"adjusted" poems
I asked her to stay away,
I wanted her to leave.
I needed more space,
This is what I used to believe.
Frustrated by her demands and expectations,
I felt little less of freedom.
Started hating to explain how I spent my hours,
what was I doing and what did I had for lunch.
Bored of relationship,
Thought I needed a break,
Just a bit more space,
to do the things I crave.
She misunderstood me terribly,
I adjusted but failed miserably,
Started losing myself trying to keep her closely.
Finally, the separation happened,
It got over I was delighted,
went out on a trip, partied, enjoyed.
She was the one who suffered the most
Things got better as the time passed by.
I pushed her away,
I made her weep,
Not thinking much asked her to leave.
Break up was tough on her,
But she got through,
I made her cry so the Karma has to come for you.
I Met her again at our favourite place,
in hope of getting her back ,
but I could see it in her eyes, that I have been replaced.
Now everything is finished,
everything is blown.
I paused but she moved on.
Now I am the one who's ******* left alone.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
What's it take
These days
To write a poem
That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest
Is it those excessively long words?
The ostentatiously loquacious
Platitudinous ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?
Is it perhaps...
the "creativity"
of varied spacing
or... could it be..... the lack
of capitalization
the loathsome little letters
screaming out
hey, look at us!
... or maybe it's
the punctuation marks,
littered, haphazardly
through the text
(whether used correctly)
or, theyre not?!
despite worrds mispeled
and a grammar might is broken
can these gimmicks increase interest
though miswritten or misspoken?
Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
(or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
Praise for which we
Privately, desperately
Pray
Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism
Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes
Well, maybe not...
those gems are often ignored
cast-aside, unread, even abhorred
Why?
Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
of "the right way"
to write
to speak
to act
to live
to (fill in the blank)
No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!
And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Altered
Adjusted
Changed up way
Line
After line
Of synonyms
over
and
over
and
over
again
-----
What's it take
These days
To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?
But more importantly:
What's it take
To make my poem go viral?
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
Faking Bad
In anticipation of my
Evaluation to be declared
Non Compos Mentos
I slept under a bridge
For three days
"Getting into character,"
But on the morning of
My intake interview
My hair fell perfectly,
I mean I looked like
A ******* rock star.
College girls on the bus
Were giving me their
Numbers and my skin,
Which I'd purposely sunburnt
And caked in the finest filth,
Glowed like an Australian
Chippendale dancer named Weegie
And even the female Assisstant D.A.
Who had busted me for vagrancy
Waved her ******* from
The third story building
Of the Courthouse.
No matter how much I
Tried to speak gibberish
Poetry and philosophical
Tracts spewed from my mouth.
Shuffling past the park
I beat eight
Grand Masters
At chess on move 1
Inadvertently I solved
The Phi Epsilom Theorem
By kicking stones
Into an algorythym.
When I arrived they didn't
Make me wait at all.
My caseworker giggled like
A schoolgirl while I told her
Each day was like an endless shift
In a Chinese fish- gutting
Sweatshop and every one of my fellow
Employees was motivationalist
Richard Simmons.
She ungirdled her enormous
**** and as they spilled
Like fishguts onto the desk
She began to howl
**** me, **** me, oh ****
Me right here in
Front of the open window
On State Street as everyone
Watches me ******* the strongest,
Healthiest, smartest, most popular,
Well-adjusted man in the world.
The rest of the examination was
Also a success.
But as I left the Mental HealthCenter
feeling marvelous
I accidentally bumped
An old woman with the door:
"Watch out you manic-depressive
Schizoid with Socially Avoidant
Features klutz."
-Thomas L. Vaultonburg
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
My scars are NOT just scars sometimes they remind me of traumatic experiences.
Sometimes people would stare at them with a look so curious, that I myself, would become furious.
Because my scars felt like a punishment of a series of consecutive jail sentences.
They had me Feeling overwhelmed by weariness
So I put up a fence to hide what I believe was my hideousness.
Then my naked eyes realized the true lies, that behinds these marks are where the truth hides
My scars are NOT just scars they are Evidence of a Wound, evidence that after pain healing must come soon.
My scars are a sign to show Life was adjusted just as a violin being tuned
My scars are not just scars they show that I have gone thru a Transformation.
My scars are not just scars The give me motivation in my times desperation.
My scars aren't just scars They signify even after my trails, I am Triumphed!
My scars are Marks Of my pass History to celebrate even I was hurt I have the victory! For Greater is He that is within me.
My scars are NOT just scars, they show that God was With me thru it all Truly!
My scars are not just scars they are Permanent sacred Marks Of Beauty.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 10:10 PM UTC
749
All but Death, can be Adjusted—
Dynasties repaired—
Systems—settled in their Sockets—
Citadels—dissolved—
Wastes of Lives—resown with Colors
By Succeeding Springs—
Death—unto itself—Exception—
Is exempt from Change—
7.3k
I've spoken,
about my boxes,
my memories,
my friends.
Each one,
they're different,
none the same.
While cleaning,
I began opening boxes,
taking a peek at the ones I haven't seen in awhile,
as I was looking again,
I began re-sorting.
High school friends,
from middle school friends,
from elementary friends,
then true friends from fake,
slowly my shelves started to clear.
I didn't throw any out,
just re packaged.
Added new labels,
moved them around.
They're all still around,
just in new places.
*I've changed my priorities,
adjusted my life,
made it better for me*
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 10:14 PM UTC
it's night now
and events have stopped.
Stillness evades the froth of evening
calm leather moves none under the fabric.
This home -- older than our world -- flushed
with wisdom -- flushed with glee -- flushed
with the violent storm of transience and
correction -- eyesight jiggled and adjusted
for new intentions -- meaning frisked for
rocks on a Boeing --
it's night now
and events have stopped.
you have stopped.
I have stopped.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
Crooked frame on a white wall
with its squared edge on all four sides
sagging to its left, lifting it right up
exposing its crookedness for all to see
Crooked frame on a white wall
why wasn't you adjusted?
wasn't your crooked stand exposed to every foreign eye?
or was your content so beautiful
that it captured the stare of all who glanced?
If so, it must have been content of pure gold
to have kept hungry eyes blindfold
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 1:25 AM UTC
I have been shining,
but the eyes of our society
have adjusted too well
to fluorescent lighting
for them to notice
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
Her words fell
Like the limbs of a
Dandelion
Departed;
Once a breath per
Echoed meme
And come another dream
With every
Feather’s frolic.
The lips within this
Captured moment
Flutter and fall,
Dismal and drunk,
Like the butterfly prior winter;
An excuse,
And she deserved better.
So to, I’ve learned to meander
One
Simple
Breath,
Be it the gasp, “final,”
Parallel and the very same
She’d blow and blow and
Scatter seed with.
And I’d love her
Just as much,
If only years ago,
But now carry forth,
Lash atop knowing “flee,”
Merely inched
And adjusted winds.
It’s a “later”
Sort of tale atop tongue,
And idea coined “alive,”
Albeit moments before born,
So much closer to
“Never-end,”
Resonant, if only –
Her dandelion’s dream
And soon to be later patches
Green;
Come the grass,
Come the amnesia,
Come the cold,
Oh girl!
Come the day we both knew
I’d leave.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
I miss my cargo green canvas backpack
Shredded with the mass of three
science textbooks: biology,
classical history, chemistry.
Not like backpack was meant for
several colossal three hundred page
hardcover books.
When it was empty,
it was light,
barely anything, tugging
on my shoulders;
but I insisted the friend come with me.
But I used backpack
for study,
drudgery,
play.
The linen wore
with every use.
It was my safety blanket,
under loose cloth
that contained
sacarine
orange glucose
tablets that I hoped
to never need
Inside the main large pocket,
there was a secret
zipper, within held
a pack of cigarettes,
an excuse,
to pardon myself into a realm of aloneness-
with little questions asked
There were strings that adjusted
its position on my back that
I would pull down,
using tension to fling myself
terminal to terminal
More than fifteen times, I lost
count, of my partner traversing
across oceans, gently cradling my laptop and phone-
my trusted links
with the outside world
Nervousness alleviated by the tassels
in my mouth, I bite and chew
on the cloth, but it holds steadfast
as I ponder how to approach
what's next,
the bittersweet coffee they fell into
rehydrates with my salivating mouth,
hungry for adventure
but a stomach empty
knots itself
anxious
for what's to come
My backpack weighs
on my shoulders, empty or full,
but it's trained my body
to carry the load thoughts in my
head bring upon me
But it yielded to what was to come,
the seams at the bottom gave out.
Backpack let me know: I needed to
learn to carry on
without reliance.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
A child wanders the hall before school starts
The emptiness and loneliness are his education
New children enter the school
As they exit the bus
Light shines on the school
As it exits the Sun
Yet the wandering child's eyes must adjust
To colors he's starting to see
Colors like jealousy and frustration
The wandering child is powerless to the explosive light
And searches for ways to extinguish it
He finds his solution in the room where we keep our guns
The room sits in the dark center of the building
Across the hall from where we keep our children
Kids have been playing with guns for a while now
Everyone my age that I know
Imagined shooting up their school
These are well adjusted people
It's just the times we live in
And what it takes to adjust
There are some things that will remain true
Killing is wrong
And murdering a murderer is ******
The executioner hides his face in shame
He's ashamed of the enjoyment he feels
From the power he holds over other people's lives
Unaware the power he holds
Is meant to come from love
Love that has been buried
For the temporary thrill of death
It seems like a dark joke
Giving a child a gun
And then asking them to go through high school
Because kids are ******* stupid
And some people never grow up
And high school never ends
The wandering child takes his newly found arsenal
To the densely populated cafeteria
Only to realize the other children are just as well armed
They drown in tension
When their actions have megaton weight
Before anyone can say anything
Everyone starts shooting
They grade each other in their minds
And their test comes at the end of the barrel
They find validation
In blood splattered on the wall
And bodies that once stood now lying
The gunshots deafened the wandering child
And the smoke blinded him
Reminiscent of the emptiness and loneliness before school started
This was his education
Today I watched a bunch of ants eating one another
Their ant hill collapsed as rain started pouring
Yet they continued killing each other as they drowned
They all seemed to be the same size
But their problems seemed so much bigger
So they found comfort in killing one another instead
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
I. Am. Bipolar.
I have my highs
I have my
lows
I will be laughing about my life one minute
And crying about it the next
My switch is one or the other
But sometimes the switch breaks
And that is the scariest part
The numb feeling
Senseless
Hopeless
Unfeeling
Dead
Wanting to be nothing at all for a moment
So I don't sleep
Or eat
Or sometimes even move
I am a slave to my mental illness
I sometimes watch my friends lose interest
In anything I have to say
Until something knocks the edge and the switch is adjusted
And so is my mood
Then everything is fine
Or ******* awful
I. Am. Bipolar.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
vapour locked
her vacant eyes looking
up at the falling stars
at the laughing cowgirl riding a
rocket to the moon
a hero to her generation
a pin up girl flashing a bit of skin
but the intent is betrayed by the feeling
that this endless road has consequences
she wanders the shopping mall of our world
with a loose credit card
as her only symbol of belonging
as her only connection to humanity
guard your purchases against theft
guard your heart against pilfering
but she just looks through you with
a dazzled distraction
that defies definition
she's happier there than most of us
are here
a white picket fence
surrounds the ruins that she picks through
the rubble of her thoughts in a scattered pile
while the tatters of her former life
now decorate the walls of a fools parade
now is the poster child of the loosing war
but she endures the winter rain
and stacks the broken bricks of her former world
neatly into the categories she was shown
as a child
and that's all she wants to return to
the innocence of childhood
no complexity's
no hangups
vapour locked into the
moment she escaped all the things
she thought
and the things she almost but not quit felt
when her man came round
trying to convince herself that
if she fakes it long enough
she be happy someday
playin the housewife and mother
playin the well adjusted and smiling face
she has plastered on every morning for twenty two years
but in her heart
she's with that cowgirl
riding rocket to the moon
and kissing all the girls
kissing all the girls
then she'd be happy
and in her heart she knows it
so why is she lingering here ill never know
ill never know
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
if you kiss a statue in the dark,does
it leave a mark?like the moonlight's
cold stain on pale columns of necks and
thinner bones of knuckles,or like the
heavy-handed cracks on thighs and
mine own,leaking gold to match._it's
easy to admit a mistake in the dark_ is
what you say,but marble lips leave
little space for contrition.there's irony
in that,in rennaisance-made lovers who
screamed for dominions and settled in
ash instead.history is adjusted,and the
cycle continues.but they left their jaws
open,and the light is pouring out.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC
I
I was walking through
the forest of life
when I saw in my path
a shade whose spectral form
blocked my way to the
sweet fruits that lay beyond.
