Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Words
"deadweight" poems
Behind the eight ball she sits. Resigned. From her pimp's leash, she's lead. Deadweight, she feels his ways and ills, like cattle, that's branded. Best she hustles, or be backhanded. Once molded, she learns to light up Big Daddy's cigar and bring him his pie loaded. More cabbage to fill his gold baggage. Sometimes he spares a small leaf for her. Though times she short, his fist takes sport. And every night she plays for the band of her john's, singing their song, while a thousand ****** of light inches along all wrong. The nameless, faceless and most relentless getting their fill. A flower in her wails loves not fear. However, Big Daddy's eyes are always near. She knows better than to run past the pasture gates onto verdant fields, free as a bird, without a home, money or vocation and ever so fearful of Big Daddy's gun. A flower in her wails loves not fears. As she remembers those first tears. A Big Daddy's indoctrination. It started off on social media, a whim a fantasy went wrong. Three nights her body violated, Big Daddy's cavalry, descending on her picnic, wax and whips, a thousand ****** of might, and the scream of the night. Coldcocked. Say hello to the new girl on the block. A flower in her wails loves not fears. Her youth robbed as the days morph into years. Like a blur. The guise, the lure, the drugs, the fear. The trap. Eighteen young became twenty-four old. A lost puppy to her folks back home. And every lost night she struts her Prada dress a little higher Big Daddy has a buyer. Logan Robertson 7/27/2018
0
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 6:32 AM UTC
logan-robertson
Big Daddy Has a Buyer
Behind the eight ball she sits. Resigned. From her pimp's leash, she's lead. Deadweight, she feels his ways and ills, like cattle, that's branded. Best she hustles, or be backhanded. Once molded, she learns to light up Big Daddy's cigar and bring him his pie loaded. More cabbage to fill his gold baggage. Sometimes he spares a small leaf for her. Though times she short, his fist takes sport. And every night she plays for the band of her john's, singing their song, while a thousand ****** of light inches along all wrong. The nameless, faceless and most relentless getting their fill. A flower in her wails loves not fear. However, Big Daddy's eyes are always near. She knows better than to run past the pasture gates onto verdant fields, free as a bird, without a home, money or vocation and ever so fearful of Big Daddy's gun. A flower in her wails loves not fears. As she remembers those first tears. A Big Daddy's indoctrination. It started off on social media, a whim a fantasy went wrong. Three nights her body violated, Big Daddy's cavalry, descending on her picnic, wax and whips, a thousand ****** of might, and the scream of the night. Coldcocked. Say hello to the new girl on the block. A flower in her wails loves not fears. Her youth robbed as the days morph into years. Like a blur. The guise, the lure, the drugs, the fear. The trap. Eighteen young became twenty-four old. A lost puppy to her folks back home. And every lost night she struts her Prada dress a little higher Big Daddy has a buyer. Logan Robertson 7/27/2018
Continue reading...
60
The tractor stands frozen - an agony To think of. All night Snow packed its open entrails. Now a head-pincering gale, A spill of molten ice, smoking snow, Pours into its steel. At white heat of numbness it stands In the aimed hosing of ground-level fieriness. It defied flesh and won't start. Hands are like wounds already Inside armour gloves, and feet are unbelievable As if the toe-nails were all just torn off. I stare at it in hatred. Beyond it The copse hisses - capitulates miserably In the fleeing, failing light. Starlings, A dirtier sleetier snow, blow smokily, unendingly, over Towards plantations Eastward. All the time the tractor is sinking Through the degrees, deepening Into its hell of ice. The starting lever Cracks its action, like a snapping knuckle. The battery is alive - but like a lamb Trying to nudge its solid-frozen mother - While the seat claims my buttock-bones, bites With the space-cold of earth, which it has joined In one solid lump. I squirt commercial sure-fire Down the black throat - it just coughs. It ridicules me - a trap of iron stupidity I've stepped into. I drive the battery As if I were hammering and hammering The frozen arrangement to pieces with a hammer And it jabbers laughing pain-crying mockingly Into happy life. And stands Shuddering itself full of heat, seeming to enlarge slowly Like a demon demonstrating A more-than-usually-complete materialization - Suddenly it jerks from its solidarity With the concrete, and lurches towards a stanchion Bursting with superhuman well-being and abandon Shouting Where Where? Worse iron is waiting. Power-lift kneels Levers awake imprisoned deadweight, Shackle-pins bedded in cast-iron cow-shit. The blind and vibrating condemned obedience Of iron to the cruelty of iron, Wheels screeched out of their night-locks - Fingers Among the tormented Tonnage and burning of iron Eyes Weeping in the wind of chloroform And the tractor, streaming with sweat, Raging and trembling and rejoicing.
0
5.2k
Ted Hughes
Tractor
The tractor stands frozen - an agony To think of. All night Snow packed its open entrails. Now a head-pincering gale, A spill of molten ice, smoking snow, Pours into its steel. At white heat of numbness it stands In the aimed hosing of ground-level fieriness. It defied flesh and won't start. Hands are like wounds already Inside armour gloves, and feet are unbelievable As if the toe-nails were all just torn off. I stare at it in hatred. Beyond it The copse hisses - capitulates miserably In the fleeing, failing light. Starlings, A dirtier sleetier snow, blow smokily, unendingly, over Towards plantations Eastward. All the time the tractor is sinking Through the degrees, deepening Into its hell of ice. The starting lever Cracks its action, like a snapping knuckle. The battery is alive - but like a lamb Trying to nudge its solid-frozen mother - While the seat claims my buttock-bones, bites With the space-cold of earth, which it has joined In one solid lump. I squirt commercial sure-fire Down the black throat - it just coughs. It ridicules me - a trap of iron stupidity I've stepped into. I drive the battery As if I were hammering and hammering The frozen arrangement to pieces with a hammer And it jabbers laughing pain-crying mockingly Into happy life. And stands Shuddering itself full of heat, seeming to enlarge slowly Like a demon demonstrating A more-than-usually-complete materialization - Suddenly it jerks from its solidarity With the concrete, and lurches towards a stanchion Bursting with superhuman well-being and abandon Shouting Where Where? Worse iron is waiting. Power-lift kneels Levers awake imprisoned deadweight, Shackle-pins bedded in cast-iron cow-shit. The blind and vibrating condemned obedience Of iron to the cruelty of iron, Wheels screeched out of their night-locks - Fingers Among the tormented Tonnage and burning of iron Eyes Weeping in the wind of chloroform And the tractor, streaming with sweat, Raging and trembling and rejoicing.
Continue reading...
55
We were laying down our lives from the beginning, but we didn't know how cold the nights could be or how heavy our feet would sound on wooden floors, we didn't know we were built for more than coughing up new ways to pass time, no we were only practicing for this, we were only fighting for our lives, we were only cutting out new patterns & fitting ourselves with our wrung-out hopes & dreams, but those fell limp & we didn't realize there was anything else I didn't realize these shards in my lungs were leftover from the first time learning how to crash & burn, the fall left bruises printed up and down my arms, under my ribs, but I thought that was a good thing, I thought we're supposed to fight for what we love we're supposed to feel the pain but, we are only a billion lonely strangers laying down our lives here, I'm hoping you'll pick mine up before it gets trampled on again although we really do make the finest doormats for feet heavier than ours, maybe we will remain in the dust & the sand until we are buried, or our throats are filled so that we can't ask whose deadweight we carry today; so come lie to me, tell me that this all goes away I'm tired of playing in the shade by myself, I need fresher dreams bigger things than childhood fantasies they tell me I am only make believe I am only a lonely star, I am only pretending they don't see the corners I cut or the nightmares I chase, the graves I dig just to survive, just to bury the rot of older skins I shed on the daily, we don't like the way the gas in the atmosphere hides the stars so we seek open spaces & we lay our hearts in felt-lined boxes thinking they'll be safer there than in our chests, because our chests might be caving in tomorrow compressed under the weight of passerby, if you need me I'll be here (we didn't know how cold the nights could be) I'll be laying down my life over here.
0
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 11:14 PM UTC
khanslik
if you need me, i'll be over here
We were laying down our lives from the beginning, but we didn't know how cold the nights could be or how heavy our feet would sound on wooden floors, we didn't know we were built for more than coughing up new ways to pass time, no we were only practicing for this, we were only fighting for our lives, we were only cutting out new patterns & fitting ourselves with our wrung-out hopes & dreams, but those fell limp & we didn't realize there was anything else I didn't realize these shards in my lungs were leftover from the first time learning how to crash & burn, the fall left bruises printed up and down my arms, under my ribs, but I thought that was a good thing, I thought we're supposed to fight for what we love we're supposed to feel the pain but, we are only a billion lonely strangers laying down our lives here, I'm hoping you'll pick mine up before it gets trampled on again although we really do make the finest doormats for feet heavier than ours, maybe we will remain in the dust & the sand until we are buried, or our throats are filled so that we can't ask whose deadweight we carry today; so come lie to me, tell me that this all goes away I'm tired of playing in the shade by myself, I need fresher dreams bigger things than childhood fantasies they tell me I am only make believe I am only a lonely star, I am only pretending they don't see the corners I cut or the nightmares I chase, the graves I dig just to survive, just to bury the rot of older skins I shed on the daily, we don't like the way the gas in the atmosphere hides the stars so we seek open spaces & we lay our hearts in felt-lined boxes thinking they'll be safer there than in our chests, because our chests might be caving in tomorrow compressed under the weight of passerby, if you need me I'll be here (we didn't know how cold the nights could be) I'll be laying down my life over here.
Continue reading...
46
what I got was a january smile from a milkblooded boy. if only the pearl of your teeth were white as my eyes deertail flash in the dark and nowhere else to hide but five a.m. sheets and the smell of sunrise mumbles toofast weightloss: a late spring heart is drenched with its ripeness but rots if you leave it to the bees then the summer desiccation becomes winter starvation— in between, autumn comes to stay. purples, mostly maroons moth -eaten by the greengrass deadweight of so many depetalled flowers. Midnight never strikes soon enough. there have been no doves for weeks & maybe longer than that i haven’t kept count on you to teach me where they go when the seasons change but given time and tide rips the stains from your whites so i with patience await the first frosts; you are never far behind the snow. meanwhile your jewel-studded eyes & corsair heart glint in the moonlit touchmenot of your faraway skin keep your hair shirt on.
0
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 3:20 AM UTC
vidya-ravilochan
eggshell walk
what I got was a january smile from a milkblooded boy. if only the pearl of your teeth were white as my eyes deertail flash in the dark and nowhere else to hide but five a.m. sheets and the smell of sunrise mumbles toofast weightloss: a late spring heart is drenched with its ripeness but rots if you leave it to the bees then the summer desiccation becomes winter starvation— in between, autumn comes to stay. purples, mostly maroons moth -eaten by the greengrass deadweight of so many depetalled flowers. Midnight never strikes soon enough. there have been no doves for weeks & maybe longer than that i haven’t kept count on you to teach me where they go when the seasons change but given time and tide rips the stains from your whites so i with patience await the first frosts; you are never far behind the snow. meanwhile your jewel-studded eyes & corsair heart glint in the moonlit touchmenot of your faraway skin keep your hair shirt on.
Continue reading...
44
How is it three years, and I still have the same dreams? Can you explain that to me, lovely sparrow? Clutching olive branch and yew bark Grabbing in the dark for cold water, sweating down the glass Bitter chlorine and calcium built up on the face Mineral finger-paints, broken down with linseed oil and worn palms Your eyes behind those old glasses, working clay on the wheel Such pride in glazed pots collecting rain on the patio Paving stones laid in sand, the last few crooked on account of the cervesa Dry in the mouth like panting dogs, deadweight collapsed on threadbare carpet How do we convince ourselves that it is desirable to be alone? I hold you in my arms in a dream, whoever you are Pulling all the strands out of a wicker basket, creating uselessness Chattering keys on a laptop like shivering teeth Coughing, faceless, men, the embodiment of misery in this night The most beautiful pair of eyes I've ever seen, what other secrets lie beneath that hijab? Just a passing glance, most of the people we see, we will never see again How is it some make such a profound impression with nothing more than a smile? Lying under the Joshua tree, surrounded by dirt roads leading nowhere in particular Warm water mingles with the sweat on your lip A sigh that send chills through me The restless wind, nothing more
0
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 9:45 PM UTC
worn-down
Organix
How is it three years, and I still have the same dreams? Can you explain that to me, lovely sparrow? Clutching olive branch and yew bark Grabbing in the dark for cold water, sweating down the glass Bitter chlorine and calcium built up on the face Mineral finger-paints, broken down with linseed oil and worn palms Your eyes behind those old glasses, working clay on the wheel Such pride in glazed pots collecting rain on the patio Paving stones laid in sand, the last few crooked on account of the cervesa Dry in the mouth like panting dogs, deadweight collapsed on threadbare carpet How do we convince ourselves that it is desirable to be alone? I hold you in my arms in a dream, whoever you are Pulling all the strands out of a wicker basket, creating uselessness Chattering keys on a laptop like shivering teeth Coughing, faceless, men, the embodiment of misery in this night The most beautiful pair of eyes I've ever seen, what other secrets lie beneath that hijab? Just a passing glance, most of the people we see, we will never see again How is it some make such a profound impression with nothing more than a smile? Lying under the Joshua tree, surrounded by dirt roads leading nowhere in particular Warm water mingles with the sweat on your lip A sigh that send chills through me The restless wind, nothing more
Continue reading...
24
I When I look for inspiration I dig through bedrock of heartbreak poems So you but so not us II You are my inspiration Not enough to put in words but too much to say I fall asleep with poem scraps floating in my empty skull As if all I could ever know was words for you III Sometimes my mouth gets tired of smiling The things I don't tell you hang as deadweight on each of my ribs Even your dove-wing voice can't pull me From the black sea I lurk in But you smile for me anyway IV Mid afternoon and I'm sleeping with the light on You're a brewing thunderstorm that promises Never to drought my dusty ribs V Late night and I'm not a poet But you're the shallow river Where I can sit naked and you won't hurt me Your waters are warm and make me want to write I'm not a poet but you're poetry
0
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
skypath
Numeral Love
I When I look for inspiration I dig through bedrock of heartbreak poems So you but so not us II You are my inspiration Not enough to put in words but too much to say I fall asleep with poem scraps floating in my empty skull As if all I could ever know was words for you III Sometimes my mouth gets tired of smiling The things I don't tell you hang as deadweight on each of my ribs Even your dove-wing voice can't pull me From the black sea I lurk in But you smile for me anyway IV Mid afternoon and I'm sleeping with the light on You're a brewing thunderstorm that promises Never to drought my dusty ribs V Late night and I'm not a poet But you're the shallow river Where I can sit naked and you won't hurt me Your waters are warm and make me want to write I'm not a poet but you're poetry
Continue reading...
25
this is my introduction to something i never wanted to make up something that needs makeup to hide all the rust it built up in the winds of an apocalyptic sky see, there i go again, with the same jargon, the same death-comes-for-all i’m so sick of my own talk i’m so thirsty for new words that don’t sound like mine for words that don’t find ****** rhymes for voices that don’t herald the end of days because my eyes don’t see what’s really real they’re seeing only what is metaphorical what is above is not a stalagtite sky and what is between my toes isn’t the smell of rot and my flesh is not actually decaying the way i feel my soul has been see, i started out trying not to be me to conjure something that changes me but this identity comes down like a deadweight tied around my straining neck screaming in my ears, words words in my head, it’s all too much it’s all too real get out
0
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 10:26 PM UTC
phantasmagothica
ruin
this is my introduction to something i never wanted to make up something that needs makeup to hide all the rust it built up in the winds of an apocalyptic sky see, there i go again, with the same jargon, the same death-comes-for-all i’m so sick of my own talk i’m so thirsty for new words that don’t sound like mine for words that don’t find ****** rhymes for voices that don’t herald the end of days because my eyes don’t see what’s really real they’re seeing only what is metaphorical what is above is not a stalagtite sky and what is between my toes isn’t the smell of rot and my flesh is not actually decaying the way i feel my soul has been see, i started out trying not to be me to conjure something that changes me but this identity comes down like a deadweight tied around my straining neck screaming in my ears, words words in my head, it’s all too much it’s all too real get out
Continue reading...
23
The same Cricket has been outside my window for 5 endless nights. I stay awake and think about all of the dark ones I stayed up until 4am trying to find some sort of light. I never found the light. If I recall, you were the one who searched for it. And now this has got my ever disquieting mind reeling- Did you find me light? Or was it false hope?A flashlight with dead batteries? That's how I feel now- Like a car with no engine, Empty under the hood. I don't know why I trusted anyone anyhow. My heart feels like lead, A deadweight in my chest, Broken from the drop off the cliff. Of course you advised it to jump. This same cricket has been here making the same ******* noise - almost like how my mind tells me consistently how naive I was to trust. It hasn't shut up in 6 hellish nights.I can't stand these ******* fights. But you told me I must believe in the lies. Not in so many words- I was supposed to trust the "truth" I guess it was a part of my demise. Leave me to think I had the light, But when I went to use the power it is mysteriously out of service Right? You obviously don't realize how far you push me down into the water. How close I've been to drowning over- Over and over again, only to barely claw my way back to shore. The cricket is still outside and I have tried to smother his sound with the conflation of sad songs, But that's just not fair. He sings of his sorrows just as well as I. The cricket is outside my window and I let him stay now For we both know this feeling Update: I killed the cricket- he knew too much.
0
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 2:55 AM UTC
KaceLynnPoetry
Jiminy Cricket
The same Cricket has been outside my window for 5 endless nights. I stay awake and think about all of the dark ones I stayed up until 4am trying to find some sort of light. I never found the light. If I recall, you were the one who searched for it. And now this has got my ever disquieting mind reeling- Did you find me light? Or was it false hope?A flashlight with dead batteries? That's how I feel now- Like a car with no engine, Empty under the hood. I don't know why I trusted anyone anyhow. My heart feels like lead, A deadweight in my chest, Broken from the drop off the cliff. Of course you advised it to jump. This same cricket has been here making the same ******* noise - almost like how my mind tells me consistently how naive I was to trust. It hasn't shut up in 6 hellish nights.I can't stand these ******* fights. But you told me I must believe in the lies. Not in so many words- I was supposed to trust the "truth" I guess it was a part of my demise. Leave me to think I had the light, But when I went to use the power it is mysteriously out of service Right? You obviously don't realize how far you push me down into the water. How close I've been to drowning over- Over and over again, only to barely claw my way back to shore. The cricket is still outside and I have tried to smother his sound with the conflation of sad songs, But that's just not fair. He sings of his sorrows just as well as I. The cricket is outside my window and I let him stay now For we both know this feeling Update: I killed the cricket- he knew too much.
Continue reading...
35
Farther along we'll know all about it Farther along we'll understand why Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine We'll understand this, all by and by Tempted and tried, I wondered why The good man died, the bad man thrives And Jesus cries because he loves em' both We're all cast-aways in need of ropes Hangin' on by the last threads of our hope In a house of mirrors full of smoke Confusing illusions I've seen Where did I go wrong, I sang along To every chorus of the song That the devil wrote like a piper at the gates Leading mice and men down to their fates But some will courageously escape The seductive voice with a heart of faith While walkin' that line back home So much more to life than we've been told It's full of beauty that will unfold And shine like you struck gold my wayward son That deadweight burden weighs a ton Go down into the river and let it run And wash away all the things you've done Forgiveness alright Farther along we'll know all about it Farther along we'll understand why Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine We'll understand this, all by and by Still I get hard pressed on every side Between the rock and a compromise Like the truth and pack of lies fightin' for my soul And I've got no place left go Cause I got changed by what I've been shown More glory than the world has known Keeps me ramblin' on Skipping like a calf loosed from it's stall I'm free to love once and for all And even when I fall I'll get back up For the joy that overflows my cup Heaven filled me with more than enough Broke down my levee and my bluff Let the flood wash me And one day when the sky rolls back on us Some rejoice and the others fuss Cause every knee must bow and tongue confess That the son of god is forever blessed His is the kingdom, we're the guests So put your voice up to the test Sing Lord, come soon Farther along we'll know all about it Farther along we'll understand why Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine We'll understand this, all by and by JOSH GARRELS
0
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
wendy-ronshausen
FARTHER ALONG (JOSH GARRELS)
Farther along we'll know all about it Farther along we'll understand why Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine We'll understand this, all by and by Tempted and tried, I wondered why The good man died, the bad man thrives And Jesus cries because he loves em' both We're all cast-aways in need of ropes Hangin' on by the last threads of our hope In a house of mirrors full of smoke Confusing illusions I've seen Where did I go wrong, I sang along To every chorus of the song That the devil wrote like a piper at the gates Leading mice and men down to their fates But some will courageously escape The seductive voice with a heart of faith While walkin' that line back home So much more to life than we've been told It's full of beauty that will unfold And shine like you struck gold my wayward son That deadweight burden weighs a ton Go down into the river and let it run And wash away all the things you've done Forgiveness alright Farther along we'll know all about it Farther along we'll understand why Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine We'll understand this, all by and by Still I get hard pressed on every side Between the rock and a compromise Like the truth and pack of lies fightin' for my soul And I've got no place left go Cause I got changed by what I've been shown More glory than the world has known Keeps me ramblin' on Skipping like a calf loosed from it's stall I'm free to love once and for all And even when I fall I'll get back up For the joy that overflows my cup Heaven filled me with more than enough Broke down my levee and my bluff Let the flood wash me And one day when the sky rolls back on us Some rejoice and the others fuss Cause every knee must bow and tongue confess That the son of god is forever blessed His is the kingdom, we're the guests So put your voice up to the test Sing Lord, come soon Farther along we'll know all about it Farther along we'll understand why Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine We'll understand this, all by and by JOSH GARRELS
Continue reading...
