aprilhapnerabbott - Hello Poetry

He had me in a position, One I was unable to refuse... A twitch to the left; A pulse on the right-- He's got me. Locked in... with those eyes. Those moments... Unable to be spoken The air quiets. The silence climbs through my skin and from with I.... Let him see the other side The point and moment where one side cannot do anything but beg. To be let loose. Set free, Suddenly. To let it rise right in and take me, Shake me to my core... Leaving me wanting. Yearning. Needing. Pleading and begging... There is no care left unaccounted for -- There has been a bit of memory ...? Left on the floor. Yet motionless is an understatement... When that man makes me beg for the other side to take ahold of me To run free. Emotional enlistment This... ...THIS.... is all I need To feel that sting That twitch... the pulse. All of this one moment. One breath-- A whisper of a shadow on the left The hums of the air going right around me These... Shivers I beg. I plead-- Don't know how this man... Understands. Me. This need. This desire he set free! To be needing and begging. (Deep from within) All of the flooding the emotional waves that-- Crash amongst all the sands, jettys, and the dunes... All in the dreams. These moments aren't mere memories. I'm begging Pleading Let me in. I want that desire That one hidden within That animal you decide to show Those hands the know every inch... Of skin I possess. The best little moment to let.... It all begin-- yet stop just as sudden. On edge I wait for release... Begging for us to be free.

0

Jun 17, 2020

Jun 17, 2020 at 10:29 PM UTC

Begging

He had me in a position, One I was unable to refuse... A twitch to the left; A pulse on the right-- He's got me. Locked in... with those eyes. Those moments... Unable to be spoken The air quiets. The silence climbs through my skin and from with I.... Let him see the other side The point and moment where one side cannot do anything but beg. To be let loose. Set free, Suddenly. To let it rise right in and take me, Shake me to my core... Leaving me wanting. Yearning. Needing. Pleading and begging... There is no care left unaccounted for -- There has been a bit of memory ...? Left on the floor. Yet motionless is an understatement... When that man makes me beg for the other side to take ahold of me To run free. Emotional enlistment This... ...THIS.... is all I need To feel that sting That twitch... the pulse. All of this one moment. One breath-- A whisper of a shadow on the left The hums of the air going right around me These... Shivers I beg. I plead-- Don't know how this man... Understands. Me. This need. This desire he set free! To be needing and begging. (Deep from within) All of the flooding the emotional waves that-- Crash amongst all the sands, jettys, and the dunes... All in the dreams. These moments aren't mere memories. I'm begging Pleading Let me in. I want that desire That one hidden within That animal you decide to show Those hands the know every inch... Of skin I possess. The best little moment to let.... It all begin-- yet stop just as sudden. On edge I wait for release... Begging for us to be free.

55

I lay here watching Which layers are spinning... And what direction? My mind dissects the clouds Like a fog being burned by sunlight... During the late morning. This pattern above me Rather pleasing... yet confusing... I'm on the right, I find it yielding left... There's designs I can't name Animals I can make... Yet they all run away as I move And the clouds spin trails... Watching them evolve Like a lifelong time lapse. The drawn up moisture.... The streams of steam condensed... Swirled and forged into cotton-like pillows of uncertainty. The colors are the Indicators of moods The light and mysterious White and normal Green and envious of the oncoming destruction Black and gray depicting ends of sunshine filled days... The life underneath grows, quivers, and in series of decays... Some offer condensed clouds as flavored swirls in mugs... But I rather watch the ones that love Carrying wind and rain... Have swirls of their own and a Name. Though subject of objections The will of nature has a forge... To churn this stream of water around Like spun sugars of cotton candy. Much like a carnival, life is a surprise An unyielding wild ride. Directions are unclear If i will be here I have watched the life of The swirl in this giant mug Smack the coastlines with giant hugs... Some rough love... Though oddity Have you seen what clouds can do When spun around oak trees?

0

Jul 18, 2018

Jul 18, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC

Hurricanes

I lay here watching Which layers are spinning... And what direction? My mind dissects the clouds Like a fog being burned by sunlight... During the late morning. This pattern above me Rather pleasing... yet confusing... I'm on the right, I find it yielding left... There's designs I can't name Animals I can make... Yet they all run away as I move And the clouds spin trails... Watching them evolve Like a lifelong time lapse. The drawn up moisture.... The streams of steam condensed... Swirled and forged into cotton-like pillows of uncertainty. The colors are the Indicators of moods The light and mysterious White and normal Green and envious of the oncoming destruction Black and gray depicting ends of sunshine filled days... The life underneath grows, quivers, and in series of decays... Some offer condensed clouds as flavored swirls in mugs... But I rather watch the ones that love Carrying wind and rain... Have swirls of their own and a Name. Though subject of objections The will of nature has a forge... To churn this stream of water around Like spun sugars of cotton candy. Much like a carnival, life is a surprise An unyielding wild ride. Directions are unclear If i will be here I have watched the life of The swirl in this giant mug Smack the coastlines with giant hugs... Some rough love... Though oddity Have you seen what clouds can do When spun around oak trees?

44

There are days where you and I Can't quite seem eye to eye There are days where I would wish That there was something better than this Now you see, I hope Awhile, I have been afloat Do You see what this does to me? Nights pass by where I wait for simple things, Though the words never come out right You say the only thing you have left us to die, I have seen proof Otherwise.... There are days where you and I Can't quite seem eye to eye Take a moment and wonder why You have often seen tears in my eyes.

0

Jul 14, 2018

Jul 14, 2018 at 11:08 AM UTC

Plelude of an Arguement

There are days where you and I Can't quite seem eye to eye There are days where I would wish That there was something better than this Now you see, I hope Awhile, I have been afloat Do You see what this does to me? Nights pass by where I wait for simple things, Though the words never come out right You say the only thing you have left us to die, I have seen proof Otherwise.... There are days where you and I Can't quite seem eye to eye Take a moment and wonder why You have often seen tears in my eyes.

15

the morning is never the same, wake up--look at the clock, Now looking left How the luck ive gotten myself into a long wished and winded, hope evaporating with the fog.. I THOUGHT i knew. heart was beaten black to blue, Given life because of you. Heart beat, yet faint. a desire to have the wish refrain... The dream Begins again. To the right, that clock. The annoying sounds of Daybreak, A choice to make. Do I return? Back into the realm of Dreams? Where everything goes planned, imagined, and according to me? Do I move on? Stake my claim for the day? Sit and make way for things... Looking around now.... Have I given up? Have I become complacent, compliant, or cordial? What way should I be? The way I wake... I declare A familiar touch of the time Memory of shine.. Through glass... watching the dust It's a moment to feel... As I wake.

0

Jul 13, 2018

Jul 13, 2018 at 6:27 AM UTC

As I Wake

the morning is never the same, wake up--look at the clock, Now looking left How the luck ive gotten myself into a long wished and winded, hope evaporating with the fog.. I THOUGHT i knew. heart was beaten black to blue, Given life because of you. Heart beat, yet faint. a desire to have the wish refrain... The dream Begins again. To the right, that clock. The annoying sounds of Daybreak, A choice to make. Do I return? Back into the realm of Dreams? Where everything goes planned, imagined, and according to me? Do I move on? Stake my claim for the day? Sit and make way for things... Looking around now.... Have I given up? Have I become complacent, compliant, or cordial? What way should I be? The way I wake... I declare A familiar touch of the time Memory of shine.. Through glass... watching the dust It's a moment to feel... As I wake.

31

Every move calculated. Im trying to know. My math is wrong, or a miscalculation has made another variable. Another story, another stitch in the tapestry I can't find the answer. Though I was wondering if I was on the right lead. The dead end is deafening. I can only watch as the math is slotted to run. The production of an answer A show, a result, of this long division, this diversion. Angles are perfectly fitted to one another, But the math and figures don't add up. What puzzle have i been working with? What pieces are missing? Have i always seen a solution, just never attempted to test... This hypothesis, to seek truth? Trying the experiment, the observations are clear. I am not to be here. Am I the imaginary? The rational? Can it be equal? Can it be trivial? Im trying yet again. How can one plus one be two when in life its three? Where and when am i me? Have i fallen down this power of 2 factor tree? Or am i fractals free? This is a set of 3. How about this matrix? And this issue of multiplicity, these additional matrices? On the axis, on this graph can you tell me? My mind is the scatter plot. The images and notes... Are points, but no correlation. This conclusion, this test, I wish i could rest, and divide by Zero.

0

Apr 14, 2017

Apr 14, 2017 at 1:17 AM UTC

Trying

Every move calculated. Im trying to know. My math is wrong, or a miscalculation has made another variable. Another story, another stitch in the tapestry I can't find the answer. Though I was wondering if I was on the right lead. The dead end is deafening. I can only watch as the math is slotted to run. The production of an answer A show, a result, of this long division, this diversion. Angles are perfectly fitted to one another, But the math and figures don't add up. What puzzle have i been working with? What pieces are missing? Have i always seen a solution, just never attempted to test... This hypothesis, to seek truth? Trying the experiment, the observations are clear. I am not to be here. Am I the imaginary? The rational? Can it be equal? Can it be trivial? Im trying yet again. How can one plus one be two when in life its three? Where and when am i me? Have i fallen down this power of 2 factor tree? Or am i fractals free? This is a set of 3. How about this matrix? And this issue of multiplicity, these additional matrices? On the axis, on this graph can you tell me? My mind is the scatter plot. The images and notes... Are points, but no correlation. This conclusion, this test, I wish i could rest, and divide by Zero.

31

light disappears the eyes close and the view draws black the breeze comforts and chills like the mind cant change the moment the spring can seem to believe. we all tend to daydream, but mine, mine--- drifts all the ambient, the hums of lights white roars of tires on the roads, the chills from the breeze, and the animated notes of animals all seem unknown. no dreaming in the stasis, just existence. as light tries to peer in this darkroom. this is my photo lab no need to expose. i will let the images develop on their own. and the pictures it all creates... seem to in the water emulsify, then attempt to testify to drift.

0

Mar 27, 2016

Mar 27, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC

Drift

light disappears the eyes close and the view draws black the breeze comforts and chills like the mind cant change the moment the spring can seem to believe. we all tend to daydream, but mine, mine--- drifts all the ambient, the hums of lights white roars of tires on the roads, the chills from the breeze, and the animated notes of animals all seem unknown. no dreaming in the stasis, just existence. as light tries to peer in this darkroom. this is my photo lab no need to expose. i will let the images develop on their own. and the pictures it all creates... seem to in the water emulsify, then attempt to testify to drift.

24

dont call me a pancake, i am not a flap jack. i have pockets for syrup and butter, and i am obviously hacked. i can be made into flavors and be savory, or remain sweet and sugary unbearable. But-- no matter what you want to call me, i am a waffle, a baked piece of yum, so give them one or two... and dont be the fool. because its the tool that makes it go... straight to your lips and eventually to someones hips. so bake me, shake up the flavor... stack me into a cake and slice me up, but when the steam stops... i am full of love.

0

Nov 23, 2015

Nov 23, 2015 at 10:13 PM UTC

waffles

dont call me a pancake, i am not a flap jack. i have pockets for syrup and butter, and i am obviously hacked. i can be made into flavors and be savory, or remain sweet and sugary unbearable. But-- no matter what you want to call me, i am a waffle, a baked piece of yum, so give them one or two... and dont be the fool. because its the tool that makes it go... straight to your lips and eventually to someones hips. so bake me, shake up the flavor... stack me into a cake and slice me up, but when the steam stops... i am full of love.

17

Walked into the dressing room Questioned the fit With all the lights angled To illuminate the best places While inside, the struggle holding all together just to feel fit, the lift and separate. It is a wonder how all this frilly lace, thread, and beading could make a girl, become woman, turned bride. its a disposable ideal, one chuckled about since the beginning of time. Seemingly picture perfect, now the faux retouch a process where reality turns fake The day a mere memory Now about the questions as we look at the reflection striving for perfection, but yet it feels incomplete, next, Watch, strap in, repeat. there are no yes moments, just... yes things the feeling of suffocation of a day, where this will only be in the closet, when everyone wants you to dress up You to play along you to conform. (The emotional build up the pain ensues) all for a day no longer is about you and the other half but filled with moments of regret where simply just having a judge make it happen would have been better then seeing family come together a final step down, back from the fantasy or nightmare, with increased humility... it is all clear, the item is beautiful, but for some, this is a tortured fun. no single person can imagine the stress of just trying to celebrate two people forming a marriage, that this one day can make, break, or dissolve a feeling with the dawn breaking, thoughts are revealing. the last step down off of the stage, lights, reflection, multiple direction mirror, makes it much clearer. can you breathe? can you walk? Can you talk? can you sit down and enjoy it? But if a single no appears, alterations can **** so save the moment, take picture. get real. only in a dressing room can one reveal the truth, nature, and absurdity of cloth, lace, beads, and thread. question the fit. and live without the regret... of buying the disposable wedding dress.

0

Sep 10, 2015

Sep 10, 2015 at 6:28 AM UTC

The Disposable Dress

Walked into the dressing room Questioned the fit With all the lights angled To illuminate the best places While inside, the struggle holding all together just to feel fit, the lift and separate. It is a wonder how all this frilly lace, thread, and beading could make a girl, become woman, turned bride. its a disposable ideal, one chuckled about since the beginning of time. Seemingly picture perfect, now the faux retouch a process where reality turns fake The day a mere memory Now about the questions as we look at the reflection striving for perfection, but yet it feels incomplete, next, Watch, strap in, repeat. there are no yes moments, just... yes things the feeling of suffocation of a day, where this will only be in the closet, when everyone wants you to dress up You to play along you to conform. (The emotional build up the pain ensues) all for a day no longer is about you and the other half but filled with moments of regret where simply just having a judge make it happen would have been better then seeing family come together a final step down, back from the fantasy or nightmare, with increased humility... it is all clear, the item is beautiful, but for some, this is a tortured fun. no single person can imagine the stress of just trying to celebrate two people forming a marriage, that this one day can make, break, or dissolve a feeling with the dawn breaking, thoughts are revealing. the last step down off of the stage, lights, reflection, multiple direction mirror, makes it much clearer. can you breathe? can you walk? Can you talk? can you sit down and enjoy it? But if a single no appears, alterations can **** so save the moment, take picture. get real. only in a dressing room can one reveal the truth, nature, and absurdity of cloth, lace, beads, and thread. question the fit. and live without the regret... of buying the disposable wedding dress.

54

it only seems legit, if you knew the half of it-- there were lies, deceit, and foreshadowed moments... a familiar face, similar sounding name, the light bulb is blown. i have no idea what the hell is here, but it is sure as hell... a small small, world. ive made sure to burn the **** ties, cut and change the game, the ******* thing that makes me different makes you all seem the same. i am an individual, an entity, a one-ness, of my own awesomeness... but i know when fun is fun. and then the work must be done. Focus. its seemingly funny and a what the **** in the same motion the notion that Something is Off and bulb is known to be blown, blackening the room, the glass shatters and the fumes turn-- the shadows into the nightmares of the past... a small world indeed! run away, scared of me? i grew up, moved on and some how closer while we all look the opposing way the walls keeping us apart will always be there. those walls keep you far away, the times that bother, disgust, an plainly outage... you keep playing them against me and making-- me the stranger? danger danger, will he ever understand? this boy that everyone thinks of never sees reality. he lives in fog, in an illusion. if he thinks its awesome... just wait for his conclusion. the story he tells is only lies. i have have recorded, documented and realized... a small, small, world, where it seems that me-- is the one whom knows the horrors of OCD.

0

Jun 16, 2015

Jun 16, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC

Small, Small, World

it only seems legit, if you knew the half of it-- there were lies, deceit, and foreshadowed moments... a familiar face, similar sounding name, the light bulb is blown. i have no idea what the hell is here, but it is sure as hell... a small small, world. ive made sure to burn the **** ties, cut and change the game, the ******* thing that makes me different makes you all seem the same. i am an individual, an entity, a one-ness, of my own awesomeness... but i know when fun is fun. and then the work must be done. Focus. its seemingly funny and a what the **** in the same motion the notion that Something is Off and bulb is known to be blown, blackening the room, the glass shatters and the fumes turn-- the shadows into the nightmares of the past... a small world indeed! run away, scared of me? i grew up, moved on and some how closer while we all look the opposing way the walls keeping us apart will always be there. those walls keep you far away, the times that bother, disgust, an plainly outage... you keep playing them against me and making-- me the stranger? danger danger, will he ever understand? this boy that everyone thinks of never sees reality. he lives in fog, in an illusion. if he thinks its awesome... just wait for his conclusion. the story he tells is only lies. i have have recorded, documented and realized... a small, small, world, where it seems that me-- is the one whom knows the horrors of OCD.

41

i saw the little bird flutter dance from dropper to dropper and the image fades in the clouds of smoke. Nay, the lines show on my worked hands, the trouble in life, where i stand... this line i drew in the sand is nothing like the life in lines read in palmistry or the scars emotionally those that developed, enveloped and disappeared as a decade passed into another year. my reflection in the mirror changed, the migraines are no longer the inspiration that drives me. on auto pilot, driven by fire, flames were fanned and told to flourish. now there will be a change in the line up because fuck-up-to-fuck-up there is no other way i could say how much more in less than the 8 hours a day-- of work, of solitude, once i which came of use to? well life, if you are a mirror, then **** you! i was told i was done too... with the ashes settled, i'm at home. he is still a little wobbly, a little toddly, and oh the "NO!" into the cabinets i find, a flicker of life, desire, **** i am sold. i found out what in the world... i am here for. Sixty, Sex-ti.... i cannot form a single thought, a heartfelt thought and ones of revenge as the heater went out, and it being colder than the fridge-- i saw that little bird, fluttering, Still life seemed to start again, with a push of a button go with all the carnival rides flavors, and gimmicks. i cant quit.

0

Jun 6, 2015

Jun 6, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC

Smoke N Mirrors

i saw the little bird flutter dance from dropper to dropper and the image fades in the clouds of smoke. Nay, the lines show on my worked hands, the trouble in life, where i stand... this line i drew in the sand is nothing like the life in lines read in palmistry or the scars emotionally those that developed, enveloped and disappeared as a decade passed into another year. my reflection in the mirror changed, the migraines are no longer the inspiration that drives me. on auto pilot, driven by fire, flames were fanned and told to flourish. now there will be a change in the line up because fuck-up-to-fuck-up there is no other way i could say how much more in less than the 8 hours a day-- of work, of solitude, once i which came of use to? well life, if you are a mirror, then **** you! i was told i was done too... with the ashes settled, i'm at home. he is still a little wobbly, a little toddly, and oh the "NO!" into the cabinets i find, a flicker of life, desire, **** i am sold. i found out what in the world... i am here for. Sixty, Sex-ti.... i cannot form a single thought, a heartfelt thought and ones of revenge as the heater went out, and it being colder than the fridge-- i saw that little bird, fluttering, Still life seemed to start again, with a push of a button go with all the carnival rides flavors, and gimmicks. i cant quit.

38