#buttons
A toggle is so fun to twist
While buttons pivot like a wrist.
Rotating through a slit
Gives a much snugger fit.
Toggles swaddle a contortionist.
Jul 19, 2024
Jul 19, 2024 at 6:33 PM UTC
Each nation
Each successive generation
Has punched that button
It isn’t red
It is quite round
And it’s there
Just look around
It fires doomsday
That elephant in all our rooms-day
We need to stop pushing
We need to start thinking
The oceans are filthy
The ice caps are shrinking
We all own the button
It's big and it's blue
It's everyones planet
and that includes you!
Oct 22, 2020
Oct 22, 2020 at 6:32 AM UTC
i keep two buttons in either pockets
they’re part of my usual pocket cluster, wallet phone keys headphones matches
both hands in my pocket now, i run my finger along the ridge of the left button on the hard days
i roll the bridge between both buttons before sneaking out back and pressing the right button
but like all psychoactivities, relative direction, cardinal hand eye, the right button looks identical to the left and I left them both on the table in between tobacco pouches and empty beer bottles
things that press the left button: ominous psychosis, soma mania, fire flushes from ******* not listening, an empty checking balance, an empty emotional balance, an emptiness
things that press the right button: herbal breath in the nice chair, glassy eyes and extra papers, a quiet hour in surround sound
I stare at the left button while my dad calls and hover over it, pausing mid drag to weigh the consequences, weighing the empty balance, feeling an overdrawn surcharge to my soul, taxed in tension, fumbling headphones
the left button sometimes makes me yell, dissociative silence or telling strangers to go **** themselves because I can’t afford the time for anything else
It’s usually the left button I smash against the wall, slaughtered, obliterated, my friends hand me broken batteries and shattered screens and say things like, “press the right button, stop pressing mine”
things that press the right button: not me, usually.
things that press the left button: the left button presses the left button, leaving me with a locked right button, pressed permanently and I fidget with a flathead trying to pop that ****** back out
why can’t I hit the right button?
why am I stuck with the left button, ad infinitum, added insidium, snarling and suffocated, shaking it out in the center of my bed
it might be easier if they left me in a blue gown, *** exposed, *** laid down, pressing that ******* button by the hospital bed, pressing that ******* button like I know how in the coward’s way out
irregardless of what button I press, or what gets pressed, or what’s pressing me and pressing against me, they find their way back into my pocket cluster
pockets with my hands, fingers that get skinnier until my fingers are thin lines or circles or buttons themselves and I have nothing left to do but give them to you and have you press every button, drugless and dampened
things that press the right button: you when I need you to
and when you press it, the left button and the right button are one in the same
they are you and you can withstand being pressed or being there to be pressed
out of my hands and a little lighter
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 6:31 PM UTC
The devil walked into a store
Eying the clearance rack.
He made eye contact with the cashier
Walking towards the half priced jackets
Flannels & boots.
At that moment he saw something that
became his whole world.
His fingers wild with excitement
passing through all the colors
The hangers clanging against metal feverishly
to find that they didn't have his size.
He thumbed back through the sizes
as though something would have changed
Checking then double checking.
He asked the cashier if they had anymore
in the back,
much to his dismay
to receive the same answer.
He saw a cardigan in his size but hated the way
it looked.
Flapping the hood up and down.
He circled the store
Looking up & down the isles.
Until he noticed the buttons.
Those big wooden buttons
Memories of a different time & place
How fast time slips away.
All that's left;
Shoes to match
Jan 3, 2020
Jan 3, 2020 at 11:10 PM UTC
There's always a joe
Anywhere u go
Just can't get it right
For to save his own life
Pulling us down
Way deep underground
What he says isn't real
Words only YOU feel
Heads up look both ways
The joes never stay
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 2:10 AM UTC
Sometimes you come to take me
On your magic carpet ride
In the midst of all the darkness
The still silence in the middle of the night
I never thought until this day
That I'd be blinded by this light
That's your disguise, that's a cover
Get ready, hang on tight
There's never been an evil
Thats deceived me quite so well
Or that claimed the truth
When clearly flying into hell
I've heard it said a time or two
Demons look like light
Maybe that's why you always come
In the secret of the night
At first I thought it beauty
No truth I saw in the dark
But what goes up, must come down
And now I see you're mark.
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 1:10 AM UTC
My hand hesitates above the button
"Unblock"
Just millimeters away from my fingertips
Pieces of your life could appear in seconds
With just a little pressure
Yes, I know last time this hurt me
But maybe this time will be different
What's one more time
Just one more visit to your page
Gently the button clicks and your name disappears
I search it and easily find your page
A lot has happened since I last checked
And it's funny because
Even though I'm reading them
The poems themselves tell me nothing
Like mine, theres no way to know
Who it is you are speaking of
Though every so often
I read one that hits me in the gut
It makes my heart hurt and my stomach curl
Because I'm almost sure that
The person you're writing of is me
And you are still hurting
You're still angry at me
I want to like the poem
I want to open a door for you to see
So maybe I can help give you closure
I'm itching for you to talk to me
And as my finger
Renters a state of hovering
Over yet another virtual button
I realize that it wouldn't help you
I'd only be hurting you further
And I don't want to do that to you
I realize that my missing our friendship
Is solely a desire of mine
And it would be cruel
To drop in on your life again
I'm sorry for what I did
And I'm sorry I'm struggling so much
To let that piece of us go
But your feelings about me are clear
So even though it hurts to read
Just how much I destroyed you
I think it's just what I needed
To stop getting my hopes up
And to stop pressing your buttons
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 3:06 AM UTC
It was all too fast and unexpected. Suddenly I was there meeting a complete stranger not knowing what to expect. She was a heart-breaker and I knew it deep down but I ignored all the red flags for all those butterflies and rainbows. She knew where my buttons were, she knew when to push them, she knew how to play a girl very well. And now I'm left feeling like a fool because she has moved on to her next prey.
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
We go deeper than we realize
Memory of us bleeding pictures heavy
Endure a number of slices from words
To assure us we are very unsteady
My soul has not stopped shaking since
You set off the earthquake that destroyed
Any defenses in okay shape
Your ripples I tried to avoid
Is it wrong to say I wish we'd never become
Friends so I would not get caught in your net
Let you entice me with flattery
Today my feet aren't getting wet
Crumbling but cannot show cracks
Taking measures so you won't decode
The variety of contradicting statements
I eagerly continue to unload
Leftovers of our romance
Strange and out of place
Feels like we are actors
Or athletes in a race
Despite the villian you see me as
I am hurting beneath my skin
Do what you like with lonely days
Jealousy predestined to creep in
Poetry too honest for you
Been a critic at best
I have found negativity can motivate
Claimed strength put to test
See you and I struggle as well
You run, catch up to my heels
There's no way you can match my pace
Tired, I let you control the steering wheel
Know exactly the right buttons to press
Tempers over edge when we fought
Dream of forgetting your incredible name
In reality mind for some reason will not
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 9:00 PM UTC
Push.
Pull.
******
Bend.
Hit.
Slap.
Tweak.
Touch.
Turn.
Feel.
Slide.
Press.
Stroke.
Hold.
Twist.
It's ok…ah.
You know just what,
I like.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
In All sincerety
Modesty
Accolades
And so on so forth
I hope you find a singular
Voice
Underneath all that rubble
Of life
That single
Spark in the forest
That brings it all down
The gold brick
In the Great Wall
Titanium pebble
In the Saharas
Extinct prehistoric fish
Swimming freely in the
Aegean
I hope you find
Your voice
Your stature
Your lungs
Your foothold
Amongst the selfish selfies
The boss
The Instafaces
Greedy
Nonchalants
Unenigmatic
Drunkards and Takeaways
You’ll know them
You’ll break Bread with them
You’ll dance with them
When you’re younger
Know when to get up from
The table
And feast upon yourself
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC
I have a small framed
Branching tree made
Of mother's shiny buttons
On the wall hanging
In my room of long dreams
Made by one sister with love
Similar one given to another
Hung as reminders
That life can live on
As an unforgotten tree
Different makes and hues
Varied shapes and sizes
All laced intertwined to a
Strong main trunk
By colored slim threads
Each button someone
I can always quickly name
Someone with some
Of my given red hot blood
In their pulsing veins
I never hope the days
When each button
Begins fading away
With the shine gone now
To grace heaven's dreams
© 2017 Jim Davis
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 2:56 PM UTC
McDonald's not the place
That miserable place,
The place I work at,
Don't get me wrong,
It puts bread on the table,
This drama that people throw at you,
It's really just poppycock,
The job is too easy,
Just press a button,
like the easy button
Wish I had a mute button
So I can silence the clicking of these buttons..
-Paul R Hensley |||
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
Balloon head girl...
With eggs for eyes and
Sharpie lips,,
Don't cry your egg white tears
For me, or let
the yolk leak from holes in
Your diabetic fingers...
Snap your blouse back on, with
The buttons right up
to your neck, a throat with
3 imprints, but
2 hands and
1 threat
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
An instant such as that, god only knows how much it had hurt. I resolved on a plan, a terrible, disgusting plan. One that required me to push away my conscience and semblance of self entirely.
A plan which left me ultimately heartless.
Oliver Starkweather, the only boy in the world. He had taken the part of me which made me more vulnerable to him than anyone else. Not only that, he was the only person I felt that I truly cared about, the only person, family included, that I could even begin to imagine using the word love on. The only entity that could ever hurt me. And that realization tied me to him forever.
Yet, that made me weak when I wanted to be strong, controlled when I wanted to control.
I had discovered a secret in a week that Oliver hadn’t in a year. His father; rich, generous, and virtually absent from his life, had a small additional house built on their property. Something he’d told me once was, “My dad works in sales.” At night when I couldn’t sleep, I took to exploring their big empty house. One week into my stay, I dared to venture out into the newer one. It was there that I discovered the bookcase. It appeared normal, every book on the shelf was dusty and ridiculously boring looking. The rest of the room had similar bookshelves with similar looking books, but they were mixed in with vibrant titles and a more alluring collection. From there, I began taking down books off of the shelf and flipping through them. The majority were as boring inside as they were out, but the fifth one I collected - which came from the top right corner - turned me whole perception upside down.
Being a morbid little girl, I had always been fascinated with taboos. I would sneak into my dad’s office at night and search words on his computer. Words like gore or ********** or drugs. When I opened that book I knew instantly, even at fourteen, that a book with all the inside pages cut out and baggie after baggie of white powder inside meant trouble. On the shelf, I found three more secret stashes. After that I’d seen enough.
When the autopsy was performed, the results read drug overdose. My tracks were well covered, for Oliver’s dad assumed Oliver had been secretly dipping into his bookshelf. Dealing was a felony that Mr. Starkweather was not about to risk, so he confessed that Oliver had been struggling with a drug problem. Sweet, demure, heartbroken me was sent back home, and years of therapy brainwashed me into so much denial that I was able to bottle up the entire story and force myself to forget. Deep down, I’d always known, but my mental unrest defied that.
Consequently, he returned. Maybe karma drove me crazy, maybe it was guilt.
But more than anything, it was probably loneliness.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC
Taking your life was the most selfish and selfless thing I have ever done and will ever do. Oliver and I, we shared the mutual consensus that no one in the world had ever loved us as much as we loved each other. Moreover, we understood one another; we shared the commonalty of unstable upbringings, of neglect, and most pertinently, of loneliness.
We’d dually been abused, rejected, and abandoned by those who were supposed to be our caretakers and guardians and parents. Perhaps, that in itself was how we’d grown such an indestructible bond.
And yet.
I saw a glint of a monster inside of you. The previous night. A manifestation of the horrors you’d faced, suddenly channeled through you. From that moment onward, I began to understand the truth. All of the anguish you’d survived may one day define you. One day, the innocence would be gone and in its place, the product of your childhood would be born.
On the last morning of your life, who you were, was living proof of good. Proof that a person could exist so pure, and kind to the very core. The best and most honorable person in my life. The only friend I’d ever known. I wanted to preserve your memory; a perfect relic, never to be tainted by the evil which would one day consume you.
I knew that as you lived, you were the only entity I’d felt genuine compassion for. The only human I’d ever loved. The only person in the whole world who could ever hurt me. That vulnerability ran like
poison through my logic.
And so, I resolved.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
He was the only one that made the yarn trees blossom,
From silken leafs to flowers grown. Then as petals tumbled
Yarn cascaded upon branches and hung. So rich in colour
Were these pieces that they glided upon gentle breezes.
So many colours flowed and creation was gathered each
Picked delicately as not to fray to keep whole. Some of wax
Were covered while others were light like a feather and felt
like air when sewn. All was plucked till blossom fell once more.
He had knitted the cows from birth they were but a yarn
Now they had grown extra stitching with each passing year,
To help them expand and grow. Upon fibered grass they did feed.
Each one was of a different fibre for milking purest silk.
Everyday the cows would be milked, and white silk did flow
Into buckets collected and off to be designed maybe into
An elegant swan, A dove, butterfly of white did fly upon its
Creation wings so light its beauty fluttered and flowed.
But Farmer stich had other animals, others to create the
Things needed for twine is fine, but to knit we must have
Buttons to hold. And with that they were fed on pellets
Of plastic proteins and quality was a must.
Every day they laid many a egg. Farmer Stitch would
Hold them to the light to see if they had a flurry of
Buttons inside each one different when cracked open.
Some with one hole, two holes, three, rare was a four.
Farmer stitch was a man of sewn words, he would fasten
His thoughts into ideas. When yarn had flowed upon
The breeze, and eggs did buttons fall from. Many a thing
Would be made, and now this yarn is over till again sewn.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
new spit, the hollow mind
every damaged button glaring on the
face you wear, you sew-
I don't know how to just yet.
some curses you wear
they roll over with you in your sleep
at night I sing in whispers
we face each other, I tear you down
I said I thought you were sleeping
but assassins never lie awake with their eyes closed
or hurt in their underwear
I am awake. I never sleep again.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
buttons slowly fall
inhibitions surrender
passions do release
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 6:05 PM UTC
Ten fingers
went to tend her
garden of buttons:
The right hand kisses cheeks
with Mr. **** and then greets
The Twins with a tender twist,
as the **** on the door when
He comes,
and we lay atop each
other to be a team—of beams
of light strobing across some sheets
of ice, maybe—with steadily raised stats
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
Pressing buttons,
Hitting switches,
Flashing lights,
Strobing sounds,
"Decorum! Decorum!" she cries,
No use. They are all within His spell.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC