"comprehended" poems
my love
thy hair is one kingdom
the king whereof is darkness
thy forehead is a flight of flowers
thy head is a quick forest
filled with sleeping birds
thy ******* are swarms of white bees
upon the bough of thy body
thy body to me is April
in whose armpits is the approach of spring
thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot
of kings
they are the striking of a good minstrel
between them is always a pleasant song
my love
thy head is a casket
of the cool jewel of thy mind
the hair of thy head is one warrior
innocent of defeat
thy hair upon thy shoulders is an army
with victory and with trumpets
thy legs are the trees of dreaming
whose fruit is the very eatage of forgetfulness
thy lips are satraps in scarlet
in whose kiss is the combinings of kings
thy wrists
are holy
which are the keepers of the keys of thy blood
thy feet upon thy ankles are flowers in vases
of silver
in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes
thy eyes are the betrayal
of bells comprehended through incense
160.2k
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
Rest in this, my bruised and weary soul:
I was a wretch, chosen to be a beauty;
a slave, chosen to be a bride;
an orphan, chosen to be an heir;
an enemy, chosen to be a friend.
I deserved nothing but wrath and death
yet received everything of life and grace.
I am loved beyond any dreaming of it
and blessed above all worldly wealth.
I have the incomparable birthright of those
whose Father is God and whose Lord is Jesus Christ—
righteousness from Him and peace with Him.
I am a cherished gift from the Father to the Son.
I was paid for by the Son’s own blood
and am "engraved on the palms of His hands."
I am the living temple of God’s Holy Spirit
Who empowers me to do His pleasure and bring Him glory.
I am the LORD's, chosen and set apart for His delight.
***What more could I ask?
But that's only the beginning...***
I will live as blessed as I believe myself to already be,
for "I have been blessed in the heavenly realms
with every spiritual blessing in Christ,"
"given everything I need for life and godliness"
through knowing Him and His precious promises,
"an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade—
kept [securely and eternally] in heaven" for me.
I've been "raised up and seated with Christ";
my "life is hidden with Him" in the Father,
and "He will fill me with joy in His presence,
with eternal pleasures at His right hand."
Oh, that "the eyes of my heart would be enlightened
with the spirit of wisdom and revelation"
to see what’s already been prepared and given to me
and to know much more fully the One Who has
so meticulously prepared and lavishly given it.
As I walk intimately with Him and rest confidently in Him
(based only on His merits, never my own),
I am given free access to my account
in His heavenly storehouse and enabled to appropriate
its glorious riches to every circumstance of my life,
even the most searingly painful and confoundingly difficult ones.
I have a spiritual Fort Knox available to me
through knowing Christ Jesus my Lord,
but He Himself is my greatest treasure.
Without Him, nothing else matters.
Nothing else has meaning if I am not found in Him,
clinging to Him and carried by Him.
When I finally become desperate for Him alone,
I begin to understand the profound reality
of all He desires for me and offers to me
in my spiritual inheritance in Him.
There are infinite presents to be unwrapped
in His presence which cannot be told
in human words or comprehended by mortal minds,
but they wait to be taken hold of by
any and all who would take hold of Him.
***For He gives and gives and gives and gives,
and even when He takes, He gives.***#
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
This is a poem I must write,
and hopefully not recite
I feel like an old, twisted,
used dish towel thrown across a kitchen sink
my insides opened wide, and the color of pink
pushed aside like nothing at all
just hanging there waiting to fall
I can’t even comprehended
what my heart must feel
this feeling inside can’t be real
there is just no answer; but when will it end?
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
What's your take on walking?
My body serves my soul
and tells me how to go.
My heart, affixed -- aims to show.
These ways I’ve walked in my shoes and stockings.
I've looked to heaven’s stars, to daylit clouds,
when I've stepped out, or dropped my gaze
to track the ground.
Yes, it is true—whoever passed me by
could have taken offense and supposed
I lacked my confidence.
And ofttimes, I strode out straight and true
as if toward a far mist horizon.
Un-manifest future,
even peek-a-boo,
could be comprehended?
I should doubt it.
And if I wished to address an occasional
in-the-dumps, lost-at-sea feeling,
I'd shut my eyes, and walk backwards --
owl-like, swivel 360 my head.
Backwards blind circumspection seemed worthy my try;
Ask--Who am I?
I would story where I’d been.
In my most spontaneous of nature foot-trafficking,
in roulette walk; my spin of gun chamber click--
ant, spider, beetle, and the occasional sighing snail
had fled my shadow shoe?
As slow drift clouds in a sky game would play
with the sun to hide—creatures had sought me out,
sung their farewells? (it was an excellent day to die)
Let me tell it, as it had happened today,
and truth says how.
My feet, they had gotten to waltz-walking.
O how my body and soul
danced a-fancy free.
Love was brimming out of me; happiness
whispered her wordless name; and
my tongue tripped nonsensical.
So if, at last, you've kept a-pace with me
in sympathetic striding, then perhaps
you would surmise:
there never could be a flat-footed me,
when I spout off with poem-talking.
Now, what’s your take on walking?
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
In the searing airless midsummer-
Clockwork morning rewinds
cobalt into a bleeding orange yolk dripping across
the canvas of the world.
Sky, turn the colour of dreams. Heart, turn the colour of love-
I’m posed over a skyscraper
Because I wanted to touch the stars. Because I wanted to touch you.
There’s a beauty found in the smallest spaces
Gaps in your heartbeat, getting your toothbrush mixed with mine
Honey-lemon on my tongue
So maybe you loved me, but not in a way I comprehended
I’m thinking of your lips, your eyes
and the way you said goodbye-
The word wrapped around your tongue like a prayer.
Pink bleeds into violet and it looks like the 5 a.m. Berlin skyline
might tear itself apart, like a heart bursting or a car crash.
So it’s dawn. So I’m inconsolable.
And if the angel sun sets,
then so be it.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
Remain in a state of wonder
that cannot be comprehended
by those around you
Be one with the earth
as a wandering soul
wide eyed
free
and changing
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
Life is a writhing swirl who's information is meaningful but the information does not exist for the purpose of being comprehended so it is only taken in and interpreted as well or as usefully as the perceptive devices.
Nothing significant has a vendetta against the individual beings' happiness or success, though beings may appear as food or some other form of fulfillment to other beings. Beings will view other beings as their appetites would view any other thing. No one can exist in the view of another. Don't expect others to view you as you do. You are NOT their center, only your own.
Everybody thinks everybody else is insufferably selfish and everybody is right.
Love is interesting though. More on that after more data is collected.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
A perfect Mommy, a perfect Daddy
A perfect daughter, a perfect life,
A perfect world to exist in, eclipsed by consummate sight.
She was my sun, a seraphic voice
bathing me in warm light,
And he was my moon, watchful eyes
protecting me from the darkness of night.
Two halves of my whole heart, their blood flowing through
my spirited veins.
Two halves of my whole mind, their thoughts crashing through
my synthetic brain.
Perfection is their sweetest lie, proclaimed by selfish mouths uttering
vain whispers after bedtime.
"I can't live without you. You can't leave me. I know we can survive this."
But survival is intangible against an affliction of the soul.
Imperfection is my harshest truth, comprehended by grieving eyes seeing raw memories before sleep.
"I can't live without you. You can't leave me. I know you can survive this."
But even a human's profound devotion can be turned away by their Creator,
just as a pleading child can be deserted by their mother and father.
And that is the largest betrayal of them all.
But to remain, to endure against hate's control, against fate, would be an immediate death.
To try and withstand their sickness and deterioration would be suicide.
And I have realized that I do not want to die.
Loss is my most unbearable pain, undeniably clouded by her beautiful smile and his comforting resemblance.
She used to sing her child to sleep, and now, she is singing to her one last time. At the door, he is watching and keeping them both safe.
They will both leave and never come back, but the memories will remain. The happiness will always be there for recollection.
But for now, it is time to sleep and forget.
She caresses her child's hair and kisses her forehead lovingly, getting up and walking to join him at the doorway.
The silhouettes of their mournful faces seem like a cryptic dream.
"Goodnight, Gigi. We love you very much."
"Mom? Dad?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"I can live without you. You can leave me. I know I can survive this."
"We know."
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
A palpable discord keeps me
turning all through the night
until the late rays of Sun
shine by again
I want a dreamcatcher
Feathery-spider web-
To keep my hypnagogic rest
sacred to me
And then I can wish
him closer...
Without a separating sea
I reserved my sleep to calmer
nights where my dainty ribs
caressed an incense-ridden
wind
My dreams are a shade
happier than me
I found my wrists
bedecked in fine jewelery
There's no chiming of antique
clocks in my sleepy
subconscious knots.
My eyes were not
corrosed over
so when he spoke I
comprehended
with crystal orbs
I'd hoped I find him through
disheveled bedsheets under
the waxing moon...
It illuminated my skin and sent me
soundly reveling in the hazy countenance
To me he's Elvis' love child
He's a wish fulfilled to me
I discovered an idol
I write letters,
coveted, held close
I worship what I
know of him
My thoughts are almost this
tangible-thing like a rope
I could grab and
make a knoose out of
perhaps it's time to slay
the golden bull
I struck his wayward glance
by some silver spring of snow
He's travelled to the ruins
of cathedrals with
chipped limestone on
the doors arched-shape...
darkness on the otherside...
Mother Mary follows,
walking through some threshold
hallway
Crooked stem, bent leaves...
A pruned up crackled rose
for me to eat
Those eyes...
dark brown, almond-shaped
Squinty with sparrow-feet
I'm waiting in the mountains
Clouds covering my eyes
Ocean blue in the stark sunshine
blinding me and enveloping me
when the music dies
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 1:20 AM UTC
My absence was a mortifying misfortune,
The ponies drew their swords at the amity,
The sunset hung close to my crackling toes.
And the rings of ardor were a constant reminder of the fall.
We know we rise again in the sunrise
but the plastic hair gave fraud to wishes we made days before.
The soldiers clamped their wings tight
The circle had not comprehended the fight we fought for.
The context of these misused actions could be used to modify.
“Please come again” The narrator spoke.
We rode the carousel again.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 1:33 PM UTC
What is your touch?
It is the physical sensation of electromagnetism repelling our atoms,
It's the chain reaction set off through my nervous system,
Culminating in my cortex, where it is comprehended as your touch.
*In dim streetlight through your window,
With just a crescent of your face illuminated.
With your soft eyes, and memories of our backpacking trip mixing in
Like honey mixes with warm tea, or coffee.
With ***** brown curls around your head like a halo.*
Still, what is your touch?
It is like a ripple through me, and it ripples out into the world
It is more present in my action every day
As you take down my walls
As your lips send soothing down to my core
As you make me believe
In love
Again.
It is everything that went into making you,
No better concoction
Has ever been brewed.
And the way that you move
Makes little eddies of awe that captivate my eyes,
They cannot move.
So you see,
It's not hard to convince myself
That your touch is everything.
Two ends of the universe,
You're setting me free
That anything happened at all
Was as great a miracle
As your touch is to me
It's giving me shivers
And melting my heart--
There is nothing in this world like your touch.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 1:17 AM UTC
*You spoke adamantly of gentle courage
and sharing spring's flourished nectar,
the swooning rhythm of swaying trees
and the easeful breezes that flow
'tween endearment's sensibilities,
misty moonbows 'neath dusk's stormy skies
lavender sunsets midst rosy horizons,
affectation surging amid life's turmoils
wallowing in self indulgence &
the harmony of olive branch surrender
and thrumming heart strings of patience,
it was then I comprehended, darkness doesn't
last a lifetime when lit by love's fortitude*
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
That calculus in mathematics and the female line of thought are the two most complex things in the whole world,
The difference among the two of them stays in the fact that while calculus can be finally comprehended after practice, the female mind can't ever be understood.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 2:06 AM UTC
Noitareneg
For my Soulmate
I
I saw the best minds of my generation go to waste
I saw the worst minds obsess over awful taste
I walked a steady path and staggered through some mud
I soared through skies so bright, my eyes were useless studs
II
You viewed the same madness that spewed from my pen
You walked the path of enlightenment and gorgeous Zen
You mastered what all the useless fools never could
You comprehended what they never understood
III
We rise, only as one, but the stragglers keep us down
We never worry much, because a king is just a crown
We march to the drum of freedom, with paper on our tongues
We are the 90’s generation, the wise among the young
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
The idea of **** .
****
One letter away from something beautiful
privacy
who is willing to capture the idea of ****
the beauty of ones body
being grasped with someones eyes
licking their lips
need
the only emotion comprehended
from all of this
and only because of sexiness.
The want
The emotion
The feeling
How its craved
each breath sending a shock
deep
The rush
The chill
quietly watching
oh how the mind runs free
how ****
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
600
It troubled me as once I was—
For I was once a Child—
Concluding how an Atom—fell—
And yet the Heavens—held—
The Heavens weighed the most—by far—
Yet Blue—and solid—stood—
Without a Bolt—that I could prove—
Would Giants—understand?
Life set me larger—problems—
Some I shall keep—to solve
Till Algebra is easier—
Or simpler proved—above—
Then—too—be comprehended—
What sorer—puzzled me—
Why Heaven did not break away—
And tumble—Blue—on me—
2k
I, (Love Thy Neighbor As Thyself)
*how I would, honor this with ecstasy joy effervescent,
the simplest of methodologies, if only I,
reasoned how one safely permits
to love myself, if only I,
knew how to love an
I
to self love well,
not a university course,
no simple answers like thirst, yet how I thirst,
hunger, burst, curse for this peculiar wisdom, please,
instinct me to navigate murderous shoals of take but give
I
who teaches this to the children?
I, parents, teachers, not ****** or pastors or
TV the great substitute for all of the above,
myself is not a selfie, no glorying got in I,
I, burdensome, never comprehended,
love thy neighbor better, love actually, no mere pretense,
if well executed, perhaps is when the trapeze line is at last
cleanly indistinguishable,
your I, my I,
both wicks will be joined, brighter lit for it,
one flame, one godlike burning, fusing,
with neither consumed, wax fusing,
but teaching easy loving
to explode the
I,*
~
9:24am EST
6/2/17
airborne over the Western US of A
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 4:35 PM UTC
I have this little pencil pouch
that I stuff scraps of paper in,
"happy memories,"
and when I'm feeling down
I'll reach in, swish them around,
and pull out a few
to remind me of better times.
They're all kinds of memories:
big, significant moments,
funny or sweet quotes,
little nothings I don't even remember
until I read them later.
Today one was, "I threw away
my last two blades 6.12.14"
Now, this one was pretty **** major.
I used to have cutting kits,
blades hidden everywhere,
and one always
always
on my person,
just in case I needed it quick.
I remember my first cut
with scary clarity.
I was ten.
I'm twenty-six now.
Sixteen years I've been
haphazardly coping
in all the wrong ways.
More than half of my life
was consumed with the evolution
of my methods.
Maybe you can understand,
just a little bit,
how incredibly terrified
and yet empowered
I felt on 6.12.14
when I opened my palm
and watched those last two
faulty escapes fall into the trash.
Every day since has been a struggle,
but I haven't relapsed once.
I've thought about it,
dear lord have I thought about it,
but I've refrained,
forced to just rub the scars
running across my porcelain skin.
I feel like I've been battling
these hellish urges forever,
so when I opened that slip of paper
and read it, comprehended the date,
I wasn't proud at all.
6.12.14
I broke down, instant tears.
All this struggling I've been doing,
and it hasn't even been two months.
Not even two measly ******* months.
If this is what "staying clean"
from my ******** addiction
feels like in just the first
month and a half,
I'm not going to make it.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
We cannot seem to understand
that one perceives personally with limited scope,
a minuscule allotment, a slippery vision of time.
We believe to hold witness to a great single minded river,
this metaphor is bought wholly
and sold solely to sweeten our short life-
As one word often leads to the next,
a parent sires child
thinking this is the most powerful measurement of truth
we use to falsely foolproof our assurances
and assuage any feeling of being a victim,
eaten by time.
It is a shared dream of the dead man's final words-
they carry weight, meaning and purpose.
Needing to be painfully comprehended and carried self evident.
A literary reflection of our need for death to matter,
to have matter and be of substance is a view of ourselves linearly,
as a line drawn between birth to death
then- maybe
a cathartic eternity.
Apr 16, 2011
Apr 16, 2011 at 8:13 AM UTC
Do not listen to your heart.
Ignore the tumblr quotes.
Child, life is not measured by care.
Decisions are made by balance
Better vs Worst.
Good vs Evil.
Life's questions do not have
right or wrong answers.
Only comprehended responses.
Remember the brush of his skin.
The musky scent buried in his clothes
Don't ' forget the tears.
Feel the hairs of knuckles
across your innocent cheek.
Don't forget the laughs.
Child, listen to me
Reasons to stay and leave will always exist
The out come is yours.
Don't listen to your heart
It will always want to stay.
For once, let your mind decide.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
*How you comprehended my myriad a murmur
My mind can barely understand even with a hammer
Hard hit on my head
I a diaper-wetting toddler nestled in the warm bed
Of your comforting arms
You, in constant vigil feeding me honey-sweet plums
Singing me lullabies in your soft mellow voice
Your seemingly palpable heart always in a state of rejoice
Kindness well-articulated on your visage
Your demeanor that of a revered sage.
Your unmatched audacity to defy odds
Neutralizing all prods
Initiated by inconveniencing circumstance
A goddess of stern indefatigability, your experience in life expanse.*
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 4:32 AM UTC
As an atheist I doubt the existence of celestial beings, but if ever there were an angel, I know it’s you.
But perhaps it’s time to rethink my beliefs, because you too give the impression of a Greek God: statuelike, sculpted and beautiful beyond belief.
I have found myself to care more about your entire being; every hair on your body, every freckle on your skin; more so than I have cared for anything.
The sonorous sounds you make when formulating words and meanings are melodic, marvellous and my favourite song.
Your eyes have the power to captivate even the most apathetic of beings and challenge anyone who looks into them to evade falling in love with you.
Your love and care cannot be comprehended. You make everyone you encounter feel distinctive and special which in a world of 7.6 billion, is not an easy feat.
Your enthusiasm for your passions is tangible and infectious. And you bring a bit of the Sun with you everywhere you go.
And were our time together to end tomorrow, I would be grateful for what I had. I hope you know how much of an honour it is to have you in my life.
You make me feel safe and sound,
And content when you’re around,
And I can’t wait till the day that your art is renowned,
And I am just so glad I found...
…You.
Because as soon as I see that smile, I know I’m home.
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 6:53 PM UTC
By the way she walks, the way she talks
It has you mesmerized, in a way you can’t even imagine.
Her grace, as she touches every inch of that floor
has every man in there wanting more, and more, and more.
So seductive, her reasoning can’t be comprehended
Yet, compensated for her work.
Look at her strut, left to right
Back and forth, for your eyes are glued because she is astounding.
Hypnotizing, to say the least.
You wish to describe her but, she fails to compete.
For she is your dream girl, your fantasy… and even more.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC