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GulRukh Dec 2017
If I am a bird
Carelessly flies in the sky
Place to place
Tweet the world is mine
Go wherever I want
Chrip whatever I feel
Sit whenever I'll be tired
Never look my face in mirror
But I can see this world more clearer
Searching for a partner would be easy
No regret of being messy
Anywhere I built my nest
Like I have no regret
Little fights then
My short time memory wipes all away
No one let me down if my house is made of clay
And in peace i die one day
#BirdLife #Desire #BirdsHaveMoreFriendsThanMe
Don't tell me
"I love you baby."
You didn't even like me.

Don't tell me,
"Never leave me."
You wanted me to disappear.

Don't tell me
"You are special."
I was one of dozens.

Don't say, "I can't be
with someone I don't care about."
I was nothing to you.

Don't tell me, "I wake up
thinking of you."
I was forgotten immediately.

Don't profess,
"I'm happily married."
You sleep with other women.

Don't treat a woman's
heart so carelessly.
ryn Nov 2014
Have you seen it?
Seems like I've misplaced my mind.

I had it for a while...
Now it seems like I'm flying blind.

Can't piece out my thoughts,
a cacophony of riled up birds.

An **** of broken lines...
Overlapping and blurring into incomprehensible words.

Wandered in almost every direction,
but seem stumped at every end.

My mind is rapidly turning,
more foe and less a friend.

Confused is what it is at best.
Derailed far from its once reliable track.

Need to quickly regain my centre,
need desperately to get it all back.

Conjured this up...
With much difficulty.

Strenuous exercise...
For what once flowed freely.

Could it be...
That I have too frequently misused.

The welcome I've received,
that I have carelessly abused.

Ugh... Makes no sense...
Never have for a while.

Conflicting thoughts and words.
Crash into each other into a pile.

Need a reboot,
a reset and a restart.

Need to find my muse,
that stems from the heart.

Curse the mundane!
These excruciating hours of the day.

Begging for the nights,
to take me and my mind away.

You have brought back these feelings
Resurfaced those fears
Of the fire inside
that had so many tears
A weak flame that was dying
Alive once again
Has now muddied the line
between lover and friend

That's how it goes for me
I don't know about you
The words passing might be
in that moment were true
They kept traveling on
Possibly a comet
As my feelings grow strong
Expectations not met

Once again feel a fool
Even though it's not true
And my heart gave to you
Time again I will do
But this time not the same
It's because you weren't here
Could not reach out and touch
So our bodies weren't shared

Just the words that were said
And the sound of your voice
Resurrect from the dead
Could not stop; Had no choice
Seems like that's how it is
In your lasso I'm snared
All it takes is one tug
And again I will care

Pilot light to a stove
A slight twist and it strikes
You've invaded my heart
Bursting flame will ignite
But if carelessly handled
It's me who gets burned
Walked all over and trampled
Same dolt who won't learn

I have built up the walls
But we're both trapped inside
The tight space is so small
There's nowhere I can hide

Face-to-face with you now
It begins and it ends
I'll get through it somehow
Are we lovers or friends?
Written: October 30, 2018

All rights reserved.
[Anapestic Tetrameter format]
igc May 2015
I saw the best minds of my generation congested and
polluted overdosing on irrelevance

Abandoned abused replaced
Fed to the thought police
Corrected corrupted
Declining the potential to be heard in
exchange for the opportunity to be documented

Lives being lived according to unfeasible standards
You either make it or you don’t
there’s no in between
there’s no maybe
there’s no equal

Left to meander through the conceived thoughts of others
decisions being made
moves being made
eulogies being made

nothings real
nothing’s right
nothing’s honest
nothing thought up matters


Who in the safety of their homes were taught respect
are told to mask their emotions
Identities saved for the weak
Only to be showcased when conducive

Who pump iron into their veins
looking for an angry fix of acceptance
Sweat streams surge down their backs
Failure prominent in their thoughts
Motivation blessing their features
the Devil clever in disguise

Who see little white fields of fairy dust
a never ending landscape of courage
giving them superpowers beyond belief

Nothing beats the freedom of being told
You can fly

Who dream of equality behind closed eyes
But render to imposed birth rights when open
The upper hand implying more than height
and executing more force than necessary to move them

It’s all about the cause until you’re indubitably
the effect

Who tuck monsters into their beds
Forgetting to check closets for skeletons not quite left behind
in the path of carefully chaotic self destruction
Conveniently purging themselves of words whispered
in the throes of passion
Forced upon the ears of all naive enough to listen

Who carelessly expend countless hours playing with
condescending pawns disguised as adults
All grown up with no where to go
Replacing quality with quantity
Leaving long dull trails of breadcrumbs
leading to hearts long since lost
Never to be recovered again

Who follow sexuality by the book
doing this to get that for this him them who what when where
Why does the finish line have to be covered with brightly colored lace and muffled drunk cries chanting no

Who stare straight dead into the soul of love but never
Never into her eyes
Told she is not worthy of being addressed directly
Fingers itching to cop a feel
Only to discover the body is but a passage to her straight dead soul


Who trade in their voice mind and individuality
for half assed smiles and superficial men
As the face of a leviathan nicknamed acceptance
hands them a paycheck they’ve worked too
night day night night hard to refuse

Who idolize the feel of phantom limbs of lovers past
Twisted words convoluting their heads
Forcing on masks of pure heroine
at the sight of scars left on the soul
Scratching at the need to feel wanted
But cowering at the ability to truly be heard

Who have perfected the art of parallel painting
Elegant red streaks hidden beneath layers of
choppy dark colored hate covering pretty pale limbs
Seeming to fade as colorlessly caked on insecurities susurrate bitter-sweet nothings that curl themselves just inside her mutilated skin

Who scavenged their looks from the bottom of holes
they’re expected to clamber out of
Smiling pretty smiling
Being treated to complimentary meals
Only to be served plates full of disappointment.

Who crave companion’s flaws
in ruthless attempts to satisfy their hunger for compassion
Selfless beings dedicated to less than noble attempts at vanquish
The call for heat too satisfying to refuse the trade off forever uselessly launching themselves into razor sharp blades
aimed at ***** sleeves

Who see soft lips as cushion enough to fall from towers built of fear
Dragging moist palms across pavement thighs
Tearing at the seams holding their
hearts together

Who cower behind brick wall appearances
fruitlessly clutching on to ideas reserved for the most fortunate
Scaring away potential with claws that seemingly only come
out to play in the face of acceptance

Who’s sick stick thin limbs trail their worn down
fingernails in an effort mar skin no one can see
Streaks titillate their bright red scalps
A reflection of their underlying journey

Who disgorge yesterday's meal from stomachs long before empty
Blood spewing from the mouth an open wound
Continuously sewed up but never stitched tight correctly
Wiring shut opinions but never gorged enough to
muzzle their Howls



Ideas, calm and collected have long been hijacked and invaded by Hestia

Hestia! Consent! Content! Acceptance!
Long nights and roid rage men!
Two faces fighting a losing battle!
Girls playing mom! Boys playing war!
Ill ridden parents still pledging to the
United States of Controlling Media!

Hestia! Hestia!
Overall reign of Hestia!
Hestia the beautiful!
Incarcerated Hestia!
Hestia the ******!

Hestia twisted and shaped to form the voice of conformity
Hestia constantly watching over and monitoring
Hestia being told what to ******* think

Hestia seeping creeping sneaking into the
darkest crevices of our minds
Hestia when least expected coming out to say
“Hello”

Too late! Hestia’s already made herself at home
Wedged between the rooks of your biggest fear and
burrowed deep into the folds of
Your  Worst  Nightmare

**** in a constant battle between
rejecting Hestia,
and accepting her.
This was obviously inspired by Allen Ginsberg's "Howl."
Considering it was, at the time, the voice of that generation, Welcome to Generation Y.
This is a work in progress.
I let Cupid carelessly aim an arrow at an apple on my head.
I never thought about how all of the targets he hit may have been accidents.
About what it would be like to pull the arrow out of my chest.
I couldn't stop the bleeding
and he didn't know how to patch it.
I realized then the dangers of putting your heart in the center of a crossfire
hoping,
hoping
the child with the arrow would spare it.
ATL Aug 4
attachments arrhythmias
seeking cadence in
novelties embrace
placet experiri (he likes to experiment)
is the justification that resounds
in the juncture of you
when possibilities allure falls
as a needle on a record
spinning backwards to distort what is extant and insipid,
twirling thoughts like tattered organdy
carelessly whisked into the breeze,
deposited somewhere beyond the tide at its peak, far and away
wishing for a togetherness
that shortens the wait for waters recession-  
you, shouting words long-dead into the ocean; begging it to remember what it birthed
Umi Feb 2018
Iron which has been exposed to the rain, is likely to become rusty.
Weakening, brcoming fragile along the way, changing colours.
Because it couldn't resist the cruel, cold, pungent, sharp rain,
which has been brought by onimous, dark, clouds.
Those have come to claim the heavens, in malice, for themselves as they spread their offspring, letting it fall to the earth, fertilising it.
Once standing proud, the iron faced the weather carelessly, brave,
in such sense that it might have looked intimidating, impressive and
of course noble to some degree.
But for now it has aged, has become frail, feeble and slender.
Distorting its structure until suddenly it is not capable of holding
itself together, falling back down to the earth from which it came.
With enough care and treatment, such a fate would be avoidable,
But it is overlooked, chosen to be replaced instead of getting enough attention and so the metal decays in its oxidation, through time.
Until all of it has become a soft, crumbling powder.
Ruined by the simple raindrops, coming from a stormy day.

~ Umi
Willow Sophie Jul 20
Do you recall
the time we spent in the woods
searching for something new
to satisfy
our curiosity?

We didn't have to worry then
when the sun and the moon remained
balanced in the sky.

We could soar through the clouds,
skip on stone,
saunter through the forest carelessly.

Do you recall
when we were free?
Rowan Deysel Dec 2016
Caucasian cadaver in the windless woods.
Carelessly hanging from a tree.
Colorless face looking down.
Carrion yet to be seen.
Creation of an evil man.
Displaying his departed art.
Completed, his compelling plan.
Of helping death do its part.
Few colors, fewer sounds.
White skin contrasts the black dress.
Faded yellow floating all around.
Splatters of red fill the rest.
A frightful figure that overwhelms.
Above the confused and thorny trails.
All the shallow know themselves.
At the sight of this female.
Breathless before being dangled.
Dead before being displayed.
Beautiful body, cold and mangled.
Death magnificently portrayed.
Multiple stab wounds in your back.
Added to the smell of war.
Mind immersed in barren black.
Gnawed eyes to watch and adore.
Dripping, dim and dreadful.
The portrait he wanted to smear.
Your future as empty as your words.
Your hollowness shown clear.
You don't know what you're missing. 
Elders still die, the young still grow.
The leaves below are hissing.
At the corpse of a girl I used to know.
Made when I was an angsty, silly teenager who just got dumped by his first girlfriend.
cherry blossom Jun 2018
You know how you know the moon's name, but it doesn't know yours?
feels like being sidetracked
How its light beams mildly to your eyes, but yours, just irrelevant
Cold breeze makes you shiver
but the night takes no effect from you

It's nothing like your touch,

You touch me like a cotton ball,
carelessly, effortlessly gives a sign of relief
A sigh of affirmation,
of how this spot is reserved for only me
and your hands are designed to remember every edge of my body
and how you say my name,
like its the only thing that matters
and how your gaze sends electric signals as you utter words, so gently.
I feel my knees melting
No, I can't feel them anymore
And I feel like I'm floating

The night, once against me, has become my fortress, our fortress.
Inspired(?) by Leah on the offbeat, so you know tonight, I'm in love.
6/11/18
Tammy M Darby Apr 2018
I display my collection of skeletons openly on my wrist
Only employing their usage if someone carelessly insists
They jingle, jangle, clack
My bleached bracelet of many bones
Clattering and bumping into each other
Waiting for a black corner to call home

I wear my assemblage of dancing skeletons on my wrist
Dangerous they are
Besotted with madness  
Sometimes I simply cannot resist

Taking one, two or perhaps three and giving them a toss
Calling secrets from their crafted tombs
Time, deeds and scars
Glittering jewels of a humans emotional wall

So if you see me with bones around my wrist
Cease your scheming despot take heed and desist
Lest I take another one of these skeletons and give it a toss
And watch your dreams descend into that they call
The long walk.


@ copyright Tammy M. Darby April 11, 2018.
Poetoftheway May 5
she smells (nameless and shameless)


a concoction of mixed aromas,
a once in a lifetime scent,
impossible to bottle,
impossible to name,
nameless and shameless

morning coffee, last nights vin rosé,
a come-a-little-closer-tasting for the summer solstice,
the stale of the evening meals of grains and kale,
the sour remains of bedroom sweat,
the displeasing scented sight of
sweat soiled clothes carelessly discarded

the first of the season red spot-stained white peonies
fail to mask the bodies aromatic musks,
which are mostly gender identifiable

my sneakers hail mary, her stockings odorize the atmosphere
most unusually, nylon and lycra are strangely familiar,
prior memorized perhaps, from deep within, a ****** hallelujah,
deep amidst where, the ***** linens are shelved and binned,
before they journey to the Egypt Nile of the basement waters

the burnt crumbs of illegal in-bed brioche toast
amazingly invisible on unclean sheets,
state “breakfast in bed, was yummy in the tummy,
but next time use a big dinner plate,
down here, the burnt of the bread and the burnt
of other things (popcorn pieces)
is just a scratchiest fragrance too far,
needing a sheet wiped clean slate

even the colorless and tasteless water
absorb the ionosphere of smells,
because one does usually speak poetically,
one of us makes a (vice) presidential declaration:

she smells, I man-ually stink, each,
each glower shower nower,
open the window to the spring wet grass aroma fresh cut,
to exhume and then send away
this odor now christened,


nameless and shameless


11:47 28/4/19
Kenya83 Apr 2017
I don't know what it is or how to find it
Your eyes, your heart make me carelessly free-fall
Your soul igniting my soul, sets me alight in hot flames
There's no warning, no caution, no harness for protection from falling
I enjoy the phantom aches and pains

Can I love with my eyes alone
Can I love what I'll never know

It's simply and effortlessly you,
A complete creation, a package brimming, spilling sweet alluring wine
Drunk are my senses, drunk I'm happy to be
If it's the only way I feel you,
Right next to me
Mikaila Sep 2018
It’s just easy for them
Isn’t it?
This couple on the train.
They walked on laughing together
Holding hands
And I felt that familiar something-
Not jealousy
Not envy
But...
Chagrin.
Astonishment.
Incredulity.
Incomprehension.
Looking at them feels like looking at one of those
Impossible pictures
Where the stairs keep going forever in a loop.
It’s just
Easy for them.

It doesn’t hurt anymore, that thought,
But thinking it feels so odd in my mind
When I can’t imagine loving someone without
Shame,
Without pain.
They fit.
These people,
They fit without having to carve anything out.
They fit without punishing each other.
They fit like puzzle pieces cut from the same board-
No worries, they just go together, and that
Is that.
They fit like
“Of course.”
Like breathing.
Neatly.
Simply.
Carelessly.

I can’t imagine what it’s like
I can’t comprehend it-
To fit
Somewhere
Much less to fit somewhere
With someone.
I am always trying to corset myself into this world,
Lungs burning,
Trying to remain small enough to squeeze by
Catching myself by the wrist to keep from reaching
For anything.
And if there seems to be a spot where I might be able to exist as I am

It is always

Occupied.

Like a shiny pinprick
That thought hurts-
Not like the others it is newly cut
And still ******.
The idea that maybe there is a home for me
And that maybe I was too late for it.

They’re laughing.
He says something clever,
Passes a hand along the small of her back
And she leans into it,
Smiling because she loves that he wants to touch her innocently.
They seem to exist behind glass.
Not for the first time I wonder
If I could just slip into that life
Like a drop into an ocean
I want it badly
I want it stupidly
And I examine all the parts of myself,
All the edges and cracks,
All the things I’ve worked so hard to protect and repair.
It is not a welcome sight-
I am not a home
I am like an old ruin
Full of murmurings and cold spots
Full of dusty sunlight.
I sigh,
Knowing the secret I keep so poorly-
That if I really had a choice to be otherwise
I would have already made it.

I couldn’t reach them if I ran for a thousand years,
They are too far away.
They walk off the train, arms linked
Talking about nothing
And I watch them go
Like a hallucination,
Like a mirage in the desert.

Her perfume smells like forgetfulness
And it lingers.
This is a poem about how it feels as a gay woman to see a straight couple on the subway.
Claire Waters Nov 2013
you cry like lost toys and dead pets
there's nothing you can do about it right now
you cry like a small animal with a broken spinal chord
you keep whimpering, but it can only heal in time
you cry like pressing the skin of your palms
into the membranes of your eyes

when everything in your head is so cacophonous
you want to rub away all the little things you absorb
want that your hands could throw out this migraine
like a candy wrapper on the sidewalk
and if you believe hard enough that it's gone
you'll never notice the sugar rush or the comedown
so you press your hands to your face
as hard as you can and try to pray like a religious person
but you were raised christian and american and
the ways of believing and hoping and loving that you knew as a child
seem insincere now, and hard to speak
the language is not truthful
everything is what they told you it was not
nothing is what they told you it was
or everything was always what it was
and you or i could've told them that

and you think that wrapper might eventually end up in a landfill
if you go throwing it carelessly around
and sadness taken with too much sugar can be a toxic combination
so maybe making the bad things go away
is harder than throwing away the wrapper and enjoying the rush
maybe the wrapper is somewhere else now you can't get to
where you can't hear it crinkle or see it shrivel,
but you can still relentlessly feel it
getting whittled away by time and weather
while steadily melting down bits of you
as you pass your heart around
gasping inside the icebox

until one day you look up and the sun is a bloodier color
and your lungs are full of ice like pins
freezing inside of you
and when seconds before you had oxygen
as you begin choking, you think it's amazing how long
it seems to have been
since you were alive

your knuckles are dry from holding on
to a rusty ladder wrung
even when you want to move so badly
and there's nowhere to climb
you refuse to jump
and you're still trying to figure out
how to fall correctly
to break the least amount of limbs
Caren Jan 2018
Our future is talked about
So carelessly

Almost as if
We are the ones who aligned our stars in their galaxies

Almost as if we have control over our weather,
or our seasons,
or our natural disasters

Almost as if we can control the infinite number of species that walk the same ground and breathe the same air every day

We tend to forget how negligibly small We are
in comparison to the Universe that created Us.
We are only a fraction of this world We have made Our home
yet We treat the species greater and stronger than Us with inferiority

We talk about tomorrow almost as if
It is something We are able to manipulate.
Yet in reality,
Our future is something that even the greatest forces, far greater than you and I, cannot come close to grasping
Our future is inevitable
Our future is unpredictable.
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