#useful
Poets are quite useful and should not be harmed
per the Per-con-fessor (silent H)y’all, M.A., BS (not a degreee)
like the opossum,
a frightfully excellent scavenger
of nature’s successful (s)excesses,
should not vacuumed up, intoxicated, sprayed or
splayed with harsh chemicales, less their output
‘die on the vine’ (or summertime hammock)
let them create,
let them pro~create,(oh yeah)
let them be et,
juicy and delicioso
speaking from very personal know-(less)dge
while the species is no current danger
of being eradicat[et],
there are editors, propagandists, censors and sneering
sensors, A-holes, B-holes and M-holes,
even T-holes & Z-holes,
ready willing enable
to remove all poems
from the general lexicon
of human possessions
(and poets into giant pre-fabulous custom built warehouses)
i therefore encourage
you to start this date,
by kissing your fav po-et,
and thus strongly encourage,
hims and hers, to out-put put-out
suggest
you start with me,
as a test pest case
and not Thomas Case,
who gets plenty affection
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 7:55 AM UTC
We invented a strange language
where progress means
the sound of forests falling
like unpaid bills.
A human hand draws a line on the soil
and suddenly
the river becomes property,
the mountain becomes cement,
and the sky becomes
a place to hang smoke.
We measure the world
the way a thief measures a house—
How much wood?
How much oil?
How much gold hiding under silence?
No one measures
the breath of a whale,
the sleep of a tree,
or the quiet mathematics
of birds returning home.
We are excellent accountants.
We calculate profit
from the bones of mountains,
write numbers
on the ribs of oceans,
and stamp “development”
on the forehead of extinction.
The Earth never signed the contract.
Yet every morning
the sun still rises
like a patient teacher
waiting for a class
that keeps burning the school.
Humans say,
“Just one more factory.”
“Just one more mine.”
“Just one more road through the forest.”
Greed always speaks
in the language of just one more.
And somewhere
a glacier writes its slow resignation,
a river forgets its name,
and a forest practices
the long silence of ghosts.
One day
the Earth will place our cities
in a museum of mistakes
between the fossils of arrogance
and the dust of forgotten empires.
A small child of the future
may look at our ruins
and ask the wind:
“Did they not know
they were cutting
the branch they were sitting on?”
And the wind will answer softly—
“They knew.
They were simply too busy
counting the wood.”
— Written by Harsh Aryan 🌍✍️
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 4:30 PM UTC
We invented a strange language
where progress means
the sound of forests falling
like unpaid bills.
A human hand draws a line on the soil
and suddenly
the river becomes property,
the mountain becomes cement,
and the sky becomes
a place to hang smoke.
We measure the world
the way a thief measures a house—
How much wood?
How much oil?
How much gold hiding under silence?
No one measures
the breath of a whale,
the sleep of a tree,
or the quiet mathematics
of birds returning home.
We are excellent accountants.
We calculate profit
from the bones of mountains,
write numbers
on the ribs of oceans,
and stamp “development”
on the forehead of extinction.
The Earth never signed the contract.
Yet every morning
the sun still rises
like a patient teacher
waiting for a class
that keeps burning the school.
Humans say,
“Just one more factory.”
“Just one more mine.”
“Just one more road through the forest.”
Greed always speaks
in the language of just one more.
And somewhere
a glacier writes its slow resignation,
a river forgets its name,
and a forest practices
the long silence of ghosts.
One day
the Earth will place our cities
in a museum of mistakes
between the fossils of arrogance
and the dust of forgotten empires.
A small child of the future
may look at our ruins
and ask the wind:
“Did they not know
they were cutting
the branch they were sitting on?”
And the wind will answer softly—
“They knew.
They were simply too busy
counting the wood.”
— Written by Harsh Aryan 🌍✍️
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 4:30 PM UTC
I have always been helpful.
I still remain to be.
The adults growing up always said
”she’s such a joy to have around what a great girl”
I shared everything I had
I was more than happy to share
any or all of my things for all of my life
I was five listening to whatever my family wanted
My food, a toy, a blanket I was using, anything.
As a teenager me and my two sisters continued to grow apart
They were always closer with one other
Then I ever was with a single one
We were only 2 years apart from each other.
Even when I was five I was the way I was because
I felt like no one ever wanted me around
So maybe if I gave myself they would
I remember my oldest sister telling me to go hide in a box
I would ask why and it would be a reply of
“Just. because. I want you to” .
It never felt lonely It might of been I never was
I was always kept company by the thoughts in my head
Of “How do I get my people to want me around”.
I remember being 14 and asking my sister if she wanted
Some food I was making
She said she didn’t not
so I only made one portion for my self
Then I gave it to her and started over when she got hungry.
This process repeated for years with my sisters even my mother joined
This didn’t feel like a problem with my friends
I was more than happy to go to your car and grab your phone
To give anyone anything for events
I don’t know why I loved doing it
Maybe it might be my fault for giving up everything for I was raised in a world
where everything was my fault.
I was blamed for everything growing up
My sisters could say anything and they believed it.
Even their friends, mine, our parents
No questions asked
Sure, I was rightfully accountable maybe WHEN I WAS EIGHT
I don’t think people believed in me.
I think the worst part of this behavior going on is I scarcely get anything in return
I dont really know if I want any benefit from it
It makes me happy when I do it for friends.
I was never a people pleaser
Just a person who didn’t want to be alone
and in that I had to find ways to make others think I’m useful.
Jan 19
Jan 19, 2026 at 1:55 AM UTC
I'm (not) stupid,
I am (not) a fool,
I'm (not) only useful to you,
I'll never (not) be useful to anyone.
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 8:37 AM UTC
today's another day
of doing nothing
i don't really feel okay
but i don't want to be bluffing
about being useful
for anyone or anything-
i'm trying to be truthful
telling myself i'm ugly
but i'm not good at my studies
i guess my parents are right
always saying i'm useless
Sep 2, 2024
Sep 2, 2024 at 6:30 AM UTC
If ever I grow small
Consider me still useful
Uncrippled color
May 11, 2024
May 11, 2024 at 10:28 AM UTC
I got hit with that one trick pony line
Luring my anxiety,
AND insecurity,
To the frontline
Apparently I do mind
My mind will make sure to remind
Ignoring useful comments I find
And not just the kind kind
Too anything positive I'll become blind
A one track mind, singularity defined
Creating new shackles that bind
A self enforced redesign
Leading me to leave a select few talents behind
Choosing thoughts from another's mind to get behind
Because that one guy that one time
Tried to take from me the one thing I liked to give my time
But here's the bottom line,
I've found I rather enjoy expressing in rhyme
Hurt and pain just happen to be most of what I've felt for a long time
So that's what comes out
When I pour my heart out
Into each and every line
Let me apologize in advance for next time
©2024
Apr 26, 2024
Apr 26, 2024 at 5:10 PM UTC
Being useful
and
being valued
are. two. different. things.
Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 12:24 PM UTC
That's what I am.
Like an art on a canvas.
Only just to be admired, nothing more.
Only pleasant to your eyes, when you saw fit.
My only existence was to satisfy your needs.
You could've at least looked at me with love in your eyes.
If You're going to cry wolf
You should mean it.
My anxiety became the only subject matter, and she gave me advices because you were never here.
I was only useful in a useless way.
I was useful in loving and supporting you.
But all of those were useless
Cause you still went back to her!
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 8:28 AM UTC
Well this has a deflating feeling but
a pumped upending.
There was a little one, he was always
kicked around, but they were the best
of times, boot or hand he didn't mind.
Scuff marks marking his features,
every now and then washed off
Mudd crusted between stitches.
If he felt a little deflated they'd
be positive pumping him up full
of air once again.
It was him and them for a time,
but it moves on.
He went out less and less,
it was summer and he went
out once.
Sitting on the windowsill
wishing to between the blades
of grass. at the end of a foot and
a goal post.
Not being kicked and thrown
around, then it got real, he was
put in the shed empty not feeling
the air between his stitches anymore.
Then he heard voices in the back,
don't worry you have friends,
Were all a little deflated in here?
I think some of us were mislaid.
Forgotten by mistake or we like
to think that. Hi, I'm seasonal, I'm beach.
Now I'm just missing the sunshine.
I got a puncture, I wasn't as floaty
anymore, I was their favorite seaside
friend, you see they fixed my bobo.
I don't leak anymore, but they didn't
fill me up or throw me again.
I was put in here for another time,
but I only see them when they are
looking for lost things, but not me.
Meet tennis and his sister,
there a right pair, one always going
over the net, the other hoping that
the other would hit so they could
feel the air bouncing between the
racket and them.
The racket was in here, but never talked
just time pulling at his strings,
sagging as if a smile hanging upside down.
We have been in here a while,
don't know how long, we just
chat about the fun times before.
So they told each other stories wondering
what it would have been to be the other.
Laughing and joking at the possibility
of either hit by a boot or floating so high
in the air, as if they'd never hit the ground.
Time passed and one day the family all
came to the shed, older than before.
Oh my gosh, I remember you guys..
Mum, I found the beachball, oh my gosh
he's still got his kitty plaster on...
They pumped him up and he went in to
the air, he could feel the heat of the sun,
and it felt right again.
They grabbed me I was a little shrunken,
And the boy now a man, oh my gosh..
I thought I lost you, they pumped me up.
He did tricks with me, on knee head and
foot, wow he's got better as time passed.
Then racket came out with tennis and his
sister, what shall we do with these,
Oh' no they thought are going to end up
in the trash.
But they saw racket tightened his strings,
and then the yellow siblings where smacked
against the wall, they smiled at the noise and
the feel of Racket upon them again.
The sun was beaming and everything felt
like before. But then they were put into
the car with other objects, a vase slightly
chipped, but beautiful anyway.
Books, with folded pages, what stories
they could tell us, another time anyway.
We traveled a while, hearing noises
outside, And handed to another,
don't worry we'll find them a new home.
We were put on shelves, price tags stuck
to us, we were left behind pieces that
others didn't want to throw away.
But finding us a new home, racket and the
twins were first to go,
at least they weren't separated.
A new face taking them home cuddling,
holding them tight, a home was found.
Then it was beaches turn, a little girl with
her mummy, she saw the kitty plaster and
was smitten. She threw him in the air
i could see him smile at the thought of
once again being thrown again.
Me I was the last, I was asleep didn't even
realise that I'd even been sold.
Rudley awoke to a foot in my face.
what the, and I could feel the air between
my fibers, I could see children and more
of me being kicked around.
I was among others as laughter and glee,
as we were kicked and thrown, it felt like
home again, not the one before but a new
one I was inflated and gliding between posts,
back of the net, and out again.
Home is where ever you feel needed,
and never let yourself feel deflated as
we are all useful in our own way.
I have to go as I have fourteen children
chasing after me, and there I go.
boot to me and in the air, I fly again.
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 6:28 AM UTC
Oftentimes, you realize, that the shaking of an intangible void, desperate, clinging before it too is lost on an otherworldly transform of otherwise incomprehensible, nightmarish, or null thoughts, buried between the conceptions of self-deliverance and a bone-knuckled release into an endlessly exploding oblivion, or the intangible touch of a thousand tiger's treasuries.
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 11:52 PM UTC
Easy to give useful tips
Someone who doesn't do the estimates himself.
It's easy to scold grumpy poets
Someone who can't find the words.
When you write a letter to your beloved lady,
I would advise you to write poetry.
I would advise you to eat halva,
But you're sick on both heads.
What artist can be given advice?
Don't leave a gun in the dressing room.
What advice is good for a deputy?
Do not raise public sector wages.
Advice for a buyer –
Don't come to the store without money.
The pickpocket kind of two tips:
Grab the bills, leave the coins.
The diver will appreciate the wish –
Dive where the habitat is.
Hint to all freeloaders in the final –
Read the classics in the original.
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 4:57 PM UTC
Loathe
Power verb
Direct, yes
Though,
Verbose is
How I wrote
Still I write in open circles
Even I don't know what I mean. Trust.
Looping back, is there not an artistry in that?
Together
Adjective for the ages
Cut to form,
Don't get me wrong,
It sounds fitting
With the way you lead your life.
Your confines.
Look at all my fitted pieces.
I bend the lines with word as waveform.
Looping back,
Fulfilling is
As useless
As it is
Useful
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 3:41 AM UTC
We look into the damp, dark recesses of our mind
to look for finite definition
for our actions and expressions.
We are looking for a straight line in a work comprised of curved loops.
How we don't acknowledge the curved loops' flexibility to
everything.
We can only see shapes through our narrow minds.
Not the abstract dimensionality.
The straightening of a curved loop is the destruction of true art.
Moving endlessly with infinite pertinence.
That no one
yet everyone
understands.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 12:27 PM UTC
Fear, please don't embrace me.
Please don't come chasing after me.
Please don't.
Fear, please don't stop me.
Please don't make me to be afraid to even worship God...
Worthlessness, please don't replace my mirror.
Please don't take away my identity, the truth I hold onto.
Uselessness, please don't come and be my secretary.
Please don't be my frequent notifications on my phone, on my heart.
Unloving, please don't come and replace my heart.
Please don't keep captives my thoughts, my words, my actions.
No. I am not asking.
I am telling you.
To leave.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 7:02 AM UTC
Nobody has to know about me
I am a person of insignificance
I only prioritize truth or beauty
There is no need to know about me
I am not like the Saints of past
I am no hero who does any deed so valiant
I need every inch of strength to give to my heart
For my heart is weak in times like these
Time makes we wane and wither
I usually can't fall in love
If I do find a true love
It becomes an obsession
To never see the darkness in another heart
I am imperfect in every way
I know that I shall never see that daylight coming
For I know one thing
Nobody will know about me
I will stay invisible to the naked eye
A telescope is needed to see my stars
I am so very near you
I am nobody of significance
I wish to start my journey as Anonymous
Carving no name on this road I pave
Heaven can wait
Until I am nobody's name
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 7:10 AM UTC
I’m a dying seed in a Desert ground,
With no water to feed my roots Useless as it seems, oh how you make it rain so I can spread my roots soon to grow to feed the hummingbirds.
I’m the food crumbs between the countertops decomposing by the days, useful for red the ants to take.
I’m a dead animal rotting away on a lonely long highway, as magnets feed on, so on as the ravens feed upon. I’m a guitar with the tone of D, what is useful is this melody? but so sweet by the ears of the listeners.
A dead star in the endless space, useful at night to show your beauty to behold the eyes of the souls you wish to Capture. Every sound is an endless song for your praise.
To know the unuseful is useful, we are useful for the consuming fire God.
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 3:18 PM UTC
Inspiration
Comes in
B U R S T S
All at once
Or never
It's something
That everybody wants
For different reasons
School
Work
Creativity
Inspiration
likes to come
at inconvient times
While in the shower
Or during a speech
Sometimes when you're asleep
And then it leaves
By the time you
Awaken.
Inspiration
Is pretty annoying
But also
Pretty **** useful
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 9:43 PM UTC
It's odd to think of how much time I spend working out a mental fallacy or problem in my head or on paper and then it's just gone. It's like a rhetorical analysis and my life is a story.
Today i was struggling a tad about spending this weekend at my boyfriend's and him not spending too much time with me. But immediately afterward, I summed that yes, he's happy to see me, but I was the one who asked to visit and he already had plans of things to do. So Though he appreciated my company, he has others things to do and enjoy as well.
This is not OUR weekend or holiday. I am just participating in it.
It was like this welling emotion of hurt suddenly was alleviated, knowing that it was not about shirking me; it was about getting things he had already endeavored to do done.
Thinking gets me to many better places than places I previously was before.
I solve a lot of my own problems staring at a screen and typing them out, or just staring and thinking in general. It gets me through issues that don't need to be issues. Its just my chemical imbalances ramping up small emotions that need not be catastrophic, but can sometimes turn to be.
Similarly, I've solved why I'm an extrovert writer. My only friends were people in stories, and though I adore human energy and potential, real human beings do not compare to the neatness and logic of story characters. They can both feel as real, but real people can change on a dime, or be growthless, or waste their time and learn nothing.
In a story we'd call that unrealistic.
So I'm content being around people, feeding off their glorious energy, but also fine not being too interactive at all times. I can hear voices in movies, I can meet people in stories. I can suffice on the people between pages, and also the people out of pages who feel strong and real and connective to me.
Thinking and reflecting is one of my strongest traits. Telling my therapist about this trait was one of the first times I realized my possible brilliance. I told her I reflect and work out problems with myself, as it was the only way I figured out how to live when things were worst, and she was stunned. She says that trait, one used to often, can sometimes be attributed to genius.
Understandably, I was also stunned.
Reflecting on reflecting even feels rejuvenating. I am so proud of this skill, the skill that kept me alive and now is helping me learn to be self-sufficient. The growth is exponential. The usability is astounding.
I feel so lucky to be able to have it.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
I write poetry often, but it never writes me back.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 6:31 AM UTC