole!Waaaah!
giggles
MetalMaven
Thank you 80s …this is neat, I have never shared these with an entire group before (kind of scary)
I have enjoyed reading the variety of styles here. I knew there were some talented Dopers here!
This one I wrote when a boyfriend of mine got into meth several years ago…sadly, he never wised up, and lost me.
I fried my brain
what’s left is rotten
there’s just so much
that I’ve forgotten
My head feels empty
my thoughts are toast
here are some things
that I miss the most:
I miss the life
that I used to have
it wasn’t so perfect
but, it wasn’t so bad
I had a girl
I loved alot
she loved me too
but, I forgot
I forgot to do
nice things for her
but time passed quickly
(it’s such a blur)
She warned me often
so long ago
if I didn’t try harder
then, she would go
I just didn’t try
I chose to ignore
the pain in her eyes
I’d just hide more
I became consumed
by the dumbest things
she’d try to call
I’d let it ring
She tried to talk
I’d pick a fight
she was always wrong
I was always right
She wrote me letters
she wrote me poems
I’d read and forget them
then, I started to roam
I’d go to my “friends” house
they all were users
but, I couldn’t see
they were nothing but losers
I chose these people
over my loved ones
they were my escape
I thought they were so fun
Then, she grew quiet
and, she quit complaining
she stopped coming home
and now, it’s raining
For, I can’t stop crying
God, what have I done ?
I destroyed my life
my pains just begun
The drugs, they don’t numb me
It feels so unreal
Oh God, I’m so sorry
Can we make a deal ?
Please, let me go back now
and, I’ll make it right
I won’t just ignore her
I won’t pick a fight
I’ll work to do better
I’ll kick them all out
I’ll write her love letters
she won’t have a doubt
That I’ll love her forever
and do what I can
to prove to her that I am
a part of her plan
I’ll honor my father
I’ll make my amends
I’d love to get back to
he and I being friends
My mom and my sister
oh, what can I say ?
I’ll be there to help them
any time, any day
Just give me some time, Lord
please, let me go back
I’ll search for the answers
to get on the right track
Grant me this one wish
please, give me this chance
I’ll do things much better
afterall, “life’s a dance”
This a cool thread. This one just got published in the IUS Review. It’s a college publication for students, but I’m proud nevertheless. 
Road Notes
Young deer dead outside my passenger window
tan, smaller than my nine-year old daughter,
baby tail fluffy, still intact
even as the lower abdomen is splayed
open - and rotting;
its back curved
in a most unnatural way.
The head is almost at the tail,
as if caught in a dead leap
on the ground.
Showcased in the driver side window,
a ridge like an Iroquois longhouse,
straight and squat with no end in sight.
All along it are great heaps of trees
just now changing,
the reds and yellows a budding
colony of lice on the tops of
so many abundantly green heads.
The hills fall to stark fields,
corn dead, rotting and still tall in them,
the waste of a dry season this year–
a dust cloud trails a tractor in the distance.
Passing a dumpster graveyard,
the city becomes an imminent threat
just up the road.
Someone has painted KARMA
in red, white & blue
on the back of a highway sign
just a mile from the limit.
Five starlings clustered there
before scaping at the sound
of my transmission.
Reluctantly following them,
I feel the small worries returning,
the reasons I’m driving around
on this midwest October day-
they start as small as those five starlings
and by the time I reach the city
I see the swarms they join in the sky ahead.
The back-story on this one is that I worked with my high school’s literary magazine for a semester, about a year ago.
The staff of the magazine was hopelessly pretentious, and the submissions even more so - you know, teen angst, too many adjectives and adverbs, lots of generally poorly-written phrases, lots of “creative capitalization”, the whole drill.
After I’d left the staff of the literary magazine, I wrote this parody…they ended up publishing it, thinking it was a serious poem!
(the formatting doesn’t work out on these boards - alternating stanzas are supposed to alternate in alignment)
Parody: a Response
“One should either be a work of art, or wear a work of art.”
- Oscar Wilde
through all these lonely
NIGHTS of dreaming and bitter pain
beautifully yet hauntingly razing you
fevered dawn rushing
at you faster than a car into a wall
as the flower of dawn—
(the bringer of days is the queller of nights—
the dawn is the day—
the evening is the night)
—springs brightly to life
only the ART lets you live
made more understandable by all the suffering
after the memento mori of the abortion
love’s O so confusedly hurt longing past
but for the archaic desperation
why try you to mar the looks and memories
just fall asleep
as the night doth grow short
the shivering of the deep blue night moving
chargingly, save for the pained frown
of the screaming silence
of the furrowed brow
of the one you longingly can’t forget
thus, only, can one live:
through art
through work
through CULTIVATION OF DEMEANOUR