"bothersome" poems
Things can only disrupt you as much as you allow.
If this seems hard to see or needlessly abstract,
consider the Factor that is Self-Discipline:
If any factor equals Zero,
the product is also Zero.
-
I mean this in a general sense; applied over time.
Things can be extremely bothersome in any given moment
but once those bothersome moments
reach forwards (and maybe even backwards) in time
******* up a perfect good "Now" then,
I say that it's a bothersome burden
which is (most probably) a result of unresolved internalized conflicts or Shadow.
This is where Self-Discipline becomes a Factor
and my analogy takes flight, in context.
Maybe it's only true for me, but I have my suspicions that I am not so unique in this way.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
Airports make me anxious.
There is too much going on, too many gates and times and delays and people.
They are ***** and crowded. They make me feel small and tiny, iridescent.
They are good for people-watching and spending too much on rather cheap food.
Airports make people obnoxious. People forget their manners as they scramble to the flight that they're already late for, bumping into me along the way with no apology offered.
Airports are huge, massive. Their size is daunting to me; I can so easily get lost and deviate from the path that leads me to the correct gate.
Airports are lonely. Nobody makes eye contact anymore with strangers, so I'll sit alone and read a book and maybe drink some tea or coffee, occasionally looking up to see if anyones looking at me.
Frankly, I do not enjoy airports. But I enjoy you.
So I will sit in an airport someday, sitting cross-legged and reading near a window. I will listen to some music and ponder whatever comes to mind until my flight arrives and it's time to board. I will board my plane, leaving behind the bothersome airport to come see you.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 8:06 PM UTC
spring’s breath hums on your face
sits upon a fencepost, hawk-like and stoic
its infant rays nuzzle, organized and coded
its beauty, slightly bothersome
to the man who mistook god’s warmth as permanent
all planets in space operate between two foci
and ted hughes wrote “crow” as a bedtime story
for the lovers he abandoned
what I’m trying to say is this:
spring will leave earth
like a two-faced lover
but never forget the monday you shared with her
as she breathed winter’s hangover
down your holy throat
for that is something memorable
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC
The strange and unusual feeling you get,
When you see her, you won't get upset.
She makes your heart jet set,
The smile you would never forget.
The eyes that dazzles like the night sky,
The one that makes you feel shy,
Hoping your conversation goes on all night.
Never ending with a goodbye.
The voice that keeps you sane,
Puts your heart beat on the fast lane,
Ends all the suffering and pain.
The one that makes everyday not so plain.
The one that you'd give the world for,
Just because she's someone you really adore.
Never puts you in a bore,
Helps to ensure happiness in you restores.
However
Even though how much you love that girl,
You'll only be bothersome in her world,
You would only do more harm than good,
Her feelings you would've never understood,
It felt like it was fate,
You met your soulmate.
But she didn't
That was a fact that's imprint.
What's stopping you from all this.
Is how you make her ******
You know she deserves better,
Someone to make her happier.
You know you can't fulfil that,
You're the reason's she's mad at.
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
She longed for the sea like one longed for a former time. The salty scents intoxicated her and ravished her senses. She longed to feel the current against her body as she swam forever, into the unknown. She longed for the salty fragrance of the waves to be her constant perfume, to be free of constricting corsets and constraining doctrines that bore over her like a bothersome chaperone.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
As my tears fall down,
I wonder
How many more will be shed?
How many more can I hold?
They’re endless.
I can’t stem their flow.
Freely they cascade
Gently falling downward
Not seeming to give in.
I’m wounded.
Yet feel ashamed.
For what reason have I to complain?
What reason have I to cry?
So I’ve been hurt
I’ve been broken
I’ve let myself collapse.
It happens.
I just can’t see the end.
I don’t know where it will stop.
And without an end it sight - it’s permanent.
I can’t give up and give in,
But I can’t fight on.
Without anyone to rescue me I’m stuck.
Balanced between my pain and delusions.
Blinded by the tears that escape.
For each one that I corner and hold back,
A thousand more creep out.
And I shame myself by such emotion.
Because I know that I will be seen as weak.
As bothersome.
Because I cannot hold onto myself.
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 10:41 PM UTC
So you say I’m harsh
Very well.
I admit
I am not very nice
At any point in time
But I try.
I try to make everyone happy
I try to help
But in the end of the day
I’m just a bothersome pest
A shallow, annoying
Pest.
Yet when I don’t reply
You say I don’t care.
Sorry if it hurt you
Sorry if it added on to your problems.
But harsh?
Everyone’s had it tough
Not only you.
You’ve definitely had it really rough
With him out there
Doing God knows what.
Sure, your life hasn’t been really happy
Well you know what?
So hasn’t mine.
My books
The stories I lose myself in
To escape
You took them away.
My connection
With all the friends I adore
You cut me off
The things that I enjoy doing
You turn them into work
Making me loath them
My emotion
You ban them
Make me suppress them
Making me pretend that I am
Once again
The cheery, innocent little girl
From years before
Who will never
Return
Keeping my guard up
Even at home
Only till I am safely under the sheets
In the dark
With the door closed
Alone
And yet, I still do as you please.
Fine.
Say that I’m selfish
Say that I demand too much
Say that I do too little
Say that I’m hopeless
But I’m only human.
Am I?
Who knows.
Probably a monster.
A leech.
A burden.
So.
Harsh?
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 8:11 AM UTC
Jazz history teacher scattin about
swing
Now, war on drugs ****
wait, kansas city night clubs
Territorial Deviants howl the blues
dragging themselves bar to bar to jam
Teach has jeans and a black long sleeve
shows off his impressive gut
27th and manhattan, playin for pete
everynight bald head shinin
bass thumpin, saxophone whinin
count bessie, chick webb, rotating stage
Bothersome lesbian
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 4:01 PM UTC
Why am I so worthless?
Why do I feel like I just don’t belong?
Like I’m sinning by existing?
That I’m nothing but a bothersome burden?
Everything I do provokes yelling.
Everything I say provokes reprimand.
Wherever I go is evil.
And whoever I am needs to be “fixed”.
All my choices are marked “crazy”
And my parents whisper behind my back.
I let them think I can’t hear them
But I hear every word and feel every sting.
Do I give a **** I act like I don’t
And shoot down those who think I do.
But I do care. I care a lot.
I’m just so soft that I must attack to live.
I feel as if I don’t know anything but pain
And I’ll never be able to accept anything else.
I certainly have difficulty receiving love.
One loves me, and I feel rotten for having trouble loving her.
Why is this so hard?
I’m supposed to be the selfless one,
The one to take all their strife, so they can live.
But the side-effect is that I die.
Even then, I can’t do my duty
Because of “equal exchange”.
Giving my life helps no one
Because it isn’t worth enough to give.
But then again, I’m condemned even now
By myself, for just voicing my complaints.
Because that’s all they are. Whines.
I mean, there are starving kids in China, afterall.
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 9:24 PM UTC
She noticed the basking shark was wounded,
weeping vaginal blood.
The tall man in a fedora whispered as he passed.
Whipped by exploratory waves, she blushed.
The horizon was a hazy green line dipped in red.
She had been there since morning
searching for love,
and found it
from a six-pack merman offering solace
as he rode on the silvery
back of a ray.
As he approached, the sun at his back,
she moaned and threw out her arms
like a supplicant.
Complete at last, the sand grasping at
her shoeless feet, she sank
towards the earth’s distant core
using her arms as uncertain ballast.
She awoke with a shiver
brushed away the sand
and headed back home.
The shark had turned belly-up,
scavenged by seagulls.
Another day-dream enjoyed in the
empty hours between lunch and dinner
between her third cup of tea
and fourth cigarette,
her children snoozing in
the back bedroom. Half-slumbering
in a town barked at by bothersome seagulls
where an unencumbered sun
set on a postcard shoreline.
Planning the rows of petunias to be
planted by the hedge,
making shopping lists,
writing novels, never to be published,
staring out of her windows at the sea
she waited for her husband’s return,
tedious evenings of T.V.
and coition under the brightly coloured duvet.
The waves that overwhelmed her, flooding her senses,
were her own. The man
in the fedora had made her smile.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
Auto pilot;
Droning on through the day
Barely realizing where I work,
Just knowing that that's all I do.
The most feeling I have
Is the bothersome itch
From the Mosquitos
Attacking my legs all night.
Scratches, sores, bruises, scars
Painted across my pale skin.
All from work work work
Except for one.
Funny to see what the years do
To the skin you wear
And that so many scars
Just barely heal.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
What exactly does this expenditure of energy for solving a math problem do?
After I forget about solving it, what do I have?
An accomplishment?
I have conquered a bit of logic and reasoning; just as this sentence does, but math takes more effort usually.
It is precisely the reason that math requires more effort than reading or writing that there is a following behind it.
That's probably why I'm into it.
Because not everyone does it due to its difficulty.
So it is an exclusive group.
This is why it is bothersome to know others have excelled beyond me in math, because they have put forth the work; that they were tired enough of their ignorance to accomplish so much.
It is nice to know what I
could and couldn't accomplish from seeing them.
99% of mathematicians will never put forth a new theory or solve a once unsolvable question.
It would seem my whole life of math would prove futile in light that this exclusive "club" only allows 1% to make a dent in human history.
Therefore, I must strive, see it as a process of unending steps, and pray that I will add some work to humanity's progress.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 1:46 PM UTC
*enter slav digressing with the celt... yeah, saxony, once known as the northern arm's length of parody shaking oiled up speaking saracen sign language: arabica wavy wavy bye bye. you concrete those words in i roof it over, then we can both admire the rich russian vixens dry up their wealth with the saudis - we need television after all - and it’s in 3-d! and it’s 1-d head-banging closure! :)... ;( :x, :s, \: (mouth’s missing but i have a mammoth in malibu -
and my love can’t aim to have the mortgage too - but hey, girl’s heading for the one coin-flip dolphin clap; and i was a teenager once too... but played grand theft auto 2d throughout asking for a bottle of whiskey and a panda’s / koala’s bothersome diet to hunt sleep); is there some sign language translation of emoji? i just don't have the talents to enter the emoji language and become a ********* or make democracy justly an exclusion of cowards and ****** i can’t do that, let’s utilise charles the third! ‘too busy, too fuzzy,’ well hear and karma sutra the talk of the man, after all the coinage and respecting the hedgehog on his head.*
i cleaned it into a hotel like i would into a brothel,
while the suffragettes
looked like the elephant man in niqāb,
and i was ready
with the fist; although i shook less
than i spoke to mouth it off into democracy
continuing the power struggle vetoed with bodies extracted
into the count warranting mourning.
what success is it if a white boy in a western society
can’t leave the nest and establish a taxable one to suit power?
where’s the power then, in the stateless individual?
where is your power to my ******* of being given wife and house
not given? where?!
if i can’t be the individuated pawn power broker you can’t be in power... idiots!
you have to give me the ******* i “desire” to be in power, if you can’t,
you’re not in power! ave augustus ave ego!
try contort the square into a triangle by contorting **** into f*ck.... ah ****
you already did... where’s the spanks’ worth of bullseye?!
you germans have no decency in human affairs
than you have to inspect **** movies varied
by wildebeest stampedes
from guernsey into gibraltar in gifs, do you?
well i did **** off a palm tree and got a coconut for an oasis’ worth of thirst.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
trudging through mud waist-deep
these lungs are billows of smog and
these hands are brittle claws
world-breaker, I am fate unseen
through the clearest of lenses,
and the most acute of baubles
simple phrases caught in raw
and searing throats
with these ideas, my brain molds
an even more bothersome equation
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 11:07 AM UTC
Love,
Why don’t you come already?
My patience is frail;
Breathing its last moments.
Waiting for you
Has made this woman
Intolerable to herself;
And staring at the moon
While its not out many nights
Is no longer a bandage
When you’re met by the tree out front
With bottles for leaves
Don’t be disheartened
To see you often,
I switched water for my kickstarter
Please,
Get on the road already
Its now winter
The sun is no longer bothersome
I’ll hold out till summer
So I’ll be ready with a bouquet
I can give you that much time.
The gifts you sent
Have lived many lives
And their ghosts,
Are on every corner of the house
Telling me they’re impatient to leave
When you’re met by many holes on the lawn
We’ll patch them after we’ve kissed
Long after we’ve had many kisses
May 30, 2021
May 30, 2021 at 4:49 PM UTC
Exasperating
Infuriating
Bothersome
And yet, when it's gone
We long for it
We miss it
Mar 18, 2010
Mar 18, 2010 at 3:30 AM UTC
Ornamental graves set like feasts
for unfaithful lovers,
the broke marrow of virtuous phantasms,
now swaddled rapture
chanted as basilisk verses.
Scarred Alice wraps it around
torn limbs--
festering gauze--the cynical made anew.
"Creation moves," the gluttonous moper speaks again,
"to erase itself."
Alice's children blasts
the afterlife caboose
to the front of the freight
--saeculum saeculorum--
"Wake again and again
without ghosts and wrath,
dear children." The wind whispers their souls
back to her--"the molding of men
and women attend to sponge the graves dry."
They will raise themselves
--chanting the basilisk verses,
mother Alice
departs her children twice
to the corridors of rose fields
in her naked cloud.
"Come back, dear mother...."
"Come back, dear mother..."
they chant,
"Your salted epitaph
still lingers in our throats."
Not fit there
or here.
Nowhere, Miss, nowhere--
Sin is the party
that doesn't die
and neither does the health
of lyrical sand.
--Floaters like discontent
Alice,
recreate the world,
--our world with
pastels and finger-paints
doodles on Arlington headstones
--messages for our ear bones
--disasters on eleven
turning stones roll over--tortoises play dead
but whisper,
"Clergy cerebral
won't wisp away
beds of jewels.
I pity people who think
themselves powerful.
"Frost-bit devices dilate
like the hands of a watch
tearing time apart with
rusty blades.
"Counting fingers--useless freedom
--bothersome slavery."
Alice knows what the basilisk knows,
we would sacrifice
the only righteous heart in *****
& Gomorrah
to save
&n
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
*and i too thought the english banknotes were big,
but by god... have you seen imperial russian's
banknotes?! you could wipe you entire **** with one.*
no, i don't own an imperial russia's
banknote,
or a kopek dating pre 20th century
that Dostoevsky might have used to
gamble,
no, i don't own an imperial russia's
banknote with tsar Nicholas the 2nd's
face on it;
you can rob me all you want,
i think the banknote to be cursed...
a cursed luck of lost reason and logic...
but when i look at that all familiar face
and stare into the ageing face of elizabeth the 2nd...
i see papered ****** gravitating
to forfeit a chance of excelling in Olympics...
Olympics indeed, of muscles turned
into oyster mush... about to be exercised
in breathing exercises of forgotten
oxygen toxins...
no... i don't own imperial russia's banknote
with Tsar Nicholas 2nd's face on it;
i did tell you my maternal great-grandfather
spoke 7 languages, didn't i?
only bothersome and subsequently fake
nobleness stresses its point...
the true aristocrats suffer with enforced
ailments that only breed an exaggerated libido,
to quote myself... *i'd **** anything that moves
within the framework of the trinity of mouth
**** and **** my ******** are always
goosebumps frolicking to a tingle and i
just want to relax with an unloading of the content,*
i didn't read marquis de sade for no reason,
other than the quoted bibliography of
the marquis himself, having read books
using only one arm, with the other...
"making bookmarks", ha.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
I want that place called 'back in the day'
where love wasnt all about *** & foreplay
when it wasnt "oh baby what can I get?"
"I'll do anything for love, please dont leave me yet."
You stole my innocence along with my heart,
tore me to pieces, ripped me apart.
Our love wasnt real just a physical game
you got what you wanted & I'm stuck with the pain.
And now that you've gone theres no one to blame
I swore after you I'd 'never be the same'
I'm lost and alone with no where to go
thank God for the case of Wade versus Roe.
I never told you but now truth comes out
we had a child but no one found out
I walked to that place without you my dear
I took that baby's life as I swallowed the fear.
You left in a hurry, and that's all that I knew
I figured a child would be bothersome to you.
Now I'm a murderer it wasn't worth the cost
two hundred and fifty and that baby was lost.
Now tell me why, darling, that child had to die
all because you left without saying goodbye?
I looked to the heavens and saw a blue sky
& thought at once that the baby didn't die.
She was somewhere in heaven above the clouds
she was happy as could be I had no doubt
I would've named her Hope and here's why:
she was a lesson I would never let die
and while I'm at it, I'll say goodbye
life without you is a beautiful thing
I can say your name, it no longer stings
I waited so long for this moment to arrive
I'm free from you; not caged, but alive.
And out of this pain I learned how to fly
I let it all go with one quick sigh
pushed you away with one last breath
and my love for you was put to death.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
*Water color painting of her mindscape
visualized by an artist of repute
and its map, though not drawn on a scale
yet shows the topography and neighborhood,
gives a concrete idea to plan the conquest.
A route map to her heart, meticulously prepared
marking all shortcuts and blockages of passages,
that may lead to confusion and mix up
is an essential tool now at hand
A modern day marauder is just that
he has no time for sentiments of a pusillanimous lover
sentiments are bothersome, portend troubles in store
if logistics are right, plan is great, any peak will stoop,
But yes, the moon they say plays havoc,
love poems that knead the hearts, songs and music
too, if comes between, the project may go bonkers
the problem here is the reign of unpredictability
when love starts its gallop and emotions the other horses
just follow without rules whatsoever,
isn't it unwise trying to stop a dam breach?
Not even the dam breach software be of any help here,
no study is yet available on dissipating such passion,
dynamics of love is an unknown country altogether
no intelligence available is effective to move
against it and make the conquest certainly possible.*
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
Something Bad
Something bad is coming
Worse than any Grand Funk Railroad Reunion Concert
Worse than watching a full episode of Meet the Kardashians
With all commercials included.
I not only have read about it
I can feel it
So much more bothersome than
Hay fever in May.
It's the Universal Fender ******
Havoc beyond compare
It's Universal Affliction and Ruination
Heavy weight and high-profile kind of stuff.
This universe is dumb
So much stupider than the armadillos that get hit by my little Fiat
This universe is worse than any teen age driver
Not watching where it goes
Or what is coming down the road.
Ten to the ten to the ten to the ten and more universes out there
Outnumbering all the cable channels both regular and High Def
More numerous than all the cockroaches in all the cities on the East Coast
Going any which way they please
Not planning ahead
Or working with the AAA or the highway safety department
More universes than every single observation ever made by every single person
More than every single argument between all the married couples
In all countries
On all existing planets
In all existing galaxies.
Each time you think of a possible universe, it exists!
Unless we all stop thinking there will be more and more and more.
Each universe moving
Some fast
Some even faster
Some inches apart from each other
Concealed behind some hidden dimension
About to turn the corner at full speed.
There's a collision
A crash
Not too far up the road
Every universe distracted
As if they are texting away
Following their own set of laws
Without regard for any right of way.
There's a smash-up coming up very soon
One universe piles into another
with one of those universes being ours in particular
The one that I live in.
I am scared
I know that adding a shoulder harness to my office chair
is not going to be enough.
I am terrified
I cannot figure out
as I make my last will and testament
who I can leave the house and dog to.
Today, tomorrow or maybe later
It is sure to happen
All my plans for no purpose
All my purposes to no point
I panic
Abandoning all my activities
Crawling into the attic
Taking a pen
A flashlight
And a notebook
And wondering
If there is any new thought
I can have that might make this all better
Without creating
One more
**** reckless
Out-of-control
universe.
--Zumwalt (2011) (copied from www.zumpoems.com)
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 9:53 AM UTC
Feeling never ending cycles of
Greatness and misery
Trapped in a world of illogical ideas
Every thing seems so bothersome
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
I'm nibbling sunshine fantasies on psychedelic manatees
as I swim through formalities and mudpits of vanity
while temper approaches maximum capacity
I pray for no casualties
I'm dribbling periwinkle moonshine daffodils
as I crawl through sweltering deserts of dis-ease and sunchills
they're a bothersome blister singing softly to a dragon
they're a kaleidescope periscope horoscope for the dead
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
Flecks of color amid the gray wash
Rivers once formidable now only bothersome
Steel and concrete
Voices shouting
WAKE UP! an advertising sign screams silently
Still unheard a man jangles for change on a street corner
While church doors hang wide begging charity
Hockey games and unspoken rivalries
Except on national T.V
Bike shops, bus stops
Messengers and a mail box
Highways to by ways
But no one knows the right way
Got Junk?
Emotional maybe
Bentley's, all the baggage you'll never need
Oh please, words flow in chorus
Dramatic gestures following fluid as trained actors
Therapy is the way for me
Why not with M.D degrees being handed out like fortune cookies
No real complaints until you find yourself on Dr. Fill in the blank
Listening with glazed eyes as they doles out advice like Opera
Glass half full until its pushed off the metaphorical table
But how does that make you feel?
It's all become to much now
As directed on the back packaging
Please recycle your brain matter
They may need the ad space
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 8:47 PM UTC
To: Patty m. and Steve,
cc: Q
Re: what’s a mediocre man to do,
(freshly mind washed by the
requisite hours of deep sleep,
that washed away the webs
and dreads of yesterday’s
factoids, lactoids, and brain plaques(
so he can perchance, begin again,
(with fresh slate, white chalk screeching
on a freshly sponged whiteboard
~
*(or blackboard when he rues the
upcoming with dreaded calendar
notifications notarized notations of
dead lines)*
You see Stevie,
this piety poetry piercing of the soul,
(is a daily face washing, soul scrubbing
of two spies (MadMe vs Metwo) both madder ‘n hell that life has ass-signed him a nother bothersome empty day with the curse
of justifying his existence)
oh yeah baby,
it’s a contest, a contest within,
(and i am appointed and disappointed to be
the Sec’y of the Interior who has the key to
the broom closet, and is/in charge of his
own corners cleanup, and besides a broom,
he ain't got no tools but stale words and he’s gotta figure out nice smelling new combos to
justifying his occupying his
siloed-sole-soully space place)
in the uni(as in sole, one)verse
universe verse, get it?
445am Monday Monday
Feb 24, 2025
Feb 24, 2025 at 4:50 AM UTC