"curveballs" poems
Are we fated to dance to the same tune alone in our separate universes?
Is it true that we must silently keep to our preordained curses?
Are we destined to swoon at the beauty of the moon at differing time slots?
Why were we given invisible ink to connect our lives' dots?
Must it be that our lives revolve around the whims of the sun?
Isn't it ludicrous that we won't see the intricate webs we've spun?
Was it the plan that we exist only in our minds and hearts?
Why do we have to tolerate starting when the other's ending and end at the other's starts?
Has it been written that we can only afford to infinitely chase each others heartbeats?
Was it foretold that we're trapped in a singular notion that never really fits?
Is the game set as such that we can never emerge as winners?
How is it that the ocean was made out of our tears that flowed from rivers?
Why is it that with our entirety we believe but do not know?
What's the reason for the path made clear but we're too afraid to go?
What does it entail to possess the very least but yet you covet it the most?
How do you pride yourself in something but not allowed to boast?
Why do we frantically scramble to piece together jagged shards?
Can't we just play this blasted deck of lousy cards?
Is it destiny or cruelty to have found then lost?
Why does it seem absurd that we have all its takes but can't afford the cost?
Is it the thoughts that **** or the emotions that debilitate?
Is it the challenges we take on or the curveballs we anticipate?
Why bother when sheer folly is all it seems to be?
Why tarry when the heart is free and the mind is ready?
Is it ridiculous to have found myself still very bothered?
Is it wrong to question fate that had always bound us tethered?
Why is the good always bad and the bad becomes worse?
Is it true that the harder we fight, the deeper we immerse?
Has life turned to be but sad little rhetorics?
Are we but performers on stages coerced into theatrics?
Is it time for me to surface this one-man submarine?
Will it be so that if I do, my journey would then begin...?
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
If I should have a son,
Instead of mom, he's gonna call me Support
That way he knows, no matter what happens, I'll be there to hold open the heavy doors.
And I'm gonna paint the solar systems on the fronts of his game controllers
So he has to learn the entire universe before he can say "I'll school you in that!"
And he's gonna learn that this life will bury you
Deep
Underground
Wait for you to claw your way out just to throw dirt in your eyes
But not being able to see which way is up is the only way to remind your pupils how much they enjoy the beauty of this earth
And there is hurt here, that cannot be fixed by alcohol or drugs
So when he realizes Superman isn't coming, I'll make sire he doesn't have to wear the cape all by himself
"And sweetie" I'll tell him, "dont let your head get so big"
I know that trick, I've seen it a million times,
you're just looking to impress that pretty girl on the cheer squad who picks on other kids to adjust her own self worth
Or better yet, date the girls getting picked on, then dump her to adjust YOUR self worth.
But I know he will anyways
So I'll always keep an extra supply of "I taught you betters" and "Treat girls rights"
Even though all boys learn that at a young age...
Okay, most boys don't,
But that's what moms are for
They'll teach you to be amazing husbands if you let them.
When he opens his hands to catch, and drops the ball
When the girl he likes says no to going on that date with him
when it feels like the world is crashing in
Those are the days he has all the more reason to say thank you,
because there is nothing more beautiful than the way the sun refuses to stop kissing the horizon, no matter how many hours it must spend spinning away.
And yes, on a scale of one to greatest, moms pretty much know it all
But I want him to know that this world will throw curveballs that I can't see
And he can't be afraid to put on his mitt and catch it himself
"And sweetie" I'll tell him
Remember your momma is a queen, and your poppa is a king
and you are the boy with big eyes and a willing heart who never stops trying
Your aren't big yet, but don't stop growing
And when they finally hand you heartache, when they slip peer pressure and sin under your door and give you hand outs on street corners of druggies and defeat.
you tell them
that they really outta meet
Your Mother
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
you are not delicate.
when your flesh bruises, when your bones break, when your head aches, when your lover leaves, you will carry on.
there is a reason tears do not burn skin.
your muscles were made to lift your heavy heart and leaden legs.
you were made to carry on.
so when he says "i don't love you anymore," your bones will not allow you to collapse, your muscles will carry you forward. there is a reason your eyes are in the front of your head. don't look back.
you will not break.
you are not a cheap manufactured toy.
you are an exquisite human being hand-crafted by the likes of god,
heavy bones and bundled muscle
you are made of blood, sweat, and tears and you are resilient.
your heart strings are made of solid steel and though you may not have an iron grip, you learn to catch the curveballs. i promise
i know that your past sits on your shoulders, i promise that you were made to bear its weight.
so no, you will not break.
you are not delicate. you are strong, you are beautiful, you are unique.
you will not break.
you will endure
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 2:09 AM UTC
Maybe I'm playing the wrong game
With the wrong attitude
Things just ain't the same
Throwing curveballs to the dirt
Feeling, soaking in the hurt
You spit in your palm
And look deep in my eyes
Put your hand behind your back
And keep spoon feeding me lies
Well it couldn't hurt to try
Please just hold tight
While I **** back to swing
Pulling for the fences
While mending my wings
To fly through these clouded, muddy things
Knowing my sordid past
When it comes to this game
Making us last
Won't come without pain
And it's a **** shame
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
you are not delicate.
when your flesh bruises, when your bones break, when your head aches, when your lover leaves, you will carry on.
there is a reason tears do not burn skin.
your muscles were made to lift your heavy heart and leaden legs.
you were made to carry on.
so when he tells you "i don't love you anymore," your bones will not allow you to collapse, your muscles will carry you forward. there is a reason your eyes are in the front of your head. don't look back.
you will not break.
you are not a cheap manufactured toy.
you are an exquisite human being hand-crafted by the likes of god.
your weak joints cannot be snapped.
you are made of blood, sweat, and tears and you are resilient.
your heart will not break. the average human heart heart has over 2 billion beats in it. until you are old and wrinkled, your heart will be there, ba-thum, ba-thum, reminding you that yes, you are alive, you are so alive.
your bones don't break on a nightly basis.
a force of 1,700 pounds per square inch is required to fracture a femur, and yes, i know his words felt like punches, but your ribs are quite alright.
i know that your past sits on your shoulders, i promise that you were made to bear its weight.
your heart strings are made of solid steel and though you may not have an iron grip, you learn to catch the curveballs. i promise.
so no, you will not break.
you are not delicate. you are strong, you are beautiful, you are unique.
you will not break.
you will endure
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
I have a message for the kid sitting in the back of the classroom
You know, the one with the bruises, ask him what's wrong he'll give you the dumbest excuses
"I fell down the stairs, and ran into the door"
But stairs and doors don't give black eyes and broken bones so what are you lying for?
I have a message for the prettiest girl in school
You know, The one hiding behind all that make-up and hairspray
Pretending she couldn't be having a better day
Yet she's afraid to go back to her broken home
Because her step-dad hurts her mom and her brother won't leave her alone
School is her sanctuary
What you don't know can be scary.
I have a message for the boy on his skateboard
Sellings drugs and liquor to make a quick buck
Then he got caught for possession and now he's stuck
In that cell all by himself remembering what his friends said
"We're bros, forever" But they left him for dead.
I got a message for that wierd girl in the lunchroom
The one that eats alone,
She has no place to call home
She smells bad because she doesn't own a shower
Living in shelters, her life is out of her power
Because her parents messed up she has to hurt
But she wants to do better so she does her school work
I have a message for the boy blogging
Those cuts on his wrists are not cat scratches
They're more like past mistakes left on his arms in patches
He can't help how sad he always feels
But he refuses to be that kid "on pills"
I have a message for that girl with the strict parents
Wishing she could bring her girlfriend to meet the family
But she knows if she did they wouldn't be happy
Because being gay is a sin
And if you're gay you're not kin
**** what a world we live in.
I have a message for all the messed up kids
Who struggle in the daily lives they live.
You will be okay
Things will get better someday.
So put away that blade and pick up that paint brush
Don't end your life before you've felt the rush
Wait until you've had your first kiss
I promise you there will be so many moments of bliss
Put down that bottle of pills
You of all people deserve life's thrills
I know sometimes it's hard to catch the curveballs life throws your way,
Just get low and get ready to play
To the kids who feel lost and alone
I will be the one to welcome you home
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
Once again clinging to the past like a baby clings to her mother
Walking in a straight line I sometimes forget the world is a circle
If I keep going straight I'll find myself exactly where I first started
And going back after walking so far at this point is not what I want at all
How is it I wander back home when I am trying to run away
Does the world shift my straight lines to secretly turn me around?
I don't want to be put into reverse nor do I want to fast forward
Pausing myself and looking around, I find myself somewhere foreign
Like always I shrug and choose a direction to make straight lines in
Fast forwarding and rewinding all the time and never knowing it
Maybe my changing motions make a three dimensional cycle
My straight lines curve in the 5th dimension that I cannot see
Impossible movements from the unknown are my trickery
But somehow I find myself starting over from scratch again
1d 2d 3d 4d all I need is something to correctly move me
I need to direct my path into the right navigations of motion
So program my straight lines and distort the dimension of curveballs
It's time to pause and figure out where I am and where I'm headed.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
Curveballs can be hit,
But dodgeballs are impossible to dodge.
Comparing dodgeball to a summer’s day?
Shakespeare, try again.
Dodgeball, you are synonymous
To a hellfire confined to a perimeter
That destroys everything it touches,
Especially at summer camps.
I walk away from dodgeball alive,
But dead in self-esteem:
Always getting hit,
And any clever maneuver of mine always seems to be a violation
Of game rules.
Dodgeball, you only fuel my aggression.
When I am the only one in play,
And see beyond the half court line
Stronger, more agile and athletic demons
Ready to pelt their confidence against my hope,
My mind defaults to “bad-sport” ideas
And just wants to get the match over with,
Lose or win.
With a POW!
Or even the slightest brush of orb to skin,
I give in
And have to wait until opposing victory cheers melt
Before grudgingly submitting to a pointless rematch
That tortures me, vaccinates me with sulky feelings.
Crying over spilled milk is negotiable,
But I cannot undo the rash from the whiff of a dodgeball
By screaming “That’s so not fair!”
Instead, I force out good sportsmanship,
My eyes wincing, my throat and mind hardening
In the struggle to keep vengeance contained.
If only the interest in dodgeball would cease
And suffocate on the taste of its own humiliation.
Boy, would I ever love to burn some dodgeball rubber.
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC
That brings me to my current state,
quickly growing into a better man.
Moving forward at an increasing rate,
no longer expecting her to understand.
But I know I have a clean slate.
A few girls tried to hook me,
but nah I didn't take the bait.
I think I said it before,
I see this path as truly straight.
This newfound freedom,
the feel of change and yes its great.
I can say I'm over you,
and yeah I know you can relate.
But I'm done with curveballs,
just wait till the right girl hits the plate.
I can live my life without you,
so rest assured that there's no hate.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 9:38 AM UTC
And know that these streets are irresponsible,
and that you are too. And that no matter
how bright your eyes and headlamps may be
you will always find something you didn’t
see before. Life will always be throwing at you
curveballs. And car insurance. And the ungainly heft
of police officers leering in lustily at the watch on your
wrist and the hollowed, hungry eyes of your companion.
Do not answer them, I beg of you, when they ask
you too for your name and your father's,
for they truly care not to hear
its sound. They only want to add to the noise -
continue living beneath its dins. Not after money but the
fear, the control that from you stem. Now, yes
I may be over-exaggerating (after all, it was but one
slight dent in the bumper of the car, but
there is no exaggeration to the voicelessness of they
who queued before me, no companions guiding them,
no voices shouting for them.) He, they, there, by the streets,
only has in his hands a car horn. And so he honks.
And so the siren wails. And so the chaos reigns.
And so do they - officers - living silently beneath it all,
urging us onward to yelling and screaming and shouting.
And yet we can’t. And we don’t. And we won’t.
And yet they, for all their damages, do not - scratch,
refuse not - to do so.
They only can look down at the pavement,
dotted yellow, black and white dashed.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
one last prose
for the road,
shrouded
with
Rosebush regrets,
compunction and shame,
of
anguish and pain,
knowing things can never,
quite
be the same as they were,
yesterday.
In prickly heat,
sweaty, sweet, benediction.
My demuric affliction,
masks and veils addiction.
Stifled in harbours
of
resentments first tooth.
Who knew,
the crow flew in a
beeline.
Stinging' it’s way amongst the vagaries.
The geodesic distance,
hides in the light,
but
the road,
bends,
and
throws those
curveballs
I swerved,
around them all,
as,
I’m not ready to fall for you;
petal.
With my foot on the metal,
I took the road for granted.
Granted,
I should of known better than a
kiss from a rose.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
Life doesn't come with a map.
It throws curveballs, storms, and silence.
You take the hits. You get back up.
You wear the scars like armor—not shame.
Not everyone's going to clap when you rise—
Good. You're not here for their applause.
You're here to own your story,
Not beg for a role in someone else's.
The world will try to crush you.
Lie to you.
Tell you you're too much, or not enough.
Laugh when you fall.
Doubt when you speak.
But guess what?
They don’t get to define you.
You are forged, not broken.
Bent, not beaten.
Every bruise is a blueprint.
Every fall, fuel.
So break the rules they wrote for you.
Set fire to the limits.
And walk—no, run—into the life
you were told you couldn't have.
May 24, 2025
May 24, 2025 at 3:36 PM UTC
Dear, can I be honest with you?
I just don’t know anymore; I don’t know what to do.
I’ve forgotten how to be the girl everyone needs me to be.
And I don’t know how I got so far away from you.
I just don’t know why you even stuck around or why
You even dared to raise your glass to many more last nights.
Never once in my wildest nightmares did it come to this, but here we are.
Swallowing the water we’re surrounded by and being weighed down.
And the more we try to stay up, the more we drown.
Never once in my greatest daydream did you even stick around, but here you are.
But it’s only a matter of time before you close the door on any chance we had.
But it’s only a matter of time before we go back to being empty and sad.
I long to be near you, just to stand by you.
I’ve said it too many times and you’re probably tired
Of hearing my voice, this sorry broken record.
It all makes sense when I look into your eyes.
Everything falls into place when your baby browns meet mine,
But when I look away, it’s all askew and undefined.
Life has thrown me curveballs I’ve managed to dodge.
I’ll never regret catching you, you random act of God.
You’ve given me hope and found me when I was lost.
You are too good for me and I don’t need to be told twice.
But I need to be around you to keep myself alive, to keep myself up.
The touch of your skin, the sound of your voice, I can’t get enough.
I’m being honest, dear.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
Life throws you curveballs once you're up to bat
Twisting and turning; better hold steady the bat above the mat
The wrong technique could blow the game; focus and be ready
Hold your ground, breathe slowly; remain calm and steady
What's coming your way is often unexpected
Starting with an invitation for entertainment that cannot be rejected
To a darkened home from a romantic scene ****** from some fantasy
You've imagined to feel something so right over and over again
But once you've left first, you realize home is your destination for where you begin and where you end
What's done is done; you really lost when you think you won
But even one victory doesn't shadow the vacancy that still lingers
The emptiness fills you and it shows through shaky fingers
The romantic scene you dreamed of has faded quickly
The details of it all you remember vividly
Reliving the fantasy, devoid of all reality
Home plate is not a safe place to be
Sep 14, 2011
Sep 14, 2011 at 6:32 PM UTC
I’m young and I’m aware that I understand little
But what will not do is I will not become cynical
I will continue believing in what might be a fantasy
That there really are grand adventures and true love
That even though its hard to believe, love at first sight exist
I won’t stop believing that music can change the world
And that one small person can make a large difference
All the problems that life will throw out me
The curveballs, if you will, I will knock out of the park
Because I will always believe in a dream
A dream of happiness, and joy, and peace
And most of all a dream of love.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 3:27 AM UTC
We promised each other the world
As we clung to each other tightly,
Afraid that if we let go,
The other would crumble.
In the end,
I was the one who crumbled,
Not you.
Does five years mean nothing to you?
Five years,
Filled with crazy antics,
Bursts of laughter,
Tears from fears.
And now,
We are nothing.
I guess
I was the ********* in all of this.
Taking your insults
Like morsels of fulfillment.
Degrading me further and further,
But I took it all.
It was the only thing I knew how to.
I was forced away.
You moved on.
I stayed.
Still behind you, as always.
Waiting for the hurt to come,
But you left me.
And this is the most hurtful of all of the insults you've thrown at me.
I am nothing.
At least before,
I was something,
Someone worth thinking about to create spiteful ***** of words.
You threw insults like a game of baseball,
Pitching curveballs,
Speedballs,
Fastballs constantly,
Never stopping,
Inventing new ways to throw the baseball,
Each and everyone hitting me harder to the point that the bat did me no use anymore.
They just kept coming.
All I could do was stand and get hit,
Understand and take in everything you threw.
Harder,
Faster,
More
Each and every time.
Then others came around,
Rocking my world,
Showing me what love actually is,
Not all the **** you gave me,
I wouldn't let go.
Now I'm back.
I've caught up to you,
But you've turned your back to me,
And continued down your path.
Leaving me to stand alone at this fork in my road.
...
Guess I was the only one that cared those five years.
Guess it was all a game, huh?
...
I miss you.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 3:54 PM UTC
I’ll be here with my arms stretched wide
Ready to catch a break
Instead of all these curveballs
That keep hitting me in the face
I don’t even like baseball
⚾️
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 11:40 AM UTC
For all
the curveballs
life pitched
.......
Thank You
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 5:29 AM UTC
Dear Life,
For the longest time,
I’ve been complacent in this little nook I dug for myself,
a stagnant existence,
happy…
could be happier…
but happy,
and that’s what I wanted, right?
That’s what counts?
That’s what I worked towards for so long?
What’s that cliché?
If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it?
Yeah, don’t fix it.
Cover me in silence,
fill me up with good enough,
and settle if it’s so.
Who needs to strive for amazing?
You haven’t thrown me any curveballs in a while.
Maybe what I thought was healing
was just a piece of me that grew numb.
You’ve changed the plan mid-play.
Are you really trying to fail me?
Is it your goal to get into my every crevice
simply to pull out each emotion you can find
and witness what it does to me?
I’m not sure my bat is still strong enough;
it hasn’t been used in so long.
I could swing,
but I’d miss,
and I can’t handle missing any more.
I forgot what it felt like to have so much uncertainty
lodged under my fingertips,
to see one pitch after another too late
and not even realize it until a giant, blue welt
appears on my skin.
I’m terrified of your throws,
because something might shake up my world
and break me all over again.
I can’t,
I won’t
go back to that place.
Instincts scream to hide in the corner of the cage,
construct a shelter
in peace.
But,
dear Life,
my heart…
my heart tugs at my puppet strings
to grasp the bat in my hands,
walk up to the plate,
and find you face-to-face,
“because this time
maybe,
just maybe…
we’ll hear ourselves collide.”
In a barely-audible whisper,
it says,
“I think you’ve missed enough.”
Signed,
Scared & Confused
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
Smoking until struggles fade to black
Leave for awhile but always come back
To the dust collected in my nooks
Heard by crannies between books
I fear none of problems non-existent replies
The gaze from inanimate objects eyes
Control the balance of my silent possessions
They swirl in the wake of my useless expressions
I stand firm amidst the hum of talking nothingness
My hands like swords in my confessed stress
World is small
Yet this planet so large
My fight I falter as troubles barge
No orders conquer my will to go on
Am a survivor of each passing dawn
Home is battlefield in which I slumber
My skills adapt and grow in number
They are put to test by life's curveballs
Believe in what is at the top of these walls
Waving freedom with my face in the mud
Death nobly boiling in my blood
As I try to improve presence bit by bit
Rings distant from where I sit
I continue forth hoping better is what tomorrow will be
No way to tell
I guess I'll have to wait and see
Mar 13, 2020
Mar 13, 2020 at 2:57 AM UTC
It's not always easy
to accept what
curveballs life
throws at you
Sometimes you need to
grab that baseball bat
and hit them back
where they belong
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 2:38 AM UTC
You’d had just enough change to pick it up at the Hall’s gift shop,
As you’d ate sparsely at the down-on-its luck diner
Where the bus had stopped halfway or so through the trip out
(Just as well, given the place’s obvious indifference
To culinary innovation and cleanliness)
And you’d all but sprinted with it
From the cashier straight o the batting cage next door,
Inadvertently ending up in line for the machine
Which threw curveballs
(The kids ahead of you older, most likely high school players
Who made but weak contact with the pitches,
A dream dying a little with each weak tapper and foul-back)
And you went through a handful of futile swings
Before the final pitch came out of the machine,
Spinning oddly and refusing to break toward the plate,
Hitting you in the back with a dull, rubbery thud,
And your teacher, thick-middle man
Who had played a couple seasons in the Indians farm system,
Where he had faced Juan Pizarro (*Son, his hook looked
Like it was coming in from first base*)
Chuckled softly as he rubbed your back,
Saying *It’s like I told you, kid,
This is a hard game*.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC
18 is a fairly small number in the scheme of things
but 18 years is a fairly large amount of time
18 years and life throws curveballs
18 is a fairly small number in the scheme of things
and 18 seconds is a fairly small amount of time
18 seconds and the day throws curveballs
maybe 18 seconds isn’t a fairly small number,
maybe it depends on the scenario and the context that 18 is put in
Nov 28, 2021
Nov 28, 2021 at 8:53 PM UTC