"chalant" poems
So here I am.
Within your heartstrings.
I like to think I flow through your mind like blood flowing through your superior vena cava.
Constant;
And non-chalant.
And there you are.
Rolling and rolling and tumbling around the empty train station in my mind.
Like a tumble ****
Where did you come from?
Were you ever really mine?
What is the color of my eyes?
Grey, like the clouds.
At least that's what they tell me.
But you aren't here very often and only sometimes do you come around with your talent of using words to your advantage even though I'm the only person who sees through your fake persona and too long brown lucious hair.
But this one's for you.
Just like the one I wrote when I first started but that was a different story.
That had a different meaning.
A different message.
That one said;
"I love you."
This one says;
"I still do."
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
I’m not quite right today.
I’ve a thoroughly gasted flabber.
The milk of human kindness
Seems to have begun to clabber.
I got plussed but now it’s minus,
I’m so chalant I am nearly flat.
I am almost as spaced out
As a modern day Schrodinger’s cat.
Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.
I was once a pillar of immunity
But lately I am wagging a scally.
But somewhere along the line
I became a cat in some alley.
I‘m at five sixes and sevens
I lost the war and the battle.
My creek is totally full of ****
Here I am without a paddle.
Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.
My last leg hurts a lot, and
My pooch is rather *******
I’d say I am a bit ******
But then, that would be lewd.
I’m a scant one barrel short
Of being a real son of a gun.
My **** has started whiffing
And is no longer much fun.
Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 11:08 PM UTC
Chalance is the quiver in your vivacious voice as you tell them you're fine.
The trepid tear you battle as you proclaim that you don't care anymore.
The leering lump in your throat as you scream indifference from the rooftops.
The murky melancholy you mask with the widest of smiles,
The sinful scars that lurk beneath your flawless ensemble.
The six strategic seconds you pause before you tell the universe you're nonchalant
The word chalant is only as non-existent as your nonchalance.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC
a sanctuary is a figment
that holds onto
crepe thin walls
attempting to console
& I am so sad,
& I am delicate.
a rectangle-d square
that encases
abundant possessions
wanting purpose
& I am so sad,
& I am meaningless.
a mirrored niche
that abounds
exorbitant realities
coaxing something
& I am so sad,
& I am unfound.
my sanctuary is a figment
that I hold onto
nostalgic for touch
I long for you
& I am so sad,
& I am foolish.
emotional access chalant-less spew
you can choose I can't choose
garnered love brained tongue
I give to you given through
& I am so sad,
painless in your tone,
passing as you go.
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 12:00 PM UTC
Failed promises mourned with soft moans and muffled cries
Words that once creased my face with smiles, now turned lies
Broken spirit have made my body go numb and unfeeling like ice
And I'm left with an ache so enormous in size!
You don't have to read and click the button 'like'
I just wanna pour out my heart and not get psyched
See if I could like a pond build around my heart a solid ****
If it would ever make me secured, tsk!
But really, is it normal for me to feel this depressed?
Those who's lost it a long time ago think I'm blessed!
Maybe I am, on the brighter side but then what's with this foul mood?
That has made me non-chalant and rude!
I don't like this transformation that has made me sobersided
Not like I wanna lallygag but I'll just love to be free-minded
Not to feel this emptiness that is frustrating me
Just wanna be at peace with everyone and still be who God wants me to be
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
Architect of all
His existence, a ravel mystery
Each man to his own opinion of him
We must be right, others are left
Non existent, tolerant
Loving or simply non chalant
Who cares?
For my belief I can not die
It might just be another lie
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
A long time ago, I thought suppressing my feelings and not showing affection was a good thing.
I thought not caring about people was playing safe.
But you , you changed everything.
In the midst of bizarre beliefs, you cared.
You've always been there despite my non chalant ways. You never stopped having faith in me even when I never did and I have done very little to earn that. You cared for me in many ways I never did. You're a perfect epitome of the word friend.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 5:54 AM UTC
I hate this feeling
Like it really doesn't matter.
I'm in love with everything
That is you.
And I'm trying so hard to be
Independent and non chalant
But I'm screaming on the inside.
Begging for you to say
"I love you more"
"I need you always"
I've got this inner turmoil.
Dread of my own being.
I want to be with you
Next to you
Touching you
Caressing and kissing you.
But I'm so far away.
God it's lonely here.
Nobody ever says that.
Love can be very lonely.
It's horrible to feel like this.
Like I'm an accessory to your life
And not the centerpiece you are
In mine.
How do I get rid of this....
This god awful feeling.
Maybe I'll never know
Just wandering through life
Hoping for an answer
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
Natalia was mean to me,
I was 11,
I was 13,
Teachers said to stop flirting,
I misplaced ideas of what that meant,
I am 32 and Natalia is married with 2 kids,
Is it supposed to mean something,
Aging emo,
Codependency was never cute,
But at least they made some good records,
The records I am making were
Best broken bottles setting scenes at 8 am
Sober and spiritual,
Non chalant locked in battle
With too much chalant,
Writing letters that transform and terrorize,
Just to get the cathartic release,
Putting those letters back in the ether box,
They were never said,
But they were,
With glances and bad motives,
Harping on that embarrassment you felt,
After shouting into that flooded storm,
Yes,
This is loneliness,
This is the late night doom scrolling,
The early morning speed dates of pictures and one word pick-up line,
I should be further,
I shouldn't feel this,
******* crazy,
Misguided meetings,
Modern motivation through justifications,
I'm definitely going for the meditation not the manipulation
I accept my feelings after dizzying candlelights and a shouting mind,
But just because I accept feelings,
Doesn't mean that they don't ****
"Who knew sobriety would make you so suicidal."
I guess only the ones who made it far enough to feel those unaccepted feelings,
The sun still rises,
Better come up with a better pick-up line.
Aug 1, 2022
Aug 1, 2022 at 2:33 PM UTC
Dreams came to me
Of my mother's dying breath
Given by word of a cold and casual father
Just another day
Begin the observation
Not another word was said
Other than
"Where did it happen?"
And I couldn't pull the pieces together
For not a single tear fell from my eye
Only a distant shift of contact to the floor
So I retreated and walked away
Acting as the observer
It was time for work
And the ocean was beginning to roar
The sky was a mixture of ominous blues and blacks
And I thought of how funny it is that it would happen on such a day
I continued on repairing the deep sea vessel like a marine in his battlefield
Stop now and hear. The chain is relentlessly bewildering.
I walked back into the wildly colored room where I heard the news of her sudden demise
And there she was standing, dressed nicely in her usual non-chalant attire with a cigarette in her hand
Without hesitation I lunged myself into her arms and cried like a newborn babe seeing life for the first time
"I'm okay"
She gently whispered
Then I awoke
And again played my role as the observer
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 2:34 AM UTC
Let it stream
Be believable
be-come a beacon an
What am I butta heathen
So to me **** talk is a cakewalk
I'll chalk it always
Straight up Block it outta memry
Non-stop
Vestiges
I Never been so
Non- chalant
Null in void
So numb to it
But sometimes heaven hits
... And after a billion epiphanies
A weakened soul
Can be made redeemable
All on my own now
Apr 19, 2024
Apr 19, 2024 at 1:25 AM UTC