"clumsiness" poems
Let me trade in my smile for fangs
And my feminine fingers for paws.
Let me trade in my manicured nails for claws
And my curly locks for silver fur.
Let me trade my heart shaped mouth for a long snout
And the freckles on my nose for whiskers.
Let me trade my curves for a round, bushy tail
And my clumsiness for strength and agility.
Let me trade my tears for whimpers and barks
And my voice for howls in the night.
Let me trade my dinner reservations for hunting down a moose
And my poor senses for keen ears and a nose.
Let me trade my soul for a different one
And become a friend to the moon.
Let me live my life as a wolf
And all that it encompasses.
Let me symbolize the dawn and the dusk
And let me symbolize the converging of light and darkness.
Because that is wolf,
And that is what I see, when I look in the mirror.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
Let me tell you about myself.
I am a mosquito magnet.
I have little scars of itchy memories all over my scrawny legs.
But I think it means my blood is sacred.
I find my laugh unique and one of a kind.
My walk, resembling more of a bowlegged wobble, allows me to stand out against the crowd.
(My walk isn't that bad, by the way, I was merely exaggerating for stylistic purposes.)
What's more, the fact that I am prone to blushing at even the slightest glance my way is kldjaf;ldjfoiad;htija;ji;ajf.
I love it.
My clumsiness only adds meaning to the moments in which I am fleetingly graceful.
Yes, my posture is rough around the edges,
But it signifies that I have been around the world a few times.
At least I don't jut out my pretty decently sized *******
You're welcome.
I find my lack of arguing skills in the moment cute.
My mistakes are adorable, and my obvious flaws are endearing.
The fact I can't **** an ant without showing sympathy is amiable.
If only somebody thought the same way about me.
If only people looked and analyzed others as closely as I do.
They would see.
That way I wouldn't be the only one loving myself. (Or trying to.)
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 6:09 PM UTC
Me and you
An unlikely pair
Our groups never link
Then there's me and you
Why we work
I don't know
Nor do I care tho
What made your path cross mine?
Our live interlocked
I never want it to change
Your protect me from
My ignorance
My clumsiness
My oblivion
You are my guard
I give you all of me
I give you all my Love
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
I cry, I frown, I aggravate, I shout
She laughs, she smiles, she simplifies and rejoices aloud
She is totally different from me
Se lives in me but is always free
When I frighten, she enlighten
with every step she brighten
she is a child in me
full of glee
when I become quiet in sadness
she does all work in quite Madness
what I deceive, is her believe
This bond is what makes us unique
We take different trains from the same station
My every work is a subject to her allegation
our roads don't match, but our destinations do
I don't know why her clumsiness is better than my neatness to
We both are one unit
I am a misfit, she is a nit wit
But, I lack the charisma she has
yet I am learning the way she act as
So what, we take different paths
we reach the same parks
Hurry up, I need to end this poem
to stop her playing from a toy lion...
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 1:55 AM UTC
I think you should know that when I say something stupid I do it because it makes you laugh
Sometimes I think that maybe, if not during, but maybe in between those moments where your chest shakes at my clumsiness, you'll think I'm cute again.
The first time you broke my heart I tried to ignore it, like maybe if you never happened, if I never even stopped to think about it, I wouldn't ever feel empty.
So picked up speed barely stopping to breathe
I didn't want to feel what it was to be broken
And I felt myself too young to make an mantra of you just yet
It was nine days before freshman year and I couldn't afford to look weak, but the wind beneath my wings teased the open wounds with a bad taste and you told me you missed me before I fell out of the sky.
Sometimes I wonder if we would have started differently would you still be by my side
The second time you broke my heart, I knew it was coming from the way it sat on my chest
And I tried to love myself back together but ****** kid, its like you knew exactly how to undo me
And I wanted to burn every song that made me think of you but they kept on playing new ones the radio until every love song made me want to cry. And I thought the wind would come for me again.
The second time you broke my heart, I wasn't nearly naive enough to try to pretend it wasn't happening. I let myself feel every vibration from each word that said I never made you happy
And I didn't understand how you got to be such a good liar.
I still turn off the radio when love songs come on sometimes but I've stopped waking up empty from thinking of you
so I think thats fair
When you kissed me, I almost couldn't help but kiss you back, but I couldn't sell my soul to cheap teenage instinct like that. So if being friends with you means you calling me stunning, Ill take it but I don't trust it.
Yesterday you said I made you happy, and I still have hard time trying not to believe you
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
She's a clumsy little human.
Broken beakers, test tubes,
Plates, glassware, door handles,
The antlers of that showpiece deer,
Her bed, her favourite pencil.
Through seventeen (and a half) years of clumsiness
The universe, it's always whispered to her
"However careful you might try to be
Sometimes things, they'll fall out of your clumsy hands
Never on purpose, no satisfactory reason
Leaving you with melancholy ruins.
Sometimes things, they can be fixed
With a little glue and a lot of patience
So fix them before they're lost and
Be ever more careful thereon.
But sometimes things, they can't be fixed
Not with glue nor with patience
And broken they will forever be
So sweep up the pieces gently and
Cast them away sans regret."
She's a clumsy little human.
Broken beakers, test tubes,
Plates, glassware, door handles,
The antlers of that showpiece deer,
Her bed, her favourite pencil,
Trust, hearts and friendships.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
Will you hold my hand
And stay true to me ?
Will you still talk to me..
When words I utter….
no longer make sense….
To say I love you is a painful effort
I am tired, this disease is killing me softly
I will not live long in this world..
Will you extent your hands to me?
What if I am no longer the queen whom you worship?
Will you still hold my hand?
Will you walk with me along the road of life..
When I am no longer able to stand tall
Will you hold my hands for me?
Will I still be your princess?
If the gowns can’t fit no longer…
The mirror wont reflect me no more..
Not a beautiful string of hairs to comb…
Will you still keep your castle for me?
Will you whisper sweet words to my ears…
When my ears can no longer hear?
Will you still embrace me.. want me..
When I can no longer feel…
Can you stand my numbness?
My dullness? My clumsiness?
Will you still look at me..
If what you see is a piece of worn out artwork….
Which is no longer precious…
Do you still need me.
If the kisses are tasteless..
If the hugs are cold..
If the future is bleak….
Do you still need me..
when my visions are blurry…
… and you need to see for me?
Will you still hold my hand..
To walk to the beaches..
To the romantic theatres…
To all the places in the world….
Will you carry me..
When my feet are too weak to walk?
Will you?
when I cant hardly breathe my last breath….
Will you still hold my hand?
Will you hold my hands?
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
Thou tangle the mortality
And seek the mourning of its course,
With an outrageous cloak that falls adrift
To have its custom afloat.
The decorations, thereof flatters this turmoil
That has its doubts and moments,
A longevity beheld upon the chores of the subject,
Never cognizes its everlasting trials,
For those of which handles the elation
Of successive falsification.
I know not of the clumsiness of hymns,
That sighs the mourning of a course,
The chaotic iteration of single pauses
And the faltering of a mere slope.
I know not of the turmoil
That bedecks the frostbitten clavicles,
Onto which no sigh wavers
A petition of no faze and any dome.
I know not of the cloak
That nestles around a haze;
Bringing confusion that betrays every vivid sense.
Let it be the matter, ‘tis a matter of time(!)
Would it morph itself around the mourning mould,
When it dries away with the mud?
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
In the midst of reprimanding my clumsiness, I suddenly fell captive to the enchanting beauty of the falling speckles of reflective light. Gracefully they swayed like iridescent snowflakes on a serene winter morning. I stood mesmerized by the overwhelming splendor before my eyes and unaware of the mess I had just created. In the blink of an eye, mistakenly spilling a tube of glitter transformed into a spellbinding experience of aesthetic appreciation.
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 10:09 PM UTC
girls in high school wear infinity scarves
and expect their love to last as long.
their hearts are hidden under
mounds of dyed wool, and I'm sitting in
U.S. History learning about slavery.
this is what I know.
we are all slaves to our own hearts.
we pick fields of lust
and try to sew it into love.
we wear combat boots because we feel threatened
by our own bodies.
like we are at war in our flesh, and need the extra protection;
the leather safety net with laces.
we walk down those black, salt-licked stairs
with our heads down because we have trust issues,
but when we trip we never forgive our clumsiness.
we swallow bitter tears like sugar after medicine,
and we pump hate through our tumblr blogs like gasoline.
we pay for affection with skin.
we accept the words ***** **** ***** ugly, MAN, as nicknames.
a wave to the opposite gender is now thirst.
we need to grow up; put down the sippy cup.
this is high school.
cut your hair. dye it purple, and then regret it automatically. dye it black,
and then spend five months and $597.00 getting it back to your natural color.
mismatch your socks. eat almonds when you feel like you should starve your insides.
paint your nails, mess them up, and paint them again;
paint your soul the same way.
we are moving at the speed of light.
slow down your mind.
you are in high school.
you are still growing love in fields, you just need to find the right soil.
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
In between is where the ghouls are.
The gnomes, the sprites.
The mischievous ones that give you hell.
Today is a 'tween place.
One day, rest, another day, rest.
Sad day, rest, happy day, rest.
And today is a 'tween place.
I sense bad things. Clumsiness or confusion.
Hopefully tomorrow is better.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
When you decide to wash the car, make sure of your stability
Don't lose your footing, or any form of your own credibility
Some driveways are a dangerous place, they can be a liability
Knees get grazed through carelessness, but that's your responsibility
You've slipped down the embankment, you wasn't banking on a stumble
Coming into contact with the concrete, giving you good cause to grumble
Is it possible that your garden, has got loose parts that crumble
Or was it due to clumsiness, that made you fall and tumble
Water splashing on the car, but it wasn't that translucent
You ended up with ****** knees, from your unruly movement
Bucket dropping did not help, with your clean car improvement
I can't say that your actions, didn't cause us some amusement
We had a laugh at your expense, because your knees got scuffed
Spilling water on the path, is when your legs we're stuffed
You didn't look too happy, so I guess you wasn't chuffed
Because you fell, it'll be some time before the car gets buffed
One thing I will mention, we would not have seen you fall
If you didn't have that camera, that you wanted to install
But it has served it's purpose, cos we have seen it all
You was not completely focused, and you wasn't on the ball
Security has now been viewed, splashed water not in stealth
Is it worth the hassle, when you clean the car yourself
You don't want to trip and fall, and damage your leg health
Take it to the car wash, cos it doesn't cost much wealth
Your unfortunate leg scrapping, we hope it was not deep
But we nearly ****** ourselves, when you fell in a heap
We laughed at your misfortune, it almost made us weep
Cleaning cars come at a price, when it's done on the cheep
Some Ideas are valid, and most of them go far
Set backs are not wanted, make sure that your on par
Be aware of your surroundings, if your washing the car
Trips around the garden could result, in a blooded scar
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 8:41 AM UTC
There’s a clumsiness
to the way I unbutton my shirt,
hoist it over my head
and let it snuffle to the floor.
I stand there, *******
and unkempt armpit hair on display
but you’ve already almost
totally disrobed,
the light from outside
licking your spine,
dribbling down a leg
like melted sunflower petals.
We catch each other’s eyes,
except you don’t catch eyes,
you see the other person
looking at you
and you know what’s next,
the standing ****
dry skin and bellybuttons
viewed only by a fortunate few,
a bunch of names
like grapes squashed
into bed sheets
we won’t touch again.
I think this is supposed to be sexier,
my underwear flinging off,
boxer shorts champagne cork
towards the window,
your bra sunny side up
by the foot of the door.
Rather I watch you
peer at the skin I’m in
waiting for a shrill buzzer sound,
a number out of ten
and a spatter of applause
from a conjured-up crowd.
I think you look glorious.
I go to say this but my brain feels
as though it’s been whisked.
You walk over, slink your hands
towards my face,
put an icicle finger to my lips.
I’ve no idea what I’m doing
but you’ll show me the way.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 11:34 AM UTC
I had purchased the tickets home ten days in advance to force myself to get back to reality and civilization. My hands were weak from the constant shoveling; my liver the same. Each hour that had passed underneath that sun seemed like a punishment from God himself; a hot whipping sensation that singed the back of my hair and left permanent burn marks streaked across my back. There was no way I would ever forget the constant ridicule and insult from the other workers as I clumsily painted instant concrete on bricks which would soon be a house I would never see. The struggles of the white man seemed to bring a pleasure to the mexican work force that I would never understand which I was both jealous and disgusted by.
Lemino came over gripping a pick axe, large and the color of of a recently picked coconut. "Hey white boy, you need some water?" He threw me a muddied water bottle in a puddle of my sweat. "Thanks Lem. I can barely lift my ********* head in this heat, how do you do it?" Lemino looked up at the sun. "I don't know man." He lifted his finger to the noon hanging sun and said, "Sometimes I just think of the Sun as my woman and I never take no **** from Her so why's that any different." He took a sip of his own water and walked off, his back completely dry and cracked with a mix of mud and concrete.
Jesus, I thought. For someone like that and someone like me to be working on the same house made me wonder why I had ever been brought here in the first place. How did I get here? Why had I been punished so for my work in school, my excellent obedience with peers and with the community? I was not a religious man but I grew up in the land of the free and the brave, how had it come to this? I drank the entire bottle of water throwing it on the sizzling grey brown ground.
"Hey white boy!," screamed a voice from the rooftop. "Throw that **** away or I'll beat the **** out of you when the day is done." ****** I knew someone would see me during any act of comfort or clumsiness. The mexican hyenas chuckled as I stalked guiltily over to empty water bottle. The ten or twelve workers, all shirtless and brown, stood chuckling down on me like some horrific Greek chorus secretly whispering and planning my doomed fate either at a late night discoteca or some run down bar down by the water. Oh lord, how cometh taunt me so?
---
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 4:09 PM UTC
I want to have someone who;
Likes to count the stars and start over when they lose their place,
Is fascinated with the moon and everything to do with outer space.
I want to have someone who;
Is infatuated with my dull eyes and crooked smile,
Won't mind my clumsiness and will stay a while.
I want to have someone who;
Will read big books and watch long movies with me,
Notices the extraordinary in all that I see.
I want to have someone who;
Knows how to stimulate all my senses,
Can see my big picture without any lenses.
I want to have someone who;
Isn't difficult- simple,
Isn't crazy.. but just by a little.
I want to have someone who;
Doesn't mind my far from attractive moments,
Thinks my corny jokes are golden.
I want to have someone who;
Gives me absolute bliss,
Can heal all my wounds with one simple kiss.
I want to have someone who;
Holds on tight and won't give up on me,
Doesn't pay mind to any "let me be".
I want to have someone who;
Hears me even when I don't speak,
Kisses my forehead, nose and cheek.
I want to have someone who;
Tells me when I am wrong,
Argues with me while we simultaneously get along.
I want to have someone who;
Doesn't like bonfires so they make s'mores in the kitchen,
Tells all stories- except fiction.
I want to have someone who;
Has a bit of hate for the material,
Enjoys bread crust and soggy cereal.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 7:04 AM UTC
you told me -
what did you tell me?
so many things.
you told me
i was your best friend,
which i am.
you told me i'm pretty;
you also told me i'm infuriating,
annoying,
obnoxious,
and weird,
all of which are true.
you told me that i'm a good person,
that i'm not stupid for crying when a girl in our class got cancer,
that i'm smarter than i think.
you told me so many things, and all of them
exactly what i needed.
jesus christ.
you're my best friend.
i know things about you that i
shouldn't want to know about anyone, such as
you fall asleep in the shower
and certain words, like "indubitably", make you twitchy;
you can't sleep unless something near you smells like old spice.
seriously: so many things.
i know your masturbatory habits, for god's sake!
so it shouldn't make sense,
this,
rabid desire of mine,
to know more,
to know everything,
to read you like a book, to know you like i don't know anyone, to absorb every fact of your existence like a sponge, to spend hours hearing your mind, to want everything of you, to share everything of me -
it shouldn't make sense,
and it doesn't.
but i haven't forgotten the way,
how,
in the darkness and the clumsiness
of a tiny space
in the silence after the half-hissed teasing and the muffled laughter,
you wrapped your arms around my waist to steady me,
and kept them there,
there in the dark,
or how,
sitting in the air of your basement,
you held my feet in your lap,
and jokingly gnawed at my toes when i teased you,
or how
you flick your fingers together like you do when you're thinking,
making me fall so in like with your mind,
or when -
well.
there are too many times,
for me to remember.
so it shouldn't make sense,
you ******* badass specimen of best-friendship.
and it doesn't.
but i know,
and you know,
and everyone who knows us knows,
that really, sort of,
it does.
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 6:57 PM UTC
Do you believe in wishes?
I believe in dreams come true.
If I didn't believe in wishes,
My dream would've never been you.
Do you believe in love at first sight?
Do you believe in magic, too?
If I didn't believe in magic,
I don't think I'd have ever seen you.
Do you believe in clumsiness?
Or the fate of two?
If I didn't suffer from clumsiness,
I wouldn't be falling for you.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
i hate endings.
i'm not a lover of beginnings either,
but the story
the stuff in between?
it grabs me so hard, and shakes me by the
shoulders sometimes.
i'm thankful for our in between.
even if the ending is tearing me
to shreds.
even if the clumsiness of our beginning still
runs miles through my head
scene/after/scene/after/poem/after-
(YOU CAN RIP MY HEART OUT, I STILL LOVE YOU)
i'll be that girl who always waits for the sequel- no matter how long it takes for it to come. i promised you always, i promised you...
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 9:30 PM UTC
She fell for the clumsiness of
his touch when they first met,
nerves of loves first kiss.
He had become swift and
eloquent with is touch.
Now his fingers questioned
and answered every part of her and
she loved how his fingers spoke
fluently to her body in a language
without words.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 9:23 PM UTC
I am not sure which is bloodier, more gruesome –
birth or death. It is like asking God if he prefers Eve to Adam
for demolishing that false sense of security,
specks of pride dissolved in snake venom apples.
There is mourning in creating monsters
as there is in killing them: I see starving children with
round, pregnant bellies and somehow they are more at peace than
I am on my best day. We will understand when we are dead,
not in the act of becoming a ghost, but once we are one.
When I was little, I saw the house on Camellia’s corner
crumble: attacked from behind, the same swamp I had in mine.
I had not noticed its yellow shingles before
and suddenly, this nine year old girl felt lonely for
bricks and plaster and the refrigerator hung on its balcony door.
On its side like a woman in labor –
midwives have her in a kiddy pool, the origin of its
name. Imagine being baptized before you take your first breath.
Ametrine is an amalgamation of two gemstones:
amethyst and citrine. I am that of my parents, one quarter grandma.
She who I never met but got my alcoholic mother from.
My clumsiness stemmed there, the constant
stumbling on invisible rocks and breeding ****** knees –
having two daughters who bleed monthly, but it’s never in sync.
Still, I cannot grasp being proud of ghostliness
when there are millions of invisible children in clear blood.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
Far away, a glimmer of light just barely breaks through the vast darkness which surrounds my flying hunk of metal. I imagine that I am falling through the blackness below, or maybe soaring through the one above. If this eight hundred thousand pound machine can do it, why shouldn't I?
The perfect, twinkling stars above are mimicked by the harsh yellow street lamps below, as if man admired the stars so greatly that, with youthful clumsiness, he attempted to recreate them, his hands clammy and unskilled compared to the divine and perfect ones of nature.
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 1:34 PM UTC
There once was an ordinary girl.
She kept the most beautiful garden.
She tended it often to keep the beds vibrant:
Her flowers were the brightest,
Most eye-catching scarlet.
She hid their Garden from others
Out of fear for what they'd say.
Her Garden is kept secret- It's only for her.
One hot summer day, Mother found the Garden.
Our protagonist was yelled at and forced to stop
Because her parents didn't want her having
A Red Garden.
She tried to stop gardening.
She now hides the faded plants.
She hopes nobody will find them.
She is now writing so she doesn't garden.
The gardener wants to stop
To keep her parents happy, she needs to.
No matter how addicting gardening is,
She has to stop.
No matter how beautiful the red flowers look
Our gardener needs to stop.
She doesn't want to be sent away.
---
So if you see somebody's Red Garden,
Or even the dried, withered bodies of flowers,
Please don't ask them about it.
They'll just lie about their Garden-
explaining it away as clumsiness
Or scratching themselves on something.
Nov 23, 2020
Nov 23, 2020 at 12:22 PM UTC
you may write me down in history
with your bitter, twisted lies,
you may tread me in the very dirt,
but still, like dust, I’ll rise
does my clumsiness upset you?
why are you beset with gloom?
‘cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
pumping in my living room.
just like moons and like suns,
with the certainty of tides,
just like hopes springing high,
still I’ll rise
did you want to see me broken?
bowed head and lowered eyes?
shoulders falling down like teardrops
weakened by my soulful cries.
does my haughtiness offend you?
don’t take it awful hard
‘cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
diggin’ in my own backyard.
you may shoot me with your words,
you may cut me with your eyes,
you may **** me with your hatefulness,
but still, like air, I’ll rise.
does my hotness upset you?
does it come as a surprise?
that I dance like I’ve got diamonds
at the meething of my thighs?
out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
up from a past that’s been rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
i am the dream and hope of the slave.
i rise
i rise
i rise
— A.P.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 1:53 AM UTC
Dearest,
All those days,
I let you tread over me and gave you a place to stand,
and you with your untrained, weak bladder dog,
your clumsiness,
your laziness,
your unwashed clothes,
your ***** shoes and smelly feet,
stepped on my trust.
I hope you get pricked by the scraps of food,
bleed out with a paper cut
and stumble on my torn out, roughened edges
and I get to smother and roll up your inanimate, dead body
to it's rightful place.
Ruefully, yours.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC
Early clumsiness
Spilled coffee on my white shirt
Friday the 13th
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC