"characterized" poems
Before I begin, allow me to explain,
I too loved.. once,
so think of me not as some cynic-
nor as a master in the ways of love-
but rather as a keen observer-
now, that may mean I have nothing to offer you-
no insider knowledge-
no secrets of love-
But I do know how to tell a true love story -
Interested?
Fantastic-
So let’s begin,
True love, if there is such a thing at all,
is like the thread that makes the cloth
you can’t tease it out-
you can’t extract meaning-
without ending up deeper in the web-
and it always remains-
hidden under layers -
In the end, that’s all you can really say about any
True love story-
They don’t generalize-
They don’t analyze-
They arent found-
They just… happen.
and that’s what makes them “true.”
But what is this coveted “love” -
the emotion?-
the act?-
the mentality?-
Love, is a constant state of illusionment-
A collective agreement amongst humans-
that it, whatever it may be, can be treated as an excuse
for recklessness, irrationality, and misplaced strife-
A quid pro quo between two individuals-
to agree that they are doing something-
anything-
other than mindlessly drudging through life-
Now that is not to say that what love creates is pointless-
I said before, I have felt the embrace of love
Love festers between individuals for so long
it has no option-
but to mould the physical to itself-
and alter our personalities-
Characterized by spontaneity-
by indulgence-
by risk-
to love is the most dangerous experience in existence-
the act of being fully vulnerable with another-
while promising not to hurt them the same-
Love is characterized by vulnerability-
and the constant fear of being hurt-
So you want to know how to write a true love story?
be honest-
dwell not on the “romantic” blindfolds that keep us irrationally seeking our partners-
dwell not on the on the memories of a love that blossomed-
reveal the core of love -
A true love story comes from gut instinct-
A true love story, comes from experience.
A true love story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe
So I said I loved once,
allow me to elaborate-
I too have felt the “butterfly stomach”
- where the insides of the lovestruck turn on their host and manifests the emotional significance of meeting “the one”
I too have spent the day daydreaming...
-Lost in the thought of “the one”, seeking brief breaks from reality in my mind between moments of utter normalcy
I too have melted into a puddle of emotion….
-lying next to “the one” as we slowly spill more and more of the secrets that bound us as individuals, joining a spirit much larger than ourselves-
I too have felt... invincible-
-to know that I’ve found something more significant than myself. Something that replaces the fear of the future.. and makes it something to look forward to.
Yes, I too have fallen in love.
and I did just that-
I fell.
..And that is my true love story-
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
Thinking, Pondering, Wondering
What’s wrong with me, am I too nice? Are my friend’s right?
For I heard this phrase for so long
Junior year to be exact.
Are you gay, you **** bro are you straight?
(Is what I heard)
Are you crazy, **** them hoes
(Is what they said)
Go out and get that bread
It’s all coming back to me.
Too nice
Is what I’m characterized as
Never the one to go out and get it.
What you going to with it?
You gonna to hit that, tap that
Because if you don’t I surely will pull that cap back
In to reality
Snap, it’s all coming back to me.
See I’ve had my time of deception and deceit
For now I’m grown and just want to take a seat
Relax and think
Blind to see that special someone for me.
But, in this world there’s no room for that
All society wants you to do is have babies,
Be poor, struggling
Oh, that’s a class act.
But for me, I don’t belong
Others strung along like a puppeteer singing their favorite song
Bounce that *** Twerk that
Is what our women are suppose to know
But, who is the one to show
All the beauty and potential they possess
Progress into women of success.
Too bad none of them will ever see that.
Most of them will be on their backs, thrusting
While the eyes of the Lord watching, as his child
Is no longer is his little girl.
Too Nice
Ponder at the fact that nice guys finish last
Where are the gentlemen, the ones that take women
Out on dates, but their afraid to actual settle down
Thinking I’ll look like a clown when my homies find out.
Sincerity and acknowledgment are things of the past.
Now days, saying ***** and *** is what’s going to get you past
In life, I learned that you can’t make everyone happy
But, if I can make most then that makes me happy.
Gratitude and simple thank you is all I ask
A little kerseys and small “how do” will do for I don’t ask for much
Friendship, Loyalty, and Respect
F.L.R.
But, how can that get you so far, because in this world no one cares about
Your feelings.
Phssst, what were you thinking?
I was thinking that for once, just once nice guys wouldn’t finish last.
Be glad while you have me for who know how long I’m a stay
TOO NICE
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 6:04 PM UTC
This Distant Light
by Walid Khazindar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Bitterly cold,
winter clings to the naked trees.
If only you would free
the bright sparrows
from your fingertips
and release a smile―that shy, tentative smile―
from the imprisoned anguish I see.
Sing! Can we not sing
as if we were warm, hand-in-hand,
sheltered by shade from a sweltering sun?
Can you not always remain this way,
stoking the fire: more beautiful than expected, in reverie?
Darkness increases and we must remain vigilant
since this distant light is our sole consolation ...
this imperiled flame, which from the beginning
has constantly flickered,
in danger of going out.
Come to me, closer and closer.
I don't want to be able to tell my hand from yours.
And let's stay awake, lest the snow smother us.
Walid Khazindar was born in Gaza City. He is considered to be one of the very best Palestinian poets; his poetry has been said to be "characterized by metaphoric originality and a novel thematic approach unprecedented in Arabic poetry." He was awarded the first Palestine Prize for Poetry in 1997. Keywords/Tags: Arabic, translation, Arab, Palestine, Palestinian, Gaza, distant, light, flame, fire, autumn, winter, trees, birds, sparrows, fingertips, smile, sing, shade, sun, fire, darkness, hand, hands, snow
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 4:24 AM UTC
the way mental health is treated really bothers me,
you shouldn’t want to be
depressed
or anxious
because you think its trendy or fun.
disorders are not adjectives you can just spew out at your leisure,
they are real things that hurt people and ruin lives.
you shouldn’t fear telling your friends,
your parents,
your lover,
that you might have a serious problem,
that you are worried about yourself.
you’re not sick or broken,
you might need help but that doesn’t make you a bad person,
right?
you shouldn’t be scared to see a doctor,
to see someone that can help you,
simply because you don’t want to be characterized as:
"they just couldn’t handle the pressure",
"why are you doing this to us?",
"you just want attention",
the walking freak show.
with all your faults,
character flaws,
every cell and every misconnected neuron,
you are still a human being.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 1:34 AM UTC
My:
Belonging to or being associated with the speaker
Love:
An intense feeling of romance or ****** attraction towards an object.
Of:
Expressing the relationship between a part and a whole
Life:
A condition that distinguishes the active and self-sustaining.
Is:
Exist
Defined:
To state or describe the exact nature of an object
By:
Identifying the agent performing the action
Moments:
A very brief measure of time.
Of:
Expressing the relationship between a part and a whole
Happiness:
A state of being characterized by emotions ranging from contentment to intense joy.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 1:15 AM UTC
She might laugh if she read this
at the flat little version of her
that lives in my mind.
She may laugh
at my comparison of her
to a hideous sea spider
but hear me out
it could be touching.
David Foster Wallace wrote:
*“Since pain is a totally subjective mental experience
we do not have direct access
to anyone or anything’s pain but our own;
and even just the principles
by which we can infer that others experience pain
and have a legitimate interest in not feeling pain
involve ******** philosophy—
metaphysics, epistemology, value theory, ethics.”
*"[Lobsters] do have an exquisite tactile sense,
one facilitated by hundreds of thousands of tiny hairs
that protrude through their carapace.
Although encased
in what seems a solid, impenetrable armour,
the lobster can receive stimuli and impressions from without
as readily as if it possessed a soft and delicate skin.”*
and so
“We lift lobsters out of the bag
or whatever retail container they came home in
…whereupon some uncomfortable things start to happen.
However stuporous the lobster is from the trip home, for instance,
it tends to come alarmingly to life when placed in boiling water."*
As much as I cannot comprehend the pain
of the exquisitely tactile lobster
in a *** of boiling water,
I wonder if I could
walk a mile in a lobster’s 8 minuscule shoes
and I wonder
what it might mean or not mean to her
with her armoured yet acute exoskeleton
to be back at home with her father.
They might try to butter you up
or snap elastic bands
around your oversized claws
and use a wooden spoon
to try and nudge your thrashing, clinging arms
back into the ***
but remember:
lobsters can live to be over 100 years old
and grow to over 20 pounds in size
which is very large for an aquatic insect
and remember that they are marine crustaceans of the family Homaridae, characterized by five pairs of jointed legs, the first pair terminating in large pincerish claws.
And DFW famously said,
“Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.”
and he's not a lobster either
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Your ***** - my ***** - our ****** gone
Over 5000 people were there to morn
So when I hear you callin him I get real torn
And emotionally become a bit forlorn
Your ***** – my ***** –our ****** dead
What’s it gonna take to get that through your head
Some blame it on the kinda life he led
But I blame it on all y’all instead
Your ***** – my ***** everywhere I go
Our ****** dead - act like you know
It’s become a sport or some kinda game
To casually evoke his name in vain
Your ***** – my ***** – our ***** is
Turning in the grave site where he lives
All the while wonderin what the hell gives
And I ain’t jiving you I’m talkin square biz
Your ***** – my ***** – our ****** gone
Out of pain and struggle our ***** was born
The object of ridicule and also scorn
Now the mention of his name only brings a yawn
Your ***** – my ***** – our ****** at rest
After all he’s been through he deserved no less
But y’all like to drop his name nevertheless
No respect for the dead if I was to guess
Your ***** – my ***** – our ***** died
But y’all still call him like he was alive
If the truth be told then you would confide
Nothin I said can be denied
Your ***** – my ***** our ***** too
Carried himself the way most ****** do
Pants fallin down draggin at his shoe
Actin as if he had a missin *****
Your ***** – my ***** our ***** was
Characterized by what a ***** does
Everywhere he goes he creates a buzz
Your ***** – my ***** – our ****** gone
Out of pain and struggle our ***** was born
The object of ridicule and also scorn
Now the mention of his name only brings a yawn
Your ***** – my ***** – our ***** see
Met with a horrible tragedy
So he’s not here he ceases to be
Anything other than a memory
Free at last free at last at last he’s free
Your ***** – my ***** – our ***** gave
Everything he had when he was enslaved
Finally at rest in a six foot grave
And all we’re left with is his name to save
Your ***** – my ***** - our ****** through
But then again I think somehow you knew
To a ****** code the ***** was true
Now letting him go is the thing to do
Your ***** – my ***** – our ***** left
But none of y’all act as if you are bereft
Your ***** – my ***** – our ****** gone
Out of pain and struggle our ***** was born
The object of ridicule and also scorn
Now the mention of his name only brings a yawn
Your ***** - my ***** - our ****** gone
Over 5000 people were there to morn
So when I hear you callin him I get real torn
And emotionally become a bit forlorn
Your ***** – my ***** –our ****** dead
What’s it gonna take to get that through your head
Some blame it on the kinda life he led
But I blame it on all y’all instead
Your ***** – my ***** everywhere I go
Our ****** dead - act like you know
It’s become a sport or some kinda game
To casually evoke his name in vain
Your ***** – my ***** – our ***** is
Turning in the grave site where he lives
All the while wonderin what the hell gives
And I ain’t jiving you I’m talkin square biz
Your ***** – my ***** – our ****** gone
Out of pain and struggle our ***** was born
The object of ridicule and also scorn
Now the mention of his name only brings a yawn
(c) Copyright 2015. Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 11:22 PM UTC
I have never been sophisticated
sophistication just never related
relative to everything i hated
hatred of the over-stated
i have never been materialistic
materialism isnt a characteristic
characterized by a mind that's realistic
realize i am not hedonistic
i never gave a **** about tradition
traditional is subject to my definition
defined by my own composition
composed of passion and ambition
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 6:13 PM UTC
Some days, I wish I was deaf
I wish I couldn't hear
So that people could make their routine sounds
And my mind would stay clear
'Misophonia' they call it
It's driving me insane
A hum, a chew, a noise
Replaying in my brain
I can't abide people
Because they'll make a sound
And just like that my good mood
Crashes to the ground
Misophonia, they call it
Misophonia, I hate my ears
They pick up every single noise
I wish I couldn't hear
Misophonia, literally “hatred of sound”, is a form of decreased sound tolerance. It is believed[1] to be a neurological disorder characterized by negative experiences resulting only from specific sounds, whether loud or soft.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
The absence of wonder in your eyes and sincerity from your mouth monotonously reassures the credibility of my contempt for casual communication with characterized ?individuals?
My own iris has been stretched by my eager to expand awareness.
I normally pity someone like this,
But your arrogant certainty shook my shadow to consciousness.
It told me to cast you naked into the glare,
Maybe snip your eyelids out of spite. Its fortunate for you that I am not a slave to the fury.
No constructive change would come of my martyrdom.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
i have never been sophisticated
sophistication just never related
relative to everything i hated
hatred of the over-stated
i have never been materialistic
materialism isn't a characteristic
characterized by a mind that's realistic
realize, i am not hedonistic
i never gave a **** about tradition
traditional is subject to my definition
defined by my own composition
composed of passion and ambition
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
It’s warm
It’s fuzzy
And it’s coming soon to a heart near you:
The warm fuzzy feeling!
This feeling is characterized
By soft happiness,
Frequent daydreams,
Feeling comfortable and loved,
And starry eyes.
The feeling is often found after
A five-minute phone call to say “Goodnight,
I love you.”
And kissing the microphone to hang up.
COMING SOON TO A HEART NEAR YOU!
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 7:25 AM UTC
No one born too far from Niedersachsen, said Oma,
ever quite captures their sing-song intonation.
Characterized by subtleties, like an umlauted vowel,
all non-native imitations sound inevitably as ******
as would a cry of “ello, guv’nah!” in a London coffee shop.
Her Plattdeutsch instincts neutered
by decades abroad, married to a son of Milwaukee,
her permanent, dormant longing for Salzgitter awakes only
to trigger hunger pangs of irreconcilable nostalgia
at the passing whiff of a Germantown bakery.
She taught me the word “sehnsucht” over lukewarm coffee
and a pause in our conversation: a compound word
that no well-intentioned English translation
could render faithfully.
It isn’t the same as just longing, she sighed— longing is curable.
Sehnsucht holds the fragments
of an imperfect world and laments
that they are patternless. How the soul
yearns vaguely for a home
remembered only in the residual ache
of incomplete childhood fancies;
futile as the ruins
of an ancient, annihilated people.
How life’s staccato joys soothe
a heart sore from the world,
yet the existential hunger, gnawing
from the malnourished stomach
of the bruised human psyche, remains—
insatiable, eternal.
Long enough ago, a reasonably-priced bus ride away
from the red-roofed apartment in which she babbled her first words,
a kindly old man in a pharmacy asked her
about her peculiar, exotic accent. Once inevitably prompted
with the question of where she was from, she responded only
that she was a tourist off the beaten track.
And when I pointed out, to my immediate regret,
that she gets the same question back here in Ohio,
I realized then that, not once, has she ever referred to the way
the people of her pined-for hometown spoke
as though she had ever belonged to it.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
1.youre too careful and too soft and your stomach
is growling. (you havent figured out if its
the emptiness you like
or feeling like youre alive, after all)
2. your teeth start to fall out in your hands;
your gums are rotted through.your blood
tastes like sweet wine
honey in in a fly trap
a cavernous echo when you feel brave enough to open
your mouth and beg.
3. there are princesses in your dreams, and theyre dripping blood
onto the carpet
(your mom bought it special for you two years ago
shes going to be furious.)
4. dissociative identity disorder is characterized by the presence of two or more distinct personality states
5. youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire
6. youre covered in dirt. stop screaming in public
*be quiet you ******* slimeball*
what a creep.
7. you wake up in the middle of the night. you are missing two of your limbs. this
is normal
you go back to sleep.
8. she is delighted at your progress. you smile, and feathers are stuck between your teeth.
the dead bird in your lap says nothing.
9. you wake up in the middle of the night. you are in a coffin. this
is normal
you go back to sleep.
10. she is delighted at your progress. you smile, and clean up the mess you made.
11. you wake up in the middle of the night. your arm is missing. this
is normal
you go back to sleep.
the dead bird on the floor says nothing.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
Heaven, heaven is one breath away! Heaven, heaven is someone’s array of death and decay. May I say? The havens and heavens above is a way for the doves and for its love. For the day, the gay, the gray, the prey, the stray, the Sundays and sunrays! Heaven, heaven is a hideaway, a passageway, a safe way, a sway away! Heaven, heaven
is basically, eccentrically, theoretically and poetically for some of the
awesome that blossom! It’s an anthem or a poem! It’s fearsome, it’s freedom and a kingdom of wisdom! Heaven, heaven is a place of face, grace, race and trace. It’s full of allure and demure! It’s rest and a test assured! Where, there you can invest the best and insure your problems can be cured! Heaven, heaven’s characterized cries and eyes! The flies, the lies, the prize in disguise! Its skies, ties, the whys and the
wise. Footprints and imprints of ancient legends of heroes, Negroes and Neros of long, long ago! Heaven, heaven’s gorgeous doorsteps! Yep! Its havens grand, take a stand. Many brands, many hands, many
strands of many sands! Heaven, heaven is enormous and glamorous! It’s where adjacent, impatient humorous, numerous followers throng and prolong! The bleak, meek, the weak, the strong and wrong! There
is where, reactive in proactive citizens and frail senior citizens hail and sail! They prevail as they unveil! They thrive and throng to there,
where righteous, brightness belongs. Heaven, heaven all adhere and hear! The allowed, the followed, the hallowed, the supreme cloud towers and gracious powers! Heaven, heaven basked and tasked by thy masked gleam. Aside, inside it seemed I was alone…
As I cried, as I sighed! Tied in wonder, under the heaven’s throne of wonder! In blunder, as I wondered if I were dead? Instead, black crows in rows, attacked and flew over my head! Squawking, talking, flying asunder, with plunder, plunder, under the thunder, thunder! Definitely bringing me to my knees! Infinitely squawking, talking, flying around me with ease, glee and tease! Please heaven, heaven!
For instance in the distance... It’s dreamingly and seemingly quaint you see! Faint sounds of angel’s hymning and rhyming! Their heavenly, heavenly, singing, ringing triumphantly, triumphantly! Although, through the distance and persistence in time; we to will hopefully and loyally dine. Dine in thrill, on the heaven, heaven’s divine! Amen all children, men and women, heaven, heaven amen.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 10:12 PM UTC
Wish life was at least as explicable as The HMM,
But alas! It's even more complex.
You may understand The HMM one day,
But not your life and interactions.
In probability & statistics,
A Markov chain or Markoff chain or a Markov Process,
Named after the Russian mathematician Andrey Markov,
Is a stochastic process that satisfies the Markov property
And is usually characterized as "memorylessness".
Imagine an urn experiment with replacement,
Hidden Markov Model can be visualized likewise.
***Consider a hidden room with a genie inside,
The room has N urns with n ***** in each.***
*The genie chooses an urn in that room,
He randomly draws a ball from the urn.
He then puts the ball onto a conveyor belt,
Which is being observed for the sequence,
Only the ***** on the conveyor are visible,
Not the urns from which they were drawn.
The genie has a procedure to choose urns,
The choice of the urn for the n-th ball,
It depends only upon a random number,
And the choice of the urn for the (n − 1)-th ball.
The choice of urn does not directly depend on
The urns chosen before this single previous urn;
Therefore, this is called a Markov process.*
***Hidden Markov models model complex Markov processes,
Where the states emit the observations according to a distribution.
One such example is a Gaussian distribution,
In such a Hidden Markov Model,
The state's output are represented by a Gaussian distribution.***
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 6:02 AM UTC
*“Since pain is a totally subjective mental experience"
"we do not have direct access"
"to anyone or anything’s pain"
"but our own;"
"and even just the principles"
"by which we can infer"
"that others experience pain"
"and have a legitimate interest in not feeling pain"
"involve ******** philosophy—"
"metaphysics, epistemology, value theory, ethics.”*
- From Consider the Lobster by David Foster Wallace
David I've considered it and
I think she might laugh if she read
that a version of her
briny and spined
pint sized
now resides in the depths of my mind,
She might laugh
at my comparison of her
to a hideous sea spider
but it’s because, as you say,
one can neither comprehend the pain
of an exquisitely tactile lobster in a *** of boiling water,
nor walk a mile in it's eight lilliputian shoes
So I am left to wonder
what it might mean or not mean to her
in her armoured yet acute exoskeleton
to have quit school and
be back to her fathers house
on Prince Edward Island.
and what I'd want to tell her is:
They might try to butter you up,
bridle your anger with blue rubber bands,
Use their wooden spoons
to nudge your thrashing, clinging arms
back into the ***
but as we know,
lobsters can live to be over one hundred years old
and grow to be over twenty pounds in size
which is very large for an aquatic insect
and they are marine crustaceans of the family Homaridae,
characterized by five pairs of jointed legs,
the first pair terminating in large pincerish claws
I know she knows how to use them.
Which reminds me of something else you said:
"Everything I've ever let go of has claw marks on it."
A feeling I can understand
Though I'm no more lobster
than she
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
There exists a mystical and quadruple representation of words, which is likened to a dictatorial Superstate, where translation is subject to that which is spoken, heard, written and read within the context of trans-national capitalism.
As we gaze from beyond the glow of the pulsating circumference, we can humbly acknowledge the ludicrous predicament of the many who are ruled by the few.
The parameters of this earthen citizenship may be somewhat characterized by embracing the perceived benefits of the system and a state of financially intoxicated anosognosia. However, as we traverse this metaphysical cataclysm where the majority votes of public arrangement diametrically oppose absolute law and that which is deemed to be reasonable; our compulsory co-operation self-regulates with a cardiovascular beat of semantic propaganda and monopolized dissention, where the relinquished rights of our revered forefathers have been re-written by coercive legislators in the name of socio-political equality.
The philosophy of meaning and political expression both buries into and removes her gorgeous face from the cuniform textures of Sahara catacombs, where we ****** relate and disengage from the **** with tyranny.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
Why are you appealing to me-
Stimulating my ****** desire
tending to arouse evil with inside
Me- You
Us
Identical-
Suggestively I've laid out
flowery perfumed petal
trailing to the bedroom
I've characterized you
by obscenity's & indecency's
you've already let me get away with
**** vivacious recipient-
eluding the lubricious
embraces of
my prurient thought.
Thigh high boots
Whips Creme & chains
Swing chair done up tight to the ceiling,
Lubrications lotions & potions,
Candlelit flickers
as
Our
silhouette's merge into
Identical
mirrored image
You- Me
Mingling
Melting- the little death
becomes
Us!
Identical........
Always me Ayeshah
Mar 9, 2010
Mar 9, 2010 at 6:47 PM UTC
I have never been sophisticated
sophistication just never related
relative to everything i hated
hatred of the over-stated
i have never been materialistic
materialism isnt a characteristic
characterized by a mind that's realistic
realize i am not hedonistic
i never gave a **** about tradition
traditional is subject to my definition
defined by my own composition
composed of passion and ambition
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
Today I feel no longing.
Characterized like a crossroad,
but different,
like being lost in the woods
with all directions abound, not limited.
And no reason to commit to one path.
I’d rather not decide just yet.
I’d rather sit and wait.
For though I know each path has virtues
and they will all exit pines
to open grace and cathartic shine,
the resounding factor of length of time
makes me hesitate.
And as I waste away my life
waiting for one path to materialize
into something I have passion for,
the trees around me become visible.
The forest is alive, and finds meaning in its life
Simply Existing.
And I envy these woods because its life has more meaning than mine ever could.
No matter which path I take.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 3:11 AM UTC
I want to tell you about love. What it does to you. How it feels when you’re “in” it. What it’s like to lose it, and what it’s like to have it and not be able to show it, or have it but not be able to share it, because it’s not reciprocated.
Love is a strange thing. It’s probably the only thing that’s very obviously real that we have to question the existence of. It’s the only thing that is answered with “I was, but maybe I wasn’t” when asked “have you been in it?”. It’s compiled of essentially every emotion, it’s horrible, but, somehow beautiful. Anger, jealousy, grief, loss, loneliness are to name a few of the negatives of it. But when it’s returned, happiness, joy, ecstasy, and positivity are what is felt.
Love turns you into a ball of unorganized unexplainable emotions, characterized by a feeling of uncertainty and great need. Love yearns to be reciprocated, that’s all it asks for. Do we all ask for it? Probably not considering some of us throw it away like it doesn’t even exist. But we need it to be reciprocated, maybe not the first time, maybe not the second time, who knows you might feel the truest love you’ve ever felt in your life and you won’t get it back at the twentieth time. Love is cruel like that, kind of a joker of some sorts, and yeah, maybe it’s a ***** for that like our old friend karma, but at least karma is always sent back, what comes around doesn’t always go around in love, and when it doesn’t come back around, it can eat away at your heart like an infection that refuses to go away.
Sometimes, we lose love, we had it and it was amazing, but we lose it, and it’s terrible. It makes you wish you could blow away with the wind, in fact it feels like you are. You feel like you’re hollow inside, as if even the gentle breeze will blow you away. Cold, like your heart has stopped pumping and your body has no choice but to share the temperature of the air around you – cold blooded. Nothing is worth it anymore, and honestly, you feel so dead inside that you choose that to do nothing is better than to do something – nihilistic almost.
But tis better to have loved and lost, than to have never have loved at all, right? To have a deep yearning inside of you that can never be returned by the one you love, that is true torture. You can beat me, you can hold me down, you can leave me to rot in the darkness, but leave me in love and alone, and that is true horror. A sadness that can’t be fixed, and hole that cannot be filled, to be in love and have no one to share it with is what true sadness is compiled of.
Why even love, it’s horrible, disheartening, depressing, saddening, and just plain bad. **** love it’s pretty much the bane of humanity and the end all of happiness. We should all just give up
But no, don’t give up, whatever you do don’t let go, love is beautiful. It’s bad when we lose it, of course it is; losing anything good is bad. Love is difficult, but it makes it special, and when you finally climb your mountain I promise you, you will be happy, you will feel fulfilled and you will never regret having persevered for your happy ending. Go out, don’t give up, find your love and get it, I believe in you, you deserve your happiness, now go get it.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
Sometimes, with a roll of the dice
A child receives a blessing that comes with a price
They can be born with the blessing of being smart
Yet in society, they'll always be apart
Who would've known that a bigger or stronger brain
Can make people think you're entirely insane
If you do one thing well in your prime
Then you'll be stuck doing that till the end of time
And if you ever try to quit
Why would you? You're good at it
There's so much pressure on you
That there's nothing you can look forward to
And if you get just one thing incorrect
There's something in your brain that needs to be checked
People will look up to you, but you're up there alone
Sitting down on your worthless diamond throne
And if you aren't better than only some
You're immediately characterized as dumb
Would you really want to feel so apart
Just so you could be a bit more smart?
Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 6:36 PM UTC
Fibromyalgia is a chronic muscle disorder characterized by widespread pain.
My mother's caramel hued skin has transitioned
to a much darker shade. Strands of hair gracefully
fall from her scalp as feelings of
agony and helplessness replace her
jocund spirit, destroying the essence
of who she once was. Her embodiment
deteriorates alongside her crumbling flesh.
Veins bulge underneath her skin; knots form
below her kneecaps; misery creeps up her spine.
As stridulous moans escape my mother's lips,
I can only offer sympathy. This disease latches on to
anyone within it's reach -- not only targeting
victims but their families as well. Like a predator,
fibromyalgia seeks to control every aspect of her
being – passionately tugging the affected between
the struggle to persevere or succumb to its' insanity.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC