#convenience
I like you—
that’s the simple part.
The complicated part
is the voice in the back of my head
that won’t let me relax.
You smile at me,
say the right things,
make it easy to fall into conversation.
And still, I’m bracing for impact
that hasn’t happened yet.
I’ve learned how quickly
kindness can turn into convenience,
how being cared about
can slowly become being useful.
So when you’re nice,
I wonder what it costs.
When you’re close,
I wonder how long it lasts.
I hate that my heart leans toward you
while my instincts pull me back.
That I want to trust you
but don’t know how to stop
waiting for the moment
you need something from me
more than you want me.
Maybe you’re different.
Maybe this fear is just old scars
talking too loud.
But until I know for sure,
I’ll stand here with feelings in my hands
and caution in my chest,
hoping I’m wrong
about you.
Apr 8
Apr 8, 2026 at 2:16 PM UTC
In the middle of my haste to arrive somewhere acceptable,
I saw a glint in the dark street
I bent down quickly, almost relieved.
I lifted a crumpled wrapper, mistaking reflection for value,
Mistaking borrowed light
For a sacred halo.
Perhaps
I was in a hurry to value something
Or perhaps I was afraid of walking alone at night.
So I built a shrine out of that foil..
Out of convenience
And called it commitment.
No sorrow ever truly belonged to me,
No joy ever rose from my own depths.
I became a container with a hole,
Waiting to be filled.
I deceived myself carefully, over years,
Convincing myself I was wounded by love.
What I called love
Was a contract signed to quiet the noise,
A drug taken to numb the hunger
I refused to name.
I walk the streets of an empty city
Wearing a familiar face,
Pass through tunnels built by meaningless rituals and endless expectations,
Telling myself I was loyal to love.
Only later did I find
I had only been loyal to my own emptiness,
Protecting it with ceremonies,
Calling the cage a home.
And yet
The scent of that perfume still ignites my mind,
Neurons flaring like distant, dying stars.
Cigarette smoke pulls me back.
To that porch under a moon that didn’t ask for promises.
Your skin, the cold air, the heat of the understanding
I wonder if you still feel it
When the wind shifts direction.
I stand now holding this piece of shiny trash,
This foil that once pretended to be gold.
I accept the silence after thunder.
There is no grief in the object,
Only in the hand that holds it.
Nevertheless
I never truly lost you,
Because perhaps I never truly had you.
But I am still here.
Still waiting without haste now.
And for the first time,
The night no longer frightens me.
Feb 2
Feb 2, 2026 at 2:28 PM UTC
Sins, bites on your conscience
never to your convenience.
No salvation, No revelations.
Unblessed the lucky
bottomless becomes your destiny
and darkness laments, it’s quite cloudy
wavy timelines, weary crimes
Brooking our doom
creating thy tomb
as deaths looms.
Apr 20, 2024
Apr 20, 2024 at 2:17 AM UTC
i saw a devil
dog on the rotisserie
at a convenience store
Jul 17, 2023
Jul 17, 2023 at 9:21 PM UTC
Oh! Alexa... hi..
I didnt mean to wake you
Please go back to sleep
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 7:06 PM UTC
What if there was no rush?
Only an infinity of time
To discover the world
And all you could do.
But that is simply not true.
We all head to our grave
Minute by passing minute
Year by passing year
Just because this is so,
Is it wise to rush?
Or wiser to take your time
And let your roots grow deep
Soaking in the richness
Of an Earth that has seen many generations.
It is only then we truly live
And not drift like dead wood
Afloat a windy river
That leads to a long drop over a waterfall.
Let's establish ourselves,
And become a true part
Of this magical world.
Fashion yourself into this work of art.
Engrave your essence into the bedrock of history.
Don't allow the wind of this generation
To disanchor your heart.
Let your grip tighten
Into the realms of future and past
For they can be easily forgotten
Among the nagging realities of today
And the constant worries of the present week.
Are we allowed to drop the shallow,
And explore the deep waters?
The unknown exists.
It welcomes the rarest souls
Into its hidden chambers.
But who dares to go there?
Who cares to go there
When the colourful attractions
Of previous discovery shine all around you?
Convenience the wall that guards the masses
From the hidden worlds that lay beneath.
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 10:09 PM UTC
No.
That’s all i need to say to make something stop
Why care for the things that once mattered in the past
When the ones that mattered in the past didn’t come to last
Honestly, it ***** to ****
We live this life with no breaks nor shortcuts
Suicide is simply an illogical solution
Doing so would diminish my own resolution
I’m growing tired and brittle
I may not be old but i’m hollow
No, not to be edgy in any matter
I wouldn’t care if you went and bantar
If you view me having the lack to emotion
Somewhat of a form of entertainment
I wouldn’t blame you
I invite you to do it
Know that I’ll give no reinvigoration
For your own amusement.
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 12:26 PM UTC
I looked into your eyes and I saw the future.
You sparkled of joy and happiness and,
Everything that I wanted from life was here,
But suddenly soon it had dissappeared,
Memories and love had cleared,
When love itself had ceased to appear,
I knew right then that pain was near,
You'd look into MY EYES and say,
That you were happy nothing's changed,
But nothing wasn't nothing dear,
Nothing then was something to fear,
But I was caught up and deeper I dug,
Between all of the kisses and hugs,
My love for you was my only drug,
The only song I'd ever sung,
Soon I began to notice the distance,
At the stop signs, no longer kisses,
Nothing had changed of whom I adored,
Were you the risk and not the reward?
The next part happened all too fast,
When into depression my mind relapsed,
When I couldn't remember who I was,
Any of the reasons why or because,
You left me stranded oh so alone,
This house stopped feeling like a home,
You only loved me at convenience to you,
So now I wonder, was any of it true?
Jan 7, 2020
Jan 7, 2020 at 10:27 PM UTC
Should you find the most convenient way of breathing
It will not
make you
feel
more alive
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 6:54 AM UTC
is that of convenience.
Its symptoms of ignorance and apathy
breed a system of cruelty
fueled by corruption.
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 8:52 PM UTC
For one to write about me, would be a
concussion of optimistic reflections.
My words conceal intentionally
inner reflections that even
I haven't gazed upon.
I'm a fragment of a picture wrote upon,
but then bleached with new horizons
that are neither rising or setting.
Conclusions of my thoughts are like a hurricane in
the confines of a daisy.
Bright but the beauty never
really placed singularly
but chained together
in a forced marriage of convenience.
I'm neither what one would expect
or the conclusion of a vast dissection
to collect
evidence to my meaning and function.
I'm a verse that moves further than
when the words finish finitely.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 2:20 PM UTC
I stick with what I know
Refusing to grow
Until I’m losing the show
With nowhere to go
I become part of the flow
Of an abandoned road
Staying in my lane
Playing video games
I’m becoming lame
With thoughts so tame
Ignoring doubtful shame
And bouts with pain
To preserve my brain
From harsh stains
So when I’m social
I am only hopeful
They don’t see I have no soul
To reach the top of that hill
I need to develop the will
To acquire a new skill
That’ll leave me fulfilled
And not on pills
But on playbills
That pay bills
Where the bay spills
But learning language
Brings me anguish
The stench of my French
Puts me on the bench
And I’m speaking German
Like I’m inside a Sherman
So I give up sounding like Napoleon
And go try out the accordion
But my focus on instrumentation
Only causes further insulation
When it doesn’t give placation
Requiring practice and inspiration
Yet I can’t tell the difference between a piano and a dynamo
But I guess I wasn’t really trying though
What I’m doing is more like dying slow
Parked in the snow
With nowhere to go
I have no patience
Nor discipline
I crave safeness
And indifference
For living with ease
Is my domestic disease
Drowning on my knees
Until I’m not interesting
In this interest sea
Where I float free
But don’t see
I say it’s all been done before
So why should I do any more?
