Hello. I'm new to this board. I've been reading some of these poems and just felt like saying "They're phat!!!". I've been laying down my own poems on open mic's lately and must say that people who share themselves like ya's inspire me. Most of my poems are copywritten, not that I care, but most of them are anyway. After reading Angelights phat poem, I felt like sharing this brief poem dedicated to my x.
Your passion felt like gasoline in my jeans that wouldn't come clean no matter how many times I scrubbed them...or so it seamed
Like a dormant firefly tossed in the wind, you lit my ass up just to see flames erupt
Using your imagination, depicting shapes from my fed-up manifestations, the glowing amber of my shedding realization that, your love was like gasoline in my jeans that wouldn't come clean no matter how many times I scrubbed them...or so it seamed
Using my head as the poor-mans Hollywood, you stamped your essence, not in cement, but on a pile of horseshit...the poor mans Hollywood
As I was the most famous within your cubicle of lust, such was my privilege, a rotted landing pad for your tired wings.
A bowl of stain remover to wipe away your rust
I should have dumped you for all these things
It wasn't co-dependency
It was just
Your touch
It was like gasoline in my jeans that wouldn't come clean no matter how many times I scrubbed them...or so it seamed
And so I tried to run but like hot dogs in buns I was surrounded on both sides
My ingredients founded on a bunch of lies, that, when I looked in your eyes
You weren't gonna bite
Yet here I am
Transformed back where I begun
Pieces of tissue wiping me off your rectum
The unwanted portion, a true-love-abortion
Being swallowed by your toilet
But hey, no hard feelings
I won't stop believing because your love washed clean
And I, like plankton riding sewage boughs
Tumbling within misty colored streams
I'm not Martin Luther but I still have a dream
That the morning crust in my eyes would stop expanding
That the fists on my heart won't stop me from expressing
The realistic elaboration's of my soul
Intricacies you thought were fictitious
Realities you thought were fantasies
Fantasies you will never again know...Saint!!!
[This message has been edited by Saint (edited 03 May 2000).]
Your passion felt like gasoline in my jeans that wouldn't come clean no matter how many times I scrubbed them...or so it seamed
Like a dormant firefly tossed in the wind, you lit my ass up just to see flames erupt
Using your imagination, depicting shapes from my fed-up manifestations, the glowing amber of my shedding realization that, your love was like gasoline in my jeans that wouldn't come clean no matter how many times I scrubbed them...or so it seamed
Using my head as the poor-mans Hollywood, you stamped your essence, not in cement, but on a pile of horseshit...the poor mans Hollywood
As I was the most famous within your cubicle of lust, such was my privilege, a rotted landing pad for your tired wings.
A bowl of stain remover to wipe away your rust
I should have dumped you for all these things
It wasn't co-dependency
It was just
Your touch
It was like gasoline in my jeans that wouldn't come clean no matter how many times I scrubbed them...or so it seamed
And so I tried to run but like hot dogs in buns I was surrounded on both sides
My ingredients founded on a bunch of lies, that, when I looked in your eyes
You weren't gonna bite
Yet here I am
Transformed back where I begun
Pieces of tissue wiping me off your rectum
The unwanted portion, a true-love-abortion
Being swallowed by your toilet
But hey, no hard feelings
I won't stop believing because your love washed clean
And I, like plankton riding sewage boughs
Tumbling within misty colored streams
I'm not Martin Luther but I still have a dream
That the morning crust in my eyes would stop expanding
That the fists on my heart won't stop me from expressing
The realistic elaboration's of my soul
Intricacies you thought were fictitious
Realities you thought were fantasies
Fantasies you will never again know...Saint!!!
[This message has been edited by Saint (edited 03 May 2000).]
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