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"considerately" poems
The day that I was christened-- It's a hundred years, and more!-- A hag came and listened At the white church door, A-hearing her that bore me And all my kith and kin Considerately, for me, Renouncing sin. While some gave me corals, And some gave me gold, And porringers, with morals Agreeably scrolled, The hag stood, buckled In a dim gray cloak; Stood there and chuckled, Spat, and spoke: "There's few enough in life'll Be needing my help, But I've got a trifle For your fine young whelp. I give her sadness, And the gift of pain, The new-moon madness, And the love of rain." And little good to lave me In their holy silver bowl After what she gave me-- Rest her soul!
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Godmother
I do not love you in the most common sense of the word. I do not love you softly with doe eyes and tender kisses. I do not love you bravely, for there is nothing brave in my actions or words to you. I do not love you kindly or sweetly, gently or patiently, considerately or reservedly. I love you like a storm was loosed on my entire being from my first glimpse of you. I love you like a match loves to be struck, or like a nail loves a hammer. I love you like a page loves being scarred by the ink of a pen, and I love you like a pick loves being scraped across old strings over and over again. I love you violently, and entirely. But, most of all, secretly. I love you scorchingly and searingly, as if all the pretty words you've ever bestowed upon me were mere kindling. I love you like an atom must love the universe, a thing by the grace of which it exists, but a thing also which it couldn't possibly ever grasp. I love you behind my heart and behind my eyes, to shield such a vulnerable thing from the corrosion and harsh grinding of the world. I love you brokenly, and bitterly, and for always, because I will not admit to loving you at all.
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Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 6:03 PM UTC
I Do Not Love You
We met in February, snow painted red-bricks looming, flaring nostrils crisply inhaling; we scampered across the boulevard doused in the wake of passing tires. We kissed on a Wednesday, economically sharing a cab, considerately a chaste peck, stirring up a faint blush while you clutched my hand. I fell in love one morning wrapped in a paradox of your limbs; I extricated myself miserably, condemned to hard labor from nine to five. You called me today, the unrecognized number churning cement in my stomach, an answer to the the seven digit prayer I left this morning on your pillow.
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May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 2:51 AM UTC
How we met...
The quest for both burial and resurrection are significant, as their flickering shadows of the self-depreciatory abyss chant their silent and hauntingly audible presence under the canopy of the ancient forest. Let us celebrate the night together, as we are traumatically enveloped within an exposed and dialectical pronunciation during this classical and acoustic daylight romance. Although I truly hate your love, I also reject your evident indifference. This is the essence of feeling like a fake within the genuineness of our actual and perceived realities. It is heaven-sent, like a feathered breed of unresolved investigations within our socio-political climate of assumed advancement, where the intensity of the beat gyrates her percussionist hips across ******* expressions of the cosmological sound barrier. Concurrently, the tangible rhythm of nature’s pulse considerately consummates her forcefully placid interactions within the context of gender specific diversity. It is all in the name of discriminatory wholeness, my friend. Our ambivalent connectedness to that which is catastrophically uncertain reminds me of drawing curtains across this conglomerate dawn of darkness and uninhibited concealment. Just look at our ornithological formation, where leadership spreads her wings with censored zoological resignations and simplistic wisdom. You have truly lifted my soul within the complexity of this circuitry, and I wholeheartedly acknowledge that we are a myriad of expressions which cannot be adequately articulated within the thermals of our cosmological stratosphere. Yet, there is a certain finesse to delinquency, and I have bridged the metaphorical gap across the chasm of divided entities, where we can embrace the cool and gentle breeze right at the fulcrum of unforgiving landscapes and shamanic pastures. Like an artistic depiction of woodland serenity, we are engaged in this wonderful neutrality where it is all about the dance – otherwise known as the energy of modern choreography. Epistemology can be questionable, where assumptions are sickeningly grounded within the soil of egocentric perceptions of supremacy. Trust me, my seasoned partner of those astral plains of Nirvana: my lips are sealed in this putrid reconciliation of proclaimed opposites, which are said to mutually attract.
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Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
An Ode to the Regulation of Sensual Propaganda
The quest for both burial and resurrection are significant, as their flickering shadows of the self-depreciatory abyss chant their silent and hauntingly audible presence under the canopy of the ancient forest. Let us celebrate the night together, as we are traumatically enveloped within an exposed and dialectical pronunciation during this classical and acoustic daylight romance. Although I truly hate your love, I also reject your evident indifference. This is the essence of feeling like a fake within the genuineness of our actual and perceived realities. It is heaven-sent, like a feathered breed of unresolved investigations within our socio-political climate of assumed advancement, where the intensity of the beat gyrates her percussionist hips across ******* expressions of the cosmological sound barrier. Concurrently, the tangible rhythm of nature’s pulse considerately consummates her forcefully placid interactions within the context of gender specific diversity. It is all in the name of discriminatory wholeness, my friend. Our ambivalent connectedness to that which is catastrophically uncertain reminds me of drawing curtains across this conglomerate dawn of darkness and uninhibited concealment. Just look at our ornithological formation, where leadership spreads her wings with censored zoological resignations and simplistic wisdom. You have truly lifted my soul within the complexity of this circuitry, and I wholeheartedly acknowledge that we are a myriad of expressions which cannot be adequately articulated within the thermals of our cosmological stratosphere. Yet, there is a certain finesse to delinquency, and I have bridged the metaphorical gap across the chasm of divided entities, where we can embrace the cool and gentle breeze right at the fulcrum of unforgiving landscapes and shamanic pastures. Like an artistic depiction of woodland serenity, we are engaged in this wonderful neutrality where it is all about the dance – otherwise known as the energy of modern choreography. Epistemology can be questionable, where assumptions are sickeningly grounded within the soil of egocentric perceptions of supremacy. Trust me, my seasoned partner of those astral plains of Nirvana: my lips are sealed in this putrid reconciliation of proclaimed opposites, which are said to mutually attract.
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She considerately held a smile and strained to conceal the strain of politeness, asking correct questions with an ear of patience conveying interest to spare feelings from being hurt. Though I held a mask of being fooled by her falseness we knew we knew and yet the charade continued. I admire her for that.
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Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
Charades
The nursing home smelled like **** considerately covered with disinfectant. “Thank god for small mercies”, I thought, as I walked towards the one I love who can no longer speak my name. She had grown whiskers, when did that happen? And the corner of her eyes were filled with decay. Some things were the same, though, Like the way she cried when I hugged her. Like the way her hair smells- like protection, like childhood. It is very difficult to converse with some one who can barely speak. I pattered on about my boyfriend, and she asked, “Jewish?” I reply, “No Bubbe, he’s not.” Her eyes fell, and how can I reveal myself to her? That I lost nothing when I found that I didn’t believe? Instead I smile and say, “maybe someday Bubbe.” But she is not fooled, and my smile becomes plaster. I stop filling the silence. There is a woman screaming in the hall. Not screaming exactly, but yelping like a fox caught in a trap. Thin, helpless cries so full of fear and pain that I could reach up and feel her loss ripping the air.     “She sounds like I feel”, I thought. But then again, how must she feel? I’m here for half an hour, she’s here until death. And I text my boyfriend, I tell him, if you’re still around when we're old, before you let them put me in a place like this, put a bag over my head, and slit my wrists.
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Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
The Nursing Home
I'm goner. Spit one last splash of lukewarm words out and I'm a solid rock on my bed. You see, I whisper words out to the world like the way you'd sing to a plant, silently so as not to be overheard, but hoping that a soft tune will make it grow. I speak to you the way a child asks the stars for his wish to come true, considerately, moderately, shyly, greedily. And then I shut my eyes.
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Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
Write Before I'm Goner
I flourish, I fade Let me live in your home, perfectly I stay poised Let me live in my home, unrestrained I grow freely I lure you in with my stately scent Be heedful as I may harm your hands Hold me considerately and carry me with you The beloved of the bride The chivalrous choice for the lover Remember me when I am gone You will see me again
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Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 11:26 AM UTC
Briana
am I really real, if I want you to see? by your soul tell me, am I as shallow as the sea? I sit up and try them- the names, all the parts of me to find them longing to be run over, pilfered considerately by a discerning eye wise, auspicious hands oh tell me, please tell me! who am I? what is this land? how may I save my heart? Do you- do you understand?
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Feb 15, 2021
Feb 15, 2021 at 12:33 AM UTC
a lil' lost
Discover your inner music and dance! Sing your song with glee. Let your ability to be yourself Light up your glowing marquee. Accept yourself; be kind to yourself; And be considerately bold. Don't let purveyors of mediocrity Force you into a mold. Proclaim your individuality. Be humble yet self-assured. Don't let the light of your heartfelt endeavors Ever be obscured. So what if you are not like others. If you want to go far, Keep your focus, follow your heart, And simply be who you are. Be impervious to scornful mutterings. See through hypocrites and fakes. Don't let others' weaknesses cause you To imitate their mistakes. Be attentive to those around you, But go where your inner guides take you. Don't let the sticklers for conventionality Stifle your song or break you. Appreciate every single moment; Try to maintain good cheer. Trust in yourself and realize There's nothing, there's no one to fear. - by Bob B
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Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 12:18 PM UTC
Discover Your Inner Music and Dance!
sometimes i catch myself going over the things you said and wonder if there were things you didn’t say if you felt selfish things you considerately couldn’t say things i would have liked to hear things that would cause us pain
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May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 12:17 PM UTC
unspoken words
as she asked me to leave after a quick romp I pouted quite noticeably, my needs had been perspired very well in her ***** and she did notice and asked quite considerately Would a hug help? I smiled.
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May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
inquiring...would a hug help?
I don’t know how you handle my complexity but thank God you do. There are lots of secrets I’ve been trying to hide from you. Starting from how things were ****** up even before we met Unto now, where simple stuffs are getting me upset You know what, if I were just good at explaining myself I would have told you stories that deafens my head Like how I badly pleaded for my life to end Because I’m never good enough even for myself To be honest, to you, why am I dedicating this poem? You already got tons of my breakdowns to absorb. Sorry honey, I’ve got no one listening to me So please, I ask you to bare considerately I wanted to apologize for the person I have become For being someone whom I never imagined I’ll turn into Always being a ***** selfish and imprudent Trying to stay away from any possible harm My past is never an excuse for me to treat you rudely Still, I want to say sorry for pushing you away from me I got a pile of fears and insecurities all over my body I hope that you have the strength to tag me along with your journey
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May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
To My Lover
Has a memory ever sent chills of anxiousness down your spine after your mind so considerately forced it  to replay a cringing vivid encounter of a horrific experience The high definition play back never fails to send me shivering in my seat I feel like my friends are always asking me if I'm cold
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Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 6:56 AM UTC
Replay