"bloating" poems
Like a zygote in a toilet bowl
you flushed me away with a raw and distant shame that must’ve grown in you for two weeks and kept you up at night as a churning of unknown origin, a bloating that weighed you down in that section of the grocery store and made you promise “after one more week” because it was too early to tell even though you were already flushed with that secret, lonely panic when something no one else could detect made you gag and you prayed like a Christian and remained silent like a monk until it finally happened and you were saved, redeemed by the sight of the red little pieces of soul and carnal ritual which were so tender and broken you became whole again and you understood so you flushed me away, and we never spoke of it because only I knew but you must’ve understood the shame because at the first sight of me in August you flushed my red little soul away too.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
Elusive, mystifying, soft wind sighing,
No stomachs bloating, no children wailing,
No souls sailing,
No fathers beating, no mothers screaming,
Ever dreaming,
Perfect world,
Dreamland.
Satisfying, clear water flowing, clean air blowing,
No tainted blood, no children missing,
No killers hissing,
No hate-torn lands, no bombs blasting,
Peace everlasting,
Perfect world,
Dreamland.
Death defying, careless breeders, self-serving leaders,
Power plays, strategic dancing,
All life chancing,
Ultimate pact, malevolent mushroom clouds,
Vaporized crowds,
Perfect world....
Apr 22, 2011
Apr 22, 2011 at 11:37 AM UTC
The writer is
bound by the Oedipus
cauldron stewing can't relax
--all women are mine--
but this doesn't stop the bloating bubbles.
But the writer did not invent Wonderlandia
--no double-sided tape or wrong number or sloppy poetics.
Wonderlandia was born from the ***** of the stars
--our fathers,
and the void of space,
--our mother's womb.
the writer
was busy staring at the girls that walked by
ditch diggers for renovations on Euphoria.
The hippies are disappointed in this current Wonderlandia,
or they would be.
Their dreams had dirt in the mud,
they walked upon. Our Woodstock
is celebrity interviews,
reservations failing,
political satires--the last ring of change
sold at five cents a word. Period.
the writer
says it understands and writes:
"Sticks shaped from elitism
rare.
Usually a vibe too brittle,
breaking in battle.
The bass thundered robins.
The snare's firearm stabled the swift,
electrifying beat.
The brass was addiction
to the crowd's ears.
All before the elitism was born,
a symphony was constructed in the drug's head."
the writer
knows about D. A. Levy and his revolution,
we all felt that voice, so the writer replies:
"Did you hear about the John Lennon poser
waving his gun on TV?
While listening to the Beatles, you
sit and watch the vagabond cry.
He says, "Counter-culture is dead, entombed
in a metal casket.
We need a new flame. Those watching TV
get your hands out of the basket."
the writer
walks with grandma Alice
by lakes,
thrilling dementia
"Don't tell me what taurine
and caffeine can do to my heart.
I can have alligators in my rib meat
eating away at bone marrow.
High? That's your question?
Hi...I am a float
in a useless pond
bordered by malnourished trees.
By the love of hell you better not
fertilize those ****** trees
because if I die
the alligator of my ribs
will dine and take your ****
girlfriend straight to the vet.
I thank you for asking though."
the writer misses
the syrup in the tree completely
I am not your beatnik
or future idol--burn your 1970's classrooms away.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
You look in the mirror and know bloating is your enemy
You have people tell you, you are too flat
You are not skinny, you are not fat
When food can be your frenemy
You put in all this work
You have people tell you it will never be enough
You are not strong, you are not weak
When your body can call your bluff
You always try and stick to the rules
You have people tell you that you could do better and include this and that
You are not memorable, you are not forgetful
When your diet looks like something you do not get at
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 11:47 AM UTC
When I saw her for the first time it wasn't admiration
It was awe mixed with a twinge of jealousy
Her perfection and her confidence intimidated me
When I first befriended her it wasn't just adoration
It was an obsession and a fixation
To be like her in thought and action
Till I learnt to be better than her without being enough
That was when the insecurity started
'Will I ever be enough?'
I wasn't enough at home, not fair enough or smart enough
I wasn't witty or flirtatious enough
I lacked guts and I lacked the temperament
Of a proper twelve-year-old.
I was a doormat and a pushover
Already coming undone at my seams
Trying to emulate perfection through blinded eyes
Every day I scoffed and surrendered to my picture of admiration
Trying to secure her own admission
'Will I ever be enough?'
Then she left me battling my own wars
Hers was to conquer new turfs.
I waited for a while, finally realizing
I was a ship without a captain, left to wander evermore.
I caught a new captain in a bystander who counted his lucky stars
I admired him for being there for me when I never was.
I tried to hold on to an unconsolidated bond of friendship
With a raging doubt piercing through my heart
'Will I ever be enough?'
Many came telling me my worth.
Many left ravaging my already battered heart
Many drank my colourless lifeless blood
Many left a wretched bluish mark
I shrivelled from the inside out
Bloating in the nausea of my being
Every day trying to put me together
Every day losing instead of winning.
One day finally I reached out
Knowing my salvation lies
I put everything behind me and cried out
Only to be put on the side.
That day I realized my worth
When she was hurt by my rejection
When she refused to give me a chance
When I had never received any ever.
My insecurities still lingered
But they were a part of me now
And I did not know how to do without.
I picked up the pieces that meant something to me
Even though she was no more there to see
Yet I knew that she was never enough
Never my horizon, never my turf
I had wings to reach farther
And my flight has thus
Now begun without her.
(c) Anavah 2018
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 7:18 AM UTC
A summers day ...we're floating and bloating ..you and i
we're bloating and a floating and waving as we cry ...
we're crying as we're floating and a cloud is passing by
I ask it "are you gloating ? " at my bloating friend and i ?
"Dear sir" replied the cloud that was a floating up on high
I see so many bloaters and so many as they try..
to understand the nature of a floater floating by ?
Is such a wonderous thing and now.. i bid you sir "goodbye" !
A moonlit night we're floating and bloating you and i
We pass the moon the stars all swoon.."good evening" as we cry..
And as we float the endless sky..and never knowing why ?
we're floating and a bloating ...floating you and i
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
Often, we men take for granted,
That you've simply performed an edict of biologic cyclical reproduction.
And not wonder of the incredible largesse that has befallen us.
I am so profoundly transformed by the beauty of your love and your unselfishness.
Though we men oft complain of the seemingly irrelative by-products of this process we go through,
None can compare to the bloating, frequent urination, nausea, emotional turmoil,
Weight gain, wacky food choices, back pain, impatience, depression, negative self-image,
Waddle walk, belly steering wheel dilemma, inability to tie your shoes, hunger,
Relationship insecurity, cornucopiate vomitus, skinny lady envy, clothes no longer fit-itis,
Swelling ankles, chocolate cravings, diarrhea, headaches, pelvic pain, stretch marks, and what should be unlawful super odorous flatulence.
What you've done for us in the space and time of nine months
Is nothing short of the joyous miracle God has bestowed upon us.
I am awestruck that the place I pleasure in most for its tightness and firmness,
Was stretched beyond the limits of what I fear I will never be able to compete with.
I love you as no other man has loved any other woman,
My heart's eyes swell with tears, as it can not express or contain this overwhelming feeling.
For the love I see in their eyes, the endearment I feel when they utter my name(Dad!)
The gift of our three children, aside from the love of my God, and the fascinating adventure of our wedding and marriage, will never be superseded by any other joy; and for which I am forever truly and entirely grateful...!!!
-----ChawzzyScript
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
prey tracked
relentlessly pursued
mass of zebra
whacked
pulverized
to the ground
powerful jaws of lion
employed
in the gruesome ****
throat of prey
exposed
oozing scarlet ****
lion consumes
a bloating portion
for himself
deference shown to lion
an uninvited hyena
joins in
snarls and snappy retorts
go between the two
hyena knows
the borders
at nature's table
with
lion king
both delight
in the zebra's
ample flesh
and its sweet
warm entrails
they savor
every morsel
above in stark
glared filled skies
anticipating crows
circle
frenzy intense
hungering craw
needing
needing
squawking
to announce
arrival
descending in unison
blanketing the zebra's carcass
beaks tearing
the meager scraps
from the bones
welcome
sustenance
at natures
all too sparse table
each creature know its place
crow has a place reserved
scavenger on the rim
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
blekk, this ******* ragoon man
crab paste yuck
my stomach is festering in wounds of American Chinese
they put poison in my foods and I indulge and this is the result
final laid down rest
it feels
as
if
blekkk
the white rice is nice and the lo mein, don't even get me started
i Love it
noodles and rice covered in grease
spied on from a box of spare ribs
they saturate in Sat Fat, check the label 781 SAT FATS PER SERVING
Looper was good, and I was stuffed through all of it
grease traps, formed from my age of 5, filled to their brim this evening
starting a day with number 10 from Macdoe's: poor choice
smoke some grass and write a bit
that settles the swoosh of pirates fighting in my intestines
i give bloating a 75% definitive yes
25% maybe
reality is
I poisoned myself
don't do take out
don't eat what is not from its own country and made the same way
you know those ************* who make it are not eating the same **** thing
point is, I feel like Wesley Snipes and Sylvester Stallone are DEMOLISHing within.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
Your aspect ratio’s wrong.
Stretching the truth
this long sows fertile ground
for artifacts, glitches,
quirks & bugs, worming
& squirming beneath pixel
shrugs. The worst kind
plump the frame to god-
awful proportions, bloating
bigger & bigger & bigger ‘til
vision’s engulfed.
Or the kind that squeeze
spaghetti confetti onto
our plates, drenched in
the Sauce of the Week
that “can’t be beat!”.
Your skewed parallax
attacks the facts at hand.
Recycle your *******
fax machine this second before
it grows smarter than
you. Yes, you—with the rolly
polly eyes & feint surprise—
quit pretending you’re dumb,
'cause you ain’t that numb
to the stings & pangs of change.
Your sloppy hacks produce
quantity @ the cost of quality
to benefit the greedy & satisfy
the needy, becoming seedy
to the logic of reason.
Correct your inputs to render
outputs worth tender & please
remember, it’s what’s within
the frame that’s important,
so get it right.
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 7:29 PM UTC
puffing out smoke like the entangling of long hair
with my portable hookah of acid apple palette experienced;
then eyelid the softest skin the warm puff puff experienced
when unable to see the gaseous
entangle of thus compared:
cut off the eyelids and become
serpents, rather than circumcising
exchanging loss of masculine
additives with excess of feminine
pin points of skin like the bloating
of the throat: larynx region with a thyroid
cancer bubbling and blubbering:
circumcise and make men eagerly warring...
and women prone to consecrate approval
as if dreaming... a naked sword without a sheath...
but instead of circumcision, the cutting off ********
cut the eyelids! what then? i'd begin revision
of man by cutting off the eyelids rather than the ********
**** me, why not both?! cut the eyelids
and cut the ******** then narrate what excesses of
womankind are worth disregarding:
feminine ******** and perverted religion,
hey, excess skin of man was the culprit once,
now the woman's chance to equate kippah with
a monk's hairstyle, with her own slit of
niqab and postbox of forcing through a hole
as narrow / as tight so that an object capably sat on
can be delivered.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
*I guess that's the final straw
The one last time I see your brow
I guess that is the end for us
The end to this blessing of a curse
I should have seen it from start
One of us would end up getting hurt
I should have seen with my mind
Knowing love is heart,heart is blind
That's what one reaps when one saws
In a wrong field,hard blow to the jaws
Should have just told me you had him
Instead of letting me keep the dream
Should have said It's down the stream
Better than pain,massage and cream
Should have told me to man up & gym
Or walk away 'stead of causing steam
Explain,how you could face me & lie
Rather than watching you cry
You know I cannot stand your tears
I avoided them through the years
It's too late to cry, what's the point of it
He succeeded but you caused the heat
I hope he's better than me in every bit
I'll bury the hatchet, I concede defeat
I concede defeat, I concede defeat
I concede defeat because you
never thought me fit
I concede defeat, go on with your pete
I concede defeat,
**** I concede defeat
You've had my hopes punctured
You've had my jaws fractured
Had my bloating pride raptured
Broken my heart, cupid archered
Don't explain I'm so angered
It's me you had endangered
Dude is a gang member
With bullets in the chamber
Imagine he'd taken that shot
If I had retreated not
You took a chance with what we had
Didn't know forgiving could be hard
Guess all of it is charred
Whatever it was we shared
Cause if you had really cared
Couldn't have had me beat for dead
So I concede defeat, I concede defeat
I concede defeat
And I hope you find him fit
I concede defeat, I concede defeat
I concede defeat so I guess this is it*
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 1:47 PM UTC
Glistening snow-white tips
Polished, sanded, draped with
the finest of tapestry silks.
Blessed with splendor, splendid splits
Crevasses, curves both shallow and steep
deep slopes stretching from mountain peaks.
Lustrous caves lurking, smirking as black crows write their prose
nose-deep in the blinding snow, with their ***** little paws.
Puffin, stay wary of blizzards and storms
deafening. Creaking floorboards of ice sheets
slip from beneath its tiny red toes
no edge to cling to, nor air to latch onto with its wings
a red stain left at the bottom of the pit.
Blizzards' lay a new layer of fresh snow
covering the deep scars of warmth
carved into the mounds of ice
splashed with red paint
Stained for millennia to come
Melancholy; the artist behind the painting.
Hollow breaks in serial layers of ice
Seeping black, oozing onto the ocean floor
Not floating, bloating, or staying,
Drowning.
Inside,
etched into the lining, a thousand silent words
Melting with each new sunrise,
in which ray's they bathe
Wash from meaning
drop.
by.
drop.
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 5:47 PM UTC
It’s thought provoking
and emotion evoking
I feel like I’m choking, {Heimlich}
Truer words have never been spoken
by a dancing mime with only one leg.
Minds have reeled
Fates have been sealed
Unknowns become real
It’s a negotiated deal made by some lawyer with a soul.
Tragic, Comedy- Tragicomedy
Shipping-handling. As seen on TV.
What’s the cost of free ?
Nothing comes really, with a money back guarantee.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
Operators standing by- keep your seat.
Stay out of the kitchen if you can’t stand the heat.
And know your victory isn’t over defeat.
Miller time- the best time of year
But I’ll never need another beer,
My life’s so complete when using Tampax.
The latest miracle cure is as safe as anthrax.
Who has time these days for voting, when I feel the blight of bloating ?
There are no important politics or elections.
When I have four plus hour erections
but I bet my doctor won’t be the one I decide to consult.
>>>>>
Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at www.emotionalorphan.net.
Oct 1, 2009
Oct 1, 2009 at 1:49 PM UTC
Cast to the sea the ***** sought out the horizon,
Yet, no closer did that lifeline magnify.
While waves threatened to devour her very self.
Fierce, some. They pounded to **** her asunder.
The deep, bent on suffering her mind till it was pruned, soaked.
Bloating her limbs, not buoyant enough to keep her afloat.
Her tears locked, shut her eyes,
In a zip of salt and wounds.
Made them ready for the sun’s vicious fight.
Eyes could not be kept dry,
Seen paranoid shadows loomed under, over
And under and over again ~ awash, awry.
Haunting her in the shrillness of the current’s toss.
She dreamt of her toes scratching in the sand,
Of the waves giving birth to her onto the shore.
The struggle and fear of it all ~ pending the end.
She tore open her eyes to see still no view in sight.
Breathed she did, as if the waves were the hum of the oceans lungs,
Fought now no longer against the move.
Given to the law of the nature she was,
Floating and waiting.
But not going down, not going down.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 5:37 AM UTC
my eyes are heady **** bloating
from within the sun
white embellishment lasers out
lending provision
setting life to the organic cog and clock
provoking muted growth to retch a bloom
leading
spending
seeding
my tread destroys nothing
each step frictionless
patterning little hovering eddies
a fraction above ground
minimal is my disruption
enough only to promote a deeper observation
tender fanning of the life that i am fawning over
how to feel this spritely at all times ? t'would be a spell
a fondled thing
it’s from our night of shared tether
our infection threw out an extra pleasurable souvenir
it carried its energy into the ensuing day
i am launched affection
beckoned into the true employment of my surroundings
carrying my socks and shoes in one hand
and my heart? it is a possession of the senses
i am truly led
i am emitting
Nov 4, 2022
Nov 4, 2022 at 9:44 PM UTC
Well if you need something
wet to dip your pen into, try this:
Well your tongue's sails may
swell and lose and fumble and
stumble numbly tonguing gums for
words still unfound as i flounder
in this bloating sea like the
drowned Phoenician sailor Phlebus
who said that:
"pleasure
is easily
the conquerer"
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 1:10 PM UTC
When I am gone and one, or two
Are huddled on a funeral pew
Then this one thing I ask of you
Don't lie about the man you knew
For by the bloating of my name
You'll nullify the one who came
Who bore the fullness of my blame
And died in such disgraceful shame
Know that every sin which you recall
Those times I drove you up the wall
My secret sins made these look small
Their evil horror would appal
Yet every crime against my king
Was matched by grace astonishing
Every joy a gift releasing
Freedom from my sin convicting
For long before the world began
My God had forged a stunning plan
Despite the dirt of my life's span
The great God loved this sinful man
So mourn or shrug as you feel right
But do not fret about your plight
My God will keep you in his sight
A glorious help in darkest night
When I am gone and one or two
Are huddled on a funeral pew
Lift up your eyes and look anew
For Jesus Christ is calling you
May 17, 2010
May 17, 2010 at 2:00 PM UTC
there are drops that tremble
along the edges of my glass--
i stare into them, trying
to see how they cradle blood
in their atoms.
they yield none of their secrets.
they slide
unnoticed
through my veins.
they are crystals that emerge
gracelessly, unheeded
to ponder the airless spaces
that clutter my lungs.
tonight they roam like ghosts
to the unclean surfaces of skin that
stretch grudgingly across my bones.
they tremble
to the lights.
they are silver pepper
that sting my cells alive yet
i can't feel them singing.
they inhabit me
and uninhabit me too quickly
for me to invite them home.
they find no home in me, only
poison
to **** into their loving atoms
blindly, uncaring
that they are contaminated with
my waste, my blood.
they carry these things from me
to pour back into the forge
that melts my mistakes.
they permeate any weakness
to sustain it.
to prevent me from bloating
with toxicity that unconsciously
finds its way inside
especially on colored nights.
they click their tongues at me
while i'm sleeping, they
can see my dirt-encrusted synapses
and the hitches in my skin.
they feed and chastise me
from within.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
Look! Mingling with rain
a teardrop hesitates once
Ah! They didn’t see.
A bullfrog just teased
Bloating in its mockery
A bug flies in, snap!
It rolls by unseen
Not even her closest friend
noticed how it flows.
Kokak! Kokak! Jump.
Teasing and teasing kokak!
All the critters laugh.
© Glenn Sentes
03-06-13
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
perhaps the europens conducted
anthropological studies on the Amazonian
tribes, niche pockets of
a quirky corporation ethics -
perhaps...
but when one european looks
at another european,
and conducts his own anthropological
study?
who says i'm not conducting an
anthropological study of the English -
who are more deluded
as islanders than the ******* Icelandic
people, with regard to shared
roots...
traveled the world a bit too much...
brought back the elgin marbles
and several minor mummies...
but then... the Pakistani **** gangs...
whoop whoop! choo choo! train a' coming.
what? reality is not some brick
wall you get to impose with
what 19th century romanticism movement
was... a bout of nostalgia...
to me?
the english are...
collectively solipsistic - esp. in the south,
i'm sure it's different in the north...
but the southern english?
a strange breed of ego-bloating -
megalomania,
collective solipsism,
a shogun complex...
solipsism?
just a fancy word for autism...
i've seen flies congregating
on a **** appearing more sociable than
these people...
an englishman's home
is his castle...
yet when i own a castle...
they think i live in their castle's
dungeon, rather than my own home....
weird people... truly odd...
i'm pretty sure the english didn't
expect a covert anthropological study
to be taking place,
from behind a velvety almost see-through
curtain...
it's not like they have much
to feel proud about...
perhaps the minor instances
of selected sports at the olympics...
and all of this based on one example,
but of course, outside the proximity,
there's the multiplication factor,
i.e. it's most likely replicable elsewhere...
perhaps not football...
but anthropology is certainly coming home.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC