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Danny Valdez Jan 2012
He woke up
next to the empty spot
where Wonder Woman had been.
He puked in the toilet
slammed down a forty-ounce Miller High Life
and started putting the suit on.
boots
the gray and black tights
the gloves
the yellow utility belt
and the cape.
It was leather.
He put the cowl
under his arm and left his apartment.
It was a late start
nearly noon
by the time
the bus got him to
Mann's Chinese Theater.
He saw a lot of his
friends and colleges
as the bus went down to his stop.
It was a regular day
all the characters were
in their usual little groups.
Spider-Man & Captain America
two Mormon boys that had been
excommunicated from the church
they got caught **** *******
each other
now they were stuck in Hollywood
like everyone else.
The X-Men
or H-Men as most people called them
were a group of junkies.
One of them had a cousin at Fox
and they got four replica X-Men costumes.
So that's how they scored
their junk everyday
garnered pretty good tips from the tourists.
Cyclops, Jean-Grey, Storm, and Wolverine.
It was a good grift. **** good idea.
Then you had the impersonators
plastic surgery freaks
obsessed with Michael Jackson
creepy bald men dressed as Dr. Evil
and there was always
a lazy fat guy
that would do Elvis.
Not know any of the songs
and saying the catch phrases all wrong,
"Well, thank you Ma'am....thank you so much."
Those guys never lasted too long.
The cutesy cartoon characters
were almost always
pedophiles or ******* ladies.
The horror people were hands down
the most bat-**** insane of the lot.
They got into the most fights
they terrorized the kids
and they talked a lot of ****.
Would bate guys into fights.
Michael Myers would always start ****
with guys that had beautiful women with them.
It was ****** up.
The LAPD took away Freddy Kruger last month
for beating up a guy
right in front of his kids.
There was talk from the cops
about shutting down their whole thing down.
Making it illegal to dress up in costumes
and get tips.
'Panhandling' as the office had said.
But
Batman hung out with
Superman & Wonder Woman
while doing his thing.
The night before
Wonder Woman and him
had been drinking, smoking, and
they ****** once
before she asked him
what she needed to.
"We got two new guys starting tomorrow."
"What?"
"Yeah. They came up to me on the street today,
wanted to know if they could hang with us."
"Wha? What? Well...do they have costumes?"
"Yeah." She said, exhaling smoke, wrapped in the sheet on the bed.
"These guys got a Green Lantern and a Robin costume. Really good quality,
they showed me pictures. Hey, you finally got a Robin now! Isn't that great?"
"****...I don't know Diana...I was kinda liking our little *******.
"Oh come on, Bruce. It'll be good." She said, wrapping her arms around him
as he sat on the edge of the book, looking out the window.
"We can finally get the big, group tips. Like what the H-Men got going."
"Alright. That's fine."
And the next day
there they were,
Green Lantern & Robin.
Wonderful costumes, like she said
their hair color and overall appearance
spot on.
"Hey there!"
"Hello. Robin. Green Lantern."
Their gloved hands all shook.
They got acquainted and he couldnt help but like them.
Nice guys, musicians, Rockabilly guys, from Venice.
They went out into
the crowd of people
Superman's voice booming over the crowd
telling everyone that they're safe from
evil and wrong doers, blah, blah, blah,
the usual ******* that Superman always said.
Batman yelled to Robin over the enclosing crowd.
They were now fully entrenched by people
fat & sweaty
Batman's panic attack took over.
"COME ON!" He shouted over the rising crowd noise.
The dynamic duo
shoved & pushed
parting the sea of fat tourists
and breaking out onto the sidewalk.
"What's up, Batman?" Robin asked
looking up to him.
The size difference was just like in the comics
Robin was a little guy.
"I just needed to get outta there. Let's go take a lap
down Hollywood Boulevard...see what kinda cash we can grab."
"Okay, Batman."
They walked
up and down
the walk of fame
posing for a few pictures
making some kids day
with wide-eyed excitement
that will be with them forever.
They made forty bucks too.
"Alright, that's good for now. Let's grab a beer, Robin."
It was a small dive
on Hollywood Boulevard
they were two beers in
and Robin was learning a lot
about how Hollywood really was.
Some real talk from Batman to Robin.
"Yup. I moved out here in 1997. I saw that movie 'Swingers' and I thought...
I could do that, that could be my life, I want that."
"And what happened Bats?"
"Well...I came out here, went to film school, did everything I was told, and...
I still got ******." He said, taking a long pull from the bottle.
"Well what happened exactly?"
Robin's green glove, gripping the brown bottle
tilting it back, bubbles rising
"Well...ya see...when I was in film school, the instructors all told us...you either do your internship here in Hollywood or go to New York. Anywhere else and you won't be able to make it. That's what they said."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. So I did my internship here in Hollywood and it was for nothing. The whole two years that I was at Faramount, I was never allowed to even touch any film equipment. Well, just to dust it off and clean it. But they didn't even try to teach me anything there. I just did food runs at lunch, got them their Starbucks in the morning, and took out the trash. Swept the parking lot, cleaned the toilets, I was a ******* janitor at that place. And you know what happened next?"
"Huh?"
"One day they just fired me. Just like that. After two years of being their ***** boy. So now I have $50,000 in student loans that I can't pay back, and a degree that got me nowhere."
"****." Robin said, finishing his beer.
"Yeah. So what do you do?"
"I'm in school for audio engineering."
"Ah...the music business eh?"
"Yeah, Batman."
"Hmm."
Batman grew silent then, just finishing his beer, and staring into the mirrored wall.
He wanted to say,
"I have 117 scripts sitting in a stack next to my t.v. That's eight screenplays a year. Robin, I've been at this for fourteen years and it doesn't get any better. I never stop trying and I keep at it, year after year. But I'm done. Get out while you
still can Robin. This city will eat you, **** you, **** you. If you still have a home, I suggest you go back to it."
Batman sat there, his beer finished, still staring straight ahead.
Robin pulled out a ten dollar bill, smiling, calling for the bartender
with that sparkle in his eye
of youth and hope.
He didn't want to say all that ****
crush that gleam in Robin's eye
like he once had.
Those were the best days
the great days
the glory days
to be young, handsome, poor, and hopeful
that you could make it
that it could happen.
So Batman didn't say another word about it.
Nope.
There were things
Robin would have to learn all on his own.
There's a guy dressed up as Freddie Kruger for Halloween
Freddie Kruger can't sing the high part during Eye Of The Tiger
I murmur something to my friend
Me: Freddie Crooner
My friend laughs more than he needs to
We aren't sure whose whiskey sour is whose anymore
My roommate doesn't want to sing in front of people
She'd rather hide in her glass and mingle with the ice
But I make her duet a Nirvana song with me
Which we scream and she starts having fun
The crowd claps with relief when we're done
Freddie Kruger offers me a fist bump
A group of sweet plump ladies takes turns singing love ballads
They all have pretty voices and work at Bubba Gump on the pier
The one that sang the Adele song is studying business
She tells me while we smoke outside during Wonder Wall
I sing nine minutes of Meatloaf
My voice cracks and growls like feedback
This guy buys me a shot afterwards
My throat is so dry that I have to drink it in tiny sips
This guy thinks me and my friends are fun
I duet Desperado with him and we knock over stools and laugh
He has clearly never heard the song Desperado before
Me and my friends invite the whole bar to sing an Aerosmith song together
I think that this may be the only way to really appreciate Aerosmith
I drive my roommate and my self back to our apartment
I'm drunk but I pretend I'm sober so she won't get scared
Then sometimes I laugh bizarrely to scare her a little bit
But always end up lying and reassuring her that I'm sober
We start talking about Lou Reed because he had died that day
I guess Lou Reed didn't like when people said RIP
Which I had written in my facebook status about him dying
I don't really care much because Lou Reed wasn't really a friend of mine
I just liked his music
And he never mentions in any of his songs anything
About people saying RIP
When we got to the bar the first thing I did
Was to look for a Lou Reed song to sing
But there weren't any
So I sang other songs instead
JeanlBouwer Oct 2010
Met boeke vol helde, soos ek en jy
Potgieter, Trichardt, Smuts, Kruger selfs De LaRey
Almal met die doel, om hul volk te bevry,
Die Afrikaner, uit te brei
Om hul families, van leiding te bevry

Selfs, De LaRey
‘n Lafhart, wou eers nie beklei
Later die held, wat die boere, verder wou lei
Familie man, vader seun broer en gesant

Ja, die mense was ook bang
Maar met passie,
Met drang
Met dit wat slange vang
Het hulle als aangevang

Kyk na jou vriend
Kyk na jou maat
Kyk na die, anderkant die straat
Dis jy, wat hul toekoms baat
Dis jy, wat hul vereen, ou maat

Die Afrikaners, was plesierig
Dit, kan julle glo
Nou gevul, net met gierig
En al hul misnoe
Ja, dit kan julle glo

Waar is ons eendrag
Waar is ons mag
Waar is die dae, toe ons nog lekker kon lag
Waar is ons helde, van vandag

‘n Held, in elkeen wat die taal verstaan
Elkeen, wat n weg vir Afrikaans wil baan
Elk, wat sy man wil staan
vir die taal, wat min verstaan
‘n Kultuur, wat net ons verstaan

‘n Kultuur, so ryk aan helde soos ek en jy
Helde, wat die Afrikaner wil bevry
Helde, wat nie bang is om te baklei
Helde, soos ek en jy!
RW Dennen Sep 2014
Around the eighties the Mumers New Year Parade in Philly
lost a bit of its tradition. It originally was made for
the average working family. But around this period
people were charged to watch them do their famous strut
and extra displays of course only at City Hall.
And so let us begin my poetic story...


Standin' among the crowd,
watchin' blue police-van-bleeders
being escorted; wearin' city-steel-wrist-braclets

And now struttin' my way,
psychopathic eclipsers
of physical freedom
seekin' potential comatose heads
to tap

And squads of finger thrusters
of back pockets for targets,
dart in and out of crowds,
quickly countin' their *****
in dark unseen places

Feet freeze
as sounds travel,
" Oh dem golden slippers"
soundin' like cheap tin toy Kazoos
and toy glockenspiels

The wind kisses
my **** end blue
as a flyin' Budweiser
kisses my right foot wet

Man made pop art
reflects the times
at the times
at Broad and Spruce
of cigarette butts,
chocolate wrappers,
and crushed beer cans
climaxin' montage
of the mountain- ****** eighties

Boozers and blue
sweet puffers
wearin' smiles
outside
and within most inner thoughts
puff-buffed away from some reality
step in cadence to their
own music within themselves

And wailin' children
havin'
more sense
than adults
become early sacrifices
to the fruit of Bacchus

The marching high strutters of "Big Bird",
they strain and struggle under the weight
of heavy hernia suits;
with feathers and sparklers,
their instruments wrestle as steamy air puffs shoot forward
from their nostrils
like  red-devil-painted-dragon faces
in the bitter cold air
warmly protected by their attire and *****,
they stop seemingly for eternity,
in the suspended purgatorial
halts
one after another,
only waitin'
for the grandstand reserved section
around City Hall
Yet we wait and pray together
that perhaps like in the older days
we will get a sneak of
a nostalgic, spontaneous,
free dance-strut
that never comes

Attached, yet unattached
and cryin' inside;
always on guard
for flyin' and drunkin' fists
or flyin' articles
of all sizes
Seein'  through
the facades of we must act
like ha! ha! ha!
I cry inwardly
with anger
doin' the rat-tat-tat
of no more nonsense
of my inner-self
Strivin' and movin' to flee Freddie Kruger's bladed fingers
I sting all over,
my teeth clinch with anger,
darkness intensified
The crowd becomes uglier,
blackness
engulfs
black souls
Vehement, crazy,
hordes and hordes of frustration bellows
outward
The call of Nietzche,
The ouch under my skin

This damnable real parade
not shown in Liberace-livin'-Color

No commercial breaks of luxury cars
that drive livin' manikins
Livin' manikins that wear dial under their arms
while smilin' the brand of Crest toothpaste
but instead,
a street drunk with
broken ugly teeth
as he begs for quarters
and blows his odorous breath
beyond description

And City Hall payin'-grandstanders
with tv cameras
bein' in the spirit of "Disneyland"
presents
the overly organized narcissistic prostituted
elegance of forever, floatin', bouncy,
dancy, prancy,
skippin' to the tune
of  mom's Apple pie,
a small slice of my reality

And the applaudin' money makin'
TV grandstanders
of goody goody
look mom I can do the swan dance
while holdin' multiple
colored sparklers
wrapped in feathers
But why must I
see through the eyes of a Godless Nietzsche,
**** it!!
A humanitarian crisis,
A situation catastrophic,
A sprawl of ramshackle buildings,
Now vacated,
As masses continue to flee,
What’s left of their battered motherland,
With operation Murambatsvina at its apex,
I left where my house used to stand,
Now a rubble of broken bricks and choking dust,
Just with the dress I was wearing,
And bitter memories of a faceless monster,
The prophet of doom,
An epitome of conflicted personality,
The hardhearted devil personified,
I fled on foot,
Ran-walked, ran-walked,
Swam across the Limpopo River,
Ran-walked across Kruger National Park,
Met the police,
Abused, ***** and sent back,
Swam back,
Ran-walked, ran-walked,
This is the Zimbabwean fate,
Our heart-wrenching fate,
Exodus after exodus.
R Clair Marsh Feb 2010
Momma was a bleeder
***** on the stairs outside the complex
Mainstays all unraveled
mildewed and rotting on the concrete decks

Her ceaseless curtain calls
belied the prescriptions for falling down

She was a butterfly hurricane comin’ from the coast
makin’ eddies swirl sanguine pools
Even Kruger wasn’t dumb enough to jump in her grey-outs
the guy simply walked away
Travis Coates Ate Bambi's Young with a Nice Chianti by R. Clair Marsh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
judy smith Jul 2016
THE CROWD at Raf Simons’s Spring 2017 menswear show at Pitti Immagine Uomo in Florence seemed more uptight than usual, yet that’s exactly how Mr. Simons intended it: Scattered among the wound-up throngs of editors, buyers and gate-crashers were 266 secondhand mannequins, some seated stiffly, others frozen into upright positions, all clothed in archival pieces from his 21-year career in fashion. Though the dummies were arresting, the Belgian designer, 48, later downplayed this unconventional look back. “The pieces weren’t chosen with a certain kind of curatorial intention,” said Mr. Simons. “I didn’t want it to look like a typical kind of retrospective.”

Mission accomplished: Between the spooky setting in a cavernous former train station, the wooden mannequins and his decision to show “off calendar” (forgoing his usual Paris Fashion Week time slot), it all felt more like a Robert Gober art show than a museum tribute. Mr. Simons is, after all, still hard at work, his every move watched by industry insiders amid speculation that he may be joining Calvin Klein—after concluding 3½ years as creative director of Christian Dior’s women’s collection, in 2015.

Mr. Simons continued to riff on his signature elegance in his Pitti Uomo menswear show. The cornerstone of the collection was a series of loose, photo-enhanced shirts, knits and jackets created in collaboration with the Robert Mapplethorpe Foundation: voluminous pieces emblazoned with images of Debbie Harry or eroticized flowers by the photographer, who died in 1989.

Much like his designs, our chat with the usually circumspect Mr. Simons reflected a broad array of preoccupations and influences. He was outspoken about tailoring (“so much bad suiting out there”) and his design process (“no system, no rules, no structure”) but also about mobile phones, the African countryside and ’70s dance music.

One of my favorite spots in the world is: Puglia in Italy. There’s a house by the sea I go to, and outside, it’s just a horizon line. It’s that feeling of eternity: It allows you to think. If you put me there, I wouldn’t need love or anything anymore.

Between the country or the city, I prefer: the country. I live in Antwerp, a city that’s kind of like a village.

A place I’d like to visit again is: Kruger National Park in South Africa. It’s mind-blowing how it sits so far away from anything you’ve ever experienced in a city. There were no people, no proof of human life, just animals and animal behavior. It’s survival of the strongest, which is fascinating.

One thing I’ve had forever is: A yellow T-shirt with a black print on it from the movie “The Shining” that goes way back to when I was a teenager.

If I could be granted one wish, it would be: solidarity. That may sound emotional—politically emotional—but with everything that’s happening, I wish everybody would just let each other be in peace.

A current band I love is: The **. At first they seemed weird but they overwhelm me—massively—all the time with their intelligence. They may be the group that’s had the most impact on me in the last five years.

An old album I still listen to is: Kraftwerk’s “The Man-Machine” [1978]. My 1998 show was called “Kraftwerk” because I had four boys in red shirts in it who looked like replicas of the band members.

