"collection" poems
you don't understand at all do you
not truly
you think
I'm a liar
that I still hold the knife
that
stabbed you in the back
[and in the heart]
kinda speechless
that you feel that way
think that way
believe it
untrustworthy? misleading?
false emotions?
can you not read?
here let me try again
maybe I can make it like braille
feel the words
it's like when the clouds stormy eyes
welled up and let fall the
tears of weekend rain
soggy, we laughed along with the thunder
and under our waterfall we let the windows
fog
tell me I lied then
or picture if you will
standing by the tree I
always parked by
it was a starry night, but we didn't see it
we were too focused on our faces
except
why is it I was the only one
drowning in the sadness that overtook my eyes
shaking with each strained, choppy breath
clutching that gray shirt like a life jacket
do you think that was all
for show?
haven't you looked at
my collection of black and white
silly letters scribbled down as fast as possible
trying as hard as I can
to leave it all
on the paper
but it's as if each word I write
is a tattoo
slowly invading every part of my skin
it's sinking in, it's staining everything
do you think this agony I speak of
is fake?
if so
if I am that liar with the knife who
led you astray and ******* you over"
let you down, kicked you around
if you can't seem to
open your eyes
and notice
just how much I love you
just how much I always have
then you don't deserve it
ill run miles for you when I know I only
have the strength for one
but don't you
dare
watch me run
if you don't even grasp
that I stabbed myself in the back
led myself astray
you have a right to
hate the wound
but if you can't see
what I feel
one day
I will learn
that I have to let go
and I will
then all these silly letters
all for you
well. go ahead and throw them away
on that day
they will carry no life
anymore
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 6:59 PM UTC
During youth I was quite the collector
of ocean cretin's annealed sandcastles
Though the hosts inside could not be cheaper,
their fleshy coats were worth all the hassles
Content I was amassing worn seashells;
monthly did this fine collection accrue
Though furnished, barren felt those wooden shelves,
as even pearls are lesser than a jewel
Still, the sand was warm; the waves were soothful
and regardless of what hollowness struck,
the beach granted a chance to feel fruitful
so long as one had either skill or luck
Alone was I, but daresay not lonely,
but I was not merry until married.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC
Somedays my thoughts shriek so loud that
they congest the rest of my mind
other days they chant lullaby's as if nothing
traumatic has ever happened
one moment i'm up
the next im crumbling to my knees
one or the other its consistent drowning with
no one to rescue me
I'm keen on telling myself its all in my head
at times, but
doctors tell me its all me
but for gods sake do they realize what horrid
phrases the voices scream?
death would be so heavenly
I long for the passing of sides
im awaiting to go home where its all
white and peaceful
i have days where im so narcissistic; I swear
I can commence the world as if every millisecond is
a luxury of sighs and sounds
at moments my dispute comes out so rapid
all i get is crooked looks and mumbles
some days, I love him
other times I swear he's the devil in disguise
during my manic episodes you spoke soft as if I
was a fallen angle that was overflowing with life.
You had mentioned a world that disculded me was a
world you cannot exist in
You said I influenced your heart to skip beats, that I
saved you, I was your fresh air
Once he witnessed myself during a dreadful episode
you declared loving me was exhausting and space
is what you desired for
hell could i control this?
he was the one isolated concept I could ever make
my ******* mind up about
I loved him;
I love him
he said that his devotion to me was similar to
staring into a black hole but seeing the reflection of the delicate sunset
it never made sense to him
BUT HELL DID IT MAKE SENSE TO ME?
when he stranded me, i couldn't help but dissolve in tears
i was nowhere adjacent to happy
but that's all I've ever comprehended
my doctor says they've observed a change
maybe its the sleepless weeks and collection of mood stabilizers
consuming pills in hopes to not feel so ******* empty
anticipating on my next manic episode
waiting for the door to open to go home
If I have learned anything from living with BPD
it is im constantly dilapidated upon everything
one day soon I hope to recover from this disorder
that replicates a loud room without recognizing how loud it was
and all I hear is the ringing in my ears that doesn't seem to have an end
some day this will be over
some day my lover will stay
I pray to fall in love with another angel again
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
i wonder if the doors in the house you grew up in
started slamming themselves to save your father the trouble.
i wonder if you can remember the last time you prayed,
and if you had trouble unfolding your hands.
i wonder if your mother knows
about the collection of hearts you hide in your closet,
i wonder if she could tell mine apart from the rest.
i wonder if your shoes know the reason why
you keep them by the back door and not your bedside.
and sometimes, i wonder
if you ever think about that night when i told you,
you wouldn't need to drink so much if you had me.
but it seems like we only speak when you've got body on your brain,
whiskey in your glass,
your judgement is overcast,
and you know i'm too weak to ignore you.
i learned how to translate your texts
from drunken mess back into english.
i am fluent in apology, but i don't ask you for them anymore.
this is just how it is.
it's not enough for either of us
but ******* it we are not above settling.
so i will ignore her name on your breath,
and you will ignore the fact that this means something to me.
i always thought the first time i kissed you,
it would be on your mouth.
i just wanted to be something warm for you to sink into,
something that could convince you to stay a second night.
but i sneak you out in the early morning,
and you take a piece of my pride with you when you go.
i am left to nurse the hangover from a wine i've never tasted,
wondering how this is possible.
waiting for the next drunk call,
for the next time i get to pretend we are lovers,
the next time i get to live out the fantasy i am most ashamed of.
it is the one in my head where you want me when you're sober too.
- m.f.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
Tanha yuhi kat jata safar agar tum sath na hote.....
manzil yuhi rhe jaati agar tum sath na hote....
dekhu to duniya mai saari magar....
ye rang dekh na pau....
jee kar bhi is duniya me....
adhoora bin tere rhe jau....
ye baarish yuhi tham jaati ager tum sath na hote....
ye duniya meri tham jaati agar tum sath na hote....
me jaanu to duniya ko kaeyi naam se.....
me jaanu mujhe bs tere naam se....
ye duniya na jaan paati mujhe....
jo ye lafz meri phechaan na hote....
ye naam yu he bikhar jata ager jo tum sath na hote....
hasti meri mar jaati ager tum phechaan na hote....
By : HR COLLECTION
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 2:47 AM UTC
So your wife doesn't like it
That's okay with me
I'll make a special place
For the whole world to see
My Yoda collection
Star Wars ********
Fits perfect in my house
Next to my piggy banks
And Womble mania
They make me happy
Because I believe
And that's all that matters ...
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
Nahi hota kisi tabib sy is marz ka ilaj,
Ishq la ilaj ha bas ahtiat kijiye...!!!
--------------------------------------------
Bewaja nahi rota ishq mein GHALIB,
Jisy khud sy barh ky chaho woh rulata zaroor ha...!!!
--------------------------------------------
Sukoon aur ishq wo bhi dono aik sath,
Rahny do GHALIB koi aqal ki bat karo...!!!
--------------------------------------------
Misl shesha hain hamein thaam ky rakhna GHALIB,
Ham tery hath sy choty to bikhar jaein gy...!!!
- See more at: http://tinyurl.com/q2du94e
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
I swam in your ocean, Anna.
I drank the salt of your skin
until it gave me hallowed sickness.
I told you,
I was never good at staying anyone's friend.
I spent three weeks convincing you I'd try.
When I didn't succeed, why did you act surprised?
You keep shifting shape.
And that isn't fair.
I got tangled in your weeds, Anna.
I struggled and howled,
you talked with warmth, ran fingers in my hair.
I told you,
I wouldn't live past thirty-five,
you said,
I wouldn't make it to twenty-five,
I told you,
I was evil,
you told me,
you were eviler.
I told you,
I was evilest,
you said,
**** superlatives.
I saw you drown yourself in yourself, Anna.
Wallowing in the cold wind
of one demented abecedarian.
You keep shifting shape.
And that isn't fair.
I told you,
to keep your feet moving,
you said,
I needed to stop talking,
I told you,
I was ready to marry you,
you said,
I would never escape my
ex-girl collection,
I told you,
Anna, if I can't have you
you're going to destroy you,
you said,
you'd like to see you try.
Let your waves crash against me,
let your wind carve,
I will say I love you,
until one of us dies.
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 7:04 PM UTC
The private gun salesman
divine savior of our life,
liberty, and pursuit of happiness!
Washes his own hands
of the matter,
he has no need for Mary Magdalene,
divine ********** hippie.
Arms outstretched
he sacrifices his own collection
(for a sum of course)
for the anonymous benefit
of a person who
"seems alright".
They aren't Mexican or Black after all!
Or God forbid, Indian!
What would we do
without that Just defender?
Our private gun salesman,
divine savior of America.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
where are the bonds you used to use
upon me who was so willing
do you tie another now
and is she just as thrilling?…
I miss the ropes that were my own
They lie here still beneath my bed
Perhaps you will return one day
And tie me once again
There has been no other since
You were too good at what you did
Such love comes by but once
To share a life that is now dead
I reach and toy with them sometimes
Sweet memories of what was
Of nights of perfect loving wild
to rekindle thoughts of us
But they are to be no more I fear
Despite my wanting so
So I must lie and shed a tear
For all we used to know.
******
From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 **** Verses 2016
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 4:24 PM UTC
when i was a boy,
i collected seashells.
i had the most beautiful collection
when i was a boy.
i dreamt of seashells
and what i dreamt was beside
me every morning of everday
when i was a boy.
i had red ones and blue ones
white ones and rounds ones
ones of beauty and of majesty
when i was a boy.
the world marvelled at my collection
the world coveted my collection
i had the most beautiful seashell collection
when i was a boy.
one day i looked out through a window
and saw a boy walking along the beach
he picked up the plainest of seashells
and smiled
i raged and raged and raged
for forty days and forty nights
i raged
when i was a boy.
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 6:41 PM UTC
You are simply beyond description.
For a definition is but a collection of words, and those words are just letters working together to tell a story.
But your laugh takes me on an adventure through worlds undiscovered. Your eyes are deep oceans filled with tales of past shipwrecks before you realized that you were the treasure. Your heartbeat is a symphony composed in a melody that only we know.
So while describing you is this fool's errand, I know mere words will never completely capture you.
For words are just letters working together to be beautiful, and you are more beautiful than any group of words can ever hope to be.
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 4:33 PM UTC
she has dangerous thoughts
in her hello kitty slippers
she shines when thouse around her can only sparkle
there are dark angels in her stuffed bear collection
shes a gothic stoner emo-warrior princess
she wants to be heard
and its dreamy things shes gonna say
shes sketched in beautiful ways in my heart
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
This book of verse by which I live
as Valentine gift to you I give
the lines across its pages white
express my deep desire each night.
So master read of disciplined need
as I follow my submissive creed.
Each page you turn will tell of me
and the ways I seek your cruelty
there is no pain I will not forebear
imprisoned in your dungeon lair.
This book of prose gives freedom to
do all that you’ve a mind to do.
So at random take each page you see
and create all that’s there for me
as ev’ry suffering there ignites
a passion that your bonds be tight.
So that my consuming fires be lit
this gift of words I do submit.
From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 **** Verses 2017
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC
a september bride her hollow sounds
fearfully echo on the leaf strewn trail
with intonations of a blushing bride to be
she makes a graceful vision
obscured only by her hamfisted collection
of undesirable father figures
who stand round the groom and brow beat
him with dire dreams
but his eyes are for her alone and
the tigers of her sensual rainforest
"lions, tigers and bears...oh my!" she whispers
into his eager ear with a sardonic grin
her hollow sounds both haunting and beautiful
they will stay with me as a soulsong
long after history has devoured her
namesake and words
a quick poet of the three line shoot from the hip haiku
pink glossy eyes all damp with remembered tears
she is the quintessential september bride
the long summer nights swayed her
the longer cold winter may undo her
but it is a girlhood dream that
she knits with papier-mâché knights and
bubblegum queens
she waits for me there
to officiate the proceedings
with a bottle of red wine and single red rose
wrapped in the tender notions of
loves sweetest kiss
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
I was brought into this house
Ordered from the local furniture shop
Made to order according to specifications
I am a wingback,
Upholstered in full-grain leather
True to my rich heritage
I was placed in the library
Amongst the illustrious works of famous writers
Half- a - century have passed, providing support
To the backbone of the family
Although tired, he finds solace in my cozy embrace
I give him my wings to fly into the world of literature
Cervantes, Bunyan, Bacon, Goehte, Dostoevsky, Chekov, Tolstoy
Some of the names from the illustrious collection
Not all were privileged to have a seat here
He was transported to each era, savoring the rich legacy
Of literature down the centuries
I was privy to the mind-boggling debates
Which he conducted with himself
Trying to reason each work of literature
A mere wingback rose to be a companion
Providing sturdy support on the mahogany legs
One fine day the reading session ended in deep slumber
Five decades of bonding and companionship came to an end
Now, I stand here, forlorn, at the corner of the library
Reminiscing the reading sessions, and siesta
The wingback does not have the wings to fly away from this bond
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
In his monochrome home
Postman Pat
Has a black and white television
To colour co-ordinate
With his black and white cat.
As well as
Secret love children
Who also match.
He christened them all Foam.
As befits an autodictat
With a comprehensive
Collection of
Black and white combs
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
Is it our nature
To cause intentional harm,
To make things suffer?
Do we find pleasure
When we terrify others,
Is this really us?
History has shown
A fierce beast resides within,
There’s a tame one, too.
All humans struggle
With Yin-Yang disharmony,
With the good and bad.
Some rationalize
There is a duality,
We’re devils and saints.
Humans **** humans,
Insatiable blood lust,
**** and **** again.
Humans help humans
There is charity and love,
How long will it last?
Is it our nature
To cause pain and to do harm;
Or, to pursue good?
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 6:07 PM UTC
I should not look,
She is a girl,
And so am I,
But she is pretty.
He is hot,
I kinda like him,
But I may not,
For he is a boy like me.
A girl and a boy,
Both loved,
Not by eachother,
But by me.
I look in the mirror,
See a body,
But it is not me,
Just my (fe)male version.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
Katie Price
Had a collection
Of last season's
Brassieres
Which she indexed
With the help
Of a sincere
Bilingual reindeer
Dressed in spandex
Who for some reason
Was single.
Taxonomy
Is so important to me
Said Katie.
So they were labelled
And kept in taxis
At disused angle grinder factories
Near the Tower of Babel
So posterity
Would be able
To analyse
The finer points
Of her physiognomy.
Quite an unusual praxis
And something of an anomaly
For someone like me
Wouldn't you agree?
Cross my heart
And hope to die
I agree.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
When I try to move
the ropes upon
my wrists and ankles
bite with sharp reminder
that I am Your slave.
Yet I test them
because my mind
demands I know that
I am owned and worth
nothing unless I am Yours.
My freedom being unwanted
You have left me bound
knowing that Your skill
with ropes will hold me fast
until You return.
Yet still I squirm and fight
Your hellish cords
wanting them to hurt me
in ways that You intended
when You left me bound this way.
****
From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 **** Verses 2016
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
1.
He lights another mortar
and the dog runs after it
barking and trying to bite it
he grabs it's back leg as the sky lights up
since he had barely thought to look over
and the words around here don't reach his mind
his ears defective as they are.
He says something with his hands
something foreign to me
but six people watching laugh
and so do I.
2.
His wife sits with her sons
her stomach wide with their third
another boy
she's gotten so used to talking with her hands
that her voice is rusty
and her vocabulary limited
but she's here as much as the rest
sitting and laughing and having a good time.
3.
The owner of the house sits off the side in the nicest lawn chair here
a cup in her hand
we've quit counting how many drinks she's had
but she only drinks a couple days a year
and nobody is giving her any problems
and she seems to be able to be her normal self.
She had been questioning me earlier today
seeing if I was really a good guy
testing whether she'd have to sit at the table with a shotgun
every time I spent any time with her niece.
4.
Her husband is launching his own collection of mortars off
with his brother
while her brother-in-law hands the teens the novelties
I launch off a dozen flowers
and a few spinny things.
She occasionally breaks her fingers away from mine
to launch off a flower, smokebomb or firecracker
and occasionally runs over to poke-chop her uncle
who keeps talking to the fireworks.
She always comes back and we'll wander by her mom and stepdad
(the latter always throws in some sort of comment
so we act careful around him)
and over to her cousins
or toward her aunt and roommate.
Occasionally we'll have to get something from the house
and we sneak three kisses
but we mostly just stay in each others arms
keeping each other warm in the almost warm 4th of July night
our hands both entwined
one of our heads always on the others shoulder
and in all the craziness
all the family drama
everything is perfect and she's smiling so hard her cheeks keep hurting
and she keeps telling me how little sleep she's gonna get
and I tell her I ain't gonna be able to sleep at all
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 4:21 AM UTC
We are a collection of our own experiences. A destruction of our own making, we undo ourselves with what we've learned, unlove ourselves with what we've learned.
I have looked in the mirror to a stranger too many times for my liking. The girl that I became mirrored back in agony to the girl she wanted to be. She wanted to be a poet, she wanted to be a portrait. She wanted to be stronger.
My experiences have become me. But I don't want to be defined by broken hearted and tormented by my dreams. I don't want to be defined by the dark circles under my eyes, the heart beat in my ears. I wanted to be stronger.
I have looked in the mirror too many times and seen stranger, seen liar, seen a girl who kept too much bottled up and my demons creep behind me like the horror movies I'm so akin to watching. They wave hello like they belong and I have to break my stare.
The poet in me says this is another experience, another lifeline, another tether to the earth that I love so much. An earth that I love so much that it broke me.
The poet in me says this experience will make me stronger.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
The rope that you’re using to hold me
I crave as my very own,
for I am your woman desiring
and submissive is now what I am.
Your whip might hold such terror
for one who knows not of pain,
for me it’s an object of wanting
that drives me to seek it again.
The gag that holds me in silence
so my protests cannot be heard,
arouses me more than I tell you
as screams are held deep inside.
So much of me needs all this from you
making me want in this way,
I cannot find it with others
only you can control how I play.
The torture you give is sublime now
such suffering drives me insane,
my mind goes deep into meltdown
and beyond anything I can explain.
The force of your lash overwhelms me
with agony driving so deep,
yet I must take all that you give me
as you dry the wet tears when I weep.
‘Tis then that you hold me so softly
with arms around me so tight,
to know that I am your slavegirl
and suffering for you is so right.
*******
From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 **** Verses 2017
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 1:24 PM UTC