Drawings and stuff

Just some things I've drawn/ painted these past few weeks.  The semester just ended so I'll be able to post more often.  Also I need to get a job.  I'm not doing well at school, so I need to get my life together some other way.  I got a C in a class I thought I was going to get a B in and I failed a class I knew I was going to fail. Please enjoy these drawings and this playlist.  Drawing Songs Sincerely, Johanna

Swag Hag Poem

My throat’s all scratched from this screaming I’ve done
My diaphragm is all rubbery from these animal calls
But I carry on until you answer my distresses

O Captain, o Captain! Take me away from these generic hoes
I’m too swag for this ghetto
These bitches be hatin’ but you were always mine for the takin’

So take me now—like I did you…
Please. We’re friends. We’ve partied together and cried together.
I even bought you taco bell.

Take me away on your disco stick because
 This club can’t handle me and my electric sex pants

What good is your love when just our chakras touch…
I need your grasp, I need your smell…and your sexy, dramatic stare

Captain, my Captain, you may not be fly like Kanye
And I may not be glam like Beyoncé,
But this club can’t handle us right now

this poem is for my poetry class. please tell me how I can make it better :)

a free verse for my poetry class

It was Yevgeny
I woke up in your dream
At first I didn’t really mind
just swimming in your sound
kissing your freckled heArt
dancing through your museum of memories

Is the DANGER talking to me again?
Don’t listen to it, don’t listen to it...

the DANGER told me to suck the gun
to melt the bullet with my bones

I try to look at you to bring me back
but sanity is already fed up with my bull
doesn’t want me to return to the norm

These dented sunglasses distorts my view of you

Efforts and sweat to stay bland, I’ve failed
I’m the most unique piece of crap  I know
Woop dee freaking doo

the DANGER laughs at my crazy
the DANGER becomes my crazy
I AM THE DANGER

I am the murder of this elegant museum
this isn’t paint on my palms
this isn’t remorse in my eyes

I see you in the crevice of the heArt

Nooo!  Nooo! My innocence cries as my inner bitch dies
I’m sorry, nooo

But it wasn’t you dammit
it was freaking Yevgeny



This poem is for my poetry class.  Please comment for any suggestions.  :)

"Bageled" An original poem

Take advantage of my kindness
Make me feel important tonight
Leave me weak in the morning

leave me in the morning
Because I’m so fucking boring

Take my butter and jelly
and my happiness
my stars, my moon
my dreams, my sorrows
Take everything I am

Because I’m kind
And weak
I reek of desperation

I’m poetically pathetic
just words, no fighting

A white flag flaps halfway
Saluting my honesty

I wrote this for my poetry class. Tell me what I can fix.

It needs love- a poem by me

It needs love

Rock star from another dimension

Trapped inside a clown costume

Tall and dark and broken but

He’s been painted bright and jolly

But the make-up can’t cover his woe

Or his battle wounds

He needs something beautiful

He needs something great

Something he doesn’t know

He just stares at the big Ferris and

Waits for something—anything to lighten his darkness

Breathing in the carnival lights, exhaling the nicotine

Then he noticed her

Gentle and mature…beautifully weird

So he followed her to see what she’s about

To understand her soft gaze and her sweet way

To taste her soul and feel her beauty

He wanted her

He needed her

 

my tale about the Psycho’s secondhand tale (a poem)

The Psycho told it with drollness…I heard it like this:

The 5000 children were waiting before sunrise

Each brought three items for the Creep to sign

They love him—he is their passion, their hero

They love his genius and style

To them he is a breathing masterpiece

They praise the darkness that he brings into the atmosphere

And get high off his eerie aura

The Creep was tired but willing

His Organizer could see the stress shine off him and gently she rubbed the Creep with ice

Within the first half hour his eyes were wilting, his frown was turning to stone

“My fingers are bleeding,” he mumbled as he scribbled a child’s copy of his misery

“Can you get me some bandages?” he asked his Organizer

“Wait! No!” a kid protested. “Don’t bandage him until he bleeds on my book!”

Every child in line heard this and a chorus of 5000 cried, “Not fair! If the Creep bleeds on his book he has to bleed on my book!”

WTF is what went through his Organizer’s mind

Creep’s jaw fell

She couldn’t believe this poet didn’t know what to say—he was caught off guard

“They’re your fans,” she said

He spread blood on each of those kids’ three things

He was very sustainable with his blood, deepening each wound before cutting a new one

…The Psycho told this story with pleasure and wit

The audience laughed, as if it were the Psycho who had to cut his fingers for 5000 kids

Our Love- A poem

You standout and I just standoff
In this brainwashed institute
Of love, where everyone is trying too hard to be cute
And funny, and everyone is acting like someone they're not
But we're too radical to get caught
In their square ways and blues
Cause we're too young to worry or watch the news
We're too busy partying hard and drowning in punk rock
Our love is beautifully genuine, our love is pretty rare
As others try to be perfect and play it safe
We're already French kissing at the church fair
The nuns are praying for us and our basket case
Love, oh just let them glare
You and I are just going through a faze