"backspacing" poems
I am the typewriter and you were
backspacing backspacing backspa
all my words as if I had never said them.
You knew I meant
every letter I slammed down
furiously into the keyboard
writing about you
about your lack of making time
closing me off last minute
ignoring any plans we made at all.
I don't get why you had to leave my
thoughts as if they were not validated.
If someone cared for you as much as I do,
I sure hope you don't backspace on them
before they can get a word out.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC
I love it when you type letters
with your fingertips
on my skin
backspacing my faults
and joining my freckles
letter by letter
until you’ve created a new word.
Sometimes,
you discover a new universe in the obscure abyss
and mark that with an asterisk.
In the morning,
you would press kisses
between the parenthesis of my smile
and bite ellipsis
on the crook of my neck
so that I would wake with your watermark.
I still remember that day
when you assured me
you are just a space bar away and
I am a story you will never finish writing.
"I promise,darling
that you will be filled with caesuras but no period.”
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
this is where i was supposed to tell you
(what I was going to say)
i guess you know now that I didn't
because if I had told you these last few lines would have rhymed
would have been details into the synonyms my heart has ascribed to your name
this is where i was supposed to give in and admit
what all my little footnotes of blushes really mean
that i really wouldn't mind it if you kissed me
this is where i was supposed to tell the truth
but all i can write are lies
because this is where i'm terrified
terrified that somehow you'll read this and know
even though i didn't say anything at all
this is where i beg myself to let myself say just one little thing
just one little anecdote, just one little truth, please?
this is where i was supposed to open my own file
and read what my subconscious wrote
this is where I stay in stasis
this is where i erase this
backspace.
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 6:25 PM UTC
The time we spend on
Blank pages and paper
Is like throwing money
Into empty spaces.
Minds racing and clocks ticking
Pen on paper
Fingers on home row keys.
Scrolling and spacebars
Ink and led.
FOCUSED....
The next thought
Is the next word
Pronouns, adjectives, verbs
Periods, commas, question marks.
Proofreading and backspacing
Fiction or fact
Intensity and excitement
Intelligence kicking in.
All day long phrase catching
All night long remembering
I can do this, I can do this
I will finish what I started.
Brainstorming vs distractions
Silence vs noises
FOCUSED.....
Speaking without talking
The passion of your work
A thousand pages
A million words
Pen down
Typing ends.
Time to rest
The body and mind,
It's done....but
More on the way.
Results, two thumbs up
We think
We work
We spend time
We fill up pages
We....WE ARE WRITERS
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
texts I've written but never sent:
let me start off by saying over a million times I've gone to text you those three sacred words but I've long realized they mean nothing to you coming from me.
I have so many times typed out a long and thorough text including everything good and bad about my day to you because you're the person I share everything with- expect, I'm not allowed to do that anymore so I spend 5 minutes backspacing my story.
referring to my previous dilemma, I've often wanted to ask you every detail about your day. every single time I've had the guts to type out a simple how are you, I've also had the guts to refrain from texting you.
there's so many questions I've spent a life time wanting to ask you, specifically. questions about the universe, love, life, death. questions that secretly beg you to come back. why did you leave? silly questions. stupid questions. but I've never been stupid enough to send them.
**** her. **** you. loud, screaming, angry, texts. texts that go into great detail how you've hurt and betrayed me. explanations on how I know you've never loved me. angry and mean, out of the pain my heart was going through, words that I could never stomach to say to you.
I don't want to live without you. but I could never allow myself to guilt you into my life.
come back come back COME BACK. I think I've screamed come back into my phone so many times that, to this day, my phone even flinches when I say those words. those texts were always so pointless to send I didn't want to put myself through that pain.
along with the phrase come back, I've screamed/typed/cried the word why in my messages so many times I think it automatically capitalizes itself to show the emotional damage. I just always knew I'd never get a real answer.
for some reason I have tried to say I'm sorry to you more times than I'm proud of. I'm not sure what I have to apologize for but I think I wanted to try to see if it would make anything better. I don't think I ever found a good enough reason to say it though.
I need you. the three words that probably helped ruin whatever we had in
the first place. I've been so low in the past year so many times that all I needed was you in some way, shape, or form. the many panic attacks, lows, and break downs I've typed this phrase out during, I never once sent it because I knew you wouldn't be there, anyways.
I think I'll always miss your voice. but like the words I need you, your voice is something I many of times wanted to beg for because of the affect it has on me. I was always too afraid to ask this of you, for the fear that I would start sobbing at the sound.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I was so ******* scared of never hearing it back.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
held up legitimate excuses
fully executing unfocused choices
returning, backspacing this type
same sentences, of looking back
from rough drafts, rewriting
keeping words behind images
spoken actions restricted glances
still looking to find my essence
as repeated waves came tides
contrived to dissolve so to solve
all secured within tiers of a castle,
granulations formed from memory
write so to form, a type of sand
tangible untangled tactility
measured through these hands
we can only grasp these times
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 6:18 PM UTC
I keep a little notepad in my car to ensure writers safety
Because words spontaneously throw themselves around in my mind
Without a conscious thought to
But I still lose a few lines every now and then
And I can't help but wonder
Where do the lost words go?
The beautiful lines we'd love to recollect
Our own thoughts
Ones that will never be told to anyone
Or read anywhere
I wonder if they come back without us knowing
I wonder if they make up the lines that don't exactly fit anywhere else
The ones that we want to backspace
And erase
Backspace
And erase
Until they're gone again
I wonder if some things
Are not supposed to exist
Until they do
If some things just do not fit
So I write in pen
And I undo all the backspacing, too
Because I also wonder
If maybe everything has a place
And we just have to make them fit
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:44 AM UTC
Why is it the deepest, most real feelings are the hardest to write?
Why do I keep backspacing over the truth?
Apr 24, 2021
Apr 24, 2021 at 10:39 PM UTC
Even though we view film through digital waves
And seldom we listen to sounds from our phones
Not because of origins lost, nor are they a
preference
but convenience is certain.
The artwork on a hardback, the crave and feel and smell and print of words on an actual page. All combine a vehicle to drive a paper filled book.
That circular rotation after the needle drops and scratches the vinyl. How the air wisks on a linear circumferential spin, and the volume on zero still has an audio track with an ear on top.
Feeling the wooden pencil in the grip of our hands as each word is thought and erased and the faint smear of the leads dismissal or scribbled out, leaving proof of another thought made better or changed and not eradicated from existence as it would backspacing an android tablet device.
These are what make us and glue us and keep us similar and drawn to each other. Not the former first two. But the latter 3 that make us and define us, you and I. Analog people.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 9:28 PM UTC
I keep
Writing and erasing.
Typing and backspacing
All of the things you will never get to hear me say.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 3:08 PM UTC
yesterday night, i know you saw the text bubble with the ellipses
and you must have been wondering
what the HECK i was typing
because i did a lot of backspacing and suddenly that text was
g o n e
and you never got the terrifying notification that would put all the weight of the world on your shoulders
as you read that the world's smallest soul had a thing for you!
you never got the text i was supposed to send when i was rocking back and forth within my own mind
trying to figure out how to own up to what i wanted to send
i wanted to send you a simple 3 words ( i like you )
and yet i did a lot of backspacing before i got the nerve and
now the moment is gone.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
If my words were like a gun
There would be smoke coming off my tongue
I don't think about life during a sunrise,
During a sunset or a star showered night.
I think about life eating a plate of nachos,
Drinking too much coffee with my wife.
I know in a big picture, I don't make the portrait
But when they torch these walls, I'll help restore them.
I can keep calm with a poker face like you,
But truth is, I'd rather be a joker getting wild with the twos.
I'm one of the few honest liars left
And we don't rattle. We don't rattle.
It's an odd feeling knowing the words,
That keep me up at night,
Won't matter once they're out, still unheard
Only said as the emotion lingering in my head.
I lie in bed putting my thoughts to rest
Sliding my finger to turn the page
Back to the real world behind the stage
Of a notepad and metophorical pen
Because a digital thought looks neat,
If only you saw the backspacing eraser
Scribbling out all my waste you'll never meet.
But we don't rattle. We don't rattle.
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 8:14 PM UTC
How incapacitated can I get
Before the thought of You
Isn't You but just you
Lungs coughing up truths
Instead of smoke
Backspacing lines
Instead of snorting them
Tears fill my glasses
While top shelf stays top shelf
More people more souls
I'll consume all that I see
Anything to keep You from Me
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 7:41 PM UTC