Tag Archives: wtf?

Bad Poetry Friday

This whole poem is one giant WTF

 

Mike #2 (2001)

The biggest screw up I ever

screwed once told me

something I’d never understand

occasionally he’s speak of

his turbulent times

Hell, we’ve all been there

some of us just keep

repeating the cycle

mixing the whites with a pair

of red socks

and everything turns piss-colored pink

in those diluted moments

I contemplate returning to old habits

and bite my tongue so hard I swallow it whole

like the way he engulfed me with silence

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Choose Your Own Adventure: Revision Edition

You are midway through a rewrite of your novel, one that you and your agent wants turned around fast due to the nature of the market and the timeliness of the piece.

During your rewrite will you

a) throw out your back after sitting on a yoga ball for way too many hours and from doing hot yoga five days in a row

b) have to replace most of your sewer line after a 60+ year old pipe breaks and the backup causes a flood of sewer water in your basement which also houses your revision cave

c) both

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I spy in this 7ft hole a root and a broken clay sewer pipe

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This old spoon better be worth a million dollars to pay for this mess

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My beautiful front yard is now a death trap. Good thing I procrastinated on Spring gardening this year.

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Bad Poetry Friday

Fallen Angels 2/17/1998

Fallen angel

broken halo

shattered pieces

at my door

you tried to save me

take me away from my silent war

but I fight my own battles

carry my heart in armor

scared from falling from my pedastool

into the deep waters of my soul

I wrestle with emotion

I don’t understand my devotion to perfection

I got lost off the path

to my freedom

on a road bound to tomorrow

stopped to pick wildflowers

and remember my days

before my pain

looking back I’m stronger

I’ve gained knowledge

amd I’ll follow the path back home

Notes:

WtF? Apparently I was a little obsessed with angels. 

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Bad Poetry Friday

Reality 2/16/1998

You were never the angel

I swore I saw

just a regular mirage

you are human

so now I hear

I guess I used you to comfort my fears

I was mistaken by my eyes

I guess I believe in my lies

I still love you

and perhaps always will

even if you aren’t a saint

I still believe in your angelic ways

think of our happiness

that lasted seven days

and although you live four states away

I would drive to you in a heart beat

I would be the eternal keeper of your soul

Given the angels

I love you best

 

Notes:

I think I just threw up in my mouth. This might be my worst yet.

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Bad Poetry Friday

A Remembrance (2/7/1998)

I remember that summer you took my breath away

I kept my feelings pent up inside

until I saw you today

You brought back a flood of memories

of laughter and love

music and dreams

Funny how a heart doesn’t let go of

a soul it used to know

ad seeing second time around

can make your soul bleed

I never knew I missed you

I kept my heart locked away

You are taken

and I will not be forsaken

but I will love you for eternity

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Bad Poetry Friday

Untitled (7/19/00)

Like an Anne Sexton poem

a Dar Williams song lyric

I can’t get you out of my head

“My lover returning to his wife”

I can’t let go of you

I’m Cinderella when I’m with you

you’re my prince

Your rich kiss tastes better than rain

I am on fire as you dance in my mind

I’d rather be your whore than just a friend

You know the games I play

 

 

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Mortification Monday

In honor of the holidays, here’s an extra long entry in which I detail a slow dance with a boy, Forrest Gump, and how much I love middle school.  Merry Christmas!

Saturday, June 3rd, 1995

Dear Diary,

Before I go into school and the dance and my weekend. I’d like to share something- a phrase: “Your destiny is determined by your future. Our future beholds an unknown life.” As I was cleaning my room I came upon some seashells I could not bear to throw away. As I studied them I realized that each seashell is different. It tells a unique story. It has traveled from a different place. It’s mate or other half, lost at sea or in the sand. I got a letter from Valerie yesterday. I cannot believe we’re going to camp the same week. It’s been raining an awful lot. Yesterday in school the power went out for 2 1/2 hours. I left in 6th.

The 8th grade dance was last night. I didn’t go with anyone. But I did dance with someone. His name was Dwayne Carter. He and I are friends. I wanted to dance with him so I told Tiffany. She told him and then he told me he didn’t want to dance with me. Which was a lie. But as you can see we did dance. I don;t know what song, but I do know that he asked me dance. And we danced close. So close that if we were any closer it would look like we were having sex. His hands were warm and he had them just above my butt. He is my height so it made dancing easier. I rested my chin on his shoulder because that was the only place I could have it. I don’t think I really like him but I don’t know. I have mixed up feelings.

After the dance I spent the night at Jennifer’s house. I had fun. Her sister loves me as in she wouldn’t leave me alone. Jenn and I talked until 1 a.m. She taught me how to play pool and we read magazines. We also looked at yearbooks. We got ours Thursday, They’re cool. Jenn, Mom, and I saw Forrest Gump. It was so sad. I cried. I learned that Papa Dan, mom’s dad, fought in  the Vietnam War. He is depressed about what happened.

I am babysitting Travis S. I am also watching the All Children’s Hospital telethon. Even though I am tired I want to write. I cannot wait until I have a family of my own and my own house and job. I don’t want to leave 8th grade. I’ll miss all my friends like Vanessa and Rebecca and Melissa. I’ll miss my teachers, my locker, my teachers, my homework, ans my middle school. I love my life.

Love, Danielle

Notes:

WTF was up with that phrase I began my entry with? It makes no sense.

Also, this might be the funniest and honest diary entry I’ve ever written.

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Bad Poetry Friday

Bruised Words (c. 2/10/1998)

Drink your coffee

like you’re the last man on earth

smoke your cigarettes

like you’re giving birth

nicotine and coffee

destroy you slowly

and I turn on the TV

to another scandal

beating in the street

can’t drown you out

yelling obscenities at my heart

 

Notes: There are so many things wrong with this. I just can’t. I’m too busy laugh-crying over here.

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Bad Poetry Friday

This poem is ridiculously short.

Untitled 2/11/1998

The cracks on

the wall

distract me from

the memory

of sadness

 

My life was

complete

when I cried

happy tears

 

Notes: WTF is up with line breaks?

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Bad Poetry Friday

Brian’s Portrait (c. 1998)

If I had to paint your face

My fingertips would be the brushes

I’d start with your jawline

with four-o-clock shadow

And move to the arc of your smile

Trace soft lips stretching upward

I would not forget your dimples

Your strong nose

That has been broken countless times

Or your liquid eyes

Reminding me of my morning tea

Before the milk

And your blonde lashes that frame those brown pools of intensity

Then I would paint your smooth eyebrows

Meeting with your broad forehead

Your shaved head with three weeks growth

Would be last

Since I cannot recreate the softness of a baby duck.

Notes:

You can stop laugh-crying now. It’s okay. Now you can see why I never sold my adult romance novel about the lawyer and the librarian.

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