"characterizing" poems
the ritual is like a dance foreshadowed by the first rush;
a smooth and soothing building block
characterizing my indulgence.
the room brightens and colorful shafts of light
surround my television in waves of heat.
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
Narcissism - extreme selfishness, with a grandiose view of one's own talents and a craving for admiration, as characterizing a personality type.
...
So, it means someone who's focused on themselves?
Not even caring about those around them?
Reading the information from the books on the shelves,
so does that mean, our relationship was to be condemned?
Apparently to you, it was already broken from the beginning.
I poured everything out to you,
my past scars and secrets...
And then out of the blue,
you unveil a weakness.
A weakness that you knew was an illness.
Three days was all it took,
for you to already destroy my heart once more.
You promised you wouldn't, you crook.
But you thought I was a bore,
because you would crave change.
At first I thought, your narcissism was cute...
I didn't see a problem at all.
You were as sweet as fruit,
but then I realized they were empty words,
and I began to bawl.
You have taught me something,
and that is to never trust a narcissist.
Because in the end it was for nothing,
for they are artists.
Able to persuade you into believing something is real.
When in reality, you were just a target for them.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
She always tries to emulate every image that voyaged through her vision
Changing her ****** orientation characterizing it as a snazzy trend
Falsely claiming that she’s bisexual as a cover to fit the scene
Labels herself a natural person at the expense of her sanity
She crafts lacerations in ostentatious areas to gain sympathy
Shoots my point of view to hell then discards me as another victim
To foil her devious scheme to use and bruise the hearts of the innocent
Offers to shave her head not for a cure but an outrageous plea for help
Using people as pillows for her infinite barrage of tear drop artillery
Being the two-face she devil that she is she then grabs her knife
And stabs me in the back while expelling a heartless laugh from her vocals
Revealing a stone, cold soul showing not even the slightest hint of mercy
This lady and the euphoria of love are complete strangers to each other
But I refuse to take the blame for what she inherited from her mother
Attention ***** and nothing more on bended knee across the floor
As I strip her soul down to the core and make her run straight for the door
She doesn’t stand a chance against the rapture of this dreadful beast
For this beast wants to feast upon her delectably succulent meat
Now I have not a clue what realm she lives in
Or what she’s trying to ensue
But the only thing I can say is
P.S. **** You
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 4:39 AM UTC
How sad is it,
that their is so much that needs clarity,
but it's all prevented by the very thing that gives us disparity,
it is [but of course!] the very essence, the very source,
of our own vanity.
See how the birds fly,
yes how pretty the birds are as they go on by.
But think how simple it is, that they don't care how each other looks,
and they don't need to worry about what they're being told,
by biased and characterizing books.
They prune their feathers,
and ready themselves
for any weather,
then they sing.
What do they sing?
Why do they sing?
Why is it pleasing,
soothing, comforting,
amazing and simple,
just for our ears,
why do we always worry,
about the coming years?
The mockingbird,
there's a bird, that has no care in the world,
as it sounds like whatever it hears,
it does it daringly,
and best of it all, it does it without fears.
No fear of judgement,
no care for purpose or otherwise,
it's the truest mirror of a voice,
just as it is, a truth in itself, devoid of any lies.
Mockingbird, mocking the bird,
tweeting, is what we do,
when it just gets harder to talk,
to simply me and you.
Why can't we be like mocking birds,
not mocking the birds, that fly on by,
or is this really,
the only thing that we can do?
Mocking bird, mocking bird,
sing us a song,
sing us a song,
of the things we know,
of what's right and wrong.
Won't you sing too?
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
Shifting gears
Revolutions near
Red line absorption
In blue sky spectrums
Characterizing wave~particle
Photonic duality
Designating principals
Using dark features
Coinciding emissions
With elemental missions
Broad strokes
Masking narrow bands
Of water lilies
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
her boots have canyons in the seams
loose stitching comes undone until
it seems that the very fabric holding
the rubber and canvas together
will fracture like an unreliable narrator's
stream of consciousness
fragments of unreality
they will fall by the wayside
hand-me-downs to those
less fortunate and she'll
select a new set
to wear thin
some people swap shoes readily
bedazzled with glitter or emblazoned
with images of intergalactic wars or
Winnie the Pooh caricatures
characterizing our oscillating
personalities and whimsical fancies
i wear the same
beat-to-shit pair
each and every day
i feel at home when
my soles sink into
the warm embrace
of entangled laces
regardless of
where i roam
gigs at local venues
beach excursions after dark
vegan cafés
craft coffee bars
cramped classrooms
both teacher and student
i may wear many hats
but my sneakers remain
interminable
they say death is but
the next great adventure
i'm not certain i believe it
but i'll wear these vans to
my casket just in case
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
Simply seeking solace in bouncing thoughts
Feeling warmth in that cold rock
Characterizing an uncharacteristic dribble
Watching it flow with no discourse
Or even disguising a movement to share
A leaf finds its mark now one wagers thought
Dogs bark rattles empty can in alleyway
Moonlight disects that churning in passerbys charts
While blowing winds shift around reason
Heavy hearts languish at the next whistle stop
Many will board to simply stare back
At others who dare when not to park
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 10:10 AM UTC
The eunoian feeling was disrupted by the sardonic entity. Crushing and terrorizing the meraki from my soul. Taking away my will. My will to live. My will to survive. My will to do as I please. Because that's what toxic people do. They **** you soul out of your body through their words. Their oh so characterizing language. The dictions of ***** I'm a daydreamer and a night thinker. My soul was bound to be beautiful and spill these numinous words upon the wilted paper in the black and white text. So you can **** my will but I will always exist in the language of my ancestors, just as they exist within me. Jokes on you depression no one decides my fate but me. So let's keep this rhythm, you'll be the king and I'll be the queen in my little psychosis induced fantasy, pretending that all is well even when society shoves "normal" down my throat. I'll be my own light.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 10:13 AM UTC
When I was born my parents smiled,
Welcoming me into the world full of fiends.
In my tender age I developed many aspirations,
To be a doctor, lawyer, artist or a writer by profession.
But in that age I dint realize,
I was a girl and I wasn't allowed to fantasize.
These were just dreams which were meant to be broken,
Similar to the ones which break when you are woken.
As I started growing up the world seemed more brutal,
Objectifying me as a showpiece which is futile.
The men around resembled more like beasts,
Seeing whom the hatered has only increased.
As I walked through the road their eyes scanned me from tip to toe,
Penetrating through my body and tearing my soul.
My temperament could only be described by length of my clothes,
Characterizing me either as cultured or a *****
If I am loud I am more vulnurable to men,
And if I am soft I am dumb or restrained.
My weight my height my color is a matter of worry,
Coz who would like a fat short dark girl to marry?
There's a problem in all my moves.
So why should I bother and be a fool?
So Now that I don't give a ****
All the gentlemen out there kindly keep your thoughts mum and mouth shut!
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC
Droplets rolling over oily-feathered wings
Dew weighing down the lady bugs’ shelter
Wrinkles characterizing an aging set of eyes
A tea bag floating in unboiled water
Grey clouds strangling the sun
A gorgeous curve without a hand to touch it
A stained tear caressing a red face
You are disappointed
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 2:45 AM UTC