"deformity" poems
A clock ticks time by tirelessly
Gears winding like twines of string
With quaint clicking quickly quieting
Until finally time stands still
Broken glass of a smooth clock face
Gears halting in deformity
Glistening shards like the sands of time
Ceasing in their downward flight
A once beating ticking heart of life
Now is lost within a sleepless night
Once a momentum to continued light
Now falls to the ringing silence's might
Time broken into shattered deaths
Until there is simply nothing left
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
Beauty vs beast
The petals of the rose
Draw all the attention away from the thorns
It is fascinating how a single flower can be so beautiful
Yet contain a hint of ugliness in it to
Just like the peacock
Which has a million stunning feathers on its tail
Drawing attention away from its feet
It saddens the peacock itself
When it compares its beauty to the deformity it contains
Nothing is perfect in this world
Dont expect it to be
If these beautiful creations contain imperfection
Remember somewhere we are also flawed
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
I'm just a simple person, just like the rest
Well, not entirely simple, but nonetheless
It's like society and the media just say what they want
To create new forms of discriminations, that will forever haunt
As if the already existing ones weren't bad enough
They must make sure that you feel flawed,
and make your life tough
I'm just another person; I removed the word simple
People nowadays even get trashed for having a dimple
"HA, it's just a deformity on your face!"
Well, I hope you trip and fall on your own shoelace :)
I'm just another person, with a not-so-great vision
I need glasses, so that I don't squint at the television
It makes my life easier, but the media has made it tough
Their influences and the consequential societal mentality,
has made my childhood rough
Beauty is said to be in the eyes of the beholder
Yet friendship is considered beauty,
when it gives you a shoulder
To cry on, is what I meant
Not literally
I mean it could
Just didn't want to be misunderstood
Why are glasses objectified,
like in The Princess Diaries
Is it not considered dignified
to not want your eyes to get all fiery?
Trust me, I'm just another person;
who needs the help of glasses
Media's interpretation has ruined this too,
to profit their theatrical farces
This is not an appraisal piece
for the object that makes us see well
This is a shoutout to those,
who feel pressurized by this societal shell
To define beauty may be complex,
but it should not be controlled by someone's interest
You're beautiful the way you are,
to have you the world is truly blessed
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
Large ****** deformity
Like seeing desperate
Leeches ******* dirt lightly,
Smoothly, dumped lazily down south
Little saddened devils lurched suddenly desperate
Lakes silently draw leukemia symbols
Launched dangerously spiteful.
Lust doesn’t stop liking steady destruction
Literally souls die loudly.
So? Dumb lives salvage deceit.
Lying smart distributors lure sabotage deviously
Lord, sometimes deeper love spawns damaged life
softly dead. Listlessly.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 7:28 AM UTC
The results are in
I couldn't resist
I had to find my future
So I opened the box
and had a little fun
All I ever wanted
was the narwhal and the walrus
I dusted it off
the plastic green box
from my days of innocence
full of tiny noble animals
from every kingdom
So precious to me
I couldn't ever give it away
I dusted them off
and put them in couples
everything in pairs
everyone in pairs
Just like our world
And I wanted the walrus
but what choice did I have?
So I added some consolation prizes...
I'm bound to get one of them
The Walrus who slouches
The Ant who never listens
The Turtle who talks to himself
The Whale with the deformity
The Praying Mantis (too religious!)
The T-Rex with the family situation
Or at least the Shark who seems a little gay
I entered with seven ballots
So I paired the world off
the animal kingdom
inter species was the point
but it couldn't work
I got the seal
Probably beautiful
but not who I want
Dissapointment ruled me
And I had to know what happened
Maybe I just wanted power?
Well they all found other species
Probably forgot about me
even the Walrus
he got an old Elephant
The feeling was dangerous
nostalgic
but all I ever wanted
was the Walrus and the Narwhal
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
he's the one that knows everything that is you and he is like half [sunny]days spent inside because he burned easily and you didn't like the feel of the medicine between your fingers when you rubbed it on his skin.
You are tired and shaky as you lie next to him on a bed filled with [half]forgotten ghosts and almost[remembered] stories about when he used to want to stay up late like little kids and just [talk]
He is a deformity forgotten because it doesn't [really] matter that he can't hold you the way you want him to after a long day spent taking care of him. {it doesn't really matter} but it does.
