I'd like to be the one
to say what you wanted
needed
longed to hear
and then say it again
to prove it was right
to make you smile
to make you mine

I'd like to be the one
to take you out
around the world
spin you round
upside down
and make you shake
to take a chance
to make a choice
to make you mine


I'd like to be the one
to tie you down
with a picket fence
2.3 kids
crippling mortgage
and a desire for more
to take you down
to make you cry
and curse being mine

But seriously folks...

i am superficial
insignificant
awkward
sarcastic.

i am slighted
discontinued
seeping
discontent.

i am recovering from realization.

i'm not the one
nor the only.
i am ugly
and jealous.

he dangles that carrot in front of my horse.

don't touch me, your hands feel like salad tongs

Would it not be great to get
something for nothing?
oh! but, life is not that way at all!
people expect a return for their efforts,
be it,
love,
passion,
play,
work,
or, a knock at the door,
reciprocity rules the day.

©2004 AtonalFreak

The Atonal Express left the tonal world behind...
Atonalexpress

It's fever, it's a break in your neck
It's never the selected track,
that was playing on your stereo

What goes on the outside messed up my feelings
Steered on the inside out, I need a landrover.. that brings
my honest weeping, but now i'm stuck




Oh... that was crap... ah well.. tried it..

Andy I'm late, Andy please help me. I never get the silverscreen. I'm not exactly your galleryteen

plunge
deep into my swimming pool
my nature lake hot lagoon
count bugs in the sticky air
(blinking airplane disappointment)
lick flowers and sip each other
but you like absinthe
and i only hope
you can be satisifed here

don't touch me, your hands feel like salad tongs

sucking on cigarette lips
feeding me lines to nourish insecurities
your haughty mannerisms
won't allow me in good conscious to
run around naked
shit in the woods
callous my feet
get dirty.

needing your approval
plucks the fruit from my tree
leaving my branches bare
and i shiver with bitterness
only because it's not so easy for me.

and there you sit
feigning righteousness
coolness
beautiful free unwantingness
but you can't even
remember my name
and you won't even use
both sides of the paper.

don't touch me, your hands feel like salad tongs

Man, why is beatled's poetry always so good?

Next time somebody calls you a name, say, "That's not what your dad says," or simply, "I had sex with your dad." At first it might seem weird, and your friends may be horrified, but they'll grow to see the humor in it.
--Glitterbot

you hot burning tan freckled constellation skin
curling swirl tufts of blond ambitious flow
lean against so smooth pressing earthy fabrics
myriad texture amazing sexy nonchalantness
dripping with a smile bearing
white teeth and a fine contrasting deep black gap

me sinuous small compacted boat
swimming pool splashing timid small talk
lean also againt that brown gold buttery fiber
pale moony and reticently unacquainted
of that spongy hot pink vastness of your
lizard-climb-high peachy intellect

we standing liquid cool blue green
steamy planty jungle fluidity from lips into matter
pouring out of deep penetratinf orifices
soaking into wet cerebral combat from
screaming amber secretions of
thick and puncturing coconut milk.

don't touch me, your hands feel like salad tongs

why are you so screwed up? you just smash my impeccable timing to pieces and i look like a fool, and yes, i may be that one that doth know he is. or perhaps not, because of that strange bee-fruit flying down from that cool green weeping tree. it cries and i hug it so it will feel better. and then you cry and i can't hug you because i'm not sure that i can make anything better for you. you with the summer water hot bliss attitude, "everything is okay, don't touch me or my pride will shatter like i ruined your timing." and so i stay away distancing myself so far as i can go and eventually run into warm tan pleasantly squishing squeezing liberalness that bites into apples as if they truly were faces and he's afraid of hurting them. so we melt in and out and on top of one another oozing with that digustingly beautiful wet happiness, like the kind that makes you want to just die and live forever swimming in the moist dirt with the earthworms and the shiny black and red beetle crawling around in the soft brownness and it's at that point that you realize you have nothing to complain about, and if there is, it doen't matter, it's so insignificant, you just can't because everything, you now know, is really alright and the drowning glittering earth is nothing but a bunch of black and red beetles shining and crawing in some vast deep pile of earth packed tightly and securely and immensly into a ball, and you creep with those earthworms and lick the salty crispness of the brown, happy and just alright.







don't touch me, your hands feel like salad tongs

There's...
My...
Face...

What are you doing with that hammer?
Why can't you be a nice elephant?
There are people
Who don't know you
It's better
You know it's better that way.

I'm a DUMBASS!