"convert" poems
Freud says tattoos
Are
The Manifestation
Of a
Trauma
Every point
A
Separate pain
We
Have
Suffered
It took
Two
And a
Half
Hours
To complete
The
Diary
Of my
Trauma
And half a million perforations
To convert
Those
Memories
Into something
New
And
Beautiful
To finally
Let go
Of the past
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
I'm calm, I promise
Just don't convert me
Just please be honest
And don't desert me
I'm lost in obsession
In all directions
Will you be laughing,
When I lose possession?
My heart's fading
But there's no answer
To all my waiting
It's like a cancer
That now controls me
It's gaining power
I'm fading slowly
Under desire
The night's a weapon
I use against me
It leaves impressions
On me gently
And when the morning
Comes in higher
Without a warning
Comes desire
If I'm still waiting
When you find me
No escalating
Just please come find me
When it's over
All of this waiting
All this desire
Is never fading
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 1:37 AM UTC
I walk inside, and you turn to gimme a look,
Look who's talkin', homie, why YOU with your holy book?
I walk with pride, with dignity, I feel like I deserve it,
You think I'm full with violence, but where's that in my worship?
Jesus brought the bible, Moses brought the Torah, and Muhammad brought the Qur'an,
All those came from Allah.
I know one day you'll realize, the truth was in the Qur'an,
But by then... It'll be too late,
Imagine what you'll have to face,
Your punishment, in the grave,
That even the, snakes will hate,
But then they gotta tell you, you really deserve it,
And you still say, that I'm talking B.S,
You make me shut up, just because of what I say,
But who'll go with you, in your grave,
You won't be able to blame your mistakes on those who just faked,
Did I not tell you, you were getting tricked?
Your ribcage will tighten,
All the people 'ready left,
Why would they care, of the punishment you gotta face?
This is just an intro,
My friend: listen to what I gotta say,
Hell will come into view,
Screamin'; You wouldn't have deserved this,
All you had to do was just worship,
All you had to do, was show Allah he deserves it,
All the love and respect, you just had to show it,
Not believe those who said, religion don't deserve it,
You said you're not an Atheist, or an Agnostic,
You said you're not a Christian, why didn't you become a Muslim?
All the things I told you, were for this day to come,
I wanted to make you, somehow convert to Islam.
Tell me: Do you crave that punishment?
Then why the hell you ain't gon' listen?
All I want is best for you, you just gotta pay attention,
You call for me, I can't do one thin',
You ain't callin' him, who gave you everythin',
Homie, this ain't a fantasy,
You can't go back in time,
You can't fix all those things,
You just said you had no time,
To worship him who created you,
But when I say this to you, you think that I'm insane,
Pray for your next life, not your worldly fame,
They came with the message, but you never accept it, you said you don't need it,
But now you'd say you believed it,
All you had to do was just worship, but now you don't deserve it,
Don't tell me I never told you: Just become a Muslim,
All those years I tried, told you, you really deserve it,
Now you're shredding tears only full of blood,,
Told you they ain't Islam, they were just F'N up,
Told you I was peace, now what you gon' do,
I always only wished, for what was best for you,
Violence is not Islam,
Terrorists are not Muslims,
All they wanna do, is use up all their bullets,
Keep calm, 'cause I'm a Muslim, not a terrorist,
Hurry up, it ain't too late, look into Islam,
'Cause I know, you don't deserve ir,
You're so lucky, you have the truth in front of you,
You just outta accept it.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
I don't want to drown among the lovesick poets--
They wax lyrical about love all day
Moan in pleasure in the night
Convert to a religion of romanticism--
Fuels them high on romantic idealism
till they fall back down to grounds of realism;
Turning into the brokenhearted poets I want to avoid--
They wax lyrical of their 'wounds' all day
Moan about their pain all night
as if the sky fell down;
To these poets, I'll give you a word of advice:-
Yours is not the worst on the plate;
be prepared to suffer pain if you only want pleasure.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
Pervert
I'm a womanizer and a pervert,
love to mingle, love to flirt.
Like Fonzi, all chicks flock,
they like the size of my clock.
Ever since I was born,
loved naked women and ****
Nothing like playing with my favorite toy,
with the newest edition of *******
Sorry I have a ***** little mind,
all men do, women don't be blind.
Lots of women have tried to convert me,
but a fun loving pervert, I will always be.