If I could tell my 20-year-old self one thing, it would be: grab and protect love when you find it. Cherish it, focus on it, concentrate on it.

My dream client would be: anyone, really. When I design, I am thinking about a lot of people, not just one. It’s more about connecting to a certain kind of generation or a certain kind of person that will connect to what we do.

I always wear: Adidas Stan Smiths. I have had periods where I only wore Stan Smiths, maybe from age 15 until I was 25.

The place that most inspires me is:everywhere. Some people have to go for a swim or have a holiday to be inspired, but for me, it’s there when I walk out the door.

My favorite movie directors are: Stanley Kubrick, Todd Haynes and Alfred Hitchcock.Kubrick’s movies are so visually striking, especially “2001: A Space Odyssey” and “Eyes Wide Shut.”

I collect: art. I started collecting more than 15 years ago. Cady Noland, Richard Prince,Cindy Sherman, Isa Genzken, Rosemarie Trockel, Charlie Ray, Robert Gober are artists that have made a huge impact on me on all levels, emotionally, conceptually, visually.

The hardest part of a man’s wardrobe to get right is: the tie and suit. [There is] so much bad suiting out there in terms of fit, style and fabric. So, when I design, I don’t start with fit or fabric, but with meaning. The phrase “suit and tie” has a special place in our vocabulary.

One of my favorite books is: The Christiane F. book [“Zoo Station: The Story of Christiane F.”—about a teenage ****** addict]. The movie [1981] was an amazing interpretation, but the book is more striking.

I feel most proud about: simple things like being able to handle love and friendship and family. Or taking care of my dog. Of course, I do also feel proud of what I do.

I am a big fan of: furniture design, especially French or Swiss designers such as Jean Royère, Pierre Jeanneret and Jean Prouvé as well as Japanese-American designer George Nakashima. I love how beautifully designed furniture sits in history—it’s unpretentious.

The one thing I always travel with is: my sweatshirt from Vier, a skateshop in Antwerp. “Vier” is the Dutch word for four. I always take it on flights because I refuse to put on the pajamas they give to you.

I wish I could always be with: my dog, Luca, a Beauceron, who behaves like everything except a dog—more like a cat or a frog. She’s still a baby.

The one thing I wish didn’t exist is: mobile phones. I am old enough to remember how it was before them. There was something much more beautiful about not having one. We communicated in such a different way with each other.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2016 | www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses
Lucky Santos Jan 2014
I'm just laying down, trying to fathom why my mind is so cruel.
Deadly thoughts, call it Freddy Kruger.
Because people don't even know how I'm dying inside.
Just get me a coffin so maybe I can lay down a bit more.

I've been laying down all day, maybe because everybody has been stepping on me.
And I'm just too weak to get back up, well I'm just use to it.
Living in the shadow of somebody else.
Always coming in second just means that I'm nothing special.

Maybe I come off the wrong way.
Come off as nice and caring.
And I hate that.
Because nice guys don't even come in second, they always finish last.
Letting everyone ahead.
Leaving no happiness and joy for themselves.

I'm just there smiling but making no sound.
Except saying, "I'm fine, I'm just a bit tired."

I let my words say nothing at all and let my silence explain everything.
Why is it that when I don't have a smile on my face, it's the only time  you ask me if I'm okay.


I'm sorry.
That for one day, I show my real emotions and made you worry.
I'm sorry.
That I was talking to your crush because she was the only one that could make me smile at the time.
I'm sorry.
For being me.
A snake, a bad friend, and a horrible person.
I'm sorry.
For getting out of bed this morning.
Margaret Miller Sep 2013
I will never be that girl.
I will never have blonde hair, pink nails, red lips.
I don't have a cosmo in my oversized coach bag.
I bite my nails, I get bug bites, I pick at them.
My face is splotchy and I don't cover it up with make up.
I sneeze and throw up and get infections.
I fall down.
I will never have a bikini body.
I wear a bikini anyway.
I have freckles, scars, scabs, and I'm so pale that you can see every blue vein in my body.
My handwriting looks like that of a 5 year old boy.
I will never be the girl in the pink summer dress with the high heeled sandals.
My room is a mess.
My car is a mess.
My brain is a mess.
I say things like "I wonder what human tastes like."
I freak out over a home made Ouija board that I didn't even use.
Then I go watch the scariest movie I can find.
I used to sleep with a Freddy Kruger doll.
I root for the bad guy.
I'm stubborn.
I'm angry.
I'm aggressive.
I'm passive aggressive.
I'm damaged goods.
I will never be that perfect embodiment of woman.
Blonde hair, dresses, heels, white teeth, positive outlook.
I'd rather be friends with my books than actual people.

And you love me anyway.
Hally wally Apr 2013
Who do you think you are?
Digging through the rubble of history
Rearranging it to make YOU look like the innocent one

Who do you think you are?
Stringing together venomous lies
Twisting the truth to spearhead your crusade of destruction

Who do you think you are?
Playing the innocent, wronged victim
When we all know you’re the malicious instigator

Who do you think you are?
Hiding behind a honey mask
When we all know it is not sweet, but sickly

What gave you the right?
To walk into my life
To unravel the our hearts
Mould your self into it

And then pick way at the joints
With your malevolent thoughts
And walk away acting like the martyr
Acting like the innocent victim

And then worm your way back into there
Because their hearts were like Flubber
Willing malleably for your Kruger fingers
Ready to rip us all to shreds

Just who the hell do you think you are?
PaulSta SA Sep 2015
A night's a light
Who valour,conquers
Piffles from haters,
Who libel your
Life to slay your
Dreams onto shreds.

In this rough road we walking
Through,full of thorns,
Nemesis waiting in line
Like sheeps in the midst
Of wolves.

We African dreams,ascend
Alike the sun in morning of Kruger's
Nation from dawn of
South Safari.

Bricks build buildings to climb,
For our dreams as we crawl half
Onto top of the tower on snail pace,
We not holding behind,only carrying
Scriptures to heaven.they call us
Failurers,we call ourselves the Children of
God bound by faith,living
The light of Almighty
Father.

Success of Failurer,The walking
Through of the toughest.
Got Guanxi Dec 2015
On Angels Wings,

Dearly departed,
i miss the artist in you.
Soweto Springs.
Marooned in the mountains,
of stakes split socialism states.
so
high.
Liberalise my mind one final time,
before you
f l o a t into paradise.
Enchanted wonderland,
big game Zion elysium,
in the Kruger National park.
I miss you after dark;
Your kingdom come in those
happy hunting grounds.
How low could one go.
Perched upon Kilimanjaro,
table top feasts,
the
wilderbeasts,
perch upon the mountain range,
and
will eat you alive.
I miss you in the mourning.
I have no words.
None.
Johannesburg.
Where you gave birth to my world.
for my nana x
Okaybro Nov 2014
To the strangers
* You wouldn't touch me if i wasn't pregnant
* if you see me everyday try to remember what my due date is
* If you see me once a week don't take it upon yourself to tell me how fat im getting
* don't tell me what not to do. i already know
unless you have MD behind your name leave me alone

Conversation with my 7 year old brother
"You sure are getting fat mom"
"Im not getting fat the baby is growing"
"the baby sure is getting big mom"

Comments from my daughter, you look like freddy kruger

don't tell me what could happen to my baby
if theres a best case scenario and a worst case scenario and you feel the need to inform me please tell me the better one

I like that people like to feed me more
* The bus stops for me
* "It was the baby" always works
* Hard to find clothes
     - only six outfits that me right now
carpal tunnel, diabetes, swollen feet Justiational


"That won't be good for the baby"
* "not to eat too much, dear"

Not an actual poem yet! just notes
Noah and the Ark Jul 2011
My body's a prison
its trapped me behind my eyes
and all i can do is watch the world pass me by
I'm stiff and catatonic
watching reality like a TV show

My body's a cage
that's ensnared my mind
telling it what it can and cant do
always holding it back
making it friends with Dunning and Kruger

I'd burn this body and move on
but I'm not sure i like the idea of this body burning
it seems so painful to leave it behind
I think I'll hold onto it a little while longer
Andractive Mar 2015
it would probably never work because I've been through so many F words
and the only one that's stuck was fuckable and not the one that best described myself and life as a whole which I believe is fragile
you can't walk a day without bumping into an f word that f worded me and it's f word that it's common knowledge that I've been through so many f words but apparently not shared that I've spilled myself into coffee mugs and paint jars tryin to turn f words into futures and I've all ever been through so many cause I just want to be loved and **** it Freddy Kruger I just want someone to love
but F words will be ******* and and I'll move on to the next word trying to find a new sword to bleed myself out of being
cause he lied and he lied
and all I did was bend in angles set squares couldn't even triangle but in the end there's more then 2billion 6hundred and forty2 F words in language and I'll just always be the girl with too many f words and it's no shocker why I'm suffering from heart failure
Francis Oct 2016
First I start off with one jab to my own jaw,
Then I kick myself in the nuts however that is possible,
I'll rip and tear my hair out,
Rubbing soap in my eyes to add to the fun.

I twist my ******* until they are good and purple,
Getting a running start so I can jump through a door head first.
I dropkick a wooden slab with nails pointing out of it.

I'll take an razor and rapidly shave my face with no cream,
Then pouring vinegar onto the cuts,
I'll dunk my head into the toilet and pull the handle,
In order to conduct a self swirly.

I open my tackle box for fishing,
And find countless giant hooks for bass,
Sticking one through my cheek,
Then I'll flop around on the ground covered in thumb tacks.

Hydrofluoric acid baths are so heavenly,
Kissing a piranha on the mouth,
He naws on my lips as I slam my body into a mirror,
What happens next, is what I love the most.

I'll lay three boxes of legos on the ground,
Nice and flat they hold with anticipation,
I'll jump on them so gracefully,
River dancing while I stick a stun gun up my ***.

Mixing *****,
Bleach,
And Frank's hot sauce in a bucket,
I dip my feet in them after my lego dance.
The pain is so wonderfully jolting through my body,
As I jump into a pool with toasters and microwaves plugged into a power strip.

I wanna tickle the *** of a horse with a feather,
So it kicks me straight in the throat,
Then have the New York Giants run across my body In their cleats to the field,
After the game, they wipe the dirt off their cleats on my face.

I'd like to look down the barrel of a Red Ryder,
Then pull the trigger as the BB bounces off of my pupil,
I'll wash my eye out with nail polish remover,
Following that,
I'll drive a car down a hill with no breaks.

I want Freddy Kruger to play with my hair,
While Edward Scissorhands massages my back,
I'll kiss medusa with ******,
And have her snakes nibble on my ears.

I'll take a double headed cobra and floss my **** cheeks with it,
I'll tongue punch the **** box of Honey Booboo's mom,
I'll stick my head in a bee hive,
And run on a treadmill shaking it,
Until each bee stings my entire face.

I'll pull my own teeth out with pliers,
And have the same act done for my finger nails,
Rubbing my hands together covered in mineral ice,

Spray painting a target on the ground,
I'll set a ten foot ladder up next to it,
Climbing to the top of said ladder,
I jump off head first,
Landing straight on the bulls eye.

I'll swim right into a hurricane,
After I ate an entire steak dinner,
An earthquake causing the hurricane to become a tsunami,
I ride the tsunami straight into a building, where the building collapses onto my back.

I'll line up salt like *******,
And roll a dollar up snorting it continuously,
I'll take a razor blade and cut the lines off of my fingerprints and hands,
Then play the guitar like Eric Clapton.

I'd tie a rope to my genitals, then set up a stool to a ceiling fan,
Where the other end of the rope would be,
And kick the stool,
Leaving me hanging by my ******* and ***** from the ceiling.

I would do any of these sadistic,
horrific,
agonizing,
painful,
evil,
Atrocious things to myself,
Before I'd ever take you back again.
Sometimes.... things hurt less than falling for a girls spell
Ken Pepiton Jan 2019
A 'cuse me?

I lie, eh? I know the way, but let me be the one

to wonder why
would I lie,
do you
read or listen or look or stop when al you can do has been done
al read y
and stand
waiting
waithing
to catch a breath

Up ag'in the wall?

If Dunning Kruger is all they got to throw,
you know what
you know, wrong ain't evil,
lying ly real calling right wrong is something only

a left hand wishing to make some noise
could imagine
right

clap clap clap, and **** Feynman
on the bongos
backing us up with a little James Dean ditty from
the Naked City

Times change, reality may be
de or re ift

in a rich man with a satisfied mind.
(if you'd only known.) Take another question?

chew and swallow and wait,
this will get your guts grinding reasons
the frontal cortex always gets

chirality inhibitions about letting the right hand
do anything the left can't imagine.

You know how it is. we get by.
Equality of out comes as I pondered what a good person with Dunning Kruger would respond to being when outed by a *** professing peace is beyon a kuna mootada. Y'know fun to write, fun to read, or your stupid id.
Ranger Sep 2017
Baby you are the one thing..
Like freddy kruger
You are in my dreams
Like pin heads nails
Your always on my mind
Like leather face
I really don't know who I am..
..With out you

I guess what I'm saying is
I love you and even Jason machete could not cut us apart
Dr Troy Sep 2019
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Simen Krüger, Freddy Krueger—
Who's the scarier of the two?
One’s the last-lap ruthless ruler,
One’s the nightmare haunting you.

Freddy creeps through screens at midnight,
Yet Simen’s fearsome in his way:
The hell of skis is no less frightful,
Breaking mortals day by day.

Once, I ran the race for glory,
Memories shake me to the core.
The price I paid? A pound of vigor—
Take it slow, don’t chase the score.

Spare your scorn for all the athletes;
Oddballs walk among their kind.
As Freddy fades, here comes young Simen—
Tough and fearless, sharp of mind.


In Russian:

Клан Крюгеров

Симен Крюгер, Фредди Крюгер —
Кто страшнее, не поймёшь:
Первый на последнем круге,
А второй, ядрёна вошь,

В сны идёт чрез зомбоящик.
Впрочем, первый пострашней:
Лыжи ад ведь настоящий
Самым крепким из людей.

Марафон бежал когда-то.
Вспоминаю эти дни
С содроганием. Расплата —
Пуд здоровья: не гони!

Не гони ты на спортсменов —
Много чудиков средь них.
Фредди Крюгеру на смену
Симен Крюгер, крепок, лих.
Covering your hands with glue
Letting it dry, to peel it off, like a thin layer of skin
Sticking pins through the top layers of your fingertip skin, to make a wimpy Freddie Kruger
Watching hydrogen peroxide bubble on your scrape
And then, picking off the scab
Unbending a paperclip, to fashion a makeshift retainer for your teeth
Swinging your arms around in the sideways helicopter, so it can make you run faster
I'm sure I'll be adding to this in the comments.  Please add too, if you can think of anything
J J Dec 2019
Reality
was made to be
               deformed.        


I had a dream where Freddy Kruger called me hot
And I never knew whether to be flattered or offended.
I slapped him, but I don't recall my intention in doing so.

To live life in creaky,
jaunty movement;
We are all just flashes
awkwardly colliding.

Walking up the river clyde
Early morning,I believed I
Had just discovered how ghosts
Smell: like ants, funnily enough.


Life's a funny miracle,
I thought I had it budded
To my palms -- but it unravels
Uglier, more amess by the year.
Aiyo ******* to ****** ain't **** I'm cold legit
My bullets spit then split all of ya  ligaments
Too legit too quit no **** we never sell out to corporates
And you ******* can ******* slicker than rick
Living in a young world it's just me and my girl
**** the pearls my rhymes swirl leave ya mental in a curl
That's the way it goes eating ya earlobes
With lyrical acid **** the finest hoes of Aztec
Check my tech that's get mad wet once the heats ejects
Fools sending me their threats but I'll always jet
Across the borders cookin' up the hottest orders
None could ignore tha coldest brother laid like a torah
Too ******* feelin' like Shakur bring chaos more than Baltimore
Who wanna battle more
I'll leave ya head ******* with mad blood on the floor
Black ceaser not a pleaser to the weakest rhyme
Beatin' all of my opponents with just sixteen lines


Laying bars ya won't forget ahhh **** raw tactics
It's another hit as Makin' my way to the classics
Black magic adversaries get covered in plastic
Families shedding tears cuz I invoke fear
Then appear in ya nightmare Kruger pioneer
Burn alot o heat on my street its a pistol to ya melon
Where life and the edge of death meets stiffin' ya feet
Sweep out competition til it's completely obsolete
Sound asleep as the night skies weap my conscious leaps
Into my worried thoughts until a brought
Into the universal patterns laid rings more than Saturn
Around my mental I'm close to the Christ celestial
Sit back as I pound you with the
Lyrical vessel
Stress you til you in the ground lowered for proper burial

— The End —