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"deforming" poems
Some time you feel as if you're lost in space Where you can not feel your weight or control your pace Strong emotion rushes through you...a fervor of a certain state For once you believe in something...deforming it, is your fate For u dissect the rules to make them your own regulations And u manipulate the semantics of the words to empty your frustration A man is not put in cages...unless he himself have carved and built the bars One can not leave an impact on you...unless you admit the scars I think; therefor i am...they say...everybody thinks...but not everybody is I write this note in a dark unworthy mind a poem of great amiss I do not say this with a heavy heart...but my image is quite clear Being scared of something is impossible...unless we emancipate the fear But if impossible is possible...than everything is potentially right And i would never argue with you on this point for i don't know how to hold up a fight Stop whatever we are doing for we are digging our own graves of regret Repent on your sins weather you believe in God or in humanistic respect A poem of thoughts, feelings, and grand reflection For if you don't have empathy you have affection You love your self and we love you gone...we sure do With all your suites,fake propaganda and formalities, ow how i wish the sky above us was blue It is blue in color, but not blue in mind It is true inside; but truth is hard to find BELIEVE THAT THE SKY IS REAL? BELIEFS ARE LEFT BEHIND...
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Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
A RAGING VOICE, A STORMY HEART,SOME FUZZY LINES:
renegade memories relentless effrontery rogue  fractured intruders a formulable formidable aside inside man is a modified monkey a jackdaw in peacock's feathers contradictions, the multiplicity that is a unity a patchwork of odds and ends snips and snails                                   dreams and delusions                                 hopes and fears a mystifying  knot of  phantasmagoric  disquietude agape in a stupefied bewilderment as an autistic child swept up in minutiae inscrutable incongruities melange of matters beyond  explanations maundering machinates necessary inventions repeating and reforming sheltering some aspect of the mind's deforming 'reaction formations' sotto voce instructs the analyst defending emotions at the personalities bequest     merrily merrily merrily merrily,  life is but a dream psychotherapy is no mere scheme
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Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
mental (st)illness
Sun stained eyes Salt textured skin Mouth breathes in the ocean air Nose tastes the sea-gulls shrieks He seeks Ocean speaks One gives The other takes And both make A balanced happiness Sea-gull's wings glide Mirrored by the ocean's tides Through the folds of wind That causes ripples and constant change Here, there, and everywhere Salt liquid waves Blue stained waters Always moving Always changing face Detaching shells from the sand floor And deforming the crusted and colorful reefs
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Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
Sun Stained Eyes
A fine kid raised in the thoughts of everybody around applying to the norm forged in wise conformity Body and soul resonating by the coldness spoken with your heart-warming voice Creation abandoning words become worlds deforming reality inside and outside your mind Do as you please, fine kid 'cause justified your actions are within the peace of your heart and the ignorance in your soul Education as weapon in a war behind your eyes freedom achieved by awakening yourself Fighting prohibited fleeing futile as truth lies when lies come true will you transcend?
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Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
Warren's peace
Between day and night, choose fight or flight, hide out of sight, shield from the light. Cocooned in our beds, words trapped in our heads, a poets mind is forming, ideas begin their swarming. Not conforming               Lines deforming                         Minds contorting                                        Rhymes consorting.
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Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 10:09 AM UTC
§ριяαl
349 I had the Glory—that will do— An Honor, Thought can turn her to When lesser Fames invite— With one long “Nay”— Bliss’ early shape Deforming—Dwindling—Gulfing up— Time’s possibility.
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1.5k
I had the Glory—that will do
Rampant, bold uncertainty; at times it grows unchecked. A fearful twinge too often spreads, surpassing all holds kept. The bars affixed to life you've grasped, once linear and true Now seem to veer so far from straight, away from all you knew. What's to do when what you dreamed distorts and changes shape? Nightmares born from vivid roads bisecting checkpoint's gate. Stages sought now can't be reached, but detours linger there. Sadly pointing, often though toward distant, lone despair. Reluctantly, an awkward press results from giving in. Ignorance, or lack of choice compels minds to begin. Unwanted course, embarked upon, bears pressing weight, deforming. Contorting souls which once had known the warmth of 'morrow's morning. Expected glare from dawn's first light was ne'er a surprise. Hated trials through distant lands create some darkened skies. Reactions learned are useless then, accustomed as you are. Anticipated outcomes are like flies within a jar. Choked free of air, they surely die, but more then take their place. It's these replacements, newly born, one tries to hold with grace. Seeping through the cracks in hands that have no strength to hold. Should you have used that jar at all? Why has this life grown cold? Perhaps a high regard was due to that you took for granted. Or maybe something just turned up, and shook the feet you'd planted. Regardless, here you stand unsure, so lonesome is this fight. Who's to know? What's now to come? Just tell me. Is this right?
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Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 6:59 AM UTC
Trepidation
Rampant, bold uncertainty; at times it grows unchecked. A fearful twinge too often spreads, surpassing all holds kept. The bars affixed to life you've grasped, once linear and true Now seem to veer so far from straight, away from all you knew. What's to do when what you dreamed distorts and changes shape? Nightmares born from vivid roads bisecting checkpoint's gate. Stages sought now can't be reached, but detours linger there. Sadly pointing, often though toward distant, lone despair. Reluctantly, an awkward press results from giving in. Ignorance, or lack of choice compels minds to begin. Unwanted course, embarked upon, bears pressing weight, deforming. Contorting souls which once had known the warmth of 'morrow's morning. Expected glare from dawn's first light was ne'er a surprise. Hated trials through distant lands create some darkened skies. Reactions learned are useless then, accustomed as you are. Anticipated outcomes are like flies within a jar. Choked free of air, they surely die, but more then take their place. It's these replacements, newly born, one tries to hold with grace. Seeping through the cracks in hands that have no strength to hold. Should you have used that jar at all? Why has this life grown cold? Perhaps a high regard was due to that you took for granted. Or maybe something just turned up, and shook the feet you'd planted. Regardless, here you stand unsure, so lonesome is this fight. Who's to know? What's now to come? Just tell me. Is this right?
Continue reading...
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When we enter this reality Through the uncalled memory Of our birth, Crying with nonsense To newly unveil senses. The doctor readying his slap To insure You’re aware of the world. The initial daybreak Grasps with instinct From the stem Of our brain, But we develop Further in life learning To walk, talk, And even further To tuck in that dress shirt, All in all learning The basic facets of living; Only to further learn That we cannot know everything Undefined definite definition A plotting knot of resolved fiction, Dualities, influences, susceptibilities, Insecurities, indecencies, and tendencies In us all for us to see And choose not to be. The card game Of social exposition And inquisition Learning to understand our face And the people that we trace, Forming, deforming, uniform Difficulties We stumble, To return standing; Challenges in holding hands Returning affections, and mental afflictions Gaining understanding That we are being human beings Refractive in and Reflective at seeing Birth parallels death No choice, versed vice Falling and stumbling sadly Last moments Of our lives, begin Talking gibberish, Eating mush, Having no memory What happened yesterday? While you lay in your crib Asleep to a reality
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Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 12:16 PM UTC
sphinx
The azaleas came early this year, flashing pink in the spring against their own unruly green. My dog pants heavily, bounding across the yard, chasing his shadow from the azaleas to the Japanese Maple and back. Tired, finally, he scratches his back against the bush, scraping against the limbs, deforming  the bush, shaking the blooms down. I yell at him to stop but he ignores me. He is young.  He knows only the joy of the moment, the scratching of that itch.  If only he could understand that their beauty is frail and annual... I want to tell him, but I don't speak dog and he doesn't listen anyway, so I lure him inside with a treat and leave the blossoms until next year.
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Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
The Azalea Trail.
Insomnia is an insidious thing. It creeps into your mind, twisting and curling crooked fingers around dark branches of the brain altering, deforming your thoughts its such a simple thing! Sleep is only but essential! yet it haunts you every night only to wake up again into the exact same nightmare.
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Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 3:22 AM UTC
Insidious Nightmares
Along the grass,beneath the sky The draconic sun vitrified The lover figurines. Flattening them Adjacent to the surface, Skin blent in crackly tessellation, Deforming to fit the sphere,adhering to it's Wondrous silence. Frail limbs minute,heart's heavy as whole islands. Is it not love embodied to lay defined as an image? To be held as shatterless glass,reflecting it's deity's melting In progress, 'neath the star that impelled a shelter, The star that paved their meeting,that overlooked Their life and death in a predetermined stasis, The divinity that shimmered underfoot at all times, The star that held all places of the earth in one. The figurine lovers, faceless mannikinis Sentenced to worship forever without a choice, For prior love, for prior sins, It matters not--they rot and twist as the Sun's play-dice.
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Aug 20, 2019
Aug 20, 2019 at 10:40 PM UTC
Ritualistic Cubism
Trying to escape from the ghosts of the present  Counting every moment as the wrinkles deepen Looking towards a land undiscovered  Wishing for a movement of the land masses  The air stands still yet the leaves flutter due to a force unseen Staring into headlights hoping to wash away these monochromes Windows that look into a world made of ash and trees  Crumbling into a state of acceptance as the bricks stack themselves  Thinking of faces etched into memory with no names Facts amuse as fiction intrigues  Solid shapes deforming into energy as speed falls into time  and distance is but an illusion  Boundaries keeping some in and some out, and the sense of touch is all but lost Words flowing into an empty canvas through tongues unspoken  As these lines blur into an essence of raw emotion Through well lit passageways lined with charming smiles hiding the fears that If faced would turn back time
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Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 8:37 AM UTC
Trying to escape the ghosts of the present
-- 1 -- He has a need to expend his seed: it is a never-ending endeavour, the smack of wood against leather. In the hot rush to consummate his love he must burn a more energy-rich depravity -- must look for a certain seriousness, a gravity. Right now he is past the ****** and the ‘hos’, “just girls,” he says, “just girls pretending to be women pretending to be ***** and he wants to see real girls naked and ashamed and cutting themselves for money. He gets off on the very idea of people deforming themselves for his pleasure. -- 2 -- Here he is, being driven by his car. At each corner he sees girls huddled together, sharing warmth. Their lips are locked in thin lines of glamour and they swap his salty substances without even the slightest tremor of desire. At their waists they hold daggers, levelled at each other’s bellies. All the better to cut out the cancer of pregnancy. -- 3 -- His vices have turned to hate. So equanimous before, so confidential with his needs: now he does not just implore his occasional dates with the soft sad pressure of his bulging eyes; now he asks direct. “Dance for me,” he says, in the privacy of his own filth. “No, sexier,” he exhorts, imagining the first ****** excitations caused by an unspeakably illegal piece of ******** He blames them for having bodies that do this to him. He blames them. -- 4 -- He blames them.
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May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
He Blames Them
*Like a snowflake, melting In the depth of warm hands Evapourating back into eternity So brittle, silky, mystic Is our love. Catching every spark of fireball. Flames burn the heart badly Scars, last for many decades Deforming and taking a new figure Never completely forgotten. Dripping into eternity. Smashing the time And collecting the seconds.*
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May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 4:34 AM UTC
***
Computer screen pulsating With a blue feeling of vulnerability. There is a death in the hours wasted Cast in the trashbin outside existence. The soon to be lost addresses you From afar like an old childhood friend. Computer screen claiming To know where’s your place of belonging, An alienation parasite feeds on The frontal lobes of your brain. The soon to be lost is sweet and loving Prepares for you shelters from life. Computer screen deforming features Claiming to know, to care deeply Unloading promises, nurturing futures, A basic means against routine and apathy. The soon to be lost is aggressive, Fighting is futile! Computer screen derailing The sight into a state of numbness. Simple! Easy! Fast! It’s done! Efficiency by the bucket-load. The soon to be lost is scary, Corroding from within all possibilities. Computer screen misleading eyes With a bleak mist of wonder Only the oracles can keep asking questions Or googling answers. The soon to be lost, a warning The internal walls – collapsing. Computer screen, devastating Disease for the billions to come No survivors permitted! A crisis’ peak! Men hung themselves to find peace. The soon to be lost is weird and tactless. Are you burning? If your brain’s not on fire You’re not burning enough.
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Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC
The Soon to be Lost
Power of speech I stop squeezing my mind For what happened to me Since I scavenged uninterrupted For my philosophical stone In a deforming mirror I had to look forward to cracking Any astrological luck left On my shoulders Stretching me to the limit Of defying gravity while leaving behind A convoy of scattered stars. What if I could make gold with gold Think like Leonardo Da Vinci Write a  computer code like Tim Berners-Lee?... Altogether I wasn't trying to square the circle Nor invent my own immaculate conception. All I wanted to accomplish is To speak and be heard. A wall between walls whispers To the darkness That my saddlebag of hopes Has been lost regretfully Last autumn in the stream of an unsuspected wind. Let's get this clear Once and for all I may not have any hope to talk about, Don't  expect  me to shut up until I die with my mouth full of words.
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Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 9:07 AM UTC
Power of Speech
The remaining of your lifeless body Were some vivid images printed on my eyelids some distorted memory tapes deforming in my brain That night was a nightmare I never woke up from Every morning i still pinch myself I bite my thumb hoping the night is never too firm hoping the morning comes It's Killing me how I'm starting to forget your face Your glasses resting over your peaceful gaze Your smile and innocent laugh brining life grace I miss you and my annoying chats I miss us playing with stray cats I wish we wore your 20th birthday's hats I miss such a young pure soul I miss you as a whole And i don't forgive the world for taking you I don't forgive myself for every second not filling my eyes with you Before you flew into the void of blue I wish i said my goodbyes Before it was too late Before i knew that that night such angel dies
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Mar 10, 2025
Mar 10, 2025 at 6:58 PM UTC
bye.
To run into another temple In hopes of a swift escape Is desperation at best Circular atrophy it is Deforming and decaying Albeit forever persistent Mankind may always ask Forgetting to listen It is then, when The circle will reform
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Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 3:14 PM UTC
Viridian Blues
He is a shattered mirror, with no purpose. His jagged edges let the world know that he is trouble, and trouble shows no mercy. He lies to me, but he doesn't care. His only purpose is to mock, making me doubt the things I have. His reflected surface forces me to disfavor myself, wishing that I were someone different. His cracked images twist me, deforming who I truly am. I attempt to look beyond his flaws, but I am engrossed in his disturbed memories, studying every reasoned blemish, trying to distinguish the cause. After learning his history, I know his distressed faults. Every scratch an untold story. Every crack an unread book. When you look closely, you start to see the unintended beauty. When the light shines on him, his brilliance illuminates. Every flaw is now radiant, bursting with flourished creations. His dark side is masked behind allurement, astonishing me. But the light soon fades, leaving behind the same him I've always known. His beauty is gone, leaving him shattered like before. He attempts to change me again, but I walk away.
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Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
Reflection
The selfish life is killing me Petty Minds Instilling me With boiling kettle enmity   Staining shell of steel Evaporating empathy Deforming each ideal To freshly-brewed misanthropy Angry Hands Are spilling me Onto the skin of vanity My scalding heat is real This melting world in agony To puddles we conceal Still slipping on my sanity Trippy   Thoughts Fulfilling me By pouring out my clarity As liquid suns of zeal Into your cup of apathy Sip on the warm reveal Don't burn your tongue on lunacy Drink only what you feel
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Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 1:35 PM UTC
Piping Hot Hones-tea
My words are like smoke Tendrils of murk branching out Disintegrating at my touch I try to grasp them, each and every one Forge them into weapons to slay the world Carving truths into skin, deforming souls But they slink away and leave me hollow Like wild beasts, they can't be tamed Shoved into little boxes of rhythms and rhymes They fear me as much as I fear them Maybe the trick is to sit and wait, Let the fog consume me Use me, forge me, I beg you Make a weapon out of me Scar me with your truths, warp my soul Dig your claws in and pull my strings Rip me apart, if you must Whatever it takes I surrender.
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Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 2:56 PM UTC
Write or Die
The pavement and the bicycles Skateboards and feet falling..seeming to very briefly Deform the pavement gathering a sensing of the Excitement of children looking for thrills of more Risky routes..and of adults sensing the rolling of their Soles on the sinking pavement..scenes of completion and Perfection in the gratitude of no-thing deforming...
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Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 7:38 PM UTC
Deforming..
i have spoken to the ghost in which resides within the depths of me for it resonates in my heart and lives within the ache of my chest        it haunts my home   &        my body hurts it crawls like the spider spindling through my veins deforming the vessels that once so beautifully sculpted me nobody said you weren't beautiful for the sunflower that grows, nay,       thrives even though i hadnt tended to it lives on without me but maybe it was the ghost because i have spoken to it , for it dictates the lack of productivity within me         (they had mentioned that the economy was weak) however, everyone told me that she was beautiful but even the arc de triomphe is flawed. i wanted to believe otherwise but maybe it was the ghost who are you? because i had heard that the ***** dishes in      my sink weren't going to get washed unless i found out who you were you blasted old thing       rotting away                    at my soul i bet you had heard otherwise but maybe it was the ghost
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Oct 6, 2017
Oct 6, 2017 at 9:46 PM UTC
a ghost, maybe
I saw you standing there A silhouette of my soul Walking right into my life Promising memories untold I watched as you moved and I began to synchronize Swaying with you in utmost delight Entranced I watched as you enslaved my heart I followed your tune as it played Mozart I saw your smile and it broke my soul That one so pure could love me so bold Your strings matched mine and played so well Together we made a ballad that cast a spell Yet everything is not as colorful as I thought The world started deforming through your onslaught I stared in shock at the magnitude of your power Awakened by an arrow cast into my heart from your towers I took great care to pick up my pieces Running to your side begging forgiveness I loved you blindly from the depths of my soul Yet your love for me was riddled with holes I waited for our love to overcome this pain True love can overcome anything they say What a fool I was to give my heart so careless When all this time yours was empty and loveless Now we part for good this time I walk away with nothing but lies Pieces and slivers of my soul lay bare I wish you well on your journey elsewhere.
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Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 10:01 AM UTC
Goodbye