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Dougie london  Oct 2012
Deny
Dougie london Oct 2012
Deny
I deny the feelings i have for you.
I deny every time you walk down the street and my homie ask if i love you and i say ******* but in the back of my mind all i can think about is how much i l rlly love you 
I deny the fact the when you got a new man that it dosent hurt me because i know i can treat better then any ***** ever will
I deny that you are not the most beautiful thing in the world because your beauty is what wakes me up in this world
I deny that i dnt want you as my future wife Knowing deep down that all i want to do his hold you tight right by my side you as my bonnie and me as your clyde 
I deny how intellectual you really are even tho your the most intelligent woman in the world
I deny that i dnt think about you when i sleep but we both know your in my dreams always holding hands taking on the world as best as we can
I deny i dont want to be your protector even tho i wont let anything hurt you
I deny that your eyes arent pretty but gorgeous like the sunset over the seas
I deny that your not all i want but you are the only thing i need
I deny i deny i deny i deny
I dont know why i deny
I deny to tell you the truth all the time because  it might hurt 
I deny that deep down inside that your not my favorite girl
I deny your not my whole wide world
I deny that this poem wasnt made for you to show my love for you. 
I guess you will never know how i really feel for you because of my denial
Diana V  Apr 2015
To Deny Me
Diana V Apr 2015
To deny me is to hurt me.
To deny me is to break my heart into a tiny million shards of glass
To deny me is to turn your back on me
To deny me is to pretend that I don't exist

Because when you deny me, you are closing the door on me and opening a window to let the others' ray of light shine on you instead.

To deny me is to deprive me of smiles.
To deny me is to shatter my ego.
To deny me is to step on my confidence.
To deny me is to pretend that I don't exist.

Because when you deny me, it means that you want others to give you happiness that I cannot provide myself.

To deny me is to pierce my soul.
To deny me is to sink me into madness.
To deny me is to let my tears flow endlessly.
To deny me is to pretend I don't exist.

Because when you deny me, you hurt me and break my heart that I have tried so many times to patch up with duct tape.
2010
Arcassin B  Aug 2016
Deny
Arcassin B Aug 2016
By Arcassin Burnham


When she gives you that look,
Don't you ever deny her ,her beauty again,
seeing as the time passes,
Bet you'll see its end ,  In a beautiful setting,
Don't deny her again.......
When she gives you that look,
Don't you ever deny her ,her beauty again,
seeing as the time passes, Bet you'll see its end ,  
In a beautiful setting,
Don't deny her again.......... Don't deny her again,

I bet you'd like to notice how the waves flow in entirety,
I was a fool to think,
I bet you'd like to know how deep my love runs so swiftly,
This stuff is hard to drink,
I got you,
You need me,
No God **** way we can not see eye to eye,
I'm so excited,
For the empathy ,
We reflect on others than ourselves,
People grabbing hearts off the shelves,
Making people care for them then a quell,
You always lack what you try to ignore, but we will prevail,
And everything that deals with hate always end up in hell,

When she gives you that look,
Don't you ever deny her ,her beauty again,
seeing as the time passes,
Bet you'll see its end ,  In a beautiful setting,
Don't deny her again.......
When she gives you that look,
Don't you ever deny her ,her beauty again,
seeing as the time passes, Bet you'll see its end* ,  
In a beautiful setting,
Don't deny her again.......... Don't deny her again*.
©ABPoetry2016


http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2016/08/deny-by-saray-castillo.html
He met her under the willow trees
That grew by the valley creek,
He hadn’t been able to visit her
For the best part of a week,
She patted her horse’s neck, and sighed,
And waited for him to say,
The one thing that she feared the most,
That he might be going away.

But in his eyes there was only love
As he reached, and kissed her hand,
‘We mustn’t be seen down here by him,
I need you to understand,
He rides abroad since he found us out,
And says he’s looking for me,
His stablemaster has said, no doubt,
I’ll hang from the nearest tree.’

‘He wouldn’t dare,’ said Jennifer Moss,
‘My father would have him lashed,
He’s always been too quick with his fists
He killed a man in the past.’
‘But never paid the ultimate price,
He thinks he’s above the law,
I’m keeping my flintlock pistol primed,
My powder dry by the door.’

‘He hasn’t said anything yet to me,
So how do you think he knows?’
‘Your stablemaster has seen us kiss
By the barn where the river flows.
Beware, my love, he’s a dangerous man,
Will settle his score with me,
But then, with you, he will seek revenge
Denial may set you free.’

‘You must deny that you care for me,
Deny that our lips have met,
Deny, deny is the only course
That may make the fool forget.’
‘My heart is bursting with love for you,
I couldn’t deny what’s true,’
‘You must, my love, or the scene is set,
I fear what he’ll do to you.’

He rode away to his hilltop farm
And he locked and barred each door,
While she rode off to the Manor House
Where her husband paced the floor.
‘I fear my wife is a Jezebel,
So the stablemaster tells.’
‘I have no interest in men,’ she said,
I’m married to one from Hell!’

He turned on her in a rage at that,
He believed his master spy,
While she continued to hear the words
Of her love, ‘Deny, Deny!’
‘I’ll spare his life if you tell the truth,
If you don’t, the man is dead,’
She weakened then and admitted it,
She once had been in his bed.

He sent his louts to the Hilltop farm
And they dragged him out in dread,
They tied him to the back of his horse
To the Manor House, they led.
The husband leered when he saw him there,
‘Well, your love has you redeemed!
I’ll let you live in your bleak despair…’
His love was hung from a beam!

David Lewis Paget
ArominizedM  Mar 2014
Deny
ArominizedM Mar 2014
I deny the fact that
I can't be with you.
I deny the rant that
I want what's mine to be true.

I deny the loss that
spent my days all blue.
I deny the tact that
sent your response with a chilling hue.

I deny the phase that
I am into thinking
I deny the ways that
I held my ship sinking.

I deny the state that
though I recall what can heal.
I deny myself that
faith can be made real.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
i've actually reached a zenith of my use of language, the overstated early use of humour... paradoxically it's also a nadir of language, foremost i blame it on psychological emphasis of certain words without clear grammatical patterns of casual interference / usage, which stemmed from philosophy's avoidance of grammatical words as useful short cuts... and poetic laconic shoving near millimetre associations kindred of the synonymous categorical: dog, cat, tree, fig, apple... nouns. i have a reached a limit having attempted to create a geometry with a- (indefinite / without "articulation" / existence / or simply pluralism) and the (definite articulation / existence / or simply monotheism, index finger pointing), and the prefix in-, ascribed to an illogical categorisation of infinity and infinitude as inclusive nouns... where the former attracts the indefinite article, and the later attracts the definite article, most commonly example with stars, space, time and insects, but not man: e.g. ever hear of a famous bee named Newton? no, me neither. i just noticed that poetry over-philosophised itself by using grammatical terms in that near-synonymousness of d'uh and that philosophy avoided using these grammatical terms of categorisation, fearing a demented disintegration of casual speech, as near to quantum physics as language of humanities could be approached with: the disappearing act of hope (noun, +) and reappearance of it as hopelessness (adjective, although still ~noun, therefore still +), meaning being hopeless (verb, although ~adjective, and now attached to dark matter - / negative): hence the many sensitivities over crude vocabulary, hence the kept church Latin and the lost humour of ****** Latin.*

e.g.

newspapers are depressing, i know, on pages 34 & 35
there's a picture of an orang utan posing in an
auguste rodin pose of the thinker: eyes close together never
ageing of a Down Syndrome Dorian Grey,
hairstyle of an Elton John, though: headlines surroudning
the picture read things stuff that horror movies are
not intelligent to reveal, i.e. mob rule; horror movies treat
the individual as the ultimate menace, they never care
to make cinematic eloquences with individual's
shadow, of those around him: Jesus herding his sheep
who's prime expression is ****** white hands drenched
in blood unable to doubt, therefore only able to deny,
and what a poverty of lying ingenuity
denial is... one man tennis hitting a brick wall...
people reserve more doubt at having hit a tennis ball
against a wall than  denying it... doubt is a
dual-carriageway... so much self in doubt among
others than there is self-consciousness in denial
among others... denial is a cul de sac alley...
the mirror wished to remain hidden for fear
of realisation... denial is a faking of innocence /
         doubt is a faking of knowledge -
childish-like later: oh! misinformation corrected!
like electrons not having orbits but existing in
quantum clouds! former high-school teaching,
later university teaching! born 1952, died 1989:
now you see me, now you don't, electron-quick
hands of magicians. but... but... but
you can't deny both infinitudes (limits)
of your unitary vector (ego)...
sure you can deny the infinitude (algebraic
pinpoint 1) and deny the finitude (algebraic
pinpoint 2), but you can't deny two infinitudes,
i.e. you're either god or nothing...
as you can't deny two finitudes,
i.e. you're either memorable or worth forgetting;
nor can you deny an infinitude and doubt
the finitude - although you deny the finitude
with a chance excavation of infinitude as an
example o... Finnegans Wake does that to you...
hence the common stance is denying;
imagine the Cartesian equation plagued by denial,
i deny, therefore i'm not...
my writing will not reach popular appeal because
it wishes to not disturb, not not uproot a perfectly
happy man from a simple method he can perfect
and challenge genius over a complex method
which it can only imperfect.
i'm not going to forgive the nature of my 26 surds
kept in the optic with the double-surd of H in language
spoken, but your critique of my cognitive use of language,
which is purely optic and not in the least care phonetic
belongs to me, i know my conversational language
where i disengage from having to engage with all
the pronouns, as existentialism proved itself pedantic to
be defining itself by, using all pronouns to "ditto" out
the one single pronoun, simply the ego, and therefore
to produce f(denial) = "ego"; f(x)
  h
     x
        h
                             function of two truths
                             f(x) = "ego" or Freudian theory
                                        of blame it on the superego
                                        or blame it on the id...
what, matchsticks not good enough for your arabic
complications?! you got oil, i have wood,
stop coming to europe for the summer to burn
rather than spend your precious oil! FRY *******!
FRY LIKE AN AUSTRALIAN BARBECUE DERBY
OF BARBIE STUCK IN A BURQA!
Mystery Girl Jul 2013
The curve of your lips
Is irresistible
I can't deny I want to taste them

The color of your eyes
Is magnificent
I can't deny they draw me in

Your joyous laugh
Is incredible
I can't deny I want to hear it next to me

Your beating heart
Is beautiful
I can't deny I want to steal it

Your sweet love
Is my weakness
I can't deny I miss it

Your kind forgiveness
Is absolutely amazing
I can't deny I wish on a star for it
It's kinda repetitive...
Deny me only one kiss
And my heart shall die

Deny me only one touch
And my soul shall cry

If you should deny me your love
My body will surely wither away

If you should deny me your beauty
Then my life will be taken this day

I love thee, with all of this heart
I would give you my very life

I love thee, with all of this body
Your love cuts deeper than any knife


copyright Chris Smith 2011
Arcassin B Apr 2015
by Arcassin Burnham



You Can't deny my love,
it's a symbol of,
Do what any man does,
To get back the woman he loves,
You love,
me,
You don't have to deny,
Desire not to put down the bottle,
You're a queen to me,
Too tense to hold the crown,
You Can't deny the love i have,
Even when it puts you down,
Ten other perfect angels could not out due,
You,
Can't Deny.
ab-saver.blogspot.com
like know just time mind life feel world lost say we're things think love there's does people night away way thought got words long reality want better left make end eyes day man human dark experience remember really right death memory going place high good live city thoughts soul meaning great pain home sky believe shall change living oh fall light choice god consciousness existence years cause hard feeling thinking fear times 'cause dreams ask alive heart need past felt days dream sensation truth true use power knowledge wrong stars understand baby tell state thing face wave broken old you'll wave new broken nature you'll **** mental look far ah drug moment best ago air lose sleep dare try leave beautiful blue born lives escape sublime doesn't body dawn friends waiting feels young daze game control perception gone story mean sun head given writing act difference reason poetry philosophy psyche little trying touch deep greatest wonder choose drugs exist we'll moments score hold play set run self forget coming hope word future dead wish burn music emotion rain stop gaze pleasure glass one's what's lies sense wake hit remain real work bad stay open brain art seek space present happy spent acid pill social we've they're half-light used land held gotta help lie path finally listen actually longing rave water cold seeking caught energy reflection information anymore venturous goes came red hide start truly hand evil divine subtle matter kind lonely yes told eternity keeps line black edge ego context dusk horizon gonna spiritual tripping dimension data die white **** seen means care getting saw places sure freedom looking hurt fool wind flow search chance la took broke existential summer content flowing belief praise empyrean empathy discovery chemical aeon couldn't who's turn forth bit question eye judgement pray passion sound personal worth memories sanity accept universe embrace lack knows free makes rise language decide consider temporal society gain wander conscious stuff religious comprehend particle psychedelic metaphysics you've entheon absurdia entactus maybe ready fate realize family meant return perfect learn miss spirit doubt rest loved minds health moving mortal bring expression sleeping cast lines purpose quiet known strange infinite king months madness haze depths ate party patterns oneself psychedelion inside guess crowd later silent clear soft breath hours hate dust forgotten arms drink fast year war longer close searching morning ashes calm beauty darkness different justice fell friend shadows knowing fine youth heavy standing sweet enjoy explain vain simple chasing hidden ends smoke gold heaven follow point person breaking necessary today relief action cool possible bass generation lying listening machine yeah substance hath engine forlorn problem subject intangible study effort quantum definitions dopamine psychedelics we'd sigma cybran apotheon isn't empathion clouds practice gave warm wanted stand poem wait storm met 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ethics survived definition reasoning internet feedback vibrancy serotonin cyclone hacker sardonic surreality virtuality here's he's sunyata temporality ******'s empathos apotheotelos flash shining green forever anger carry son moon selfish written supposed feed ya quite loop hooked pure feet hole paper flag sick voice burning attention fly utter wicked tremble endless form infinity talking piece shores verse chest rules food placed plan hallelujah called gun fading drinking emotional measure inspiration suffering belong west read sly instead bear erase furious shame conclusion drunk roll ******* depressed calls taught died defined tire everyday answers sacred acknowledge speaks perfection games ground spoke stood motion sway keeping pretend hell movement magic park key spin kick sake jump hanging animal begins orange streetlights fade crazy honest warp puppet chained survive apathy chains claim prey science diamonds begging grip tale hang powerful wonderland heal dealing plant twice 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remains stained insane reached lot discovered plain poison streets killing ending tried session vs poor woke stare watching grass slick emptiness falling box painter series children virtues awareness clean rolling reach advice heavens rend half cherish bay started relax focus laughed ashamed fiend melody drop exhale void occurs beneath win chose robes thrall shield ended sons normal sunrise road forged onward burden actions unlike colors curious street observe chosen silence shades returns technology race vengeance swept bag civilization strive reconcile trouble cloud described replaced substances whilst finding euphoria dear chemistry events deal message eternal masses beliefs vision apparent honestly dr seeing idea domain soar books frames rule law pleasures eat dread bare blaze raise compassion kindness wandered objects expressed sin declare mistake smoking drum heavenly honor lands fountain renew happening aspect gotten issues divinity teach matters pills goal follows significant 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chances abuse palm week existed ignorant blind dice sheep agree joke spy spill odds immeasurable *** pushing wanderlust softly midst presents blade guided ripped round ball lovely rhythms beats cars glaze wash fates evening vein gloss juvenile sides faces graces month circular rung wheel rises permeates father supreme portal liked rip fades october sitting grin showing surrounded explored opened confused wall quietly deftly scene sighs lingering radio altered evaporated suns dreamed vibration important appetite exactly devil inhabiting brains ordinary beckons constant local organic soothing linger meditation moonlight lads height ethereal simplicity kinda cigarette suggest violence blew bombs arise trips predict surface guy movements grey car stepped large bank forward landed lied ancient purely crash direction inspired release warned melodic rhythmic telling mysticism blues riddle blur floating drama neck lover nerve poisonous glare factory wage character suburbia escaped gates suspended followed pierced hall marks ruled influence functioning contained losing stopping effect electronica relate fed temper facts dependent malleable convey bent delve horror wolves won lacking certainly fooled temple oblivious watches extension molecular random subtlety rem price sear covers truths judging stage frost conditions victory millennium realised confront trickster eve daughter defines awoke terror remembere
Composed on 00:53, 21/09/2016 using Hello Poetry's 'Words' algorithm. We don't assume this means something.
TheTeacher Oct 2012
I won't confirm or deny that I'm in a league of my own. Trapping these thoughts and neatly arranging them on the paper....or screen.  Regardless you know what I mean.

I won't confirm or deny that this is something I love to do.....it's better than keeping track of all those kids that live in a shoe.  The mother she used to be fine.....until her husband introduced her that bottle of wine.

I won't confirm or deny that she came down to my place.  She was mumbling some jibberish and I kindly asked her to step out of my face.  Her eyes were bloodshot red....she began mumbling about wanting someone dead.

I asked her nervously "Who?" She momentarily stepped out of her stupor and said "you know who!"  Now I had no clue ....just like you......I'm looking at her strangely......not knowing what to do.

She begins to cry and plops on the chair.....she utters these words and heartbreak fills the air.  Jack be nimble ...Jack be quick....Jack left me with all these kids.....He makes me sick.

I have struggled for years to raise these babies...and did all I could do.  Do you really think a mother wants their children to grow up in a shoe? I talked to my girl Ms. Muffet ....and spider is still trying to scare her away.....she said she saw Jack trying to talk to Jill.

He doesn't want to be a father.....he wants to go up the hill.  Plus, her brother Jack broke his crown....cause he was creeping with little Bo Peep.  She lost her sheep the other day.  Jack came by and wanted to play.

She lost her focus and lost her sheep....because after Jack left she fell fast asleep.  I won't confirm or deny anything I wrote here.....Hey Jack B. Nimble you better sleep with one eye open.....your wife is near.

Just a little mental exercise......
Michael P Todd Sep 2010
A deep breath—I fill my lungs and close the airway. Submerge my face in a pillow and resolve myself to wait until my lungs burn—I await the pain. My senses screaming, my lungs driving me to let them have the oxygen they so desire—I decline. Funny how I chose that which offers peace to the weary, an item that invites comfort to rob myself of that most archaic means of surviving. I find it interesting how calm I feel while denying myself that which I know I cannot live without. Isn’t it odd how we only become aware of the subtle currents of air that tickle our skin, raising chill bumps where it finds us bare when we deny ourselves its luxury? Luxury. That’s an interesting way to phrase it really—Breathing as a luxury. A gift of power, smug in our abuse and neglect we fail to see what we loose when we breathe. Lying here refusing to give myself life—for that’s what air is really, and breathing is living. I laugh. Oh yes, I find it funny. I catch myself readying to breathe again and I still that notion. Shove it down; subdue it until it is nothing but a stinging memory in my chest. It takes a lot of strength to deny yourself to breathe. But somehow that only drives me to test that strength.
I wonder if I will forget how? Could the muscle memory that pilots such a necessary involuntary act be forgotten? No, of course not. But perhaps the feeling of fresh air full of life could be. Could it? Perhaps not. For even as these words find themselves onto this page I find myself remembering what it feels like to expand my lungs, for the blood to cool as it gathers its fill with oxygen as it travels on its wending cyclical way. I laugh again. The burn begins to spread and I feel my muscles atrophy. Yet they tighten and tense as if under assault, screaming at the atrocity wrought upon them. Though still I refuse to breathe.
I roll away from the pillow, open my face to the still air and feel it tickle as it tries to find a weakness. Denying my lungs for so long I begin to feel my skin breathing. Absorbing oxygen as cellular mitosis continues in spite of my flirtatious dance. Maybe I am just dreaming. I feel the fire subside. As if my body accepts its doom. “No breath for you,” I say. “No easy outs.” And resolve continues.
Amazing how long a person can go without breathing, pushing ever closer to that most primal fear—that of not being able to breathe. But I can. I feel my chest involuntarily expand, demanding the very thing I strenuously withhold. I know by that alone that I can breathe, I can live. But still not once do I begin to inhale the sweetness that I need. I want it now, but the primal is so enticing. After all, it is when we fear that we truly know what it is to live. That’s when we feel life. As if it were a tangible being that we’ve strapped to ourselves so that it won’t escape. I’ve set mine free. I’ve let go. Maybe it will return to me. Maybe it will leave me in my vain attempts to deny myself to continue fickly on to another. But which do it want--Perhaps neither, perhaps something more. Beyond breathing, beyond mere muscle memory, beyond what I cling to. The Pain returns.
I want to breathe. I want to live. I want to feel the rush as all my body awakens and revels in new existence--Rebirth. Its odd how something so ordinary can redefine a person, how something so obviously taken for granted and ignored can make us anew—a Renaissance of living, giving new life to life, helping life live. That’s just funny to say. My chest chuckles--I can’t laugh. I can’t breathe so how could I anyway? I smile. Vanity is alluring. I am vain. I deny that which defines life just to feel alive. Vanity, Luxury, Rebirth, Pain—such is the nature of my breathing, the archaic nature of involuntarily driven muscle memory.
Would I even know how to breathe if it wasn’t burned into the most ancient quadrants of my brain? I don’t even know the part that drives the muscle memory. Perhaps when people die there are a few lingering moments where their lungs contract like the twitching mouth of a decapitated fish, gulping at air to fill dead lungs. Maybe breathing is so primal that it doesn’t end with the rest of the body.
The burn has come. I can feel the fire inside my chest. I welcome its warmth, rubbing my hands over the radiating inferno as if I just came from the dead winter cold without the weathering to block out the chill. The warmth permeates through me. Would breathing feel better than this? Could it? I doubt. Only at the razor edge of life while teetering upon the precipice stealing insecure glances to the other side on the off chance that we may glimpse a greener field do we know what living really is.  So aren’t I living now more so than ever before? Whilst denying myself a breath, aren’t I more aware of what it means to be alive? I laugh. Denying yourself air only leads to an end. No, the end--Death. Yet I appreciate life more so dying than living. I deserve to die. Taking for granted that which is stolen from innocents daily. Innocent? Now that’s a peculiar ideal. They are the same. I wonder if they are aware that they breathe. That’s absurd, of course they are. How could they not be? ******* life, ******* air, but do they know what it means?
I feel my lungs contract again—Pain. That’s all it is now, but why? I know I can breathe, yet I choose not to. Is it the act of forcing myself not to take a fresh breath, or the fact that I have yet to do so that hurts? Maybe it’s because I now know what I’ve been doing all these years. At the brink I realize what it means to live. Was I living before? Yes, but I wasn’t alive. Interesting that, to live without being alive—sounds as if I’m hooked to a load of machines keeping me from decay. That’s all they do really. Awareness, that’s living. Breathing is merely the means. The end is being aware, awakened to the fact that an action which you can’t control is the only thing keeping your head above ground. After all, even when drowning the body wants to breathe.
I open my mouth. I lie to my body. I still fill my lungs with nothing but stubborn desire, desire to delay my breathing. I imagine what it will feel like to take that first breath—a Renaissance of living. I can feel the blood in my veins bubble in anticipation. My body wants to be alive. My heart can’t beat fast enough. Striking a furious pace it pumps my blood through my body spreading life and oxygen to every limb making me light headed and delirious with its purity.
I’ve decided. I’m going to breathe again. I’m going to live. And what’s more, I’m going to be alive.
My mouth still open, my lungs still closed, still screaming, still burning, still tightening in their involuntary way—breathing air that isn’t there, air that they know is there, available to them at their whim. I open my lungs.
I exhale. Now that is interesting. I’ve denied myself the life of breath until my lungs begin to pump out of sheer memory and longing for that which gives them purpose. Denied that which defines life, that which I want—that I need. And I exhale?!? Further delaying what my instinct has told me to take? How is that logical?
Air rushes into my lungs. Funny, I scarce expanded them at all. I feel the life rushing to my fingertips, to my toes, to my ears and eyes—to my kidneys even. I am alive. It’s funny though. Part of me feels like I’ve just died, like I’ve ceased to live. I laugh long and hard, throaty and merry and so brim full of life. I began to live again, became alive at the very instant I ceased to exist. And it is so funny.

— The End —