"bottling" poems
my blood boils over the edge as every word
that spills from your lips is volcanic ash piercing my skin
and how is one supposed to stay calm
when my life has been spent bottling up
way more than I can hold,
this routine is getting old.
I can't take the constant trembling of my upper lip
and quivering of my limbs
I'm not too sure how long I can hold this in.
I take two steps back and inhale deep
but it's still not enough to help me
rid of these demons that won't let me sleep.
Every ******* waking moment
is spent fighting a war I didn't sign up for.
I was involuntarily shipped out
to surroundings unknown and places unseen
in my mind is only chaos and blatant disorder.
So **** the fact I can't think clear enough
to jot down the words exploding from my mind,
but I have a right to explode...
I have kept my cool for far too long.
My mental stability will be revolutionized,
I have the right to do so.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
is like no other early morning, man reborn, in the delivery
room of sky blue, the offsetting water deeper bluish hue,
the trim-all-around of the mixed salad greens of the staff's
scrubs as they usher in unity, with no imp-unity, the risks,
while the supervisory sky, disperses cumulus clouds in
peppercorn patterns of white chains, or big wide solitary
brushstrokes on a a ****** canvas, gettin' the feel in the
palm of the heft of brush, the viscosity of the paint, the day's
palette reflecting available colors in order to create a uni~cued
original of what has been painted an uncountable times before,
and before…
tho short weighted, was the sleep of the prior night's restful,
he awakes to the early morning light, the sounds of early
island rouse him, even, arouse him, for the August chill
foretells of the early onset of memory loss of the peculiarities
of this summered simmering, human warming and baking
and natural braking of the slowing of the heart rate, to better
accommodate, nature's hints and hidden reminiscences
of the true purpose of the summer's intervention upon our
collective and unique bottling, our individualized containers,
un~lidded, uncovered, eager for the fuel of sunrays replenish-
ing the length of our lives by the elixir of the summer
it is a chill 63 Fahrenheit at this time of day as we crossover
to the nigh day, from the cooling air conditions of dark,
the occasional helicopter intrudes upon the morning's calm,
the water placid, the geese honking regarding my watchful
rewarding presence, a slew, a bevy, of female vocalists, to
ease this transitory performance unfolding, and though one
feels the existential of his solitary singularity, as he thinks,
nay believes, he is the only one in attendance at this ritualized
emergence, he takes in the cool of, the heat of, the admixture
of both, the clashing integers of each, and he, fully invigorated,
goes silent, for once more, he has uncovered new combinations of
old words to accept and describe a new day's creation, miracle of miraculous, defying the odds of this ventures's success, his own continuance on this sheltered but open all around island implanted tween two tines of land, as if all the surroundings were created just to protect this, wholly holy place…
7:00am
Silver Beach
Shelter Island
Aug 19 2025
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 8:00 AM UTC
"And then taking from his wallet
an old schedule of trains, he'll say
I told you when I came I was a stranger
I told you when I came I was a stranger."
--- Leonard Cohen
I'm the most surprised person on the planet.
Your coming to see me off at the airport
has my mind scratching glass seeking words.
Why is it that in this relationship,
you seem to have gotten all the speaking parts?
You're well aware that I have loved you
for the better part of two years,
bottling that emotion, afraid to pop the cork.
Your eyes implore mine, rotating like
a searchlight over Baghdad seeking
the stealth laying carnage to your heart.
Twice in the last week you've made it evident,
the Grail was mine, but for the drinking ---
That and finding a shorthand for adultry.
I'm guilty courting the love of a married woman,
made worse, you're here at my departure
telling me we aren't free to choose who we love.
I know my desire must die of thirst,
so I turn, boarding pass in hand,
the last words I ever hear from you,
Write me! --- Thirty-five years later I have.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 12:54 PM UTC
I´ve never felt this way,
Dying all the time,
Bottling up my sorrow
So I wouldn´t cry everywhere.
Putting my head up,
To avoid the tears from overflowing
My eyes, which didn´t open
Everytime I left my house.
Holding my breath,
So I could turn invisible
To anyone and everyone,
Everywhere I´d go.
I´ve never felt this way,
It´s made me feel like
Going back home.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 8:26 AM UTC
I get it, my problems aren't that bad.
Worse things happen to better people everyday.
I live in a costal, wealthy, yatch club town,
Officially an only child,
With my judgmental sister spending her freshman year in Manhattan.
I live with my favorite parent,
who doesn't care what fun I have
as long as I'm honest and safe,
and of course I get my schoolwork done,
and the other who drives me insane
is fortunately not in the same area code as me.
But it hurts
To be the listener for the people who created me
As they speak horrible things about each other,
Express their loathing for one another.
To be so broken
And not to know what do to about it..
Self abuse is in my rearview,
but I just hate talking about myself so much.
I've gotten really good at bottling up
And moving on
Just letting my bad thoughts and feelings
Dissolve into worthlessness.
But sometimes it ***** to be alone.
I just wish you were here to tell me I'm not
and that you love me.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 8:50 PM UTC
I, naive
I believed that the break in the clouds
Was the end of rain
Thought those rays of sun weren't burning
I was lying
Myself in the grass,
Asking if the tulip chutes in Anatolia
Were the same sinking green I feel now
Where were we?
Love for a thousand spaces and bottling them into skins
Wanted to touch and know deeply all beautiful things
No you're not allowed, they don't want to let you in
That way, it's a distant place and means too much to understand
The biological and irrational
Crazed, sweeps gregarity above and within an aether-- like milky foam upon the waves
When I return home from excursions
I will be Ipanema
The soft locale, unabashed and known to no soul
Except empty elevators--
The lowly philosopher-king
Maybe then you'll think highly of me
Through the mixed feelings
Unable to handle
Straight through the socket
Ring of fire
Then and only then will you realize
That real life
Is more than just a zone or some local
Brewery on a Friday night
And every other Friday night
Ever thereafter--
You'll unlock the box of atomic intention
And listen deeply to her on the station
"Sade and Other Like Hits"
Slowed down for full potential
Letting your cochlea stroke themselves off to the tune of the universe
And the sound of air moving indiscriminately
Will give you
All this
Somewhere
almost fractal, imbibed
Decimated repetitively
There is a fragment of my voice,
Calling
"Love, how much I'd love to be. "
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 2:22 PM UTC
I remember bottling up the beach for you since you've never been.
To you it's just sand.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 5:03 PM UTC
I used to think courage meant keeping everything to your self
That strength was bottling things up to deal with on your own
That crying was weakness and vulnerability was foolish
It’s not.
Somehow you’ve managed to teach me that
Courage is sharing your burdens and
Real strength is sharing your soul
Even if tears fall as you do it
And you’re left feeling more vulnerable than ever.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
She just runs around all day.
At night she can't sleep.
I watch her as she stops to weep.
She's feeling overwhelmed but keeps to herself.
Bottling it all up on the top shelf.
So I just watch her unravel.
As she travels.
Through this grey, ugly life.
I wish that I could help with the strife.
But she just passes me by.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
Long back once
I was a God
I painted some lovely birds
on the greenest trees
which stood by the most beautiful river
that had vivacious flowers
all along its grassy banks
I brought all this to life
people saw all of it and admired
then they thought it'd be
the sweetest, purest water
and they built a bottling plant by riverside
as if their thirst was deep rather than large
they plucked flowers and adorned houses
as if their paints were not bright enough,
they brought flowers to weddings and parties too
as if the mood and purpose were never up to mark,
they caught the birds and put them into cages
as if their free wings made people resent own servitude
they cut down trees to make skyscrapers
as if their life spans were ever eternal
and when they distorted whatever was all my hard work
they came with gloated hearts to temples and churches
they sang glorious hymns and offered construed prayers,
and in almost a state of self-praise they told me how noble I was
for I endowed them with capabilities none could ever fathom
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 4:04 AM UTC
Cooking up a blizzard.
Lost and unguided tendrils of space hold me captive,
the trebles of your heart beating
leads me back to my my Home.
That infinite gaze of yours into my dilapidated eyes,
is like a portal to you to look into my soul.
You blanket all my darkness
With your semi-pixie cut.
You’re my tree of knowledge
I bask in it’s shade.
Powdered Sugar coating on cupcakes.
Your silk armour protects your vulnerability,
My sincere apologies to all the arrows that gaped through.
Cover me under your angel wings,
Dab away my streaming reservoirs and replace them
with pollen and sweet nectar.
Your wishbone sacramental daydreams and dreams.
I feel so lost without you.
Bandage my old wounds with your tender hands,
Kiss me with your lush lips
sending jolts of star dust upstream,
within my veins dancing with yours palpitating feet.
My shot of euphoria and bleeding antidote.
My poetry.
You, Kalon.
Let’s raise a toast to your
beauté remarquable éternel, mon soleil
your free spirit,
your beauty of a ghost,
your heart racing with joy,
your heart steaming up with reticent sadness,
build up anger that come crashing down
like a typhoon detaching from the human perspecta.
I miss you.
Your emotional mess and literal mess,
I’m your magic broom.
You, my inspiration.
You, my groove.
You, my you.
You. My everyone and everything.
You’re fun filled supressed omnipresent electric feel.
You, The only Solis in my galaxy.
I love you.
Sharing your grandoise orangy tinge yellow light.
Bottling up a few star
in a bottle of red wine,
For her Luna.
Solis is 21 a (000,000,000) today.
You’re irreplacable.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 10:14 PM UTC
They say we're ****** up
They believe there's no hope for us
They think we need help
They know we're out of control.
Our problems seem fickle
To them
Our worries and insecurities
A passing phase
When we fight and defend
Ourselves
Rebellious and hellish
Is what we seem
Though really all we want is
Independence and
A sense of respect
In a world that's against us
The forlorn teens bottling it in.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
I felt the fury rippling inside
Trying to contain it was like holding back the tide
To unleash the wrath, the fury, the power,
to see my enemies beg on their knees and cower
I wanted it more than anything
No, right now I wanted it more than everything
I was tired of bottling it up
Tired of acting and playing the grown-up
I was through with being “mature”
Being myself I would much rather prefer
Than putting on a show
And trying to be someone I don’t know
If I added just one more thing to my load
I was sure I was going to explode
Nothing could stop me- I was going to blow
And I didn’t care what the destruction would look like tomorrow
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 3:52 PM UTC
The way in which we cower away
From desolate words
Yet we dream of bottling them up
To wear as perfume
We carry with us to ports and piers
Where the wind and water waltz
And take our hands in a line dance
Where fire can never touch the surface
So, it lives deep in our hearts
These are the ways I dream of our
unconventional circumstances
Wishing them into happenstances
That could possibly bloom into purposeful love
but I fix clocks, and no matter how hard I try,
I can't change time
...Don't forgive me, just don't forget me...
Jan 1, 2022
Jan 1, 2022 at 5:38 AM UTC
*throughout the day,
most oft at night,
start to say,
stop short,
painful for crying out loud thoughts,
shoutouts to any passing god
things that need to the air
be exposed,
but not to ears that
well, what could they say...
so stutter-stop
the bottling inside,
periodic fizz escaping,
and even poetry
cannot help
for it does over and over again,
end up as crumpled papers,
litter of the head,
halves, this's and that's,
even this one dies here and now*
~~~~~~~
irony delicious,
that litter sounds so literary,
so added débris,
lest my mangy constructions
manage to confuse you
the litter in question,
is your host's hors d'oeuvre
nibbles of works,
half-started, half-finished,
like rooms to let,
that come only half-furnished,
not a single morsel worthy
serving up,
all half-satisfactory
poems, of course...
the wrong write ***** clogged,
resting in peace,
Works In Progress (WIP)
unlike the poet,
who's just plain whipped
un-crumpled awaiting
an episodic finale,
if ever they should be televised,
they are needy for cumberbitches,
a birth or death certificate
sore lacking
pick up put down
new titles pop,
essays in need of love,
naught fruited, dead pits,
hanging on the tree till
gravity takes them prisoner
on and on for weeks
the side stitch does not
disappear, but does grow
aching familiar
perhaps the topic offends
you the most,
cloying, suffocating
self-pity
of your own hands
around your neck wrapped...
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
Occasionally, I feel like,
I’m being buried by a landslide,
So I go into my room and turn off the lights,
Play music to drown out my plights.
Suddenly, I feel a bubbling,
Deep inside my soul.
It’s been bottled up,
My dam isn’t enough,
And I’m about to lose control.
The truth is,
Sometimes I cry.
When I’m tired of bottling it up inside.
A deconstruction of pride,
Fractured fragments left behind.
My dam can’t hold back,
The tsunami that’s on the attack.
Sometimes, it’s overwhelming,
It can feel like I’m drowning,
In a pool of sorrow,
Of my own making.
It’s hard to stop it,
So methodic,
It keeps on coming back.
Pathetic, sympathetic,
It’s difficult to control it.
Cathartic, ironic,
How do people deal with this?
The waterworks are a virus,
That everyone’s contaminated with.
Can’t show weakness,
Got to keep a straight face,
A mask from the pain.
Let the pillow be the bucket for my sorrows.
Let the tears dampen the fabric of the case.
Let my blankets cool me off, calm me down,
And help me change my frown.
Sometimes all we need,
Is an emotional release.
Perhaps, that’s the way,
To inner peace.
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 9:42 PM UTC
Another ordinary day
Or so seems from the
Outside I portray
I'm so content on the outside
While my whole inside is
Dark and grey
My enemies reflect magnify
And measure my flaws
My friends are hurting from the pain that cancers cause
It's not just one
It's so many building up
It's time to fix all this
I've had enough
I try to take matters
Into my own hands
Refuse to listen to
Gods perfect plan
I try to perfect my self
Craving for escape
And when I cave in
It's not even worth the taste
The numbers don't match up
And this is getting tough
It's all these things inside me
All bottling up
I've got to fix this all
It's getting so rough
I peer into the eyes of uncertainty loss an hurt
I try to stay open
when others slam you out
I can see what your going through
I know what hurt is all about
I want to show who
Is helping me
But when I'm falling fast
What example can I be
Fix this please!
No one getting any sleep
Im losing fire inside of me
I need some oxygen
I need to breathe
You're losing hope again
The smiles are just pretend
You need a rescuer
You need to be set free
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 2:53 PM UTC
Even the greatest moments, calmest actions, most peaceful energy, would be unable to tear it off once it sticks
it winds you up for everything and causes one to just pace instead
Eyes get dizzy from observation of another's and can assimilate the same hold
Tension continues to escalate and bottling it up only makes the explosion imminent
No one likes it
Some look to escape through things that actually increase it
An insanity I've dealt with and still resisting
Depravity of vice while the resuscitation of life simultaneously reacts from one thought and act of will
It's hell to deal with
I think the void between two lives would be more difficult than this
At least then you could be fascinated by the new journey
Than to continue the same and battle the duality of choosing a side
Or dealing with human ordeals such as quitting smoking or relationships
Decisions can create a hold on you, but when it's out of nowhere....
The confusion continues the hold
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 1:43 AM UTC
do not fall for a boy with a pirate heart, even if he will
cross five thousand miles of sand and ocean to be with you,
carrying nothing more than loneliness and longing in his cargo hold.
those things will bond you both together like an oath, but
blood is thicker than water and soon, the promises will weigh you down
like rocks in your pocket, keeping your lungs and heart empty.
he will not stay, something will always call him away in the morning,
even after you've spent the night wrapped in his strong arms,
counting the stars from the undersides of the highest sail.
you will listen to his stories, for they will stretch beyond the decks
of his ship and make you feel both empty and full at once,
but you cannot rely on a tattooed smile to forge you a key to the world.
eventually, he will leave you on stranger shores, soaking and breathless,
wondering when the next tide will bring him close to you again.
but you are not a ***** he found bar-side, never call yourself that.
you must be unpredictable and wild as the sea itself, bottling storms
into your heartbeat and braiding a barrier reef into your hair.
you are calypso, dangerous and beautiful and unyielding,
and if he comes back ten years from now to set foot on the shore,
you will not be waiting. you cannot always be waiting.
he might tell you he loves you. but even then, he is only speaking
about the seventy percent he is familiar with, the part that is pulled into
rises and falls by the moon, a dna sequence patterned by the earth itself.
do not answer him. steal his ship by sunrise instead and plan to follow
the treasure map that you've long since forgotten. never come back.
leave him with a seashell at his side and he will remember at last
that the reason he loved the ocean was because it sounded like you.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 4:22 AM UTC
There is something breeding in the underbelly;
whirling and churning like an epicenter of *********** trends.
Someone found the formula to turn a profit on karma,
while we were distracted by viral beheadings.
Powder white moths opening mental portals
through the dazzling lights of self-immolation
while I trudge block after block through the snow
wearing slippers because I had to storm out.
The classes continue, the mail keeps going out, coming in,
and I'm obsessing over a splinter of worry; unavailing at best.
I keep thinking of how nice it'd be to see Seattle
and to stand near one of those Sequoia trees I've only seen on Google.
I keep thinking of how I'd like to see The Grand Canyon
and to to walk in the Arizona deserts with no socks or shoes;
the heat of the fine sand sneaking up between my toes
while the sky beats my pupils with that astounding blue.
Why am always alone in my fantasies?
Why is it that I can't handle the day-to-day?
Am I really even searching for answers,
or am I begging for what I want to hear?
My maturity and stoicity are rubber ***** bouncing on a line graph.
I can't go on bottling the venom that pools in my gut.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
A
hot water bottle
is
a poor substitute
for
warmth
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 10:02 PM UTC
I'm bottling up all my feelings.
I know you noticed that,
I've been holding back,
There's something inside I'm concealing.
You put me on ice for no reason.
You make my heart stop,
When you pop my top,
I'm bubbling up to the ceiling
I think you know what I mean and,
You know I'm just teasing.
I can't keep it a secret
Grapevine, gettin' too seedy (juicy)
Overtime my soul is primed,
You're so divine
Intoxicating my sober mind
'Til I'm,
Ready to chill for the evening.
Strictly for the VIP
Tipsy when you lean on me
Lipsin' up we don't need a cup
It costs a lot but it's free
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 9:17 AM UTC
I'm done
Fighting
Trying
Fixing
I'm done
Being a cliche
Not making the cut
Being picked on
But yet here I am, doing all those things
Cliche
Cut
Picked
So I try to do as they say
And do something different
I cry instead of keeping it in
I talk instead of bottling up
I become vivid instead of shutting down
I'm done
Feeling stupid
Feeling useless
Feeling powerless
I'm done
Trapped
Pawn
Kid
I'm ready
Ready to stop taking it
Ready to take control
Ready to get out
So here I am
I'm done
I'm ready
So
I'm gone.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC
[page 1] I already regret writing this to you. I already regret sharing this with you. I've already told you, before, but I'm bursting---I'm skidding, like my brakes are busted--- bottling-it-all, inside. And, a wise man once told me, "If it's eating you up, you should ink it, all-out." I just wish I could remember whose words those were.
Sometimes, when I'm searching the Rolodex, for the right-scene, you've been around, to remind me. [Almost-like, you'd read along.] You tell me, you assume "I'm always awake," and, I would only elaborate: with-fear, my dear, for falling asleep would draw you back, to my dreams.
See, and I've said this (to much poorer souls than yours), [page 2] before I allow my ambitions the axiom, certainty must surround the word "love" like an aura. My so-flawed system of authentication, of authority, in my own-hearted matters, starts and ends with my dreaming. Only three romances have recurred. Randomness is much more regular. Rarely do my dreams speak with structure, or in-a-story. That real random. [The reason I'm a poet?] Flying symbols, from "seven hells," heavens, or highways. If you left the top-down, or had a bad-day.
[Relax, Flagstaff]
sighs
[Ready, again?]
Ready.
...
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 4:19 AM UTC
I bury myself deeper
Hiding my true self
I drown out the sound
Of my selves crying out
I bottle up my fears
My worries
My confusion
I store my feelings
Trusting only God, pen and paper
I hide my tears
Behind a fake smile
Letting no one see
The pain I’m in
Letting no one see
The nightmare I’m stuck in
Eyes holding back my past
My transgressions
My secrets
So I continue on
Carrying the dead man’s weight
Slowly, ever so slowly
Crawling towards
The crimson light
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:16 PM UTC