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Jawad Mar 2019
I was not here
You never saw me
We never spoke
You never told me in spring
That you don’t

I am alone
This never happened
I never did this
I can’t give
What I don’t own

I never will be there
Maybe you will
But I shall not
And I don’t care
People who don’t want to admit
Kayla Hofmeyr Jul 2015
Him
I could see it in his eyes
His golden heart was in disguise
He was different from the rest
Lonesome and depressed

But I could make him smile!
And suddenly my heart was in denail
We fell in love, and we fell out of love
But oh boy, we fell

They say the first love is the sweetest
But Baby, the first cut is the deepest
His voice was broken
And his wounds were open

I had to say goodbye
For this, didn't just make me cry
He gave me a new perspective
Even though he was deceptive

This baggage wasn't his
For this boy, had so much more to give
The silence was deafening
Unbearable

I will help him carry his baggage
As he had carried mine
I'm not leaving this innocent boy
Not this time.
Sedina Durmic Jan 2012
you dont gotta deny it,
i can see that the way you talk to me,
the way you look at me, the way you smile and how you read all my stuff,
that your love for me is more then alive,
you try to hide it but everything you do lets me know,
i know that glow in your eyes,
im your special one,
that love hasn't died yet because while you still missing me
and thinking of me your still loving me...
your denail is your cover-up
Domford Aug 2018
DENAIL IN SUCH A MAGNITUDE FORMS A BODY
A BODY OF WATER
AN OCEAN
A PRESSURE
SO CALM, YET IT HAS THE POWER TO CRUSH YOU ALIVE
A PRESSURE
SO REAL THAT IT CONSUMES YOUR MIND
ALL CONTRADICTIONS HAVE A DEEPER MEANING
THINK ABOUT IT
A GIRL THAT IS SCREAING AT YOU
WITH OUT EVEN SAYING A WORD
AN ODORLESS FIELD
THAT HAS THE STRONGEST SCENT
A BLINDNESS
THAT WITNESSES THE MOST VIVID COLORS
WHAT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU DENY
REVERTING YOUR EYES FROM SANITY
WANTING SO BADLY TO BE IN A PERFECT WORLD
THAT YOU TRAP YOUR OWN SELF WITH IN THE IRRATINOALITY OF YOUR IMAGINATION
THE MORE KNOWLEDGE YOU GAIN THE MORE IGNORANT YOU BECOME
FOR KNOWLEDGE IS POWERLESS
WITHOUT THE ACEPTANCE OF TURTH
YOU TRY TO EXPERIENCE THE WARMTH OF JOY WITH A COLD HEART
EXPECTING TO GIVE LOVE IN RETURN FOR MONEY OR WORK
AND EVENTUALLY
YOU FIND YOUR BODY MOVING ON ITS OWN
IT MAKES A LEAP
LEAD ON BY DEPAIR
EXPOSING YOU TO THE CRUSHING SEA OF DENIAL.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2020
in that there's an insufferable
immediacy of the heart...
whereby: a mind...
   and some "unbearable lightness"
      of ontology
is of little of no concern...
or that there's poetry like
there's carpentry...
         that there's the chinese
school...
              and people in the west:
who like fudge-packaging
narratives... the drama brigade...
etc.
  therefore no revision
therefore no "re-working"...
just what's writing:
not what's being written...
beside the heart having
nuances and labyrinths
for blind people...
       or the 5:1 ratio with an elephant...

it's so imperfect: but in that...
there's no reason to return to...
what's otherwise something akin
to ******* against the wind....

for a loss in enthusiasm...
for there to be no: and noah
praying for the whittle bits
of "excess" rain...

                 all the walls with
enough braile to catch cue
of the forgotten nose tip
with the two boggled tow
"oopsies" brigade...

                 there's a scenario
where an umbrella is to be used...
it either rains...
or it shines pwetty nostalgic...
and that's the end of
any proto-
                    "desires"...

          there's always then
that grand cispher in lingo...
that's like some smart-*** h'america
making comparison to
a mcdonald's on a dead-end
"concept" of a sunday evening
like he or she is
gesticulating with
bloom authority with and ottoman
               vizier...

it's just not that impossible...
if english: beside the people...
and if there was...
a "diaspora"...
   i see diaspora as pockets...
quantum and eventualities...

      but the conundrum
of entire continents?!
  
   my mother says: i'm still surprised
you haven't emigrated from
england...
i.e. to... where?
the fridge, the moon...
the loitering broom and "windy"?

england is somehow the old worst
where h'america is the best new?
or australia?
    even if... to seek...
the economic... furthered...
futility...
   "it can only get better"...
             that truly depends on...
what's the expectation surrounding...
a... "betterment"...

i see a vision!
         a cul de sac with an extensive
-esque dealings with Horace...
       i also see... a lawn of envy...
i see a tree...
it doesn't matter that tree i see...
but a wundersehen...
   i see a shadow...
         a tilt of frowning...
  somewhere where i can become:
inconveniently my best: disposed...

where i can find... english arrogance...
that's too lazy to become militant...
chameleon myself into a tidy
nugget of a mathematical puzzle
within how: shoelaces are...
bilingually mingling...

             a borrowed echo for a footstep
toward the ambition
of a mangling endeavour...
effortless words...

                perhaps "english" and perhaps
"arrogance"... but always the best...
in that... i will never visit
the maldives...
  nor will i have myself fitted to
a tailoring on savile row...
          second skin: tattoos...
maldives...
                  it's becoming too exhausting
to breathe with expectations...
there's no nuance there's
this old borrowed "saying"...
             stereo-typical... attempts...
focus bleeding.

the toothache conquered the lion...
the unicorn...
    the unicorn...
                   me and the youth
of elsewhere...
                      in the continental share
of the anglo-"diaspora"...
       best i weave myself with
some spanish...
   and end the expectations
of my mother's whims
on the crease that denotes
a geography akin to:                 Peru...

as i... will... beside the invested ambitions...
otherwise tow to tilt
the clepsydra of: peruse:
the odd braille... and the...
looking for vowels in 'ebrew.
Anson Thomas Sep 2015
Photographs, they sing as the mellow songbirds
They speak as puppets,
Telling me only what I wish to hear
And what do I desire?
There's still a cloud over me,
While my hopes jump high
It is her photograph I can only smile at.

Who knew my fate?
Gods? Angels? Science?
The Heart, a scoundrel of renown,
He laughs at me,
When I smile at her photograph!

There lies a sadness sweet as honey
It hurts but still I am not afraid of her denail.
For I have loved her and she will Iive on
And her beauty will stay alive for years!
What worth is a picture of stillness?
When the lover has words and music!
When he has her smile and shy nods,
And that's an approval enough....
Songs about Alii #9
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
what a parting sea spectated
                                  with: but one word...

            the teutonic ascription
compared to:
          a sword that fits through
a mold of an needle (double) -

or is that: the dull monstrosity
of an unfolded umbrella?

  whichever...

       trailing back with an english
son to the german father:
  plenty of S to Z and Z to S
interchanges: believe me...

     one word: just one word
of "concern"...

           disease...
    dißease...

               ah, but there are two
variant emphasis structures,
      hence the need to deconstruct them
with what the germans might
call: "chinese" optics -

         you bundle a few words together,
but actually can't
            pronounce them when
someone else does a similis,
   e.g. grzegorz brzęczyszczykiewicz -
    gregory buzzingfangpeakfeat
  outliers of the word, dissected:
                     szczy(t) - peak
                           kie(ł) - fank
                     w(i/y)cz(yn) - feat...
i.e. greg buzzed like a fly at ease
   attempting the feat of "climbing"
   fang-peak...
          but there is no technicality
to go over:
             digression hasn't really earned
its place as worth scholarly interpretation:
unlike rhetoric that morphed into
oration...
      it's borrowed from a cult film
that you should go and see:
      how i unfolded the second world war...
by a single rifle shot nearing Danzig...

      how am i to be both poet and surgeon?
you know that there are "doctors"
    who are merely clerks and there
are "butchers" that are also the misters
as surgeons?
           yeah, a clerk can be a dr.
   but a surgeon is a mr.,
                petition for surgeons to
receive christmas cards with a dr. adam smith
(generic address)...

   as you might observe: i'm not trying
to be smart: it's just ******* complicated
in general...

      english as shrapnel in comparison
  to german:

                  dis-ease, as i once explained:
a negation of ease...
               but when you say it
          disease: well: that's worth steering
away from...
       but there are twin emphasis routes
to say that one, but one word...

            if you only know that there is
a latin prefix attached to what could have
been ease: but never really bloomed
into a retirement plan...

                          well...
      the snapping Z in the first tier emphasis
of: and i hope that awaits you too...
   or the curved S of a universal:
   it could meet you to -
   a dis-                                     +ease
             magnets:
                         magnets:
       how could i write it as
         dis-                        -ease
          and: surprise surprise:
                         the words didn't attract
a compound?
                    
     any man would have given up on
language at this point: **** it, let's splash
some colour on a blank and call it a: Kandinsky...

            jaw bone to the elephant tusk
   comparison:
     i've learned that brushing my teeth once
a day, with a minimal amount of toothpaste
makes me wish my dentist was death -
as i already proved: post wake after my
great-grandmother's funeral:
      grinding my teeth to the point where
i chipped a bit of my lower central incisor:
  because i cry when animals die
  and i do the following when a human
dies.

             i also have a cheap tattoo:
   a scar from having a port-wine stain that
hosted the flesh on top of my shoulder-blade
removed...

      and i'm a writer of fiction in my delusion
of actually having inconsistency
   believing the only belief remaining:
   (it's) worth digressing;

but if you had to attach yourself to having
spotted an emphasis with only a single word?
you too would have been
   a(n) edinburgh university chemistry
student: once upon a time...

           (n): is that optional?
   i mean: is there a arm, or is that: an arm?
             magnets:
        how can you have two vowels attract
  and also have two consonants attract
   when: in relation to the stated difference:
  there ought not be a: oo -
                           or how you say: oh -
                 whenever you ooh?
  glee gloat glue...
                          but there is no worthwhile
critique of Kandinsky:
                    splash of colour: **** here,
**** there, a slight at geometry and: boom!
  hey presto let's build an art gallery.

         (i forgot the goat)...

                     because after you don't really
get that much "attention":
   you get to do the ******* like -
   unlike a respectable pardoner of Kraszewski...
                                            (kra-sh­ae-w-ski) -

you know what i really want?
    for a linguist to be given the primitive tools
of language back: and explain
   what's /ɡəʊt/ -
                 apparently it's a thing with
horns, a goatee: and possibly a milk sack...
hairy... lives in mountains:
  or if "domesticated" can survive on
paper: in the form of public posters...

      and to think grass could equal cow...
    or grass = horse...
                 i really don't need to be
a scientist to say: wow!

                       and the masculine in
a poetic format is, what?
        probably something alongside this -
speech, perfection!
        
     it's still going to be a variation when
you don't acknowledge that
             disease is not akin to a pathogen:
a hostile body, a virus, a life from Mars,
when in fact it's just the minus
   aking to: dis-ease:
    a denial of ease better represented by
those atop sky-scrapers: those without
the denail of... whatever even they know
of ease.

      well... all i can say is that
                                i saved an Amazonian
tree just by doing that...
     a lot do about nothing:
            and absolutely nothing to do with a lot.
Jasmine dryer Sep 2018
"your pretty much nothing"
well that wasn't very nice
"i'm not here to be nice i'm here to do my job"
and that is?
"telling you what your doing wrong"

and i can't be mad that my conscience is doing its job
and maybe i need to do a better job of doing mine
but its hard
i'm in a constant state of being frozen
my head is frozen
but my bodies animated
trying to distract you

and as much as i try
these dark thoughts won't leave
and ive considered
pushing my wardrobe to long sleeves

but this cant be
i've always been happy
denail
i've always made others happy
i wish i could just make everyone happy
i'm doing great at my job
your failing at it
i'm failing at it

i can't even talk to people without my conscience
budding in
and maybe this is just a punishment
for all that i've so called "sinned"

but conscience please give me a break
i don't want today
to end up
my death date

— The End —