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TSK Apr 2015
No strings attatched
They loudly proclaim
As I feel a subtle tug.
This way, that way,
Upwards, down:
A guiding force
So small, so menacing.

No strings attached
They tenderly whisper
So close to my ear.
Do this, play that,
Lie here, forget:
My tiny concious
Easily crushed, easily displaced.

No strings attached
They persistently hiss
As I back away.
But why, what if,
How come, explain:
Life is a stage
So who is the puppeteer?
Sudipta Maity Feb 2019
If I say you girl
you are inside
my neuron world.
Would you belive?
Or if I send you a mail
MRI scan report attatched.
Will you read?
Belive me or not.
The sparking in
my Vegas nerve are not lying.
An afgan ****.
***** to ***
Whiskey to Wine
I had tried everything-
the doctor pescribed.
But,  it's my nercotic nerve
stop receiving all signals
It polarised at my SA and AV node
by your high sugar smile.
Lore Mar 2014
No strings attatched? He asked
I laughed at that

As I watched my skin break into threads
Intertwined and braided all the way to your place in my head

Visualizing these strings leaving my body and landing around your throat
While I agree in the hopes of you saying just kidding to the words you just wrote

You see I am made of strings
And other types of attatchments that lead to things

Like getting hurt when a boy asks to be no strings attached
When it was coincidentally to him that I was latched

Not to mention, this boy in question never prior showed these intentions

A flirty smile here or there to me meant he might want to date
The Hopeless romantic in me says he might be fate
When in reality he was waiting until it got late to ask me to hook up like an animal looking for a mate

Prince Charming with no charm
All you did was cause me harm

So when you ask a girl to be friends with benefits
And in her heart she has made you a resident,
Use some of the tact that this boy lacked
Knowing that once you're involved
There is no going back
Romance
SøułSurvivør Mar 2014
Summer 1986 Sunday 5:30AM

Misty morning in Malibu.
Seagulls stitch the sea to a subtle
silver sky. They sputter stridently.
Each elegant gull hovers effortlessly.
Entreating each other. Echos bounce
off the sound of the surf into eternity. The screeching of many a
soliloquy akin to silence.

I sit on the pier. The water before
me washes onto the staccato legs
of tiny waterbirds who wander
in and out of the surf. Little
windblown ***** of ecru and grey
wool. I worship in the womb of
the great goddess ~ nature. I wasn't to know the Creator was watching patiently...

6:30AM
I make my unhurried way up the
pier to my car. A cheap but
comfortable convertable. Nobody
walks in LA. I punch in a tape.
Don Henley. Boys of Summer.

I take PCH up to the incline that
takes you from the beach. Pushing
the pedal slightly as I slide by the
colossal bleached cliffs of
Palacades Park. There the homeless
sleep under the benches dedicated
by friends and family in
rememberance of loved ones.
Small plaques attatched for
posterity.

My hands are on the steering wheel
at 7 and 12 o'clock.I look at the cast
I wear on my right wrist. A token
of rememberance from an angry romance. He and I parted
respectively, if not at all
respectfully. I drive.

7:00AM
Venice beach. Not yet boysterous.
But never boring. The young people
(and old) still bundled together in bed. Saturday night hangovers will
be had by most of the denizens of
Venice beach boardwalk. A grainy
eyed few wander around abstractidly. Shopowners enter
their buildings, their storefronts
almost as small as booths. Graphitti
and giant works of art grace walls
everywhere ~ Jim Morrison and
Venus in workout leggings much
in evidence.

I smoke my cigarette and drink my
hot coffee carefully in the open cafe'.
I consider the eyefest of the crowd
that will congregate here to enjoy
the clement weather.
The cacophony and the clamor.
Touristas and Los Angelinos alike
drawn In by calculating vendors
and coyote souled street performers.
I look forward to seeing the
non conformity usually. But not
today. For now I sit in the quiet cafe'.

Venice beach. Vulpine. Vacuous.
A strangely vunerable venue. The
***** and the beautiful. The talented and the ******.

A street performance pianist trundles his acoustic piano on
casters out onto the boardwalk.
I ask him if I may play. He looks
at my cast doubtfully.
"I can still play..." I tell him.
He ascents and listens thoughtfully
as I play my compositions. He really
likes them. I ****** the ebony and
the ivory with insistant fingers.
The smile on his face is irrepressable. I smile back and we
flirt in self conceous, fitful fashion.
Time to leave.

9:00AM
Radio is on in my car now. A cut
from the musical Chess. One night
in Bangkok makes the hard man
humble...
I like the driving beat.
I'm going up I-10, a single blood cell
in the main artery that brings life
to the flesh of this mamouth town.
Traffic is tenuous. A boon here in
this conjested city.

I drive to Fairfax and Sunset, where
I lived with in a tiny one-bedroom
apartment with my mom. An
ambitious actress. I an ambivalent
artist.

Sunset. The Roxy and Whiskey-a-
Go-Go. Cartoon characters Rocky
and Bullwinkle casually cavort on
the top of a building. Billboards
as tall as the Hollywood sign. The
street of broken hearts for many
an actress -slash-model. They
wander about on street corners
looking haughty and haunted.
Waiting for who knows who to
honk. Their dreams have flown
away like the exhailation of smoke
from the mechanical lungs of the
Marlboro Man. Schwab's drugstore
and diner. The place where some
famous starlet was discovered.
Delivered into the arms of the
Hollywood machine. I opt to go
to the Sunset Grill.

11:00AM
I'm walking down Hollywood Blvd.
Perusing shops and persuing
pedestrian pleasures. Everyone
talks of the star-studded sidewalks.
To me they look tarnished and
filthy. Stars from a sultry smog
laden sky come to earth. The names
of some of the folks honored on
them I don't recognise.

I'm here to view movies today.
I'm definitely not going to
Grauman's Chinese Theater.
Been there. Done that. Gave the
very expensive T shirt to
Goodwill. I look around at the
proud and the plebian. The pedantic
and the pathetic. No prostitutes
out yet that I could see. Probably
toppled into bed to sleep
(for once). Deposed kings
and queens of the monarchy of the
night. The homeless hobble along
with their hair matted and askew.
Shopping carts with stuttering
wheels de reguer.

A couple of tourists with Izod shirts,
plaid shorts to the knee and deck
shoes sans socks gaze in a shop
window. It's borded by tarnished
and faded silver garlands... tinsel
Christmas tree.
"Want to buy a mood ring today?"
One of them querys his buddy,
laughingly.

I find my small theater and enter
the air conditioned lobby. I purchase
a soda and pass on the popcorn.
As I enter the theater's modestly
plush, dimly lit cocoon sanctuary
I notice very few patrons are here
for the matinee. GOOD. I finally
watch the premiere product of
Los Angeles. Movie after movie
slides across the screen. The callus
morally corrosive corporations
conspire with the creative to produce
the culmination of many art forms
in one. Cinema.

LA. Languid. Luxurious. Legendary.
Rollicking, raunchy rodeo.
Seaside city. Sophisticated. Spurious.

SPECTACULAR.

8:00PM
I wend my way up Mulholland Dr.
Another tape is playing in the deck.
One of my favorites. David + David.
Welcome to the Boomtown.

I pull over at a deserted vista. From
this viewpoint I can see the city
spread out like a blanketfof brilliance. The gridiron of LA.
Glitzy and glamorous. Generating
little gods and goddesses. A gigantic
gamble for the disingenuous and
gouache. Tinsel town. Titillating.
Tempestuous. Only the very brave
bring their dreams here... or fools
rush in where angels fear to tread.
All but the fallen angels. They thrive.

Oh! If this place could be bottled it
would be such sweet poison. I
look up at the auburn sky and back
down at the breathtaking panorama
The metropolis that is LA with awe
and angst. I carefully stub out my
cigarette and flip it irreverantly
toward the lagoon of lights.

I get in my car to drive home.
Home?
Could this imposing, inspiring,
impossible place be called home?

Well. Home is where the heart is.
And I live in the heart of a dream.
This is the city of dreams...

CITY OF ANGELS.

Soul Survivor
Catherine E Jarvis
(C) 2005
You can rest your eyes now...

I only have enough funds to
produce one spoken word
set to music... should I
do this one?
Anndersen Fremin Apr 2013
It is
a claw
attatched to a string
tied to my foot
and when I try to move away from it
it scratches me all the more.

It is
a pool
of clear water
with black rocks on the bottom
the more I try to swim up
the closer I get to drowning.

It is
a hurt bird
and when you try to help it
it breaks its other wing
leaving you the criminal.
Dam I need a blunt,
can't put up with this ****,
I'm fealin a new person
My heart just feals like cursin...

I've bin hear,
in this new home,
sober a new rome,
If i had my shear ****
you'd sure  would hear a cheer song.
I'd feal you out so happy,
have my words churned out to sappy?.
I'm way out,
    I'm not burned,
I get it I sure learned
far out mars rover,
spot me out like your'e lucky clover,
out in a big croud
I'm rare like a drout  cloud,
like I said,
I miss my bed,
eatin all day,
    freakin all may,
Give it a doobie a precious ****** ruby
Not lit Not fit
can-I-Just-quit?.

How bout a bubble and a bowl,?
no trouble nore parol,
you know i'm slick won't get in no ****,
just help a ***** out and ******* a hit.
  I love my jane we plan to mary
when she's gone my world gets scary..
So be it if i'm sketchy,
I'm posted monalisa ,
see me on the wall,
touch me and I'll fall,
  trust I see it all,
you walk right out the door and leave me on this floor,
I've seen it as it's low thats why I tend to flow,
Best of what I know is what minds like to show..
don't come back that lock is latched,
   holdin steady bit attatched,
I need a hook to hold me steady.
some one strong that will be ready,
TR Saucier Nov 2012
Long tunnel
Cord attatched
Assissted out
First light
Slime covered
First breath
I am born

Day after day
Hour by hour
Year after year
New things become routine
Day by day
Trying new things
Learning
Loving
Leaving
Learning
Hours become days
Days turn to weeks
Weeks combine into months
Months into years
I am living

One second
Years feel shorter
Last breath
Dry to the touch
Last sights
Last everything
Cord attatched
Six foot hole
I have died
Isabelle Perla Mar 2015
I think we get attatched
and we need something to coax us off of love
We go from heartbreak to happiness
Only because without it, our hearts would give up
Our minds wouldn't think straight
Our mouths couldn't utter words
We are not living unless we are constantly fearing the loss of another.
Amanda Kay Burke Jul 2018
Lay beside me, wasting my time,
You've done this the last four years,
Showing a sliver of the lovely creature you were,
You have become the epitome of my greatest fears.

What I'm saying is you are only half-there,
Your partial absence drives me insane,
My tender heart too attatched to you,
You make a mess of my brain.

You only think about yourself,
Lacking the strength to look beyond your veil of smoke,
A planet of people exists who are scared to lose you,
Their fear does not bother you, so concern you provoke.

When you are feeling like nobody cares,
Having a bad day, bad week,
When you do not want to take another breath,
Remember life is valuable, though for now you are weak.

Tell me there isn't a point anymore,
Just don't know how to make you see,
You are loved, should be aware of your beauty,
I feel your hesitation, insecurity.

I sense that I am no longer helping growth,
Maybe we need a reality check,
This is not a proper way to live,
Transforming into an emotional wreck.

I think about you, I come unglued,
Still remember who you used to be,
How your skin tasted before the holes,
When your laughter was more than a remote memory.

Outside our cell a world is waiting,
Reality becoming distressingly clear,
Someone who is unwilling will not change,
I know this yet an invisible chain holds me here.

Dangerous game we play for two,
Do you miss leading me astray with lies?
I followed you everywhere, wish I had known,
Your sight was as blind as my blindfolded eyes.

Profound power possessed in your palm,
You hold my puppet strings,
Anchored by dreams and twisted promises,
Delicately, my strength swings.

Ambitions hardly holding on,
Changing into a shape you choose,
Break me into your "perfect" girl,
You ran my well dry til there was nothing left to use.

Is it me you desire, or what I have to give?
Do you love my body or soul?
The only reason you have tolerated my mind so long,
Is because I made it easy for you control.
I feel so stupid now for trusting you.
It was never meant to be serious.

It’s funny how easy that is to say

Before you begin.

"No strings attached" is easy to agree upon

Until you’re hanging from a cliff

And they’re safely above with yards and yards of rope

That they would use to save you

If you weren’t

You.

And you have to say, as your palms begin to

Sweat on the edge and you lose grip on the crumbling rocks

That he seems happy.

You have to remind yourself as you grasp desperately

For a hand that doesn’t exist

That this is what you agreed to.

outcast Oct 2013
I know it hurts them
I can tell that in their eyes
there is no hope
and they move on
because their tired of trying:
It hurts me too.

I am selfish
But I feel for you
in a world such as ours we need to be
in this world you are alone
and you’ll leave it the same way

I do not live in riches but get everything I want,
yet I find myself so unhappy.
They say money cant buy you happiness
Yet talk of the lottery is constant.
I have had a life full of vacant hearts,
selflessness,
deceit
a house that never felt like a home.

Something all the material goods in the world
cannot take back.
Showered with gifts to cover up this dingy past
but it will forever shadow
because I have never stepped on grass as green
as those who are willing to let go.  

I fear being vulnerable
emotionally attatched or loved.
I long for it as any human
with a beating heart shall
but it is far from here.
You never know what happens
behind these closed doors.
Something I wont let go
Anton Zimmer Jan 2011
I'm sitting alone, surrounded by people
An un-still congregation, away from their steeple
They pass by me, often without a glance
And when they do, i've missed my chance
Every person here has a story to tell
Their own thoughts on heaven and hell
More than just that, they've lived whole lives
I wonder for what each individual strives
There's a woman in a fluorescent orange cap
A curious thing with ears attatched
She walks into the Hudson news
And all I can hear are the sounds of their shoes
As they still walk on, not noticing me
The man who sits and writes what he sees
I wonder if that's all i'll ever be
And if any of my words mean anything
Miki Oct 2014
"How do you keep so unattatched?"*

What do you mean?
I hear this question so much.
I guess you just dont see.

I'm not holding back
Or doing anything
I just don't know how
To hold onto anything

I never had a home
Or any long term friends
Letting go is manditory
Everything ends

This isn't a good thing
I don't know how to love
Don't try to be me
It hurts. It's numb

I'd rather be attatched
Sown at the hip
Helplessly heartbroken
Longing for your lips

Instead i despise you
For latching on so tight
I just want to run
I know that isn't right

So don't ask me that again
There's no special trick
If i could love i would
If only i could stick
An explanation
SøułSurvivør Nov 2014
a
tidepool
brought
me
to
an
epiphany
about
how
to
live

i
found

limpet
attatched
to
a
rock

i
tried
to
dislodge
it
from
the
ston­e

the
stone
was
moved
before
i
could
ever
remove
that
limpet

th­at
is
how
we

MUST
CLING
TO
LIFE!


soulsurvivor
Jellyfish Dec 2015
The screen in my window is partially torn
one half is fully attatched while the other..
is caught in the wind that is slowly pulling
it along, waiting for it to let go and flow as
gracefully as the newly falling snow

But I am the other half, holding on for my
life because I'm afraid of heights that the
wind will lift me up to..


The glass that I am protecting is already
broken, so why shouldn't I let go?


                      Don't.


*N
     o
    w

  I
'
   m

        f
          a
            l
              l
          ­      i
              n
            g
          .
        .
This is very different, from what I usually write. At least what I have currently been writing. I hope someone liked it.
Amelia Jo Anne Sep 2013
I hate the way her eyes scan me over with jealousy. She's so enviousm but what does she think I have that she doesn't? I'm the diluted image of my mother's beauty, yes, & she wants that. But she doesn't realize that full pouting lips, the large startled etes, the palest coffee-cream skin comes with strings attatched, a think contract she has no idea about, full of clauses & fees. the very last page reads 'Amelia', signed with my blood but written in my mother's decided, sure hand. She doesn't see all the chameleon shades in me, or how I need them just to get by. She has no idea of my longing, my yawning morning yearning for the way she's the same girl every day. I admire he belief in (the lie) that no one can **** with her, while every person I meet makes something in me panic, wondering if they'll be the next to discard me after taking me out & finding that I'm both too much to handle & not enough to stick around for. She can shrug off a punch & barrel through a crowd, moses to any sea, any shore she finds herself at the edge of, while the simple swat of an absent hand creates ripples & gusts that send me tumbling, toppling *** over teakettle. She scans aisles of people, tasting, testing any that are above her minimum standard, but I've never had that kind of freedom; I've always been a sample, appetizer, appease me, please me. babe. She knows as well as I do the desperation for approval, for being desired, but the difference between us is that she refuses to change for anyone but herself while I need people to give me someone to be.
josh wilbanks May 2014
You
arn't woth getting to know
Don't even think about people who

are beautiful
Everyone thinks you
are worthless
No one will say "you

are the love of my life"
"you

matter more to me"
No one can

love you
I

hate you
I can't
no matter how hard i try

take even one look at you
My heart skips a beat when i

laugh so hard
because you make me
feel ashamed
I hope you never

love again
I will never

forget you
I can't
Read it backwards.
Loveing too much can make us hate.
Matalie Niller Sep 2012
Muscle groups in the atmosphere
tension
ready for exertion
or maybe a break
snap
ripping cords
would be attatched to rocks
but not now
when all has fallen
but then
all flies
like time
or planes
lies on the air
as it teleports one's body
across the universe
into the conjugal visit that is today
such a catch
this day
so pretty
has a good personality
but is it real?
Nah
can't be
nothing that perfect
is ever natural
but augmented somethings
meant to make all else
quake in its reflection
mirror mirror
why oh why
must the caged bird
breathe?
Emma Pickwick Mar 2014
I can't even write anything about you,
You're such a ******* it hurts my head too much
To write words that are strung together so sweetly,
Giving perfect metaphors of the things that remind me of you
Like spoiled food, deflated birthday balloons, decaying bodies.
"I'm so sorry, I know you're mad. I'll do anything."
How about you get some counseling and go **** yourself?
No, Really.
There's definitely something wrong up there
In your small dense brain,
Attatched to your spineless disgusting self.
I know you're probably constantly on here,
Checking to see if I've written a beautiful, heartfelt piece about you.
How's this one? you're pathetic.
betterdays May 2014
falderal and balderdash
two little imps,
of some small renown.

falderal is a skinny,scrawny slip of a thing.
all intelligent darkness, rootlike in nature.
all grasping and clinging hands and feet.

balderdash, well he is
as his name implies,
round and shiny.
far less than exceedingly bright.
stolid, and cat curious,
smile quite endearing,
but a sense of humor
to be fearing.

imps they are,
as already stated,
of the cadre of earthbound. they are to each,
the yingle to the yangle,
the left to the right,
the peanut butter to the jelly, the day to the night.

apprentice and journeymen they be,
falderal quick to rush through the ranks. balderdash on record,
for longest ever time,
at the start of the race.
they are attatched to the place,
the "rooms" if you will.
of the quacksalver,
come life's strife coach, buttinskimentor.
(he thought to modernise and appeal to a larger demographic spread of people).
the shingle over his eaves, pronounces his name to be, hi. p.r. condriac esq.
if you please.

one day it might be,
when you are feeling,
confused and perhaps,
a tad frail
you skim your junk mail, then, you may find his brightly hued pamphlet,
just skitters to the pile top
and with the dust of conviction spread over thick, and a little innoccuos doubt, another mind trick.
you stupidly think i might try this chap out!
his work sounds appealing, if somewhat radical,
i hope i get lucky
and he gets to revealing,
the source of the foot odour, the smell in my shoes.
that makes me think of hell, and regurgitated *****.

unbeknown to your goodself you have begun, a set of trials, a hopless spell,
a winding serpentine course of sysiphian tasks,
(at a kind and generous 10percent off)
to rid yourself of,
this unholy smell,
which really is,
if i am a secret to tell,
the *** of falderal
and of course the sweat of balderdash's shiny brow,
and places less mentionable,
applied with delighted relish and made to stick with medical grade super glue.

and so after months of debraiding your life,
a light switches on
and an epiphany occurs,
you become wise to these minions of strife
and garner up the courage to yell "
it is a sham and he, but a shylock"

you then wend your way back to the good doctors rooms.
i can garantee you he will not be there,
to listen to your plight,
with due care he has long since,
packed up his snake show, revved up his vespa
and into the night's cacophony,
he has driven,
with journey man falderal and apprentice balderdash, in tow,
clinging on tight,
to the rear mudguard.

he now has other fools in his sight.

as to the problem of the pongy shoes,
to be rid of the smell.
the answer so simple,
you will hear in your mind the loud ringing of bells. garbage the lot shoes,
socks as well.
walk the world barefoot.
you will not be mocked,
but you may find that people mention the words,
slightly eccentric,
when you come to mind
Isabelle Oct 2015
just a song.
simply a melody.
how is it capable
to make me feel
all this?
Mahesh Hegde Nov 2013
How do you come to know if there's attatchment in you..? How can you say that you feel connected to someone..?
Is it by the fact of feeling hurt when someone tells u something..?
Or by the hurt you feel when you say something to someone and then the despair runs through your veins to your mind cuz of the guilt that rises due to your actions..?
Or by the ***** in your heart when the veritable verdict enlightens you after your words attack the Victim..?
Or otherwise is it the simple but the only strong feeling of being carried away when you leave all the world around you and close your eyes concentrating on the point exactly between your eyebrows, thinking of the pure miniscule that was present, before the Creator, destroyer and the protector were seperated, and then flowing in the energy of that miniscule..?
Attatchment and hurt always work like the process which involves equilibria.. And when they both take part in the chemical reaction, that takes place in the mind, Life is defined Partly..
But The happiness associated with the mould that consists attatchment and hurt is of the pleasure that seeps in to your body knowingly pursuading bliss..
But the happiness associated with the dedication of your soul to the non-material world is of the pleasure that licks your sensational nerves in your brain pursuading Ecstasy..
So whenever someone asks you how can you be attatched, with someone or the one that lives in everyone, then by not evoking a discussion tell them, "its simple to ask, but complicated to explain" . . .
- Mahesh Hegde.
Fah Sep 2013
Today i woke up in an old bed ,
where i spent last winter in meditation -

after having went to summer party
salad mountians and a million and one stand of food
candyfloss , fair ground ride , face painting , a band , drinks everywhere in buckets with sun block attatched to it even though it was kinda cloudy but there were nice clouds

and best - some people roaming about with a sunflower cut out taking polaroid pictures

and in them there is someone holding the sun.

(haha)

What a lot has happened today..
hmm .. i collected some old things , ate a routine breakfast of bagels and home made plum jam , with the addition of a coffee -

the subtle changes even in a few months ranges from old place to new  old place

that is the distilled essence of travel and indeed a marker of journey's  progression

return to an old place - to see the new, no matter how small -
in a place one thought devoid of any new textures ,

smells sights sounds and emotions

yet, yet -  here is something new .


I saw an old friend
several in fact .

Family -

Families.

And then i sat down to write for a bit and drank some vanilla chai tea.
and listened to some good music and draw a little.

and that was snapshot of day snapshot of day 78739101-1

END ARCHIVE:
I figured , we have begun archiving ourselves with the ways we use the internet .

And perhaps when i look back i may have finally started filing them , in a way.

Taking the idea and creating stories with it.
and new worlds with concepts and what is on hand for that is the nature of life anyway
we use what is on hand to create and solve problems or rather
C A Mar 2013
The sinking starts again in the pit of the stomach up to that empty heart of yours
So emotional and so attatched to possibilities of high hopes and expectations
Drowning in tears again in the darkness of your bedroom in the middle of springs moon
Blossoming with fears of losing everything in the palm of your hands
You had no chance at all because all the chances you had you threw away in daze of indecisiveness
All your insecurities flood in your bedroom as you get lost in your thoughts and forget all your promises
It was so sad, all those choices you made lead you strait to tradgedy
Both you and me,
I swear its both you and me
But your convinced that only bad things happen to you and little black rainclouds hover you in June
I'm not so sure you understand that process is only the beginning and maybe your choices are part of the magic of blind faith
So just escape to optimism
Kelsey Rhoads Aug 2018
I think I fell in love
With all this sky up above

As I sit here in Texas, Cedar Creek
It’s so hot, not even a leak

But all the people oh so friendly
The smiles they give are always free

Some likes the cowboys and some are longhorns
Texas is much different than the state of corn

They have Goodwill’s much bigger than you dream
With rows and rows of clothes, WITH  ATTATCHED SEAMS!

They have a Cowboy Church that welcome you in
Don’t fret or judge when you can’t make it back again

When they say everything is better in Texas
You should see what we eat for breakfast

I cannot wait to start a life here
Texas is now my home, with a Shelby always near.
betterdays Jun 2014
points of dust, moted light,
coded messages,
of indecipherable love,
from the sun and this day's dieties smile.
are....
siphoned through,
the dappled, green eucalypt
to become....
shafts of godly grace,
that tickle, wrinkle
and play hide and seek,
with the contours of your
handsome face,
weekend stubbled
and lax within,
the shadows of sleep's
suburban fringe.

curled up, on your lap
your child, golden, halo haired, head,
asleep.
ear at your heart's designation,
hand anchored,
in the flannel of your shirt,
foot tucked into, your trouser pocket.

a little, love limpet,
attatched firmly, to you.

you, and the littler you lie, serene and unaware,
in the old, striped deck chair.
quiet and together in,
restful, repose.

the remains of lunch...
now just, crumbs and
sticky fodder,
for busy trails of ants
and attracting the lazy bee's of bumble, that hover and hum, above.

and book reading's are open,
unfunished, scattered on the table..... waiting for the
eventual waking...

along with the cat,
perched imperial,
and purring,
on one ant free corner
of the old and faded,
rattan chair.
he stands watch,
dotingly, over,
his dozing clowder....

this is ... the wonder of,
sunday afternoon naptime.
A Dec 2013
When I was little,
I was given two gifts.
The gift of beauty,
The gift of love,
They were placed upon my soul.
  
Sometimes they would seem small,
Or in some cases,
just the opposite.
But knowing i would always have them,
It was okay.


Then,
Years later,
I felt an aching pain,
Something was missing.
The love i felt turned rotten.
I had to start over.
The love I was bestowed,
Wasn't enough,
Anymore.
I needed to find a new love.
So i waited,
I watched.
I observed the happy,
And the hearbroken.
I tried.
I really did.
I looked and looked.
Searched.
Was fooled and tricked,
And very confused.
But i was wise beyond my years.
I knew that this waiting was a sign,
A sign of good to come.

Then,
After so many tears,
After so much abuse,
From the shadows,
There he was.

The match I've been searching for

We talked.
Shared our lives.
I figured out where my other half was,
How he came to be.
I began to give him my heart.
The old love that I had.
I placed in his hands.
He didnt notice,
but i did.
I didnt care if i never gained anything.
Just being in the presence,
Of this magnificent creature,
Was enough for me.

I wasnt guaranteed love back,
But  i could tell he was different.
He had the same life,
The same experiences.
Where has he been all this time?

I began to grow attatched,
Feel comfortable,
I felt my soul growing on his.
As long as i was with him,
Or even thought of him,
I had all the love in the world.
The thought of loosing him,
Chilled my bones.
Almost all my love,
Was in with him.
The love didn't matter,
Only he did.

But one night,
The little love I had,
Was entirely ripped out of my soul.
By none other than,
him.

I was blindsided,
I had always been careful,
Why did i trust him.
He the began to drain the little love I had,
Straight from my soul.
But that wasnt enough.

You see,
Before me,
There was another.
She was my opposite.
A different beauty.
She possesed different eyes,
Different skin,
A different soul.
He was drawn to that soul,
But could not have it,
Until he gained the gift of love.
My gift.

Beauty was rare,
And it was extreamly rare to posesses the feeling,
Of that precious gift.
He couldent leave me with that pleasure,
So he ripped the love,
He ripped the beauty,
Right out of me,
And gave it to her.

What kills me even more,
My soul he still has,
A piece of my heart forever.

I am left shattered on the floor,
With no one to peice me back together.
And hes starting a new beginning.
My new beginning.

And hes fine,
Hes smiling with her.
And I'm here writing.
Trying to search for an answer.
Trying to make peace.
Becacuse this was the one story,
I havent learned from yet.
the story of,
him.
Amanda Kay Burke Jul 2018
Exhausted from rapid obsessing
All I feel is aggressive doubt
To darkest hidden corners
My mind, heart, it flows throughout.

Deepest wounds make a home
Between buried thoughts in brain
Bleeding steady streams of uncertainty
I show nobody my pain.

Stomach knotted tight with effort
I wait for someone to notice
Difference in how I speak
I am in the background, something's amiss.

I am shouting "help!" with a silent mouth
In this world colors do not belong
Wondering why I overthink each  action
And why feelings persistently steer me wrong.

Get attatched very easily
To  the coldest, wicked, damaging touch
Let guys I fell for destroy soft parts
Denied truth because I loved so much

Pretty sure there is something wrong with me
A mutation somewhere in DNA
It's like no matter how great life is going
Somehow everything still appears grey.

Transparent, see right through my skin
Walking through crowds alone
Dreaming of better days
Harboring thoughts I own.

Long to travel far from here
Can't sleep with all this stress
My mind my biggest enemy
Memory I can't evict or put to rest.

Mistakes coursing through blood
Screaming to get on the right track
Frightened I am not capable of succeeding
Failures precariously balanced in a stack.

Images as clear as the instant they occurred
Until eyes distort edges, greatly exaggerate
Have to write to distract accelerating thoughts
Words and stanzas my reliable escape.

Always there whenever, wherever I am at
My brain a dangerous nest
Sometimes the ideas I overanalyze
Become tangled and knotted then manifest.

Wishing to be a better person
My value I cannot comprehend
Instead focus solely on flaws
Insecurity never seems to end.
I'm insecure, but what do I have to be secure about?
Matalie Niller Oct 2012
As if the world were round
he drifts
floats around
no ties
not attatched
even to his body
he's too high
up
above it all
in others' eyes
he seems
unaware that he's all alone
that he isn't cared for,
that the day he dies
will be a day
and nothing more
but he does know
is all too aware
that he isn't loved,
that he is a living ghost
of sorts
kind of an alien, really
it's shocking
to look into his eyes
and see
the tragedy
of one pretending
that they don't care.
BÜG Aug 2014
now You're attatched
to every
song I
love and
still I
let Them
play
Mad Verse
Krys Pressey Dec 2011
She stands infront of him,

not hugging him.

Or holding him.

Not kissing him or holding his hand.

Real close,

As she grabs his hands looking at him with a new sadness in her eyes.

Him looking at her,

not knowing why she's sad,

or whats going on,

he pulls her close and holds her tight,

putting his arms around her,

and stroking her hair.

He tries to comfort her.

With him doing this,

she she sadens more,

looking up,

because he has no clue as to why she

sadens like this.

Seeing her despair,

he asks her what is wrong.

Knowing his helplessness,

she again looks up with her sadened eyes.

Not saying out loud,

everything thats inside her head.

Wishing he'd already knew.



Not upset about other troubles in life.

Her mind's eye is in him.

As she is found with a new despair of her..

but almost perfect boyfriend that is

standing infront of her now.

As she knows that of the burden he's

removed from her.

The pain of whats in her life.

He brings a new one,

the reason for her despair.

The person that is betterly different fron the rest.

The reason she is now happy.

Also remains the reason she is sad.

New apologies.

Him being sweet,

but also the one that brings a new problem.

Not understanding of how he cares so much

and can let words slip by.

Still remains puzzled.

New apologies.

New hearts broken?

More strings attatched.

As it is to be said;

too good to be true: never lasts.



So as she sits there in his arms,

she wonders.

How it got this far,

and how to change the event that is yet to overcome her.



Silent wishes yet plesent dreams.

She hopes it wont be over yet for her.

Hoping the new treasure in her life can only hope to bring but more joy.

Not to get worse but to only get better. Her joy.
Annie Apr 2013
The burs were hanging in trees
Like small suicides, ***** of pathetic waste
And I cried because I no longer owned my body
There were chains clasped around my ankles
And attatched to the seedlings
children pluck
and blow away

And I cried because I am a ******* hypocrite
The way I judge you for obliterating yourself
Sacrificing your health to
A girl who does not care
When here I am kneeled over
The toilet
Sacrificing my health
In order to be skinny

Ribs are cracking under the weight of
Piano keys and rich words
Gluttonous demons whisper
Tales of good fortune
In my ears
When all I yearned for
Was to attend my own funeral
All I wanted was to tighten my knee caps
Remove the marrow in my bones
Rearrange synapses
And guts
Replace vital organs
With sand

I ordered a lobotomy for dinner last night
The savory cuts in my cranium
Tasted like chocolate
And I saw myself lying on
The cold slab of metal
Like I belonged there my whole entire life

But the worst part is
I continue to
Believe my worth is dependent on
How much of me does not exist

I keep lighting myself on fire
and watch as the wax
drips down my body
settling in a lumpy mound
beneath my feat

and

You keep lighting yourself on fire
Until you are nothing
But charred insides
And wasted potential
tortured by everything you were too afraid to do

there are bombs fused to each of your legs
and all you're waiting for
is for me to tell you
it's okay
for me to dust away the gun powder
but that is not my job
you are going to need to save yourself
Breanna Hermann Mar 2013
i am staring at the collection of dead flowers you gave me still in their vases on my shelf.
every rose is still strung on it's stem. every petal is still attatched.
i keep putting these silly metaphors together and trying to make sense of it all.
i miss you this morning.
and i will miss you the next morning.
i am left with nostalgia.
I met a special lady on smoothies
From different country
I added her as a friend and thanks to her she accepted me
We started chatting
Started knowing each other
We both discover we have many things in common which makes us even

We started asking each other how was ur day and asking about families
We became so attatched to each other
We got even more closer that we don't hide anything from each other
We are far from each other but we don't know that because. We are so close to know that we ain't from same country
We make so many plans as if we have met before

I appreciate each time she spends with me online, because she no longer make me feel lonely and deserted, my feelings get stronger for her
And we finally fell in love
She compliments each messages I compose for her
And I do too
She said, baby are u a poet, I replied no
She said, baby your messages are so poetic and I think you will make a good poet, I was happy because someone for the first time make me feel so special,
Online dating works and I feel safer with this special lady than ladies I have seen that  broke my heart at last
Remember(she made me a poet)

To.....................KARIN NAUDE
M a y b e..
i learned to hate that word
You want no strings attatched
so kick me to the curb
No ?..
wanna see where things will go ?  
Unless of course somebody follows through and steals the show
maybe..
I swear i hate that word
its tears apart the fibers forming love that i had slurred
I understand your movements
to keep yourself a float
You hang me off the side
i dont fit in the boat
I noticed theres some holes
i see them from below
You aren't in control
go on and let me go
If its not erasing,
Its ripping.
If its not ripping,
Its cutting.
Erasing.
Ripping.
Cutting.
Treat my body like a blank canvas of paper,
Waiting to be tampered with.
Because paper is nothing until you make something of it.
Nobody frames a blank sheet of paper,
But they place priceless figures on those who are
Erased.
Ripped.
Cut.
Those who are worthy enough to be
Erased.
Ripped.
Cut.
I just want to be worthy
So i
Erase
Rip
Cut
Myself until somebody finds the beauty in me
The beauty to frame me, and hang me on a wall
To show me off to the world
To place priceless figures on me
Desperate for worth
I erase
Rip
Cut
And take it upon myself
To hang me on a wall with frayed string
Attatched to my heart
And with every spectator who looks at me
I realize that they want nothing to do with me
No matter how much i
Erased
Ripped
Cut
I was an amateur in my technique
And with every
Erasing
Rip cut
I erased my beauty
Ripped my worthiness
Cut my price
So i broke the string
That hung me to the wall
And bleached myself back to my original state
Taped my pieces back together
And ironed out my wrinkles
But the thing about paper
Is no matter how hard you try to make it as beautiful as the original
It will forever show the scars
From the battles it went through
heather leather May 2015
i fell in love with this boy who would paint the
horizon into a stanza, and the moon
into a phrase and he had hazel eyes and
a beautiful smile and i used to count the minutes
until i could see him and feel his warm embrace

you are no longer him

you are no longer him, the boy who wrote me
songs and you rarely write poems anymore and
it's been a while since you've said you loved me
and meant it, and so that i suppose is why i
must let go of you my darling
because i have been craving and loving and
missing someone who i wasn't meant to love,
and in the end i suppose i did only
love you for the words you spoke, the image you
so clearly conveyed, and the memories
that still make me smile to this day

i fell in love with someone who is not you, and i have
spent a long time trying to figure out why i was
so stuck on your love, so attatched to who you were
but then i realized you would never again be
the boy who's poetry i would tattoo on my skin
and who's songs i would scream at the top of my longs
you are no longer him and i am no longer the
carefree, naive innocent girl you fell for either
so i suppose i can forgive you for changing because
i only did the same

forgive me though, because i still dream sometimes
about you and i, and i secretly hope you do too
though perhaps it would be for the best if you didn't
for wilted flowers are better off dead than barely alive

(h.l.)
i suppose you could call this me letting you go
betterdays Jun 2014
she sits, across from me
******* the loose threads
of her genes

they are attatched to the fraying of her mind
this, it girl
who is
falling apart, before us all
an honours student,
stumbling quickly down from grace....

silence, is her cloak...
these day....
and in this desperate,
wanting,
of invisablity.
her distress cries loud enough
for all ....to watch...

tears,
fall and track,
silently down her face,
as we quest for the canker...

reponses,
monosyllabic
and non commital...
issue forth....
defiance...
her weapon of choice....

we can,
but, reiterate,
our duty of care...
and hope....
that when she falls....
it is within earshot
of one who gives a ****....

she leaves....
no more intact...
than when she entered.... and hitches,
her ragged psyche
and theadbare jeans
up over
those slim, woman-girl hips.
...as she walks, out of
my office door.
it is beyond  sad, when a student of great promise...
goes off the tracks...
all we can do... is make ourselves available...for counsel... these are after all young adults.....
in this case...drugs and a bofriend of dubious nature...
have taken this ******* an emotional detour...
louis rams Jun 2015
wee willie escaped from his jockey strap , and say s he ain't going back
he said it was too cramped and crammy , and always fighting bill and sammy.
they feel they are the ***** of the party, because they are filled and hearty.but they forget that they are below willie and attatched
to all that he says and does , even the ***** raises a fuzz.
now he's at attention once again and say s his head will never bend.
he says that he was tired and limp , but he'll show them he;s no wimp.
he won't let any women bad mouth him and put him down
because of the solution he has found.
tighten the rubber at the base of his neck
and he'll stay at attention if you want to check.
(C) L . RAMS 061815

— The End —