Those before me got to score
And then closed the door
To the convenience store
They created a mangled mold
Out of their stranglehold
On the angles sold
But my blame grows old
As my claims are told
And my peers are polled
Concluding I’m not bold
After becoming cold
After a head start
I wait for a spark
Alone in the dark
With no real heart
Expecting my part
To fall in my lap
And people to clap
While I can’t do a thing
I can’t dance or sing
My hands I wring
Scheming ways to be king
Without pulling the strings
And never committing
It’ll be here I’m sitting
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC
If the only reason why
you break up with me
is because we are
apart.
Then our love wasn’t real at all.
Distance carries
no weight
and love is not for your
convenience.
It is a constant
decision.
We build a life apart
only to build the life
we want
together.
I do
miss you
your touch
and the
smell of your
skin.
I am
jealous of
all the people
who get to
be with you,
to see you,
and not from a screen.
But you
thought we were
temporary
when distance
was only days away.
Love
should’ve been
greater
but for you,
it wasn’t in
your favor.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
i have to accept that i was just a place holder for you
someone you came to because no one else even scratched the bare minimum
loving you with all my heart was never enough because in the end i was never what you wanted
i am a convenience
there is no answer to why
disposable
even when i dont try
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 6:56 AM UTC
The seductress has learnt it,
But never has she earned it.
She always lavishly used it,
Pouting it away to ease it.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 4:58 AM UTC
there’s something unsettling about convenience stores. the fluorescent lights resemble some planet far away from here. neon signs with a letter broken, now flashing “be r,” beckoning the broken, the damaged, the lost boys. the home of those who don’t fit in. they buy the greasy pizza, rubbery hot dogs, and chemically nacho cheese which imitate something edible but scream danger on the tongue. haunted by the souls of the the pimply teenagers working the register, lips stained blue from blue raspberry slushy, slaving through the evening for the nocturnal souls buying milk and bread in the wee hours of the night. hushed arguments on the phone about forgetting to buy toilet paper and why don’t you ever pay attention to me. the pungent smell of hair dye boxes, the stink of attempting to be someone you’re not. skeleton children with messy hair, ***** fingernails as well as thoughts, up to no good back for more cherry cough syrup and furniture polish. soon after 3 candy bars will be found missing from inventory. detergent bottle caps, once neon, now faded with gathering dust, residing next to a dented can of campbell’s chicken soup. an organized chaos. the land of misfit toys.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC
Dontcha just hate trying to finish a poem?
It's always like there could be just a hint of this, a dash of that;
too much seasoning, not enough time spent simmering;
did you use the right amount of ingredients;
was it tablespoons or teaspoons?
Dontcha wish you could just pluck one out of the freezer:
One wrapped up in a neat little package?
Leaving it on the stove-top to thaw a little,
before heating it up at your timely convenience?
I wish I knew when these **** things were done;
Wish I could stick em in a microwave, clock in the allotted time for a work like that to be well-cooked and consumable--
Wait around zoning out to the droning tone of the toasting note,
then awake from my spell by the sweet dinging of completion.
I'd take that steamy sucker out of that commodious kiln
in such great haste I can barely hold it in my hands!
"Boy oh boy does this one look tasty!"
I'd sit down with my necessary utensils and have a go at it, chewing thoughtfully and enjoying this wonderful piece I have prepared by myself for myself--and without all the hassle and wasted time
spent slaving over books and pages and pens and inspirations!
But ****
Nobody likes poems cooked out of pre-made packages;
they're a little too rubbery, a little too mushy, a little too bland--
and worse off they were made by the assemblyman's hand! (or claw).
Nobody likes their poems coming out of pre-made packages;
They ain't nothing like the real thing.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC
Our conveniences
Are all shared
And inconvenices
A perfect privacy!
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
They tell lies,
Not caring what the product may be,
Whatsoever the others may get hurt,
They do not care the least about me,
At least the one who was expected to did never care about me.
Such a loser is shamelessly writing these words.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 1:01 AM UTC