Been with a **** been with a *****
only difference is, the **** wants more.
Been with singers, actresses and models,
done it underwater, with a snorkel and goggles.
Been with a doctor, lawyer and a crook,
each time, I somehow got took.
I'm a pervert it a good way,
just some innocent ****** foreplay.
If you ever see me, I'm not threat,
they haven't invented x-ray glasses yet.
I now have a woman I really love,
all other women, I got rid of,
Gave my black book to a kid named Bieber,
now he's in jail and feeling very eager.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
1) Violence. She'll convert the rural scenery in your head into a forest fire.
2) Adventure. She'll fall off the face of the earth trying to catch a star for you.
3) Lust. Simple as that.
4) Love. The ripples inside you will become full grown waves. Love her.
5) Felicity. She'll fill your world with happiness and wonder. She's the darkness in a world of light, but the light in your world of darkness.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
The proudest of men that walk the earth
Have been doused in glory since the day of their births
They chase after those who've run away
Speak when there is not a word to say
And their greatest endeavor is to convert the innocent
Hungry for the women striking young and brilliant
Unbelieving of a lady's independence
Sure that all women crave their presence
Like rabid dogs, the proud men search
For those to quench their undying thirst
To be loved and accepted of men of the heart
But these men only search in the emptiness of dark
How can they deny the truth in their faces?
They imbalance the world and its natural paces
No one can love an arrogant, proud man
But they search and search, yet they never understand
That love is for those who are willing to fail
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
The sky is white
and flat
It’s like we are all living in an aquarium and they forgot
to turn the lights on
to turn the sky on
Our knowledge of how to breathe is slipping away
like the cloud that tripped and smeared they sky with buckets full
of one single shade of white
Waiting under the white sky
we stand wondering,
our breaths caught in our throats,
if they will turn on the sky
and let us remember
how to convert oxygen
into the carbon dioxide that is slowly destroying it
and us
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
---
did you hear about
about the
dyslexic
insomniac
believer
?
he stayed up all night
trying to
convert a
STOIC NAG
!!!
soulsurvivor
(C) 5/26/2015
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 4:17 AM UTC
if silence is a barrier, i would break through it.
if the echoing sounds still didn't stop, i would scream aloud.
then i would hear nothing but my voice so clear.
if my murky vision is a barrier, i would break through it.
if the hazy illusions still didn't go, i would close my eyes so tight.
then i would see nothing but the visions of my heart.
if my unsteady feet are a barrier, i would break through it.
if i still feared that i would fall, i would stop a while.
then i would know perfectly where to go and my feet wont faulter again.
if my shivering hands are a barrier, i would break through it.
if i still feared that the task would go wrong,then i will close my fist so tight and engrave my nails till i felt the pain.
then i would know that even if i didn't carry on, i would still hurt myself somehow.
if reality seems a barrier, i would break through it.
if i still feared my past haunting me,then i would work hard to convert my dreams into reality.
then however may be the situations i would survive.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
Under the tree of the university
A shadow was gruesomely cast.
The branches made too much shade
And there grew no grass.
No one would lie under its wood
Down beside its trunk;
It wasn't essential, there was no potential,
Claimed the revered monk
But late at night you'll find him lying in the dirt
Wearing a Paisley Poplin Shirt
The click of the gears define his years,
A cycle on a chain
A cloud of sand thrown by his own hand
Hones forth his pain
He blows seeds of dandelion weeds
****** a ****** field
And he pretends that he intends
To reap this horrible yield
Because unintentionally he subconsciously convert
To one who wears a Paisley Poplin Shirt
Covered in rust, a blade he adjusts,
His mind remains unwrung
The words to speak were too **** bleak
So he cuts off his tongue
He'll be finished when he's diminished
These humanly sights
If there's no vision at the end of his mission
He'll gouge out his eyes
And Helen Keller takes one of her old ragged skirts
And fashions him a Paisley Poplin Shirt
Why must we be obsessed
With the unseen
When we know we cannot
Make something out of nothing
And to those of you who think that you cannot be hurt
Stones go thru a Paisley Poplin Shirt
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 2:49 AM UTC
Above the caldera at Yellowstone,
a brittle soil-rock crust
caps a lake of liquid fire
with only fumaroles and roiling geysers
to stay its upward ******
One errant step is all it takes
to breach that mantle's fragile seal -
spelling death by fire
to any hapless wanderer
who fails to guard his path.
Fragile calderas also roil
buried in darkest hollows of our psyches -
brewed of failures, slights and fears
dissolved in molten pools
of self-consuming misery.
To dress and salve our wounds
we sow gardens of reconciliation within
with beauty, trust and reason
and bow to gods of grace and solace.
But a despot’s studied eye
knows just how to tap our fragile crusts,
releasing acrid lava flows
from pools where fear and rage reign hot
and reason has no district.
Sisters and brothers of our flesh I pray
we find a holy and transforming alchemy
to convert our heat to light
and shield our sacred calderas
from enemies that stalk us from within.
July, 2006, revised December, 2014, 2015 and 2018
Robert Charles Howard
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC
Your Hands Are Blunt
And Your Eyes, Sharp
Your Hurt Is Convert
No Blissful Harp
Sweet Sound Is Mute
And Pain Is Loud
My Desire Is Blind
What Have I Found
Because I'm Going In Circles
Like A Merry-go-round
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
Consequences: made for learning lessons
I convert unlearned lessons
Turned to abnormal blessings
Stretching the truth to hold you
Pricked by your gorgeous daze
I bleed profusely, yet don’t turn away
The love I swore to keep
My blood tells other tales
Intoxicated from your smell
Continuing to caress your sides
Wincing in pain
Feeling as if there’s something to gain
No end to my quest in sight
Finding the rose I thought I would need
Loving the one that caused me to bleed
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
ANGELINA
By Williamsji Maveli
Waking up next morning in a fairy dream
She is swimming **** in the water stream
an adorable, elegant, celestial beauty
She is in her teens looking naughty
Seeing her own innocence and perfection
I convert her into verses with an inspiration
Sweet, seductive, natural,
She is tempting, shy,
desirable, admirable
my own
ANGELINA
wandering next night along the sea shore
She is feeling the touch of the waves roar
She has particular tastes, talents
Things have to be just right for moments
And one of her must-haves is a pool
Where she can enjoy the tides of cool
lovely, elogant, ******
She is sensual, seductive
innocent, adorable
my own
ANGELINA
By Williamsji Maveli
www.williamsji.com
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 2:59 AM UTC
THESE ARE YOUR HANDS AND THIS IS HOW YOU TELL THE FLAMES YOU'RE NOT ALL BAD.
THESE ARE YOUR THIRD DEGREE BURNS TO SAY YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH BONES MELTING IN TRUST ISSUES.
THESE ARE YOUR WRISTS, THOSE ARE YOUR KNEECAPS, THIS IS YOUR STORY.
THIS IS HOW YOU BITE YOUR TONGUE BUT STILL MANAGE TO LEAVE THE WORLD WONDERING HOW YOU COULD MATCH UP TO THUNDER'S HARMONIES,
THIS IS HOW YOU WHISPER TO MOUNTAINS AND KNOW THE PEAKS WILL HEAR YOU.
THIS IS HOW YOU TELL THE VOICES IN YOUR HEAD TO SHAKE HANDS WITHOUT STARTING AN EARTHQUAKE,
THIS IS HOW YOU TELL DEPRESSION TO LIGHTEN UP,
THIS IS HOW YOU GRAB ANXIETY BY THE SHOULDERS AND SING LULLABIES TO ITS LUNGS.
THIS IS HOW YOU WALK UP TO GOD AND RIP OPEN YOUR CHEST WITHOUT INTRODUCING YOURSELF FIRST AND ASK "WHY?"
THERE'S PAPER UNDERNEATH YOUR PILLOW,
THOSE ARE THE NOTES YOU PASSED TO YOUR BEST FRIEND IN THE THIRD GRADE WHEN YOU TOLD HER ABOUT YOUR FIRST CRUSH.
THERE'S A PAPER THAT'S BEEN IN YOUR BACK POCKET FOR A YEAR AND A HALF,
THE ONE NEXT TO YOUR RECEIPT FOR A BOTTLE OF WHISKEY AND STAIN REMOVER,
THIS IS THE NOTE SHE WROTE YOU A WEEK BEFORE HER FUNERAL.
THIS IS HOW YOU WASH YOUR JEANS WITH TWO CUPS OF 'TODAY I FORGOT TO REMEMBER TO FORGET'.
THIS IS HOW YOU COPE.
THIS IS HOW YOU LAY ON MUD STAINED CARPETING AND AND STARE AT YOUR BROKEN DOOR,
THIS IS HOW YOU CONVERT TO HARDWOOD FLOORS AND STRONGER DOOR HINGES.
THIS IS HOW YOU WIN A WAR WITH ONE BODY ON A BATTLEFIELD,
THIS IS HOW YOU SHOW A BLIND MAN THAT YOU CAN PAINT A GOD **** MASTERPIECE.
THIS IS HOW YOU REACH HEAVEN WITHOUT DYING, THIS IS HOW YOU KNOW HELL WITHOUT LIVING THROUGH IT.
THIS IS HOW YOU UNDERSTAND THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE, BY CROSSING PATHS WITH THE GUY THAT MADE YOU HATE WET PAVEMENT AND THE SMELL AFTER IT RAINS,
THIS IS HOW YOU HELD HIS HAND THE SAME WAY YOU HOLD A KNIFE, THIS IS HOW YOU LEARN FORGIVENESS.
THIS IS HOW YOU SMOKE WITH THREE LUNGS AND LOVE WITH ONE.
THIS IS HOW YOU STUFF THE PERSON YOU WANT TO BE IN A FORTUNE COOKIE AND LEARN PATIENCE.
THIS IS HOW YOU TELL PEOPLE YOU'RE NOTHING LIKE YOUR MOTHER. THIS IS HOW YOU SAY YOU HAVE YOUR EYES, NOT HERS BECAUSE THIS IS HOW YOU UNCLENCH YOUR HUSBANDS FISTS.
THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE SOMEONE THAT NEVER KNEW HOW TO BE ALONE, THIS IS HOW YOU WORRY.
THIS IS HOW YOU CONFIDE IN A HOSPITAL BED TO TEACH YOU HOW TO LET GO.
THIS IS HOW YOU LET THE NURSE WITH SHAKY HANDS TEACH YOU HOW TO TRACE THE STRAIGHT LINE ON YOUR HEART MONITOR AND BE OKAY AFTERWARDS. THIS IS HOW YOU LIVE AND ACCEPT DEATH.
THIS IS HOW YOU UNEARTH YOURSELF,
THIS IS HOW YOU STOP EXISTING,
THIS IS HOW YOU STOP FOCUSING ON LIVING AND BREATHE FOR YOURSELF.
THIS IS HOW YOU STOP THINKING AND FEEL.
THIS IS HOW YOU SPEND A LIFETIME TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT 'THIS' IS.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
Kamran Javed I'll answer in public
I'm not arguing with you.
As you seem to take issue in all we do
Your a Muslim I get it and respect you for that
So get off my back because I'm not!
In not Muslim or Christian nor infidel
I'm human and loving and reasoned as well
So I didn't put "Holy" before your Quoran
Or glorious or blessed and your not happy with that
So now I'll explain and then say no more
Take your crusade to another's door
The term "Holy" only proceeds a text if you follow..
I've read it and don't I don't worship Allah
To a Christian the bible is "Holy" To you it is a book .
To a Muslim the the Quoran is "Holy" to a Christian a book.
I don't follow either that is my choice
So don't try to impose your religious ideology on me
Or others that comment FREE SPEECH IS FREE
Remember the site is for poetry too
Not to convert to Islam with you
Learn some tolerance for others who write
You decided to post here, your choice alright
If the world's out to get you ask yourself why?
You like to take issue with all that we write
I and others agree and praise what you say
You argue and don't take it that way
It isn't personal don't make it so
This site is for poems not war or crusade
So blessed by Allah and your holy book
I respect your religion and your way of life
If you don't like mine I don't give a flying spaghetti monster
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 7:36 AM UTC
If you get it, you lost it.
I am here
(On this platform it is evident for your reading now)
I express myself
(Heads scratching, wondering what and how?)
I share pieces of me
(A defragmented glimpse of an experience deemed ‘worthwhile')
Callous, sensuality?
(Or a traitor in sheep cosplay?)
A dead-end hi-way?
Or this pawn from yesterday?
Here, your final say
This family we never asked
Amontillado without it's cask
Dry and cheery
Heart’s are bleary
We own this laborious task
My sins are scrollable, thumbed in haste,
Wrapped in ribbons of curated taste.
A gallery of masks, all timed just right,
My shadow dances in the ring light.
What of shame when shame gets likes?
What of thought when thought’s in spikes?
I weep in drafts, but post a grin—
The world won’t wait for the shape I’m in.
So brand the bruise, then sell the hue:
A wellness tip in sponsored blue.
This self I host in feedback’s cage—
A pet, a post, a digital page.
I bare my soul (or just its shell).
You’ll never know. I sell it well.
I logged on seeking something undefined,
A tether, maybe—some reciprocal ache.
But all I found were mirrors misaligned,
Each smile too wide, each word opaque.
The comments pile like leaves, not read.
Applause from ghosts, replies from ghosts.
I feed the feed, it feeds instead—
A hunger that consumes its hosts.
I draft a truth. I dress it twice.
Add polish. Then delete.
I write in blood, convert to nice,
Make trauma fit a beat.
No lesson left. No higher shelf.
Just one more version of myself.
Jun 10, 2025
Jun 10, 2025 at 10:16 PM UTC
387
The sweetest Heresy received
That Man and Woman know—
Each Other’s Convert—
Though the Faith accommodate but Two—
The Churches are so frequent—
The Ritual—so small—
The Grace so unavoidable—
To fail—is Infidel—
2.4k
~~~
my diet of ideas
is without carbs
that convert to saccharine;
a life filed by the pauses of milky hot coffee sips,
these are the protein compositional periods,
in my otherwise,
stuttering life
when they come to me,
these escapades of poems~moments
'tis the only nutrition this man needs
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
I'm disgusted with the skeleton that shows through my skin,
and my heart palpitates to a beat that I cannot trace,
I feel so weak and you stand so tall,
and I wonder if the roles were reversed,
if I could stand up as straight as you,
and if you would be able to keep yourself stitched together,
because I am always trapped in a state of frigid failure and I think
that I might be falling apart on the inside and out but
yet I never change and nothing ever happens
to make anyone notice tha-
I wonder if I will ever be whole because some days I cannot
even decide what to wear in the morning and I always,
always think about perception and things like that,
for example I accidentally dropped my earring down the sink
yesterday and I just started sobbing into the mirror and I wonder
what people thought about me,
like maybe I was having a mental
breakdown but then again,
perhaps that earring was a family heirloom that was worth
more money than a lawyer would ever make,
yet seeing yourself from the outside is different
than seeing your own reflection,
Jesus I never wanted to admit this but I think that I am dying
but I cannot stop myself from keeping the same habits and patterns
and the feeling never leaves anyway
and I always wondered how people had the time
to pray to a higher power
because I could never even wake up in
the morning without four alarms set just in case,
if Jesus decides to come down from chilling up on a cloud and talk
to a little person such as me,
I wonder if he would be able to see all the emotions
that I carry or if he would try to convert me to Christianity,
even though I was raised that way I always just felt lost
and I just could not wrap my head around self-sacrifice like that
until I met you and I realized that your life was most defiantly
worth at least ten of mine,
I'm frightened to think that one day I could end up all alone,
even though I'm pretty sure that I already am because
I push everyone away that does not understand the way that I feel.
My hands shake and tremble even when I am holding yours
and I'm sorry that you are trapped by someone like me.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
Desire and dreams,
lofty clouds casting distant shadows.
Momentary shades of calm,
convert to blinding flame.
-
Torpid question marks rearrange
exclamation points.
Hues of commas and periods,
vibrant adjectives and adverbs.
Grunts and growls of wildered existence.
Perpetual noise.
Such picturesque nonsense.
-
Belief of charging knights
and moonwalks
decay to disappointed waistlines
shaky hands,
confused with living.
What beautiful strangeness,
the prospect of becoming.
-
Do we chase the shadows or create our own;
flourish roots
with ardent fingers?
Imagine with ferocity
enriching curiosity?
-
Dig deep, my child, and know you're real.
Or don't
We are substance and shadow,
words of florescence.
Or won't
Disheartened by cruelty
unfamiliar reflections,
resigned to naked truth.
Or can't
Do we accept,
or will we refuse?
Inhaling why,
exhaling when.
-
Blooming breaths
Horizons anew
Warmth of sun,
serenity of shade.
Jun 27, 2023
Jun 27, 2023 at 12:19 PM UTC