"conveniently" poems
.
...is a fragile little thing,
that most tend to overlook.
Small word with a **** big meaning*.
Some may uphold it; some may
conveniently have it mistook...
Trust...
...is in the grasp of the unknown
stranger,
that helps you up when you've fallen
down.
Trust...
...is the pact between you and the cab
driver,
as he takes you to where you want to
be, across town.
Trust...
...the bough on which your swing does
sit.
Pray that it doesn't break as you enjoy
its joyous ride.
Trust...
...your cook, hoping in your food he
doesn't spit...
Especially when you've provided
feedback that scuffed his pride.
Trust...
...lays exposed when the keys to your
house you surrender,
to your neighbour who'd keep an eye
while you're away on a retreat.
Trust...
...exists latent in the open palm of your
caregiver...
As a child you'd take his hand so he'd
ferry you safely across the street.
Trust...
...is the unspoken oath that I had thought
we both held sacred...
When I spilled the contents, my heart
couldn't bear much longer.
Trust...
...meant nothing when you took it all for
granted,
when you weakened and succumbed...
...and then shared with another...
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
a dark place,
dingy and cobwebbed:
the forlorn basement
below an unfinished house;
there is no hope
of an HGTV house-flip
or a makeover
or the sort of boring/heartwarming story
where some nice white family
—or conveniently diverse—
sets up shop,
smash-cuts through a renovation
and gets their dream home.
no,
the house will remain gloomy,
this basement filled with emptiness;
no one desires
to come through the door,
no one except the tweakers
and the vagabonds
and the runaways,
the ****** and the pimps,
the celebrities and psychiatrists,
the demons and the ghosts,
the preachers and their seething
congregations of judgmental ******
that live across the street,
and the ***** teenagers
hunting for a place to try out ***
no cleaning crew
or maid service
or organize-your-life guru
or even the most experienced
of all the world’s janitors
could enter this house and clean it
or beautify this basement
or disenfranchise the squatters within;
the neighbors just try
and demolish it
every chance they get,
to rid their sparkling, spotless community
of this disgusting eyesore.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
Despicability is the foundation to their life
For them it is intrinsic
Genetically encoded
Simplistic
Poetically eroded
Reprehensible at best
**Unscrupulously callous
Secrets and facts, they conveniently
ingest
Distorted byproducts, they release to the
masses
To aid their campaign; a forked tongue
fest**
Pathetic and unapologetic
A beast armed to the teeth
Imported bypasses to increase the flow of police
A weakness and an act,
They so vehemently attest
**Harvesting greens off the branches of
the people
Pockets engorged with wads and folds
Crushing blue collars at the lower levels
As they sit atop their pyramids of gold**
Today they sip champagne
To celebrate their reign
Tonight we'll skip being humane
To feed them excruciating pain
**You've incited this coup with ill-thought
deterrents
Now herald the arrival of the scourge
Down with lopsided governments
Tonight... All we would topple! Tonight we purge!**
Justin G
ryn**
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
I have outgrown many things.
I have outgrown relatives who gladly offer criticism but not support.
I have outgrown my need to meet family's unrealistic expectations of me.
I have outgrown girls who wear masks and secretly rejoice at my mistakes.
I have outgrown shrinking myself for those who are intimidated by my intelligence and outspoken nature both.
I have outgrown friends who cannot celebrate my accomplishments.
I have outgrown people who conveniently disappear whenever life gets a little dark.
I have outgrown those who take pleasure in gossiping and spreading negativity.
I have outgrown dull,meaningless conversations that feel forced.
I have outgrown those who don't take a stand against ignorance and injustice.
I have outgrown trying to please everyone.
I have outgrown society constantly telling me I'm not beautiful,smart, or worthy enough to achieve anything.
I have outgrown my tendency to fill my mind with self doubt and insecurity decades ago.
I have outgrown trying to find reasons not to love my humble self.
I have outgrown anything and anyone that does not enrich the essence of my soul.
I have outgrown many things and I've never felt freer.
~Poem by Chanda Kaushik
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 5:27 AM UTC
"bleed·ing heart"
a person considered to be dangerously softhearted
feeling sorry for everything and everyone and giving in to emotions quickly.
“My heart bled today.”
Nothing new, same old routine, same old unremarkable usual thing.
They say over and over, Repetition is key. The key for what, I may never know.
Things often moving quickly halt and take on the slow.
The same people, the same faces, the same air, the same places.
I’m a person with a bleeding heart.
It’s dangerous to lead a life like mine,
Sadly you can’t escape the family bloodline.
Constantly stuck in a place between the planes.
I can’t help what’s running wild, pumping through my veins.
No rest for me. The others are already gone.
My logic quickly left along with the dawn.
My bleeding heart might just be the death of me.
I would show you I am hurting but we can’t seem to agree
I am all alone surrounded by nothing but my own suffocating thoughts.
I can’t breathe and continue to find myself at a loss.
A new beginning. The strong will live, the weak will die.
It’s tattooed into the minds of the people in the city as a nearby excuse for people like me.
Yes, there are others, but they are far out of reach, conveniently unavailable.
The rest of us have been wiped out and deemed unfavorable.
What am I?
Just an unnoticed vessel of the human soul
and all of it’s dangerously soft-hearted mannerisms.
I have a bleeding heart. I do not deny.
Left alone for the beasts to tear apart.
But I cannot help but look to the sky.
I despise my nature, my being even,
Curse my benignant soul,
And my lack of self control
What’s left for me in this cruel world?
Run by unintellectual imbeciles running off their own flawed reasoning
A divergent past, lies in ruins which was once filled with memories and happy experiences,
I was once just a kid lost in her own place, drowning and begging for help but no one came.
Perhaps, I’m not as much of a person with a bleeding heart as I possibly could be.
Perhaps, the legacy I leave behind will be nothing but a life of running away.
Perhaps my bleeding heart only bleeds in contrast to the reality around me.
“Because it is mine, it will always bleed”.
I am stuck in this life of heartache and unwelcome spilled blood, but it will be alright.
Because I won’t give up, not until I succeed.
I will make it one day, even if there is no destination, I’ll go just to see the sights.
Bleeding heart and all, I will fight the war, not backing down, but disappearing at midnight.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 2:56 AM UTC
True or false, when you stood behind me with your hands on my face and mouth to mine,
I was sitting on the floor, but my feet were no longer on solid ground.
I wonder if the distance between us is not from something as innocuous as miles or hours
but the more discrete variable- past open legs leading to closed hearts.
I'm not asking you to open your front door to me, unwittingly there is no need,
you've already found a spot in the sheets from me- conveniently forgetting you've already let me in.
And while you are speaking in operational terms to create what we are not,
you have quietly defined what we are.
Counting the statistics of it all, if we are the 95th percentile in our sample size of damaged goods,
5 percent is still unaccounted for- I place my hope of you among the population of those still yet to fall.
I can count those invisible scars when my lips are on your neck and you remind me it's too hard,
but when placed elsewhere the rule is no longer valid.
True or false, it is only too much when my breath can trail thoughts closer to your heart
where my intimacy is harder to un-feel.
True or false, some distances are so deep within our heads they become simply not real.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
She needs you because she feels,
And when she does, it's all too real.
Conveniently,
You are her fantasy.
Through you she lives vicariously -
The bitter queen of apathy.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
You've done it again! Time and again
First hook and then reel
Then hurt and release
Lay the blame squarely on me
You take me for a fool
A gullible idiot!
Who'll swallow your lies
And buy your story each time
I am not part of your life anymore
but I need to get on with mine
So be sure to burn the bridges
Cause I am not turning back anytime.
You will always do what it takes
To hold my heart ransom
Cause that's such a causal approach
It doesn't take much to strategize
I struggled each day and night
To swallow my pain and get on
But depression sunk its deadly hooks
My flesh was skinned and bare
My groaning heard none
Cause outwardly I appeared just fine.
But you conveniently forgot what u had done
And walked back without a care
For a doormat you take me
So can you step on my despair
You think I am waiting around
For you to do the same things again
Forgive you, for your wrongs and
get back from where we left?
Change your thinking!
Cause that's never gonna happen
I have forgiven, but forgotten not
I cannot forget or let go
For your lessons are deeply entrenched
And well learn't
One that has a lasting impression
My mind wont let it go.
Subconsciously I know your capacity
to hurt me time and again
Cause you feed on my feelings
To supplement the ones you lack
Grow up, own up, about time u realized.
You can't play me and think its fine!
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 5:02 AM UTC
is what i wear.
it is a loreal campaign offering the art of concealment
wrinkles are for unironed clothes and old folk homes
all creation and destruction spun from tomb
the glow emanating from a woman's womb
this spf
isn't always available for the wear
its not some cap we can slip on our hair
or the glasses we use to hide the despair
for our pimples have awoken from
their nightly slumber
allowing the light to
illuminate their number
best we take it all in
the midnight pukes
and
the morning glow
lets carry on with our dancing dynamo
all starry eyed and audacious
all messy and pugnacious
with our lips soaked in red
shouting words of poetic gibberish
to statuesque lovers
who spin in and out of the revolving door
as we sing our tune under helmets
under bleeding stars
and wind up with tattooed legs and arms
for there is a radiant rose in your brain
permanently blooming
against the ticking of time
as you stand in alliance
with lust and love alike
when they conveniently misplaced their pain
at the local bookstore
i can't imagine they'll go looking for it.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
I feel so ******* dumb whenever I'm around you
You somehow manage to bring me to my knees, and I ******* hate it
You've got me whipped and I don't even get the benefits that should come with it
How the **** do you have me so conveniently wrapped around your little finger?
You ******* wreck me and I don't know how to stop it
You make my heart race and my cheeks flush (what a ******* joke)
This is supposed to only happen in the movies
So why the **** do you have to make things so complicated?
I feel like a stupid-ass lovesick idiot
I feel like I've been tricked
So what the **** is wrong with me? How have you managed to invade my head?
Tell me, what is your method to this madness? How have you driven me over the edge?
I feel nothing but rage when I think about what you do to me
Butterflies and moths caged in my stomach (what a stupid trope)
Clammy hands and dry lips, how the hell did this happen so fast?
You're the level-headed one, saying I can't be in love after a month
Why does all of my sanity fly out the window whenever you're around?
I feel like a ******* lovesick idiot
I hate how vulnerable you make me, you knock me to my knees
I'm not supposed to fall this fast
I'm not supposed to feel
I hate how you make me weak, soften my edges and bring me from the ashes entirely anew
Even more, though, I hate how I shrivel when you go away
Like the Grinch, my heart becomes three sizes too small when you go away
And I don't know how to stop the hate and pain
You're the best and worst that ever happened to this ******* lovesick idiot
I hate it, but you know it's true
You bring out the best and worst in me
You know how to push my buttons and turn me into something new
Why did I have to be such a fool?
In the end I suppose it wasn't me, it was you
You and your ******* perfect eyes and smile and that great *** of yours
It's all your fault for making me into a lovesick idiot
When the only thing I wanted (here's a hint, it's you)
Was the love you couldn't give me, the things you couldn't do.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 9:31 PM UTC
Today I have followed the strange Damselfly,
Down to all ponds on my father’s marshland,
Not to live the blissful Waldensianism like Thoreau,
But to come down unto discovery of wonders
Readily displayed in the ****** manners of the damselfly
Sub-dragonfly that was conveniently called damselfly,
It is dark and white in pearly texture,
Like the Palmyrene Queen dear Zenobia,
Damselfly move as a pair on every time
A female and a male like a musical duet,
The Female has a lock on the ******
As the males does; tight lock on the sheath,
Keeping safe its ***** away from robbers,
The female damselfly has key to unlock
The cryptic lock system on the ***** sheath
Of the garlanded male damsel fly,
The male damselfly too has the key
That can only unlock the cryptic lock system,
On the ****** of the female damselfly,
Their lock and key functions within,
The specific species of the damselflies,
All this evolved to block out the thieves
The predating dragonflies of other species,
Intending to steal *** with the damselfly
With no other reason but to darwinize the damselfly,
Willie Topaz Mcgonall is the damselfly with Male lock
Billie Burroughs ghost is a dragonfly minus any key
African poetry is the damselflies with female poetic lock
Both have keys on each other’s custody of culture.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 5:33 AM UTC
Fluctuating back and forth on the idea of how to relieve
The theme of cynicism throughout your life;
Tough like nails: too stubborn to let go of whatever
They were hammered into; the hits we take
Make us unstable and unmovable from certain aspects.
You chose to Stitch your eyes up
With a thin piece of cynical string and a metal needle.
Threading the idea of light and dark in each vessel,
Causing your body parts to glow and show
Off the direction of ideas, in out and down,
But never up, for the sake of falling for the
Instinctual trust and hope humans so conveniently thrive for.
Conquered and obtained the conflict from your child
Hood, fluctuating on the idea of morally right
And morally wrong. Cough, cough, cough. Right
Lung punctured by stale smoke, your lips twitch in
The environment. Blood swells in your veins, forget
That women’s ******* are to feed her children.
Wipe the grin off the old man whose sipping warm
Whiskey, tell him his wife is six feet under and partying
With the demons he drove her to acquire.
Like water, you are the universal solvent
Cleaning, clearing, conquering and
Creating a new symbiosis with human beings and
The world they are submerged in; We take it for granted.
Cynicism in brevity, is beautiful for the fact that it claims to be
Open and calm like ocean waves during low tide
Or a baby child’s gaggle and coo. Fluctuating between calm
And ignorant, more so unintentionally rational to the point
Of tearing your human anatomy apart and dipping the
Soon to be suffocated air in heavy smoke.
I’m afraid
Humans just can’t handle the **** truth of reality.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 6:23 PM UTC
When did news parody
stop being funny?
Was it somewhere between
Alan Jackson’s 9/11 cash-in
and Donald Trump’s hair?
Was it BoJo stranded on a zipline over London,
or Cameron’s alleged porcine relations
(bizarrely black-mirroring fiction)?
When did the news
start doing Chris Morris’ job for him?
When did they start
pre-satirising the headlines?
“No evidence mermaids exist,” says US Government.
Swimming pool evacuated after prosthetic leg is mistaken for **********
Robots follow Marco Rubio to South Carolina.
I swear, I didn’t
make any of those up.
The actors on Saturday Night Live
are more statesmanlike
than the Presidential Primary Candidates they’re lampooning.
How the hell do they breed these
creatures? These gurning,
overgrown foetuses with their
conveniently dead ****** sisters to get
all wet-eyed and tumescent over,
their boomingly hollow controversy and
their total, catastrophic
crashes of personality.
These loathsome
organic constructs who would seem
more relatable and trustworthy if
their image consultants made them wear
Nixon masks for every
public appearance.
When did it all become
this strange, sick spoof
of itself?
Is there no one left in Britain who can make a sandwich?
Man dressed as penguin receives more votes than the Liberal Democrats.
Piers Morgan given jail time for illegally hacking ‘phones and gloating about it.
Okay.
I made the last one up.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 6:07 AM UTC
Mean... I hear this term a lot and I must say I'm getting pretty sick and tired of being told I'm mean.
So what if I'm sarcastic its a joke its never malicious
Yes I pull your leg sometimes but do you realize you do the same to me
What about the time I listened to you and your problems. Without mentioning anything about myself for hours
What about the time I dropped everything to help you. I didn't care about me or my plans you needed me and I was there.
But you have conveniently forgotten all of that.
Must be nice to have such a selective memory, I would love to have one but sadly I remember everything
I remember the time you were to busy to help me.
I remember how your problems are always greater than mine and that you can't listen to me for more than five minutes
Or the time you called me mean...
But its fine I don't mind being the bad guy because I know who I am and I won't change for anything
Because honestly dear your opinion is worthless to me now
And now you have full permission to call me mean
Because I'm defiantly not going to waist my time being nice to you ever again.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
We visited an art museum today
“The Guggenheim” with it’s white spiraling architecture
I felt slightly cultured as I flipped through a book detailing an artist whose last name I vaguely recall started with a Q
Conveniently forgetting the very reason for my presence in that room being to charge my phone
Feeling educated as I recognize the names Matisse, Lautrec from my brief intro to art history courtesy of our overly enthusiastic design teacher
Basking in my elegance, taking petit little bites, of a macaroon in a cafe outside the museum
...Before noisily slurping my blood red ice tea
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 7:48 PM UTC
My wife agreed to marriage counseling before the great divorce,
and of course, she picked the counselor. This is it; one session, one shot at redemption. I waited with bated breath for the day to arrive.
It did. We met at his office, where hope was dashed to shreds like a ship
on a coral reef, like dreams of domestic bliss made of glass and shattered on the kitchen floor with no broom to sweep them up.
We shouldn't get lawyers and go to court. We should have a funeral and sing, Rock of Ages, because divorce is the death of a family.
The room is nice and cold as ice, and he's friendly, boisterous, and bold, but here's the clincher, he wore an eye patch. Maybe he had surgery or some type of injury, but everything he said was drowned out by the voice in my head that screamed, "He looks like a pirate, and no ******* pirate is going to tell me how I should have been a better husband." I quickly scanned the room for a cage where he kept his parrot, which usually sat on his shoulder and sang old songs of the sea. I glanced at his right hand, but conveniently it was hidden by the desk. Now I was sure. It wasn't a hand at all, but a hook, that he used to scratch his *** or to spear the shreds of broken lives left over from a long day's work. His hand was probably a casualty, lost on a voyage to a shark he tried to advise.
I leaned over and whispered in my wife's ear, "Where did you find this ******* nut. Long John Silvers?" The humor eluded her like the sunken treasure did the old sea dog that sat across from me. I swore if he said, "Aye aye matey." I would smack him, and jack his ship, and maybe my wife and I would sail south to the Caribbean, not to the ride at Disneyland, Pirates of the Caribbean, but to the islands, where we would lie **** on the sandy beaches and drink Pina Coladas, or some other fruit-filled umbrella drink, until we were so drunk we couldn't see straight, and all our problems would sink like the setting sun into a brand new horizon. But the old scalawag had no pirate lingo, so the hour came and went, our money was poorly spent, and it was lunchtime, and I was bent on seafood.
Jul 24, 2024
Jul 24, 2024 at 11:31 PM UTC
That feeling that you get when you drop the last bit of your ice cream cone.
When you think you lost your phone and it's in your back pocket.
When you simply can't find your glasses, which are on your head.
When you trip over a painted line.
When your bookmark falls out of your book.
When you think there's an extra step at the top of the stairs.
When you think there's an extra step at the bottom of the stairs.
When you conveniently keep hitting a newly formed bruise.
When you can't find a matching sock.
When you accidentally press send before you're ready.
When you break a hair tie.
When you step in a deceivingly large puddle.
When you get a paper cut.
When you scratch a CD/DVD.
When you sing along to a song you hate.
When someone steps on the back of your shoe.
When someone's tag is sticking out.
When someone's a loud chewer or chews with their mouth open.
When your hair blows around and gets stuck in your gum or chap stuff on your lips.
When you stain your clothes.
When you lose an earring.
When you run out of cream for your coffee.
When you get to E in your gas tank.
When you step in gum.
When you sit on hot leather seats.
When you sit on wicker furniture with shorts on.
When you get shampoo in your eye.
When the soap is so small it crumbles to pieces.
When no one refills the toilet paper.
When someone sticks the milk or juice back in the fridge with half a sip left.
When you can't for the life of you think of the name of something.
When you forget how to spell simple words.
When you have to walk barefoot on hot pavement.
When you get an awkward sun tan.
When you forget to reapply.
When you get fingerprints on your glasses.
When someone spoils a movie or TV show.
When your favorite character dies (love you Sirius).
When you have an itch with a cast on.
When you can't open a combination lock.
When you hear a mosquito in your ear.
When you drop your change everywhere.
When you smudge your nails right after painting them.
When the Bruins lose.
When the end of your jeans fray.
When you get hat head.
When you get shocked by inanimate objects or people.
When you (re)realize there will never be a new Harry Potter book.
When you have something stuck in your teeth.
When you can't fall asleep at night.
When you can't turn your mind off.
When your phone decides to shut itself off.
When you have a cord that just isn't long enough.
When time after time I have to remind myself that you aren't who I thought you were.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
You make me feel like a toddler that's just discovered the bliss that comes shortly before great tragedy - the innocence and purity..... the naivety. Every breath a new experience entirely. You make me love you despite the plea of logic, rationality, and well-being because passion, nirvana, and love make a case that's hard to ignore - impossible to overrule and..... I hate you for it. You somehow always seem to journey to my souls hiding place and shine a light through the shadow I conveniently place my fears under and... you make me hate you for it.
But
I love you so much. Sometimes it hurts to breathe because the comparison I make in my mind of how much I love you surpasses that of my lungs which love the taste of oxygen.... and sometimes.... I hate you for it.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
"Thank you for saying Happy Birthday to Shimone"
my mother said and I kind of said oh, no problem
and we went on from there to argue since that is what
we do and she will never know who I am
and I assume she meant Happy Birthday on Facebook because I
certainly don't keep track of her friend's birthdays,
especially not her friends who live in Haifa and remind
me of my X
Upset, I ran off to the pool, hoping for endorphins
after some laps I rested at one end
and realized in a kind of slow, creeping way,
kind of like fog rolling in over the cliffs at Muir beach,
Not menacing, even beautiful, but a little cold, that
I never wrote anything to Shimone, not even on Facebook
No, I've been too self absorbed to write to my parents Israeli friends who used to
have me and my X over for Shabbat meals where I used to insist
on walking up the stairs since the elevator was small and hot and scared me
but he always wanted to ride in it
and one day we went over there was a sign on the apartments next door
that a woman had died in a terrorist attack the other day--
When a suicide bomber, afraid of the security guards at the nearby
mall, ran into an Arab restaurant conveniently located at a gas station
where all the best restaurants are,
and blew himself and everyone inside up
CNN international came for a day to report and then left the next
like a rude house guest who comes for your best food
and then dissapears, never to be heard from again
With my X, my mother always got cards she loved because he
knew just how to pick them and he'd send them without even telling me
sometimes faking my signature or
I just had to sign and he'd do the rest, in between crank calls to them at all hours,
taking advantage of the time zone. At once tormenting and caring for them
as he did for me
And now is he a ghost in my account?
A ghost, a fog, a memory, something ephemeral, not real
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
Ones and Zeros
In the online digital world
Every boy and every girl
Are villains and heroes
Who knows which?
Son a of a *****
The truth is lies
Wrapped up in disguise
We want to believe
Electronic love we receive
Is not there to deceive
The flirting
The sexting
The online molexting
**** pic rejecting
Encrypted ascii code
Sent through internet nodes
Wireless whispers transmitted
Thoughts of endearment committed
Fact are conveniently omitted
Lies are ruthlessly submitted
Straight jacket
Packet hackers
Hijacking a loving heart
Holding it ransom is their art
Scourge of the community
Harassing
Surpassing
Any level of dignity
Players and haters
And the masturbators
The downright crazies
Acting like timid daisies
The cheaters
Defeaters
And quite possibly
Wife beaters
The losers
The boozers
Mentally abusers
The popular sexter
Who may not be a her
Quite possibly a guy
But will vehemently deny
The whiner
Data miner
The ********* seeking minor
The scammer
The Christian Damner
Super **** grammar
All thrown in together
With the digital picture collector
And still we’re looking all around
For love to be found
In a world of made believe
That anonymously deceives
We are ones seeking zeroes
Running into villains dressed up as heroes
Hearts shredded and deleted
Retreating and defeated
Yet somehow we try again
Hoping for something less than pain
We are all a little bit insane
Playing the online dating game
One’s and Zero’s
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 7:15 AM UTC
*Those words I've been dreading to hear,
Not boldly uttered--
But clearly, I could feel...*
***Unspoken words, indeed they sear...
Seemingly rendering you unfettered.
Our flags mismatched in mauve and teal.***
*I marched my fingers, slowly,
To your cheeks down to your lips.
Touched the traces of stained tears.
From deep slumber,
You've awaken.
Eyes fluttered open.
Those eyes.
They spoke.
Those eyes.
They told me to stay---
To stay.
Away.*
***I cupped your face while time froze in
eternity...
Locked in tender gaze as my heart dips.
Reflected in yours were the wasted
years...
Felt the weight of commitment's anchor...
Dragged over a land forsaken...
Overladen...
With dastardly lies...
Tinting future skies so grey,
But my mouth would welcome the urge to
say,
Of the courage long held at bay...
This minute... This day...***
*Sweetly tortured by your kiss.
The pain came.
Swift.
Blinding.
Sharp.
It pierced me to where i am.
My heart shattered before it dies.*
***These subtle hints you conveniently miss,
Only hastened the end of this game...
Time had seen our hearts set adrift...
We are only playing,
A broken, detuned harp...
Withholding our conflicting wants, much
like a dam.
Protecting us from defeated cries...
So let us dispense with sweet
pleasantries.
Let us bid farewell to the dream of our
unified fates in one painful sigh...***
*Along with all our
memories.
And your words of goodbye.*
iammissbrightside
ryn
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 3:11 AM UTC
My laptop, iPod
Lie flat against the bottom
So conveniently
Like any other
Modern obsession we can’t
Treat with disregard.
Photographs will not
Surround the case, because I
Don’t have that many,
But even a past,
Abandoned lifetime deserves
A few muttered prayers.
The books occupy
The most space, as they always
Have, wordy giants:
Trilogy of elves,
Halflings and wizards warring
For the fate of men;
Two men discover
English magic on stormy
Moors, under gas lamps;
And a genius’s
Soul mate writes their adventures,
Hands steepled in thought;
And not forgetting
The others that have carried
Me down the road.
May 11, 2011
May 11, 2011 at 8:25 AM UTC
Like depression or exposure to ****
mid life crisis has permeated every age range,
unless I'm simply deranged
for it's that time of the night
and it's pouring down outside
giant rain drops hitting the glass window
and the roof
ruining the solitude
that I've started to embrace more and more
mainly because it's impossible to ignore
from the moment I wake up
and get back into bed
in between job hunting
comfort eating
procrastinating
facebook stalking
showering
whining
solitude is the one thing that has stayed all the way.
Whilst regretting life choices
doubting every decision
obsessing over Ex's
solitude is relentless
having made friends with unemployment
it has bottled the scent of the soon to expire visa
and rubbed it all over the clothes
in the suitcase
on the floor of the little box room
making everything smell of homelessness
bringing to life a far too familiar nightmare
a déjà vu
of all sixteen times addresses have been changed
in the last four years
but the worst is yet to come
as the next change could well be
to a postcode over 5000 miles away
where peers are getting married
having children
getting promoted
falling in love
whilst my social life
has conveniently been brought to a standstill
and having lost count
of all the Sunday masses missed
it is fair to presume
that all prayers would be dismissed
so what now
I'm only twenty four
with roughly three quarters of life left to go
and the only affirmation that can be made
is the years of solitude ahead
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a little straight slip of a thing,
red, a quartier inch wide,
red, a quartier inch thin,
suggestive, inquisitive,
a political and philosophical,
lovely provocation to conjecture
as if it were a colored arrow,
pointing strangely down,
instead of up,
to the next handhold
on a rock climbing wall,
in this case,
handholds on a
woman's body
this way,
follow me,
to the barricades!
a tourist mapped-path to follow,
visit the glories of the republic,^
and the charming Quartier Latin!
entrap and entice,
the eyes willful blinded,
taken away to thoughtful solitary,
on-one-side-only,
does the
bra strap
conveniently,
consciously,
haphazardly,
(yes, that's it,
a hazard,)
invitingly, speaks to,
looks to me,
inquiring will you vote,
RSVP to red?
as if a line of lipstick on the body drawn,
the directive points,
this way, perhaps,
always, just perhaps,
this way tourist,
to the dome of the pantheon,
where the statutes
are the course,
or perhaps
disguised, well-placed, statuesque, (ha!),
improvised explosive devices,
purposely presented,
needy for a desired
psychological high impact detonation
If
that is its purpose
under heaven,
under sweater,
under halter,
under cutoff gym top,
under liberty,
to tempt and remove
the blindfold from the womanly scales of
under justice
to tilt him favorably one way
If
it, is theater,
I, the audience
then whatever is on stage,
(Ibsen's Doll House, ironie délicieuse)
is a failed distraction, naught to naughty,
to no avail,
his eyes fastened, stapled wide
to the quarter inch thin
red path
from her slender shoulder,
leading, stepping him ****** down to
his I-magination,
for which unknowingly,
he, ticket purchased,
months ago for
two hours and one intermission
He must go again,
the show was
superbly acted,
for so the reviews said,
Ibsen's play,
"an unremitting portrayal of the suffering of a women"
^republic ~ a state in which the power rests in the body,
of those entitled to vote, exercised by their representatives, their eyes, chosen directly by and for them.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
There's all this talk around me about some profound we that's never found me
They talking a collective we?
One agreed on collectively but conveniently and continuously minus me
Is it the me, myself and I type we? Cause defining a trinity might not unveil anything holy
Or could they be referring to the we that turns to just me when things get a little bit heavy?
That kind of we?
Maybe they mean the we I'm supposed to automatically call family
Even though history will show them as a two faced enemy
Both ones I've picked or have befriended me, eventually it's contempathy from a frienemy
An uninterested we that hardly reciprocates the love that's expected to freely flow from me blindly
What baffles me still is this bloodline we that aren't even aware of me
Or they are aware just unwilling to add me to their we
Coldly my psyche reminds me, "you're nobody's somebody buddy, sorry."
Personally, I say let 'em swing from their positions above and beside me on the family tree
Unfortunately they will always be a part of the conversation when discussing this we
The good, the bad and the ugly represented by said we but projected on me
Now listen closely, I claim to have came to this conclusion organically
There is no we, only me
Nonsense spewed when angry but the me I try to hide visually, the one projecting he doesn't need a we
Cries out for somebody when times get lonely, lies and said I'm my only company
Cause I can not see the we that is meant to be, the we I thought was only a dream of a faded childhood memory
It's not only right in front of me but all around me and already a part of me
I had no idea this door even had a handle for entry with a keyhole much less a key
Apparently it was the skeleton type and had to be pulled out of me
Reality blends with fantasy in the best way, what else is there to say? I've found my we and another reason to be happy
©2023
Jun 22, 2023
Jun 22, 2023 at 2:36 PM UTC