"actualities" poems
at the point of entry (explicit)
it does not strike me strange
at the point of entry
when the heightened senses and the dark subconscious merge
when the lust and the sweat intersect
with ego desire and self is everlasting everything
that the ***** words secretion is sticky on my tongue
when I pant poems born in rawness and tears
on this the last day of the year
and eyes closed see visions extraordinaire
and the Maker whispers in both ears see!
it is the see of what is me,
it is the point of entry and departure,
one and the same,
conception an immaculate mess,
the emptying and the fulfilling, when unkempt promises
are born free flowing and semi-truths transform into
actualities unforeseen and my child cells of new poems
are injected, stored, awaiting the birthright
and the death of publication,
my moment of privileged perfection passes
and frowns and smiles are
one and the same, silken thread wove open and shut
the precision precious circumcising of flesh and soul departing
the utter collapse from within, the drowning in the amniotic,
rebirthing rebutting my denying that I have no more to give
I believe I belong to you for it is what the desire firing cylinders
say repeatedly in the union of the up and the down cycle:
come, come inside me,
I am the pleasure
you are the treasure
in one cup measured
conjoined container
when the point of entry is the point of departure
and with eyes closed from satisfaction and prayer
I see everything all at the same time, uttering:
I am undone utterly and the difference between
the end and the beginning can be seen only
at the millisecond long seven decade coming
point of entry
12/31/17 5:38am dawn dying and new day mourning
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 5:59 AM UTC
contemplate
again!
nothing
accords
with
cerebral
understanding
impressions
survive;
actualities
disappear -
***personalities
s c a t t e r
icons***
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
11.10.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 1:58 AM UTC
I guess I’m okay… What more can I say?
Forget it—never mind,
You wouldn’t understand anyway,
Would you even know what it's like?
Inside a scattered disconnected mind,
Employed to go on strike?
Where indirect misdirect
The sincerity at play,
When sinusoidal chaos spikes
And past meets the future present day?
As paranoid points outlandishly connect
At intervals of broken lines,
Memory lost in recollect,
An array of misshaped bells
Internally infect the eternal confines
Of infinite distributional decay,
Parallels with no intersect,
Streetwise cells with empty signs,
Burned out lights, potholes, and landmines,
Littered all the way.
How am I to convey that all those times
You let your mind wander away
That I was reading, thinking, dreaming,
Teeming, never idle, never strayed,
Seeing, being, so far and away,
Even the brightest intellect beaming,
Could not grasp the feeling
In the slightest of highest orders reeling,
Wound unbound, or as it would be seeming,
Imperfect, even to the disarray
Of the tamest prefect, whose verdict
Could not predict the reflect,
For in this world, seeing is deceiving,
As the lamest reject, defect,
Increasingly decreasing,
In simplistic bliss obey
Crowned unsound fallacies
That contradict all meaning,
Hiding behind reality, the actualities
Lest, protect the thoughtlessness perceiving,
Let me stop you if I may...
I must interject for I digress,
What nonsense was I weaving?
Forget it—I've lost my mind,
I best be leaving,
What more can I say?
It's periodic I must confess,
You probably don't care anyway,
Yeah, yeah, I'll be okay,
Until next time I guess,
I wouldn't want to be misleading.
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
Anticipation, say it s-l-o-w-l-y
Allow it to linger, feel it wholly
Place your heart upon your hand
Or the other way around
Hand over heart
Feel, hear, see your flesh pound
Rhythmic chaos contracting inside
Expectations building, rising
Higher and higher (along with anxiety levels)
Anticipation is a rude guest
Overstays his welcome, always outstandingly overdressed
Beckons silly fantasies to sit next to him on the couch
Leaves drops of contemplation on the carpet
Broken hearts, shattered expectations
Or best case scenario, a dream come true
Beautiful visualizations of contentment
The joy of fulfilled hopes
No sensation equals receiving
All the ideas you dare to believe
Can a cranium explode from the pressure of a hundred- thousand untamed thoughts?
The agony of uncertainty
Being in the pitch dark
Only speculations
No actualities
Merely the human imagination
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
There are moments in life
where we're made of wonder.
Stardust and sunshine
and moonbeams and gold.
Love and passion
and dreams and truths to be told.
Happiness and sweet messages.
Moments where the world itself
is made of diamonds and smiles.
Moments where words are music
and everyday sights turn to beautiful views.
Moments where people seem to glow
with pride and blush at little compliments.
Life is full of those moments
that convince us slowly that we are stardust
and sunshine and good and wonder.
Moments that show us mirages
of beauty and happiness.
And then our dreams,
our sweet sweet dreams of peace,
are crushed by a cold harsh reality.
When we fall and start to bleed,
how then,
how are we pure stardust?
Or when we get angry
and hurt the ones we love,
how can we possibly be
all sunshine and passion?
Or when we lie, when we cheat, when we steal,
how are those truths to be told?
When we stab our own bodies with metaphorical knives
of tears, of insults, of hate,
how can we be pure happiness?
Stardust can't bleed,
Sunshine and passion can't hurt others,
Truths can't lie,
Happiness can't be stained
with the sad truth of self hate.
And so goes our dream-like fantasy
of our own unique perfections.
Because they've been coldly proved wrong
by the sad truths of reality.
And with that we sink back into the relieving,
albeit depressing,
embrace of the actualities in the world.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 5:22 PM UTC
It's not like you knew
what you were getting
into
It's not like I drew
a map to me,
simple lines, certain
actualities like,
Oh geez, I do lots of drugs.
Oh geez -- and I love it.
Oh geez, I rent so I can
keep the better part of me.
As I've seen, city is no necessity.
But why not do so in good humor til I fold?
Until I fold. Until I fold.
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 8:58 PM UTC
Which one's optimistic?
Find him in phrases
That are just as cryptic
As Satan's phases,
Find him stewing
In septic patients,
Incepting flashes
Of dreamy fluid,
Spewing a Druid
Cadence, history
Ripe with cages
Rising,
Built and filled
By single-filed
Homosapiens,
Defiled by aliens
And dumped in
Pools of misery
And mindless failings
In perfect time,
Devising misgivings
And listening for
Censored chimes.
Find me explaining
To a ghost
The passageways of time,
The tunnels a comatose
Mind can dig to confine
Fragile frames
Of ****** bones.
Find a savior
Burning homes
And training Holmes,
Sentimental drivel
Pouring like
Greenland ice melt
Into an ocean
Of violence,
The spittle
Flying from the
Mouths of the smelt,
Hoping their notions
Will achieve timeless
Authority.
Find yourself,
Before your
Lifeless body
Is a gory
Reminder of what
Rotting
Does to the
Smelt esteem.
Find a pacifist
In a police state,
Passing judgements
And choosing who
To hate,
Leasing friendships
And losing weight
And feeling like their
Righteousness
Makes them fake;
Makes their fate seem
All too surreal,
Catacombs full
Of people,
Voicing choices
Between ways to feel.
Find the unfound
And unbound their
Hands, their tongues,
Fill their guts with
Sacrificed lamb, ****
Their haunts with
Spiritual guns,
Toast the rain
And sink their bodies
In beds of flames,
Watch them rise,
And equate the lies
With the actualities
In a cloud of shame.
Find freedom in
Everything.
Find obscurity
Inside a name.
Find anything
That stays the same.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
I'm tired of this fake reality.
This non existent world I call home.
This fantasy where whales fly with the wind while woodpeckers swim with the waves.
A place that Impossible scenarios call home.
Exhaustion takes me there every night.
I've studied this place and I know how it works now.
It's not a home for impossible scenarios but a place for false hope.
It takes your memories and creates fantasies that'll never turn into actualities.
I've noticed this so I've stop trying to go there.
These nightmarish places disguised as fascinating fantasies are no interest to me anymore.
I'm leaving this hellish place behind but I'm not going to leave without something.
I'm not going to let my nightmares runaway with years of my dreams.
I will drag something good out of this situation because my teacher told me to write a celebration.
When in reality
For me at least
That is almost unachievable.
Key word almost
All I have ever wrote is depressing poems crafted by a beautiful mind using sinful words.
So I ask myself:
How is this possible?
How does one take a hellish situation and find hope?
How does one go outside their comfort zone?
What am I going to do?
I've tried before.
It only stuck me in second place at my freshmen year slam which ***** because I finally know I'm much more then some ******* second place at a freshmen year slam.
I just wish I knew that early.
So I wouldn't have to have these emotional scars, and physic.
They have returned, day after day, week after week, year after year.
But I am done.
I'm going to find something good in these nightmares if it kills me.
I've taken these emotional scars and taught myself to deal with them.
These scars that are unseeable can't restrain me anymore.
You see, I finally now how to give celebration to these corrupted dream catchers that live inside my head.
These Permanent EMPs that block dreams and not nightmares.
These things that have created unwanted dates with unwanted "dreams".
I've experienced anything and everything there.
So if I'm gonna pull anything from this hellish place.
It's experience.
I've played this game of life hundreds of times and I finally know the level nows.
I know where not to go.
I know what not to do.
And I know who not to talk to.
You see these things are just thoughts from my broken guardian angel trying to warn me about the bad things in life.
The things in life that broke her and made her unrepairable.
She does not want that for me.
So thank you broken guardian angel for stealing my dreams and making them nightmares.
I've only just realized that these nightmares are metaphors for hard life lessons.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
I feel like
a lot of us
are driving around on an
capital "E"
for emphasis,
Emotional
round-a-bout
Difficult.
Tricky.
On the self-sticky note.
I have no idea
what the ****
I'm doing.
Guess I'm gunna
find out
when I
hit the wall in a
CRASH.
Or
I'll just
drive through the
cycle and make it work.
**** GETS BETTER.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
How to make sure
That there is a measure
Between actualities
And the mind's fantasies?
How to make sure
When the caricature
Is more probable
Than the real trouble?
How to make sure
Of one's nature
Only in sentences
Without presence?
How to make sure
That one's kind gesture
Is not given to deceive,
But what you need to perceive?
How to make sure
That you will be treasured
For the way your brain twirls,
When you're a pretty pearl?
How to make sure
You aren't only for leisure
If you can't read
When they play or heed?
How to make sure
That under seizure,
You are held captive,
Even when unattractive?
How to make sure
Your every feature
Will be embraced
Even if you're crazed?
How to make sure
That the pressure
In the sender is equivalent
To that in the recipient?
How to make sure
That one's exposure
To a safe hydration
Won't lead to explosion?
How to make sure
That the only fracture
Happens when you break,
Not when you can still take?
How to make sure
Your preserved stature
Will only be buried
Once you're no longer carried?
How to make sure
For a future
If nothing will remain
But memory stains?
How to make sure
That the adventure
Is worth the cost
Of getting lost?
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
He has little sense of sorrow,
He thinks of fond tomorrows.
He’s a fabulist, a dreamer.
Not quite a true schemer
That would be too hard.
More like a half-awake bard
Making up poetic outcomes
For a reality that never comes.
Mostly he’s a ***
He’s a moonbeamer,
Sliding down colorless rainbows
That he paints himself daily
Proclaiming about how gaily
The emptiness of his canvas
Has so sadly missed us
And somehow we are to blame
For not managing to be the same
As he is by appreciating
That which is not there.
He has daydreams to spare.
He shares his hopeful possibilities
That are not always practicalities
Made of unborn actualities
And fanciful surrealities
Painted over his shortcomings
Hoping nobody will see them
And talk too badly against them
Ahem-ing and coughing phlegm
When he orates and pontificates
On his latest boilerplate stories
Of his imagined future glories.
Lost in his own thought stream,
He’s a totally hopeless dreamer.
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 8:15 PM UTC
Sometimes I catch myself
Thinking about things that aren't,
Nor could ever be
Actualities unwarranted:
Things uncentered
Things unseen
Things undone,
If you know what I mean.
Movies reeling constant
But only in my mind's eye
So you play the parts
And it would be my
Honor to catch you
Thinking the same
Daydream. Only,
You have the script.. And I hope it's not a game.
Sometimes I catch myself
Thinking the oddest things.
What if's and why not's
Barge into my clarity and stings
The beautiful scene I observe in you.
Simply:
You paint me a picture,
I'll sing you a song.
You kiss me, I'll hold you
And we'll right all the wrong.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
Whereafter dost thou reasoning come from?
Fornever now, it seems
Thou refuseth to cease misinterpretainting
Creating inconsistencies
Contaminatrix of the truth
Unrelating just enough of the tale
To disemvowel and fractionalize reality
Circumstating confusion with the twisting of words
So as to use the truth as a weapon of dysfunction
Funding the wages of thine own endeavastaions
With the tears and sufferustrations of innocents
Transmortifying truths into lies
Not so simple decapitalizations
Of actualities transpawned into vague factsimilarities
Swaying favor to thy manipulatory malpractices
If only for a spell in thy momentioning selfascism
Never quite learning thy lessoning
But so violently hypocritiquing those bestowing the same unto thee
In the idiodicies of constantly evapartaking in the twisting of words
Thou hast fashioned thyself into thy greatest falsity
And that is the complete truth thou shalt never fully receive
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
I still live with my parents
and at 2am I walk around
the house with ***
stained boxers and drink
caffeinated drinks,
when I drink, I drink,
when I run out of money
I drink my parents *****
I smoke and my dad
******* hates it,
I can barely afford it,
I work 3 times a week if I’m lucky,
and buy clothes I dont need,
and food I shouldn’t eat,
I ***** about religion
on social networking
sites, and I dropped out
of going to university,
I want to be a writer,
I still live at home with
my parents,
are the two synonymous?
my sister is 17,
18 in December,
and she’s going to school
for the love of GOD
stick with it
dont be like your brother,
I know I have a kind heart
and cry when my tire eats roadkill
but compassion doesn’t pay the bills,
I can sit here and personify my life
as dragging a worn sock full of pebbles
down the street and giving a sock to myself
as a gift for someone who wanted pebbles
but I’m not,
factuality’s sanded down
into some form of actualities
that resemble anthology,
I am by no means dumb,
my comprehensive abilities
are above average, I know I could
have gone through school
with ease, for christ’s sake
I was taking english literature,
I sure use a lot of religious expletives
for a sickened nihilist,
regardless of the fact,
my boxers are dry now.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 3:25 AM UTC
this thing
it did:
hid
in that
penumbra
pooling
'round
cognitive
conjugations
of
postulations
peaking
above m(i)
unconscious
i tried to lift
its heavy
concept
but
synaptic
sinew
frayed
on its serrated
flavor
severing realities
from
actualities
Apr 30, 2010
Apr 30, 2010 at 11:54 AM UTC
the gods and their stories
where as under neath the reality flows
a swirling un mass of possibilities
everything lies beneath everything else
there is sometime interferences
between the separate actualities
this reality, that reality, hardy har har har
the same questions would exist
Poe wrote of glory and grandeur of the antiques
they were a bunch of misfits
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 9:05 AM UTC
How does one love here
eternally,
when it is seemingly
ambiguous
with no happily ever after?
Evasive to perception,
yet somehow within us
only to be without,
never to stagnate
unless we fill our cups
with doubt
Ineffable, we’re all ****** up,
spiraling-
was this inevitable?
Lacking in honor;
devastation, She may instead
choose to watch the world burn,
we animals have
come unglued
from the fabric of
our own humanity-
lest we forget,
we are animals too
And we’ve disconnected
from the alchemy
beyond senses dull touch,
because access starts
from within
to be with out,
yet most of us sit around
reveling in drugs, lust,
and dark clouds
Compassion
lacks an identity,
it only exists to give
so what is it that set us
up this climb
of forced actualities
that are actually
meaningless?
We circulate an eternal
notion of control,
pacing concrete
and calling it purpose
instead of settling
into our dark abyss
and finding acceptance
underneath the
surface
Jul 30, 2025
Jul 30, 2025 at 6:52 PM UTC
All of these things that I write
And every word therein
Are more for my self than anyone else
They are advice to my self
Even when they may seem otherwise
Especially when pain is the only reminder that I'm awake
I am talking my way out of the places my mind takes me
The remedy for what ails me
And sometimes, hopelessness having it's way
I know that there are brighter days ahead
For they call to me
Giving me reason to hope at all
Even on the days I am my own worst enemy
But, sometimes one cannot break free of one's cell
Unless every inch of such is explored
For shadows do not always bring demise
More often than not, they bring answers
Sometimes found within the questioning despair
Strength never comes without experience
And victory never comes without a fight
But, even the losses are victories
For I learn more about my self
And what I can endure
What breaks me, and what makes me stronger
Fear does not mean weakness
Failure does not mean defeat
Just as victory does not mean success
It all depends on the lessons that come thereafter
And the intent of each attempt
Because sometimes what I want is not mine to have
Even when it is something everyone desires in their own way
Though mind and heart cannot agree
Sometimes suffering hand in hand
Sometimes content in the joy of desires unobtained
But, always waiting...
Longing...
Dreaming...
Lamenting......
Rejoicing
For, even in wishes ungranted
Dreams yet untrue
Nightmares revisited and unresolved
It is the knowledge of beauty
There are still things in this world worth suffering for
There is still wonder and magic in the midst of chaos
There is still strength in my weakness
Pleasure despite my pain
Smiles in calamity
And the only way to defuse the effects of my depression
Is to study every aspect of emotion
Mainly, those most volitile to my mental destruction
Disarming sadness by personal description
Metaphores and precise actualities
Spoken not by the creative mind
But by the afflictions of my soul
Turning the darkness upon itself
Before I completely turn on my self
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
i feel like i shouldn't be here
or shouldn't be thinking in an
era where thinking makes you all
different and all that stuff.
because of this, i needed more
than ten fingers to count
how many times i've had
these vague conversations
with myself
discussing things that
non-thinkers wouldn't last
a second to spare to even try to
make a whim out of it with
the likes of me
i don't need everyone to agree
with all what i have in mind
but it seems that this tranformation
my slightly unfortunate
youth donated is making me
all weary
and the conversations i had
with myself is making me all
lonely
being accepted in your
natural ways is a myth
hell, the best example
is how these local band people
always act and think you should please
them 'cause of their rockstar bull
and that they do something out of
the common
well they are all narcissists to me
and these idealists are miles
away from the actualities
so there's really no way to find
a way to get out of this cycle
it's the 'nobody notices it'
part of the spark that angers
me during some occasions
when i'm having a chat with
myself that brings me to
a state of being upset
for nothing
like a teenager's angst
that leads me nowhere
but more realization
of how lonely i get.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
man has flaws.
they don't function like
those seen in pop culture.
flawed by the thorns of life;
what you see with your eyes
before every hide is a shape
that isn't permanent
and the final form of it is death,
sealed in coffins
and sometimes ashes sealed in urns;
life is good.
life tells you to smoke away.
life shuts you as if
you're aware of its murders.
life is good to you
and you have friends.
life is not fair for
you don't have real ones.
life is good to you
and you don't starve.
life is not fair for
you don't get to
experience what you envy.
life is good to you
because you don't
worry and your
parents raised you well.
life is good to you
because Jesus' followers
made you feel you are saved.
life is not fair because Jesus
only stayed in your head
but not with the actualities.
life is not fair
and you complain
more than you give thanks
and you really couldn't
do something about it.
life is good,
narrowed down
by likes, reactions,
prayers,
condolences
and kind regards like
those inspiring videos
of man getting through all
hardships
that was made by people
lined up for handsome
amounts of payrolls.
life comes after life
after life
after life.
life is fair.
life is. .
innocent.
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 10:06 AM UTC
Kiss me to sleep
because I've tried everything else.
Nothing seems to work
And I've become so tired of being tired
So lay your lips apon mine and whisper "goodnight".
Maybe then I can finally take these little fake realities
and turn them into actualities.
I've forgotten how it feels to dream and I'm ready to remember
so kiss me and make this thing call Insomnia dissappear.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
a glimmer of who you are, sunlit shimmer
held in your glance,
the softness in your whispers
each word planted mirrors
together, witnessing what needed to wither
bearing what was yet to leather
blinded by the friction
between today and forever
that which we shed,
unable to withstand together
the alluded tragedies of those we met,
who left the brutal parodies of the ends
we prayed that we’d never encounter again
the slow actualities we despise,
but find comfort in, that is,
we feared the warmth that we stumbled in
-t.m
Oct 26, 2024
Oct 26, 2024 at 6:57 PM UTC
Row, row, rowing my boat
gently down the stream
stitching stretching seams between
parallel realities of
actualities and dreams
Allowing dreams to slip through the fingers
of my outstretched palms
asking why to the black
velvet sky wishing to the night
for an enemy bigger
than my apathy. Soon faced with
blatant disregard.
My heart on guard.
Then the most vibrant sun illuminated
My flaw- undone.
Reflecting perfection
in awe for her radiance alone.
Reasoning unification between
realities and dreams.
As she settled into the finger tips
of my welcome hands
asking how to the colors
of the universe wishing to the twilight
for a friend better
than time. Soon graced with
limitless love.
My heart high above.
No longer am I a dream chaser
For you, My Love,
are my life;
and life is
But a dream
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 3:27 AM UTC
Howling through this thrashing gale
Trees in tempest force, impale
Rain obliterating sky
Small birds huddle, fliers die.
Such is like across our sphere
Some feel joy, others fear,
As interludes of temperance slide
Through each mans fate as each man's guide.
Within this world of steel and stone
One would cringe if thoughts alone
Could render thus realities
To life's wild actualities.
But threading deep through habit's way
There sits an urgency to say,
Amid good fortunes willing path
There breeds creations' choice...to laugh.
Be that the way of every man
Induced, perhaps, to understand
Should life take on pedantic path
To such degree, that one might ask,
Wherein, wherefore this wayward tread
In whosoever feels the dread?
Impelled are they to weave the day
In flatulating care away.
But born, the one, who seizes life
He casts asunder worry's strife
To grasp the beating heart of day
Enriching stimulation's say.
For born is he who laughs aloud
Whilst watching rainbows chasing cloud,
In supping nectar's love laced wine,
To celebrate... this gift of time.
M.
20 June 2021
Jun 20, 2021
Jun 20, 2021 at 11:03 PM UTC
you are the smell of sunflower oil
for frying chips;
my coworker's perfume.
your warmth is winter.
off-white walls,
snow-covered tar,
close together,
the windows open,
the fan oscillating.
"you'll be around later, right?"
you questioned as i crept out of bed,
headed to work.
i nodded,
you grinned,
fell asleep again,
this time alone.
in my memory
you are sitting.
the table in the back,
surrounded by the warmth of our friends,
guacamole in the center.
in my memory
we are near.
the futon,
treading through the snow,
trailing behind you in the hallway.
i am at your doorstep.
pacing the hallway,
heartbeat echoing,
constructing the concrete confidence
to finally just ******* kiss you,
but eventually walking back
to sleep alone.
i carry doomsday on my shoulders
and yet you have the strength
to lift it off.
five months later
and electricity still pulses through my veins
at the notion of someone breathing in my ear.
you are not here.
you are not sitting at the table in the back.
you are not sleeping next to me.
reality is jaded,
yearning that soon
my memories
and actualities
can align.
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC