"bubblewrap" poems
It started with a goodbye.
It started with me wrapping up my past
in bubblewrap, as if it was fragile.
It was really so that its sharp edges would be
unable to hurt me anymore.
I decided it was better to leave it inside
my bedside table, next to the pictures and the letters.
Not to pack it in a suitcase
and bring it with me on my many travels.
But it refused to leave my side,
it followed me, like a paper plane
guided by my insecurities.
Like I was a holding up a neon sign that read
STILL HOLDING ON.
Perhaps it was a sign that I was to carry it with me
to all the places I hadn't been but longed to see.
People asked me about the big monster
that hunkered down beside me.
But how could I tell them that
I was caught up in something
I'd promised to leave behind?
How it has consumed my mind
my body, my very soul.
How it threatened to rip a hole
in the very future I was trying to protect.
Maybe I'm exaggerating
Maybe the time I spent hating every part of me
wasn't very long at all.
But it felt like an eternity
the summer, winter and fall.
Finally, spring arrived
With hopeful eyes and a big bright smile.
I shook myself awake from what was
starting to feel like a neverending nightmare,
A rabbit hole that wasn't taking me to Wonderland
I started to understand that I couldn't go on like this.
I took a hit or miss dive into the future,
And like a magician, unlocked the weights at my ankles.
Once at the shore, I looked at my past as it drowned
unwanted and forgotten,
And I realised I was no more a crinkled mess.
With wrinkled fingertips at the end of my hand,
I held up a mirror to my freshly washed face.
I smiled, digging my toes into the sand.
It ended with a hello.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 2:13 PM UTC
Have you ever popped a bubble and it ended up being a dud bubble?
Well sometimes I have dud bubbles too..
Certain parts of me
I don't like to make noise about
As I go quiet
While other times,
I will wake the dead with my yodeling
For confidence is rare
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 12:46 AM UTC
lately, it seems when you call you speak you mind,
motion to hang up before i can even consider mine.
do i exist simply as a gateway for you to speak?
my lover leaves me lonely,
my best friend soon to be alone on a plane
back home to me; tape him up in bubblewrap
beg him never to leave
so much time is spent in this room
isolated enough to warrant yellow paper
still, the textured white walls seem sentimental
they do not feel as big as the bed
it is so lonely without you, darling
but even when you are here,
it remains so empty
i reach for you in the night.
try as i may, even when you linger
you are so far, my darling,
too far to reach; too far to hold.
and i find you only see me once i turn away.
is it my eyes that alarm you, so full of emotion?
or do you want me just close enough for warmth,
but not close enough to listen to?
the broken furniture holds your motion,
still are the shadows that hold your shape,
and i cling to the pillow that isn't quite your length
but it will let me hold it; it will let me love
i picture you in the shower,
borrowing shampoo, speaking of coconut cream
and my dreams are only tinted memories
are you leaving me in the chill of the air conditioning?
perhaps i'll never know until you finally close the door;
the season has only just begun, my darling
there are so many half hours still to yearn for you;
i'll be quiet and laugh at your commentary until the credits roll
i'll quietly await the sudden goodbye.
May 13, 2022
May 13, 2022 at 2:17 AM UTC
If I had a dollar for every poem I wrote....
I'd have like a billion dollars
Because I would just write a program
that spits out random words and phrases
Then someone would tell me that they're
only going to pay me 50 cents per poem
if I'm going to be like that.
I'd be like "Whatever, dude...that's still half a billion dollars"
Can't be greedy, you know.
Then they'd try to pass some sort of law defining what a poem
can and can't be, spending millions of tax-payer dollars to stop
me from writing poems like this:
SHITAKE DUCK FOOTBALL
magnifying glass eats adolph ******
can I be valentine bubblewrap
I think so maybe
I peanut butter 1975 Yankees
Did you ****
Robocop.
The judge would rule in my favor. That would really ****
off the poor saps that had to pay me for my poems.
Doesn't really matter though....
No one pays me for this ****
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 8:39 PM UTC
Now there is a thing called
"left and right side brain" dominance
Left side being an organized filter of OCD,
And the right side being very scattered and street smart
But I am 100% completely 50% of each side of the brain exactly
with certain times in my life
I am very OCD
hence the perfect placement of the bubble open the sheet of bubble rap
But with life,
I want to be an event planner,
lawyer,
book writer,
airplane attendant,
anything special
hence the way this bubble wrap has many uses
I do take it as my purpose in life to protect and care for others
So throw me around,
put me in a box,
step on me,
wether im here for your amusement or for comforting reasons,
I'll take great pride in being used by you
For that is how my anxiety has consumed me
I. Am. Bubble wrap.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 12:47 AM UTC
I am the shaken Pepsi
not quite the dripping counter,
my bubblewrap not pierced by your hate
unable to decide between feelings of sanity and laughter.
Not conquered, as you believe,
high heavens from my pedestal I see
not taken by a spinning head or
dilated pupil, Jesus still stands by me.
Your reality is bleak
pixel perfect as the static clears,
white veil lifted, revealing satin lips,
the smallest attraction, uncovers your fears.
Don't fly your flag of purity quite yet
inconsistent of an angel,
feathers in your back
my own cuts bandaged by cello tape
and paint covers my cracks.
For there are too many wasted years with discarded binoculars,
discarded lovers, discarded lives.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
Sometimes it's hard to know what is
What should....and why?
And is there any point........or not?
We're born, we live, we die.
And in between we our noses run, we bite our tongues, we lie
We lose our place, we turn our face, we buy.
There's love and mud and bubblewrap
Dropped spoons, old tunes and bills.
***** boots and plastic crap,
What doesn't make you strong just kills.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
Here come
pairs of legs
riddled with cellulite
accents
stuff the air
Neuwcassul
Burmingum
stores reek
of cheap tat
bargain last-few-quid items
Irish music
no-one gives a jig about
Mr. Whippy's
for sale every seven/six
make that five cafés
women packed
like bubblewrap
into denim shorts
middle-aged men
plagued with tattoos
Irn Bru tans
back at the chalet
kids thwack
plastic *****
with plastic racquets
next-door neighbours
puff on their nineteenth
*** before midday
come night
karaoke floods towards us
like a murky tsunami
don't stop believin'
hold on to that feelin'
but the girl
in the museum
had a ponytail
another one
dipped in gold
like a fancy chess piece
and I walk around
in a Norwich shirt
lick sea-breeze
and know
this isn't
home
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
“Engulfed in bubblewrap
Oh, he's a fragile gift
A colorless soul, some would say
For anyone could colour him
Most would paint over the lines
Some would never even reach the delicate corners
I know of one fine artist that could paint him
Her fine fingers formed with delicacy
For only she could grace him with panache
Regrettably, their paths would never cross
As she is engulfed in bubblewrap too,
And lives in a separate box” — Demi.M Potts
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 7:02 AM UTC
Pins that ***** the night and the slight sounds that I hear,
more fears to **** the marrow from my bones.
Underneath my bed
the dead appear, another fear.
My life.
Morning comes to comfort me
the sun will rise.
'Mine eyes have see the glory'
but that's another story
and I'm bored.
Luckily, there's stored in me a
compendium of history.
The pins still *****
I still feel sick, each time
night draws its blind on me.
I wish it would be kind to me and
somewhere in my history
it was.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
It’s been a year
And I still don’t know how to feel.
Sometimes I feel elated.
Out of all the girls,
All the plums,
I was the ripest, the juiciest.
I spread across his tongue
As a smile spread across his lips.
Sometimes I feel empty.
Like he had
Taken away a part of me.
A certain innocence
So rare, so valuable, so hidden
Not even the best criminals
Could steal it back.
Sometimes I feel fragile.
My bones replaced by porcelain.
They forgot to wrap me
In bubblewrap.
They forgot the
Handle with care sign.
I shattered at his feet.
I crunched under his boots.
Sometimes I feel depressed.
Any light I had
Has darkened.
Any fire has
Been snuffed out.
I am nothing more than smoke.
Sometimes I feel tired.
Like it takes too much energy to live.
I’m not strong enough
To live.
To push through.
My organs are too heavy.
I am too heavy.
Sometimes I feel happy.
When I forget about that night.
When I forget about the bedroom floor.
The popcorn bowl.
The army of whispers
Assaulting my ears.
When I’m alone with a book
Full of poems.
When I shed this skin,
The one with burn marks and
Moth holes,
I’m happy.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
this frozen shore calls me tourist
followed by money grubber and whoremonger
then reckless looter and polluter
names me hazard and spits on me
it squeaks and whines
pops bubblewrap and grinds polystyrene
jarring and wincing my ears
nature has called me out
it fires at me
with a list of my species crimes
the pudding's in the proof
and i'm left simply unable to be a recluse
in the company of
this frozen winter shore
May 28, 2025
May 28, 2025 at 9:16 AM UTC
The truncated puzzle:::
Her tongue’s truncheon sits solid
at the ready (to respond)
Her coarse heart,
pumps deftly in defiance of a mind’s eye
She is the gracile figurine
**The bubblewrap warms her steady
She is porcelain smoke in a midnight room
In defiance of
any fingerprint (cryout)
... oh that visage!!!
... oh obfuscated view!!!
You must
Feign surprise when i can see right through an image of you reflected in glass
wide-eyed, unwatered and
::unmoved::
**Her Limbal Ring, diamond stone display
still she is unsatisfied**
another inward, in-word retreat.
for her braille heart untouched
**forever she fears punctuation
Endings.**
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 10:36 PM UTC
What makes me so mad about it
is the being sad around it,
(thinks inside the bubblewrap)
it's like music where melodies go, there
but for memories and that would be fine.
Time being finite is not alright
and
we were conned from the start
there are
only so many beats allocated to
each heart,
am I banging a drum, beating the blood from my gums, are you listening out there, do you even care that the man in black only loaned you out and he's on his way to take you back?
There is no fair about it and that's what makes me so mad about it and sad around it.
this is like God playing bingo, four corners, a line
and your time is done
no fun in the fair here
this is a very queer place to be,
but for the memory
that would be fine.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 6:51 AM UTC
No amount of showers in the world could rid me of the feeling of not
belonging, feeling out of place, wanting to disappear into the
wallpaper.
Wanting to wrap myself up in bubble wrap to protect my heart from
the comments and stares and courtesy smiles.
But he tells me its okay to unwrap my raw, bruised heart.
He tells me that I do belong,
I fit into this place just as well as anyone.
Despite the screaming voices in my head I continue to shower and
unwrap my heart.
I am scared but that doesn't mean I won't try.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
CDH
the epilogue empties, the arc has flatlined, a judge now speaks
“your sentence is to be a windy day Eternal Tether, neither holding nor held”
This breeze. Those wind gust.
Foil flips, sunlight bouncing as it spins at sunrise... the trash is gaining traction now
you get the icons you are worthy of
and your children are sentenced to bow to plastic pariahs repurposed as heroes
pray away the bad man, and bubblewrap the rest. do you recall that innocence girl?
it emptied from you, quivering, as a smile stole the corners of your mouth.
Sep 12, 2020
Sep 12, 2020 at 4:42 AM UTC