55
Such small things Weigh us down in resentment Complicated, colliding, soon enough Ensnared Feeling gravity's pull Suspended and trapped in a web Spun with failed expectations Stuffed to suffocation, the weight of nothing Almost solid You could smash it with a hammer Insignificant things Tossed away like trash to the side of the road Littering, contaminating, spoiling What once claimed a special place Hearts A place for spiders I can almost feel the heat of poison With each drop from steel through skin With each moment begging more and more For attention Melting away unfulfilled Each moment Begging I'm powerless but to close my eyes and deny their petitions What's a moment worth anyway? What's it good for in the end? Something to search for, something to lose Moments are meant to be forgotten Pity the fool who doesn't understand this Death comes as a hard lesson to that man
0
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
james-arthur-casey
deadweight transition
Such small things Weigh us down in resentment Complicated, colliding, soon enough Ensnared Feeling gravity's pull Suspended and trapped in a web Spun with failed expectations Stuffed to suffocation, the weight of nothing Almost solid You could smash it with a hammer Insignificant things Tossed away like trash to the side of the road Littering, contaminating, spoiling What once claimed a special place Hearts A place for spiders I can almost feel the heat of poison With each drop from steel through skin With each moment begging more and more For attention Melting away unfulfilled Each moment Begging I'm powerless but to close my eyes and deny their petitions What's a moment worth anyway? What's it good for in the end? Something to search for, something to lose Moments are meant to be forgotten Pity the fool who doesn't understand this Death comes as a hard lesson to that man
Continue reading...
30
But it's not. Most of it is in my muscles that refuse to move anymore Deadweight, simple pain pulling like gravity is its mother Some of it is in my burning lungs that don't understand how much I want to keep going I don't want to die here I don't want them to find my collapsed body with a stopwatch marking a nine minute mile Some of it is in my broken sneakers and ripped clothes because this isn't my first show I've been here before I fully understand the heavyheartedness of sweat stains that scream longevity and socks that I might as well throw away But I will see that gym tomorrow My body will burn and burn and I will burn with it But there's a fireproof lining around my head Of course it's not all in my head My head is the one thing keeping my feet hitting the ground every beat of the music Or picking up the weights at 6 am
0
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
rosey-b
"It's all in your head..."
But it's not. Most of it is in my muscles that refuse to move anymore Deadweight, simple pain pulling like gravity is its mother Some of it is in my burning lungs that don't understand how much I want to keep going I don't want to die here I don't want them to find my collapsed body with a stopwatch marking a nine minute mile Some of it is in my broken sneakers and ripped clothes because this isn't my first show I've been here before I fully understand the heavyheartedness of sweat stains that scream longevity and socks that I might as well throw away But I will see that gym tomorrow My body will burn and burn and I will burn with it But there's a fireproof lining around my head Of course it's not all in my head My head is the one thing keeping my feet hitting the ground every beat of the music Or picking up the weights at 6 am
Continue reading...
15
Ups, and downs. I see us through liquid smiles, you saw us with regretful frowns; We stand on opposite ends of the isle. You are high when I am low, we are but deadweight to hold onto for control. What matters is past and present: I still keep the photos of us, while your heart's still not shaken. I still see us in my dreams, and as for you, you are not keen.
0
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
fisharedrowning
seesaw.
Ups, and downs. I see us through liquid smiles, you saw us with regretful frowns; We stand on opposite ends of the isle. You are high when I am low, we are but deadweight to hold onto for control. What matters is past and present: I still keep the photos of us, while your heart's still not shaken. I still see us in my dreams, and as for you, you are not keen.
Continue reading...
11
honeysuckle sunset (glass pun/ch/ed/) melodramatic melodies always singing the same tune (one s-h-o-t---> deadweight) we are not quite adults and not quite children on our own uncontrolled and untamed flipped the coin and lost willpower empty useless bombshell dumb blonde turned red what are you hiding from book smart street stupid tied and tethered to the wall up against it up against the wall
0
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
deana-luna
up against the wall
honeysuckle sunset (glass pun/ch/ed/) melodramatic melodies always singing the same tune (one s-h-o-t---> deadweight) we are not quite adults and not quite children on our own uncontrolled and untamed flipped the coin and lost willpower empty useless bombshell dumb blonde turned red what are you hiding from book smart street stupid tied and tethered to the wall up against it up against the wall
Continue reading...
17
I watch as the heat on the window from where your hand has been 5 seconds previous to now fades. Your finger prints linger there, begging for someone to notice them. I see your blackened silhouette submerge into the forest as you walk away, I know now, I'll never see you again. My body will be a deadweight on velveteen, A carcass full of memories of you, Pure and true. If you hadn't have left, I wouldn't be found dead, But the time has come to leave and I cannot wait any longer. Prepare for the news, it will hit you hard, I'll make you go mad, the way you did me, Insanity insanity, What a beautiful thing it is to be insane.
0
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
Eloi1997
Deadweight on velveteen
I watch as the heat on the window from where your hand has been 5 seconds previous to now fades. Your finger prints linger there, begging for someone to notice them. I see your blackened silhouette submerge into the forest as you walk away, I know now, I'll never see you again. My body will be a deadweight on velveteen, A carcass full of memories of you, Pure and true. If you hadn't have left, I wouldn't be found dead, But the time has come to leave and I cannot wait any longer. Prepare for the news, it will hit you hard, I'll make you go mad, the way you did me, Insanity insanity, What a beautiful thing it is to be insane.
Continue reading...
14
*Sing we for love and idleness, Naught else is worth the having. -Ezra Pound* Today, there are no words on my lips. Love has no surprises and life no pain. The faces before me refuse to invoke grief or any whisper of hope. The dying oak tree in the front yard creaks and whimpers and begs for peace. It has witnessed the years and taken them in indifferent solitude. I do not think it wants to live this solitary life any longer. Under its rotting armor a fragile sign of life. And just beneath that thin layer of green vitality lies years and years of death. I should hope that it heals or falls to the ground. I do not think it wants to live this ailed life any longer. I know it will. I have not the benevolence to chop it down. I stare at the flora of branches, the sun tries to emerge from the clouds: it cannot. It sheds a tear of futility. No one hears it, though. I think of the days of childhood past, where the laughter was abundant and the smiles genuine and the tears flowed without any hesitation. That was a long time ago. An innocent version of myself climbed the branches and appreciated the tree's fortitude. I wonder, can this dying oak support my weight? Have I grown too much or has it died too much to climb it? Have I died too much to climb it? I disregard these thoughts and continue: Deadweight swings on a lowly branch. I fear it will snap but I continue to hang. It does. I fall to the ground and appreciate the skinned knee. The only pain available on such a lifeless day.
0
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 7:30 PM UTC
CFB
The Oak Tree
*Sing we for love and idleness, Naught else is worth the having. -Ezra Pound* Today, there are no words on my lips. Love has no surprises and life no pain. The faces before me refuse to invoke grief or any whisper of hope. The dying oak tree in the front yard creaks and whimpers and begs for peace. It has witnessed the years and taken them in indifferent solitude. I do not think it wants to live this solitary life any longer. Under its rotting armor a fragile sign of life. And just beneath that thin layer of green vitality lies years and years of death. I should hope that it heals or falls to the ground. I do not think it wants to live this ailed life any longer. I know it will. I have not the benevolence to chop it down. I stare at the flora of branches, the sun tries to emerge from the clouds: it cannot. It sheds a tear of futility. No one hears it, though. I think of the days of childhood past, where the laughter was abundant and the smiles genuine and the tears flowed without any hesitation. That was a long time ago. An innocent version of myself climbed the branches and appreciated the tree's fortitude. I wonder, can this dying oak support my weight? Have I grown too much or has it died too much to climb it? Have I died too much to climb it? I disregard these thoughts and continue: Deadweight swings on a lowly branch. I fear it will snap but I continue to hang. It does. I fall to the ground and appreciate the skinned knee. The only pain available on such a lifeless day.
Continue reading...
44
I struggle to grasp the remains of Denmark’s warmth As silent tears of grief run down my porcelain cheeks. Each night grows colder in the emptiness of my bed, The crown a deadweight. Black fabric cloaks the kingdom, Blending in with the grey clouds that gather in the sky, Weighing down the crown, Drowning everyone in a dark sea. But I saw the face of my husband-- No, the face of a brother. Yet he shares the same slanting eyes The peaks on his forehead And the curves of his lips. That face washes away the pain in my heart As he smiles with kindness that reflects that of the old King. He warms the silk sheets of my barren bed And shares the weight of the crown. Now, white silk touches the hearts of Denmark, A contrast to the grey clouds looming in the sky, Lightening the gold of the crown, Lifting everyone onto a bright cloud. I close my eyes and my thoughts drift to dear Hamlet. What a tragedy for him to lose a father And it is my duty to give him one. All that lives must die, But my husband is not one life that must.
0
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
willa-kong
All That Lives Must Die
I struggle to grasp the remains of Denmark’s warmth As silent tears of grief run down my porcelain cheeks. Each night grows colder in the emptiness of my bed, The crown a deadweight. Black fabric cloaks the kingdom, Blending in with the grey clouds that gather in the sky, Weighing down the crown, Drowning everyone in a dark sea. But I saw the face of my husband-- No, the face of a brother. Yet he shares the same slanting eyes The peaks on his forehead And the curves of his lips. That face washes away the pain in my heart As he smiles with kindness that reflects that of the old King. He warms the silk sheets of my barren bed And shares the weight of the crown. Now, white silk touches the hearts of Denmark, A contrast to the grey clouds looming in the sky, Lightening the gold of the crown, Lifting everyone onto a bright cloud. I close my eyes and my thoughts drift to dear Hamlet. What a tragedy for him to lose a father And it is my duty to give him one. All that lives must die, But my husband is not one life that must.
Continue reading...
26
pick up the pieces from my favorite vinyl, the one you smashed over my head like a drunk would with a bottle of whiskey pick up the pieces from my beating heart the one you tore into with your rage like a rabid wolf would with his sharpened teeth pick up my needle filled with my favorite the ****** i bought with the money in your wallet stolen, like my emotions pick up my body, deadweight wrists bleeding, eyes shut shatter the windows with your screams, as i fade
0
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 2:39 PM UTC
typhany
wolves
pick up the pieces from my favorite vinyl, the one you smashed over my head like a drunk would with a bottle of whiskey pick up the pieces from my beating heart the one you tore into with your rage like a rabid wolf would with his sharpened teeth pick up my needle filled with my favorite the ****** i bought with the money in your wallet stolen, like my emotions pick up my body, deadweight wrists bleeding, eyes shut shatter the windows with your screams, as i fade
Continue reading...
24
Music, a double edge sword. It aggravates gaping wounds; It mends optimistic spirits. A magic that can ascend one to A higher plane of existence, Or a boulder that can send one hurling To the bottom of Dante's inferno. A cupid that gives repose to distressed spirits, Or a scythe that leaves a furrow in the heart of a cynical soul. They say time heals, I say music aligns the stars, Fuels the flare, unclouds the gloom of the skies; Brings spirits closer to enlightenment. I chose to embrace her, drop the deadweight, And unlock the shackles of my heart.
0
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
daniel-brian-l-hong
Music
Music, a double edge sword. It aggravates gaping wounds; It mends optimistic spirits. A magic that can ascend one to A higher plane of existence, Or a boulder that can send one hurling To the bottom of Dante's inferno. A cupid that gives repose to distressed spirits, Or a scythe that leaves a furrow in the heart of a cynical soul. They say time heals, I say music aligns the stars, Fuels the flare, unclouds the gloom of the skies; Brings spirits closer to enlightenment. I chose to embrace her, drop the deadweight, And unlock the shackles of my heart.
Continue reading...
14
Old stale black licorice Crushed with a rolling pin Ground into a minuscule mountain of ash On the kitchen counter And the tears rolled down my cheeks to wet the ashes But all remained still in the cold, lonely kitchen Nothing Was born again And again forever
0
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
enya-costa
Deadweight Loneliness
Old stale black licorice Crushed with a rolling pin Ground into a minuscule mountain of ash On the kitchen counter And the tears rolled down my cheeks to wet the ashes But all remained still in the cold, lonely kitchen Nothing Was born again And again forever
Continue reading...
9
you'd think loneliness would feel empty but it is actually an immovable deadweight that lives right atop my sternum crushing me into the bed until the numbness creeps into my torso. it paralyzes my limbs, shrinking my ribcage until my imprisoned heart isn't strong enough to keep time with the clock anymore it is violent stillness my fingers clutching my throat and wanting to scream so loudly that my timid vocal chords, so accustomed to mumbling and trying not to be heard, simply can't accommodate the request the desperation doesn't rip through my chest like sobs but silently leaks out the corner of my eye it is staring at the ceiling and dozing off and waking up and immediately closing my eyes again because i am so tired of remembering that i'm alone and it is cold, so cold shivering under three blankets curling into myself and waiting for the day i am finally strong enough to turn off the vacancy sign on my front door
0
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 6:41 PM UTC
alyssa-yu
half-empty
you'd think loneliness would feel empty but it is actually an immovable deadweight that lives right atop my sternum crushing me into the bed until the numbness creeps into my torso. it paralyzes my limbs, shrinking my ribcage until my imprisoned heart isn't strong enough to keep time with the clock anymore it is violent stillness my fingers clutching my throat and wanting to scream so loudly that my timid vocal chords, so accustomed to mumbling and trying not to be heard, simply can't accommodate the request the desperation doesn't rip through my chest like sobs but silently leaks out the corner of my eye it is staring at the ceiling and dozing off and waking up and immediately closing my eyes again because i am so tired of remembering that i'm alone and it is cold, so cold shivering under three blankets curling into myself and waiting for the day i am finally strong enough to turn off the vacancy sign on my front door
Continue reading...
16
I stumble in the path that leads To all of the wrong roads chosen Maybe I should wake up from this dream And worry about my heart that has been broken I can’t remember what it is to be content with life Or the light that once shown In my black eyes I remember a feeling that was once a flame It consumed the very being of my better side Now all I can feel is the dark side From these dark eyes that seek to know the truth Or struggle to find you They fell short under the wing that shades That fed me waves when I needed calm seas I can feel the deadweight The boat is drifting away Out past the reaches of my aching limbs I may drown if I don’t remember The way that you moved me Pushing out from the hollow hole in my hollow chest Peaking out through these hollow lenses that think they know best Or the empty eyes that look over my body as it waits Burning skies seek to warm the wicked and sick The wretched and weak will **** for a sense of love Look at the eyes of the worried and stuck They wonder about the name of this beautiful thing Unknown member of the underworld They call me out from the other side of the stained glass I’ve been cast out from the badlands Does that make you love me anymore? Or will I begin to hate the very thing that makes me, me Her heart that ate me in the light of the stage My heart won’t fail me It will rise again
0
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC
andrew-mcelroy
Dark
I stumble in the path that leads To all of the wrong roads chosen Maybe I should wake up from this dream And worry about my heart that has been broken I can’t remember what it is to be content with life Or the light that once shown In my black eyes I remember a feeling that was once a flame It consumed the very being of my better side Now all I can feel is the dark side From these dark eyes that seek to know the truth Or struggle to find you They fell short under the wing that shades That fed me waves when I needed calm seas I can feel the deadweight The boat is drifting away Out past the reaches of my aching limbs I may drown if I don’t remember The way that you moved me Pushing out from the hollow hole in my hollow chest Peaking out through these hollow lenses that think they know best Or the empty eyes that look over my body as it waits Burning skies seek to warm the wicked and sick The wretched and weak will **** for a sense of love Look at the eyes of the worried and stuck They wonder about the name of this beautiful thing Unknown member of the underworld They call me out from the other side of the stained glass I’ve been cast out from the badlands Does that make you love me anymore? Or will I begin to hate the very thing that makes me, me Her heart that ate me in the light of the stage My heart won’t fail me It will rise again
Continue reading...
34
women don’t die, they vanish into thin air or they melt into a puddle on the linoleum. plath didn’t die, she dropped the deadweight — see: her headless body on the kitchen floor bloated & ready for consumption.
0
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 12:35 AM UTC
hkr
1963
women don’t die, they vanish into thin air or they melt into a puddle on the linoleum. plath didn’t die, she dropped the deadweight — see: her headless body on the kitchen floor bloated & ready for consumption.
Continue reading...
8
a hot summer night. the world was a kiln and we were clay, hardening, sweating, baking in it. I walked by his door and saw him— left wide open like an invitation. he was sleeping. my father. curled up in the fetal position, no blankets, just underwear. the room dark except for the faint glow of his iphone lighting the back of his head like a halo with low battery. his iPad in front of him, casting a pale blue wash across his gut. he looked like he was plugged in. dreams streaming through a USB cord. he looked so tired. vulnerable. like a deadweight puppet left on stage after the curtain’s dropped. like he wouldn’t survive whatever was coming next. like he was still just a kid from small-town North Dakota who wanted to fall in love and did but that mother left years ago— quiet as a predator cutting his strings on the way out.   and now he doesn’t know how to move without someone controlling him. so he just lies there— the man after the werewolf’s gone, sleeping off the transformation. breathing hard in the electric glow of a humming digital womb.
0
Jun 1, 2025
Jun 1, 2025 at 10:02 AM UTC
Laokos
werewomb.org
a hot summer night. the world was a kiln and we were clay, hardening, sweating, baking in it. I walked by his door and saw him— left wide open like an invitation. he was sleeping. my father. curled up in the fetal position, no blankets, just underwear. the room dark except for the faint glow of his iphone lighting the back of his head like a halo with low battery. his iPad in front of him, casting a pale blue wash across his gut. he looked like he was plugged in. dreams streaming through a USB cord. he looked so tired. vulnerable. like a deadweight puppet left on stage after the curtain’s dropped. like he wouldn’t survive whatever was coming next. like he was still just a kid from small-town North Dakota who wanted to fall in love and did but that mother left years ago— quiet as a predator cutting his strings on the way out.   and now he doesn’t know how to move without someone controlling him. so he just lies there— the man after the werewolf’s gone, sleeping off the transformation. breathing hard in the electric glow of a humming digital womb.
Continue reading...
52
My stomach feels like deadweight. My arms are about to fall off. My lungs feel like they're paper frail. My teeth hurt from smiling. My mind has gone on overdrive.     My heart's functioning automatic. Lately I haven't felt anything but the air that I'm breathing. Theres a whole world revolving right now and I'm just sitting here wasting water. People want a taste of death but I want to feel alive again. There are things I have to do but I lie awake unnmoving for hours. I lie to everyone I make contact with, every ******* day. Deep down I feel the tremors of an earthquake that may never surface. I'm waiting.
0
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 5:28 AM UTC
Poetria_
I'm waiting
My stomach feels like deadweight. My arms are about to fall off. My lungs feel like they're paper frail. My teeth hurt from smiling. My mind has gone on overdrive.     My heart's functioning automatic. Lately I haven't felt anything but the air that I'm breathing. Theres a whole world revolving right now and I'm just sitting here wasting water. People want a taste of death but I want to feel alive again. There are things I have to do but I lie awake unnmoving for hours. I lie to everyone I make contact with, every ******* day. Deep down I feel the tremors of an earthquake that may never surface. I'm waiting.
Continue reading...
17