#whom
have mined so oft my core,
it is quite the hugest bore,
this morning, a rare overflow,
the poems drop like sniffles,
wet rom!com teardrops,
and plenty more to follow,
as my storage unit runneth over,
and the author-o-rities
complain I’ve taken too much space
on the internet’s gigga~giggle~light~bytes;
but the stomach reminds mas, mas,
so I’ll wander to the kitsch~en
for some stocky sticky whipped
almond/peanut butter, which has proven
the most effective stopper of
my fingertips, them compositional angels,
and dem muses, who beg me for to lick
my fingers, to distract me from working them overtime
no sense of humor, those amusing muses…
Jan 24
Jan 24, 2026 at 9:33 AM UTC
T'was not a spirit,
T'was not a ghost.
There is no specter,
Which haunts my soul.
In a joyous world,
I and I alone,
Am the inspiration,
For each sad poem.
Feb 3, 2025
Feb 3, 2025 at 9:44 AM UTC
If feeling lonely
Lost, neglected, hurt, or sad
Things will get better
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 6:53 AM UTC
Focus your attention somewhen else.
The somewhom you remember
is gathered dusty on the shelf.
Some other time.
A phrase some good, mostly bad.
Focus on the times in which you had.
**** it. Keep in time, in the then,
forget the now and the soon to be when.
Get lost. **** off.
Pout about it until you deign to sin.
Forget yourself.
Earn your regret.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:28 AM UTC
I've been living in a constant
and catastrophic mental state.
I'm trying to silence my memories.
I need to forget the emotions
That I'm forced to relive.
I've yet to eliminate
Their presence in all I do.
There isn't a single moment
That isn't embraced in nostalgia.
The lyrics in songs I'm unable to delete,
Reanimates it all.
I've used a million different words
To explain what I couldn't.
In the end, I am faced with the reality
That I can't just run.
I can't escape through objectivity and pencil lead,
This time.
All of my unspoken secrets remain,
Slowly clawing away at my sanity.
In remembering where I've been,
I'm killing myself from the inside, out.
I know,
You can't empathize or understand.
And…
I've always known this,
So, it's okay.
Nobody ever really wanted to.
Nobody ever really could.
However...
There exists a deep loneliness
that's rooted in my own deception.
I'm always fighting to be listened to.
Spent weeks painting pictures nobody saw.
I wish someone had just proved me wrong.
Which sounds odd, to anyone else.
I don't want to write
what's never gonna be read.
Why write out the details
of a story nobody wants?
I often wonder -
Even if I am finally opened and read -
Would their understanding
change my story's end?
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 9:57 PM UTC
I really have no idea,
No hint about who lost more,
But I surely lost my dear.
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 9:13 PM UTC
Whom else...
who has a rights to make me thinking about...
whom else,do my heart want to beat with...
whom else,do my dreams want to dream of...
whom else,do my thoughts always busy with...
whom else,do my poems talking about...
whom else than you,can love me as you did and still do...
who has a heart, same as you have...
who...?...
there is no one...
no one my sweetheart...
only there is a one...
one only no one more...
just you...
just my angel...
you are the only...
the only one,who has a rights to own my heart...
and to own hazem all...
love you baby mine...
baby whom gave every thing...
gave me the most costly of here...
gave me her heart...
and made me live so deep into that heart...
so,...
only you and no one over you...
can be my sweetheart...
love you my sweetheart...
hazem al ...
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 2:00 AM UTC
You've got your head in the clouds.
Your slowing drowning out.
You've spent you're life time stuck in a bubble to conform.
You've been forced to spend the entire time being silenced.
Being shut up, for the hell whom?
Who can know your story if you always shut up and keep quite.
Perfect, you want to be perfect?
Sweetheart you seen a robot I'm sorry to break it to you.
You have feelings treat them as gold.
You know what life feels like. Take that as you're treasure.
Why be stuck in a constant circle of being tossed around but thinking you aren't good enough cause you are actually human. You aren't perfect? No you haven't sold out to the society game. Don't be 'perfect', your wonderful,why become so fearful?
Each person on this world is another stroke of paint on the canvas, we mix well with some,and some just become runny and run through you.
So now, does a butterfly stay in one place for its entire life? Or does it show its color everywhere?-Lovey
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
We meet like fire and water, bursting into steam
swinging round each other, splitting at the seams
our slowly growing entropy, sees darkness before death
the energy, no sympathy, clutches its last breath.
You fall into my watering eyes,
through dance we somehow stabilise,
the swell between the crashes of the ocean,
the moments underneath the motion.
The stable explosion.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 2:05 AM UTC
his heart bled into the ground
he held me and whispered
in ****** liquor sighs
go on guapa
as long as there’s one of us
there’s both of us
and I shook like a rabbit
in twilight’s snare
and begged him
don’t go
don’t go
a chant as old
as old
as my bones
together,
once we felt the
earth move
it shook in the late spring morning
and I he warmed my feet
in the sack
when the night was a vacuum
he spilled his seed
on the ground
like some biblical
walk on
and we lived an entire
life
an entire life
in three days
three days of coughing
and struggling to stay still
in the winters dull
and stingy light
from a pale pale
pane in
Indiana
is it safe to
give my _____ to you?
It’s never safe,
I roughly handed it to you
and you felt it’s
shadow every since
with your busted femur
and long trailing stain
resenting the self-made
patricide
bleeding out
on the gray beast
I’m taken
the little rabbit
with a black scar
saving myself from
the tangled
mar that you now
have fallen
If I go on
we both go on
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
In all of the pages that you wrote
There was never once talk of the past
In every single story that was sold
You locked away all stories to be told
All of these letterboxes used to leave me love
All of the hopeful words you could dream of
But now your past is dead
The future wades in your head
To your new self
I say goodbye
Well, should I change? Must I remain?
Should I love you all the same?
March on steady to the beat of that drum
If it’s gonna go- I’m going this way, on this line
All of the people had the notion to speak
All of the words, now so weak
Surrounded now, blank white walls
Paint a life, your world calls
To some motivation
I say hello.
I’ll walk until I think I’ll stop
Rest awhile ‘till you catch up
Put my boots next to the fire
While the body and my mind do conspire
All of the birds would sing their song
Don’t mind at all if I sing along
In a quiet world sound erupts
The chant of choir soon conducts
To this plague of mice-like men
I shed a tear.
Beat, beat on that black-laced drum
The march that gets every man from
A kingdom to a kingdom in the sky
Living in a world of life just waiting to die.
All of the eyes were looking stern
All of my letters have been burnt
Carry coal from that mine
Who knows, he, she, or mine?
And tip my hat to whom it may concern.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
He bit the curb.
Does that make you disturbed?
She laughed at tears.
Does that deepen your fears?
They don't know when to stop.
There's no stop signs in this town.
If it's you, life's sad.
But if it's them they shouldn't make a sound.
Some don't fit in,
and they just can't help it,
no matter where they been.
I guess no one really developed it.
Whom I kiddin?
Some people are fake,
on the outside their only,
the character they make.
"Who wants to run like me?
Who wants to get away?
I look around,
but they all seem A-okay."
Well if he judged you,
He'd seem to be just fine.
But you'd never guess,
He's scared of being left behind.
If she beat you and spit in your face,
you'd figure she was spoiled,
but her life was just so misplaced.
Why do they have to smile?
Why do they have to drown?
Why do they have to go away,
after smashing into cold, hard ground?
I'd say you need a lesson,
but you've probably had one too.
Stop being arrogant,
if there's one thing that you do.
They've seen the grey clouds,
and you've seen the rain.
And surprisingly we've all gone insane.
So why drive us mad?
Why call us bad?
Make us sad?
What have I done?
Nothing,
but yet I'm being pushed.
Off my feet, off the swings, off the air, off the edge.
By you, by them, by me, by life?
I'm going to stand here,
and proclaim to the skies.
"For once, let this life be mine!"
"And please vanish the outer lies!"
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC