"combatting" poems
smoke.
the smell of nicotine
rests on my black
graphic t-shirt.
the dwell of misery
rests on my back,
while music reverbs.
my black vans are
filthy with the weight
of pain.
a wallet,
filled with little notes.
writings from her
in my back pocket.
a very lonely bench awaits
my place as i sit and
try to out smoke
this familiar mental state.
i look out into the
water ahead, the creek’s
liquid mirror reflecting
her aura.
“oh god, not again.”
a sudden and sharp spike
of sadness runs through
me, a longing tear trails
my frozen cheeks.
then i remember him,
and how much i miss him.
i remember him calling out
for me along with mom,
and how harmoniously my
heart would pump gallons
upon gallons of hot burning
blood.
hot burning love.
i take another drag to mask
the molecules of reality
that i wish i wouldn’t have
to inhale.
i look up
at the aligning stars,
and by the grace
of the god i do not
believe in
do i tell you
that i let out a cry
so loud, that he himself must’ve
felt heaven shake.
with water flooding
my brown eyes, i
yelled and pleaded
whatever being
that could hear me
to end me, because
i tell you that
all this pain,
of missing certain people,
of longing for lost love,
of experiencing incompleteness,
of feeling so ******* unable to stand up,
of combatting the poison guilt is,
drags.
at my soul,
harder
than cigarette
smoke.
-melancholicreator
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
I am the zombie of Tinkerbell
Her living corpse
Dress sparkles all faded
Tinkling like a broken bell
My fairy dust no longer brings children the gift of flight
But endows my prey with the curse of second life
That I may twice devour their
Squirming, wriggling,
Writhing, scriggiling
Flesh
Just the way I like it
With a wide dark grin across my face
Teeth stained with blood and broken into points
Eyes dim, dull, and hallowed
Skin sallow and torn by the fighters,
Who battle for their death
Combatting the loss of their dignity
I lure them in with stale illusions and sickly sweet snares
Torn wings are no match for swift feet, but I manage
Pushed onwards, pulled forwards by a need, urge
To devour, consume, and engorge myself
Again with tender meat
And imbibe upon the sharp lifeblood
Of faerie.
For I, am the zombie Tinkerbell, and I hunger.
It's dinner time...
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 9:08 PM UTC
As a young girl I was always expected to do as I was told.
Don’t be too loud, don’t talk back, don’t appear to be sassy or bold.
Mind your manners, hold your tongue, there is no space for being rude.
Tone it down, cover it up, we don’t want your black girl attitude.
Forced into boxes with no space to move.
Restricted and restrained with everything to prove.
Constantly combatting the narrative they paint.
Making us look like animals while they look like saints.
We are said to be angry, bitter and loud.
Troublesome, uneducated, following the crowd.
Masculine, impute, stubborn and broken.
Accessories, trophies that ”one” friend, the token.
These strings of disrespect will no longer be allowed.
I don’t care if I’m not polished enough, I’m unwilling to be cowed.
Take back your subtle hate and blatant prejudices all wrapped up in a bow.
Served on a platter with fluffy words of disapproval and the saying “that’s just the way things go”.
They say we are stubborn, unmovable and complacent.
Well , consider how our feelings are always compartmentalized and latent.
Our cries go unheard, our request are unmet.
No one to protect us, left on our own to fret.
This debt that we carry is too much to bare.
It’s just as heavy as the onus that we all have to share.
We are ethereal, complex and fed up with your satire.
You can have whatever you think of me, I’m done being your Sapphire.
Nov 10, 2022
Nov 10, 2022 at 2:19 AM UTC
Arduous late Winter
woes amplify in February
false hope
We’re all sick
of constrictive clothes
and cold climes conducive to staying in
Cabin fever running rampant
45° t-shirts & sunglasses
everyone driving with their windows down
Hoping Vernal rituals
performed early will
hasten Spring’s arrival
I’m done
fed up
ready to move on
Going crazy in the cold
writhing to get moving unimpeded
by frigidness and snow
I’m ready for Spring
for Summer
for Fall
I’m ready for the scent
of thawing soil in the air
biking in the Sun, verdance, and flowers in bloom
I’m ready for grass between my toes
Fireflies, crickets, peepers
and warm night stars
I’m sick of frost reddened runny raw noses
sick of numb fingers and toes
and having precious few daylight hours
I’m sick of combatting glacial winds with layers,
of treacherous icy apathy,
and dreary bleak boredom
I’m sick of not being able to sit on the ground
sick of long pants, long socks, long sleeves,
and silent stagnant long nights
So, despite the fact
that I’ll pine for January
every day over 90°
Despite the fact
that when mosquitoes swarm
I’ll wish a frost would **** the little ********
and despite the fact
I’ll get just as fed up
with temperate seasons
I still want Spring
and then Summer
and then Fall
But February brings false hope
and despite the lengthening cheery sun
months still stand
between us and t-shirt weather
mild nights, grassy hills,
and emancipation from an inclement icebox atmosphere
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
~
*Bring your whirlwinds with you;
in the snow angel summer
bring Margot the sun.
In the hour of red glare
a rush to pick slowberries
before getting caught up in the silk.
Prisms, mirrors, lenses!
strategies for combatting visibility:
keep your eyes closed,
face away from the window.
The myriad threads of people in hiding,
they eat their own web each day,
and yet something always shines
in the heart's secret annex.
Men and women are
separated from each other,
the girls are on a train
to the Bergen-Belsen,
"white founts falling
in the courts of the sun."
Margot now cries quietly;
so silently she weeps over
sunshine and hate.*
~
Jan 4, 2024
Jan 4, 2024 at 3:41 PM UTC
Love is adapted from one half when the insecurities of one person become greater than their own self confidence
Love is adapted on the other half when the self-esteem of a person is enough to be given to another, in hopes for it to be reciprocated
When one half reaches the quintessence of inner confidence through the charisma and compassion of their "lover," ***** decides they're independent enough to complete their own individual path to spiritual enlightenment, while the other half becomes dead weight that is dragged along with them
The other half is so immersed in the happiness of their companion, his/her quest to enlightenment becomes conjoined with the path of their other half. Instead of working on his/her own quest to knowledge and understanding of the real truth behind love, their vision is vaporized into thin air to compensate for their partner's path to illumination. When one half has reached individual insight, their other half is swiftly disregarded and sent into a nightmare of insecurity and restlessness where they can only be woken up from the confidence and compassion of another human being. This is the most vicious cycle humanity will face until its demise.
Love is not a goal of solidarity, but rather a temporary method of combatting the insecurities you are subconsciously not aware of.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
Your name fits in my mouth like an extra
large marshmallow;
It fills it entirely. All the while combatting the sliminess of my gums with its pillowy chalk,
trying to escape any chance it can.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
Being as lonesome as I
Expels all thoughts of happiness
A darkness looms over me
Telling me to give up hope
Reality is cruel, but
I shall stand tall
Combatting the demons
Everywhere in sight
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
A cemetery with a name only known as “Lost Soul”
Sue who no one really knew
Assumptions but nothing really thought through
Sue was often considered to be a Witch
It was spells enchanted into a wave of hands like a switch
Evil that was always on Sue’s mind
Darkness with no lighted moon in having people think in being blind
But within their own subconscious being sublime
It was in the Old Craven’s house
There was nothing moving, but some lonely mouse
This was the house where Sue dwelled
But as the hour glass turns, it was her wizardry being the tell
Sue was in no way related to previous owners of the house
But some considered her to be a spouse
Spouse or not but mysterious indeed
But please allow me to continue to proceed
Sue lived in the Craven’s house all alone
Why she did in the house wasn’t really known
It wasn’t until a fierce stormy night where spirits were seen disembarking from the Craven’s house
The lightening provided the video screen, and the thunder of evil in what it all could mean
Loud moans and a witch’s ***
Eerie emotions that would be definitely hitting the spot
Sue was pursuing she was a witch
But having no music not needing any pitch
Spells that would tell forgetfulness like a drift of a well
A night of breathless life
Mythical or fiction
The fact remains this was a condition
The unspoken word that was never ever told
Her powers were like a curse from hell
To many doubters, it was a thought of oh well
It was Sue’s forces combatting the evil from within
It was a moment of revenge
But it was no tricks being treats
It was becoming a night that won’t be entirely complete
Heaven holding the answer and hell being the firer ashes
Sue raised her hands to fight the Heavenly skies
But her fate that wasn’t really thinking wise
A lightening bolt having full charge
Sue was struck and died instantly
She was later placed in a grave only known as Sue
The evil was finally over
But did it really come to an end
Hidden spirits vow to come back on the hour of when
Sue’s grave reads, “ Hell has become my home, but I will return to once again roam”
Hell opened her gates, and sue became the fate
But the hour had come, but was it too late
Sue’s last name having no word
You now know and have heard
Utterance having a patient silence
Light guided by the moon, and darkness remembered as only a forever gloom.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
Hunger throughout the world,
Wars at home and abroad,
Political scandals and childish debate,
Global warming, the truth awaits,
STI's, part-going teens, Alcohol and drugs,
police combatting crime committing thugs.
The world is a mess,
and no one seems to care.
I do,
I care about the famine,
earth and wars,
the scandals and debate,
truth,
disease, frivolity and substances,
crime,
all these things I profess to care about.
Do you?
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 1:39 AM UTC
life is contradictions, and love is contradictions.
both are complicated enough to give you a
headache but really they’re the simplest
things in the world. they are like the warm
weather; it sneaks up on you slowly and
it’s pleasant and soft and bright, optimistic
it caresses your skin so you might as well
go outside and you run along and you feel
the pain as you gasp for breath and you
push harder because you want your muscles
to be sore, to ache for days after this one,
you want to be reminded of this moment
and it is a painful moment, you want the
pain but you’re too cowardly to inflict it
yourself. so maybe if you appear to be
chasing a goal you can elude yourself,
or someone. maybe. so you’re running,
and you’re combatting inner pain by causing
outer, and it makes no sense and it hurts
like hell and you can’t stand it but you don’t
want to, you never did, and your balled-up fists
grow sweaty and uncomfortable and you
run and run and
boom
the warmth becomes heat and the softness
stabs you and surrounds you and the optimistic
sun blinds you with its light and you squint
your eyes against it
but there is no moving the sun.
it will go down on its own.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
it’s just not fair
feed her your leftover energy
then fuel her with your lifeless stare
and now we behold
this constructed spirit
purposely provided to fit your mould
a hollow container, she’s not alone
but she is conditioned so deeply
to lock up the unknown
who is she?
for now she is a deer
only very few can see
that she is combatting her fear
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 10:31 AM UTC
in my own world
repainting the walls
dying my hair
combat the urge to make it all fall.
how could I make you see
this isn’t a limited belief
silent
your expectations of me
Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 2:12 PM UTC
we
(
•
)
^^^
we will not survive unless we unite
^^^
we cannot unite unless we are all striving
For individual perfection
••
This is true no matter our age
< ||| >
there is much suffering in the world
••
There is no happiness
Except that of feeling courageous
By combatting the tyranny
And by experiencing the willingness
To die for the cause of human freedom
Sovereignty
And
Dignity
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
combatting dwindling steps,
inhibitions are crumbling,
a stray from gray bushes,
no strokes to follow,
meld in the silence of hollow
whims to unveil gleaming
holy grail,
slapping torches and fires to season prevails
Aug 4, 2022
Aug 4, 2022 at 11:26 AM UTC
You seem confused
And in such seeming
Or seeming as such
You appear to touch
On sadness
Tickling melancholy
As you drown out
The overlapping, overwhelming thoughts
With deafening, hollow silence
The brittle backbone of that
Olympically-shit-giving-less ego
Has snapped
The dam cracking
With forceful cascading
Imprisoned emotions
None other at the helm but fear
Write out what weights heavy on your heart
And calm this anxious, growing fervor
Combatting calamity as you stop to hear
Those countless rolling trains
That seek potential problems
And simplest solutions
As they echo through the caverns
Of your restless mind
You are the only one with access
To the encyclopedic truth inside
Help yourself to find
Where your discomfort swims
On those distracting tides
That when ignored
Become enraged
Engulfing from behind
E.Poe
April 2014
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
On this path obstructed by red rose bushes
Lies the era of our golden dreams
Whose thorns pierce every limb of our body
But whose pulchritude emphasizes on its radiant gleam
And when those thorns disseminate pain
Our eyes are reassured by the blindening red
The kind of red that rejuvinates hope
And enlightens those who simply sit and mope
But for some it may breed new selfish desires
Desires that are capable of arousing compulsion
And desires that gradually exteriorize to lust's
But when such lust's lie with in reach
They simply abrade ,
Just like the iron rusts
Despite knowing the pain it entails
We transition on this path from threshold to terminus.
Combatting incessantly in this unremitting struggle
We allow the gust to bear us along.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
The downpour outside rattles
Like a thousand sand-filled flutes
Echoing in the night air
Singing through the storm
And providing the melody forlorn
As the rain giants are born
As I lay and listen
To the symphony of beings
Ancient and always
In their core
Born in storms
As always before
I tuck myself into the noise
And I fight the heat of summer
And its unnatural reign in the dark
With a fan fluttering softly
Next to my heaven of slumber
As the thunder thunders
In even numbers
I ponder ponder ponder
Through my empty mind I wander
Picking scraps up off the floor
Every each one ever fonder
Drifting calmly into my shore
From an ocean dancing evermore
I lay here in the dark
Hearing buzzes in the shadows deep
As I drift into sleep
And forth the dreams creep
From corners of my psyche
In groups, holding tightly
In waves of light and lucidity
Combatting this humidity
And I savor summer nights here
With eyes of smoke
And stomached beer
I sleep in soft movement
As the heat retains its endurance
And warms my dreams
Filled with muffled, happy screams
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
An empty chest
A stomach of pain
Swirling thoughts
Around in my brain
Countless hours
No time to live
Everything I am
I have to give
There's no point
Unless there's love
An endless equation
No one can solve
Day by day
It's all the same
Misery and sarrow
With someone to blame
Are you living?
Finding happiness
Or are you surviving?
Combatting mental illness
No courage to get help
Independence is key
Aid is unaffordable
Never free
Kindness of the innocent
A beacon of light
Someone to follow
Out of the black night
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 2:25 AM UTC
“I wanted to be happy”
The words crept from my lips like scurrying little spiders when their home disturbed amongst darkened cobwebs in an untouched dingy room
Intrusive thoughts
Dismaying salvation of pathologized compliance
Masking behaviour for acceptance
“Stop spinning in that chair- it’s annoying”
Self expression became punishable
Dismaying youth- retribution beyond reasonable understanding
Belted and crying
Please stop, it hurts
Fearful avoidance
Nothing feels safe
Transmitting adulthood with repressed memories though awakened by medical emergency of your cat
Navigating uncertainty since July; desperately attempting to understand inner workings of trauma brain
Complex post traumatic stress disorder
Medical diagnosis though intrusive thoughts still catastrophic
Chronic pain with desolation
Desperately craving the touch of another human
Covid times; worsening depression combatting betraying myself with fathers abusive words while unproductively masquerading oversleeping
Powerlifting self regulation though collapsing under the bar.
If they wanted to talk to you
They would make effort
Though I still fawn my way to self acceptance
After all;
That’s what my parents taught me to do.
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 4:51 PM UTC
You and me
love like a
memory
moving
forwards backwards
up down side
no need to count
the ticks of the
clock
of life
better to feel them
listen
tickle
like every beat
of the short
life
we call love
one quasar to the next
frogpond
thoughts lost and found
more quickly
than a political
flip flop
chasing the dream
of living life
decently
without much mean
drama
you and me
one kiss
at a time
and us
one shake one tear one
laughter
at a time fighter
combatting the evils
of the humans
splurging out
of the news
like no tomorrow
but you and me
and
us
we cant afford
to dwell on every moment of that
vector
or the quasar might combust
from their rancid hearts
You and me
love like a
memory
moving
towards the better
times for you and me now
and them maybe
some day
so you and me
kid
kissing our way out of their
problems
with this love
and us
yall and them
taking the trickle
that we took from
them
the good ones
Stephen Jules Rubin
Santa Fe NM
late feb 2018
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
You’re a good friend and a great liar
Your confidence is a fickle ceasefire
You give others the benefit of the doubt
But you doubt yourself, inside and out
You can dish it, but certainly can’t take it
Mindlessly spitting words of wisdom, your latest smash hit
Words that have weight for other people
But never for you or your clan of Sheeple
You’re a blind babbler, a social shambler
Combatting the voice inside you
This incessant, never ending mind chew
It’s galloping through La-La Land
Thought after thought to beat the band
If you deserve the best, then why don’t you think you do?
You wince at every word that comes out of your mouth.
This journey that inevitably leads south
You’re the envy of everyone else. Can’t you see?
So confident, footloose and fancy free
You have great willpower in the presence of your friends.
On your own, you have none.
Some things are easier said than done
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 4:25 AM UTC
the smokey memories of Summer
fan on high, combatting heat waves
hair glued to the forehead from sweaty laughter
on the phone for one, two, three many hours
always laughing
but now the sticky fire is gone
noses are runny and temples are cold
dry knuckles chafe against a keyboard wanting to smell the same laundry detergent from a Summer back in time
drying eyes redden as rivers flow into the scorching season
a wet upper lip trembles at time lost
hours on the phone, or lying in bed alone?
always trembling
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 2:50 AM UTC
I think I'm my worst psychiatrist.
While a good psychiatrist would diagnose the problem,
I create excuses for why the problem is there.
And then I create excuses for the excuses.
And then I create excuses for the excuses that originally excused the excuse.
And then I confuse myself with my own logic resulting in more anger, more confusion, and you guessed it, more excuses.
And ironically, this entire poem is just a big excuse.
I don't want to face my problems,
Knowing that they are nothing to worry about.
I'd rather cower at the "power" they hold,
Than try my hand at solving them.
But my hands are smooth, unbattered extensions of the very essence of me.
According to every person and history ever,
I have it perfectly.
And my hands aren't used to venturing within my inner workings,
Searching through the slimy and greasy machinery for the root of the problem.
No, my collar is white and my slacks are clean from top to bottom.
From time to time as the sun no longer shines,
My hands become restless.
They yearn to take a look within, just a quick little check in.
And nevertheless, I confess, I allow my hands
Entrance.
As always, I wince at the pain. It shocks me through my core. My eyes cease seeing, I begin to question my being, while my face is dripping in tears.
My surgery continues on
for seemingly years.
There's no novocaine or amnesia to numb the fiery emotions that release from my body.
Instead I'm forced to endure the awkward combination of these combatting feelings.
Then I finally rip from my innards the tight grasp of my hands.
They breach the surface covered in dark, black blood.
I don't feel much better afterwards, no I really don't.
I just create one final excuse.
That helps me wither away into sleep.
I know myself as much anyone else
But I don't want to admit,
Just as much as anyone else,
That I need help.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC