Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
1
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

2
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with
perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the
distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and
vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing
of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and
dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,

The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of
the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields
and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising
from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the
earth much?
Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of
all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions
of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in
books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

3
I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the
beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.

Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and
increase, always ***,
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of
life.
To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so.

Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well
entretied, braced in the beams,
Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,
I and this mystery here we stand.

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not
my soul.

Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,
Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age,
Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they
discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.

Welcome is every ***** and attribute of me, and of any man hearty
and clean,
Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be
less familiar than the rest.

I am satisfied - I see, dance, laugh, sing;
As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the
night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy
tread,
Leaving me baskets cover’d with white towels swelling the house with
their plenty,
Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my
eyes,
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is
ahead?

4
Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and
city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old
and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss
or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news,
the fitful events;
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is *****, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with
linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.

5
I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to
you,
And you must not be abased to the other.

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not
even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over
upon me,
And parted the shirt from my *****-bone, and plunged your tongue
to my bare-stript heart,
And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my
feet.

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass
all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women
my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap’d stones, elder, mullein and
poke-****.

6
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more
than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green
stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see
and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the
vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I
receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the ******* of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out
of their mothers’ laps,
And here you are the mothers’ laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for
nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and
women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken
soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the
end to arrest it,
And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

7
Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know
it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash’d babe, and
am not contain’d between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and
fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)

Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,
For me those that have been boys and that love women,
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted,
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the
mothers of mothers,
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,
For me children and the begetters of children.

Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be
shaken away.

8
The little one sleeps in its cradle,
I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies
with my hand.

The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,
I peeringly view them from the top.

The suicide sprawls on the ****** floor of the bedroom,
I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol
has fallen.

The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of
the promenaders,
The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the
clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,
The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-*****,
The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous’d mobs,
The flap of the curtain’d litter, a sick man inside borne to the
hospital,
The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,
The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his
passage to the centre of the crowd,
The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,
What groans of over-fed or half-starv’d who fall sunstruck or in
fits,
What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and
give birth to babes,
What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls
restrain’d by decorum,
Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances,
rejections with convex lips,
I mind them or the show or resonance of them-I come and I depart.

9
The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,
The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon,
The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,
The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow.

I am there, I help, I came stretch’d atop of the load,
I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,
I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy,
And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.

10
Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt,
Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-****’d game,
Falling asleep on the gather’d leaves with my dog and gun by my
side.

The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle
and scud,
My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from
the deck.

The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me,
I tuck’d my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time;
You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.

I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west,
the bride was a red girl,
Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking,
they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets
hanging from their shoulders,
On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his
luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride
by the hand,
She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks
descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach’d to her
feet.

The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside,
I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile,
Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and
weak,
And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him,
And brought water and fill’d a tub for his sweated body and bruis’d
feet,
And gave him a room that enter’d from my own, and gave him some
coarse clean clothes,
And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,
And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;
He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass’d north,
I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean’d in the corner.

11
Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore,
Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;
Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.

She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank,
She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.

Which of the young men does she like the best?
Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,
You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth
bather,
The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.

The beards of the young men glisten’d with wet, it ran from their
long hair,
Little streams pass’d all over their bodies.

An unseen hand also pass’d over their bodies,
It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.

The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the
sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them,
They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending
arch,
They do not think whom they ***** with spray.

12
The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife
at the stall in the market,
I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.

Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil,
Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in
the fire.

From the cinder-strew’d threshold I follow their movements,
The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms,
Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure,
They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.

13
The ***** holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags
underneath on its tied-over chain,
The ***** that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and
tall he stands pois’d on one leg on the string-piece,
His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over
his hip-band,
His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat
away from his forehead,
The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of
his polish’d and perfect limbs.

I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop
there,
I go with the team also.

In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as
forward sluing,
To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing,
Absorbing all to myself and for this song.

Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what
is that you express in your eyes?
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.

My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and
day-long ramble,
They rise together, they slowly circle around.

I believe in those wing’d purposes,
And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me,
And consider green and violet and the tufted crown i
Sia Jane Sep 2014
I'm made of all;
The books I've ever read
Poems I've ever written
Faces who have smiled at me
Hugs that have wrapped around me
Caresses that have graced my inner thigh
Countries & continents my feet have touched
The lovers as we simultaneously reach ecstasy within
Lonely nights shedding tear drops
Nights gazing black skies moon & stars
Children falling asleep to my heartbeat
Animals whose soul was found through reflective eye stares
Conversations spoken in French, Spanish, Italian, Xhosa, Afrikaans, Norwegian, German
Years of ******-, cognitive-, dialectical-, art-, drama-, music-, mindfulness-, trauma-, psychiatry-; therapies
The drinks & drugs & mind altering substances dispersing my mind
In all I'm made of;
Love
Lust
Greed
Fear
Joy
Freedom
Longing
Dreams
Despair
Sadne­ss
Anger
Frustrations
Happiness
Anxieties
Insecurities....

In all I'm made of;

A soul; securely contained within a body of battled scars;
over;
pain & triumphs, losses & gains, rejections & acceptances, dishonours & accolades...

With the hope; she too, can live life through.

© Sia Jane
Written at 1.53am
RILEY Apr 2014
Dry tears accumulate
On the corners of my sleepless eyes
As my thoughts circulate
In my brains
Like old sweaters in washing machines.
My spirit is knocking on the doors of my mind,
Peeking through windows
Trying to get a signal,
Trying to do something
Screaming
“What the hell are you doing!?You’re going to **** us!”

It’s raining,
Inside me it’s raining;
Droplets of infuriated thoughts
And angry manifestos
Declaring that I’m unpleased with this world,
Unpleased of how it’s too small for my dreams,
Too tight for my overflowing self
And too narrow for my vision.

I’m a social claustrophobic,
Desperately attempting to get out of my social class
That is made out of four walls
Hate, prejudice, fear, and socio-economic dictionaries
That are set to define human beings.
I’m a lost pilgrim;
My compass is lying somewhere
In between the sand castles
Our father’s built for us
In this country on the shore;
In this country that drowns
Every time the moon decides to push away the water to its surface,
That clenches,
To the air that’s given to it
Split seconds after the moon changes its mind.

I can see the sunset;
But when the mind is not clear
One can never find clarity in a cloudless sky,
I can smell all kinds of spring,
But the scent reminds me of what I’m missing
Rather than what I am to find;
I’m busking in a starless sky,
I’m rotating around my words
Trying to avoid the meanings
Jumping over my reflections
Only thinking of one thing
“How the hell do we get out of this labyrinth?”
Stevie Feb 2021
The sun rose bright and dark skies stayed,
We all left our houses to see,
To kick the rebels boys and girls out,
at the battle of humanity,
They came from China to Greenland,
to see the rebel boys and girls spanked by the truth,

We said we'll a??em to home and to the grave,
but we run us back to our own disappointment,
and acceptances...

The lads want to dress like girls, So what,
the ladies want to dress like a lad, so what,
but Religion, Companies and the government,
Tell them something different,
We are the humanity, that is defined,
By what we are told,
and it is the same for the minorities,

We said we'll a??em to home and to the grave,
but we run us back to our own disappointment,
and acceptances...

We blame our parents and others,
for the ignorance that we see,
Whether you are 10 or 99 years old,
from the day we are born, to the day that we shall die,
we take every word, that we hear from the higher idiots,
and believe their every word, and live a ******* lie,

We said we'll a??em to home and to the grave,
but we run us back to our own disappointment,
and acceptances...

We are deserve our pride,
We don't need any flags to state that,
We shouldn't care whether we are,
Straight, Gay, Lesbian, or White or Black,
This is our life, Just live it,
This is Life, not a F*cking Game of Checkers,

We said we'll a??em to home and to the grave,
but we run us back to our own disappointment,
and acceptances...
An Uncommon Poet Sep 2014
I’m an atheist he said
The crowd erupted and roared
Bottles thrown and spit fired
Fingers pointing and foul words jointing
Hear me out he asked
The crowd fell to half
How could we be lead by a man like you
A man of no faith and belief
Direction or related mind
I am not like you he said
I’m a man of my own
With a mind of my own
I do not obey the words on old paper
Old faith and testaments
Organized by preachers and the mystical
I disobey the orders of the proclaimed Christianity
It’s a waste of time
Equally as blind as the blind
You say I’m mislead and misguided
But I grew up
Grew bigger than the mythical scenes of a delusional mind
We believe in Santa until
You realize the man cannot fly
Deliver to 7 billion people one night annually
I was forced the change the human mind
The manual of the distracted and unkind
I am the man with my head on straight
I was able to recognize, stabilize and seize
A true fact would be
Humans would fail to exist without bees
But you’re more focused on Moses’ ability to part seas
Noah saving one of each species
If you could narrow your mind
Aid yourself to not restrict and bind
You’d be able to improve world issues
Decrease poverty rates or aid small businesses
Now I’m not saying you will, but you’re entirely capable
I’m not saying you can’t while believing in him
But to me its one less distraction and myth
To arouse my imagination with
Instead I use that extra time and space
To ponder all of the cures and fixes
Improvements and enhancements
The crowd sat down
I watched as they nodded their heads with hesitation
Afraid to be caught by their peers
I raised my chin slowly to the man in white
So what do you believe in sir
He grinned and grinded his teeth
I am an open book
Millions of pages without words on them
I welcome and accept your differences
I do not attempt to change your beliefs like you do me
What you believe makes you diverse
But when you believe a mythical soul because someone told you so
Remember you are no longer diverse
You can be a man of the Arab faith or Christian belief
Believe that I don’t care who or what you believe
I’ll accept you
I’ll welcome and ingest what I like from everything you insist is correct
A man of unbiased and unfettered
You will no confine me or define me
I intake what I adore
Apply it to myself until I love nothing more
Then move to the next trait
I will continue to do this until my million pages are left full
There would not be room for one letter left in the top right corner of my lined paper
And honestly I do not want one thing from any of you
You judged me on behalf of the way I live
Like it would affect the way you live
Instead of acceptance and an open ear
You fell deaf like an infection or symptoms of vertigo
Instead of open arms
They became cuffed behind your back, rightfully so for your lack of embrace
I have files, folders and books written
Of things I wish not to be, things that are wrong and inhumane
Yet im still a young man
So aware and so directed
So guided and lead
By my own mind and beliefs rather than mythical creatures and imaginative retreats
This is a book of what I do not want to be
The man held a bible in his hands
People did not budge or scratch
Speak or lose focus
If you want to believe in something the man said
Believe in people
Believe in good faith and kind hearts
Believe in diversity and fresh starts
Don’t be caught off guard to evil actions
They are bound to happen
But people will help and aid them
Prevent and proclaim again
If you want to believe in God,
Believe in the force of people as one together being God
God did not make that Natural Disaster happen
Our ecological destruction did
Do not believe that God gave the unfertile woman a baby
Believe in good luck and breaking the odds
My mother always told me nothing is impossible
So I pledged to believe that we as humans together
Will embrace and be the causes of making the impossible possible
We as humans, together as one are everything you believe in
We have inhumane powers,
A thousand years ago they would not have believed in a CN Tower
Believe in the power of us as one
As we will save our people, trees, waters and everything we need
One by one
We are that man that is responsible for everything we see as impossible
Because we convince ourselves to believe there is something more powerful than us
We do not want to accept harsh and abnormal realities
Instead we weaken our minds and enhance our acceptances
And claim a figure named God did what humans apparently could not
“And What?” a man of the crowd shouted
Let me ask you this the man stared in straight face
What color would your man of God be wearing
“White of course, robes of white” the man shouted
And let me welcome you to something sir the man on stage said
Look around your room
There isn’t a man or woman in this room that Is not dressed in white
Although you’ll believe your God made this happen
I’ll fall to believe that fate and coincidence led aid to my theory
So to answer your question
I will lead you into the new world
One which will purify our lively hoods
And change the world
And if that is not enough motivation to follow my footsteps
Then I do not want to lead you
I will take my goals elsewhere
Thank you the man said as he walked away
I looked from left to right
The room remained quiet and stunned
Mentally reviewing everything the man just said
They began to look around the room and their people, ancient brothers and sisters
Until beautiful lady in a slim white dress stood up and applauded
One by one the people of the future raised from their seats
Clapping and screaming
Shouting and embracing
“We Are the People of the Future! Follow Me As I Lead You! Into The New World! I Am Your Sealer and Together We Are God! Love Me Like I Love You”
The crowd erupted
As I stood, clapping and smiling
I was not just a bystander
No, now I’m a man of the future
Rob Oct 2012
Sometimes she is a steam train,
All fire and noise, sizzling, powerful
Too hot to touch …
Almost.

And sometimes she is tree
Growing, blossoming, strengthening and seeding,
Increasing to a golden leafed complexity,
Before disrobing once more

And yet she is too a river, deep with secrets,
Wide with acceptances, bubbling and meandering and
flowing gentle round obstacles

Then is love the water that makes all her ways possible?
For then rain cannot disappoint
Tis drought I fear most.
The trouble with Cancerians is that they need a whole ocean!
Check out “Feeling Crabby” from last year if you want to know more along that line :)

Rob © 2012
M Harris Feb 2017
Newfangled Biosphere Pyramid Scheme In Dwelling To Sidetrack,
Sanities Seduced So You Never Will Retort.
Threaten the sanctity of the delusion,
Unlearn. Start altering the definitions.

Force fed more dread so you relinquish control,
Cravings we must return.
Unfetter the soul,
In a system where acceptances esteemed more than the veracity,
Flawed perception of tour progression through that which we consume.
Exposed through The Earliest Of Eons.

Resistance-Resistance is Demarcated
Subversion-Subvert the Paradigm
Stirring Within A Ecosphere
Numb And Incarcerated

Stirred On My Own
In Prehistoric Of Existences

Slumbering. Visualizing. Bleeding. Conscious.

Appreciations bolted in a collective delusion
Lulled by ease and consumption
An entire realm of souls visualizing their existences.
Mankind is not superior, we’re just folklore's in our own consciences.
thinklef Sep 2013
Address-From the depths of my heart
                                               Date-16-9-2013
..................................................­.................................................
Subject:               MEMORIES
........................................................­...........................................

January,
curiosity
I­ntroduction,
Conversations,
Communication,
Acceptances,
Happy times,
Midnight convo's,
Merging hearts,
Long distance,
Fading trusts,
One sided love,
Bleeding heart,
Emotional breakdown,
Fast texting fingers,
Auto re-dial,
Sleepless nights,
Radio at highest volume,
Blues,
Music for the pain,
Wishes,
Heavy eyes,
Reading old texts,
Voice note on repeat,
Daylight,
Apology
Not granted,
Faith,
Emotionally strong,
June,
July,
August,
September,
Coffee
Memories,memories,
­Pening words,
Hellopoetry,
Likes,
Comments,
Memory shared,
History lives on..
#Broken heart...
James Rives Oct 2023
writing a poem is hard when your soul contradicts the rest of you.
i say i love this woman and mean it,
and fear grips me, puts its finger on my lips,
and shushes me. tells me that neither of us
is ready, that i don’t know my own thoughts,
hopes, dreams, wants, needs, and their reflection
in the mirror of her stark blue eyes and soul.
that it’s all an imagining beyond my own soul
and comprehension, that i’m projecting
a long lost sense of helplessness and courage
onto her without consent because i seek
acceptances and intimacies beyond my worth.
and still, knuckle-deep in this hard, scathing noise is a truth i refuse to ignore.
i am hers in my entirety and only want to know
that she is mine— my soul contradicts
the rest of me but i faithfully **** it
and aim for the future i’ve hoped lives
in both of us.
I'm reaching and reaching
But never finding what I need
I'm grabbing the wrong things
Love and ***
Alcohol and drugs
Self harm

Those things wont fix you
If anything they leave you more broken

Love and ***
Is just a temporary feeling
That leaves you with a broken heart
Alcohol and drugs
Don't fix a broken heart
It just leaves you with a false sense of happiness
Self harm
Might  help in the moment
But it leaves scars deeper than the skin

I don't need any of that
I need to start grabbing
Love for myself
Self confidence
Self acceptances

I need to stop reaching for the wrong things
Vanessa Nov 2014
It hit like a bullet through the heart,
The words he wrote so long ago,
"I won’t let these little things slip, but if I do, it's you, that was all I ever cared about ”.
A sad excuse for a spin off of "Little Things”.
It was sad but it was mine.
The memory of those lyrics lingered,
In the back of my mind for sometime,
Inevitably trying my damnedest to forget.
But this morning came with rain and regret,
As I scrolled through deleted emails.
Job declines and too many college acceptances left my head spinning,
Down to words that screamed so vibrantly.
It hurt to scan the letters, but I did,
I almost shed a tear, but I smiled instead.
My eyes wallowed with warm water,
For me breathe out a sigh of release.

My heart is clenched
and my throat full,
Still choking back tears
and hating every word
I am once again,
overcome with hope.
A boy I loved wrote a song for me, because I thought One Direction was sweet for writing the song, Little Things. I am not a fan but that song melted my heart. He used the beat but changed the words to make them about me. We by no means get along today but I found these words this morning in an old email. Although, he's an *** now the last line powered me with motivation somehow.
ALK Feb 2013
If I sat here right now
And held it to my head,
I think I could pull the trigger.
I could send a piece of hot lead
Flying straight and true
Through my ****** up head.
I’m sure you’d be surprised,
Wonder why I’d done it,
Why the hell I was dead.
You’d say that there was a lot for me here,
That I had a life worth living.
Look at it how I do:
I’m seventeen,
Still early in life,
Yet my head is so ****** up.
I hate my mind.
If it’s so bad now,
How will it be then?
Would I be able to function?
Would I be living a life full of hatred?
Manic depression,
Bipolarity,
And paranoia.
These things all plague me.
They are badges that I wear
Not represented by my acceptances
Or my grade point average.
To top it all off,
I feel so severely alone.
I’ve begun to live my life mindlessly,
Like a human drone.
I numb myself,
And you see me smile,
But that’s just a mask
That I can don for a while.
I see no point in going any further.
I’m that kid at the party,
Who just sits and hurts more.
The one thing that consoles me,
But strikes fear and panic attacks,
Is the fact that god does not exist.
He plays no part.
So when we die,
That is the end.
We live our lives,
Never again.
So taking mine has a certain finality,
An ultimate end.
It’s a ceasement of pain,
A darkness that the
Mind cannot comprehend.
If I held that gun now,
I could do it.
I could really do it,
My friend.
Niel Nov 2020
The Shaktic Yonied con-i-cative chronicle
Receptive magical majesty
Why do I insist to refuse the image
Which given to all for a being
I must, I must. but lust for sustenance
Greed gleamed gem, imaginative benefits
Illustrious acceptances held in receptacles
Analogous referrals for smarmy mastication
She: What a Be. The present of this presence
Shaking her out, letting go of these pretense
And obligative fashions
Of latching ons, to momentary ideals
Peeling them down, because permanence is the illusion

The banana tastes better without the Denial
Whittling woodwork
The sawdust agrees
We push, we push forth.. Hesitant to be forceful
Yet sometimes that's the force in it's own manifestation
When's the plan the being, and the being the plan?
Over exhausting contemplative complications
Isn't just a bean plant To eat the seed
And relish in her nourishment
But that want can be that active fault-line
Tectonically rupturing this productive structure
Impatience of the anticipating ambition
Crumbling foundation of her imaged experience

Perception is the adversary of all this malarkey
Projecting the doubt filter on how perceiving this reality
Realization of creation, the constant remembrance to strive
What's the precidence and where's my mind to?

Blind me!   Blind Me!

To forget the exhaustive duty

        Her beauty is so suiting
    Long to fruit.

To be swooned so soothingly
Rachel Brooke Nov 2015
Abandoned
Forsaken
Wishing she had chosen relinquishment of my life in the womb
An abomination to society
An accident of my mothers making
Inadequate in all areas of life
Abnormal
An embarrassment to my family
Acknowledged for my abstract ideas
But no acceptances for who I am
Everyone wants to change me
Animosity is a feeling that I feel upon entering a room
Why didn't she have an abortion
Instead choosing to vanquish my belief in myself.
Destroying my chances of a future
Worthless to her
Useless just another tool used for manipulation
Hypercritical words fall upon my ears
An idea of who I should be, but its not who I am
Preaching words out the bible but she doesn't follow it herself.
Arlene Corwin Feb 2021
Involved in Self

No one is more involved in self than
Self, for self is everyman  
And every self a constancy,
The constancy ubiquitous.
Once you have a grasp of this  
And use it thus,
You know all that there is to know
About this large and growing human race.

Some dispute the truth that is.
Ergo, the key — one of the keys
Is letting go the ego to please
Ego’s needs,
Which ego feeds self-interest,
(Not always the best of interests.)  
Nonetheless,  
No one is more concerned with self
Than self - oneself.
If one can land in understanding
By the  broadest of acceptances,  
One’s earned and learned the keys
To standing inside happiness
Outside of loneliness.

Involved In Self 2.27.2021 Circling Round  Experience; Pure Nakedness II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Uma natarajan Sep 2018
The writhing rememberances
Bitter Weeping repentances
Tense futile wait for acceptances
Palid light's reflections
Twangling trembling infections
Dot dashing tricks of frictions
Pitch dark woods of addictions
Echoing barks and their inspections
Shuttles striking with aggressions
Groaning desolate night's successions
Warren May 2019
I yearn for the quiet to hide my scars,
A cloak of confidence gifted from the darkest corners,
It offers itself from most places-  if you know where look,
The corner of the room,
The back of the crowd,
Or last in the queue,
My mantra is to be unnoticed and uninvited,
I steer clear of gatherings
Crowds unsettle me,
I live for the solace the silence brings,
I learnt long ago that out of sight is out of mind,
You cannot hit what isn’t there,
Or threaten a vacant space,
Don’t get me wrong - Evil still calls,
And when It does you better believe,
I come running like a loyal servant,
This chameleon that I’ve been forced to be -
Brings its own gifts,
Mine is the ability to sense trouble before it occurs,
It’s hidden in the tone of a voice,
The twitch of an eyebrow or the narrowing of the eyes,
It’s my warning to get out - to hide,
Melt into the back ground and avoid the situation,
But occasionally there’s no where to run,
Sometimes there’s no where to hide,
Then I switch to my defences,
Fast thinking to talk about anything to calm the threat,
Showering compliments and promises to appease my master,
All the while watching for those tell tales to heighten.
If that doesn’t work I prostrate myself with apologies and acceptances of guilt,
Anything to avoid the brewing storm.
It works for the most part,
It normally ends in some ****** deprivation,
That’s my ace card,
The one that’s guaranteed to work nine out ten times,
And so it starts again,
It’s the threat of that tenth time that lives within my shadows,
Always hovering on the edge of  everything I do,
Because that tenth time so easily could be my last time,
It’s come close,
This is why I yearn for the quiet,
To hide the scars of my survival,
Living a life in which I want to be invisible,
Isn’t the life I want to live,
But it’s the life I lead,
You can’t help me,
You can’t be there for me,
You’ll never even notice me,
Because I’m invisible.
Adalinda Jun 2020
Calling a place home
is nothing more but a
childish, false hope. In reality
we creat in oder to feel loved and acceptances.

— The End —