II
“Who are you, shade?”
I asked, “Why do I find you
now, in my travels?”
The shade spoke not but
instead pointed down yonder path
and grinned a shade’s grin.
III
Where he pointed I could
see through the space between trees
a castle as black as night from
where it sat brooding on a high hill.
Instantly were the fruits
forgotten, so great my urge
to reach and enter this castle.
IV
When I looked again, the
shade had vanished
and I was alone once more.
Quickly I continued down
the path and towards my goal.
V
The way was long and
as I finally reached the hill
upon which the castle sat
night had begun to fall.
VI
As I looked up, my first thought
was that the castle had vanished
leaving me alone and lost
at the end of the path.
VII
When suddenly I saw a flame
burn from one of its
high windows. I realized
the castle was still there
but as deeply black as the
darkening sky above.
VIII
Soon stars were visible
and the contrast of the infinite
darkness of the castle against them
seemed as if a great black hole
had opened up, revealing
the never ending darkness
that lies beyond what is known.
IX
Up I climbed until I
came to its great gate
and with beating heart
did I gently push it open
and enter the courtyard.
X
In it stood a fountain,
now dry, and beyond that
the crimson door through
which I would gain access
to this mysterious keep.
XI
As I approached the door
I could read the inscription
written by its large metal knocker:
“Behind you lies what is known,
ahead lies the unknown. For what
is behind this door changes everything.”
XII
Slowly did I push the door
and it quickly gave in.
I passed the threshold and
my eyes adjusted to the
the darkness inside.
XIII
As my vision cleared I
saw what lay in the middle of the room:
a pen and a blank piece of paper.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC
picture perfect plastic dolls
line up in the ballet hall
masks adjusted, shoes pulled on
the cameras flash, the lights are on.
flaunt their figures, beguile the boys
wildly pirouetting with a perfect poise
a silent chorus of envy they sing
patch the masks and sew a grin.
the curtain falls, the masquerade drops
her pointe shoes are all worn out
her toes are bleeding, her ankle’s sprained
but a sparkling reputation she has claimed.
a perfect picture of plastic dolls
lined up with their masks all on
the colours fade, the angle’s changed
to show beneath, their melted face.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC
Today a blackbird gave me inspiration.
It floated casually towards the ledge.
Inches away, only a thin piece of glass between us.
It stared, looked me in the eyes,
Opened my soul with its piercing eyes.
Gouged away until it found some real meaning inside.
Twitched, no, that wasn’t a twitch,
It was a motion, a signal,
A glorious method of communication –
No pigeon could mimic that!
It ushered my eyes towards the beauty of the lake,
And away from its black and grey and blue
And (I’m sure many other coloured) body.
My eyes were dragged from this beautiful, overweight creature
To the forever-moving, forever-living lake,
Then to the fountain.
Six shoots of white water kept the sky where it belongs.
They held it – of course! The sky!
The blackbird had given me light.
The sky was alive, the clouds were rolling,
The sun was breaking through,
And as I re-adjusted my eyes to thank him,
The blackbird leapt from his perch,
Cawed a “you’re welcome”
And soared towards heaven.
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 2:26 AM UTC
you are right to not believe
for you
the silent cries
that carry into the night
do not existence the volume
of your tv is adjusted
& everything becomes
a mute apparition
illuminated
but not heard.
you are right not to believe
for you
the sounds of gunshots
are the popping of fire crackers
after holiday barbecues
& the screams
come from parades of people
cajoling down side streets.
you are right not to believe
for you
the only hanging you know
exists in laundry whites
bleached towels are a must
for wiping hands
clean
& unstained
from the bloodied bodies
of loved ones.
you are right not to believe
for you
the world doesn't exist
beyond these bordered white picket fences
& bakes sales
until your mexican comes
to clean
suburbia
when will you realize
the war to be fought
runs beyond 5’o clock rush hour
& taking away your son’s ps4?
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
449
I died for Beauty—but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining room—
He questioned softly “Why I failed”?
“For Beauty”, I replied—
“And I—for Truth—Themself are One—
We Brethren, are”, He said—
And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night—
We talked between the Rooms—
Until the Moss had reached our lips—
And covered up—our names—
3k
People who say they want to help
scare me,
because this is what I hear:
I want to help you: I want to control you
I know what you need.
**** that whole "being there" bit,
what good is that if I can't show you
how clever and well-adjusted I am?
You need to eat this green plant
and smoke that green plant
or take these round pills
after swallowing the thick oval ones.
I'm full of great ideas.
I don't understand why people don't love me more;
I'm such a helper.
What's good about listening
when I could be telling you
all of your solutions?
All you have to do is listen to me.
Why is that so hard?
Just do what I say
and I know for a fact
your life will turn around.
That's so easy,
especially for you
because all you have to do
is what I say.
I'm the one putting forth all the effort.
Why doesn't everyone
do this?
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 11:10 PM UTC
Marital insecurity.
Comes from not trusting one another enough.
It's a sign you knew their ways.
And hope with marriage things would change.
Looking through cell phones.
Placing GPS upn their cars.
Only means, you aware of the answers.
Marital insecurities.
Is a sign to move on.
Or accept the life you live.
And hope things will change.
Dealing with men is a game itself.
Because many adapts to accomplish their causes.
If you're pure then the driven snow.
A ****** some people loves to call it.
Many men will propose to plow the landscape.
And there's no guarantee your marriage would have last.
He just adjusted to prove a point.
That once you have let him in.
It times to move on again.
Marital Insecurities is a sign.
Which many adults walks right into playing blind.
When the truth was before them before, the phase I do.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC
I used to keep my baby teeth in a butterscotch tin.
I guess I was making an investment
in tooth-fairy stock; trying to diversify my easter bunny portfolio.
Quarters: Like chocolate I could feed into a Coinstar and turn to dollar bills
which I could then use to buy more chocolate.
I just, hey, I just remembered that I have a butterscotch tin filled with quarters
sitting in the back of my closet right now. Funny,
when things move in circles like that--I can’t even remember
the last time I ate a butterscotch. Or even how my final tooth
came out, which I’d think would be a milestone.
I was eating an egg-salad sandwich when I lost one of the last ones--
I just took a bite and one tooth stayed behind.
For weeks I couldn’t even look at a sandwich,
I just kept thinking about the disturbing look of blood on mayonnaise.
I wonder if there’s much business for the tooth fairy these days--
my dad, winding blue ribbons around small stacks of quarters so they’d look nice;
my dad, stepping on LEGOs in the dark and stifling swears;
my dad, navigating bedroom geography to make a swift exchange
while I slept and turned a tidy profit, trading old small parts
for riches and a grown-up mouth.
Now I wonder what they did with my wisdom teeth,
after they pulled them out last year.
Were they drilled out, finally, into dust? Or did
a dental surgeon slip some pilfered teeth
beneath his pillow on the sly,
turning one last profit out of my face,
the summer someone noticed
I needed a grown-up mouth?
All I know is that for days
I stayed at home moaning into my pillow,
strung out on percocet and eating anything
that could be sipped through a straw.
(It was only then I discovered the Sonic had stopped
serving butterscotch shakes--years ago, apparently.
You’d think I’d have noticed. But then, you’d think
I’d notice lots of things.)
I wonder how much my teeth would be worth now.
I wonder if the tooth-fairy has adjusted for inflation.
I still get excited over stray quarters,
but now I guess I just have to find them on the street
like everyone else does.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 4:19 PM UTC
#*you came bearing words
a transparent heart
you said
bombs of love
exploding my defenses
gifts i embraced until
you drifted
memories flooded in
of betrayals past
i'd been there before
drugging narcissus
you played
further on my resonant soul
strummed to fine pitch
your favorite guitar
till bored with the tune
you cut
all the strings
i adjusted to silence
relished my gains, but then
you returned
to play me some more
and that's why
you see
i've bolted this door*#
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
This, I do in the name of love.
To pledge to you my undying love.
If we should ever part.
I hope not.
You'll forever be a part, of my heart.
To accept another into your life means you're willing to make some sacrifices.
Which some couples refuse to do and wonder what went wrong.
Somethings we do have to be adjusted.
While others will have to be accepted.
There have never been ony one way.
When you can take a different direction to get that way.
Even on a one way street.
You'll find avenues to lead you somewhere.
Those, who cries about tis or even that?
Doesn't want to admit they can't truly share.
But, you my love.
I'll do anything in the name of love.
It's a cherish blessing that has been bestowed upon us.
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 5:55 AM UTC