"blogging" poems
I'm an olympic housewife.
My mantlepiece of medals
is perfectly folded washing
arranged in mahogany drawers
with calm elegance
like swans on a lake.
I’m an elite athlete of the mundane.
My scrapbook of 1st place ribbons
are surfaces that sparkle
a masterpiece of purity
zen arrangement lust
like Ikebana in an empty room.
I’m an extreme sport star of domesticity.
My list of world class honours
gluten free bake-offs
blogging my parenting tips
a domestic online celebrity
like an effortless Demeter.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
You were the cause of the worst week of my life.
You caused a week of torture.
A week of misery.
A week of pain.
A week of weight gain.
A week of sad songs.
A week of only talking to my dog.
A week of re-blogging sad quotes on tumblr.
A week of night sky pictures with sad captions.
A week of not knowing which way was up.
A week of only heading down.
A week of tiredness.
A week of hell.
A week of being weak.
But just as much as
someone can run out of strength;
someone can run out of weakness.
I am done being weak.
This week is over.
You showed me how weak I can be
So now it's time I show you just how strong I can be.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
✨BITTER SILENT CRIES
LETTER TO MY LONG GONE CHILD ,
Dear child,
You came as a surprise,
By turn out of events,
Everything happened so fast,
Mind-blogging and my fears came to reality,
The planned surprised us with the unplanned.
I feel guilty, mirthless.
Disguised by my actions,
Yeah, I did wish one day I'd have a kid,
I hoped and desired to one day fill it with love and affection,
I hoped that one day I'd get to feel him in my arms and feel it with warmth,
I did hope that one day, he'll be the reason I wake up smiling and inspired to live for a lifetime.
I hoped for a better life.
But what did i do,
Instead of being elated,
I became the terminator,
I killed all my dreams,
Rushed to an absurd decision,
My desires turned out to be my nightmares,
My expectations became the catalyst to my destruction.
Everyday I swim an ocean with no end,
With sharp ends that pierce my soul with sorrow,pain and remorse.
Get to feel the breeze with no significance,
Doomed light that gets me tripping,
Faded sunshine that reminds me that you are long gone.
This load inside my heart's so heavy,
Like a rock permanently placed.
My child,
Will you ever forgive mama?
Are you safe wherever you are?
Do they give you the kind of treatment I failed to give you?
Do they wake up early to check up on you and kiss you goodnight?
Do they teach you how to pronounce words I failed to?
Please talk to me,
Give me a sign,
I really miss you.
Letter from mama
#tortured☆soul...
©tiana...💔😪
Apr 22, 2021
Apr 22, 2021 at 5:16 PM UTC
“My poems are often wiser than me, lean into a more keen universe of understanding.” Joy Harjo
<•>
instant recognition moment, Joy, your words,
(despite the kitchen cooking clanging chatter next door),
spilling into the quiet space of my thanksgiving brain
my wiser poems are insights inscribed inside,
exposed and released all in their own good time,
they, always blogging, leaning out to escape,
asking the Governor for clemency, early release
poems that are my self-defensive explicit explanations,
excuses, convoluted ratinocations, prosecutorial accusations, leveled by my disbelieving, revealing, sworn to silence
not-to-be-trusted-confessor-me against the indefensible
nobody likes a wise guy,
but out they come, under the covers, dem poems
of nighttime darkness, spilling beans and silent screams,
asking you if we remember that time when we...
yes, we.
but writ in the first person personal,
in words summoned from his own ****** deep darkness?
better in plain english when sharing shadings of universal,
and you leaning in on me from within,
presence of pressure, a plaintive palliative wailing,
ejecting an *********** of joy
when “please release us” is honored with our
collective wisdom
<•>
11/24/17
9:07am
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC
advertising has changed so much
in capitalism,
it's a form of existentialism,
while the french philosophers
abstracted in coffee shops
english existentialism took to
constantly advertising people,
they're not cheese grins and tampons
and toilet product quickies...
they're literally full time adverts,
they do that thing called blogging in video...
it's a strange existentialism,
it's a plagiarism of c.c.t.v.,
the new medium of advertising requires
constant consumer surveillance with those clowns
getting gifts from companies, talking about
getting them and pushing them on...
advertisement literally became a movie picture
akin to Hollywood... the internet age
gave us advertisement actors who
advertise with so much existential angst they
have to encompass each and every day
as wroth advertising - and confuse people
with mundane issues akin to dentistry
and take-away menus that they're not doing...
what they're actually doing;
*a friend in need is a friend indeed,
a friend with **** is better,
a friend with ******* and all the rest
a friend who's dressed in leather...*
(placebo's pure morning).
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 7:54 PM UTC
I have a message for the kid sitting in the back of the classroom
You know, the one with the bruises, ask him what's wrong he'll give you the dumbest excuses
"I fell down the stairs, and ran into the door"
But stairs and doors don't give black eyes and broken bones so what are you lying for?
I have a message for the prettiest girl in school
You know, The one hiding behind all that make-up and hairspray
Pretending she couldn't be having a better day
Yet she's afraid to go back to her broken home
Because her step-dad hurts her mom and her brother won't leave her alone
School is her sanctuary
What you don't know can be scary.
I have a message for the boy on his skateboard
Sellings drugs and liquor to make a quick buck
Then he got caught for possession and now he's stuck
In that cell all by himself remembering what his friends said
"We're bros, forever" But they left him for dead.
I got a message for that wierd girl in the lunchroom
The one that eats alone,
She has no place to call home
She smells bad because she doesn't own a shower
Living in shelters, her life is out of her power
Because her parents messed up she has to hurt
But she wants to do better so she does her school work
I have a message for the boy blogging
Those cuts on his wrists are not cat scratches
They're more like past mistakes left on his arms in patches
He can't help how sad he always feels
But he refuses to be that kid "on pills"
I have a message for that girl with the strict parents
Wishing she could bring her girlfriend to meet the family
But she knows if she did they wouldn't be happy
Because being gay is a sin
And if you're gay you're not kin
**** what a world we live in.
I have a message for all the messed up kids
Who struggle in the daily lives they live.
You will be okay
Things will get better someday.
So put away that blade and pick up that paint brush
Don't end your life before you've felt the rush
Wait until you've had your first kiss
I promise you there will be so many moments of bliss
Put down that bottle of pills
You of all people deserve life's thrills
I know sometimes it's hard to catch the curveballs life throws your way,
Just get low and get ready to play
To the kids who feel lost and alone
I will be the one to welcome you home
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
Arden
tall,weird
blogging,reading,talking
anti-social
African American
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
You want me caged and collared, and I get it,
but such prisons work both ways
You see the wild animal in me?
Imagine it tearing you from the inside out
that’s every indecision, all of my mistakes
you call me dangerous, but there’s not much left
it’s more afraid of you - I’m more afraid of you
too busy attacking myself to bite you
you’re too busy hating yourself to blame anyone else
You have cycles? Well I have seasons
either way - who is the weak one, really?
Depression sessions in season, all sad Summer long!
(But you’re right - I am more dangerous)
I always was, you always knew it
I am broken/shattered/a thousand pieces,
broken pieces of a thousand broken mirrors
holding them so tight, blood leaking through my fingers
the sting, like all those times I bit my tongue
can’t trust my gut, because it always hurts
this sickness, for too long getting the best of me
clogging my arteries, raising the pressure
blogging my downfall, watching my balance crash
my mind getting slower, my memories fading
you can smell the desperate on my clothes
loneliness leaking, seeping out of my pores
my chest is burning up, head filled with pain
but just one more night, and I'll feel better
I’m fine, don’t look at me with those eyes
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 12:49 AM UTC
I'm not going to watch you **** yourself.
You're doing this to get attention -- it's obvious.
But I'm not going to stand by and let you do this.
I've tried to talk you out of it, to tell you it's wrong,
that you're wrong, that it isn't helping anyone.
But you won't listen to me.
You refuse to see how I can help you.
So I'm done trying to help.
I refuse to watch you **** yourself by not eating
and lying to everyone about everything
and slicing your skin on purpose
and fasting on a daily basis
and telling me what your plans are for becoming skinnier
and blogging about it to get attention from people who don't even know you
and doing drugs that can **** you.
I'm done with everyone and everything --
I don't need you to torture me by letting me watch my best friend **** herself.
So have fun with that,
have fun being the cause of your own death,
have fun starving to death --
I'm done trying to help you realize there are other ways.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
Do you ever think of me
Or what happened last November
Do you think of us, at least?
I doubt you still remember
Our secrets, our laughs.
Our blogging, our chats.
About how musicians took our breath away
and how you’d be one someday.
I remember how you’d sing
Serenade me just for fun
But the lyrics, they meant nothing
Significance? To you there was none.
I remember how you hurt me
Toyed around with my heart
You made me feel like a nobody.
Now this was the hard part.
I remember all this ********
Even though its been a year
Do you think of me like this?
The answer is what I fear.
I doubt you ever think of me
Or the promise that you made
I wish you’d think of us, at least.
And what caused us to fade.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
New
Will be old
Tomorrow.
Promise few,
Let Love unfold
And flow
Around you
The world is watching
Every move.
Think it through
Before blogging
Find your groove
A single word
May change
For ever
The world
And derange
Whowever.
The peace
We seek
Starts at our door
Love is the masterpiece
Let it speak
I implore…
YOU, the Humans!
December 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 5:24 AM UTC
You might be
blogging or podding,
Googling, Yahoo-ing,
Texting, Twittering,
Instagraming, Messaging
Snapchating, WhatsApping,
or good old fashioned
rambling Tumblring -
whatever you're casting
your thumbs will be moving
like proverbial lightning
- proving again and again
the might of your words
over any old persitent swords.
Words of love over words of hate.
That's right - words that reconciliate.
Ignore the can'ts, hear the cans
Hash-tag: 'wordsaremightierthan'.
Facing those fears,
shouting through tears.
Redeeming the years
thought lost in arrears.
Letting them know
you're letting them go
and no longer able
to live with old labels.
Finding the roar
to voice who you are.
Finding the words
to blunt those old swords.
Thumbs at the ready,
hands nice and steady.
You're free men and women,
with a brand new beginning.
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 5:49 PM UTC
Blogging on a piece of paper
Let me erase the title, and call this deja Vu, I feel like we've met before,
no?
Alright then we'll **** anyways because beneath our shallow waters sinks a heavy chest.
But hear me out it's not that I'm doing this for fun and games, and there are to no depths that I cannot hold my breath, my desire is that you feel all the love I have to give,
Even if it's one second,
I may pass out, how long have I been holding my breath, was there a miss communication between my brain and (look at chest)
Look at these clothes! Fashion is to me, look good but express what I want you to see,
I'd rather be naked, only wear clothes when I have to deal with idiots in public...
Or sports, it just seems practical for some,
I know I don't have ADD or ADHD , I took those tests, but I do have a knack for puzzles, and some times I lose track of one piece for another,
So I optimize on body language, throw in opinions, to complete the lie until proven otherwise,
And When the truth hides behind the blank canvas waiting to be painted by our perspectives, it stands as naked as I am now,
And if these words are not revealing enough. find me...
and I'll call it deja vu.
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 1:54 AM UTC
i havent been blogging much ,ive been pretty blank.i got alot of things to say but so many words and subjects swirling around like a twister inside my head,,, just searching and waiting for the right moment .getting ready to go on a trip i think im going to take my notebook and pen and write down everything wonderfull around me.....right now there isnt much im trapped in a circle of negativity and i dont like it .i want to feel positive and be positive but im really sensitive to everything and everyone around me ,,and how they feel and act rubs off on me like charcoal .
ive been losing alot of sleep over alot of peoples problems including my own ..i want to fix everyone and everything but i cant even fix myself
Aug 18, 2010
Aug 18, 2010 at 8:59 PM UTC
i'm alone right now,
blogging and writing about
my daily life.
right now,
i feel like Cinderella.
i'm cleaning the
floors and i'm
crying over the fact i
can't be with my
prince.
but, in reality
he isn't a prince.
he's a teacher.
and in reality,
i don't really want to
be with him anyways,
right?
would it be correct to say that
i actually would like a
princess instead?
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
To be the one in the crowd, who whispered words
no one would ever hear
To be the raven, who has never had the guts to
return to Noah Ark;
To be the dry, red rot shoes
who have never been worn because
07 was a size too small for those cow hoofs
To be the Cardinals from around the world
Who has to selected the next 17th Pope
As the world watch:
To be the end of a journey for the new born:
whose mother lay helplessly on the stretcher
because of her lifestyles:
It would be a blessed day not to be awaken
by the sound of the roaster who croaks
no blogging, blogging, or no ranting:
What would be sole purpose?
Not to do the things I love?
To be one who have to take a slice of bread:
And make breakfast for five hungry children
To be the one who said:
Today is the day I am going to look for a job
After spending nineteen years
with the same employer
Just to be **** off by the same company
Who claims the company is going to be bankrupt
No money for his employees
~
I have just begun to see life as it is.
I need no sympathy:
I must be tripping
wake up and live
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
"blogging's all that they do all the time, happiness now is 'your friend is online'"
you kept a diary too, don't try to deny; now it's just easier to blog on the fly,
and yes, it does make me happy when i can see my friends; doesn't
mean every other feeling's come to an end,
but i can tell it's not the same for you; you opened your mouth and out the words flew,
"no-one really talks no more! our phones have made us all a bore!"
your very old friends from your very old school; you never talked too much after all of them moved,
and your foreign penpal's handwriting style; how the postman's bag contained your smiles,
remember how you wished you could talk each day; now we have texts and skype but all you can say is,
"texts are getting shorter, where's the communication? language wasn't made for 'brb', where are the conversations?"
look closer, take in the meaning behind every single 'ily'; adoration and compassion that makes love sonnets look silly,
each message between friends is a reminder of our care; i've been thinking of you, even when you're not there,
so even so, there's still so much meaning; yet you find so many complaints, and you begin your speaking,
"it's not the same when it's online! friendships, dating, it's just not real life!"
whether near or far, love knows no distance; you don't stop loving someone due to their location in the instant,
when it's true, love knows no appearance; you fall in love with hearts, you always know of a heart's existence,
and most of all, those in love know themselves well;
when you finally meet up, that's the most magical.
so go ahead, reader, write your hate letters to us;
just realize when you're using what you hate as your canvas.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
humanity will survive only if we are rooted closely to the earth
unbridled technology will lead to our demise
our tools come from nature but we cannot let our tools poison the soil
the neon screen that you are reading
like the pages of man’s great canon of books
grow from the ground
precious conductive earth metals
more valuable than gold mines
when those are gone
no more text messages or Twitter
no more blogging or wind turbines
we will return to primitive communication
land lines, letters and talking
i wonder how our grand kids will make the transition
from rare earth metals and petroleum
to whatever is next
will they discover a revolutionary pearl of knowledge
that we cannot yet imagine
or will they relearn forgotten technologies
and replant in their ancestors’ livelihoods
or will we leave the land sapped and useless
humanity will survive only if we are rooted closely to the earth
we grow from the ground
shine from the sun
blow in the wind
flow in the water
originally posted to my blog https://sublimeobscenities.wordpress.com on 5/2/2014
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
Did you ever stop to think,
what it would be like to have no muse?
Because you feel like life is in the brink
without love, I am nothing but a belle with no use.
That when life seems ebbing,
emotions flowing like a stream?
Because it takes you to a never ending
soul-wrecking, self-blaming state you are deem.
Did you ever stop to think,
why we wasted so much time in blogging?
And expect much understanding from our online link
simply because sometimes only them can give the loving.
That when everything fails,
there the desperation begins
seeking answers to the thought-of happy ending fairy tales
And the "what-ifs" and "what could have-beens".
Did you ever stop to think,
that if you stop craving for the things you couldn't have
and settle for the things in your hand, be at peace and in sync
unexpectedly, you will receive the wonderful thing called LOVE.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
*I once was boarded up
inside my mind,
played with shadows
I thought were mine.
I felt so small
because I knew how large
life was compared to me.
I never saw the star
I was meant to be.
Until one bleak cloudy day,
I put my shadows away.
I looked up to find my way,
I saw the sky and I noticed the
stars.
I thought I want to be like those
burning lights above your head
burning brightly for all to see.
So I started blogging my poetry.*
© 2017 By Amanda Shelton
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
I was writing something amazing up until my phone died,
and there's something to be said about the techno-ego-logical sort of life.
But I won't say it now because greater men have said it before;
and surely they'd have no respect for just another social-media *****
Like how blogging has become such a ***** word,
so let's just call it poetry.
Disguise our senseless needs to vent feelings through rhyme and metaphor.
I've become everything I've always hated.
I can date it back to the day I acquired a smart phone.
But I'll lose no sleep over confessing how it makes me feel less alone.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 3:24 AM UTC
I can type the URL to your blog faster than I can recall my own name and at first it was because I was desperate to find any trace of you that still wanted me, because oh god, did I still need you. But after a while, I didn't stop being sad but I stopped obsessing so much and I just wanted to see how you were doing and sometimes I wondered if you still thought of me. Not in the way that we used to think of each other, I know those days are long over, but the way you think of somebody when you listen to an upbeat song about how much you hate your ex for hurting you so badly. Because I know I hurt you and don't you dare think that you didn't hurt me too, but the wave of relief that came when I saw you blogging about how you hated me so much seemed to wash the desperation off of me that always seemed to cling like grass stains that faded but never quite came out even if I scrubbed until my hands were raw and shaking like the way I was about an hour after I had mustered up the courage to leave you. Then came the pictures, posted happily on your blog like she was the new paint, meant to cover up the chipped mess that remained of me. She may have stolen your heart, but I still have your virginity, its thrown into the back of my closet along with those pairs of shoes that seem like such a good idea to buy, until you realize that they're not the most well built, reliable things, and you really need to stop manic shopping and buying things on impulse. I haven't seen you since what would have been our two year anniversary and honestly I'm glad I haven't, because not a day goes by where I regret hitting you in your face with a baseball bat. But that's a story for another day. Now when I stumble upon your blog, its because i can't figure out how to block people from my account just yet and I don't miss you. When I see that you clearly have a new love interest, I don't miss you. When I wear the dress you bought me for my birthday, I don't miss you. When I listen to what was our song, I want to punch myself in the face for letting you ruin such a good Beatles song for me, but I don't miss you. And when I inevitably run into you again at future shows, I will not miss you.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
Our house has a periodic table and a rotating chair,
we sweep things under the carpet here
(tell you later about our floor).
For this mile, we issue another’s shoes,
before we pull the rug out from under you.
We’ve replaced the iron curtains with Microsoft© Windows,
and a roaring fire wall.
Don’t mind the heat, stay out of the kitchen:
there is a bun in the oven, a half-baked plan,
and a blogging fan.
Please feel free to use the facilities: now including
a spring shower of light, a renovated Bathist, and a sink hole.
Feel the Air Jordan hair conditioner by the revolving door,
Through ducts taped to the vast glass ceiling,
All supported by a flexible selling floor.
Some margin call it the broken house (sic.)
It’s not broken, it’s fixed.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 10:16 AM UTC