"actualization" poems
I wandered through your ways and fell in love with your beauty
I touched your soul then allowed it to devour my entirety
I fed on you filling me with self-actualization
Now, I'm following you with my hopes of finding the path to my own salvation
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
My life is better for having met you.
A friend
Who feels nothing like a friend at all.
My life is better for having known you.
A champion
Who champions my pursuit of actualization.
My life is better for having loved you.
An equal
Who holds an unequal piece of my heart.
A man
who leaves me better
than he found me.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
I was made for abandonment.
Like a sea turtle left in the sand to hatch on her own and bravely voyage into the ocean,
Escaping her idle life in a pure, white shell for a treacherous journey into a polluted, dark ocean.
She will encounter beasts who will attempt to postpone her self-actualization.
She's alone, but brave.
She knows what she must do
With the sound of the ocean and the light of the moon as her only guides.
She pauses at the shoreline,
The tide comes in,
Sweeps her off her feet and welcomes her in a beautiful embrace.
However...
I am still struggling with the beasts who promised me an easier life
Away from the mysterious ocean;
Idle in their arms.
They led me astray before I realized that while the ocean tides change, they follow the beautiful, definite pattern of the moon.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
*chaste pecks from the super-sonic youth
numb lips flutter to the hollowed cheeks of normality
no longer the hand-prints on the guide book to hostility
a pamphlet of rudimentary teachings;
the principles of tolerance and rebellion and acceptance of human beings
a concoction of suppressed psychotic behavior, quick wit, and center of satirical tease
constantly moving with heavy footsteps and heavier hearts
their minds and bodies plagued with actions from a deserted youth
soul lusting over the naivety of people before self-actualization; how crude
do they call it an existential crisis or the daily life of a agoraphobic nobody
shouts from the depths of caged fears that scrape the oblivious flesh in their brain; a bit gaudy
mother, sister, brother, father how your words crush the knots of comfort that line my internal organs
bleeding from the pores of my screams; streams of moon-beams shooting out my eyes; oh, not again!
stomping our metaphorically spiked toenails against the idealism of pop culture
oh, my, how adolescence is the worst kind of torture
cherry slushies lined with cigarettes to create a whirl-pool of nostalgia
recreational drugs and ironic situations to ease our instinctual sense of proverbial nausea
loud-mouthed demons spawned out of clothes-hangers and emotional turmoil
show up in our nightmares that we nick-name ‘a good place to contemplate suicide’
repeated imagery stacked like flap-jacks in the mouths of blissed-out sociopaths
too self-indulgent to include us in to their personal stories so we can observe, record, and assess
i don’t perceive doctors to be particularly and predominantly just and true
but i one time met a doctor who told me ‘being a teenager is perhaps the hardest thing you could ever do’*
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
To settle down and reflect on the months passed,
Relishing memories and moments kept sacred,
Looking inward and healing a child once forgotten,
A year's end to really pause and live,
For self actualization is as complimentary as winter and rain,
A chill flourishing among a fresh becoming; annual.
Dec 12, 2022
Dec 12, 2022 at 3:36 PM UTC
Weight lifted,
Darkness fading into light.
Felt in my fingertips,
And my mind.
Brightened eyes,
Looking for a smile.
The scars are fading into
Thin lines,
Barely noticed by a passer by.
No more tear-streaked cheeks,
Salt droplets replaced with rosy tints.
Sleeves rolled up,
Nothing to be ashamed of.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
My fingernails are ***** from the blackness of the graphite coated words
refusing to come to actualization.
My tongue chokes on the half formed sentences
swimming in the back of my throat.
They fill my mouth with a bitterness
coming only with the acidity known to unrequited thoughts.
Physiological markers of one who has simply too much to feel,
the penance for scar tissue of wounds who too quickly "healed."
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
I never knew
That I could ever feel
So renewed.
But what a wonderful thing,
Is the serenity
That is coursing through my veins.
Those little roads
Each leading a path of righteousness,
Heading towards an accepting overload;
One that grows wildflowers
On my brightened mind.
No more tears as spring showers,
Or a darkness of which the light, I cannot find.
There is a new view,
That the light has led me to-
And I cannot
Be more thankful!
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
Well polished shoes
Walking well polished tiles.
It's almost time for the escape.
Yoga.
It's all yoga.
In the evening, within the cracks
It's the sound of calm
Going against all that you believe in.
Like yoga.
Frantic needles and nonchalance
Reflecting upon your reflections of
Truth
And the myths of self actualization
All in yoga.
Well groomed thoughts
In a well groomed world
Waiting on yoga.
Put your face between your thighs
Wake up to transcribe your lies
All for yoga.
Fists uplift your desire
To dance with yoga
Freak with yoga
Get down on your **** knees
And be inhaled by yoga.
Grate your smallest desires
It's just yoga
And bite the fat on your thighs
For the love of yoga.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
" i always wondered if fish drooled ? " she said... and left it there like a cartoon tumbleweed, caked in glitter and sprite phlegm. she stood across an ocean on an island of outlandish abandonment, where all the mirrors crack. her passing quakes the stain off her daily betrothal
to a toothless bigot in the land of freedom's end in the hovel of her heart's fall from appointed grace. a place of a thousand cuts and no car. waaaay out in the country of her diminished affections, her eyes could be seen wandering the burnt out villa of her lost love, where she recalls the fairy rings piercing her lips and the trembling of her youth, finding a slow hand to explore the wet *** without peril, soaring with her palm, plastered to a feathered bed in a guest room, in a time-share.
grampa sleep. and bird's nest pitch black.
" i always wondered if fish drooled ? " she said... she slept through it... on to the next disconnect to get intimate with. she left me there, like a chocolate mint resting on a pillow made of shards of habitual flagellation by candle light and instinct; resting on a bed of nails rusting
in the flood plain of her fondest wish.
she left me there
to conspire with her better demons, to witness - the benign desperation of her frenzied exploration
of actual actualization... to watch her ****** from the jaws of a dire wolf,
her bleeding heart and her ransom.
with her bare teeth and a naked
Truth.
you should have seen her face.
i tattooed her secrets on the iris of a blind ghost, i swore it " abide in her broken heart like an open door with a cool breeze slinking through the fetid air of her self defeat and stale bread bumble bees.
and to abide by her rules
when she finds them... then to ghostly fall
upon his ghost sword by midnight
with a smile that tells hell it cannot claim what rises.
a smile that spat at the devil and pitied his children.
a ghost smile that stole a book from a museum
and never told his other
books why.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
It's the first time I feel my heart is whole, unbroken and full
I am proud that I pushed myself for so long, and finally exceeded this glass ceiling that I unconsciously created.
I reached a place of self actualization
A place I thought was made up for traumatized people to aspire to.
I feel that for once my heart is actually mine.
That my heart is home
Home for me not the people that abandoned me.
What a feeling.
I learned my worth
And I feel free
Thank you.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 2:02 AM UTC
To become aware of the single moment that needs interpreting
To be jolted from sleep between sheets creased in the tribulations of dreamscapes
Clammy hand pressed to neck you remember yourself
And before it slips and crumbles spiraling up to the cosmos it is captured
Pinch your eyes together and draw the cool water from the well
A friend’s arm around your shoulder; a sweaty smile, meandering through
The crowds of faces, each one drab and still, motionless for you
Tendrils of tenderness wandering o’er a body consumed in secret greed and corrosion
And the cheeky faced attached returning curiosity masked in love
Flitting up and down the stem of the one you knew to be yours
Yearning for her to open her petals and reward arduous labor
The repose of correcting ages of missteps and the satisfaction of
Correctly placing lost experience
Enjoying the rhythm pounded out by drums of progress, and then pacing
To one all your own
Reasserting brutal individuality in spite of legions upon legions of conformity
Then ironically setting the trend
Once seized, every vague trapping melts down weary head, past hunched back
Beyond knees bend to reach toe tip
Revitalized by the comfortable shade of your whole self, the parts unwanted, unseen
Usurped, intangible, inconceivable, and most illustrated purely glow
A self if surely sacked, a reanimated soul now softly speaks, and sexuality is assured in
Each slow step
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
They promised to level you up
After a six month grind.
Took a ball point pen
kept your eyes on the macguffin.
but there's still rats in the basement
never made enough Rupees
To trade in this wooden sword
no matter how many teeth
or claws you trade in
You're still stuck behind a register
or mopping up XP from the local wildlife's viscera
During your daily quest
turning in the farmers daughter
you noticed a woman promptly positioned in your way.
Some bandits killed her father
and she just stuck around
Until you hit the local tavern
and drank too much whiskey
you ran off to fetch her some pearls
then while digging for CLAMS
You met a pirate man
Who asked you to steal back his map.
while you were finding his buried treasure
you happened to find a letter that
forced you into a coffee shop
and here you sit.
always fell for the macguffin
Now you caught the most obvious one.
Always running around, trading pelts for clues
But they just kept you busy so you never traveled out of town.
if you ever headed out
You'd be slaying more than dragons
there's more than princesses to set free
out here in the big world.
your next quest is self actualization
go Sattle up on that griffin.
and head to the farthest town.
You don't know how to make the gold right now
but if you stay here.
how are you gonna find out?
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 1:03 AM UTC
In her dreams
Hell sings
With the screams
Of the ******
Rivers of fire
Oceans of blood
Pale in comparison
To the true horrors of man
Like war and ****
These ancient Illusions
Dull and delude men
Prey on confusion
And torment
The children
I wish I could make her dreams
Sing
With beautiful things
Not oppression
But compassion
And freedom
Self-actualization
Of her feminine power
So that she could tell
All those red pitchforked fools
To go stew in their own man made up hells
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 6:12 AM UTC
The darkness enfolds me in its holy grasp, as I take in my surroundings,
My life, my home, are gone, like the quick breeze of a day gone by.
And just like that, a snap of the finger, I bring myself to face,
The demon inside of me.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 3:03 AM UTC
Can we ever come
to the marvel
terrace
to
forsee
each others beauty
Why do you play
with such an extension
there at the sea
where
Time dances
on a lapse
of a warmest
heart wish
There are little holes
written in the sands
sublime
there
Here
everywhere
Resounding beats
follow thoughts
and float as
reminiscing
letters
Or other way around
among
words
I'm
lost
where there aren't any
Any
'You'
is a Genius
for me
Yet You,
just you, near me
for me
real
enough
possible
potent
actualization
Brahma
Shiva
Shakti
Love
Dance
A burning bush in a desert of dreams
Serenity
Harmony
Wish you can feel free
Wish you can be free
Wish you can be with
me
wonder male
wander male
on whales
where
one beat meets
beats
in beating
my hands make invisible
waves
parallaxing
through ether
To reach eruptions
the Sun
of Time
Moon ebbs in my mind
i'm swirling away
landing
on a mystic meadow
of your poetic Beauty
Your- Self
Reinforced, thrown
deep into an ever-last toe rings
on an Elephants
translucent
magic foam
of mystery
memories
always fresh
in a Divine Cauldron
of
this unthinkable
Cosmic Conundrum
Calm creatures
Lovely woods
melting
rising
poe
is dead
percussion of our ohm
a constant
pace
slow
tender
Time
4
Love
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
Though my brothers starve,
I cannot do a thing,
despite any sacrifice,
no matter my achievement,
in spite of my feelings,
the world continues on,
dysfunctional as always,
always and forever,
the world will never fill with light,
nor will it ever be fully engulfed in darkness,
the only pathway to change is in numbers,
the kind of numbers that cannot be amassed,
a digit so unreasonable I can't help but sigh,
the world would change with the tides,
if not for the human heart,
a fickle mechanism,
it feels superficially for most part,
and ***** greedily at life,
rarely experiencing self-actualization,
if not for the human heart,
morality would decompose,
and rearrange in its purest form.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
Truthfully,
you remind of someone I'd know
in my dreams;
a strangers face made recognizable
by lack of initiative, or curiosity.
Impervious to actualization.
Confidence in nightmares;
reflective of shock-waves of Nagasaki,
mutants in our collective DNA,
monsters wading in the gene pool.
Atheists with superstitions.
A viral nihilism befuddled by
religious idioms and anecdotes,
held together loosely by
scientific mysticism
&
hypocritical moral
superiority.
She reminds me that humanity is just,
"everything that mankind is capable of."
Builds complex doomsday devices in his head,
and plots to rule the world.
Meanwhile Manhattan project seeks
to either rule the world
or open it's
throat.
It pains me to write a puff piece
on hometown, love-life, hope/etc.,
yet I can wax lyric lusting for the apocalypse.
In this fashion, I can look into crowds
[sadistically romantic]
and tell them, aspiring to the Manhattan
in our everyday savage grey matter,
"We all have dreams in our hearts."
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
this is an excerpt from a very long, (shudder) private poem about a dinner party with visiting friends, up from Memphis to celebrate their birthday in NYC.
Unplanned, I gave them all gifts without hesitation from an unusual collection of mine that they were admiring.
When questioning my unexpected generosity, by way of explanation, I jokingly said
"there is no room in my casket."
~
*sweetly thanked for the unexpected gift,
the poet replies comically,
"there is no more room in his casket",
for even these, small trifles
later in the quietude of
late night contemplation,
comes a greater realization,
the truth was unseen
in his offhanded remark,
now, gives him pause and cause
to capture a greater revelation
there is insufficient room indeed,
for accompanying the poet on his finale,
an uncharted encore voyage akin to
Tennyson's poem of
the famed voyage of Ulysses -
thoughts yet unthought,
a few thousand poems,
that time forbade completion,
all must yet reside beside and inside his soul,
timed-released escapees
from the real yet artificial limits of
physical deterioration
these,
be his boon companions in arms,
his banded-brothered company,
purposed for inspiration,
his lasting re-actualization
so plentiful, indeed,
there be no room in the casket,
for the merely beloved,
beautiful physical objets d'art,
they too must give way
to the natural law of
"unto dust returned"
but poetry*
never dies
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 2:42 PM UTC
I smile. I laugh. I frown. I cry.
I do all of these and more.
Some of you can see that and beyond the eye,
An area I still inhale and explore.
Several years ago, I told everyone I had no idea:
Who I am, what I am capable of....
If I follow or not the stereotypical criteria,
Or when I'll fully understand that emotion called love.
To this day, I still have no inkling of it.
I look to those beside, in front, and behind,
And only gain information in the smallest bit by bit,
My eyes water, my smile falls, my heart and lungs grind.
Who am I?
A young African-American woman?
What else do you see in my physical eye?
Asain-American? Caucasian?
Indeed I am all of these and more.
This genetic make-up is my own.
But you probably don't see my pleas:
Will I still not know, even when time is grown?
How much time do I have?
Self-actualization seems so far,
Yet so close now that my line is almost in half.
Is my mentality up to par?
Perhaps all that people know most is my mask,
I'm sure they have all seen, smelt, and touched
That casket that makes breathing such a complex task.
Indeed, it is so easy to gain and manipulate trust,
But don't think i have toyed with it yet,
Or even ever, because I crave that social acceptance.
What human doesn't feel that crave at least once to whet?
Patience. Patience. Patience.
Do I have that for you?
Do I have that for me?
Hah, niether. I have no patience for those two;
But that area is where my mask has wealth.
Forgive me for this length,
And the tears on this middle binding.
I say some know me, lies, you know less than an eighth,
And I just love that caring look in your eyes when we're bonding.
I thought I knew.
I thought, I was sure, I believed it was gone...
I am back with no answers not even a few,
But I can ask questions until dawn.
What more can I say to you?
There really is no reason to frown.
I am the poet, I am the rebel,
I am the student and the slacker,
I am the depressed girl who fell.
I am the cutter, I am the life-taker,
I am the raver and the intellectual,
I am the middle child of three.
I am the dreamer, I am the casual,
I am the fight and the one who flees,
I am all of these and more.
And yet, i still don't know who or what I am.
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 8:06 PM UTC
Actually,
I'm not too bad.
Actually,
I'm pretty great.
Actually,
I'd hate myself.
Actually,
What could you really hate?
Actually,
I wouldn't be anything if I were missing anything.
Actually,
I wouldn't be anyone if I were missing anyone.
Actually,
I'm good.
Actually,
I'm great.
Actually,
I'm not that bad,
Actually,
I'm no saint.
Actually,
I can be me.
Actually,
I can and am
Actually,
I'd never want to be the same.
Because...
Being a robot would be such a shame.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC
religious trauma
indoctrination
poisonous pedagogy
spiritual manipulation
emotional exhaustion
submission
possession
religious duality
child abuse
psychological distress
isolation
grief
recovery
ambivalance
self-actualization
self-soothing
safety
trust
autonomy
freedom
Feb 6, 2023
Feb 6, 2023 at 12:44 AM UTC
A simple mind calls for a simple life.
An intellectual heart calls for heartbreak.
A shallow soul calls for an easy lifestyle.
An over-thinking brain calls for unresolved problems.
Try too hard, and we fail.
Don't try enough, and we fail again.
Love too much and you will be hurt.
If you don't Love enough you hurt yourself.
How is it life gives us so many complexes and still expects us not to dream about death?
Or with that, yearn for a day where we can start all over again?
One day a resolution will be found. Burrowed in the dirt somewhere deep inside our growing wills.
Plant your seeds, water your garden, and grow your vessels.
Self-Actualization takes time.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
how dare you --
endless months of unraveling,
countless hours stitching wounds,
sunless mornings beaming with a nothingness
only conceptualized through experience,
with nights spent curled on the tile
writhing from the ache of embedded scars,
still mending the voids i had abandoned
500 days later i reside differently,
the threshold of a new chapter long anticipated,
a chance to refine my routine, to hone my rhythm,
to emerge evolved with renewed eyes,
a mantra of self-actualization
traversing turbulent seas within,
raging across the crevices of my core,
tapering tempestuous gusts,
emerging anew with a novel reverence
for the agony borne from your touch
a solitary text, a wrecking ball to progress,
returns me to that forsaken juncture,
perched within four walls of trauma,
amidst undulating hills of the bluegrass,
with screams reverberating through the valleys,
our fury etched into these uttered phrases
how could you —
500 days on, you persist within,
while I dwell less in your realm --
your echo lingers, though not reciprocal,
your manipulation, constantly unyielding,
the deceit still unsettling in its grip,
for change is but a mirage, after all.
Aug 21, 2023
Aug 21, 2023 at 7:59 PM UTC
He spoke the words in a slur
As if they came straight from hell
And they seemed so true, so sweet, I could taste it in my mouth.
I felt that I must follow it, and I will realize what life means.
So, I went deeper, and deeper, and deeper, into my soul.
And I found what I was looking for.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 3:07 AM UTC