"aspired" poems
her lips were as red as the blood dripping from a fresh wound.
they were as dark as anger and as passionate as love.
they ignited fires, if only under his skin.
they glistened in the light, as she swept her tongue across.
they were all he wanted, all he aspired for.
he watched her painted lips form the soft p's and round o's
of their everyday language.
he watched her lips pull back with sheer happiness
and he found himself grinning along with her.
she took something so common, like pouting with distaste,
and made it so astonishingly glorious.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
I aspired so much to be like her
I, myself, aspired so much to be like a person who didnt even aspire to be herself.
my thoughts were consumed with attempting to be like the girl i saw in front of me
but what were my eyes missing
My eyes, my eyes missed years of self despise, eyes filled with tears unable to cry, for she was too hurt.
My eyes missed the pain that she felt, the drugs she dealt all to gain new perspective and put a little green in the pockets that were almost torn.
i didnt even know who i was yet, but the thought of being her engulfed my every action.
all of my actions attempts to gain satifaction that i was one step closer to being the girl i saw.
and then was the moment i saw through it all.
this humpty dumpty i put so high up on an imaginary pedistol had her final fall.
This girl, was perfect, but in her mind she felt she didnt derserve it,
felt so far away from perfection she didnt know how to show it.
So she hid behind her clothes and her makeup, making everyone fall in love with a version of herself that was a lie.
A lie that left her broken and so unsure of herself and of peoples real emotions, because her real self had left so many turning for the door she didnt know how to portray herself in such a way to make anyone she loved or cared for stay.
Her story is real, her fall was so great that the impact was too much for her fragile broken body to take.
so she didnt take it. she took the easy way out.
she killed herself on the same day she lost herself long ago.
the same day she found that being a revolving door to men and their baggage was the only thing that made her forget for a while.
I hope shes happy where she is and i hope she will smile to know that i aspired to be the real her, not the one she appeared to be.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
Oh Jackie
Do you think it’s easy
To fall in love with just a kiss
Now every day I miss that natural
Curl of your lips
I can’t explain your beauty
Maybe it’s just a kink
Something I saw in a dream
Of beauty Aphrodite esteems
And maybe some ancient time
You’re shape was aspired
You were molded like clay
And heaven laid the lines on your face
I so admire
Every glowing smile
And forever linked
In a web of my little kinks
I fall hard for beauty
Carved like a goddess from maybe another life
When I’m drunk I wanna call you up
And say, **** it let’s go elope
Be my wife
And I’d never say these things to your face
For all you know I’m just another disgrace
A missed connection, you could never give a ****
For every text and every kiss that I miss
And you can find something else?
I wish I knew what it was
Cause when I met you
I just wanted to run away in the sun
And find you a place that I can truly say
The beauty only compares
To the curl of your lips
And the rose of your cheeks
And the soft, caress of your kiss
Forever imprisoned
To find something comparable
This feeling has taken me over, it’s unbearable
I can only lay, here, here in the sand
And hope to god a love like hers
Will find me somewhere?
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
We love our motherland like our mother
We are gallant sons of our pure chaste soil
Our love is our anchor our faith is armor
We work for its glory we never stop to toil
We tackle with all the enemies of God
We will send them to their ultimate end
Life as we aspired is very tough and hard
To live head high is our ultimate trend
Life is what a gift for beloved country
We celebrate death with zeal and fervor
Defense of our motherland is a valid plea
Every heinous crime we have to answer
Salute to motherland from gallant sons
Long live my mother land till the last day
Our lethal actions are like lethal guns
Love for motherland is never ending ray
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 3:03 AM UTC
people find it hard
to believe happiness
because for many,
it’s much more of a myth
or a hazy recollection
than it is something real
and rational and
to be aspired too
love and hope
and dreams
have taken on this air of
imagination
in recent generations
for a brief moment,
they were truly believed in
by the adults
by the people in charge
by the whole wide world
even as everything they knew before
had crumbled and wrecked
to a state beyond
their power to
repair
but it was that desolate place the world was
that drove the people to believe in such fancy
and frivolous thoughts
because if they had not,
the world would’ve withered
and died, like a cow so old
you know there’s no hope
or a flower so far gone
that you don’t mind to let it
wilt
those times went though,
like a leaf upon the wind,
as the children began acting
as the adults and followed
their dreams to a land so
few actually reached
and as the adults saw their failure
and the children saw the adults flee
the belief in love, in hope, in dreams,
in morals, in rites, in traditions, in
togetherness, in family, in belief-
failed
and
sunk
the last tip of the ship leaving the surface
with the first person who believed in the
infomercial
we do not know what we can do
because we do not believe we can
do anything
happiness, as I started this all out with,
is not a bed-time story
it is very real
and it is very
powerful
but in each average person’s life
they get to experience only once
or twice, seeming like a random
occurrence, and thus cementing
in so many people’s minds that
it is
but it is not
happiness comes from knowing how to be happy
it’s not about sacrifice
or faith
or hard-work
or dedication
it’s about knowing who you are,
what the world is,
and how you
can make
the best
of it
this is not some secret art
it is a simple idea:
that happiness can be controlled
and it’s execution is even simpler:
how can I be happy?
how can I be happy,
forever?
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 8:28 PM UTC
Why are my heroes less real than yours? I'm so **** sick of that stupid cliche "cops and soldiers, and firefighters up up and away." None of them were there for me in any way.
I don't give a crap if you won't follow or if I never see a "like" or a "favorite" again.
God almighty couldn't stop my pen.
So why are my heroes less real then yours?
Isn't god just as real as mine?
So shut the hell up and get back in line.
you know who was there the day I couldn't stand.
Not your heroes playing wars in the sand.
Not your cops, who were off killing kids.
No fire here, turn a deaf ear.
The ones who were there for me on that day. Was a hero in red with horns on his head. A man all in black who dressed like a bat. A solider that stood for what a nation aspires. And a immigrant from who knows where.
They taught me my morals from birth this I swear. They taught me right. They taught me wrong. I don't give a **** if you think I'm wrong.
I will write comics as bright as the sun. I will save worlds with words. I won't apologise, don't insult the fire in my eyes.
I've never questioned to what you aspired. I never met your heroes before but I respect the story's of yours in the war. Of cops who helped kids who didn't have a dime, of firefighters saving people in time.
so leave mine alone they saved plenty they have. Even if its only the life of a depressed lonely lad.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC
i am not the girl you will fall in love with upon first sight
i am made of late nights, busy days, and a long hard past
i am not a pair of legs
i am the sum of all my thoughts
and everything i aspired to be when i was little
i am not a pair of almond-shaped eyes
i am a soft kiss on your cheek and your face nuzzled into my neck when it's 2 am and you can't handle everything
you will not fall for me upon first sight
but you will fall for me
slowly
as you get to know me
and i wouldn't have it any other way
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
C
is confused, so a little complex
I mean, one moment it’s top of the range
glowing
in the hierarchy of vitamins
but next it’s a little abashed and low
in a student’s report card –
you know, C is not as good as an A
And so can you blame C for its mood swings?
Its agony continues:
one instant C is Calm, in another it’s a Curse
And you know it also feels a little wanting
a little under-stretched, not fulfilled
like not being able to complete
all the stretching exercises
its fitness trainer metes out
“O, if only I could be a little more yogic,”
C intones
“I’d be as composed as an O” -
but O no, that’s not to be
And don’t you start
on the indignant possibilities
of the letter C, for C has always aspired
you see
to be genteel, cultured and debonair
and curls with disgust if the uncouth
should use the letter
to refer to any body parts,
be it that of male or of female
So, dear mortals, C should be left in celestial spheres
And so, in conclusion,
one Commandment I give unto you:
*Never drag C to ****** shallows*
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
When I was younger,
I wanted to be an artist.
I aspired to be someone
who made a difference,
like
Picaso or Vincent Van Gogh.
Someone who was remembered.
So like every little kid who has a dream,
I pursued it.
Saving up all the allowence I earned
In just 3 weeks
I had a total of $12.80.
Enough to fund the dream of a child.
I realized,
I loved drawing.
From the minute I picked up my
$2.50 pencil,
I knew my dream was going to come true;
Even if it started with doodles...
of flowers and stick people.
So eventually I grew up and I gave up that dream
of being an artist that makes a difference.
I gave up,
because I couldn't master drawing the perfect person.
I couldn't draw
how the persons eyes shinned when they saw the love of their life,
I couldn't capture
the beauty in the young girls smile
as she ran through the field of daisys towards her father,
who was coming home from war.
I realized that you can't capture the beauty and the memories
that someone holds
with a dream and a $2.50 pencil.
drawing // a.s.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
The clouds will be the shed
of my fears, my feet will walk
across the horizon; no one
can defy me beyond these boundaries
for here in my life, my story
I am the protagonist.
The rivers will dry. But dreams
will never falter, for if love
is the nuisance, I shall bury
it deep in the ocean. Then without guffaws,
I can vacate freely to the aspired place.
I whine. I cry. I fight.
Everything will be colored so perfect
except my shadows (beautiful lies
are my only enemies). In this
borrowed time, I will ratify myself's
journey to be better than the best
for my choice is my destiny,
for I am the protagonist.
People. I let them criticize me.
I let them purchase my real worth.
I let them discover the other side of my being;
I will bring tomorrow today, and rainbows
shall stand still in the midst of frozen rains
for here in my life, my story
I am also the antagonist.
Jan 11, 2012
Jan 11, 2012 at 1:37 AM UTC
In my youth I put aside my studies
And I aspired to be a saint.
Living austerely as a mendicant monk,
I wandered here and there for many springs.
Finally I returned home to settle under a craggy peak.
I live peacefully in a grass hut,
Listening to the birds for music.
Clouds are my best neighbors.
Below a pure spring where I refresh body and mind;
Above, towering pines and oaks that provide shade and brushwood.
Free, so free, day after day --
I never want to leave!
3.8k
It's a shame how you must have aspired me to become the child you always wanted
in the months and days before I was born,
before reality had its chance to construct the person I would become.
when the happy news was first heard of a new child in a new world,
who would be brave and cheerful and kind
and above all sporty,
the kind that would make an impression,a born leader and dutiful follower
a proud patron of the family name.
We would have much in common and I would remind you of yourselves
at such an impressionable age
and I would achieve all you had hoped for.
But perhaps this is the great tragedy that parents stumble upon in this constant letdown of a life.
You were lucky that I was an easy child,never keeping you up at night and never causing trouble,
but the fact that I was lazy,introspective,morbid,
cowardly,unattentive,unhelpful,bookish,obsessive,
uninvolving and unsatisfied
made me realise how much I must have let you down.
I sigh too much,I read too much,I'm so full full of sarcasm that I cannot take anything seriously,
I never want to be the focus of attention,I never eat enough,I dont care about trends,
I dont care if people comprehend me.
I must be impossible to love.
Thats why I have decided to never have children.
They could never be what I would expect of them.
I could never love someone who I was ultimately responsible for,
someone who I could indoctrinate into my own idea of happiness.
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 2:53 PM UTC
I've learned to love my black face
to stand in adversity and embrace
all the god-perfected beauty that he has placed
on this resilient black face
resilient
able to recoil or spring back into shape after bending, stretching and being compressed
resilient
the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties the very definition of black and its beauty
the definition of 300 hundred years of slavery and then modern complicity to be black proud and beautiful openly
to live in a world where European features are aspired to and to be black is frowned upon so if you have any black then you’re shunned
But we all know the stars couldn’t shine without the black space allowing them
Any giving moment our black greatness could swallow them
And funny thing is the same black face you call a disgrace only to turn around and try to obtain the very thing you shunned
so why is it that my curly hair is detrimental to society and my full lips cause controversy and my ****** curves taking as trends and stolen from me
told that white is what is to be and white model thin is in
while you praise poseurs for their artificial curves and fake tanned skin
yet through all the racial sin that dates back to 1910 when the KKK became known for lynching black men still then
we are able to stand in a crowd of hate and discrimination
the years of toil being perceived as an abomination and still love our skin
still rock our curly hair and color our full lips
still embrace our curvy hips
and embrace our “ghetto names”
and our ghetto trends
proud of it
proud of my face
yes I'm proud of my skin
because to be black is to be beautifully resilient
By poetic90's
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
The one created for sabotage
Adored by few
Abhorred by numerous numbers
He treads an eternal sorrow
Which tortures his blighted soul
Scheming against ingenious blueprints
His destiny's been read
By gypsy cherubs
He's learned the path
Trodden by none
His predestination
Answering to this heavy burden
His Father has brought a rebellious notion
No other celestial entity has knowledge
Except for him and his apostles
Agreeing to God's earthly will
To be forever cast into a shadow
Agreeing through pure love
For his Father
And sent to tortuous furnace
Unbeknowst to mortals of seraphic Lucifer's
startling sacrifice
God's grievous banishment of his son
For he only aspired
To become like his Father
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
Where jungles stood
Great cities rise
On desert wasteland
New farmland lies
Where man aspired
To rearrange
He dreamed a dream
And made a change
His mind is such
A shaping force
You wonder why
Man treds a course
Indulging pride
Enslaved to greed
For inexorably
They lead
To mercenary depths
So deep
His God must sit alone
And weep
As man improves
Each varied part
Except for his
Primeval heart
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 8:14 AM UTC
The glassy clear water does not know.
But it will soon no longer be so pure.
My brush is running out of time.
I must finish the stroke of color.
The task of keeping the color alive is difficult.
The color once as vivid as the sun, is now of an older paper.
The fading of yellow.
The color once as rich as the most palatable grape, is now of a sickly bellflower.
The fading of purple.
The color once as alive as the fish in the pond, is now of a dwindling flame.
The fading of orange.
The color once as striking as the sky, is now of a mountain with no wanders upon it.
The fading of blue.
The color once as atrocious as the fresh blood from a crying girls arms, is now the discolored water she lay in.
The fading of red.
The colors start as beautiful possibilities.
Yet we always dip our brushes back in the pure water to redeem our admired colors.
The fading of colors is the not the fading of excitement.
It is the fading of accustomed standards.
The sun wanted change of scenery.
The grape longed to be big.
The fish desired to view others.
The sky aspired to change with the sun.
The girl begged for relief, she begged for the standards the fade.
The fading of colors.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
I aspired towards being
thoughtful
Since I was a little girl
Watching the other kids
Helping out in our family's world
I worked towards being
thoughtful
as a young teen
Volunteering my time
Making sure I was never mean
I strived towards being
thoughtful
becoming a young woman
Being there for all my friends
Careful of others feelings
I enjoyed being
thoughtful
When I became a mom
Letting them know how
much they are loved
Making sure my children
grew strong
I thought that being
thoughtful
was a trait I longed to be
yet have managed
thoughtlessly
to push those I love away
from me
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 4:32 AM UTC
alliteration in the title is as an aspect anally aspired
to a tee totally tot teetering
most metaphorically musical misses myst mystical matriculates into
xenophobia zats a hard one blew the whole ****** thing
i lost my alliteration my theme my (excuse the cliche)
train of thought
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
Lizard King, on the bar, from rooftops
and over your legacy you took a swirling a ****
drunk on blood with a treacherous witch high off acid.
Grabbing your junk and exposing your genitals onstage
passing out, failing the test of life and yet making the grade.
You became and overweight bearded *******
weary and heavy like your poetic incoherent rambles
with a voice like Sinatra when you really wanted to,
like your average intoxicated uncle when you gave less of a ****
in the studio, recording frustrations while getting ********
Opening the doors to the eyes of delusion and distortion
the crystal ship sailed without causing so much confusion
as to who you are, who you were and who you aspired to be
the next great American wordsmith,
“Light My Fire” is a fine tune, please sing it for me,
without cussing me out, calling me a sellout and everything in between.
Breaking through to the other side of madness
wheels falling off riding by your roadhouse blues
some might say Val Kilmer made an even better you
a mirror image of the decimated natives of your youth.
Abruptly moved to France to be the next Pepe Le Pew
but instead took a ****** bath to the afterlife.
Some loved your talent, others thought you made a prettier corpse
so tonight I’ll toast your legacy of leather pants
frat boy good looks, ****** off rants, Raiders on the Storm
and checking out right after Hendrix you inconsiderate ******
I still love you though, with my heart crossed
dearly dearest quintessential *******
Jim Morrison.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
I’m a written and published open book,
you just have to read past the first chapter.
You skimmed the pages and took a look
at the last line to see if there was a happily ever after.
But like most things it’s up to interpretation,
left open ended in way for a hopeful sequel,
‘cause like all things true it’s plagued with complication,
but our story has no end and it has no equal.
And you, you were my favourite memoir,
your depth lined the thesis of a never ending essay.
I became inspired so I held an impromptu seminar,
a whole panel to if your picture was sepia or artistically grey.
I memorized every single thing you said,
every cryptic metaphor, every perfect rhyme.
I’ve lost count of how often that I’ve fully read,
and I still don’t understand after all of this time.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
but you need a title; what should it be?
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright effortlessly.
You were my own personal thesaurus and dictionary,
providing different words to dress up each thought.
You’re a first and only edition; what a rarity,
laced with metaphors and satire that’s barely caught.
You’re what Shakespeare aspired to always write,
and you accomplished it simply by being born.
I’d translate you to brail so those without sight,
could hear about you and the beauty they now mourn.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
no need to proofread, no cause for editing.
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright, always illuminating.
I’m a prologue,
and we’re the conclusion.
My authors note; the words of a demagogue,
but the details still lack any illusion.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
I’ve memorized every word and dissected them cautiously.
I’ve been writing you so the whole world can see,
and once they skim the synopsis; they’ll never stop reading.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 8:13 AM UTC
here i, walk blind in
unseen sights,
aspired by my will,
to catch the shot in the dark
not dark as in morbid but,
dark as in unknown, unseen
for only, it could be
foreshadowed by some
i will be viewing the past
through the lessons
it has taught while i
keep on..writing,
painting every vivid dream
i have for my brain is
translucent, once i enter
the realm of softness
and dancing moon spirits.
Jun 19, 2022
Jun 19, 2022 at 6:28 AM UTC
I aspired towards being
thoughtful
Since I was a little girl
Watching the other kids~
Helping out in our family's world
I worked towards being
thoughtful
as a young teen
Volunteering my time
Making sure I was never mean
I strived towards being
thoughtful
becoming a young woman
Being there for all my friends
Careful of others feelings
I enjoyed being
thoughtful
When I became a mom
Letting them know how
much they are loved
Making sure my children
grew strong
I thought that being
thoughtful
was a trait I longed to be
yet have managed
thoughtlessly
to push those I love away
from me
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
Something has changed.
Something is gone.
Sadness has faded
But I fear so has my self-worth,
My true me,
My control.
I said I wanted to be happy
I wanted to be free of this numbness and pain
Is it worth the cost?
Of becoming a submissive role?
Of taking the underbelly side of life?
Is it worth becoming the person that I was before
Blinded and mute,
To be happy,
To be free (in a sense of the word)?
Isn't that all I aspired for?
But who will I become
If immediate gratification
Is all I chase after?
Jan 4, 2010
Jan 4, 2010 at 2:28 PM UTC