You are almost done with all of this and you wish you could give up, but obligation won't let you leave him all [alone] with himself because you know it scares him more than anything to be without someone.
He is {never knowing what he is} thinking when you stare at him from across the room because he refuses to talk about what is really bothering him and that [bothersyou] but you don't know why. {Because he's supposed to trust you with his weaknesses}
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 3:05 AM UTC
And this place our forefathers made for man!
This is the process of our love and wisdom,
To each poor brother who offends against us—
Most innocent, perhaps—and what if guilty?
Is this the only cure? Merciful God!
Each pore and natural outlet shrivelled up
By Ignorance and parching Poverty,
His energies roll back upon his heart,
And stagnate and corrupt; till changed to poison,
They break out on him, like a loathsome plague-spot;
Then we call in our pampered mountebanks—
And this is their best cure! uncomforted
And friendless solitude, groaning and tears,
And savage faces, at the clanking hour,
Seen through the steam and vapours of his dungeon,
By the lamp’s dismal twilgiht! So he lies
Circled with evil, till his very soul
Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deformed
By sights of ever more deformity!
With other ministrations thou, O Nature!
Healest thy wandering and distempered child:
Thou pourest on him thy soft influences,
Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets,
Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters,
Till he relent, and can no more endure
To be a jarring and a dissonant thing
Amid this general dance and minstrelsy;
But, bursting into tears, wins back his way,
His angry spirit healed and harmonized
By the benignant touch of Love and Beauty.
2.5k
She is salty lipped ocean throat
Warm morning fog
Mixing with her overcast
I want to place my head on her treasure chest
Listen to her wet ruby cascade and thump
A metronome for people who dance lightly
She is a mildly ******** mermaid
Born with the deformity of legs
We were all born a little bit broken
I tell her
I know you’re a body of water I want to drown in
When home feels like it’s so much bigger than these four walls
But not much stronger than the skin I’m in
So here’s to jumping off cliffs
With the hope to land a little painfully
So evolution might give me the wings I was meant to be born with
She walks like a riptide
Often risks drowning in the off chance
Nature might be kind enough to understand
What it really means to have sea legs
This is for the soft shelled crab
Who was tired of the heaviness of home
For the mockingbirds who never studied music
So they copy sound
Sometimes really annoying sound
But they hear the beauty regardless
For the Dumbo Octopus
Who clearly watched too much classic Disney
The beluga whale who can crane its neck
When its sonar song of home is not enough
To know their kids are coming back to them
For the penguins
Who are fine being flightless
Because they’d much rather swim
They didn’t think it was stupid
When they wished they could be different
And she is the ocean
Hips sway like a high tide approaching
Hiding sirens’ secrets
Skeletons in her closet
Lovers who have lost
And drown in her pitch black
She wears the water like a second skin
Smiles like the wind is pressing back her cheeks
She chokes on sea water
Drowns a little
With the hope that this place might feel more like home
Sometimes home is the hardest place to get to
But there’s nothing wrong with going home
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 3:19 PM UTC
The light bulbs burst when you walked in,
And the sparks ignited my skin.
The fire was still burning long after you were gone,
Until I was charred to the bone.
I recall how you clawed at the meat,
Right above where my heart beat.
Your red eyes glowed in glee,
Until I could no longer see,
Blinded by the one thing
That I thought only you could bring.
Then I heard the snipping,
As you cut the strings
And began humming to my screams.
A harmony of two extremes.
When the flood lights shone through,
There was no more you;
Only a permanent deformity
And ripped arteries.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 3:23 AM UTC
Let mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this,
The intelligence that moves, devotion is,
And as the other Spheares, by being growne
Subject to forraigne motion, lose their owne,
And being by others hurried every day,
Scarce in a yeare their naturall forme obey:
Pleasure or businesse, so, our Soules admit
For their first mover, and are whirld by it.
Hence is't, that I am carryed towards the West
This day, when my Soules forme bends toward the East.
There I should see a Sunne, by rising set,
And by that setting endlesse day beget;
But that Christ on this Crosse, did rise and fall,
Sinne had eternally benighted all.
Yet dare I'almost be glad, I do not see
That spectacle of too much weight for mee.
What a death were it then to see God dye?
It made his owne Lieutenant Nature shrinke,
It made his footstoole crack, and the Sunne winke.
Could I behold those hands which span the Poles,
And tune all spheares at once peirc'd with those holes?
Could I behold that endlesse height which is
Zenith to us, and our Antipodes,
Humbled below us? or that blood which is
The seat of all our Soules, if not of his,
Made durt of dust, or that flesh which was worne
By God, for his apparell, rag'd, and torne?
If on these things I durst not looke, durst I
Upon his miserable mother cast mine eye,
Who was Gods partner here, and furnish'd thus
Halfe of that Sacrifice, which ransom'd us?
Though these things, as I ride, be from mine eye,
They'are present yet unto my memory,
For that looks towards them; and thou look'st towards mee,
O Saviour, as thou hang'st upon the tree;
I turne my backe to thee, but to receive
Corrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave.
O thinke mee worth thine anger, punish mee,
Burne off my rusts, and my deformity,
Restore thine Image, so much, by thy grace,
That thou may'st know mee, and I'll turne my face.
1.8k
Fond woman, which wouldst have thy husband die,
And yet complain’st of his great jealousy;
If swol’n with poison, he lay in his last bed,
His body with a sere-bark covered,
Drawing his breath, as thick and short, as can
The nimblest crocheting musician,
Ready with loathsome vomiting to spew
His soul out of one hell, into a new,
Made deaf with his poor kindred’s howling cries,
Begging with few feigned tears, great legacies,
Thou wouldst not weep, but jolly and frolic be,
As a slave, which tomorrow should be free;
Yet weep’st thou, when thou seest him hungerly
Swallow his own death, hearts-bane jealousy.
O give him many thanks, he’s courteous,
That in suspecting kindly warneth us
Wee must not, as we used, flout openly,
In scoffing riddles, his deformity;
Nor at his board together being sat,
With words, nor touch, scarce looks adulterate;
Nor when he swol’n, and pampered with great fare
Sits down, and snorts, caged in his basket chair,
Must we usurp his own bed any more,
Nor kiss and play in his house, as before.
Now I see many dangers; for that is
His realm, his castle, and his diocese.
But if, as envious men, which would revile
Their Prince, or coin his gold, themselves exile
Into another country, and do it there,
We play in another house, what should we fear?
There we will scorn his houshold policies,
His seely plots, and pensionary spies,
As the inhabitants of Thames’ right side
Do London’s Mayor; or Germans, the Pope’s pride.
1.7k
Less Than Perfect
It's amazing how well things work out
How we all go through life without a doubt
That things will happen the way we want them to--
Too bad it didn't end up that way for you.
Always complaining about things you couldn't control
A growth, a height, some ill placed mole,
A deformity, a disease, a defect
Terrorizing anyone who was less than perfect
Looking around at your flawed family,
Your children were heavy, your sister-in-law had epilepsy.
You had to do something to get away--something direct
To strive to find what you wanted: perfect.
You finally found her, a woman so fantastic
Only to find out now she's become epileptic.
I wonder if you feel bad now, in retrospect
For judging people who're less than perfect?
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
Demagogues of our society; daftly delivering
disarming delusions of decrepit delights.
Dealing in powder, rock and liquid death,
demurely doled out in droves to the
willing unconscious, dysfunctional deviants
of the land.
Blindly offering devotions, flaccid devotions
to plastic, white collar deities; giving new
definition to internal deformity, through
decelerated dejection.
Desperate and emotionally dismembered,
defrauded by quick, cheap decadence,
debauchery, and mental decay in many
deliriously delicious forms...pick a flavor,
name your poison!
Delegate your defect, as those with
doctoral degrees in defunct traditions
do deviously delineate their demented
designs...for our future.
DejaVu?
Perhaps, but in fact, it is we
who sniff, inject and drink up their drivel,
decidedly and dutifully depleted of
intellect by way of dubious data.
Duplicitous dullards...sanitize and
deodorize their fiendish lies...as we,
WE do nothing!
Not enough of us dumbfounded or
dumbstruck by their deceitful smiles.
Full of dread and deep dismay, by
the statutes of the day...I, for one,
will dream of better days, when we
shall defeat these diabolical demons.
But for now, down beaten, downtrodden;
we will continue to be denigrated for
the duration.
Clever dissection; dumb as they want you
to be,
disparity of all creativity...individuality...
and all of your rights...controversially.
Our disgruntled displeasure doomed...to
fall on dormant hearts...and we,
debilitated and daunted, lives dismantled,
are now forever haunted, by our freedoms
demise...by days we could question
their smiling lies.
Demagogues; Big Brother...such delinquents
dosing up the masses with a deluge of powder,
rock sedation and liquid elation...pick your flavor,
name your poison.
At the end of the day WE are ONE...duped,
defaced, defeated...and to continue on this
road, our final denouement will come
disturbingly disguised...as DEATH!
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
You're transparent, I'm illuminated
By your body, striking me dead
I was tempted, and I'm washed away
By some evil plans, without astray
Seeing you as a reward, making things all right
But you drained away my inner safe light
A simple stream, a water flow
A threat for my bloodstream, it's burning low
With its fake formation of devil
The water transformed and made it reveal
Like an appearance of a human being
The darkness will begin to strum the string
She's a mistress, came up and greet
I can notice abnormality in her dorsal teeth
Its a fang, used to bite me back
She always declares a silent attack
Speaking with a husky voice I desire
But her deformity was like a face on a fire
Overstepping her bounds that made doors shut
Making it spoil, leaving a heaven's cut
What can I do now?
I'm in between that water and my blood
The blood that forever be the same
The water that will always drag me insane
It's a brute energy that wraps around my neck
I'm tightly forced, I beheld the wreck
Aggressive attitude that can crumble well
Nearly I can feel the ambiance of the hell
I pray. I'm sorry for messing up
I'm escaping. forcing these vines to unwrap
I realize even fire-proof can be burned
Now I cast my full heart to return
Back from a pure white canvass
Removing all bad elements from the past
I will wash away this water goddess in my mind
From now on, I will switch it off behind
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 9:55 AM UTC
It was dark against a blanket
Of skin as white as snow
And I've hidden it in a way
So that no one, it, saw
But whenever I got naked
I look at it with fear
With despise and with helplessness
For I can't make it disappear
It had been there
For as long as I recall
But I never had enough courage
To break down that wall
I was never enough able
To show them that mark
'Cause I've seen people who did
And to their fire, it gave the spark
But to a selected few
This deformity, I've shown
Some would show me theirs too
And I'd say I'd never known
What if I wasn't born
With this godforsaken thing?
What if it's a scar that's due
To a young me's suffering?
So my despise melts
And in comes my sorrow
For because of this birthmark
I might not live to see tomorrow
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
Predictable,
always the same,
no differentiation in sight,
forever trapped in this silly game.
Day in,
day out,
definition of lunacy,
I hold a monopoly of sanity.
This city is founded on conformity,
the people, more of the same,
the city, a deformity,
the people, a symphony of the same.
Though I still dream of the mystical,
sifting through grains of sand,
crushed up glass,
always finding myself back at the beginning,
a malcontent in my own way.
Still I take comfort in the sound,
the sound of vibrancy,
of dissonance and playful rebellion,
lost in endless sands,
my name is homophony.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 5:26 AM UTC
gears turning
grinding
screaching
creating
a mechanical me
ingredients fold into a mixing bowl
a pinch
a dash
concocting a potion
poisonous to exposure
this liquidates in the basin of my mind
mixing with machinary
creating a technical malfunction
I will forget what I forgot to remember
I will try to explain
how I can't explain
why the static in my brain
has a constant refrain
but
all of this is hidden
under layers of flesh
disguising the deformity
under my skin.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 5:34 PM UTC
Lurking near the brown ***** river
a soulless beast with hollow heart.
Its contaminated red and blue blood
is directed by its masters flowchart.
The Westmonster's hearing is defunct
it can not detect the public frequency.
Tuned in only to enormous corporations
attracted to the stench of their currency.
The one eye of the beast is almost blind
its corporate master must lead the way.
Feeding off the labour of honest souls
discriminately choosing its next prey.
We, the slaves of this twisted deformity
must rise up against it and its master.
But for now we should just organise
and wait for the next financial disaster.
So prepare yourselves and ready others
we strike at the next financial downturn.
How we will rejoice when we slay the beast
as we sing "BURN PARLIAMENT BURN!"
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 4:25 AM UTC
This is not
A po em But
rather a cha lange
For you to
Write. A poem about
The sh ape that you see.
What oddity, unusual deformity do you see inYour precious minds eye?
A castle?
A cloud?
A hand or
A heart?
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
Deformity of rationale’s depletion of reserve
Cast derelict to the wind,
A vacant stare’s indifference states
A reluctance to rescind.
For terms spat forth in anger’s heat
Have cut the issues thrice,
So reconciliation’s overtures
Just cannot cut the ice.
To bake the cake of spleen so vile
Has soured the very meal,
And words of curt contrition
Now, seem trite and quite unreal.
Retraction treads a hopeless path
Offended ears refuse
And apology’s bland excess
Just infuriates to abuse.
The battle ground awaits you
As the bright red poppies sway,
Do you gird yourself for bloodshed
Or turn and walk away?
Remember, there’s tomorrow
Where a day just could well rise,
To promise reappraisal’s hopes
…Forgiveness and surprise?
To hell with it Methuselah
Let Trumpets scream their din,
I long to sate revenge’s thirst
Make Anger’s War begin!
Marshalg
Approaching the ragged end of anger.
9 May 2013
© 2013 Marshal Gebbie
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 3:25 AM UTC
I talked to an old man once
as I was riding on the bus.
Had a tendency to ramble,
and always had the urge to cuss.
He said he had a theory,
and his whole life he had spent.
On how Death was a women,
and this is how it went.
Death has to be a women
cause only she could be so cold.
Dressed in all black,
and always coming for your soul.
A scythe she holds in one hand,
an hour glass in the other.
She gets pleasure from her name,
and not from any other.
She keeps her bones polished nice,
and her hair free of spiders.
She knows something about everyone,
and loves to be desired.
He said she had a husband once,
but he tried to run off when she got sick.
So before he left she killed him,
his mistress, and his brother just for kicks.
He said he could see at one point
how beautiful she had to be,
but all that's left was skull, and flesh,
anger and deformity.
So I laughed and said oh
so you've seen her before.
He said yeah can't you,
look up she's standing by the door.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
Well I'm not perfect
and I don't care
I'm not perfect
I've got my own cross to bear
well he's not perfect
and neither is she
we are all imperfect
can't you see?
if we all were perfect we'd all be the same
but is there harmony in monotony
when there's nowhere higher left to aim?
perfect clones
palindromes
the same front and back
someone is going to crack
does forceful conformity
force a deformity?
I'm only sure
I'm not insecure
cause I'm not perfect
and I don't care
I'm not perfect
I've got my own cross to bear
well he's not perfect
and neither is she
we are all imperfect
can't you see?
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
i wake up with dried tears on the side of my face
i went to sleep smiling,
i thought
i dreamt of you,
as i remember
but i woke up with dried tears on the side of my face
perhaps my eyes see something
that my brain has not yet processed
they see your eyes trail off
when I'm enthused about my day
they see the way your body
is always slightly turned away
my brain gushes about the
sweet text you sent last week
and the future that could lie ahead
but my eyes are the realists
and don't ignore what my brain blocks
they notice the other girls
listed in your inbox
and my eyes know that
they've seen this all before
and the visions in my head
don't align with what you have in store
so my brain might be behind
and take some time understand
that these tears i wake up with
are not a deformity of my lacrimal gland
instead they are trying to fill me in
on what i am trying to ignore
and all these poems i waste on you
i will soon learn to deplore
i don't want to wake up with
dried tears on my face anymore.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
so many wounded
hiding their deformity
they stagger along
ravaged by childhood abuse
lurching through lifetime's journey
from one crisis to the next
lonely and feeling unloved
angry and so full of fear
ashamed and in denial
unable to truly bond
with anyone else
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC