"deactivated" poems
I used to be a cheerful girl
My friends when I was younger described me as "jolly"
But I grew up as a *********
I explored the world of pain, I traveled the road of sorrow
I cried myself to sleep and woke up with heavy bags under my eyes
One day I realized I was depressed
I even became suicidal and my friends didn't like it of course
They wanted to understand me but even I couldn't understand myself
Sure, I am surrounded with the people who care about me
But maybe, I am better off alone
Alone in my world where I won't bother anyone, only myself
And now I am isolating myself, keeping everything in private
Having Facebook for academic purposes only because apparently, ultimate self-expression is not allowed there anymore
Having Twitter and Instagram and other social networking ***** I mean sites, just for the sake of keeping the memories
But really, if I wasn't very sentimental, I would have deactivated every single account I have on the internet
The cheerful girl that I used to be is trapped inside the sad person I have become
I've been choosing happiness as much as I've been fighting depression
It's true that one's self is responsible for making decisions but in my case, it's not because I chose to be like this
The mess I have become was beyond my control
"Choose happiness, fight depression"
Sure, sure. As if it is that easy.
IF IT WAS EASY, I WOULD HAVE DONE IT ALREADY.
I hate myself.
For being weak.
For being a coward.
For being so stubborn.
For being stupid.
For being myself.
Will sorry ever be enough?
Can being a human be an excuse?
Will my depressed self ever find that cheerful girl?
That girl who used to have a lot of dreams
That girl who used to live life to the fullest
That girl who used to laugh all the time, even at the littlest things
That girl who used to have such a big heart
That girl who used to be happy
Or maybe, just maybe, she's just really... gone, gone, and gone.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
the weekend has just got underway
there will be a cessation of work for two days
one will partake of a little relaxation
and one will put one's feet up for the duration
how I like the weekends coming around
I can stay in bed sleeping most sound
the alarm clock not needing to be wound
it'll be deactivated as I snore on my pillow mound
I love Saturdays and Sundays
those wonderful restful days
I love chilling out and lazing about
of this fact there is no doubt
Friday afternoon is the best time of all
one can clock off from work and do very little at all
should the mood strike me this weekend
I might take the opportunity to ring an old friend
the word weekend
is one which makes me glad
it means that there's forty eight hours
of idling to be had
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 4:19 AM UTC
To love someone is not as simple as it seems.
Once you discover the meaning to love, it becomes a chronic drug.
Love is not just one feeling, but an array of emotions strung together.
I'm worried I have deactivated my emotions, My subconscious has forced my body numb and my mind astray.
I can't seem to think clearly
It's like I've forgotten already.
But how?
Its way too soon to have forgotten.
I ask myself "this is big, how can you forgive?"
My answer: Simple, I'm addicted.
They ask me "what's wrong with you? How can you go back to him?"
My answer: I can't explain.
Psychotic.
How can I love someone who has done nothing but hurt me over and over?
How can there ever be trust?
How will we get through this?
I ask myself several questions everyday.
Still have no answers.
Except,
He's my drug.
And I'm in love.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 5:21 AM UTC
Tap tap tap
Send
Delivered
Received
If there could be one punishment
It would surely be this
The effect so sinister yet so innocent
A simple reply would bring the world peace
Tap tap tap
Send
Delivered
Received
Why should I blame you for my heart's unease?
It not as horrendous as compared to blue ticks
Unless, of course, you deactivated your read receipts
Like a professional crook who covers their prints
Tap tap tap
Send
Delivered
Received
The wait is driving me insane
But I've to mask my maniacal pettiness
Put on a straight face to feign
Is it that hard to hide my emptiness?
Tap tap tap
Send
Delivered
Received
Read
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
It's 3:09 PM, I've just deactivated my facebook account. Not planned, or thought-out...just so. I know, it's a foolish and stupid thing to even take the time of noting down in words but so it goes. I'm not horrible, I've been worse. I'm just not...doing too good. I don't feel well, and quite frankly I'm too exhausted for the whole staying positive ******** Things like deactivating my lame facebook account and not owning a cell-phone by free-will...it's my way of modernly disconnecting from the artificial world I've held part of and the people in it. It's not that I'm trying to isolate myself or become anti-social completely...it's more like...I'm just trying to find some air, some real ******* fresh air to breath. I've been listening to Man Of A Thousand Faces by Regina Spektor on repeat this past week, and I just need...I just need to let my own self be. I'm at a distant public library away from home as I type this. It's one of my favorite places to visit and spend some quality free time at. Surrounding myself with books and records and strangers is one of the most tranquilizing methods I know. It's difficult sometimes...to accept that I'm twenty years old and in far reach of accomplishing my dreams. It's difficult to accept that my father's heart could fail again...it's difficult to accept that my mum has vertigo...it's difficult to accept that my uncle is dead, it's going to be a year since and I still cannot bring myself out of selfish denial. Loving is difficult, caring is difficult, trying is difficult, beliefs are difficult, feelings are difficult, I am difficult...and the thought of wanting to cry makes me want to cry because it's so exasperating and draining and overwhelming and humbling. I haven't written or posted much on here lately, but doing so right now gives me this tiny and odd and inexplicable crumb of...hope? It's difficult to accept death as much as life itself sometimes but nevertheless I accept it. I cope through it in the stupid little ways that I can. I become torn and furiously passionate all at once. I can only love as much as my heart can manage and work hard and try hard and cry when I feel like ******* crying because feelings are beautiful and meant to be exposed.
todo en él es lugar adecuado .
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
We popped ourselves up to the ideas of pop culture
and adopted the looks of orphans
spray paint and swear words
too loud overcrowded mischief
the misgivings of being too young
children throwing tantrums over ice cream
calendars fell and the montage ended
we were flung across the globe as dandelion seeds
weeds to be weeded
I was playing tight rope on the fence
and fell on the side with no safety net
skinned knees and black eyes
the stoners the dropouts the thugs and **** ups
***** and *******
******* and ********
these were just words
deactivated model replicas pointed at the head
college student with a chip on the shoulder
and the one they called the jester
and the one they called the king
with return addresses tattooed on arms
the awake became the living dream
no time for nights of nightmares
enough scare to go around
pack another GB and cry some more
my blood is ink dripping from the pen
yours drips from thighs and forearms
you want to be the new thing
you forgot what the original means
and burned all of your dictionaries a while ago
check my *** cheek
the origin is there
UK/USA
now all the lights are off
and the moon hangs fat, sacrificial in the sky
do you want the moon? That’s what I’ll do. I’ll give you the moon.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
Random mortar shells in the afternoon.
Sparkling, steel jacketed rain drops,
Glinting rainbows of reflected sunlight.
Plastic explosive seat cushions upon which passers-by,
Rest their weary bones.
C-4 candy bars, nuclear toothpaste,
****** for dessert.
Orphanage flambe', hospital hash, blood pudding.
Human burgers sizzling on a smart bomb bar-b-que grill.
Finger food, toe jam, baby-back ribs.
Bureaucratic double talkers,
Sugar coated body counts,
Colateral stew.
Really deplorable, awfully sorry,
But it was their own faults trying to put on raincoats.
They declined our invitation to the cook-out.
Bad luck to open an umbrella in the house.
Remotely piloted funeral processions.
Radar guided hearses.
Televised in real time.
Precision, surgical,
neutralized, deterrent, disarmed,
Deactivated, stand down, eliminate.
Living pawns on a battlefield checkerboard.
Strategic, defensive,
Dominate, annihilate,
Acceptable loss, public opinion pole.
Listen to the tinkling of sabre blades,
Rattling windchimes,
In the warm breeze of the shockwave,
Accompanied by the drumbeat of detonation and concussion.
Rock...
...and heads will roll.
Holy, blessed,
Patriotic, brave,
Courageous, dedicated,
Heroic, dutiful,
Self sacrificing...
******
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
I deactivated my Facebook
Deactivated is such a strange word
More like I left because I was tired of seeing
Every one talking to one another
Every one discussing weekend plans
Of past, present, and soon to come
Of their fun family trips
And I'm sitting here
Lonely and uninvited
Crying my eyes out
Wishing for a friend
Hoping to be liked
Jealous? Definitely.
My two best friends don't talk
To me, but they talk to their
Facebook walls and other people
They hang out with others
Others but me
I'm not saying they can't have
Their own set of friends
I just feel cheated because
Whenever they need me I try to
Always show up and
Pat their backs and wipe tears
But in a time where I need
My friends the most
They've vanished for what seems like forever
Abandoned me
I just don't want to be alone
Can't be alone
When I am suicide pops up
And the cutting starts again
So please friends don't
Leave me alone
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 2:55 AM UTC
I was abandoned
I was scarred
I thought you cared
I thought you were concerned
But you left me
With a permanent scar
Attached deeply with my heart
If only you could feel it too
If only you knew the value of my tears
That flows down against my fears
I was trapped in my own little cell
You played with my heart
Tossed it up and down..
Up and down
While I growled in pain
But what will you gain???
What will you gain from my pain?
I was crestfallen
Because I was deactivated
… erased from this world
I feel as if my heart is ripped
I can’t feel anything except pain
I can’t see myself as anything except incomplete
I wiped my eyes
As tears continued to flow
Because the pain you left for me
Is unbearable
You made me heartless
Just fragile..
I can hear a voice inside my head that is killing me
It’s pleading for mercy
Pleading for life..
A life that had been taken away from me once
It hurts…
The pain is like a sword
It is pierced through my heart
Leaving an impression of a permanent scar
And it is stuck there..
Like a sky full of stars…
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
Depression you hear is deep in my gut
I feel it
I know it ain’t clear
The message is rough
Dismiss it my life is turmoil
Crashing and burning all around me
Think I’m about to fly
I hug the ground
A different kind of landing
Tell my mama that I’m sorry
Tell my brother I was too week
Tell my little sister she’s a queen and never ever do this
Walk in the footsteps of our forefathers
I’m a bad imitation
About to finish of my sermon
Place it under my phone, passwords deactivated
Because I want someone to know
I want someone to care
I went everyone to learn
4 tick to midnight, I hear it ring last chance
maybe god still loves me
Maybe someone remembered my name
Maybe someone is reaching out to me
Stop, hold on.
I pick up...
Hello there I was looking to speak with Mr kingsley In regards to the newest and
peep peep peep
I hung the phone
I hung my soul
I hung.
Rex Verum Regem
TFK
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 1:08 AM UTC
My recurring dreams typically involve myself running in slow motion
being chased by butterflies
their wingspan as wide as the atlas mom stores on top of filing cabinets
on the section labeled, “General References”.
Those humongous creatures with their sinister looks
protruding eyes as if breathing a life of their own,
their wings containing poison powder
a speck proven to be fatal.
Sometimes my dreams involve myself hanged upside down
being pecked to death by crows
those hungry devils feasting over my flesh
my innards slipping into their mouth like spaghetti
some of them even sharing a strand like that classic scene
in Lady and the *****
never in my life have I seen such a lovely spectacle
caressing feathers, rubbing beaks, sharing warmth
So lovely I could have written a fairy tale out of it
except that, of course, they’re crows.
I have deactivated my nocturnal juices
allowing every monster under the bed to trespass my innermost thoughts
Clawing their way out of the depths to take form
in all sizes and shapes
screeching for attention, strangling, suffocating,
“My body is not yours to own”, I protested.
Led me to the edge of the cliff, those devils
Pushed me into the abyss, nothing to hold on to
called out for help, somebody save me.
Woke up screaming, rushed to the kitchen
emptied the bottle of melatonin
those **** pills, minions of menace.
I don’t want to sleep anymore.
Keep me awake. Keep me awake.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 9:26 PM UTC
This afternoon I tried signing onto my Xbox but it wouldn't let me.
I called up customer support and they asked the usual questions.
Then they put me on hold for thirty minutes or so;
and in those thirty minutes I decided I'd make a grilled cheese sandwich.
When the customer service rep got back on,
he said the account would immediately be deactivated
and they they couldn't refund me for all the purchases I made;
then told me I was better off with a Nintendo WiiU and hung up.
I looked at my phone in disgust. Surely this was some sick joke.
But anger, much like a clean, pretty face,
got the best of me.
I chucked my phone at the wall;
then rushed out the house and found the closest thing I could see.
An old lawn chair from my jam band festival days.
I threw it, with all my might, into the street;
screaming "I don't want a ******* WiiU!" over
and over, till my voice gave
and puttered like a Ford Pinto on it's last leg.
That's when I noticed the windows were tinted black;
and soon after smoke started to billow out the windows.
Oh no, I thought, *the ******* grilled cheese sandwich!*
I ran in, coughing, my blue shirt clinging to my nose and chin;
the alarm screaming "I have seen the face of God!".
I managed to make it to the ***** grabbed
all the plastic water bottles I could find and
gave the stove counter top hell.
After the smoke cleared, I removed the pan,
threw away the sandwich
and slumped like a limp sack of grains
on the stool by the kitchen window.
And for the rest of that day I mourned over my deceased sandwich;
Oh, how well it would've paired with a bowl of Campbell's tomato soup.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 3:05 AM UTC
073016
You're active
But you deactivated my heart.
*My feelings, *
You tore apart.
*I'm here *
But with your eyes,
I remained seen.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 4:44 AM UTC
I devolved in our relationship
We weren’t very good to each other
No gifts without subtext
We deactivated each other’s progress
and explored an unhealthy mire
A No Mans Land Of buried munitions
Not a partnership
A credit to the both of us that we lead other lives now
And that our relation successfully dissolved
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 6:11 PM UTC
There is nothing like the moment of transition,
From the flickering interior
Of the place I work –
Where reality itself
Seems as though it could be toggled
In a single motion,
Deactivated at the flip of a light-switch labeled:
‘Warning: don’t turn off!’ –
And out, unexpectedly,
Into the prehistoric empire
Of the thunderstorm,
Where despite the growing import
Of an industry of explanations,
The emperor still retains
His wild anthropic breath:
The air that sparks
These eerie, contra-zoom effects,
Whereby the colours of the world draw close,
But meaning sinks
To strange electric depths.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 1:10 PM UTC
Comatosed with open gaze insinuating
Morphine daydreams,
With bristling hairs along arms
Before she had the chance to shave
and the folicles deactivated;
It is her womb she has devoted
For the public eye;
How it slowly rots, from incarnadine
-as the historical pictures aside her show-
To it's current viridian swelter;
Like an ugly robust bruise too tough to die.
Rupturing outward a torridness
Of legs and crooked fingers stuck to half-grip,
Scanning southly one notes globules of goosebumps
Haunting up her thighs,
Pricking cloudward and shivering implying that,atleast,
For a second whilst living she was aware of this—
Her impending fate.
Red,red,red lips
bud close to form a cute,poppish image,
Honouring those photographers who come and go—
Her tiny hands are posited to corner her tiny *******
As not to stir any further controversy.
The lady in the jar awaits the usuals,while blind
to her own doing so,
Mind overrun and on display like a faulty calculator
Via that dull, happy, gaze.
She smells up the room of exquisite perfume and
Quixotic trees and fields and roads and too much more to mention...
The fee these stranger's would scavage from their pockets
Just to be awarded a chance to touch
The fair lady’s skin and determine a better verdict
As to whether or not she meant all that much to the world
at all.
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 8:55 PM UTC
I am now in silence.
Waiting for a response.
I've deactivated my accounts,
to see if anyone will respond.
Now what I call family,
Is now a question of mine.
*Do you guys really care?
Or someone just have to speak up
for them to share?*
I now questions my friendships
with the ones I have now.
I suppose only a few
will ask
how am I now
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
They boarded the ships.
They left for Mars to live in the red sand.
There was no room for useless machines.
They will live and die in the red land.
The light age was pure..
We no longer had fears.
Such new technologies.
Extended our lives by 300 years.
After 500 years of peace there was a strange hum.
Our guardians of light deactivated.
They were responding to a foreign transmission or a frequency.
Our saviors had been incapacitated.
A second attempt by our invaders was made.
A new hum sang across our skies.
Our light guardians had awoke.
With dark corrupted minds.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 11:12 AM UTC
He is the bystander
watching as the words drop
to meander amongst the
audience
when the show ends
he becomes
deactivated
demotivated
putting away his thoughts of the day
and those wallowing’s of his following
on social media sites.
The hundreds of nights before and the
ones that will come
stun
his senses,
sidestepping the tut tutting,
the mutterings of the jealous
and the old press cuttings that
fall from a drawer to remind him
of a time when
he wasn’t as good as he
would become
he sees the sun rise over the Olivetti,
a ribbon trails across the floor.
An age is upon him
wearing the old bones
thin.
fin.
© 2017, John Smallshaw.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 7:48 AM UTC
if i deleted myself
would the hatred of me stop
or would i become a tree
along the river of this-shit-is-forever?
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 9:07 PM UTC
**** yourself and be born again
to a time you may fit
Where buttons and signals did not exist.
If I were to **** myself and be born again
I would go to a time where love was far from modern
Where signals were only through telephone wires, cable connectors
and hearts.
My hazy head has been disconnected from your heart in this new aged world
and my own.
The love has been deactivated
Your presence has been blocked
My emotional state is offline
And your signal is no longer connected
All because of buttons and signals.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 4:35 PM UTC
We were the perfect guards
Sworn to uphold honour,serve and protect humanity
Until greed imprisoned us all
We became war merchants
We were fashioned to be priceless
we came out being auctioned
We were traded in an organised manner
We became sorrow to the people who saw us as happiness
We became distasteful to the ones who worshipped our taste
We brought pain to the people we were sworn to protect
We turn children playing ground to their burial ground
We became circumstances for victim of circumstances
Until the hunter became the hunted
We could feel the sorrow,we could see the hatred
We could hear the voices of our victims
Piercing through our minds,crying to be heard
Voices graduated to sounds which envelope our thought
Crippled our sense of belonging
We became lost in our own hatred..
Rejected by the illusionist and the perfectionist
Deactivated by the authority
****** CIRCUMSTANCES
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:20 PM UTC