"defy" poems
You don’t need to try so hard.
You can wear the clothes you want.
Do whatever you please,
Express yourself the way you know how.
You can wear those heels
Just because you love them.
Your true friends will accept you
And all your little quirks.
It’s time to let it go,
Let go of all your fears of judgement.
Stop caring what people think of you,
It’s none of your business anyways.
You are who are for a reason.
You’re crazy, eclectic,
A miss independent and a little rebellious.
You like to defy the norms of society
So why aren’t you doing it?
Let go of all those rules and make your own.
You’ve always stood for the outcasts,
Paving your own path,
Cutting the trees blocking your way.
Why care now about fitting in
When you’re a shining gem?
You were born to lead, to conquer.
This is your destiny, you’ve always worn
Your individuality just like a badge.
Don’t become submissive,
Stop looking for approval,
You won’t find it anywhere
But inside of yourself.
It’s the self-acceptance that comes first,
There’s no better friend than you.
Go on, look in the mirror.
Remember, you better like who you are,
That is the person you’ll be stuck with
For the rest of your life.
Enjoy all the strangeness,
All the weird parts of your personality.
There’s no refunds, no exchanges.
You are who you are and that
Is perfection; no matter what anyone says.
Accept who you are now,
Accept all the growth to come.
You can accomplish even your
Wildest dreams, those shooting stars.
It’s time to just be,
Time to stop leaning on societies
Ideals and march on out
With head held up high.
Self acceptance is all you need.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
She's more of a poet
'cause she went to school for it,
and she tastes sweet in the morning,
and in the evening,
sunlight filters through her
and lights up that slice of lemon
that I love so much.
I think I'll have a writer -
on the rocks.
Every time I come home,
my room smells like *** in the summer,
and it sounds like the vinyl is still under the needle.
Best album of two thousand and nine.
Best album of all time.
Sand between our toes,
we wrote prose
on a filthy mattress but
roses never grew here.
And they never will.
There was something about us though,
something that had a feverish pulse
behind it. I'd say it was something to
do with the way we have of never putting
a cheap laugh below us. I think it has
something to do with resilience but I'm not sure.
Humming trite voicings of things we'd heard
in the backseat of our fathers' cars, radios on,
you use to tell me to flash the turn signal,
in the black of night, just so you could make sure
we were alive. Dry, but at least alive.
A little beacon to justify us,
and just defy them.
Whiskey,
come over
here and
kiss me.
C'mon
Corinthian,
keep me
company!
Set this manuscript
to music and dance for me!
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
He hits me.
His own daughter.
Can't he see what this is doing to me?
Can't he see the bruises that he leaves?
The kids at school have started to ask questions.
I hate to think what would happen if they found out.
I don't want their pity.
I just want my father to stop.
He is always mad at me for something.
Like last night, for example.
I made him spaghetti instead of roast like he wanted.
So, what do I get? A beating. And he ATE the food anyway. Didn't give me a single bite.
I'm hungry.
I haven't had anything to eat in about 36 hours.
Why doesn't my father like me?
Did I do something wrong? I hope not.
He wasn't always like this.
It started years ago, when I was 9.
Right after my mother had killed herself.
I had found her, sitting on the bathroom floor with empty pill bottles spread out around her.
I ran to his work, telling him the news.
He took me home, sat me down. I thought he was going to comfort me. I was wrong.
He hit me. Just like that.
I've cried every night since. Silently, though. I don't want to give him the pleasure of knowing he hurt me.
I get good grades, have a good singing voice.
I am School Captain, have a pretty face.
I am good at the arts, excel in sports.
I am the luckiest girl in the world, right? Wrong. Couldn't be more wrong.
School ends.
I run home.
I write a note to my father:
'Goodbye. Mum wanted to get away from you, now I am too. And the only thing I regret is not doing it sooner.'
I lock myself in the bathroom.
No, I will not **** myself with pills.
I am not my mother.
I did not marry that sick man.
No, I will defy him in the best way possible.
I run out of the bathroom.
Grab a length of rope from the back shed.
Try and prepare for what comes next.
I still remember how to make a hangman's noose.
And there I go.
I hang myself.
Right above the front door. Where he will see what he made of his little girl.
The man weeps. He knew it was wrong.
He would have stopped if he knew it was this bad.
He hates himself, but he must go on with life - and make it a good one. He will show his darling daughter that he can be a good person.
He sits on the ground, thinking of what he made of his little girl...
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 9:21 AM UTC
She came from heaven & laid her head
Down next to mine.
It felt like I had crawled into the sun &
Realized that everything was not
what it seemed.
She became an island
One my emotions began to explore,
Simplified to pacing in circles
walking back and forth.
She came from heaven & laid her head
Down next to mine.
I'd realized that I never seen the sun
set.
My gratitude today hopeful
of the invitation into tomorrow.
She defies the gravity of my world
Jun 11, 2022
Jun 11, 2022 at 6:30 PM UTC
Beloved,
In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
Your Hands
Your Laughter brave
Irreverent.
Those sweet excesses that
I do adore.
What surety is there
That we will meet again,
On other worlds some
Future time undated.
I defy my body's haste.
Without the promise
Of one more sweet encounter
I will not deign to die.
15.1k
Old man, you surface seldom.
Then you come in with the tide's coming
When seas wash cold, foam-
Capped: white hair, white beard, far-flung,
A dragnet, rising, falling, as waves
Crest and trough. Miles long
Extend the radial sheaves
Of your spread hair, in which wrinkling skeins
Knotted, caught, survives
The old myth of orgins
Unimaginable. You float near
As kneeled ice-mountains
Of the north, to be steered clear
Of, not fathomed. All obscurity
Starts with a danger:
Your dangers are many. I
Cannot look much but your form suffers
Some strange injury
And seems to die: so vapors
Ravel to clearness on the dawn sea.
The muddy rumors
Of your burial move me
To half-believe: your reappearance
Proves rumors shallow,
For the archaic trenched lines
Of your grained face shed time in runnels:
Ages beat like rains
On the unbeaten channels
Of the ocean. Such sage humor and
Durance are whirlpools
To make away with the ground-
Work of the earth and the sky's ridgepole.
Waist down, you may wind
One labyrinthine tangle
To root deep among knuckles, shinbones,
Skulls. Inscrutable,
Below shoulders not once
Seen by any man who kept his head,
You defy questions;
You defy godhood.
I walk dry on your kingdom's border
Exiled to no good.
Your shelled bed I remember.
Father, this thick air is murderous.
I would breathe water.
15.1k
.
•
re-
kindle
the spark
that governed
this game•the fire
that once burnt as bri-
ght as sun•all of this once
before, had a name•but now
is weak from the time it had be-
gun•there was a time when it wo-
uld consume•......it would defy the
odds....just so it could burn as one•
frantic and desperate for the magic
to resume•uncertainty has carved
itself into the heart that has come
undone•winds bearing ill no-
tions revealed as the enemy•
stitch up the gaps keep-
ing out the rogue
gust•
pro
tect
the
light that burns ever weakly•rejuve-
nate the spirit that harbours broken trust
•rekindle me now... i'm still in the game•
the heart save the you will
isn't candle need
ready and to see
to make nur- me
sense ture with
of the it this
dark• to in-
fla- sig-
me• nia
as my
mark
•
.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
Befrilled Godfather, why tune Yours to mine
These Rightful Verses your Country observes
I, an Eastern Bun's Lord in Mind consign
Put my Pun in-place for their own Reserves
Now this, a Muse if your Clock does witness
Would burn me at stake or hang me condemned
All because such Organs defy Fitness
And thought the ****** I will reprehend
I grow tired of this evident Trough
Whilst you once scribbled Trademarks with your Quill
How, my Heart-Nosed Configure such enough
Yet wish to join you in your White Pipes, still.
Your Epitaph stays; I dare not complete
Just press these Roses your Approval, meet.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
The bees don't care what you say,
The bees go their own way.
Don't be like a monkey,
Rather be like a bee,
You can't tell them what to do,
the bees just defy you.
You can hold down the seas,
but you can't hold down the bees,
Who are you to tell them what to do,
We are the many run by the few.
Newton is my god,
god is good,
god is great.
Forgive me father,
for I have sinned.
I am sorry,
for questioning thee.
Bless upon the fruit that fell and freed us!
Bless upon the monkeys that gave birth to us!
Bless upon the pictures that they painted for us!
Bless upon the cosmic scaled **** that made us!
You are my eyes,
my prophet,
my seer,
my revelator,
put thoughts in my head,
and I will repeat what you have said
Our thoughts are not our own,
We are not safe, even in our home.
Monkey see, monkey do,
we are the many run by the few.
Don't be like a monkey,
rather be like a bee,
don't do what they say,
forget what you have learnt and levitate away.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
explain to me, put into words
how can the bees defy the birds?
when i was little, i was taught
our genitals just can't be bought
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
I use to write of pain and tribulation
mmm I've always just been looking to feel the greatest sensation
senses at peaks, they peak when they peek at the sight of elation
I've always taken to sealing all my stories away
in notebooks with binding finally looking to fray
because the pressure they hold brings such a dismay
Binded in between faded blue lines
I swear im fine
I swear im fine
in these lines of what could have been mine
and I'll lose it all in this glass of wine
where red bleeds to black
and I've done away with that
The great purge of endless words
heard by no one other than the mad man
running through my head screaming that I can
do anything I thought my mind and limbs had banned
from the realm of possibilities
Because pain ought not be sealed to live an endless life
So I now write of hope and dreams
and the endless possibilites
that stretch from the cities and into the trees
finally dancing down into these seas
but I'm also writing
of wishes and laughs and smiles too
because what else can you do
there are only a few
who know everything is new
everything we knew
can be lost in the great blue
that paints our skies and seas
carrying away the bundle of keys
that locks pandora's box
and leaves us with happiness and cheer
Because happiness can be carried in anything as simple as a tear
racing down the lines of your cranial
that houses your greatest fears
From the lines of light blue to the minds of the hopeful and the true
And words of optimism should live
And breathe and smile and laugh
In the hearts of the world for a lifetime and I digress
In a habitat so vast
With horizons reaching from sky to sky
Drowned in blues and red
I'm glad to of found you at last
We're left to defy all that society presents as lies
I wanna speak at an intimate decibel
Acknowledge your flaws, don't be bound by them
Open your mouth to nothing coming own
Settle down in your head and make a home
I just want to compliment your soul
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
The night's too cold
The fog just clogged
The moon's up high
I forgot it's December
The wind took me
To my bed sheets
I curled, it's cold
I forgot it's December
I can't think of
Words to defy
Why I just keep
Forgetting it's December
I can't find it
Searched everywhere
The place that brings
Cold nights when it's December
I saw your face
Two teardrops raced
So warm but cold
I forgot it's December
Just now I found
You are the word
The reason why
I forgot it's December
I saw the place
Of cold embrace
It was my heart
In the night of December
I remember
Sweet and bitter
Yes, it didn't last
I lost you last December
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
on tuesday,
dylann roof was sentenced to his death.
on tuesday we tried
to make one body feel like nine.
to make one body feel like justice.
on tuesday we said
there has got to be some price to pay
for entering the house of god
with a sinful tongue
and a handgun.
today,
six days later,
we remembered the rev. dr. martin luther king, jr.
we looked at the world,
called it a place with potential for change,
called it that because there has to be some softer way
to look at bloodshed,
for sanity’s sake.
if not then
all that remains is a solitary image of dr. king rolling in his grave because he knows,
knows that breathless black bodies
are a constant,
are transcenders of time,
whether sunken in rivers,
hung from taut ropes,
or bathing in blood on historic church floors,
singing, singing, screaming, shrill
for some messiah bringing mercy, mercy, mercy.
felicia sanders wants mercy:
prays for it, wills it down from up above,
unfolded from the hands of god
so that it might fall upon the head and in the eyes
and within the very being
of the man who killed her son.
it takes a certain grace —
one so foreign to me i can hardly write of it —
to see god in such men who deliberately defy Him,
to ask that heaven’s gates
be so indiscriminate and overt.
i would want him to burn for this.
but it is not my say,
not my life,
not my long, resounding, unflinching “hallelujah!”
not my certain type of grace.
breathless black bodies
are a constant,
are transcenders of time, a recurring motif.
but so too, then, is the black body full
of breath,
that inhales and exhales faith
without ceasing.
such is the black body
that sees a little bit of god in dylann roof,
that prays that he prays for forgiveness,
that thinks there to be but one kingdom,
and he, too,
a worthy subject.
the solitary image of dr. king rolling in his grave
is not a surprise.
the black body has always known
so well
how to die.
but felicia sanders hopes her son’s killer finds mercy.
perhaps the one thing the black body has always known better
is how to love.
(a.m.)
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 8:07 PM UTC
The laughter of leaves
whisper testament
over cool caverns,
ancient moss
the absurdity of clocks
dashed upon rocks
while they dance,
backlit with sunglow,
at the true speed
of life
daring us to defy
the timeless tapestry
in which all are woven
Do stones large and small
not rustle
like leaves
in the eye of the mountain?
and is the leaf not as solid
as stone, to the aphid?
And what lives between
two lover-friends?
It is no brief candle
measured with ticks
on numbered dials
It moves not with the flash
of a single spark
Nor with the slow glow
of dawn
In gentle illumination
it is a soft gentle kiss
drifting on mist,
and it moves
at the speed of love,
with the rhythm of life
Copyright © 2016 K. Rush
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 7:28 AM UTC
Maids, not to you my mind doth change;
Men I defy, allure, estrange,
Prostrate, make bond or free:
Soft as the stream beneath the plane
To you I sing my love's refrain;
Between us is no thought of pain,
Peril, satiety.
Soon doth a lover's patience tire,
But ye to manifold desire
Can yield response, ye know
When for long, museful days I pine,
The presage at my heart divine;
To you I never breathe a sign
Of inward want or woe.
When injuries my spirit bruise,
Allaying virtue ye infuse
With unobtrusive skill:
And if care frets ye come to me
As fresh as nymph from stream or tree,
And with your soft vitality
My weary ***** fill.
10.1k
As Stong as the An African Elephant
Yet were are supple and elegant.
We are persuasive talkers so our words are very Eloquent.
Crafted From man's rib and An earthly element is How God made the first Wombman in the old testiment.
During the worlds development
We somehow begun to be irrelevant
Forgetting that we were designed as a help mate who is heaven sent.
We shed Bloods for days sometimes a months without dying.
Raising our children to Be Ladies and gentlemen whom are edifying.
In our wombs a human life we are able carry.
We are informational like a human dictionary.
We store resoureful pieces of data like a library.
Created with brown sugar, warm honey, cocoa and Gold.
Out spirits are Radiently Bold.
Our bodies are temples that can't be bought or sold.
We have a Story that must be hear and told.
We are the beautiful flowers in the month of May That Springs up and blooms in middle of noons day.
We flourish just as the fluorescent blue jay, Whose mood is Joyful and gay.
Our Skin absorbs the sun's Incandescent. Ray.
Some may say, Our hair is ***** but Actually, Our hair just happens to defy gravity
So we wear it upon our head proudly like a Crown
because Living in socitey's prospective of what you should look like will weigh you down.
You will stay stuck on being lost when you already have been found.
Be about your fathers business and know you are Heaven bound.
We are run life's race with meaning and purpose in our pace
Even our walk is embedded with grace
Nature's beauty smiles upon our face
As We Wear God's love like a Pure Gold necklace that's trimmed with lace.
The Strength we've gain
Turned us into warriors from living the through the most Excruciating pain
Thats the Reason we humbly pray as we sing and dance in the middle of the storm's rain.
Our humility will continue to remain.
We are women of Virtue
I wrote this to encourage you
Never let no one break, hurt or discourage you know who you belong to.
And who deserves a Woman of your statue.
For Being black Is Exhilarating
And being a woman is Breathtaking but Being a Black Woman is an Honorary Identity that is Legendary.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
In the question of reassurance.
The single solemn response cannot always end with one that causes
the most anxiety.
The involvement of social media, random dm's, the arrangement of severed ties mended with one thing in mind.
For these reasons insecurity deepens.
Eventually things fall apart.
It's not always about opening your mouth.
There are other ways to be vocal.
Silence becomes deafening.
Defeating the purpose of awareness.
Tempers quickly raise and often the things that aren't meant to be said come out.
Echoing the loudest.
Petty arguments, the excuses that lead us into the messages we're quick to hide.
Despite how much time we've invested, the easiest thing to do is walk away.
Anxiety becoming the fear that pushes us the furthest into ourselves.
It's not always easy.
Opening up,
vocalizing a single woe that begins the journey of a thousand,
if not more.
If forced, we too begin to shut down and contemplate the single best thing.
Being seen as selfish, self-centered.
Quick burst that justifies wrongful intent with one that's right.
It's all about support.
Care & understanding.
The saving grace that bonds the realization that either of us are perfect.
That there are deeper issues at hand that seep far beyond.
the way we see ourselves, whether we are too big.
Too small, the things we find often too late, said behind our back.
outside of everything else do you truly understand the quality of reassurance.
the equivalent to the moment everything seems to come crashing down.
The times any slight movement brings us down the most.
Equally we both seek the same.
The response reflects the moment.
To defy standard and move to something meaningful.
At a point, the question deserves an answer.
Going in one ear, quickly coming out the other.
To vocalize seemingly in one direction unless the role is reversed
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
Having defied gravity
(not me personally
but by proxy
namely through
a dog, monkey and Soyuz
and fruit flies and bullfrogs
and lately through NASA)
I defy humility
I brave it, I challenge it
for there’s too much hypocrisy
in humility
For humility is such
that it never speaks its name
For when it speaks of Humility
it is Sans Humility
Take me
for example -
you hardly hear me
mention myself as Saint Humility, do you?
But that’s what I am, my other name: Humility
But people keep insisting on calling me Saint Humility
But I defy Humility
POSTSCRIPT
I also defy repetition
and over-emphasis
and contradiction, paradox
But, it must not be left unsaid -
in defying humility,
I think I’ve also
quite inadvertently
defined humility: Saint Me
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 7:42 AM UTC
She walks a narrow path,
over a valley filled with wrath.
One wrong turn,
and in the fire she's left to burn.
She always dreamt to stretch her wings, but never did fearing the stings.
She always wanted to soar high,
but feared the endless predators in the sky.
A smile she wears as the day goes by,
lets no one see the tear in her eye.
The pain in her heart goes un noticed by most,
though it rings from coast to coast.
Her voice no one ever heard,
not a single sentence or word.
No laughs of joy nor cries of pain,
all for herself to contain.
Lonely at times she gazes at the night sky, trying to catch any falling star that may go by.
Wishing for her misery to end,
wishing to enjoy life and its moments with a close one, a friend.
Laughs and cries to herself at times, putting down what she feels into rhymes.
Pushed around forever,
rarely allowed to pursue her own endeavour.
Her goals and dreams,
never morph to reality it seems.
For others she lives,
without thinking her everything she gives.
How long will this go on,
how long will she suffer from dusk to dawn?
All the injustice and spite,
will this continue to be her plight?
Why can't she be allowed,
to rise up and touch every cloud?
To laugh more and less to cry,
all set bounds and limits to defy.
To fight and to resist,
to deal with every twist and tryst.
To have an equal foot on every front,
no more to take the brunt.
Her eyes never to sparkle with remorseful tears,
to do away with all her worries and fears.
Her freedom to life and right to every joy, lets protect and not destroy.
To end her pitiful plight, and let her enjoy her life’s glorious flight...
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
We are slaves of our thoughts, as they bifurcate down crossroad after crossroad, as they diverge in all different directions and force us to obey, and if you must defy then prepare for the pain of cracking bones and resting your head on a cinder block to sleep at night as your brain comes up with new, insufferable ways of torture to force you back down onto your knees, making you bow down. Rebel against yourself all you want but there is no escape from the dystopian society in your head. Knowing this will only make your hunger for escape even greater for we want what we can’t have.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
A Jersey girl came along
and I started to think about angles of yaw
needed to take flight,
how the force of a kick skirts
the delicate line between winning and losing.
I’ve seen it all before, but not like this. Besides, seeing
has nothing to do with believing.
Corneas can't capture the vibrations of molecules or excitations
of electrons. Champions defy biology,
overcome gravity and I believe what goes up
does not always come down.
I want to know the point where focus takes control
of epinephrine, who’s cascade is initiated by the roar of a crowd,
but negatively regulated by doubt,
when to take a long shot or build up slowly.
I want to live the difference between accuracy and precision,
taste the dirt, become painted with bruises and scorch my heart.
A flag is heaviest when you carry it,
lightest when it’s raised,
worn as a cape and allowed to wave in the wind.
Countries aren't build, they're created created
denying muscles oxygen but allowing them to taste gold.
It's ability to conduct electricity astounds me.
It’s not about alchemy
but transforming sweat into tears,
fixing nitrogen, reducing triglycerides.
Not all reactions need light, some create it.
It’s only over when there’s not enough energy for activation.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 8:35 PM UTC
Picnic
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My friends laugh elsewhere on the beach
while I sit here, alone, counting the waves,
writing and rewriting your name in the sand ...
Confession
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Your image overwhelmed my vision.
As the long nights passed, I became obsessed with your visage.
Then came the moment when I quietly placed my lips to your picture ...
Rain
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Why shiver alone in the rain, maiden?
Embrace the one in whose warming love your body and mind would be drenched!
There are no rains higher than the rains of Love,
after which the bright rainbows of separation will glow with the mysteries of hues.
My Body's Moods
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I long for the day when you'll be obsessed with me,
when, forgetting the world, you'll miss me with a passion
and stop complaining about my reticence!
Then I may forget all other transactions and liabilities
to realize my world in your arms,
letting my body's moods guide me.
In that moment beyond boundaries and limitations
as we defy the conventions of veil and turban,
let's try our luck and steal a taste of the forbidden fruit!
Moon
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
All of us passengers,
we share the same fate.
And yet I'm alone here on earth,
and she alone there in the sky!
Vanity
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
His world is so simple, so very different from mine.
So distinct—his dreams and desires.
He speaks rarely.
This morning he wrote: "I saw some lovely flowers and thought of you."
Ha! I know my aging face is no orchid ...
but how I wish I could believe whatever he says, however momentarily!
Keywords/Tags: Perveen Shakir, Urdu, translation, Pakistan, love, passion, picnic, beach, vision, confession, rain, rainbow, hues, forbidden fruit, body, *** orchid, mrburdu
What the Poet Sees
by Michael R. Burch
What the poet sees,
he sees as a swimmer
~~~underwater~~~
watching the shoreline blur
sees through his breath’s weightless bubbles ...
Both worlds grow obscure.
Published by ByLine, Mandrake Poetry Review, Poetically Speaking, E Mobius Pi, Underground Poets, Little Brown Poetry, Little Brown Poetry, Triplopia, Poetic Ponderings, Poem Kingdom, PW Review, Neovictorian/Cochlea, Muse Apprentice Guild, Mindful of Poetry, Poetry on Demand, Poet’s Haven, Famous Poets and Poems, and Bewildering Stories
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 11:29 PM UTC
A silhouette of some kind
That appeared and vanished
At the end of what seemed a horizon
A silhouette of a creature
That left behind the day
And just so simply vanished…
With a sigh I defy
The fact of what I saw
And had written it away as a memory
A memory that I had made to be as a figment of my imagination that I had formed in this gloomy day..
And with a chuckle I cleared my throat
And moved on…
But I couldn't sleep
For that night
The moon so lavishly
Without a care
As though without a thought
Stood
Shimmering in the sky beautifully
Instantly revealing that what I had seen this morn..
And with a feeling
That seemed as though this night would never end
I walk up and ask
That if not impossible
Can you tell me who you are?
I wonder A beast, a spirit, a demon, an angel, a monster….
You do not speak
And I start to dream
And for some reason… with every minute that I spend
Staring at you
I begin to fall in love..
Oh god.. help me..
For it seems that
I have once again begun to feel…
And as I try to avoid
And as I try to move
It seems that
I cannot get myself to keep away..
From connecting myself to you…
In a way that will never break away..
Oh how a bitter day has made its way
For a simple silhouette now soaked and stripped
Completely transparent with nothing in its way
A silhouette of black and white
Completely stripped down
As though wishing to die
And as the day goes by
You seem slightly in sight
I try to move on and walk away
But wherever I go
I seem to find you somewhere..
And unfavorably
I gaze at this
Lilac horizon
When all of a sudden
..What happened?
The clouds seem to have disappeared
And you are no nowhere in sight
Yet under a cloudless sky falls a downpour
Indefinitely in sight
Confirming I hadn't just gone blind..
It seems that I have just realized
That I had fallen in love with something otherworldly
I fell in love much more that I should have..
And now that you aren't in sight
I am lost Without a path to walk
I don’t know what to do
But why Even though we didn't speak
Even though we would just meet
Why does your absence
Create such a transparency within me…
And so I whisper good-bye, even if just for myself
Thinking that you were not but a figment of my imagination all this while
A tear drops As I take a step forward
A miserable and helpless man I was
What a miserable and helpless man I am…..
I fell in love with something unknown
I fell in love more gently that I thought
Such a tasteless romance..
To fall in love with something I do not know
To fall in love with something I do not understand
And as the hours go by
I begin to cry
I begin to cry
I request for a prayer
I request for a wish
"Give her a soul
Give her a body
Tell me she was real
TELL ME SHE WAS REAL ….please”
A silhouette so dark
A silhouette silent
Invisible and dark
As though never existent
Flying away
Flying away
And without knowing what you are
It seems I had completely fallen in love
A love so gentle…
A love so tasteless…
I fell in love with nothing but a presence
Of something I didn't know
Of something I didn't understand.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
Everyone wants to be a superhero.
Or a supervillain, in some cases.
Everyone wants to be special,
To defy the norm,
To be loved,
Praised,
Worshipped.
I’m one of the lucky few who got what they wanted.
But here’s the thing about wishes;
There’s always a twist.
A glitch in the code,
A setback,
A call to reality,
To make us pay for our selfish wants.
What’s my power, you ask?
It’s certainly a good one.
And my curse?
It’s a doozy, I’ll tell you that.
I can’t fly,
I can’t communicate with animals,
Can’t breathe under water,
Don’t have super strength,
And I can’t see through steel.
I have the best power of them all.
I can become Invisible
I can easily slip away from anything without being noticed,
I can watch the world unfurl, completely unaffected.
Thing is, I can’t become visible when I want to.
My power chooses its own schedule.
Meaning…
I’m completely alone, 80% of the time.
I can’t make friends,
Because they can’t see me.
I can’t have conversations,
Because no one wants to talk with a ghost.
I get left behind,
Because no one knew I was there in the first place.
I must be strong.
I have to be.
Because no one will be there for me.
No one wants to care.
No one can.
I talk to myself,
Or watch the world like a show,
Craving to be a part of it.
I know it’ll never happen,
But it’s always fun to dream.
Of being loved,
Wanted,
Noticed,
Acknowledged.
Heck, I’d even settle for being hated,
If it only meant that I would get to know what it feels like,
To be looked in the eye.
Have you ever felt the feeling,
Of being looked through?
Like a window,
Or a spirit?
It starts to get to you, ya know?
You start to think about it,
Start to stop seeing yourself as well.
Suddenly, you don’t even exist.
Not to anyone,
Not even yourself.
Oh, yes.
I am so,
Very,
Special
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 9:45 AM UTC