"caking" poems
The sharp line separating where the sun met your skin
And where it was protected by your shirt is more prominent than ever
Because you forgot to lather on your sunscreen.
The dirt settles into a thin film
Covering every inch of your body
Caking into your hair making it feel
Like you haven't washed your hair for days.
The bugs are constantly buzzing around your face
Leaving bites up and down your arms
Making them itchy and irritated.
But, the sunburns, dirt filled clothes, and bugs
Only strengthens my love for the game.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
you used to come home loudly in the dark but
quietly in the day we’d be together
to compensate
we were only in love on Halloweens
you in those hundred dollar costumes worth two
in material and tiny fingers
**** rats and ER surgeons
to me with a pop-culturally relevant ******* mask
Frankenstein (to the dumb dudes that go to these things)
that chisels me like a jell-o mold
that blurs her infinitely beautiful walking-away
the blooming glances pairing parting lips to talk ********
caking the ***** reeling in our heads
winding round the spindle hooked tight
pulling my hard-hat plastic-green face
to the windmill
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 3:02 AM UTC
Shorter skirts and lower tops,
They're doing anything to get noticed.
Smoking and drinking to fit in
To a world that has changed forever.
Increasing teen pregnancy
And teen dads that walk away.
Fifteen has become the new twenty
And kids aren't kids anymore.
What was once cool became lame
And girls became more and more shallow.
Caking make up on their faces,
Pulling duck faces at the camera.
As we are more connected
We interact less.
Technology ensures seeing people less.
Getting to know someone face to face
Will soon become non existent.
We live in a world that's evolving backwards,
By caring less about others and who they are.
Popularity has become a bloodbath
And people are shallower then the sink.
It would be nice to live in a world
That was evolving forwards.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
What makes one ‘popular’?
Wearing the IT things that make you look older?
Being hot and having a multitude of boyfriends?
Revealing your stomach and stupidity?
Having big *******
Caking all of your flaws with makeup?
Not accepting originality?
Bullying others?
Talking behind backs?
Then the most laughable, saying there is no bullying?
Befriending only the popular people?
Ditching friends for popularity?
Causing others to feel bad about themselves?
Is this what makes one popular?
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
Words hurt
Similar to how a fist can bruise skin
Words crawl underneath your skin and get stuck there
Twisting you from the inside
But what makes it worse is the person the words are coming from.
A mother telling her daughter she isn't pretty enough
Begins the journey of a girl trying to define her beauty
Caking her face with makeup to "enhance" or "alter" her appearance
Wearing clothes that barely cover skin
She does not know or see her beauty
Going through her life seeking approval
By doing things that defile what makes her beautiful
If she believes she is beautiful, then she is
No one else's opinion of her beauty should matter
Only her opinion of herself matters
Just one word can change a person's perspective of who they are and what they believe in
A boy telling a girl he doesn't love her anymore
Changes her perception of what love is
Whether she deserves it and who will be the person to finally give it to her
She pushes away man after man, afraid of putting her heart on the line
Afraid of putting her all into something that's worth it
Sweetheart, just because one man hurts you does not mean the next one will
Don't miss out on your white knight because of a few jesters **** fools).
Words hurt
They can cause bruises
They can open wounds
Even ruin lives
So be careful with what comes out if your mouth.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 12:54 PM UTC
My Darling, My Dearest
I sink to the dirt,
My regrets swirl around my body like a brides wedding dress.
White lace, virginal unsoiled regrets lay about me lazily-
biting my ankle, scratching up my legs to be held.
My Cherished Treasure,
I will carry my torment like an old man carries his walking stick
Gnarled with time and miles,
before any step I will take-
My regret will mark the path.
And I will walk for all of time with my walking stick. I will walk until I bend over in a broken bridge of bones, all the while letting my regret lead me onward.
My Beloved,
I will wallow in the mud of my sorrows and grief
I will roll and dry, caking dirt on my belly-
like the beast I have become.
My Beautiful,
The wounds that mortification of the flesh will produce-
will be sorry attempts to understand your pain.
The whip braided in tight thick leather
but I can never cut deep so I might
produce enough depth so instead will I bleed-
another sin, another crime!
I cannot feel your suffering-can only guess at the depth.
Oh the endlessly black waters of your sorrow!
I hold my breath, stones piled deep in my pockets.
I dive, I dive...wanting, needing this sacrifice.
But **** this survivalist in me. My lungs betray me-
sputter and cough.
I inhale my water of my sins and breathe them deep so I may drown and
free you from the shackles of my crimes.
My Cherished one, my Shining one-
Forgive this old sinner, forgive this reprobate heart.
For I love you.
When the stars exploded, when universes expanded
I loved you.
When the first blade of grass poked it's willful head above soil,
I loved you.
When first Adam kissed Eve,
I already loved you.
In the next life where you are caterpillar and
I am stump,
I love you then too, and beg you use me to reach closer the sun.
Forgive a fool his foolish ways, he knows no better
Forgive me, cherished one
and let me love you,
Let me love you as the faulted love the Divine. As the sinner loves the penance, as the child loves the stars.
Let me give you the moon, let me put it in on your lips.
So you may kiss the moon, beloved, kiss the moon.
Sahn 7/6/14
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
I laugh as the Jeep
dives nose first into the huge pothole
of mud.
It splatters across my windshield,
turning my white Wrangler
brown.
He chuckles from the passenger
seat.
This was once your idea.
You tried to talk me into going.
Even when I already wanted to,
you wanted it more-
with me.
When I brought it up,
you said you had plans.
I told you to tell me when
and stopped asking.
You held off and
he came into the picture.
I now have the relationship
I once believed
would be
you and me.
You had stopped contacting me
and I wasn't going to be the one all over
you.
But now that I'm with him,
you want back in.
You had
her.
I never understood why you liked her.
She just used you.
The Jeep takes another dive,
headlights first.
My phone vibrates in the cupholder.
It's you.
Citing lyrics from a song that
I once made you listen to.
Do he take care of you? Or could I easily fill his shoes?
You hated that song,
now why are you sending me lyrics?
Because I don't know whether I want
you in my life again or not.
My back tires spin in the hole and I can't get out.
He crawls out and start to dig us out
as the tires spin and splatter him
with mud.
Caking his entire body.
That could be you,
but he's the one I'm mudding
with.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
Oon gallee um tonem eh
hallo caking elenta meh
oft alone on windy days
ellon ta ban um tonem eh
gallorn tello en triclon meh
eve in shadows with no sun
give an blem in toomel eh
argen jame oh blem tin meh
playing my mandolin on the moon.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
I hurt.
There are no other words to describe it- at least not while my head is pounding and my bones are shaking.
My skin covered in gaping wounds, bruised and blackened until I do not recognize myself
My bones, broken.
I hurt.
It hurts worst of all to know that there is not an end to my pain,
that even when I sleep I ache all over,
blood oozing from cuts and scrapes and caking my skin as it dries.
I hurt.
She is a healer,
all sunshine and sugar,
tea made with honey,
She has a voice soft as silk and her hands are calloused and cool against my feverish skin.
I hurt, still,
She cannot fix what I have broken,
She cannot heal my injuries,
but she tries.
I have been to healers before her,
all of which have given up when they realize I am a lost cause,
the gaping wounds spread out across my skin will never heal,
they leave to pursue a life they can save,
an affliction they can heal.
She does not give up,
her tired hands gently press a bandage to my cuts,
clean my wounds,
and sew them up.
It is not much,
it will not stop the flow of blood,
or the waves of pain,
but she will press her gentle lips to my forehead,
and do it again in the morning.
She is so sweet to me,
all the tender relief of a cool seaside breeze
and I love her.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
I watch the house come down
like a vengeful wave crashing
against my barefoot shore.
I don't know if
I wore my grey shirt
or the blue one with checks.
I can't tell from the dust caking
my chest; beating loudly I
put my hand to it
as if searching for my heart
in the shirt pocket;
I fumble
and feel nothing there.
I'd kept a picture of you there
in the breastpocket of my grey shirt
close to my heart.
And not any more, but a familiar ache;
left are these buttons of your last touch
and your breath in these threads.
You don't know that once you breathed into the sky
it just wasn't yours to take away.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
Can you feel it?
*That something juicier and wetter
That something wilder and fiercer
That something wiser and stronger*
Divine and lovely fragment of God
Searching and sifting
Through the soil caking your feet
Your archaeological dig site
Resurrecting from your deep red earthiness
Sorting your finds
Cataloguing your treasures
Can you smell it?
*That something juicier and wetter
That something wilder and fiercer
That something wiser and stronger*
Turning over and over each exhumed shard
I watch you squatted, frog like
Remembering ~ Releasing ~ Restoring
Becoming one with Ivory bone and awakening to the harmony of blood's song
Navigating with courage your shadow
I watch you bearing down
Giving birth to truth and beauty
Can you taste it on the wind?
*That something juicier and wetter
That something wilder and fiercer
That something wiser and stronger*
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
"...our poor romance was for a moment reflected, pondered upon, and dismissed like a dull party, like a rainy picnic to which only the dullest bores had come, like a humdrum exercise, like a bit of dry mud caking her childhood." V Nabokov
How easy it is to confuse love with hatred
Like what they poured on your soul was acid
Slowly but surely the two opposites bounded
Every moment you spent is now clouded
Welcome to the moment you dreaded
Because slowly that hate disappears
Was it numbed by all those beers?
No, I'm just tired of the pasts' sneers
"Remember? He made you happy!
No, I'm just tired of all those tears
Now it's your heart that hurts with my spears
All those pains faded away
Elsewhere, I led them astray
You're dead to me, go decay
I don't love you, I daresay
Surprise! Viciousness is my forte.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 7:58 PM UTC
I refuse to show political respect,the news flows from my precinct connect,weed soon glows from TGC inject,contaminate the food ,the ***** they win ,we lose,who's gone choose yet none will re-fuse to combat the dudes that brought death to baby food,murders with no clues.genocide someone sing my blues,Brenda had a baby now she's opened a school for delinquent youth..who's making all the rules caking on you fools baking that good,its whats breaking on the news..I take weight but the rope cant hold the stake shaking at the knees while I'm hanging by the noose.oblivion and beyond finally i feel loved, death is so warm ,humanity is a storm though endless the abyss is a calm..future read it in a palm.branches in arms..puddles of blood flies in a swarm,fly away to the lord to whom you belong..children of the corn..caught up in a whirlwind,drenched by the storm ,they wont stop until were gone they wont stop until their done the human race is dead and their world wars won!
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
never
ever
ever
give anybody
a kiss goodbye
because they will cut open your chest
and dismantle your heartstrings
and take them from you
they will play crossword puzzles with your veins.
i am trying my hardest
to throw away my feelings for you
but they are sticking to my feet like mud
caking the sides of my new white shoes
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 6:45 PM UTC
Rosy red cheeks shrill as roses
Their laughter ripples smooth as honey
And crummy fingers sticking to their noses
The youth stampedes over quiescent duties
And with their tiny, spiky teeth
And eyes which devours everything
They don't hang their pride like wreaths
For what can be said, they're always smiling
And a splash in a shimmering puddle
Red boots soaked thoroughly for good
With frosting instead caking their lovely riddles
They may the wiser of the rue
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
A Mirror
When standing in a mirror what do you see?
Is it really a reflection? Or an image of what you could be.
A mirror can be a place to view growth towards perfection.
Yet it is a destination to hide what society is neglecting,
And implies further to cover ones natural beauty.
Caking their philosophy with the media's opinions as far as one could hear or decree.
Being real with acquaintances without being real with the important people like family.
One could say a mirror is "just only a reflection"
However, let's ask the mirror "Today show me what he or she has projected."
A mirror would show a life full of authenticity
Yet a life very different could also be shown, one filled with hypocrisy.
So I ask again when standing in a mirror what do you see?
The answer is quite simple and easy to believe
A mirror is expected to only show what it sees
The real me...Or a fantasy...
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 8:17 PM UTC
No one could ever dream to have you beat
in self destruction, self pity and defeat,
it’s almost bittersweet.
But you get by, it’s you not I,
you get by with a plan to only die.
Yes you get by, with any chance to cry,
never noticing another’s sigh.
You know with all the licks you’ve been taking,
we’re both surprised that you’re still waking.
Oh and with the hits you’ll keep taking,
don’t be surprised that you’re still shaking.
Let’s get straight to the root of the problem,
slam our heads together; we’ll forget if not solve them.
So what’s your story you’ve got for me today?
I am no stranger to your sad tales,
though you push them right off the rails,
and my own attempt is exempt and always fails,
I’d have better luck pitching them as sales.
As you’d get by, just for a high,
only to try with your plan to die.
Yes you get by, it’s always you not I,
claiming life’s got you in it’s eye.
You know with all the kicks you’ve been taking,
it’s a wonder you’re still not breaking.
Oh and all the tricks you’ve been making,
are you shocked we think you’re faking?
Let’s get straight to the root of the problem,
you act the saint and cast I as the goblin.
So what’s your story, exaggerated allegory, today?
Let’s cut right to the root of the issue,
my hands are full but do you need a tissue?
I’ll say sorry, just ignore me and what I have to say.
So open up the bursting flood gate
direct the flow to where I seem to wait,
it’s truly my ears that suffer the most,
I abandoned thought not my post, though I now am late.
But you get by, and still yet defy
magnify on your plans to die.
You’ll always get by, call it a lie,
focusing on rain ignoring you’re dry.
Oh with all the trips you’ve been taking,
It’s no surprise you’ve been strongly flaking.
And with the drips and the lies that have been caking,
you can’t comprehend anyone else aching.
So let’s get straight to the root of the problem,
I’ll start a list and another separate column.
So what’s your story, for attention or glory today?
Let’s cut right to the root of the issue,
hands on your neck and checking your wrist too,
it’s mandatory and obligatory, but morally grey.
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 12:16 AM UTC
Caking towns, fields,
Sifted over a bright blank,
Spirals of chalk dust.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
Almost died but this time I didn’t
the pain of an artistic with an academic life
being bound by wonton grasping
don’t even seem to know who or what I’m asking
Got so lost again when a guide mentioned in passing
Theres a fork in the road up ahead
no choice is still a choice maybe end up dead
Always walk the darkest path until
i remembered the angel and made up my choice
pull myself up like I hoist
out the words when I’m verging on verbing in Voice.
Seen demons, I hear hell, Headache of pride make ya head swell
been sick as hell/ oh well
stuck at the bottom molding
unseen granting boons
in the moon-lit wishing well
But I ought to see my life as odyssey
like I oughtt to be the hero
more playful like the spirit
otter i otter be
Im stuck in feedback loop self
but the emerging, unfolding, ever so bold in its calling
states plainly that it is time to fall down shaking
cascading blood caking memory set
wrong or at least oblong in it’s making
moments
seem to make me lose my voice
so how can I preach
if I m not acting
how can I teach
If my arms ain’t out
mama how can I reach?
Wishing the earth calls me
yelling come back my child
Rest in my arms and forget
I am death living memory leech.
╭∩╮(Ο_Ο)╭∩╮
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
Guess what
I saw myself in the mirror today
And I saw some stranger staring back at me
His hair was messy
He had black-purple bags under his eyes
Swollen from catching all of his tears
His face was red and there were scratch marks from his anger
His dried lips were cracked from all his screams of frustration
Dried blood caking his jaw and neck
He looks at his neck bruised and swollen from him trying to strangle himself
All in all that man in the mirror seemed like he wasn't doing okay
But I quickly showered and decided to wear my poloneck today
It was after all a nice shirt
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC
you ever nothinged with the **** graceful wind of blue? hue rightly void, the impervious shunt of caking dramatic trees. grip havoc dangerously and collide
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 12:22 PM UTC
i. Placing his hand on mine, I sigh in content. The feelings of adoration kept at the brim of my eyes, making my cheeks flush. Your lips part in a smile with your feelings coming through in a glow. You’re the boy I want to spend my days with and I hope you stick around long enough to figure out how I like my coffee.
ii. She grasps my face with tears down her face. I try to smile through my own salty waves of emotion. I’m the one who made her cry, not in pain but in joy. As I brought her a giant bouquet of her favorite flowers. Showering her in gifts and poems of my love for her. She’s the girl I love and I’m the girl she loves. The fever of passion fusing our lips together.
iii. He’s beaten and bruised, dark patches of colors covering his pale skin. It’s forbidden to love another man. But the feelings we share are intimate, attached, and fond. An aged man with sunken in eyes and alcohol on his breath won’t stop my heart from beating for this boy. So I bite my thumb to him and take my love where it is safe.
iv. I tucked myself away and pulled on my best dress. Caking on the powder and lipstick, feeling more beautiful than I have ever felt in the drab clothes of a male. I never felt like myself, but now I do in glamorous drag. With boys and girls fanning over my every whim, because I am beautiful and nothing and no one will tell me otherwise.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
now exposed to you
no secrets left to explore
will you still love me?
less vibrant with age
no longer best or strongest
dust caking trophies
and none new to replace them
voice soft and cracking
losing its former vigor
will you still love me?
inside your pale eyes
is only my silhouette
you see nothing else
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 5:23 AM UTC
There is something to be said about a girl with no make up
No one thinks much of her
No one notices
but she is content with that
there is something about not caking on fake
not saying all those who do - are
but just saying there is something - as too far
when a girl can stand in the mirror and see
she is more than an absentee
absent from the flow of girls
with painted on faces and burned curls
The ones who will stand alone
who will try no more
than to just be known
known for nothing but herself
not needing any help
no aid to her face
no fake barbie standing in her place
it's something so rare to see
a girl who is brave enough - to just let her skin be
a girl who only has her born face to wear
something that is beautiful - just naked and bare
There is something to be said about a girl with no make up
- no nothing just her
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
Little white lights and little white pills,
Hoping they both do something for the memories sloshing around in my head,
**** them like bacteria?
Little bit of alcohol,
Shrivel them up with that bitter bitter,
***** ‘em out with my head under water,
Voice out far,
I’ll put on a show,
Strutting around on that hardwood floor,
Emerge stage right, through a prop door,
Blow a kiss to the crowd
At the end of the show,
If I pretend hard enough,
They’ll never know.
But won’t they,
If they find the empty, orange vials,
While I’m caking on stage makeup,
All the colors of denial,
And they know those aren’t tic tacs in my bathroom sink,
And it’s not apple juice
In my iced down drink,
But I can stand up, dress up, and play with the rest of them,
Run with the best of them,
Binding my panic in,
Tangled up in mic wires
And hair pins
As long as I medicate
Don’t communicate
And wrap it all up
Wind it all in
Nice and tight,
Not a hair out of place,
Big smile on my face,
That’s it,
Maybe that’ll do it,
Maybe I’ll get better this time.
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 10:41 AM UTC