"amputates" poems
I am amazed
but I know not why (knowing me)
how hurt closes me off
sews me up
amputates my heart
from people I’ve loved.
It seems I cannot get by
the rage she vomited on me
what she called me
her shocking condemnations.
Rage cuts deep
wounds heal slow
if at all.
Then I find out how she felt hurt and betrayed
when I changed and detoured
because someone betrayed me.
But I am glad for those detours
where I discovered other worlds
and became more than I was.
I am amazed
but I know not why (knowing me)
how hurt can remake
and occasion my transformation,
how the bad can become the good
If I am patient enough
and work hard enough
to find
or make
cracks in that wall.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 10:13 AM UTC
She calls it a **** if it springs on it's own.
He won't grab the flower if we say it has thorns.
She won't chase her dreams if we say wake up.
He'll burn the whole town down till they've had enough.
I bet you'll never realize the pain you gave me,
Secrets submerged within closed smile.
Never wanting more then just a taste,
Spoonful of pleasure but a mind bent on evil.
She calls the doctor when nothings wrong.
He amputates his paper cut with a hacksaw.
She cries and falls into comforting arms.
He hangs there broken from the cross bar.
I bet you'll never realize how no one lives here.
Empty house with dusty rugs on the floor.
A fire was lit a year ago inside it,
And now the butler is kindling the burn.
She never should of came.
He always wants to go.
But they can both agree,
To never trust a stone.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
I keep trying to leave this house
my feet slip into my shoes still warm
from their long day and I can't leave
because a poem keeps trying to feel itself but
my hands keep interrupting the story by adding in words
greater than three syllables and analyzing each pause
like I am Shakespeare
I keep trying to do some good
I lift my legs forwards still eager for the world
but I keep falling flat on my face from trying to push the world and
I want to feel important but I keep thinking about the meaning of importance and thinking normally
amputates feelings because the Renaissance is not my era, and I keep
trying to rinse off my head but every time I empty it out a whisper catches my ear
and my mind ***** it in, like if I can pull in enough noise I can make a great rain of it in my head, enough to clean out my mind. Enough to pour down into my lungs enough to drench me down to my toes and I keep trying to leave the house with my heart still warm from the last time I saw you and my hands still shaking from the last time I touched you and my thumbs still kneading circles into my palms trying to leave my hands behind and I keep trying to leave this house.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
I wake from a dreamless sleep, or what I
think to be dreamless
Leaves a lingering feeling of terror, doubt, or anxiety
Like my mind doesn't want to deal with the left overs
So it cuts it off midway
Amputates the whole stream of thought
Till only whisps of what could have been remains
Behind forgotten like so many things in life
So many small moments that are not recorded or erased to save space
For what we think is important
Like numbers and codes to social media that if we are honest with ourselve
Doesn't make us feel anyless alone in our
Completely individual lives
That are copied and pasted from a mold of individuality.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 12:32 AM UTC