ktarrpropaganda - Hello Poetry

To have had and to have lost Is so much worse Than to have never had at all When never having had at first Would've spared a tragic fall

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Jan 1, 2017

Jan 1, 2017 at 10:22 AM UTC

found & lost

To have had and to have lost Is so much worse Than to have never had at all When never having had at first Would've spared a tragic fall

5

If you're going to keep my heart Just take my body too This heaping measly bag of bones Is what I've worn down to Every sense I had to feel I gave them all to you That brain does all the thinking Thinking thoughts of you Those ears only play tricks on me In silence I hear you This touch that once explored your frame I find reaching out to you That nose that longed to brush your cheek Now smells only your perfume Those eyes the window deep into The only one thing I can't get back from you I know I'm in rags But I gave all that I had And I'm finding myself senseless

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Dec 21, 2016

Dec 21, 2016 at 1:49 AM UTC

Bag of bones

If you're going to keep my heart Just take my body too This heaping measly bag of bones Is what I've worn down to Every sense I had to feel I gave them all to you That brain does all the thinking Thinking thoughts of you Those ears only play tricks on me In silence I hear you This touch that once explored your frame I find reaching out to you That nose that longed to brush your cheek Now smells only your perfume Those eyes the window deep into The only one thing I can't get back from you I know I'm in rags But I gave all that I had And I'm finding myself senseless

19

Me sitting in a chair with my usual poor posture -we'll call this rest. Behind me, a beautiful white ****** canvas -we'll call this potential. A shotgun loaded with paintbrushes -we'll call this the medium. Barrel in my mouth, the trigger clicks, then BOOM -we'll call this expression. Look past my limp soulless body to the now finished canvas. What do you think? -we'll call this interpretation. The reds are deep and the blues are true; little chunks of grey matter -we'll call this promise. However, it all dries black in the end -we'll call this accurate. Me still alive in my chair staring at the wall. Pen in my mouth. Ink in my teeth -we'll call this gnashing insignificance.

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Dec 12, 2016

Dec 12, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC

Picture this---

Me sitting in a chair with my usual poor posture -we'll call this rest. Behind me, a beautiful white ****** canvas -we'll call this potential. A shotgun loaded with paintbrushes -we'll call this the medium. Barrel in my mouth, the trigger clicks, then BOOM -we'll call this expression. Look past my limp soulless body to the now finished canvas. What do you think? -we'll call this interpretation. The reds are deep and the blues are true; little chunks of grey matter -we'll call this promise. However, it all dries black in the end -we'll call this accurate. Me still alive in my chair staring at the wall. Pen in my mouth. Ink in my teeth -we'll call this gnashing insignificance.

17

Misery my muse, Why doest thou so abuse? Nary a bright young line to lend; This dark and suffered view.

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Dec 12, 2016

Dec 12, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC

Untitled

Misery my muse, Why doest thou so abuse? Nary a bright young line to lend; This dark and suffered view.

4

Perhaps I should move on this time... You keep telling me to "do me" and all I can think in return is "go **** yourself". I don't want to fix me. That's why I picked you, don't you see? I do now, with clarity. I get so sick of examining myself that I'll pick a girl off the bottom shelf. A fixer upper- a lost cause case. Some deplorable skirt to chase. I'll focus on you- I'll pick and mend; so I've no time to look within. I'll build you up, I'll build you tall. Wretched me-I'll just crawl. I put all this work into you and now you're strong, beautiful, and proud, standing loudly above the crowd. But please don't dare return such grace. Don't give me time, love, or encouragement. Save face... Get ******* noble on me. I built you up too tall, you see. I'm still down here? The foundation to your tower. The minutes into your hour. I'm the dirt and you're the flower. I'm the roots unto your tree. I fed you, gave you light, and set you free. And what I get is just "Do me"? I wish it were that easy... Had I done that, you wouldn't be in such a fine ******* position to sling clichés and I wouldn't be in the gutter where you once laid. Perhaps you're right... I obviously need some work done. But **** you for taking all and giving none.

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Oct 19, 2016

Oct 19, 2016 at 12:01 AM UTC

Do you

Perhaps I should move on this time... You keep telling me to "do me" and all I can think in return is "go **** yourself". I don't want to fix me. That's why I picked you, don't you see? I do now, with clarity. I get so sick of examining myself that I'll pick a girl off the bottom shelf. A fixer upper- a lost cause case. Some deplorable skirt to chase. I'll focus on you- I'll pick and mend; so I've no time to look within. I'll build you up, I'll build you tall. Wretched me-I'll just crawl. I put all this work into you and now you're strong, beautiful, and proud, standing loudly above the crowd. But please don't dare return such grace. Don't give me time, love, or encouragement. Save face... Get ******* noble on me. I built you up too tall, you see. I'm still down here? The foundation to your tower. The minutes into your hour. I'm the dirt and you're the flower. I'm the roots unto your tree. I fed you, gave you light, and set you free. And what I get is just "Do me"? I wish it were that easy... Had I done that, you wouldn't be in such a fine ******* position to sling clichés and I wouldn't be in the gutter where you once laid. Perhaps you're right... I obviously need some work done. But **** you for taking all and giving none.

23

You smirk as I tell you (I hold up my thumb and index fingers micrometers from one another to provide a visual reference ) that you make me feel "this" big. I shrink further. I. Being such a small. weak. petty. insignificant. pathetic excuse for a man struggle beneath the weight of your constant requests... -no- demands: "I'm hungry." "I need a cigarette." "Get your hands off me." "I'm bored... let's do something." I ******* adore you. I worship you. You are an ocean and I am merely a single grain of sand. I pray to God that he make me the ME that would YOU would appreciate most. I say "Anything for you baby." This one-sided tail-chasing brain **** of a relationship is so twisted that even when I satisfy your demands, I keep shrinking... evident I prove weakness- not worth. "Can I have another cigarette?" This is the last thing you say to me before i drive away. "I love you", I silently narrate as I hand you a smoke. No. You know what? **** you. I hope this is the cigarette that causes cancer. I hope you drop this cigarette while you're driving and swerve into the oncoming lane; searching for it as it burns your ******* gorgeous, flawless legs. I hope you fall asleep with it lit and I hope it burns you up; leaving your chair and clothes intact (a curious occurrence called the "wicking" effect). I will spread whispered rumors that it was spontaneous combustion... so that others too might see you as this rare and unique and sorrowfully amazing phenomena that I know you to be. As I drive off, I continue shrinking until I. This: Small. Petty. Weak. Insignificant. Pathetic excuse for a man is just a single grain of sand on some shore of a beautiful ocean who could give a **** less.

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Jun 2, 2016

Jun 2, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC

Spontaneous Emotion

You smirk as I tell you (I hold up my thumb and index fingers micrometers from one another to provide a visual reference ) that you make me feel "this" big. I shrink further. I. Being such a small. weak. petty. insignificant. pathetic excuse for a man struggle beneath the weight of your constant requests... -no- demands: "I'm hungry." "I need a cigarette." "Get your hands off me." "I'm bored... let's do something." I ******* adore you. I worship you. You are an ocean and I am merely a single grain of sand. I pray to God that he make me the ME that would YOU would appreciate most. I say "Anything for you baby." This one-sided tail-chasing brain **** of a relationship is so twisted that even when I satisfy your demands, I keep shrinking... evident I prove weakness- not worth. "Can I have another cigarette?" This is the last thing you say to me before i drive away. "I love you", I silently narrate as I hand you a smoke. No. You know what? **** you. I hope this is the cigarette that causes cancer. I hope you drop this cigarette while you're driving and swerve into the oncoming lane; searching for it as it burns your ******* gorgeous, flawless legs. I hope you fall asleep with it lit and I hope it burns you up; leaving your chair and clothes intact (a curious occurrence called the "wicking" effect). I will spread whispered rumors that it was spontaneous combustion... so that others too might see you as this rare and unique and sorrowfully amazing phenomena that I know you to be. As I drive off, I continue shrinking until I. This: Small. Petty. Weak. Insignificant. Pathetic excuse for a man is just a single grain of sand on some shore of a beautiful ocean who could give a **** less.

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