"beanies" poems
found
grounded bird closed in
ribboned-box and buried
underneath a willow snapped back
to finally relax
to decompose and nourish
by the lake in drooping shade
the felled leaves pile
candy wrappers gray snow in
parking lot corners
with pumpkin spice scented candles
with charred letters skirling up
the arm dropped to sizzle and puff out
white beanies
flannels
leather boots and jangly bronze-leafed wind chimes
I sit on the patio and listen to you speak
the chill of your words
perched like a squirrel barking on a fence top
hibernation preparation and breeze
the gospel of your autumn
it’s lovely.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
the one feeling that is most foreign to my life
inadequate in every way I can see
using beanies to cover up my flaws the best i can
hiding behind my words like a mask
odds stacked against me in everything i do
and everyone that I have any feelings towards
speaking only when there is no other option
approach me at your own risk and I will hide inside my notebook
cover my face and fall into my own little world
I am not fit to live inside this one
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
the one feeling that is most foreign to my life
inadequate in every way I can see
using beanies to cover up my flaws the best i can
hiding behind my words like a mask
odds stacked against me in everything i do
and everyone that I have any feelings towards
speaking only when there is no other option
approach me at your own risk and I will hide inside my notebook
cover my face with my hair and fall into my own little world
I am not fit to live inside this one
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
Liam Payne,
or should I say Pain
because thats all you cause me.
You make my heart flutter,
When you sing,
its heart to believe,
your not butter.
I know, your not Daddy Direction anymore,
but sometimes, I still wish,
that while on tour, you would still do more,
of your childish punishments.
I miss the old you,
yes I do.
But i like the new you,
too.
Beanies, that read Hype
that makes this hard to type,
and even that **** Stuble**
I might as well stop now,
you know,
I might get my self in trouble.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
I wore "too much black" today
I wish I was allowed to look like me
I was a ****** on the corner"
I wish I was allowed to wear tight clothes
I wore "goth make up"
I wish I was allowed to wear eyeliner
I was a "no good ***
I wish I could wear my beanies and caps
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
Twentysomething Emo
looks at teenage Emo
and laughs.
It was something purely aesthetic,
with brain chemicals churning
and wiry bodies yearning
under the guise of straightened bangs
and perched beanies,
skin tight black outfits
parading the dusty grounds of Warped Tour.
Twentysomething Emo is the real deal--
lamenting over high school salad days
because real life is so unsure,
college degrees and full-time jobs,
watching friends and lovers come and go in our lives.
After a long day of responsibility and groveling,
we drive home (or somewhere just as distant)
with our emo anthems blaring through the speakers.
We scream the songs back at them,
truly feeling the words for the first time.
I'm the same age as William Beckett, Adam Lazzara, and Pete Wentz
when they wrote these songs--
and though the bangs have receded
and the jeans have slackened,
I am perpetually Emo.
The unrequited love and the nearing distant future--
it's come too soon.
I hope thirtysomething Emo looks back
on my meandering twentysomething Emo
and laughs--
as he plays the melancholy tunes pouring out of the speakers
with some more of life fading away in his rearview mirror.
This town gets smaller every day.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 12:45 AM UTC
Flip flip slide slide
grind grind pop pop
concentration.
hours and hours
sweat pours
bruised ankles bruised kneecaps
scraped shinbones scraped elbows
scabs and scars.
shirts and jeans torn, worn;
shoes a tattered mess--
laces shredded to bits tied desperately
clinging on to lapping tongues.
hair matted to skull sweating within damp skullcaps,
whether be it helmets (by choice or restriction),
or fitted baseball hats turned backwards,
or cuffed beanies in the dead of winter.
(father says the latter choices work well to soak all the blood up, I always roll my eyes in naivete.)
The paved driveway, where on my eighth birthday
a shining basketball goal sat at its full height
towering in the mountain sky--
stood forlorn in place as wide eyes glued to the pavement--
where shoes stood atop the gritty surface of a wooden board
with wheels attached to gleaming metal axles
rolled smoothly excitedly across the pavement in perpetuity.
destiny.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
{When i wake up will our story be told,
Himalayan rivers couldn't see a better shine,
I would give everything just smell the scent of pine,
And who could stand the test of time,
Now we're all old,}
You might hate me now but you forgot the essence of peace,
wait .. wait! you have a Complicated complex????
I swear the things you say are bat **** insane!!!
so little monsta go away,
Right Back into the closet where you came,
I hope your happy with your seven seconds of fame,
As i put on this beanie , look at the enemy and say......
{When i wake up will our story be told,
Himalayan rivers couldn't see a better shine,
I would give everything just smell the scent of pine,
And who could stand the test of time,
Now we're all old,}
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
A rainy day,
an acoustic guitar,
a notebook,
a studio apartment overlooking the city.
"I want to measure my mornings
in spoonfuls of coffee
and my nights in empty cigarette boxes."
I don't remember the name of the poet who wrote that
but it couldn't describe my life
any more accurately.
I want to measure my mornings
in spoonfuls of coffee
and my nights in empty cigarette boxes.
I want to measure my happiness
in rainy days and soft kisses,
poetry,
I want to measure my recovery
in full meals and trash bags full of razors,
in tears shed by my eyes
instead of my skin.
I want to measure my free time
in independent movies
and 4 different kinds of music-
indie,
hard rock,
classic rock,
and pop-punk.
I want to measure my infinities
in starry night skies,
galaxies, constellations,
physics books I got in middle school
and his eyes,
his smile.
I want to measure my victories
in minutes without smoking
and my losses
in blaring headphones
and labyrinths of white smoke.
I want to measure my work ethic
in sick days
and missed bills.
I want to measure my heart
in belly dancing
and ***** converse,
in beanies
and minutes spend holding him.
I want to measure my life
in written chapters
and highlighted smiles
in blue Christmas lights
and TV show references,
in my favourite movies and novels and songs
and my dependence on myself,
in cans of Peace Tea
and Pringles
and not regretting eating,
in pens that help the words flow
and laughs,
smiles,
hugs,
kisses,
and hope that in the future
things will be alright...
More alright than they are now.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
So you know that strange feeling you get, the one where it feels like you're different from them.
You're a green tulip in a field of yellows, but they all see in black and white.
You decide to go with it, because Different is bad. Same is good.
Same, they say, is what gets you somewhere.
Same, I think, isn't fun at all.
It's gray, dull, a ticking clock in an empty room. Time wastes away, and nothing is done.
Same stands over you with a bat, and 'plonk' when Different tries to talk to you. Same wears the same suit and tie every day, never changing.
Different likes colors and scarves and sandals and beanies and fur coats and tattoos.
Same likes to talk about the weather, while Different doesn't talk; she was interrupted too much.
Different likes to sit down and think, and think, and dream. She sits longing for more Different's, the ones with fur coats and tattoos. Same chases them down with his bat and 'plonk' they become like Same, with suits and bats.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
Ray LaMontagne - Hold You In My Arms
"I could hold you in my arms, I could hold you forever."
In this hidden corner of my world
Anything
could happen
woven Guatemalan Frisbee
with a lonely older man
talking about dank and his ex-wife
sweet vanilla coffee with a shot of something fruity
smoking in the wind
bot support Ashe
I use a trackpad
fingerless mittens and fuzzy knit earmuffs
they double as headphones
metal and country and sappy romantic pop ballads
gauges piercings tattoos flannels beanies band tees and scene girlfriends
gossip about the bar next door
bashing the outer world
this is utter peace
catching the eye of an attractive stranger
in the mirrors behind the bar
My stomach feels tender from too much coffee
my head buzzes with nicotine
caffeine
My purging week of healthy choices ended
with hash browns, french toast
too much ketchup and 6 packets of sugar in my coffee
Denny's
skeleton string lights and chalkboard walls
abstract photography and everyone plugged in
this is my escape
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
"You don't look like you write poetry.."
Well, why not?
Is it because I am an athlete?
Is it because you misinterpret my personality?
Is it so hard to believe,
I can put my thoughts down
In a way I feel better?
Tell me,
Tell me please.
What does a poet look like?
Do all of them look the same?
Act the same?
Messy hair and beanies.
Scarves and hot tea.
Hipsters.
Suicidal or lovestruck.
Black or white.
The "artsy" types.
Typical stereotypical ideas of poets.
But we are not the same.
We are all different,
Except for one thing,
We all understand each other.
So please never judge me again,
Just because you don't understand
Our world.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
racing across the train platform,
one hand on our heads keeping our beanies in place,
the other clenching each other's
we slid in through the doors,
catching our breath in between laughter
we make it above ground just as the sun is setting over astoria
and i swear your eyes turn golden
my favourite you comes out at night
we lose track of time, put away our cell phones,
and vandalize this whole **** place with our love
carve your name into my rickety old heart like you did the trees
near bethesda
kiss me long and hard, like the winters
just as refreshing when i open the door and seeing you,
my own wonderland
melt this ice pick inside of me
set me on fire, for all i care
everything is dying right now,
but for once, for once, it doesn't feel like it
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 7:58 PM UTC
To the author of the Huffington post “article” We Are The Generation Who Doesn’t Want a Relationship you’re wrong.
We Are The Generation Who Doesn’t Want to Be Straight, but you won’t let us.
I want domesticity like a fish wants a bicycle, which is to say that it would be nice but not useful.
I want the next boy I date to be able to flirt with the bar tender and to be tender and kinder than the last one. You keep putting us in jars with labels and naming us after stars and hurricanes but when we want to tear down your system you just say “shush now, just listen.”
I don’t want to hear your voice anymore – I don’t want to be told that I can’t love who I always have.
I don’t want any more halves, I want whole people to love me and make me more than the person who got called ***** all through high school because they couldn’t keep just one partner I don’t want to be an outsider anymore.
My darling says she wants someone to hold her hands when the world ends. You’ve put the fear of God in her and it makes her cry so much louder. My dearest says he wants to bring smiles to the people on the street and when he sees someone he thinks is cute his whole body goes mute I want to help him speak.
We keep swiping right like gamblers hoping for a chance at more than a second glance, we don’t want divorces or anymore court cases we don’t want second or third bases we just want patience while we pick up the pieces you dropped in front of us.
We want to keep believing in what you lost. We want pumpkin spice lattes and lately I want ladies, but not always because his smile drives me crazy and we don’t want babies.
We don’t want “consent is **** we want control over our own bodies. We don’t want binaries we want multicolored beanies and maybe, just maybe, we want nothing but to be gay.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
(i)
There's that girl again
soft pink lips,
light blush on her cheeks
when their eyes met
and her heart beat
all kinds of red.
(ii)
As he smiled
one stranger to another
a weird pulse in his chest
matted blood rose to his ears
but thank god
for beanies.
(iii)
Her voice, her laughter,
a euphoric symphony
like roses singing in the wind
and in this metaphor
he is the glorious wind
she should let him know that.
(iv)
"Should I?"
he held that letter
close to his body
contemplating to slip into
her vibrant red mailbox
he did; and ran away.
(v)
Who knew, the ends of
the red thread of destiny
were tied on their
little fingers
now they're no longer
tangled in someone else's.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
1. Candles smell best when the day is nearing its end and you feel the weariness in your bones. Favourites flicker like moods and the way the fire dances upon the wick; fresh scents mostly. Zingy citrus and sweet melon and cucumber, and sometimes sweet spice and serenity which smells like old memories.
2. As a sister, I do no know what kind of attributes I wish for a sister. Even though I adore and get annoyed in equal parts by the girl who calls me big sissie, I could not name what it is that I exactly would want. Perhaps, I would enjoy some one such as Nana Visitor as my sister, although one wonders if having actors for a family member is the best.
Kelly Rowland comes to mind, and perhaps I would adore her as a sister the most.
3. I have longed for a brother for a long time, wished I had one just to experience it, mostly. I’d want someone fierce, but someone understanding too. Someone who would not treat me like I could look after myself, and under much consideration, I do not believe there is someone I’d truly want as a celebrity as my brother. Perhaps Olly Murs, if I had to really answer this.
4. Marriage is not something I would wear well, I do not think. It’s not a comfy pair of sweats or a too big sweater. It’s a very pretty dress, or a dapper suit and it doesn’t fit like colourful beanies or a rather fluffy scarf.
5. Books lay in piles about the space entitled my room, old bottles from years before I was born live in their own special cupboards. Piles of intricately made teaspoons and bone-handled knives tuck into boxes upon boxes upon boxes. Old text books barely squeeze into my shelves. I hoard like I breathe.
6.When young and flexible I managed to tie myself in knots; I’d fit in spaces I only dream about now and stretch like I was reaching for the light. Doing such things like the splits doesn’t occur to me anymore, I’ve got a book to read, an emotion to write and a song to hum under my breath.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 8:22 AM UTC
When I realized I had fallen in love with you
I slit my wrists to stop the bleeding.
I used threads of your hair I had stolen,
from a voodoo doll to sew them up.
But it seeped through my sleeves so I tye dyed
my shirt with phlegm, feces, and ****
After it was dry it looked like your face,
like finding Jesus or Mary on a pancake or in coffee.
You're my messiah and I would wash your feet
with my hair but I haven't any, cause I shaved it off
when you left.
I wear hats all day now, my head gets cold, and the beanies
smell like hair oil, shampoo, and follicles.
And sometimes I wonder what you would think,
of the way my hair matts down from the pressure and heat.
Kind of like the way you bedded me down with the same,
weight and warmth of blankets and body hair.
What do you do when you haven't eaten all day
and you're scared of being fatter than your significant other?
Paint your nails **** red and hope your heels are high enough on Saturday.
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 5:15 PM UTC
inside my chest is a coalmine. you have the raddest eyes I’ve ever seen & you hair smells like rain. I want to call you on the telephone & tell you a secret about your freckles. I wanna call you shakedown. I wanna call you shotgun. do you want to make a movie? I got this camera, see, & a backyard like forever, & when it snows it’s like the whole world is one giant pickup line. my body in a wooden box & you just like holes for breathing. if I’m lying my neck is a bird. free. the truth is skin & skin. your red and grey beanies. a stick of dynamite between my teeth.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 10:58 AM UTC
beanies, boots, furs, and scarves, paired with soothing sounds of passing cars.
warm mugs of tea on the days dark and dreary- enough to forget the years' scars.
cool mountain air isn't really far, but the journey there's bound to make me weary.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 2:52 PM UTC
Chilly gusts of wind they blow,
Through my shuddering window.
As I lay enveloped in a red embrace,
Cotton, wool and linen,
lie together in a clump.
My grey blanket lies awake,
Keeping off the cold, all night.
And while i yawn and stretch my cold arms,
Wear those fluffy whites on my wrinkly toes,
Good old grey goes to sleep.
The air heavy like lead,
And time seems to crawl,
My snores wear winter clothes,
mittens and socks, jumpers and beanies,
Leaving little to expose
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 9:17 PM UTC
The following are three random poems I made up today
My Shirt
Red, black and grey
are the colors of my shirt today
It matches my shoes vans
A pair of blue jeans
in between
to represent my blues
Comp Book
I started with 100 sheets
now there are 78
free from the mesh of madness
hidden beneath the grates
Hats
I don't like to wear hats
well, I do like beanies
but this nonsense over fitted caps
is just an excuse for people to be meanies
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
You sag your pants
I prefer mine tight
You wear beanies on your head
I wear my hair spiked high
You wear shoes bigger than my face
I prefer my small converse
You like to go out everyday
I like to stay home underneath the covers
You like to get things done quick
I procrastinate
You're impatient when waiting to take showers
while I can wait for hours
You like naked women on your bedroom walls
I prefer song lyrics
You like to talk about your day
I love hearing about it
You like to think about things
I like to jump to conclusions
you know why you do the things you do
whereas I never have a reason
You like things neat
I like a little mess here or there
You worry about what others think
I simply just don't care
We are total opposites
people like us normally fight
Instead we get along so well
we can stand to sleep together at night
We can spend hours together
and spend our time wonderfully
It's amazing to me how two different people
can mesh together so perfectly
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 8:17 PM UTC
I love lazy, at home days
With sweatpants and ice cream
Cuddling and watching movies
Doing nothing but being silly
Dancing in the kitchen
Board games in the lounge
Hot chocolate in bed
I love the timeless feeling
With that little bit of sun
But enough chill in the air
To bundle up warm
The fuzzy socks and beanies
Blankets strewn everywhere
I just love lazy, at home days
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 3:28 AM UTC
half a cup of
perfectly sculpted hair
yeilds a quarter
of a suburban style
& a tragic obsession
with the american flag
stirred in with a dash of
unquestionably good shoes-
a hint of stripes
adorned with a
a scruffy flannel armor-
blended of color palettes
mixed in with
your matching blacks,
& a quarter dozen
ankle boots with
banded legwarmers to match.
toss in a pair of leggings
a couple of two cent beanies
and plaid button downs
thoroughly wrapped around
your nether bottom &
a fanciful coffee
in hand prettified
with a binding bracelet
telling me
to creatively and
elusively
**** off
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
black heart
beanies
green shirt
screaming
"he has a girlfriend"
broken heart
torn between
a new start
deep breaths
hold on
it will be over soon
move on
fixing strings
new ties
looking for love
falling apart
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC