"delicates" poems
I'm
Tired
Of
B
R
E
A
T
H
I
N
G
Tired of
S
E
E
I
N
G
This hatred in humanity
And
The
Delicates
Being
T O R N
Apart
So quickly
Without listening
To their glistening
Fragile
Beautiful words
Jun 26, 2019
Jun 26, 2019 at 6:11 PM UTC
I have this feeling
that even if human beings
came with a tag of instructions
on how to care for one another
sewn on some conspicuous part of our person,
most of us would just ignore it.
We all just
machine wash jerkface,
tumble dry to broken pieces.
Tumble dry into
thousands
of little
broken
pieces.
And you can see it, you know?
On us.
Where someone didn't read
those directions carefully
or at all.
Where the colors ran—
reds to whites to pinks.
Where the holes are worn bare,
and the fibers shriveled and shrank.
So we live with those stains,
those noticeable imperfections.
We’re so conscious of it at first,
afraid that everyone will notice
that our instructions weren't followed.
We hesitate to let
someone else try their hand
at doing it right
this next time around.
But we gotta, 'cause
much like ***** laundry,
human yearning is
a ruthless, never-ending cycle.
Fighting it only really makes you
the smelly kid in class.
Just mind your delicates,
pay attention, take your time,
and hand wash that **** worth keeping.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC
Upon your clothesline I have been stretched for somewhere between hours and minutes. The rope burns my skin, my weight sags from pins.
I can feel wrinkles forming where I'm pinched and pulled, and an out-of-place heaviness rests on my drooping shoulders.
I do not belong here, among your delicates, your laces and silks. I deserve nothing more than to be soaked in the wash bin with graying rags.
Yet you have seen something in me, a rarity of fabric, of color. Something that is deserving of special detergent and air-drying.
And in your presence, the bad thoughts and negativity slowly evaporates, leaving me like drip after drip of tearful water.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
My best thoughts arrive when
I wait for my towels to be cleaned.
Leaning over the sturdy white machine,
contemplating life's intricacies
and delving into quixotic thoughts only suitable
for my delicates in their spin cycle,
that's when it happens.
Suddenly, as the bumps and whirrs of a laundry room
fill my headspace, I am
Socrates, I am Plato,
one finger heaven-oriented as my clothes spin,
spin, spin.
I can only imagine if Phaedo was
conceived in the throes of laundering.
As slaving women with their washboards
worked tirelessly on his thinking linens,
that's when Plato must have done his
best philosophizing,
when Napoleon felt his tallest.
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 5:32 PM UTC
My best thoughts arrive when
I wait for my towels to be cleaned.
Leaning over the sturdy white machine,
contemplating life's intricacies
and delving into quixotic thoughts only suitable
for my delicates in their spin cycle,
that's when it happens.
Suddenly, as the bumps and whirrs of a laundry room
fill my headspace, I am
Socrates, I am Plato,
one finger heaven-oriented as my clothes spin,
spin, spin.
I can only imagine that Phaedo was
conceived in the throes of ancient laundering.
As slaving women with their washboards
worked tirelessly on his thinking linens,
that's when Plato must have done his
best philosophizing,
when Napoleon felt his tallest.
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 5:32 PM UTC
So down, I'm drinking coffee grounds
to stay up. Pieces of bark in my
cup like a tired dog running on half-
woofs. Half & Half fizzles, sizzles
West Coast Folgers corporate doorstep.
Step lightly / hardwood floorboards.
Each creak, each door hinge "hello" couldn't
make me go. Fetch me the paper, some
poetry, a pen and a pad to write on.
To feel right on.
Lines so loose that delicates / zip-ups /
camisoles lie on the hillside
trying to poke the clouds, pop 'em,
with their tags. 100% cottonpoly-
estersilkrayon blend. Pure blend,
breakfast blend. The mug I stole
from the caf 'cause they steal from
me. Thousands of dollars every semester
for Cheerios everyday. Cholesterol doesn't
matter to me. Not because I don't care,
but because I've lowered the good kind, too.
So low, so low, the parking garage elevator
girls can't pick me up. So low on morale,
my textbook battalion would rather shut
me out.
So low that I'd let them.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
At home,
you taught me
how to crack an egg;
how to separate
the yolk from the white,
and put the rest in the fridge —
yellow pools for pudding.
Though, we never made pudding.
You taught me
how to beat stains,
how to separate
reds from whites,
to wash delicates and brights
in cold water.
You hung both to dry.
You taught me
how to drink wine,
that reds are bitter
than whites
with meat.
At school,
they taught me
subjects as periods,
how to learn
math and english,
because they're different.
Who was I good at both?
They told me
the direction I'd go,
how to tell left from right.
I still get lost sometimes.
They read me
the places I'd go,
how to separate
fact from opinion,
the world we live in.
At work,
they taught me
a business mind,
how to define
plans from ideas,
as if ideas
are not future plans.
They taught me
to manage time,
how to separate
work and life,
Still, I struggle
to juggle those words.
Hold my hand poetry,
the architecture of words,
cause my soul is caught
between
my mind separating words,
and I can't seem to
piece them together again.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
The ground trembles a slow
and ever-present roar,
growing into a growl.
The delicates of the earth
panic and claw at the cracks and edges
searching for a way to hold on.
In the unbounded bottom,
I see the end of all
and the beginning of new.
So I loosen my grip
and let the endless earth
swallow me whole.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
Flowers in the wall
Did you see them bloom?
Vines crept up the water pipe
Like little yellow sprinklers in the sun.
The bricks that form the canvas
Building the concrete in time
Break! says the wind
Not so fast, smiles the vine.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
So sick
of being unheard
You're my father
You're supposed to protect
Your daughter
But you let this creep
Lie in my bed
He's probably
Feeling great pleasure
Having my delicates
At his leisure
Yep, I'm kind of mad
But he's my brothers
Best friend
So then why
Won't they protect me?
He had a bad habit
of staring at me
For hours on end
While I sit there and I pretend
I don't see him
I'm your daughter
I'm your little sister
So do I mean nothing to you?
It wouldn't be the first time
That someone's forced
Themselves on me
Making me hate myself
for existing
He told me he loves me
Told me he gives himself pleasure
Who says that to a girls face??
And yet my father
My brother
Don't do one **** thing
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Ego was stripped from skin
in layers until the trail of tears
was no longer visible to the blind
eye
Monks chant in the distance
as souls dance to the melancholy;
strength of the limb is tested
...wearing Sunday's best
Frayed rope is placed on ivory
rough against the delicate truth
only to be choked before it could be heard
Lover be ****** pained eyes meet
the noose being tightened by hands
that once cupped the breast of the Mother
...betrayal found in man's milk
Foundation is kicked away in one swift
motion; crushing the pathway of life
swaying with eyes wide open
Ego killed the delicate that day
a day of broken promises; dreams
forever became a lie, the lie truth
Delicate is still here in the shadows
swaying between trees in an eternal
dance in Sunday's dress
...waiting for the neck to fully break
Haunting Ego's chance~
Jan 13, 2024
Jan 13, 2024 at 1:13 PM UTC
The laundromat’s machines cycled restlessly like a clock’s second hand, although the first hand is more fitting because my time moved like hot traffic. That’s the problem with keeping your clothes white in a darkening city – you have to be mindful of what’s creeping into your streets. You can force the colors from your wardrobe easy enough, but not black in your heart. And the machines you kept set to delicates and lights tumble away from you, without you, with the rest of the world like permanent press.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 4:22 AM UTC
Trust is the issue, a mountain we must move
Past relationships were rocky, hope ours can be smooth.
Delicates as a flower, yet tougher than the finest leather
Used to the rain, its time for different weather.
Ready to give you my all, but you're not ready at all
Like the city of Jericho, I must knock down your walls.
I don't want to control you, I just want to console you
Im not trying to change you, just want to rename you.
Faith, is the confidence to believe in things you cannot see.
Yours was lost a long time ago, just trying to make you believe.
Maybe I never should have gotten involved
With a woman whose been broken down and has been through it all.
Maybe, it was destined that we meet each other
After all, there is so much that we can teach each other
Maybe, this is all some part of a dream
When will I awake, what does it all mean?
One day you'll recover, soon enough you'll be fine
Wish I could give you my heart, but you're not ready
So i'll just give you my effort, as well as my time.
I'll never leave you, is a promise I wont make
However, I do promise, that I will always try to stay.
Sometimes progress can be a slow process
In our case, we take things day by day.
With a heart so heavily guarded, sometimes I wonder
Will you ever put your gun away?
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 5:28 PM UTC
Ego was stripped from skin
in layers until the trail of tears
was no longer visible to the blind
eye
Monks chant in the distance
as souls dance to the melancholy;
strength of the limb is tested
...wearing Sunday's best
Frayed rope is placed on ivory
rough against the delicate truth
only to be choked before it could be heard
Lover be ****** pained eyes meet
the noose being tightened by hands
that once cupped the breast of the Mother
...betrayal found in man's milk
Foundation is kicked away in one swift
motion; crushing the pathway of life
swaying with eyes wide open
Ego killed the delicate that day
a day of broken promises; dreams
forever became a lie, the lie truth
Delicate is still here in the shadows
swaying between trees in an eternal
dance in Sunday's dress
...waiting for the neck to fully break
Haunting Ego's chance~
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC
Here, take my hand.
Follow me into the unknown.
We run through the dense, wet greenery,
We explore to find undiscovered land.
Here, take my arm.
We dance quietly side by side.
Hidden under the tall canopy of trees,
We are careful of the delicates creatures we could alarm.
Here, take my mind.
We sit together for hours,
Peel back the layers that for so long we tried to hide.
“Know me as no one has known me,”
Eager for the darkest corners we might find.
Here, take my spirit.
Our energy cuts through the atmosphere. Smoke from our flames.
We feel an intensity that at times makes us uneasy.
We yearn for it, although sometimes we may fear it.
Here, take my eyes.
We stare intentionally, we study and absorb the beauty that encapsulates us. We hold onto this moment.
Hating that time flies and in that next moment we have to say goodbye.
Here, take my heart.
We carry the thought of each other with us.
Enveloping ourselves in memories and fantasies.
We are reminded that though we aren’t here, we are here and no matter how far, no far is too far to ever keep us apart.
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 10:38 AM UTC
The familiar whirlwind of emotion rises up again,
a never-ending cycle of heavy, dark clothes,
a few light delicates throw in, barely visible
and fading
fast.
This weekly ritual, the pauses, the tone,
memorized down to the digit.
I grow weary, carrying out the motions and
Dreaming of the end, hanging it all out to dry
to be embraced by the ever-welcoming sun and its
loving, warm rays.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 6:53 PM UTC
Momentary threads,
Knitted by nature’s craftsmanship;
Delicates into intricate
Entwined betwixt and between...
Thou, amongst others,
Breathes contentment, exudes pleasure;
That blissful delight,
Unfazed by complexities..
Thee everyone covets,
Only few embrace thine essence;
Whose existence
Frequently fickle and fades.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC
Ego was stripped from skin
in layers until the trail of tears
was no longer visible to the blind
eye
Monks chant in the distance
as souls dance to the melancholy;
strength of the limb is tested
...wearing Sunday's best
Frayed rope is placed on ivory
rough against the delicate truth
only to be choked before it could be heard
Lover be ****** pained eyes meet
the noose being tightened by hands
that once cupped the breast of the Mother
...betrayal found in man's milk
Foundation is kicked away in one swift
motion; crushing the pathway of life
swaying with eyes wide open
Ego killed the delicate that day
a day of broken promises; dreams
forever became a lie, the lie truth
Delicate is still here in the shadows
swaying between trees in an eternal
dance in Sunday's dress
...waiting for the neck to fully break
Haunting Ego's chance~
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 7:34 PM UTC