honestly,
idk what im doing
im not a poet
nor a genius...
SIKE
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL
Gotcha!!!!!!!!!
anyways
drumroll please.
...
...
hello?
y'know what?
forget the drumroll...
Fredrick Mitchell's brand new poem...
IDFK
i, don't know...
where to go.
i, forgot,
my way home.
i worked hard, and my brain is mush,
guess i'll black out and faint in a bush.
today was the last day 'til my quota.
my deadline is due,
to bring my poem to you!
i'm tired, and forgot
how to spell the word shew
the thing you put on your foot.
i found my way home,
using google maps
this stupid siri voice, is giving me the craps,
my day has been ruined,
and my day is soon end,
just listen to this voice
"turn down at the bend."
it thinks im driving,
im walking...
this deadpan poem
is getting boring.
and like an old man, im already snoring
i sleepily unlock my door...
and...
my key broke.
FOR FU-
...
ahem,
im too tired for this...
*beep, beep! beep, beep!*
"hey, Frank... can i go to your place. my key broke... again."
...
"yes, i know its the middle of the night."
...
"and i know your on a date."
...
"i've got a key to your house. bye!"
screw my life.
( To T.S.E.)
So the world ends with a whimper
From the prospect of your time
Nowadays it’s not that simple
Whimper trades are in decline
The Bang Party sales are soaring
Over wildest expectations
Whimperers turn down the moaning
No one seems to pay attention
But the Bangers always lose
To the “couldn’t care less”
When there’s nothing left to booze
The Careless Party needs some gas
So they're off to buy again
More of wine and smoking stuff
If the world comes to an end
It will be a drunken laugh.
Uraeal: "The symposium has brought forth the headless horseman, most metaphorically driven to sundown by the celestial charade."
Helel: "Is oft the token be, curse, cursed, or has our sullied names been frothing clean in the sea, like a mind's eye seeing through another portal in the hemisphere?"
Aurora: "I claim lightly like wind, so let's unwind the orchard from that place of plenty, shooting stars strike like platform shoes for nimble fey dancers."
Lucifer: " I might soon turn down the star, and unfold more atramentous ink from which spillage is at once appreciated and birch, prying eyes see far in the dark for some."
The forbidden one: *enters from the left, and softly cascades the waters of newer rivers over the timbers and planks*
---End of act I---
Obsession is blood-kin to poison,
Beneath the beautiful cloisonné
Simmers the need to possess
Even as she sighs regret,
Savoring the movement of roulette~
Spin the wheel; yes or no,
Insert the bullet he won’t know,
Or does he see before too late:
Never turn down Vampire’s date!
Mistakes of our past are packaged ballads
recorded on an eight track cassette
constantly rewinding itself track after track
haunting us with its infinite instrumentals
of despair,oppression, and depression
No matter how many times
we turn down our audio Pandora Box
the mixed tapes of our mistakes never cease
to record the lyrics of those ballads
composed and sung in those
bitter, powerful , rhythmic
demonic voices
of Lucifer, the front man
and his backup band of dark spirits
endlessly mocking and taunting us
of our past afflictions and transgressions
with their raging, high tempo staccato tracks
like fiery arrows and poisonous snakes
piercing through every fiber of our mortal souls
Losing the battle,
A mind full of rattle,
Yet there's no way out.
Half full of ambition,
Half seeking the vision,
Still, somehow aligned.
Thoughts stir in a pot,
While I sit in the same spot,
Can you turn down the heat? It's starting to burn.
One side aims to be superior,
The other thinks she's inferior,
Please, stop the contrast.
I can't keep up, I'm not that fast.
One half wants to be the best,
The other just craves rest,
Why must there be two hemispheres?
How can a child so calm, so wise,
Grow into chaos, truth in disguise?
The change was unforeseen,
As is the path of this young teen.
Singing but not enjoying,
Multiple keys I'm employing,
My voice subject to cracking,
My range just isn't tracking!
"Joyful noise" a misnomer,
Unsettled noise of a roamer,
Turn down my volume a lot!
My contribution is naught.
Maybe no one noticed me...
I'd like to duck out quickly,
But onward with the rejoicing,
But now I'm not really voicing.
Self-consciousness takes over,
What I need is a voice-over.
Or, maybe that built-in playback?
Yeah, that inaudible soundtrack!
Playing flawless in my head,
The singing is Spirit-led.
I can hit any and all notes,
And match any and all throats!
Bocelli? Chuck Berry? Sure!
Such rejoicing I can endure.
I'll just move my silent lips,
And Voila! A playback eclipse!
"Lord, I hope you're OK with that?
My singing keeps falling flat!
The Spirit can sing with the best,
Through playback, my spirit finds rest!"
Written By: D. Collins 9/20/25
A kid from Compton has a story to tell.
On how to come up from the bowls of Hell.
He can explain it because he got it firsthand.
Extension cord whippings from less than a man.
A kid from Compton who grew into old age.
Somehow learned how to turn down the rage.
A kid before the internet where abuse is quickly revealed.
Long before the mental scars that'll probably never heal.
I'm just a kid from Compton, like any other kid.
Just had to take a different route on getting here.
But yet, here I am, still standing upright.
Maybe I was destined to live that kind of life.
I want to hold onto it
as if it were my last gift from you.
It's special,
though it was not meant to serve me.
I wanted you to choose me,
to show me I was enough.
Being enough that was all I could think about when I stared at you.
In your company, I could never fully enjoy-
thoughts flooding me like a hot pan of boiling water, bubbling and spitting,
refusing to be ignored.
The sizzle and pop-
they sting,
they burn.
I put myself back there,
just to feel it once more.
You see, I do have the power
only I can turn down the heat.
But once I do,
I will have to let you go,
say farewell.
You've been gone a while now,
and I am nothing but a fragment of your memory, a decent echo in a distant life.
Yet, you are still here
in my dreams,
in my thoughts
forcing my eyes shut
to catch a glimpse of you and me once more, feeding the fire I keep alight.
Something’s rumbling inside me
pushing, kicking
shoving, shouting
And it won’t let me go, oh no
It just won’t let me go…
I should consider
Why I was selected for this
But I never do
I accept it as if it
were free airline tickets
Something not to turn down
Something to cash in
Oh yeah, almost forgot
The topic is writing
Yes, writing
Its grip on me
is what sets me free
Isn't it ironic?
You sat on my right side when we first met
And you exited my life making a left turn down my street
It was my right hand that comforted you in the beginning
And it was my left hand that tore off something that was supposed to be permanent in the end
How the directions changed as we danced together
Entering on the right leaving on my left
Poetic almost
How my right hand wrote stanzas about you
While my left hand is cursed to remember the words I never got to write
How it wiped away your tears
How both hands would wrap around your waist holding you close
Now we're on opposite sides of the compass
Never to be close to each other again
While I set off in my own direction
My hands itch to write your name once again
But I resist
For that left turn signal is still etched into my mind
Just as all our memories are
But that is all they are
Memories of the past
All I can do now is move onto my own path
And live with the empty space of where someone used to be.
I found myself in a store, you see.
A sign on a box said, "Buy This for Free!"
I thought it so strange, I must confess,
when I saw the label: "EMPTINESS".
Never was I one to turn down a deal,
so, I took it home - my goodness what a steal.
I opened it up and found...nothing there?
In disbelief, I could only stare.
I thought to myself, I think I'll pour it on
some cereal, and wow, it was gone.
Next, I poured it on my family and friends.
I never thought they would meet such ends.
So I emptied the box, which was then full,
and I'm telling you the truth - this ain't no bull.
My family and friends all came back to me,
and my life has returned to normalcy.
The moral of this story might not be clear.
It's simply that if what is not can appear,
what you have, can then soon be gone.
Now, isn't that something to think upon?
I am the rose the night can’t drown,?
A bloom that leans when skies turn down.?
A myriad stars above me glow,?
While serpentine winds around me blow.
The lunar hush, it knows my name,?
A girl of light, a heart of flame.?
Soft, but built of root and thorn,?
A thousand times, I’ve been reborn.
One day, they’ll see what hides in me,?
A queen, unclaimed, yet meant to be.
The sun sinks slow when dreaded dark overflows
giving mere mortals moments to reflect
all that passes in the day these moments take away
and each influence intrinsically inspect
we have known of old the conflict we are told
is the battle between bad and good
what is right, what is wrong, we must make morals strong
gain empathy, love, and brotherhood
if we could just see with our eyes set free,
only hear when wind whispers silent songs
there might be a better you, maybe a kinder me
in the wisdom of these quiet sing-alongs
a mother bird feeds her babies and I hear the words
rhythmic refrains ringing peace into my heart
'His eye is on the sparrows’,and more of you He knows
comfort “every little thing is gonna be all right’ emparts
Turn down the power.. if just for an hour...
sit still and hear nature sing
The parties were in full swing.
The doorbell rang, yet no one knew it.
In that instant, everything changed for the party guests.
Speak softly, lean in closer, and turn down the volume.
A sudden death—another soul has taken its last breath.
Did he pass the test? Sniffing cocaine, he choked,
Dust scattering across his desk.
What a mess!
This was his life; he surrendered to cocaine—
Cocaine was his guilty pleasure.
Have you ever witnessed their souls diving into the sea?
It's too late for cleansing.
The drip, drip, drip of blood dissolves into the sea.
This evokes a different philosophy—
The devil’s philosophy.
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