Jeevan 2d

Allow me to enumerate, subjugate and demonstrate.
To those parts of you which hold doubt.
But first, I must abdicate, on how your words agitate,
all the parts of me which act out.

You talk about eternity, the ageless infinity
But your precocity holds you like a vice in its grip.
You hold its hair back, like girls in sorority.
Desperate to keep it making the slightest of slips.

Don't ask for reason, is there ever any worth hearing?
I can tell you "you're beautiful, with a personality to boot."
But does that really make my words any more endearing?
For me, that is something that your self must refute.

If you had telepathy your thoughts would be a mess.
Sorting out the messages, from thoughts I can't suppress.
Enabling my addiction to your body and your soul.
You would watch my mind, as infatuation takes control.

Faith I have in abundance, in people not in gods.
Charon can take all his coins, and I will take those odds.
I approach with uncertainty. and offer it candidly.
My love is yours to take, don't take it offhandedly.

Writing poetry for women has yet to work in my favor. Hah.
girl diffused Sep 30

The first thing I do when I come back
Is try to tell you that he defiled me in some way
I don't tell you how his teeth pull on sensitive flesh
Beads of blood dribbling down his chin
Lackadaisical smile, predatory and darkly humored gleam in his eyes
His eyes are unfurling storm clouds
Every time he becomes angry his mouth sets in a thin line of grimness

I reach beyond that and try to pull out the man from fifteen minutes earlier
The one who grasped my hand during 2am joy rides to Taco Bell or McDonald's
Donuts in the parking lot as I squeal, childlike, content, euphoric, my body humming and buzzing with adrenaline
The man who kissed my forehead, early in the morning,
Whispered I love you against my temple, thinking I wasn't half-awake

The first thing I do when I come back
Is retreat into a head-space, monochromatic
I listen to the same songs on repeat
I leave my phone, unattended, on the lime-green desk
I flop onto my stomach on my bed
I conjure up fifteen messages in the span of two days and send them to him
No one is present to tell me to stop

The first thing I do when I come back
Is tell myself that he will drive to my house
White 2010 Charger idling next to my black and red mailbox
I can see him through my sheer off-white curtains
He'll peer up at me
I'll slip on my flats and rush downstairs
He'll pepper my face with butterfly-light kisses
Exclaim how much he loves me and misses me

The first thing I do when I come back
Is, instead, remember his hands pressing against my throat
The coldness of his eyes
Furrowed brow, dry lips, teeth bared
An animal stalking and conquering its prey
I am a fawn in the jaws of a wolf
His maw is bloodied
I am dying

The first thing I do when I come back
Is try to tell you this but you say it's my fault
I left, you say
I packed my bags angrily and impulsively, you say
I was ill, I reply defensively
You still left, you say
You still walked into it, you say

I feel his hands around my neck, mom
I feel his hands pressing the pillow down on top of my head, mom
I feel him smothering and choking me, mom
He wants me to fucking die
I feel his words scratching along the surface of my skull
I hear his voice slithering along, serpentine, cunning, sluicing through my bloodstream
I feel him everywhere
I feel him inside
I feel him invading me
I feel him roughly entering me, mom
I feel him not stopping
I feel his insistence and entitlement
It hurts, mom
I'm sorry
I'm fucking sorry

The first thing I do when I come back
Weeks later after I phone the domestic abuse hot-line
The call, recorded at approximately 1 hour and 22 minutes (a guess—shot in the murky proverbial dark)
Is phone him 28 times, convince myself he's really having sex with a coworker like he said
Convince myself that somehow in my addled brain he'll come back
I sit in the laundry room downstairs, open a bottle of Chlorine bleach
Contemplate drinking it
Scream until my voice is hoarse
Plead with him
Ask him
Why would you do this to me?
After four years...
Why did you do all of this to me?

The first thing I do when I come back
Is sit in a therapist's office about two to three years later
Tears pooling in my eyes
Gnawing on my lip
Worrying my dry hands
And say softly:

“I need help.
Help me dig his grave.
Help me lower the fucking coffin.
Please, help me bury the voice.”

I tell her what I couldn't tell you, mom
I tell her that he's still there

n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.
girl diffused Sep 29

We felt the wistfulness and urging
Somewhere in the pale light
Slanting across our bodies
Submerged in a bed that smelled of our discarded childhoods
Tasted of our desperation and craving for love
Devoid of anything saccharine, bitter in the aftertaste

In the early morning I laid there, on top of you
Warmth trailing from your body,
Snaking across the smooth planes of my stomach
You cradling me like I wished my father could have
Fingers threading through my hair
Untangling the knots from my childhood

You spoke into my hairline,
Christened yourself repeatedly on my skin
Your voice was a Freudian call
Above the dirge of angry tidal water
Echoing from the corpses of our past

We felt the wistfulness and urging
Somewhere in the pale light
Slanting across our faces
Verdant green of your eyes hypnotizing me
I splayed my fingers against your chest
Felt your nipple harden against the soft pad

I remembered the taste of sweet tomatoes, plump, ripe
Bursting juice onto my tongue
Coffee-soaked ladyfingers
Dappled sunlight streaming through leaves
Blue cloudless sky
Peals of youthful laughter
The smell of your mother's car—Pine Air Freshener
Her rosary swaying back and forth
A religious sacred pendulum

We felt the wistfulness and urging
Somewhere in the duller light
Slanting across our skin
Our contrasting polarizing canvases
We mourned each other in our brokenness
And in the pale evening,
Tried to assemble our skeletons back together

n. a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—briefly soaking in the experience of being alive, an act that is done purely for its own sake.

{taken from "The Dictionary of Obscure Words."}
ambient Aug 30

we spent most of
elementary English
flicking thru
the dictionary
in search of
curse words,
with grammar
a more benign
wasted on us.

we would all
errupt at the
mere mention of
and suchlike.

school was a
safe haven
for us to try
these words.
for a start,
there was
no mother
to faint
no father
to smack us
for the filth
spewing forth
from our mouths.

"hey, did you know
children of unmarried
parents were known as
bastards back in the day?"
a girl turned to me.

"oh yeah?"

true, my parents were
not married
and that's how I
wanted it to stay,
the brand of bastard
wouldn't've mattered
when you'd always
remain at the
bottom rungs of
the social hierarchy
for the crime of difference
through no fault
of your own.

as it has been
and will be
I suspect.

08-22-17, 23:56pm

ARE those love poems that do not mention my name?

I often get lost there. Surprised at a word I never knew, what they wanted to say to me.

I often tripped over there. Walking in complicated stanzas, which I did not know was going to take me anywhere.

But I feel at home there. As if hiding from many sounds, which for years forced me to deafen myself.

Ah, what a dictionary you are. How narrow is my tongue. I wonder if those poems you wrote for me?

WE are like a pair of Dictionary Lost lexicographer,
Asked all words, adept at interpreting the Atlantis,
carefully describe the dirty dog and Almighty God.

For a word, we have a long debate,
You want to just forget the word. While
I want that word we describe it, as clearly as possible.


it's about the brains
think over the capacity
find uncanny words
helped by a magic book
it's the way we laugh
work together in darkness and lightness
to make an opus
which is part of our daydream
then make it happens

dream become the best paper in conference :) finally my group did it :)
oni May 1

that (pronoun)
\ˈthat, thət\

used by the misunderstanding to describe the depth of thought and/or emotion experienced by the reader upon reading poetry that has been ripped directly from the author's soul

Definition of Selfless: Putting others before yourself to the point where "you" don't matter anymore.

Definition of Pain: One of the two things that I believe all people have in common. The other thing? Love.

Definition of Love:  --ERROR-- Lost in translation.

Definition of Nothing: Nothing...

Definition of Feeling You've got tons of it don't you?


Don't you?

Definition of Me: A personal title I call myself. Also known as "you" in a sense.

High and mighty and greater than "you".

Because "me", a self proclaimed name that doesn't deserve its definition. Because "I" am hurt, and in "pain", and out of "love", and too "selfless" to take care of "me". So that makes "me"...


Go on... Define me.

Hello, my name is selfless, I only care about other people so don’t ask me how I’m doing I am only concerned with your well being.

Hello, my name is forgetful and I keep forgetting you name and pretty much everything else about you.

Hello, my name is confusion, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be here or not. Can you help me out??

Hello, I’m apologetic and I’m sorry for everything thing I’ve done, or have done, or things I never did I’m sorry.

Hello, most people call me silence, you can find me in many places but I find the most comfort in peoples discomfort of awkwardness.

Hi, I’m solitude, and I don’t want anything to do with you STAY AWAY FROM ME.

My name is anger and I hate everything and everyone for absolutely no reason, but if you want I can give you a million reasons to justify my actions.

My name is lonely, and I just want you to hold my hand so that maybe it can stop shaking so much.

People sometimes call me disappointing and I hold onto that like it’s the only part of this cliff I can hold onto to keep myself from falling.

Hello, I’m transparent and I’m thinner than the page of the book you used to read, so thin that you can see right through me, or maybe not even see me at all.

Hi, my name is dictionary, and I know how to describe your whole life in many words you may never understand.


My name is Swingline.

And I would make a name for myself to describe what I think I am or what I’m supposed to be. But the name I seek…

Isn’t in the dictionary yet.

So tell me... was it a good first impression?
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