"acquainted" poems
ever since i was young,
my gaze was drawn skyward.
i could tell you the story of orion,
and how to brush bernice's hair,
before i could tell you that two plus two equals four.
i know more about our vast universe,
than i know about many of my friends.
if you are not well acquainted with a pisces,
let me give you a bit of an introduction:
we are compassionate, imaginative,
we adapt to whatever is thrown at us,
and my personal favourite,
we are unfalteringly loyal.
however...
we are full of self-hate,
prone to laziness,
we are escapists
and horrendously easy to manipulate.
i believe my horoscope today is complete ********
i do not feel utterly lovely,
i know i will not score a date
because no one feels for me romantically.
i've nothing to flaunt.
the horoscopes are saccharine lies,
but, those traits? those are me.
my soul is ancient,
i feel the pain of struggles i have not faced,
or rather, have not YET faced;
i will split my soul in two
i will break my bones
i will give every drop of my blood
i will breathe my last breath
for those that i love.
i spent two years of my life giving my heart and soul to a sagittarius.
philosophical, adventurous.
i admired him so.
but his negatives--
inconsistent. overconfident.
careless.
he was a burning house.
my mother, also a pisces, when all was said and done,
told me to stay away from those sagittarius boys.
they're dangerous for wary, fretful fish like us,
who ask 'from what bridge?' when we are told to jump.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
Red alluring dress
Wearing a woman.
***** back:
Red versus black, -
Designers applauding.
I envy God
Not power, but the vision.
Quivering eyelashes will
Furbish the ***** feet
Smelling of Mother - - -
Let's get acquainted.
After all
Man's longing
Is measured by
Heels
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
I met her once
a little, blind girl
who had let me
inside her wonderful world.
Yes, she couldn't see,
the girl with eyes bright.
Yet, she loved her world
like she never lost her sight.
She heard the music
of the breeze that blew.
The love for her world,
it only grew.
She acquainted me with
that music she heard,
from the buzz of the bees
to the chirping of the birds.
Yes, she couldn't see
the wonders of life.
Yet, she smiled
without a sign of strife.
She had beautiful eyes
filled with wonder.
I stood speechless and thought
how could God make such a blunder?
She danced and sang
with a graceful twirl.
How she loved her life
the little, blind girl.
She smiled and laughed,
her face filled with joy.
With wonder in her eyes,
she was serene, yet coy.
She felt her world
beneath her tiny fingers
and on me left a mark
that would forever linger.
Yes, she couldn't see
the life that she felt.
Yet, she never showed
the sorrow that she dealt.
Her world was dark.
Yet, she saw
the Earth's true form
pure and raw.
Yes, she let me in.
But I couldn't overstay.
So, I excused myself politely
and quietly walked away.
I had met her once
a little girl who couldn't see.
Yes, she was a child
but the happiest there could ever be
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 8:13 AM UTC
I began my life active with sports and other meaningless award systems.
Girl's recreational soccer, basketball, bike riding, math competitions, the works
Today, I feel weightless
useless would be best fit
As if all the running, jumping, yelling, point requiring statuses pushed the light out of my transitioned life.
I find myself sitting in one area often, as one may do
But different than sitting on a bench or sitting actively in company of others
I sit wondering exactly who I am looking at
Why am I empty lifeless longing towards an imaginary spot in the distant wall
I imagine some events in these minutes of stoic despair
Hearing goes weak and frozen, in this second, while I continue my Sunday brunch with non-conformative attitudes and her mother, the sweet old dementia
I don't mean to have their meetings often, I must of first acquainted as the first grade trauma or the Broadway rendition of Alone Thoughts featuring the Broken High School Years.
I hope to work the wheels again, to end these meetings and to live for once, in the midst of motion and pause.
This time, stopping and starting as I please.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
Guess what I'm writing about
Deez Nuts!
No seriously,
Not the thought we were going for?
So let's go a little more;
Maybe about the presidential candidate
Or the family jewels on my plate.
I'm trying not to laugh
Or bust a gut.
Maybe I can use Deez Nuts!
To bust in your guts.
Let's just rhyme.
I like big butts
(And I cannot Lie)
Or I might get in a rut
If you play with my nuts
And don't let my kids
Kiss your back or your ****
Or reach those guts.
Sidenote: I'm tan
Like a pharaoh, King Tut
But first,
Get Acquainted with me
Unless you're a ****
Than you're more than welcome
To meet Deez Nuts!
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 11:09 AM UTC
I was acquainted with a raucous older man while I was still young and as impressionable as plaster-of-paris
Malleable as I was
He left a mark
And now
I watch you wearing baldness with classy elegance
and donning beards with ease, easy on my eyes
Can we fly through space safely?
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 2:05 AM UTC
Some of you may know me,
Some of you may not.
You may have seen me across the street,
Sensual
And
Sleet.
Maybe you caught me in your mothers bedside draw,
*Or in the pockets of a local *****
We might already be acquainted,
We might be best friends,
I might be your
Means
To
An
End.
Give me a taste,
Be mine forever.
But don't try play it clever,
Don't be a predictable fool.
Maybe you think you're stronger.
If that be the case,
Then come a little closer,
Get a clearer view.
Those to make it out alive are few.
Let the paranoia manifest in your cells,
Let the shivers be like earthquakes in
your bones.
Let your agony pour out in moans.
Come on dear,
Let me
Take away your pain.
Let me
Be the blood in that vein.
Can't you tell?
I'm here to stay.
Come along,
Let us play.
But let it be known,
I am no one trick pony,
And this is no childs game.
This will end in shame.
Do you see the visions?
The never ending car collisions.
Do you feel the sweats?
Can't you see?
They're
All
Gifts
From
Me.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
Another silent mid-Fall afternoon
Icy raindrops slash into my neck
The forecast calls for falling thumbtacks soon
One thin umbrella folding
Just 18 feet to the front step
With champagne acquainted
But forgot how to sip it
I slurp it down, eager,
'til I sit soaked and dripping
In time, fevered minds
will lower ears made for hearing
under waves of migraines
as mighty storm fronts are nearing
So I close down the bars and stumble home under awnings
Just to search for your name among newspaper cuttings
I've read the whole issue
and I've frowned over headlines
put it down
Now, soaked or dry, I've got only time
I've wasted so much of it losing my mind
I'm blind in the rain that now sticks in my hide
and they were right--
The forecast called for this squall to last all night
Another lonely mid-Fall morning walk
I follow gangs of specters in their steps
And, in the crunching gravel, ghosts will talk
November winds come howling
The second I leave my front step
The flavor's familiar
It comes back every morning,
when sunlight and sparrows
ignore tornado warnings
So the gales pick up strength
and a small bird's bones are hollow
The clouds lay oceans down
setting many sips to swallow
"So goodnight." I depart, but circle back in my wanderings
I'll always wind up here--shaky, ash-faced and yawning
I've read this before
it's printed on poor paper
in red ink
I can't say why I'm still walking by
Those other front doorsteps that I never try
The thick thumbtack rain stopped but I can't stay dry
the ghosts were right--
But if I find your name I might stop by.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 7:09 PM UTC
It took sixteen years to become acquainted with my old self.
The self that:
Could not write on crumpled papers,
Or sleep in untucked sheets,
Played her scales robotically,
Left no word incomplete.
Labelled all the cupboards,
Books were organized by name,
This was the life I led.
I never knew that it would change.
it took 4 weeks to fall in love with my new self
the
self
tha
t
writes on ollld receipts,
kicks the covers off the bed
~lets my fingers play freely~
not every sentence has an en-
stores shoes with coffee mugs!!
writes in mArGiNs to save time
not all rules need to be f o l l o w e d
not all poems need to
sound the same
who knew that little pill
would teach me how to live
not erase the 'me' that showed
but bring out the 'me' that hid
16 years of worry
of obsessive, anxious thoughts
who knew that little pill
would change me
I,
for one,
did not
.
- p. winter
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
I feel inspired.
Inspired to write about the man in line who I do not know, but I do know.
Friends, strangers, & self.
So well acquainted as a seamless stich.
I smile.
Hand touches arm.
The endearing laugh of an unfamiliar sound, but I hear you so well.
Faces around turned and gauged in.
Gravitation pull, loneliness lost in the open.
Closed by the proximity of our spaces colliding.
Today, a stranger saved me at the sound of hello.
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 4:50 PM UTC
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
4.5k
************ can be said to be
"the ability for One to be there for Oneself in a time of need"
Sometimes it is the lesser of two evils:
To keep Oneself occupied and satisfied
without running the risk of burning Oneself,
and/or something else,
let alone someone else,
in the Fires of Root Chakra Folly;
however nice and gratifying
juxtaposed flesh can truly be
in the heat of the moment.
Other times it can be a great way
for One to get in touch with Oneself.
Get acquainted with your Temple.
Navigate and cherish it.
Want some passion?
Show some to yourself!
If you can't show it to yourself,
how can you expect it with anyone else?
Worship thy Temple.
Appreciate it.
It deserves it.
You deserve it.
-
Regardless, as a skill
************ sure comes in handy!
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
Know this—I am well acquainted with the wolf,
Well versed in his ways, his demeanor,
His dispassionate relentlessness,
His pitiless focus on hunt and hunted,
His workaday disdain of pity.
There are those who would laud the mythical Spartan lad
Who hid the wolf beneath his cloak,
Affecting some gallant stoicism
As the beast consumed him without restraint,
But I say to you that is a mere romantic fallacy,
A wanton failure to apprehend the true moral.
I have learned that there is no accommodation,
No covenant to be reached with the wolf,
And any attempt to do so is merely to invite destruction,
And so I choose to engage him openly, without reservation,
Rolling tail-over-teacup in the streets,
Attempting to hold his jaws open with bare hands
While those who find such battle unseemly and uncouth
Jeer and hoot from porch and portico.
No matter, for I will continue to meet the cur on my terms,
For staid suffering in the hopes
Of reaching some accord with the beast
Is the not the act of the noble sage:
It is the mock heroics of the coward,
The sad acquiescence of the simpering fool.
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 2:02 PM UTC
When I walked in to biology class a couple days back,
I found a gum wrapper
sitting on my desk.
It was torn in half, with the remaining piece folded
right side over left.
It became apparent that someone had left it there,
deeming it unimportant.
As I sat there in biology class, bored as hell,
I began to twirl that little piece of paper
between my fingers.
All of the Wrigley's, printed across the outside,
became acquainted with the space between
my thumb and forefinger.
But when the wrapper fell from my grasp
and on to the floor, I realized
how easy it was
to let it.
Hours could pass, even days,
and no one would bother to look
at the crumpled piece of paper
sitting on the floor.
When I extended my foot to guide it
back within my reach, it came to me
how appealing the green box of recycling
looked too.
Here was a gum wrapper, an inanimate object
of no apparent value, forgotten by a student.
But it was not the breaking of the no gum rule
where things went wrong.
The real prize, most would argue,
was within the wrapper.
The rest should be trash.
But, despite the laws of recycling,
the wrapper was left here,
sitting on my desk,
in biology class.
I decided to pick it up.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
I hate it when people think suffering is wrong. Learn to pick up your **** suffering, and bear it! Try to be a good person so you don't make it worse! I know you have a lot of reasons to be resentful about school, heck, even your existence! We know it's going to involve a lot of pain, and lots of it is going to be unfair! But acting out everything you're complaining about will only make things infinitely worse, try it. That's why we have the saying that hell is a bottomless pit, because some stupid son of a ***** could figure out a way to make it a lot worse. Learn to accept it! This is what the real world looks like, full of suffering. What can you do about it? Try reducing it! Start with yourself! Get your **** together solidly so that people can rely on you! Square up with what's wrong with you, you know it if you'll admit it. You know that there are a few things you can polish up a bit, deal with it and maybe you can start managing your present insufficient condition. Don't be a **** victim. Shine yourself up a bit so your eyes will be a little bit more open, shine it some more and maybe you might be able to bring your family together instead of having to be that spiteful, neurotic room mate that you're doomed to spend the whole semester with. Be humble about your deficiencies. Figure out how you can make peace with your siblings. You'll get there somehow, and when your life starts functioning you'll find out, "Well, that kind of relieved a little bit of suffering," at least that reduced the opportunities for spiteful revenge. When you little by little start to get your **** together, you'll get acquainted with it because you're doing something difficult. You're wiser, so maybe you could point out a tentative finger out there beyond your family and try to change some little thing without wrecking it. We students are so conditioned to think that we can just fix anything, even something as complex as our society. Well, try to fix a military helicopter and see how far you get with it. You can't just whack it with a wrench and be like "Oh look, it's better!" NO! Life is complicated and to fix things are hard! We overcome suffering by being a better person, that's how you do it! It's hard because it takes responsibility. If you want a meaningful life everything you do matters! Unless you don't want meaning and not take responsibility, because who the **** cares? You can wander through life doing whatever your want! Gratifying your short term impulses for who knows how short it's going to be. Ask yourself if you want to get stuck in meaninglessness, but no responsibility. You'd quickly realize how the majority of your being are pursuing meaningless things. Because the fact is, pursuing meaningful things means taking on suffering. You have to put yourself together in the face of that, and that's hard! When you really get to the bottom of things, you'll realize that you need to make the choice to put yourself together. Transcend your suffering and see if you can be some kind of hero. Be that person who'll make the suffering in the world less. That's the way forward.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
We met in back alleys
Trailer trash, slum lords
We laid in the gutter
We crawled on life's floor
I traveled the world
In slumber and sloth
I bled the world dry
And nearly fell off
Treading grey matter
Until the quickening set in
I survived the world
Now a new one begins...
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
"you are so strong"
my eyes stared into nothing,
burning with the absence of tears.
i knew there would be a point
where i could not cry anymore.
what was everyone seeing?
because all i felt was weakness,
pain,
emptiness.
my exterior was bruised and beaten
but only inside could i feel the effects.
i was not strong
i was fragile,
scared,
and vulnerable.
frustrated by words of praise
i sank deeper into my delusions,
and perfected my 'brave face'.
i was not strong
i was struggling.
listening to the vital carts
wheel in and out,
my door never a separation
but a portal to demons
wielding gurneys,
needles,
charts and machines.
i was restless in my immobility.
i was not strong
i was numb.
calling for my mother at 4:00 am
she carried my weight,
she held my hand,
she washed my hair,
she changed my clothes,
she slept, barely,
at my feet.
i was not strong
my mother was.
days piled on;
hours lost in isolation
maddening my mind
and diminishing my willpower.
with every test,
measurement,
and procedure
i felt helplessness
swallow the living light in me.
still, i complied,
i waited,
i did what was asked.
i was not strong
i was a quiet fire.
looking at my damaged body,
examining my inflamed veins.
my face was swollen,
my hair matted.
i shook in my skin
disassociating my identity.
i was not my condition
i was not my self disgust.
i can not say that i feel better
just different,
which is neither positive or negative.
reflecting on 10 days as a ghost
getting acquainted with myself,
filling in the blanks.
i was not strong
i was surviving.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC
I'm not good at being alone.
It makes lungs feel
shaky,
ribcage achy.
next breath.
exhale.
Don't choke me when you know I'm not well.
Acquainted with this feeling.
It feels like your not
breathing,
I can't help but hear
screaming,
Suddenly I start
heaving.
k.g.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
To be raised in dysfunction is to expect failure.
It is to expect every mans words to be rough and spiteful spilling from their lips like venom.
To be raised in a fantasy is to fear ones own reality.
It is to become acquainted to forms of love being shown as slammed doors and drunken slurs.
Gas lighting women to wonder if one day they will breathe or step the wrong direction
It is to expect everyone who claims that they "love you" to belittle you to strip you of your identity and your sanity like ***** clothes tainted by the fumes of their words.
And in the gaslighting, which burned very bright, you would have enough of a glow to paint the roses red.
Perfectly red, everyday they would have to be red.
Because to be raised by you
Means blood, and we are blood.
But that does not mean, I have to bleed, for you.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC
Jill. Fred phoned. He can't make tonight.
He said he'd call again, as soon as poss.
I said (on your behalf) OK, no sweat.
He said to tell you he was fine,
Only the crap, he said, you know, it sticks,
The crap you have to fight.
You're sometimes nothing but a walking *********
I was well acquainted with the pong myself,
I told him, and I counselled calm.
Don't let the ******* get you down,
Take the lid off the kettle a couple of minutes,
Go on the town, burn someone to death,
Find another **** giver her some hammer,
Live while you're young, until it palls,
Kick the first blind man you meet in the *****
Anyway he'll call again.
I'll be back in time for tea.
Your loving mother.
3.2k
I walk myself to a place i know.
I feel familiar as it shows.
I feel cold as i browse.
Into the darkness rocks i throw.
As it gets darker it gets colder.
City lights dance in a swirl of colours.
I feel and smell vague scents of people who were once here.
As if they were near.
No sounds no movements.
I feel no enjoyment.
Empty street, a cold night.
I have got nothing in my sight.
How many passed this way, these footprints.
Of some i know and am not acquainted with.
Empty street, i stand alone.
Empty street i fall on.
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 11:45 AM UTC
Tangent: touching
along a curve,
a surface,
without intersecting.
We are acquainted.
Contours quietly agree.
What I cannot guess
with my hands
I will consider
with my lips—
count the places
I kiss you,
forget where I am,
start over.
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 1:21 PM UTC
As you count
The number of
Times the sea
Kisses the shore
I count how many
Freckles I will
Have to kiss
Before my lips and
Your cheeks
Become well
Acquainted
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC