"acknowledging" poems
Clothes have outgrown me many times over,
but this sadness never does.
One size.
fits all.
There should have been an obituary for cancer, not you.
Wishing these slits within my skin could have been
replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.”
My name causes a sigh to escape from lips,
that do not feel like they belong to me,
the girl,
whose words always had to be special.
The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain,
born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child.
Never trusting time
due to what it delivers.
Death, being the only thing I desired.
But you,
who I love,
endlessly-
robbed by it.
Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly.
Stopped comparing depression to lace,
restricted the belief that suicide is poetic,
seeing things as they were.
More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply.
Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes.
This world is not tender.
II. Sad.
I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral,
knowing how many bouquets honored you that day.
split open my veins like a dimension
reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds.
My family wondered,
can we make it through another day?
Death scares me for what it has taken,
yet, I’m not afraid to die-
it’s all I deserve.
So I await the day pain erupts
from my throat,
acknowledging the days a soul
lived inside of my body-
footprints that walked,
belonging to me.
But I learned so well.
How to suffer with a smile,
dreading the beating of my heart
how unfair—
I don’t want to take these deep breaths
You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead
Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed.
III. Jokes played by the universe.
punchlines delivered,
how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself?
How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets,
and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them?
How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought-
of knowing people would thrive without me,
or the power of a belly laugh,
resembling a laugh track audience
drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
What happens when the good girl goes bad
like the spoiled milk she left out?
Because I couldn't seem to get up.
I think it was something about acknowledging that I'm alive, I'm here.
Wouldn't it all be easier if I wasn't?
When the good girl goes bad
because she worked her *** off on that paper and only got a C.
When the good girl goes bad
because the world doesn't treat her right,
but I guess it must because that's
how come I'm the good girl.
Not my depressed sister sitting in her room;
not my other sister running around, destroying everything I had to work for;
most definitely
not my other sister who always seemed to be your favorite but is now smashing plates in our backyard,
'cause I guess that's what happens if you get too close to you.
When the good girl goes bad,
you get angry because
I'm supposed to be your perfect child
not supposed to be
your ***** up child
your lonely child
your lazy child
your anxious child
not supposed to be
your good for nothing child
your dysfunctional child
your doesn't give a **** about anything anymore child.
why don't I ******* give a **** about anything anymore?
When the good girl goes bad
your life falls apart,
because clearly
you had enough to deal with already,
because clearly
this is all my fault,
because clearly
you don't have the time to face your good girl
and
because clearly
that's all on me.
When the good girl goes bad
because you left her out on the counter all those years, sitting there to rot.
And though I know that you can't waste your time putting it away, 'cause you never cared for it anyway,
maybe you shouldn't have bought the milk if you didn't want to drink it.
And I know the milk should take care of itself
but I tried and that only works for a couple of years
before the good girl gone bad falls far off the counter, spills across the floor,
and the only thing left is to throw that nasty old milk away
because your bread, eggs, oil, etc. need your attention
and it's just too late for the good girl.
When the good girl goes bad
because she never asked to be the good girl
or maybe I did, I don't really remember,
but not like this.
I just wanted to be loved
but little did I know that
the good girl just sits there
keeping herself afloat,
but the boat can't guide itself if it wasn't given eyes.
The boat can't patch itself if you keep telling it its still brand new
when its really old, broken, and covered in holes.
You shouldn't put a boat in the water if you know its going to sink,
but I guess you only really need a couple good boats
so you can just toss the good girl.
When mama's little good girl goes bad,
she feels guilty
because she was told she'd always be
the good girl.
Though, its hard being the good girl when you don't have any windshield wipers for your tears at night.
But the tears at night aren't supposed to exist
because
I'm still mama's mother fuckin' good girl,
just...
please pretend I haven't gone bad.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 11:56 PM UTC
*There is beauty in simplicity
There is beauty in just loving
There is beauty in not knowing
There is beauty in just holding hands
There is beauty in sharing the same drink
There is beauty in being just unclad
There is beauty in just gazing at each other
There is beauty in drawing imaginary hearts
There is beauty in playing with her twitching nose
There is beauty in just running your hands through hair
There is beauty in sitting amidst nature, and counting stars
There is beauty in wishing upon a falling star
There is beauty in listening to each other’s heart beats
There is beauty in watching yourself in her eyes
There is beauty in kissing her twinkling eyes
There is beauty in having her head on your lap
There is beauty in watching her fall asleep
There is beauty in waking her up in the morning
There is beauty in touching her glowing skin
There is beauty in making her a cup of coffee
There is beauty in kissing her throughout the day
There is beauty in going for a walk, holding hands
There is beauty in soaking in each other’s silence
There is beauty in being in each other’s heart
There is beauty in just having her around
There is beauty in just thanking her with your love
There is beauty in being in love with all your heart
There is beauty in acknowledging her presence*
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 9:15 AM UTC
Sleeplessness
Brought to you by sparkling espresso in a can
I have underestimated you yet again, oh humble coffee bean
But back to work
Eight tabs open, going back and forth
It's nothing short of a miracle if any given task is given more than a minute of attention at a time
Muscle spasms, trembling, fascinating
Overwhelming urge to mindlessly flex the muscles I don't have
Fake machissimo brought about by exhauation?
Or the exhileration of having to complete 8 projects in a day
While simultaneously trying to grasp a breaking down of my mind which hasn't happened since...forever
Hmm
These are the prime conditions to breed a taxing marathon of productivity
Or a chain of costly impulsive decisions to perpetuate procrastination.
Signs that someone is going crazy range from ****** to inability to stick to a single topic to excessive use of run on sentences
"How meta, acknowledging your insanity deconstructs the very notion of it if you normalize it within yourself and just look as everyone else as crazy! Ha.ha."
That made no sense, i don't think.
I like using big words to make myself sound smart you can make anyone believe anything if you use big words also it scares those
Hippopotomonstroesquipedaliophobixlcs
Grumble grumble
Good night/morning/whatever
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because the last time I opened up to someone artistically they told me it was pretty dark and I should keep it to myself.
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because I was raised in a culture that was anti love and pro meaningless *** I saw endless commercials about movies that glamorize a lifestyle in which your body is fulfilled but your heart is ignored and at that impressionable age I learned my heart came second but my allure came first and the less I cared that happier I would be and I carried that belief around with me the way I used to carry around a Bible as a child.
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because of the time that I opened my father’s phone to reveal a family secret I would hold to this day against my own moral instincts unraveling miles of insecurities wondering if I’m not a good enough daughter or if he stopped loving my mother or if true love was never real and although I had been taught marriage was my purpose, it was what I believed would make me happy, maybe rings aren’t enough to stay in love and maybe people’s feelings change and maybe no one actually has a “one true love” and that this purpose I had been taught was really an endless wild goose chase that only lead to broken families and lost souls.
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because sometimes I still wonder why I fell into an abyss of toxicity at such a young age. And when I say wonder I don’t mean a trivial ponder, I mean I contemplate every possible reason why the person who I once believed held the universe in her eyes would lie to my face, why she never kissed me in public and our love was always a secret, why she valued girls with blue hair but my blonde hair was not good enough, why I had to hide bruises from my family when I was still in high school or more importantly, why at the time, I thought I deserved them. These thoughts, this lingering paranoia that I am undeserving of healthy love, they muddy my interpretations of real life and distort reality and effect my relationships. My doctor would call these intrusive thoughts, my best friend would tell me they’re symptoms of PTSD, but I have come to realize that I’ve been burned and I am damaged and I hope to god I can recover.
But you,
Oh god, you
You can write this poem. You can be my safety net while I’m free falling in love. You can be the one to listen to my mental tilt-a-whirls, you can be the one that introduces my body and my heart, you can be the one that calms the storms in my mind when I’m questioning the love I’m deserving of. You are the one who makes sure I fall asleep in my bed after drunk nights, you are the one that still sees my value after acknowledging my flaws.
You can write this poem.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
With every affirmation
My tongue trips over the unspoken
Unrequited acceptance of current circumstance
My submission is insulting
Unbelieving, you see my lowered eyes as an attack
Belly up
I am confused
Unsure of what movements are appropriate
Frozen, doe-eyed and exhausted from the constant dance
Do I bow
Do I speak
Merely acknowledging my emotions
Sends shockwaves through the tentative peace
I was not built for this
A goddess prostrated
Stripped of her very core
Caged and chained
But it is almost as if my very attempt to accede
Is a declaration of war
What kind of existence is this
Trapped between personage and possession
My only purpose is to please.
Allow me.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC
The stigma that sensitive people are weak needs to diminish.
Just because she feels things down to her bones does not mean she is weak.
She carries everything. Her feelings, other people’s feelings, the world around her as she takes it all in.
* * *
Sensitivity is deemed feeble.
Thick-skinned people are the brave ones, right? They have endured so much that they no longer feel anything. Snide remarks, rude comments, and stressful situations roll off their skin like water during a storm. If it’s already pouring, why worry about each droplet?
* * *
That is the problem, she thought to herself. Are brave people truly brave?
No.
Brave people are the true cowards. Rather than taking their experiences and feeling them, letting them seep into their bones to become the marrow which fuels their bodies, they shut them away; skeletons in a closet.
They have become numb to the baggage they carry at the expense of growing numb to everything else.
* * *
People around her are merely living in this world, she decided, whereas she was absorbing it.
In the spring she lays in the grass, running her fingers through each blade as if it were the Earth’s hair.
When summer nights bring a light breeze, she imagines spirits are hugging her.
In the fall when it rains, she spreads her arms wide and gazes up to the sky, knowing that each water droplet that falls is Mother Nature peppering her skin with kisses.
* * *
Others are too preoccupied making sure their skeletons do not peer out of the closet.
Strength, after all, is the ability to withstand vast amounts of pressure and God knows how much force those skeletons must bear.
* * *
In the middle of the night, her father hears her talking to someone, except there is no response. It is as if she is conversing with herself when in actuality, she is conversing with her skeletons.
After midnight when others have drifted off to sleep, hoping that their skeletons do not come to haunt them, she is wide awake, her closet door open.
She lays in bed and asks her anxiety how it’s day was, laughs at a witty comment that her depression has made about her life, and gives thanks to the insult a bully gave her in the first grade for making her the person she is today.
The things that should weigh her down, she has befriended. They come to visit so often, anyways.
* * *
She wonders how someone who has mastered the art of suppressing their feelings is braver than someone who has mastered the art of acknowledging their feelings.
The strength it takes to keep the closet door shut is immense.
However, it takes an unsurpassable amount of resilience to carry the world in her heart and soul while still having the courage to open her closet without being afraid of the things that could jump out at her.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
Overlook the fragile hourglass figure
Beyond corsets and pseudo-beauty rules,
Endorse thy curves and stretch marks strewn,
The dusky skin and frizzy curls,
Braille like pimples on the face
Discoloration, bumps and pores;
This Body shaming, I shall pass.
Writhing in pain and humiliation,
Drenching in rage and insecurity
While I lie,
Society curses me
Defining and redefining my chastity;
'T was the crop top, the alcohol and the sly behavior.
You set the monster free and blame the ****
This Victim shaming, I shall pass.
Beige and ebony;
They call me names blatantly
Betwixt skin color and bleached smiles.
Laugh and scoff all you want.
Harass the Black, detain them,
Prejudiced minds rule your dystopian world.
This Black shaming, I shall pass.
Without creating a labyrinth of stigma,
And seeking refugee in collective blame,
Let's construct our utopian world
Acknowledging all freaks and flaws
This Shaming, we shall pass.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 8:05 AM UTC
We sit,
Witnesses
To Immolation,
Acknowledging Death.
Vap'rous vows now vanished;
Infidelity preceding
The wedding day,
Following after,
Covered deftly under
Lies compounding lies,
One holding true,
One never so,
And so we sit over
Coffee and Divorce,
Now that the truth is out.
We sit,
Witnesses to small talk:
"You may have the furniture";
"Insurance ends in May";
"Do you have a question?"
"There's nothing left to say."
We sit;
She leaves;
Her emptiness
Remains;
We three sit tight,
Uncertain,
Nothing left to say,
But still we sit musing
Coffee and Divorce.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
I watched the fox, rat held firmly in its jaw,
Trot across the street, lithely avoiding the cars,
Ears pricked up.
It slithered under a fence and weaved through the undergrowth,
Not once acknowledging my presence.
Disappearing in the night, it yelped out its echoes in the wood
Licking out worms.
The shadowed moon slung down its light
Like weak silver bristles from the back of a carved out hedgehog
Covered with newly deposited fox saliva.
It had screamed as it was consumed-unable to die!
The crow stabbed at a newly dead rock pigeon
As the stalking cat pounced......
Death mingled!
Joe, who lived near me, waved:
I waved back, wondering why he saw nothing.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
This
contained
energy
Will be the
******* end of me
In my symphonic body I paint a note too hard to reach
Still I speak as though im at the peak
Staring down at fallen leaves
Acknowledging to myself if I was to actually leap,
I would already be on the ground
No sound comes around as I scream from my mouth
Temptation to change perceptions of me are too big to ignore
They beget more of their own kind than before
And now im staring up at that note from my bedroom floor
If I could reach it
In the right key it might open a door
And let in fresh air to sink into my pores
This
Contained
Energy
Could be the end of me
But I promise I wont let it
I will strive to fly higher until I finally have spent it
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
I remember the feeling of waking up for nothing
The empty, gray taste everything had
How I'd stare off
Out windows
Or across streets
I remember walking to the river
And the grass not bending beneath my feet
The current wouldn't change nor stop for me
And I imagined it would always be this.
Having everything I had always wanted right in front of me and it not matter
I remember being stuck in the rain and not getting wet
Watching
Quietly accepting what was, and simultaneously not acknowledging what it meant.
It was comfortable, but now I want control.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
Where did you come from, bright star?
What heaven did you leap from, dear love?
How can I spell your name
Without the sound of autumn
Underneath my tongue,
Without acknowledging the lovers who bent me in half
Bless them for bringing me to you
How can I say your name
Without also breathing the words
My god, I found you.
How can I ever speak again with this mouth
When it has found where it belongs
When you touch me, I am a bed of calla lilies
I will build a house and fill it with evergreens
I will paint sunsets on every wall
So you can only see beautiful things
How can I say love
Without wanting to fold myself into you
Like a thousand paper cranes?
Dear one,
I was halved the moment I was born
Either piece of me is inside of your mouth
And I was found whole the moment you spoke.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
What is the word acknowledgement, to someone
Who never does anything about what they acknowledge?
What good is acknowledging a problem,
If you choose not to act upon it?
It's almost as if acknowledgement helps us believe
We are better people if we are aware of the bad within or around us
As if acknowledgement taints our minds
With a false sense of enlightenment
That being aware, is better than being there
To actually change what it is we acknowledge to be wrong
But if people only talked about their words, with no actions
We would only need to acknowledge, never having to change our ways
For acknowledgement can sometimes be, the golden word we need
That justifies an ignorance to our false sense of bliss
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 12:53 PM UTC
The forest of legs swayed in the moving shadows beneath the chatter over head, each threatening to block our path and crush our attempt to get to the first fallen crisps of the party season, which as yet laid undisturbed.
We weaved and advanced as fast as their legs allowed, eager to scavenge the waiting bounty before they were trampled underfoot by the oblivious adults who were intent on a seasonal ritual of their own that went on high over our heads.
We emerged unscathed at the edge of the forest and raced across the open parquet to the cover of the drapped, white topped trestle tables catching our breaths and crunching our snatched crisps planning our next move toward the plateau above.
Our scout had reported rich pickings, but when we looked around, seeking signs of our brave advance party, we could find no trace beyond a half eaten volovant and what might have been regurgitated mushroom. We shook our heads in despair at their folly. Every kid knows to stick to crisps and to processed meats, avoiding anything that might contain vegetables. We saw an open French window just beyond the trestles and heard plaintive heaves that had a distinct 6 year old strain.
We checked each other's resolve and saw on each other's faces that we believed our mission was more important than any one stomach. With a maturity that would have surprised our parents, we pushed the plight of our friend to the back of our minds and focused on the task at hand.
We each reached up with practiced stealth, taking only a second to check the food on offer and with a speed bred into us by the curse of older siblings, we each grabbed our prize.
Acknowledging the hazards of the return journey we devoured the meat at hand and with hyena grins savoured our just rewards. While our fallen friend heaved once more, we saluted one another: the season had started better than any of us could have hoped.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
I destroyed my body
for a peace of mind i never got.
It's amazing how at one point in my life
I will be extremely close with you and then
later you will become a complete stranger.
You passed me without a word,
without a single acknowledging look. But,
you were the person, who once knew me so well
that you knew all my dark secrets and saw me through.
You were the smell before the rain but
now you are the blood in my veins,
a heart without chains.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
Thank you, tourists
For pausing.
For capturing
Every moment.
Your cameras draped,
Quivering below your necks
Your necks rosy
with sun.
Sunscreen scents
Swarm the air
But the air bursts
Diverse Dialects,
Dogmas,
and Dreams.
Thank you
From a resident,
A student,
A visitor,
A wanderer.
Thank you
For immobilizing
Glorious minutes
For impeding time
Just for a moment.
For acknowledging-
So that those who neglect to notice,
Once again realize their riches.
Thank you
For your quiet grins
As you regard
The world.
Thank you, travelers.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
Feeling out of place
Craving for familiar faces
Longing for warm welcomes
Aching for the sense of belonging
Trying to keep it together
Defeated?
Isolated?
Anxious?
Not at all!
A warrior of light never gives up
A warrior of love is never alone
But a warrior is always challenged
Invited to look within
It isn’t easy to start a new
Walking through unknown paths
Holding faith very tight
Allowing patience to guide the way
Embracing contentment until the end
Sometimes loneliness is suffocating
Patience runs out
Faith is nowhere to be found
And contentment seems a fairy tale
Wondering on and off
On all I know
Doubting anything
Suspicious of everything
Breathing in and out
Reconnecting with the self
Acknowledging who I am
Displaced…
Learning…
Growing…
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 3:32 AM UTC
In a cosmopolitan world where
Yeezy reigns supreme on our
Speakers, loathed for loving
Genius-acknowledging, we
Have set a standard of beauty
So surreptitious, soulless—
Unattainable in this number-
Crunching world so pre-
Occupied with symmetry and
Egotism—structure—black and
White dominated by rawness and
Robotics: steampunk screams echo-
Ing from the rooftops of skyscrapers
As lightning continues to strike the highest point.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
I won't be the weak one,
Although when I think and speak
I may tweak some I'm just
Searching for reasons
To justify the swell.
I will ride the undertow
Sunken beneath bass lines
And blunt tails
Intending to take it slow.
But I get a little excited sometimes, you know.
So when this undertow undoubtedly
Washes me ashore
I'll be the imaginary statue
Erected in my honor
Proudly saluting every fleeting
Emotion that sailed
Straight through my harbor.
You see,
Harboring hatred is a trait
I forfeited
To make way for the minuscule moments and glimpses
Of human existence penetrating
Layers of jade and years
Of conditioning and I am successfully
Transitioning into persistently
Acknowledging the raindrops
As they hit the pavement and pop.
You see some people feel the rain
While others just get wet,
A wise Rastafarian
Once famously said.
And I think on it all
Far too frequently for a quiet mind
But I've never had one of those
Not even after rolling papers
Intertwine and smoke fills my eyes,
Because I am accustomed
To a constant consciousness
And I'd much rather this
Than nothingness
And thus I sit, contemplating
Consequence
Aspiring to avoid the guilt of
Seasons past,
For I am past the point of
Punishment and pain ghosts and
I have plenty of pangs from all
The echoes
In my brain and in these
Rattled apartment's stains
It's not all in vain
Life grows these varicose
Veins
Colored-in, crawling across the
Window panes
Of the chamber where my soul remained
Through the bridge until the end of
The refrain.
I am in reign.
I rock the crown.
I roll the dice when
I am down
I try to think twice
Before I frown
I contemplate the value
Of the men that I allow
To lay me down
Now,
I am grown and I am proud
Because I am humble
And I'm not loud
Any longer,
I listen
To the subtle sounds of
Human respiration.
I am the incarnation
Of ancient incantations that
Shake down the walls which
Separate us all
All the way to the ground.
True power is found
Where unity resounds.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
practicing freedom is allowing yourself to notice the beauty in each and every day
practicing freedom is knowing that saying nothing or everything is perfectly okay
practicing freedom is loving your skin in whatever color it comes in
practicing freedom is wholeheartedly empowering both women and men
practicing freedom is fighting for those who are oppressed
practicing freedom is knowing even boys can wear a dress
practicing freedom is breaking free of societal expectation
practicing freedom is respecting those who live outside of normal presentations
practicing freedom is declaring truth over lies
practicing freedom is learning to leave fear behind
practicing freedom is prioritizing people over money
practicing freedom is realizing that human life is endlessly more valuable than the ******* economy
practicing freedom is believing you are enough
every background, ethnicity, and gender is deserving of love
practicing freedom is striving for unity
practicing freedom is recognizing the division that's destroying you and me
practicing freedom is acknowledging your dreams
practicing freedom is keeping hope alive despite all things
the practice of freedom.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
When darkness creeps
She seems to die in the night,
Laying her head down to rest.
Accepting the surreal world she
Sometimes doesn’t remember.
It isn’t exactly a place of death,
Where she stays each night.
Yet, each morning she is reborn
As the sunlights stretches into her room,
Acknowledging it doesn’t take all day
To find the purpose of its glow.
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 5:41 PM UTC
A puddle of existence
Awake in bed alone
I turn and turn and try to relax
Wryly acknowledging to myself
Trying is not relaxing
So I dive headlong
Into our deepest waters
And I hear your voice
And I know everything will be alright
And you aren't always going to be so far away...
And you are sharing my pulse
And you are breathing with my breath
And my eyes can see with yours
Holding you close
Hoping for soon
Our now
Together
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
The search within is one’s ability
But from the story will be from the greatness letters
In order to be great, one must bring in the goodness
Greatness requires responsibility
Yet, this comes being the one’s reality
Later follows excellence
But added with essence
However, greatness established assurance
Greatness in the teaching
Also nurturing in the seeking
Having the characteristics to excel
But don’t dwell in Oh Well
Once greatness is administered, you are now a success
But it is acknowledging sustaining with a confess
Then finally, the end result reaching satisfaction
But there were nine functions in greatness that required action
I had stated adding to the indication
But it was all part of persuasion
So you are looking to be great but show the greatness of you
Examine all the words I established and carefully go through
The greatness is waiting for you to open
Are you confident, feel your ability and assured?
Now it is up to you to make it happen, but following your own accord.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC