"consist" poems
Have you seen the troubled youth these days?
They're not very troubled at all.
They create their own illness then spread it amongst the masses of degenerates.
The symptoms consist of debauchery and disrespect.
They yell to the crowd, "Look at me for I am broken."
No. You are fixed...fixed onto the idea that one must be troubled to be different.
Oh, have you seen the troubled youth of today?
They're not so troubled after all.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
On a journey down to nowhere
I have realized many things.
Dwelling on the subject; friendship
And what once a stranger said to me
“You’re not a no-man
Neither am I”
He continued with a sigh.
The stranger gazed high above the tree tops
We heard the sirens of the cops
As little raindrops gently landed on our faces.
There were no traces of violence just serenity.
“You can feel and so can I
We could perish in a blink of an eye.
We can withstand the strongest storm
Yet we are torn from a cunning plan.
We are strong when we’re united yet
How weak we are alone.
Then why do we insist to consist in groups
Exclusion is not the solution to our society
The variety of us is overwhelming
Compelling us to accept
So why do we resist?”
He preached
Continued to persist for his message was vital.
Accept and you will be accepted, you will be loved, free.
On a journey down to nowhere
I have realized…
Unity is vital.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
Maybe we're chemicals,
Because we've chemistry.
But then again,
It's not as though
Chemicals reacting
Could change anything
Other than the forms
That people see.
The forms change
But yet
What we consist of
Remains the same.
((Being in love doesn't mend a broken heart.))
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 3:56 AM UTC
My nephew notices nearly everything around
he says saaad cooorn! because the corn outside
has now turned brown.
He knows a few colors that consist of yellow, red,
purple and green.. he likes to read and sometimes he'll sing.
My little nephew is getting too big..
He's at the age just before monsters
are under his bed,
I don't want him to experience that yet.
But someday he just might, and that's okay
we all grow up eventually.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
The teacher stands before her detained class
And from behind her authoritative podium
She equates abortion to the holocaust
A dangerous comparison in an educational garrison
But the other children nodded their heads in agreement
A benefit of having the ear of youth
Is being able to infect it with your own toxic ideology
What bacteria did this ear infection consist of?
Conservatism? Religiosity? Chastity?
The answer was depressingly simple
I was the only one there unaware of Fox News
I was a casualty of the confusion
The confusion engendered
By venom thoughts placing politic-colored glasses
on the entrenched masses
Entertainment
Used to convey anger and hate
Emotions worth conveying
But not living in
The intents and desires of their vulnerable receivers
become an incongruous disaster
What could I have done?
Minds as still as the pharaohs heart
We live in a society where we're all infantilized by one myth
Good and evil
Looking back on what I did do
I didn't do much
But I did do something
I didn't nod my head like a ******** sycophant
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
This is not a metahpor,
oh no this is so so real,
this is the deliciousness,
oh for my meal,
to consist of the sweet delicacy
Oh I know you know it is true,
Let us fry a koala,
Not make it into stew.
It will be chewy and crunchy,
Oh leave the bones in,
They make the meat more tender,
And toothpicks more fun,
Let your girl make it for you,
And **** you clean while eating.
That is when you've reached heaven,
And the lust and gluttony therein.
If they try to stop you,
From stealing another koala,
Tell them it is your dinner,
And they are making you quite irate.
Beat them in the face,
And shoot their families down,
Nothing must stop you from eating,
Yet another fried koala,
One might even think its fate.
When you **** it out,
Don't fret or moan,
Take it like a man,
And bless the remains,
of the once fried koala,
As you flush it down down down.
Because another lies down under,
To quench your hunger,
Forever.
For Lexi.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
**I'm an anxiety driven teen ******
I let my fears drag me on a leash.
I make the wrong choices in every situation
And I can never really sleep.
My meals consist of nothing.
I feel overweight and unclean.
I feel mostly suicidal
But I can't **** myself
I'm afraid of the unseen.
I am a walking paradox.
Tired but won't sleep.
Hungry but won't eat.
I am the embodiment of stupid
But isn't that every teen?
**I'm an anxiety driven teen ******
Just give up on me and leave.
Tear me up into pieces,
And run from the crime scene.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
(October 17th, 2013, I think is when I wrote this.)
There aren’t many things
that I’m good at.
I have bad grades.
I’m aware of this, but they
still insist on shouting as if
three letter F’s
determine my worth
as well as my ability.
I’m not athletic,
never been remotely decent
at sports,
picked last for soccer,
football, basketball,
and everything else,
tried to do parkour once-
however,
that hope quickly dissolved
when I discovered
that it was still nerve-wracking
for me to climb a fence.
(One of the many gifts
that comes with a severe
lack of coordination.)
I’m not a quiet person.
I don’t know
how to hold my tongue
most of the time.
So when my father’s paycheck
is cut shorter and shorter,
when he makes little enough as it is,
my stay-at-home mother
fighting her demons of
the severe depression and anxiety
that she passed down to me
as well as her (auditory) hallucinations,
her BPD,
her physical disabilities,
not making a paycheck at all,
and my school supplies
consist of 50-cent notebooks
that fall apart,
and 75-cent pens,
I get a little… “upset”.
I’ve played guitar for three years.
Sometimes, it’s what I’m best at,
playing strings of notes
and minor chords
that come together to form
beautiful harmonies-
but more often than not,
every note is sour…
Another thing I’m not good at.
But I am a writer.
People don’t pay attention
to teenagers, they say
We’re so full of ourselves,
We think we’re so important,
they say
We need to communicate,
but when we try
all they hear
is whining, and complaining.
Teenagers telling their friends
in passing conversation
that they’re suicidal,
that they hurt themselves,
just to see who will notice-
who will listen-
and of course, no one does.
Nobody notices that
teenagers are the voice
of our generation,
and our generation,
as such,
is royally ******
because nobody pays attention.
There aren’t many things
that I’m good at.
But I am a writer.
And I have
a voice,
a pen…
And paper torn
from a 50-cent notebook.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
Perhaps I will become a waxing fiend.
A perpetrator of the nerves within my legs
In order to reach the imaginary beauty
that society has ingrained into my open mind.
Yet how can I ever fulfil this growing hole inside
Urging, commanding that I shall not be beautiful
Without Revlon mascara and tinted eyebrows,
That my diet must consist of a celery stick a day
And I must have a new wardrobe every week
- to keep in with the highest of fashions.
Do men really care if I'm wearing Gucci or Prada?
Would my restricted diet and devotion to thinspiration blogs impress them?
Has society really just given up on the love of personality,
the good old fashioned 'inner beauty'?
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 2:19 AM UTC
Shake it
What do you hear?
Hold it
What do you feel?
Sniff it
What do you smell?
View it
What do you see?
The angst to know
What lies inside
Is hard to hide.
It’s mystery,
And it’s ****
The beginning,
The middle, and,
The end of time
All consist of
Some unknown rhyme,
Unknown reason.
The want to know,
The need to find
Consumes the mind.
Curiousness
Creates motive,
Motive creates
Relentlessness.
Being ****
Leads to lust.
A want to know
Becomes a must.
A mystery
That cant be touched
Is like a star
That can’t be seen.
Glowing somewhere
In the distance
We search and search
For what’s hidden.
Can it be found?
Maybe it won’t,
Maybe it will.
Until it is
The mystery
Remains ****
And a turn on
To the conscious
Lustful fervor.
The dark abyss
Of mystery
Is an ocean
That is raging
With sexiness.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:36 AM UTC
Why cant I be someone i want to be?
Why can't I have the body I was meant to have?
All I want is someone to look at me and able to see me
Jayce not Kylie
Boy not girl
My life has been ****** up since birth
But to the rest of the world Kylie is just a tomboy or something else
Why cant I just be me and not get yelled at or made fun of?
Why does some of the world pick favorites?
Get over it the world doesn't only consist of cis straight men/female
We arent that much different just something that makes us unique.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
darling
let us fill our lungs
with corruptive smoke
and descend into delirium
so we may appreciate the moments
when our breaths consist
of purely air
let us drown our stomachs with poison
so we may savor the potent mix
of acid and alcohol
searing our throats
and numbing our skin
let us sink our teeth
into the ripe flesh
of the forbidden fruit
and swallow the pit
while we´re at it
let us drink to forget
and kiss like careless strangers
as we bury ourselves under bodies
so we may feel something other
than the weight of the world
let us dance beneath a storm
not of rain
but of blood spilling out
of open wrists
with mouths gaping
and hearts shattered
let us relish these blurred eyes
and hazy memories
as our hands touch
but do not meet
let us hold each other too tight
skin bleeding into skin
nail marks freckling your back
i can no longer hear the music
so let us sing our beautiful lies
take my hand
and let us run through grayed streets
with reckless abandon
and as we go
we can pick the roses
allowing their thorns
to imprint new scars
between our fingertips
let us tear the feathers
from a white dove
so we may weave ourselves
wings to fly
to touch the sun
and steal icarus´ name
let us ignore our ambitions
and explore extremes together
let us shatter our expectations
and as two beings collide
let us breathe each other in
and indulge as if it were
our last moment on earth
darling
let us taste death together
x.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 2:53 AM UTC
For the first time on campus, Sisters on the Runway will strut and pose for domestic violence awareness.
Sisters on the Runway will be hosting its first annual fashion show from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. tonight in the Business Building. All proceeds will be donated to the Centre County Women's Resource Center, Layla Taremi president of the organization, said.
Sisters on the Runway is a national student-run organization that raises awareness about women and children who reside in domestic violence shelters. There are over five chapters throughout the nation, each supporting the same cause to local shelters. It was founded in 2009 and has grown since then, Taremi (sophomore-marketing) said.
Aside from the fashion show, which is the biggest fundraising event that the organization hosts, Sisters on the Runway is also responsible for other events. The organization hosts a chalking event where they write facts about domestic violence on sidewalks using chalk. This is a way for them to raise domestic violence awareness, Taremi said. It also hosts a walk where all participants walk a mile in heels for awareness.
The show will consist of eleven female models and three male models, Edie Alexander, the event planner, said.
Alexander said the show is expected to showcase clothing from Connections, Dwellings, Diamonds and Lace Bridal and Harper's, who are also their sponsors. Looks Hair Salon will be responsible for hair and makeup for the models in show, Taremi said.
"There is no theme for the show,” Taremi said. “It will be a wide spectrum of clothing."
The male models are expected to walk the runway showcasing suits and tuxedos, Taremi said. Originally the show was not going to include male models. It wasn't until the owners of Harper's decided to contribute to the show by donating some men's apparel for the fashion show.
All the models participating have been building up their confidence for the runway, Alexander (sophomore-recreation park and tourism management) said.
"I'm excited for our first annual fashion show, I hope this brings more awareness to the Penn State community," Vice President Lauren Shearer (sophomore-supply chain management) said.
The organization’s goal is to get a lot of people involved through different events to help raise awareness of domestic violence, Shearer said.
"We’re trying to push people to come, not just Penn State students, because it's not an issue that doesn't only affects college students,” Alexander said. “It affects everyone as well."Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
My nights consist of falling apart
On a daily basis
That’s according to my thesis
On my own self evaluations
Keep getting caught in bad situations
This is an invitation
To not feel okay
Sometimes you just need to cry
Let it all out
In a form of sentences
Trying to express your emotion
What’s holding you down promoted
To this cause I am devoted
Left vulnerable and open
Bleeding and broken
©2018 Written By Benji James
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC
I don't feel at home where I am,
or where I spend time; only where,
beyond counting, there's freedom and calm,
that is, waves, that is, space where, when there,
you consist of pure freedom, which, seen,
turns that Gorgon, the crowd, to stone,
to pebbles and sand . . . where life's mean-
ing lies buried, that never let one
come within cannon shot yet.
From cloud-covered wells untold
pour color and light, a fete
of cupids and Ledas in gold.
That is, silk and honey and sheen.
That is, boon and quiver and call.
That is, all that lives to be free,
needing no words at all.
3.4k
My weekend consisted of
Stained and pained smiles
And fists and hits
It was smoking
And it was clowns
And im a beautiful girl
But I am filled with regret
And soft hands left marks
On my body
That I can't even remember
Until I find out later
And I see their stares
And I am guilty within
My parents trust.
My weekends consist of
Sneaking out
And having a *********
Can't tell anybody
Or else I'll be branded as a *****
When I don't even
Remember half of it!
Flashing lights
And falling falling
Sweaty skin
And bitter lips
This is what
My weekend consisted of.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
We never really knew each other.
Sure, we texted nonstop.
You stared at me in the halls.
But missed chances and glances were all we had.
We never had a real conversation.
(Maybe things would have been different if we did.)
All my memories of you
consist of my face lit by a bright screen,
sitting in the darkness of my bedroom,
wishing for you—desperately—at 11:11.
Jul 29, 2023
Jul 29, 2023 at 2:03 AM UTC
Isn’t it funny how as we age, we need less sleep?
Babies’ lives consist of it. Their time is infinite.
Children need many hours to rest growing bodies and minds. They have a different and separate life to live.
Maybe adolescents and adults do it to escape the hassles of daily life. They have lived long enough to expect struggle and uncertainty.
The elderly sleep less than everyone else. The clock ticks away what remains of their lives.
Dreamland dwindles as their time on earth fades. Tired eyes and tired hearts are what are left.
We love sleep, we dream in sleep.
Have their dreams been found and achieved, or do they float away with lost souls?
We love sleep, we hope in sleep.
Do their lives end when bodies fail, or are they just beginning?
We love sleep, we search in sleep.
Can they reconnect with loved ones, like in a fairy tale, or never see their faces again, as if in a nightmare?
We love sleep, we rest in sleep.
Do their cares melt away, or do their minds become crazed, like restless legs in the night?
We love sleep, we pray in sleep.
Is there a God they meet in Heaven, or an evil Devil in Hell?
We love sleep, we work in sleep.
Do they have room for regrets, or has all their energy been expended?
We love sleep, we die in sleep.
Is there a point at which they know, and go peacefully with no resistance, or do they refuse to acknowledge, fighting bitterly?
We love sleep, we live asleep.
Did they realize in life that they were asleep the whole time, passive pawns in a big world, or did they know enough to be awake, because a far longer, unknown sleep would follow?
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 11:58 PM UTC
I'd like a look through the intricate webs of your mind
The curious questions of things left behind
I'd like to see the inside of your beauty
What it is that makes you beam
The unraveling of your dreams
Dancing with your thoughts
Sung high and fluid, pulsating knots
Knots of ecstasy intertwined
All glories of being alive
I'd like to make love to all that you feel
All things that make this surreal
Flowing through your veins with each breath
Each night of unrest
Gently pressing against things to inspire
Colliding with all you admire
Wallowing in whispered insight
Held down by an overwhelming light
Radiant from the heart
Igniting your passionate spark
I fall so incredibly deep within you
To this core existence, something I already knew
It has always been you and I
From the first moment of mankind
We have been at this our whole lives
All the suffering in each trance
All leading up to our divine dance
Your pheromones take hold of me
Pulling me into the depths of all you see
Drowning in such bliss
I can barely breathe
Your eyes take see through me
Tenderly, they lead me back to reality
All over again I spin and spin into moments unwritten
Feelings collide in ways unborn
The unborn, the non- made has to exist in order for this to consist!
Of so much love, so heavy, sinking remnants
Fade away and break day so that we can start all over again
I breathe you in and breathe you out and I have doubt
That we have always been.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 7:49 PM UTC
It is because of you that I am fully attentive
Soundwaves that wash over me from start to end
Music, my only friend
Now, we ride the waves of wifi to get what we need
But our gaze upon an artist is lost
Once our playlists consist of only a few of their songs
Handpicked amongst others, so our entertainment isn't lost
I understand the desire of variety
But I value the intimacy of a record I can hold
Knowing that for a while, it's just me and this music alone
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
So busy was I ne'er a poem written
The reason my sorry heart is smitten
His poems consist of such variety
Admired much by our family of three
Lovely poems written exceedingly well
Industrious pen's task does never fail
Although birthdays come only once a year
May God brighten your others with glad cheer
Gladdening our hearts when we feel so down
Happy though late birthday Timothy Brown!
~Hilda~
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
She’s dead; and all which die
To their first elements resolve;
And we were mutual elements to us,
And made of one another.
My body then doth hers involve,
And those things whereof I consist hereby
In me abundant grow, and burdenous,
And nourish not, but smother.
My fire of passion, sighs of air,
Water of tears, and earthly sad despair,
Which my materials be,
But near worn out by love’s security,
She, to my loss, doth by her death repair,
And I might live long wretched so
But that my fire doth with my fuel grow.
Now as those Active Kings
Whose foreign conquest treasure brings,
Receive more, and spend more, and soonest break:
This (which I am amazed that I can speak)
This death hath with my store
My use increased.
And so my soul more earnestly released
Will outstrip hers; as bullets flown before
A latter bullet may o’ertake, the powder being more.
2.5k
Your conversations consist
of bragging, and
trying to out do your friends.
You want to win.
That's what Christmas
has become.
A season of
who gets the most.
While I sit here in my shoe-box residence.
No Christmas tree.
No presents.
Nothing.
Not by choice,
but by lack of resources.
And you know what?
I'm happy.
This year, I learned
that getting presents
isn't everything.
Giving
Watching
Smiling
Compassion
are the things that keep
Christmas spirit alive.
So while you unwrap your ****
wondering what you get-
I will silently sit,
smiling through all of it.
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 6:23 PM UTC
I would like if I could, to venture out
into a baroque cave where the walls are translucent
and all that surrounds it are rivers of coherence
and incoherence
where I can scream, and when my echoes
radiate they bounce off on me and touch
the spaces in between my fingers
bizarre and ornate
rococo chimes lift my spirit
progressive, regressive
subliminal rising, into the sea of whispers
and final decisions
and crazed hands
and melting lips
and bruised knuckles
and fighting wrists...
I subsist to consist
of the fluid that makes me up
lavender barely breathing
flowers/continue/endure
hang tough, low by lakes of conspiracy
and hate/ block eyes/ shed those ill states
I carry this entity/essence/life gentely
in my arms like a ancestor. mother .
press its head against my skin and give it everything
in my blood filled hands, sinful/blessed/ tiered creatures
I feel beautiful in these worlds.
eyes closed in sleep, palms spread forth
oceans cleansing, I feel like an infant
stomach twists and hearts bat burnt wings
and learn to fly
I radiate.full hearted. eminence spoke to me
through her portal of solid grass and dieing trees
in the outskirts of the vagabond, slowly unraveling
like a child speaking
slowly growing like new love
stricken instantly
I am in
between Cleopatra and Mark
between Orpheus and Eurydice
between Odysseus and Penelope
between Elizabeth Bennett and Darcy
between Salim and Anarkali
I shiver in that love
that breathes in determent
and breathes out fragrance
temperate plasma hooked onto
the grind of my woman I beat like
the robins breast/ trembling in awe
like a living leaf blowing in the winter wind
resisting/giving in/ perishing/ breathing
to the sound of this beautiful life
Apr 29, 2011
Apr 29, 2011 at 5:53 AM UTC