"comedies" poems
So I heard once that there’s always
some gnarly looking carrot
in every bag of carrots
and you’re supposed make a wish on it
if you get it.
But I didn’t have a bag of veggies
I had a jar of Gumby and Poki
shaped gummies.
Finally the day came when there
were only two Gumbys left.
One was bent in half and
smashed together
and the other looked as all the rest had.
I pulled out the sad little gummy and
made a wish
like it was some ugly carrot.
I wished my crush would kiss me,
And giddily I walked to a coffee house
because I was hoping he would be there
even though I sternly told myself that
he had no reason to be there.
I found the coffee house closed and knew
my wish wasn’t happening that night.
I talked with a friend about my woes
and she confessed her heartache.
We smiled and laughed and died
just a little on the inside.
We had hoped that in college we wouldn’t
feel like middle school girls
with unrequited crushes.
The next day he dropped off a fish
(and this is no euphemism
or pretty poetry slang,
I opted to fish-sit while
he went home for break).
After he left, and
feeling more than silly
I took out the last Gumby
and pretended.
I pretended that it was every wish
on a boy I had made
since I realized boys weren’t
completely disgusting.
On my way to class
I held the little gummy in my
frozen, clenched fist
and wished
that’d he’d kiss me before he left.
I made it really specific
because every movie I’d ever seen
with genies in it had taught me that
specifics were key to avoiding
mishap and mayhem.
Obviously, it didn’t come true.
And I feel like I’m back in middle school,
wishing on ugly carrots and stars
that look suspiciously like airplanes.
Everyone has crushes,
and still more wishes.
Why I thought
at the age of nineteen
when the glamour of Disney-endings
and romantic-comedy plots
had tarnished to realism,
that a Gumby gummy prayer
would come true,
well I’m not entirely sure.
Maybe it’s no matter how old you are
there are always ugly carrots
and shooting stars
and fast airplanes
and romantic comedies
and gummies in the shape of
kids’ show characters.
Maybe no matter how disappointed I am
there will always be unrequited crushes
and genies for wishes
and God for prayers
and heaven forbid
hope.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
-music
-writing
-friends that care
-kawaii shtuff
-anime/manga
-comics
-hella sweet and cute ppl ;)
-talking to my crush
-teasing
-learning something useful that i like
-reading (especially cheesy romantic comedies)
-most sports
-talking nerdy
-nerd/geek debates
-youtube videos
-playing guitar
-playing video games
-family
-FOOD
-photography
-flirts
-traveling
-cows
-clementines
-YOU
^~^
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
I hate labels.
so you may ask me why do you compulsively put words and purposes and dates and times on everything you have.
I hate labels but I love organization.
The problem with labels is they rarely tell the whole story.
Labels are short, just a snapshot of the essence that the thing or person boils down to
but I don’t believe anything can really be that simple.
Labels can make everything easier.
You get the main point, the thing that stands out, FAST.
but that’s like starting a story at it’s ****** you get no previous information and that high point that holds so much meaning if you've read the entire story turns flat.
A flat character doesn’t grow or change or feel all that much but they usually have a label.
Labels turn real multidimensional, complicated, interesting people into flat characters.
He is not gay.
She is not a cutter.
and He is not transgender.
They are real people and you cannot possibly fit a person into a single worded description of the thing that stands out about them or makes them different.
That is not enough for me!
The gay guy likes ice cream and romantic comedies, he's afraid of commitment, that scar is from his own blade and he volunteers on Wednesdays.
The cutter is seventeen and she lives with her grandparents. Almost everybody shes loved has walked away.
She has hair the color of sand at the beach and she wants to work in security at the airport so she can finally have control over who leaves and who stays.
The transgender man never felt trapped in the wrong body, the world just told him that his body was wrong. He’s a freshman in college and nobody ever told him how hard it would be. He calls his mom every night because he knows she worries and he cares. He has skin the color of caramel and he desperately wants to get married.
I hope you now understand that a label is never never enough.
You could argue that I’m afraid of being defined and of defining others with just a word,
but if you ask me a fear of labels is a very legitimate, considerate, and justifiable fear to have.
Labels are simply not enough.
And that's why I hate labels.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
who are you?
You
upon whose skin comedies are written
in bruises and scars like graffiti on your heart
scrawled upon the walls in the language of
maddening imperfection.
You
who exhumes the bones of demons
from the graveyard growing
inside of you
the cemetery where you bury your grief.
who are you?
who rebels at the crimes,
self-inflicted, yet
cannot bring yourself to bury the hatchet
(a hurricane that refuses to be named.)
You
who has learned (to your sorrow)
that the world has teeth
and homes cannot be made
out of human beings.
You
who cannot help but idle
on the question
"what parts of me still function
properly?"
Dec 25, 2017
Dec 25, 2017 at 3:24 AM UTC
I am not my body
I am not the freckles scattered across my face like mismatched constellations
I am not the extra cupcakes that find their way to my thighs
I am not the shade of my eyes nor the hue of my skin
I am not the dark circles that come from lack of sleep
I am not the imperfections that appear on my forehead
I am my soul
I am a sad song on a lonely Saturday night
I am cute movies at midday and romantic comedies at midnight
I am the moon and the sun and the stars and the trees dancing in the wind
I am love and heartbreak, art and music
I am the clothes I wear and the people I associate with
I am the eye of a hurricane
My body is just a fragile house for the memories and dreams that live inside me.
And I refuse to be defined by that in which I reside.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
my past is part of who i am,
i cannot erase it.
it’s written in the books collected on the
bookshelves between my ribs,
stacked upon my spine.
the stories of who i am are carved into me,
scripted on my skin,
branded on my bone,
there is no part of me that is not built upon
this blood of black ink.
i am a collection of my own tragedies,
of my own comedies,
of my own romances.
a library of my own experiences.
not all the collection is good,
some books are quite damaged,
but not all the collection is bad,
my pages are still full of love.
you can pick out which books to read,
which stories you like
and which you’d rather leave,
but it’s still
there,
my past is still a part of me.
― personal library
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 6:12 AM UTC
If my life were a movie it would be one of those films that gets hyped up to no end because I’m one of those kids with the rough childhood who just wants to make it
When in reality it’s just a less action packed but just as dark dc movie
My story has also been confused with a marvel movie since the protagonist is me
And i can't help but cut my overbearing traumatic tragedies with self deprecating comedies
But my life to me feels more like an edgar wright movie where the action isn’t as exciting as The fact that I was able to get out of bed this morning
And my day to day reality will forever feel like a motion blur of edited out negative emotion
I think Maybe my life could be a wes anderson movie stuck in one color palette for the rest of my eternity
And my maturity tends to overwhelm me
my journey is like an anderson movie because i tend to create a world around me
Taking time to shape my own protected reality so that the outside world can’t hurt inside me
If im being honest though i want my life to be a spielberg movie that grabs attention of all ages coming from all sorts of places
I want to spin my truths into his fantastic fantasies where no one equates my past with me
But at the same time I want my life to be a blast from the past john hughes movie where i find a way to stop my past from haunting me
And everything ends up okay at the end of the day because my minds overbearing insecurities
No longer have control over me
Now i see that in actuality other peoples movies are just too much for who i truly want to be and how my trauma impacts me
I mean between my all of those boring biographies and my abundance of favorite movies
I’d want my life’s movie to be full of images depicting my fondest memories and all my angsty gen z tendencies
If my life were a movie i’d make it about how I am, or was, or am going to be
If my life were a movie I’d make it about me
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 12:24 PM UTC
There's the eight of us,
So very different
But yet so much the same.
Each of us holds our special traits.
Our special talents
Converged as an octet.
Some artistic
Some scientific
Some linguistic and
All fantastic.
We love to laugh,
We love to tease,
We love to make a fool of ourselves.
We know there's one who's always there,
Spraying water everywhere,
But never lets people touch her hair.
And then there's one,
Who's buff and tough,
Her voice can change like a chameleon's skin.
Next we have this pretty babe,
Her furry stuff are fun to touch,
She's the gentlest, loveliest llama I know.
Not to forget,
The one's that's brainy,
Such a smarty that she can't type properly.
There's also one that I believe
She's really a mermaid in disguise,
Her actions way too ridiculous.
Of course we have this crazy kid,
Too many fandoms and too little sleep.
I still wonder why she needs her hood all the time.
And here there's another girl,
With real beautiful eyes,
A perfect actress for sketch comedies.
Last but not least,
There's just me,
I can't find a word for my personality.
I don't know how far we'll go,
If we'll still stay as close as we are right now.
As time cruelly marches on,
The day we'll part ways draws so near.
This part of me knows
That this magical bond
That we call friendship,
Will live on forever and ever.
Never did I feel so sure,
So confident about friendship.
But you guys are so special,
I really hope you know.
No matter what happens,
I see myself with you all forever,
And you all with me.
I believe in this friendship.
This magical bond,
That holds the eight of us,
Closely together,
Forever.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
It's common knowledge that after getting a phone number,
one must wait three whole days before giving a call,
to make sure the interaction remains calculatedly casual,
as opposed to needy or uninterested,
which is complete cupid ****
It's appalling that one's intense desire to contact an individual one is drawn to,
is not seen as a mere gesture of sentiment or affection,
but rather weakness and vulnerability.
Even in the darkest and drunkest hours
there will be no super likes,
for no one can afford to wear the heart on their sleeves,
in this world of left and right swipes.
The chase is so overrated not only does it never end,
but also overlooks the catch even when it's finally caught.
True feelings disguised by emojis concentrated into 140 characters
ridicule the ideology of love and romance,
when really we're nostalgic of the times,
we once murmured into brick sized cordless phones at wee hours in the morning,
"you hang up... nooo you hang up first..."
When did meeting the parents not become meeting the parents,
but rather the quick show of another chick to flaunt how well life is going at the moment?
When did compartmentalizing life mean pursuing romantic relationships over the weekends only?
When did to love, to want, to need, to show affection become such girly things,
those who are engulfed by romantic comedies and sensitivity did?
All I really want is to call you and tell you how much I miss you,
and just listen to you breath even if you don't have anything to say.
But, I guess I'll just wait for you to whatsapp me sometime during the weekend...
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC
William Shakespeare: playwright and poet
My absolute favorite of all time
The master of words in plays and sonnets
Unappreciated during his prime
His comedies still make us laugh today
Who could forget The Taming of the Shrew?
Now it's told in a much different way
A movie: The Ten Things I Hate About You
People think of his many tragedies
Othello, Romeo and Juliet
We still feel their sorrow; weak at the knees
We cry for the Prince of Denmark: Hamlet.
"But soft! What light through yonder window break?"
The work of a legend those words do make!
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
YOU gave, but will not give again
Until enough of paudeen's pence
By Biddy's halfpennies have lain
To be "some sort of evidence',
Before you'll put your guineas down,
That things it were a pride to give
Are what the blind and ignorant town
Imagines best to make it thrive.
What cared Duke Ercole, that bid
His mummers to the market-place,
What th' onion-sellers thought or did
So that his plautus set the pace
For the Italian comedies?
And Guidobaldo, when he made
That grammar school of courtesies
Where wit and beauty learned their trade
Upon Urbino's windy hill,
Had sent no runners to and fro
That he might learn the shepherds' will
And when they drove out Cosimo,
Indifferent how the rancour ran,
He gave the hours they had set free
To Michelozzo's latest plan
For the San Marco Library,
Whence turbulent Italy should draw
Delight in Art whoSe end is peace,
In logic and in natural law
By ******* at the dugs of Greece.
Your open hand but shows our loss,
For he knew better how to live.
Let paudeens play at pitch and toss,
Look up in the sun's eye and give
What the exultant heart calls good
That some new day may breed the best
Because you gave, not what they would,
But the right twigs for an eagle's nest!
December
2.2k
Driving off onto the 101 rush hour concrete jungle, there are no exits,
only obligations to stay stuck in my mobile cubicle moving at the speed of slow.
Hidden flowers on the hillside bloom away mocking my insanity,
they cheer me on to see beyond these gray prison bevels.
Gray blocks hollow until they're filled with my humanity,
making me take the choices reaped with devils.
I feel like I've lived a day in one hour, it's so early it could be midnight.
Twisting and turning in my brain, the sun suddenly ridicules, feeding me a fresh case of insane.
I'm at a point of sorrow, sorrow of an exceptional quality, Grade A-farm raised, take two tomorrow.
The raven croaked nevermore, Juliet is the sun, dangren-burang1.
We have to go. I'm almost happy here2. Complacency rots insides, then refills with fear.
So - Listen to them - children of the night. What music they make3. Clamoring for sight.
There's no flesh or blood within this cloak to **** There's only an idea. Ideas are bulletproof4. Filled with truths, synapse salvoes, loves, and drugs. We love what we eat and eat who we are. GERManic germs looking for psychological thrills. You work the guns, I'll rattle the hills.
Smoking cannabis to an over-extent, hope lost, old kung-fu and 80's movies won, I eat smoke for breakfast.
This sun is still mocking me, “Start your day, be productive, make a baby, then expiry.”
Stepping into society, I'm a satanic leaf-tailed gecko wanting freedom, abdicate, and let go your kingdom.
Halfheartedly half washed dishes in my sink; this entropy roller-coaster of highs and lows drives me to drink and think, then drink and smoke, making life one strange syrupy green swirl of mammarys and calamities filled with brevity’s of rarities.
5,000 images, 2 comedies, and a numb right arm later I've turned into dark matter, invisibly pulling all that matters together into a forever stretched infinitely, literally making synergies out of life-energies.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
I brought him more than a book
more than words on a page
I brought him
My heart story
An epic series
I brought him the stories of my life
Before, up to, and including him
And he read it all
Each volume
Understanding and translating clearly
The tragedies
the comedies
the sheer terror and beauty of it all
And in the romance section
Our saga
He read of my
Deep and abiding attraction
Ease of being with him
My devotion to caring for his heart
This soulmate connection
Written so clearly
And dearly
Indelibly inked love
On the pages of my heart
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 12:32 PM UTC
We were clean. Pure.
Trekking from pine needles to sand
time slipping away from
the mountainous routine of
laughter and tears smeared across cyberspace
when I was younger
my Mother told me
that when the people we love die
you can still see them
the brightest stars breaking through the night sky
we were wandering away from smirking academia
clawing our education from
the comedies and tragedies of early mornings
calm like the kiss of diamond tides
and long nights
weighed down with thoughts and drugs and alcohol
shutting off each night
on each sunrise
drifting with nomadic intentions we
raged for rage’s sake
on green lawns with signs painted
dig deeper into the blazing structure,
the momentum is shifting,
and the Kingfisher is watching
proclaiming from mountaintops
that killers hunt these city streets
with a pocket full of bad ideas
the prey a sparkling barfly
clean and holy beneath a neon color palette
potential squandered in a scream of confusion
knowing that not every leap
is a leap of faith
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
Like a leaf falling unknowingly towards a blade of grass…
I impacted at dawn with the sound of a faded smash…
Invaded by reality, my brain whipped up a list of tasks..
But I quickly yawned it off in favor of dreams from the past…
How nice is it to retire to a place of wonder and passion…
When your days are filled with pondering your squandered rations…
A place away from heartache in a land of exotic fashions…
Strange tales of horror mixed with ****** interactions..
What a world it is that our dreams create…
Even giving glimpses of a future face..
Or maybe a real story from a future place..
Of guts and glory from earth or space…
They open Pandora’s box of ideas and images..
But unlike life, the dream diminishes…
Like the feeling of love lost with sleepy grimaces..
And the attack on your foe that’s lost it’s viciousness..
The ability to be in one place then instantly in the next…
The thought of how you got there never leaves you perplexed…
It just is what it is like the characters in this text…
Images of prisoners that your subconscious collects…
Lined up next to each other, depicting events…
Comedies, dramas, love stories, and suspense…
The feeling of realism is just so intense…
The horror is horrifying and the fortunes are immense…
That’s why I love these stories my brain invents…
So now I’m off to catch tonight’s main events…
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 2:00 AM UTC
On silver screen cinemas
Actors portray pain
Sobbing
weeping
Dripping tears
Like that of thunderstorm rain
Comedies - that's all they are
Comedies is all I see
Sick and twisted parodies
of me and those like me
Horror flicks
and gruesome pics
are simple things when compared
Agony
Yes Agony
Agony is your true name
What actor dare play my part
what actor dare say
"I Dare"
Because of you Agony
My bittersweet agony
Joy
is but a lost memory
Because of you.... Agony my sweet agony
Peace
Is a mystery- never clear
And my heart, my agony
Is a flame
flickering, riddled glimmer
Beating..... nevermore
Thanks to you- my sweet Agony
I know Hate
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
So it went
like this -
she said,
"My therapist
thinks we
should break up."
and I replied,
"Yeah,
my psychiatrist
says that we
should break up, too."
so soon after,
we broke up.
It was like
Woody Allen
and Diane Keaton.
I didn't know
that such comedies
could actually
be real.
The way
that it appears
in my memory
is something
that isn't exactly real.
That's life!
(I think...).
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 12:19 AM UTC
I suppose I should tell you a little more about myself...
Something that has at least a LITTLE wealth.
I've always loved to write poems but stopped
I just kind of moved on and dropped.
Hopefully by the time you finish I'm still writing.
Stopping to write is a habit I'm fighting.
I'm quirky, fun, and love to be silly.
I'm a girly girl; romantic comedies, make-up, all that ***** nilly.
I own a skateboard and play video games occasionally.
I socialize a lot and try to stay with company ever so painfully.
I love people, though I can be shy.
It's just a thing I do, I don't know why.
So there's a lot about me,
I hoped you enjoyed my story heehee.
Hopefully I can actually meet you too!
See you soon, I bid you adieu. c:
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
They get the holidays they stole from us
They get Ostara, Yule and Samhain
Easter, Christmas and Halloween
They get the crosses on greeting cards
Their bibles in store aisles
They are praised for those crimes against us
How they hung and hunted us
Drowned and undressed us
They get to stand on their pedestals with megaphones
Outside of schools and businesses
Door to door through neighborhoods
And preach about their hate
Tell us no matter what we believe
If it is not God then it must be sin
That if they do not stop us
Then Lucifer will win
Warts on noses, green skin and greasy hair
That is how a witch is pictured everywhere
Cackling and cursing, evil, wicked and vile
That is the image that they gave to us after they robbed and ***** us
They mock us in their media and treat us like comedies
Turn our magic into fiction and throw out the science
They make a mockery of our practice, spread all these lies of what it is not
Take the death card in tarot, the Tv says it means you’ll die
But a witch will tell you it means a new chapter of your life
Double double toil and trouble
Just once I’d like to see their plans foiled
Fire burn and cauldron bubble
Watch as we rebuild from the rubble
Never ask us why we have such anger
Why we don’t want to stand around your manger
Because when people say the word witch
They say it like they call a woman *****
Oct 14, 2022
Oct 14, 2022 at 1:04 AM UTC
it starts with a chug
a push of steam leaning into the next chug
more resolved even desperate
building momentum with each turn
three thoughtless words
leave the station blowing spiral exhaust
picking up sentences along the way
passengers climb aboard destination cars
riding click clack click clack lyric tracks
as they squelch an urge to peer ahead
for the blind belly-gripping corners
hiding morbid thoughts of finding themselves
somewhere in an ominous tunnel
with a villain from chapter 3
but they come anyway
paying good fare
with cash and unbartered time
reserved for such a season as this
infinite itineraries through
countrysides and comedies
mountains and mysteries
prairies and poetry
highlight endless whistle stop fantasies
predestined by curious minds
throwing line by line hypnotic leisure
into the rhythm of the wheels
beauty is revealed
through the picture windows of books
yet
in the midst of gorgeous landscapes
undreamt dismantling jumps
hardened steel guides in these words:
*...I would have been referred to religion,
the cemetery where questions of faith are answered....*
the pleasant journey
comes derailed on the slip switch
possessed of both genius and sadness
for cemeteries are only death if
they are the end of the vision
tombstones create blind men
of brilliant skeptics
when
Lazarus lives
the tomb is empty
and the end isn't
faith puts the train upright
setting the switches to forever
bypassing graveyards
and riding to the unquenchable light.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
Don’t believe them (*the books the fairy tales the
romantic comedies*) when they tell you,
“Love will find a way.”
They are liars, spinning words like
the Serpent to Eve.
Love does not always prevail.
Sometimes, you are twenty and stupid and
far too drunk
and when you wake up in the morning, he is gone.
Sometimes you think, “I’ll tell him tomorrow,”
and tomorrow never comes.
Sometimes, he is the groom and you are the girl at the back of the church he once dated in college and forgot about.
Sometimes, you are the bride and because this isn’t Hollywood,
no one stops the wedding.
Sometimes, you wait up until four o’clock in the morning
for his call.
Sometimes, it never comes.
Sometimes, he dies.
Sometimes, you do.
Sometimes, you fight and yell and sob into the phone to your mother—
who married too young and never really knew how to care for you anyway—
but no matter how many dishes you throw,
you just can’t make it work.
Sometimes, he is a man when you marry him
and a monster by the time your daughter is born.
Sometimes, you drop your change in the supermarket, the mall, the
subway, and when your fingers brush as you both reach down to scoop up the scattered pennies and dimes, you feel that
electric shock.
You look into his deep graygreenbluebrown eyes and see
everything that will be: all the adventures not yet had, the promises not yet made—
and then, amidst all that unlived life, his wife (girlfriend, fiancé)
calls to him from twenty feet away
and those promises never get made at all.
Sometimes, you like him and he likes the girl
with the long blonde hair and
prettier smile.
Sometimes, he likes you and you
honestly just don’t give a ****
Sometimes, there is no Prince Charming on a great white steed coming to battle the dragon.
Sometimes, you have to save yourself.
Sometimes, survival is the only happy ending.
Sometimes, your families are feuding and no matter how much you try,
you cannot reason with your father or mother or
whoever is keeping you apart.
Sometimes, after that, you both just die.
Sometimes, it’s all about the timing.
Sometimes, you go in one door and he goes out another,
And then you never meet.
Sometimes, you sob into your pillow and beg God to change his mind for you,
but no amount of wishing can bring him back.
Sometimes, you are separated—by culture, by Time, by
universes, by a fate that has decided to break your heart in
every way possible and then toss you out to sea just
one last time, just to see if you’ll survive.
Sometimes you never find that someone who makes your skin burn, who
drives you crazy or keeps you sane.
Sometimes, you are just lonely and then you die.
Love doesn’t always prevail.
But sometimes.
Just sometimes.
It does.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 1:15 AM UTC
______
*I can't give you my trust,
I can not get close to you,
I can not let you hold me even when I wish for you to,
I can not let you show me how you love me like others used too,
I struggle when I listen, or try to concentrate, to the things you say,
I struggle to communicate my feeling back to you in the same way,
I sometimes feel like I'm too demanding of you,
I don't know how to do the comedies of a give and take,
I feel like I sometimes only take, and leave a burden on top of you,
I constantly feel guilty for what I do to you, I feel guilty for the things I do,
I get to have you, but I am not worth someone like you,
I hope I don't hurt you too bad, on days when I am too sad,
I sometimes need to relax and detach. my dissociation won't last forever,
I know I am not perfect in this world that is so dull and grey, but I try,
I each day, have tried, I empathise more then not,
I am sorry more then not, like the fears I cry tears over,
I wish I could overcome them, I wish I could stop avoiding my past,
I wish I could forget all the bad, make memories that are good and will last,
I can't remember day to day tasks, and I can't remember anything un-sad,
I wish that when you told me things I could understand it better,
I wish I handled things better, learn to fix them on my own,
I wish I didn't depend on you for help, but I wouldn't if I could fix it myself.
I wish I stopped staying in bad places and leaving the good ones I find,
I want to not act so compulsive with these addictions that surround me,
I wish I could get rid of the overlaying grief that hangs over me,
I wish I could move on from what has been taken from me,
I want to stop letting it exhaust me,
I am tired, but never sleep, and to sleep wouldn't help my tiredness,
I tried to sleep with you and lay down next to you wide awake,
I wish I could of been sleeping as peaceful as you,
I feel plagued by all my bad memories,
I want them to go away, because they only make it harder for you,
I know you don't love me, I know at least you shouldn't love me,
I worry that I worry you, and I don't want you to be worried about me,
I feel like you deserve more, and better, and should get it.
I want to protect you from the damage I can put upon you,
I feel the panic inside brews, and I can't rid myself from it,
I wish you would save yourself from me.
I get angry, and mad, and upset,
I do this rather then having an emotional shut down,
I hate that I lash out, I don't want to get mad at you,
I hate myself, I wish that I could love myself like I used to,
I take risks hoping that something better could happen, but it doesn't,
I feel alone,
I feel abandoned,
I feel rejected,
I feel helpless,
I feel trapped,
I know you left because you felt like this
I lost you, because of all these things,
I know what I did wrong*
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
I call upon their harmony
They honor me with artistry
The pupils of Apollo's
Lyre resonant inside of me
Calliope adventurous,
Intrepid in her recklessness
Emboldening my will to lead
The unenlightened on this quest
Through Clio's scrolls of history
My oracle clairvoyant
She has graced me with the vision
Of the future sky chatoyant
And a buoyant sea of Euterpe
All floating through the lyricist
That synchronizes all of this
Into a metamorphosis
Evolving as Erato's love
A heart as soft as silk
A dove, tabula rasa thirsting for
The Mother Gaea's milk
To rise from Melpomene
Masks of tragic flaws of Icarus
For I divine the comedies
Thalia simply can't resist
Polyhymnia, Terpsichore
My rarest of expressions
Still reveal themselves in forms
Of spirit guide possessions
When Urania in cosmic bliss
Transports me to the stars
Reborn again to join them
As Mnemosyne's memoirs
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 1:11 AM UTC
the mange of our fuzzy logic is squandered on the imbecile.
and genius is the gene splice of twelve comedies.
a rogue moon in a hooligan.
it jumps the fence and can't jump back. lacking the tool
that undoes the beauty of the obvious.
that quaintly dismisses the Oh ! My ! God !
we cringe in the ether of our ignorance, spooning the villain.
the Mind is the Common Sense Killer....
it dives and triumphs in the acetone conundrum
of our proximity to dissipation.
the bold features of our doldrums
are the perfect ugly perfection
of our flaws.
our love is the rigid agenda of a massacre.
we the people, are the juvenile, sprained wrist of a boggart !
a Fae dreary.
we have our business in the withers of dead horses.
we are well versed
in the tundra tongue of our flat humor.
we assume the rumors are true.
and the tyranny that freed you
is the misery you
love with
and your beautiful
doom
kissing
a
mirror...
a Thing.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC