"denies" poems
Yes, you're beautiful.
Yes, you're beautiful.
Even if the whole world denies it. Yes, you're beautiful.
Everyday, I remind myself.
And the cycle continues.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like recycling scar tissue you refuse to show
Like holding the words to a cookbook containing the recipe for disaster
Like the blood of an open wound placed by the whip of an unruly master
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like when you finally learn the meaning of you reap what you sow
Like a magnificent sand castle washed away by the sea
All the sand becomes one and denies the right to be free
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like the sting from the phrase I told you so
Like a deer caught in headlights frozen dead in it's tracks
Like gazing the stars if we could just climb the smoke stacks
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like excluding truth from what you think you know
Like playing life in a game of poker, and the *** is everything but cheap
Karma has the high hand, face up, read'em and weep
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like running through red lights because all you want is to go
Like a jack of all trades who can't fix his own heart
Like the tortoise that took off before the race even start
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like a hundred oars and no arms to row
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 8:31 AM UTC
Lies are lies
they deny you the truth.
Truth is truth
it denies you the lie.
when examined closely both are exactly the same.
They are interchangeable.
People that tell the "truth" to you are denying you lies.
How boring and dangerous and malevolent are people full of truth.
Choose your religious truth---
Christian truth.
Islamic truth.
Judaic truth.
Vedic Hindoo truth.
Buddist truth.
Capitalist truth.
Socialist truth.
Free market truth.
Managed market truth.
Monarchist truth.
Democratic truth.
Militarist truth.
Liberal truth.
Fascist truth.
People that tell lies to you are denying you truthfulness.
How boring and dangerous and malevolent are people full of lies.
Choose your lies.
Christian lies.
Islamic lies.
Judaic lies.
Vedic Hindoo lies.
Buddist lies.
Capitalist lies.
Socialist lies.
Free market lies.
Managed market lies.
Monarchist lies.
Democratic lies.
Militarist lies.
Liberal lies.
Fascist lies.
Truthfulness is neither truth nor lies.
It exists on its own.
Truthfulness is free of the Duality of Truth and Lies..
The individual Isness exists in the state of Separate and Merged with the Isness of the Universe.
Permanent Mindlessness is unconditional love--just ask any Dog or Cat.
The Mind separates us from the Isness of the Universe.
The Mind creates Duality which is governed by Conditional Love.
The individual Isness creates Unconditional Love(Consciousness) which is outside Duality.
Mind cannot create Unconditional Love.
The individual Isness cannot create Conditional Love.
If you have Mind/Conditioned Identity in your head you cannot love Unconditionally.
If you do not have Mind/Conditioned Identity then you can only love Unconditionally.
If you have Mind and Conditioned Identity you cannot be Merged with the Isness of the Universe.
If you are Mindless and Conditioned Identityless you are merged with the Isness of the Universe.
Conditional Love says I love you on Condition I can hate you.
Unconditional Love says I will never stop loving you but I may dissapprove of your actions but I will never hate you because I cannot hate..
Conditional Love is selective--it only applies to Family and Friends and fellow GroupMind members.
Unconditional Love is not selective--it applies to every living being--human or otherwise.
Unconditional Love does not see people as Friends and Enemies.
Unconditional Love sees people as individual Isness incarnated in bodies.
Humans are deceived by the Mind into believing that the Conditioned Identity is their true Identity and deceived by the Mind into believing that they should leave the running of their brains and therefore their lives to the Mind.
The individual Isness is a small but equal individual independent,
nameless,formless,genderless,autonomous portion of the Isness of the Universe that people controlled by Mind are taught to call a Soul.
The Soul is just another Mind created Conditioned Identity.
The Atman is just another Mind created Conditioned Identity.
The individual Isness is formed from a small but equal portion of the essence of the Isness of the Universe and incarnated in a Human Body of either Gender-_male or female of any skin colour.
www.beyondenlightenment.co.uk
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 1:24 AM UTC
Her shadow
Washed in sin, covered in blood
Oh, what a sad little dove
Festering secrets, slathered in shame
Purity poisoned, life to blame
Born unwanted, a mother denies
Behind the shadow of our eyes
His shadow
In dynamics
Of dysfunctional dismay
Lost in secret family shame
These emotional contacts delay
That we carry 'til the end of our days
Cast in stone, in foundation of lies
All these shadows behind our eyes
Her pain
Painful memories of long ago
Though, I know, I must let go
Triggers upon the aching scars
That burns within an injured heart
Full of fear, in the wake of lies
All behind the shadow of our eyes
His pain
An unending twitch
The fast fading smile
The ever bleeding heart
Of a broken lost child
Carrying stones up endless hills
All these issue we're forced to feel
And stuff them down, way down inside
Behind the shadow of our eyes
Her darkness
Hidden is a blacken variant
Attached with unbreakable sealant
Of life's destiny, from the gods
Concealed amid, evolved facades
A mind, compartmentalized
Behind the shadow of our eyes
His darkness
Desensitized to life, empathy left poor
Bottomless abyss where my spirit now soars
Love is a dream in my abandoned role
The pieces won't fit my wandering soul....
The window to a soul hides
Behind the Shadow of our Eyes
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 11:44 PM UTC
This little man that I know with money in his sockets and routine in his pockets has self proclaimed that he is a tight *** When I envision a *** such as this, I imagine a bundle -- of securely aggregated, perfectly sharpened number two pencils. The businessman just shy of adulthood and too tired to remember –even the beginning of his of disclosure, denied his struggle to acclimate a multifarious lifestyle, appropriately suggested in the form of a triangle, and a circle, both of which embody polar opposing adaptations of humanistic routine.
The two shapes: The circle, denies the break in motion by imposing a constant cycle of diligent compression, there is no room for pause only steady flow and relentless drive. This influence of life impression slows down the heart, body, and soul while speeding up time. This particular commitment accommodates the dry colorless beings that embrace and accept boxed imprisonment.
Traditionally, the triangle denotes rhythmic patterns that elevate and drop to a point in which imposes a healthy reflective pause: progression, reflection, balance. As stated, as a provincial approach, a regular triangle flat on its base, peaking at the top represents a healthy, solid life routine. In contrast, the triangle can be flipped upside-down introducing an entirely new dynamic, composed of flat-lined monotony, tapered off to a regressed realm of destruction, regret and disorder. Despite the uniqueness of the standard triangle model to the man in question, it is important to compare the negative reflection, for it applies to the entirety of this investigation.
We used to be lovers, he and I. We shared my giant pillow-top that I bought on the black market for a meager two-hundred fifty. -- A mere steal at that rate.
We occasionally exchanged ideas, mainly about ethical concerns related to globalization and the environment.
I attempted to give him a cooking lesson once, but that failed, indefinitely. The bust was not my doing, but simply, a great disinterest on his part; or better yet an inability of not being better than me at something.
Everything has gotten so crowded.
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 1:17 AM UTC
I apologize for my thoughts and my actions
But you must understand that I am what they call a man.
And no matter how perfect any woman thinks iam,
I might as well be nonexistent.
For women are the most alluring, sinful ,angelic animals on earth.
I am simply bewitched by your existence.
I can not resist directing an ****** daydream,
Every seven minuets.
The being of your facts,
Makes me want to fall to my death beneath your feet
Something about those hills
That makes my teeth want to sink into my lips.
That voice makes me want to do one thing:
Hear it moaning.
No matter how hard I attempt to be an angel,
My devil enduringly conquers.
We refuse to admit that a
woman is stronger than a man.
We could easily succeed
in having a human being develop
Inside of us and painfully ****** it out of a diminutive hole
Nine physically and emotionally draining months later.
“We could probably do it better than you can.”
We just act ignorant and
Heedlessly assume what is logical;
However, in the reaction center,
that every man denies,
lives the manifest verity that:
Women.
Are.
Stronger.
To be born into a stormy emotional spectrum
With color and darkness
Alone shelters the truth for you.
Fact: A man does use his small head much more often then
His actual head, simply, because men don’t know how to use it.
How convenient it is to be born with two heads.
let its roots anchor into your minds and consume your conscious.
-Arizona
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:42 AM UTC
The sun breathing deep,penetrating
my lovely clouds ,his horses
Running high and with pride
taking joy at my wanning mood
My skin denies the clothes over it
Rejecting the sweltering walls
Adding me with more sweat
Was there any worse day?
Inside my temporal erupts atomic
volcanoes fueled with solar fission
My legs hang over walls of ponds
How lucky are the frogs under mud
With involuntary scratches on my hair
I look around for my baby clouds
The only drops that gather is my own
As I patiently wait for wind
to drop some leaves
Patience might be the only virtue
against the dry spell of the sun
in the middle of monsoon
That seem to burst prior clouds
Trees hang their branches patiently
Crows crowing, now tired of thirst
Not a single ant comes on my way
The ever growling dog sits irritated
but quietly against the fly
I can tell of every thoughts around
But who is there to answer
Will this day come to end
or shall the world end for it
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
9.7k
Briskly walking with his head *****
Money and treasure, he aims to get
He is in a stampede, chasing wealth
Acute shortage of ‘humility and gratitude’
Compels him to slaughter a multitude
The desire for more than enough
It has crystallized and made his heart tough
Oblivious about ‘humility and gratitude’
Man agrees to squash the destitute
Unaware, that he may face the same fate
Even then he piles up his plate
When would he be humble and grateful?
For the things which make his life blissful…
Even while swallowing all that is unlawful
He persistently denies being shameful
His conscience reminds him of ‘humility and gratitude’
But he refuses to change his haughty attitude
Let me remind you that life is temporary
Nothing in this world remains stationary
Just like dust your stay is transitory
These two traits, ‘humility and gratitude’
Can help you to acquire beatitude
Don’t forget your final abode
Where good deeds won’t be sold
Remember, the fables of the brave and the bold
All of them possessed ‘humility and gratitude’
From all this, you may conclude
It is the purity of our intentions
What Creator expects from his creation
Everything else is mere illusion
Being a human, demands ‘humility and gratitude’
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 7:27 AM UTC
A Man who believes
In word of affirmation,
To love and cherish a woman
Entice with his natural charms
To court a real woman,never
Mistreat her with his immature
Mistakes
A Real Man,A nor womanizer
Who impregnates bunch of girls
To use his babies,as a trophy
For the glory as of a stolen
Diamond to his gang.
A Lad who spread legs
Of a Lady for dump victory
To find gold.
But,He who takes responsibilities
When they occurs and never denies,is a man.
Who share a burden of his brokenheart
Angel and embrace,
Is whom who wakes up early,
Say a prayer and hustle to care
For his family,and never backs down.
Vanquish life with vasted hopes.
A Man who knows Man's presence
To a Woman's heart...
...He is The True Essence Of A Real Man
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 6:55 AM UTC
Laid here counting roof tiles...
two at a time
my eyes heavy
but my lids in denial
of sleep
she whispers in my ear
are you awake
then adds
good
with a grin
WHY NOT abandon one basic need
for another
why not rest
upon anothers flesh
soft and warm
scented with the promise
of dreams
insomnia so cruely denies
Pillow pressed beneath her back
giving support
so sorely needed
amid the punctuated night time prayers
God called upon in blasphemous tongues
praised and cussed
in unison of mouths wet and open
Sheets that offer no warmth soon cast off
replaced by heat of breath
and perspiration sweet and salty
to the lips
kissing
nibbling
biting
nails find no fault inscribing thank yous
in reddened ink
Falling back exhausted yet wide awake
as by my side
cuddled in she sleeps
smiling
and I close my eyes and think myself blessed
for every night the first
for we two
have yet to sleep
together.
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 10:12 PM UTC
the earth shook the neighbors again today
but truly, i can't say that i felt it.
yours is the only one that still hits me.
your earthquake spirals through my veins
interrupting the day, awakening me by the night
i await the tremors with anxiety and need
disrupting intellectual thought, curving daily motion.
absence of your presence denies me
everything, yes, everything.
grasp ahold of me, my love, and shake me
shake me from the depths of this nightmare
return, return and make this right
troubled mind shrouded by memories
that which flow to my very core
this dark red heart beats for you
my courageous veins are your love's roots
weaving through flesh and blood
daring to grow more and more sturdy
your earthquake scares me, my love
for i cannot control it.
your memories will not crumble with the earth
shaking and trembling, i'll stand my ground
holy is your image, voice, and touch
hot is the molten passion, coursing through my young heart
rupturing from the only place that i know
your earthquake, my love, determines so much
faulty is the mind and brave is the heart
crazed intuition lurking from daily interruptions
my love, continue to shake my world
for i know you are still there
my love, continue to shake my world
for i know nothing else
if a day pass where i cannot feel that vividness
all will be forgotten. all will be dead.
my love, i beg of you---
send me that earthquake today.
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 1:10 AM UTC
I can cry;
the glorious moon cheats
the dazzling sun wanes
the cloudy sky smirks
the pudgy earth refrains
I can cry;
the man in the sidewalk eats
the woman in bus denies
the children on the playground smell
the puppy on the stairway bites
I can cry;
the riddles in the book defy
the maze and mouse are a lie
the gun for a bullet doesn’t shoot
the whistle in my palm doesn’t hoot.
I can cry;
the thoughts in my head lead astray
the senses of my body can delay
the questions I answered gave away
the answers I’ve forgotten are a mistake.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 11:20 AM UTC
Morning Rainbow
Myriad prismatic crystals,
refract the morning sun-streams -
painting layers of spectral arches
across the misted horizon.
Eyes turned to the western skies,
we suspend our meteorological selves
acquiescing to miracles unveiled before us -
un-beckoned and scarcely earned,
proffering thanks for the radiant epistle
of healing, hope and promise,
artfully encoded in transfigured light.
Synthetic Refractions
A luminary ballet takes center stage
when synthetic refractors come to play:
crystal pendants bathe our foyers
with dazzling swaths of color.
Hazy coronas encircle streetlamps
discovered by headlights through the fog.
A science class prism slices light rays
into pre-ordered spectral strata.
If the sky denies us a rainbow,
we can always fashion one of our own
and we do!
Spectral Sound
Before there was music,
bird songs brushed our souls
and the murmur of woodland streams
held us captive by their banks.
Soon we learned to sing and tint the air
With prisms of wood and wire and metal
and to color soundscapes in our spirits
With songs of wonder, joy and longing.
Before there was music,
bird songs brushed our souls.
Robert Charles Howard, 2019
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 1:14 PM UTC
421
A Charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld—
The Lady dare not lift her Veil
For fear it be dispelled—
But peers beyond her mesh—
And wishes—and denies—
Lest Interview—annul a want
That Image—satisfies—
4.9k
the child of the child of my woman,
cries in the night,
rooming next door,
down the hall
and
he is
all children that cry in the night,
but he is
more mine
by right of quantity
numerous are the kisses lavished,
this biannual visit upon,
his four year old
oversized head,
(so full of 'bains')
his undersized,
protuberanced belly body,
a combo making him
no longer baby,
nor a grownup,
both states,
he denies accurately,
maturely in a wobbly voice
of utter certainty,
but lacking the adjectives
of what lies between,
he debates his state thoughtfully,
until distracted by other
more pressing matters of state
he is boy, little but vociferous,
quiet, pensive, his head a weapon
of...confusion and certainty that
being four years old,
he must perforce be
permanently
in skeptical awe of the world
this is the best position ever,
he has ascertained,
to filter and behold anything,
whatever newness arrives,
which is constant,
streaming and unending
until new is
fully digested, analyzed, and classified,
as if he were
a zoologist in
a wild and untamed land
only certain of what he knows
with perfect certainty,
he consults with me still,
"you kidding?"
such a sophisticated analytic interrogatory,
wise in the ways of grownups,
who, prone to deceive gleefully
his very
suspecting mind,
so much so,
they must be challenged and
rebuffed all too frequently
he cries in the night,
normal tears of discomfort,
physical or mental,
I cannot tell,
for his father
his parental hearing
more practiced, refined,
has preceded me,
such,
as it should be,
and I am dispatched back
to my 3:00am bed,
left only to ink
contemplative ruminations
on the state and nation
of being four...
and sixty,
and still uncertain, even more
than the little boy
of wizened age of annualized four,
the child of the child of my woman,
on
what is real, what is kidding,
in a quest unending
to better ascertain,
the state of my own being
and the transitory nature of
everything
all of what is thought certain,
falls aside,
under the withering,
unwavering,
critique of
"you kidding?"
and in this we are
more kin
than if our blood was
physically shared
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 4:24 AM UTC
MY dear, my dear, I know
More than another
What makes your heart beat so;
Not even your own mother
Can know it as I know,
Who broke my heart for her
When the wild thought,
That she denies
And has forgot,
Set all her blood astir
And glittered in her eyes.
4.5k
What a misfortune, although you are made
for fine and great works
this unjust fate of yours always
denies you encouragement and success;
that base customs should block you;
and pettiness and indifference.
And how terrible the day when you yield
(the day when you give up and yield),
and you leave on foot for Susa,
and you go to the monarch Artaxerxes
who favorably places you in his court,
and offers you satrapies and the like.
And you accept them with despair
these things that you do not want.
Your soul seeks other things, weeps for other things;
the praise of the public and the Sophists,
the hard-won and inestimable Well Done;
the Agora, the Theater, and the Laurels.
How can Artaxerxes give you these,
where will you find these in a satrapy;
and what life can you live without these.
4.5k
brain is lonely
wanting to just burst out of its shell
and show the world its potential
brain is scared
what if world denies brains offer
because brain is so confidential
brain wants peace
inside its world wars never end
and words are as powerful as bombs
brain is now numb
all the explosions dull the physical pain
yet brain has forgotten how to feel calm
brain is a convincing actor
always knowing how to play its part
in every passing situation
brain does not like acting
instead brain wants to be fluffy cotton ball
not moist squishy thought deformation
brain wants sleep
to be able to shut off at appropriate times
and have enough energy to even try
brain is sad
never getting enough of anything
and sometimes brain considers to die
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
Winters can be tedious.
Sun dips into early dusk.
A dead fire refuses to ignite.
There's a quick repetition
of opening and closing blinds
over a barred window.
In need of reflection
I search a familiar face
in an unfamiliar landscape.
I have her in my grasp,
half illusion, half real,
a symbolic mask denies
her true face,
her glittering crown
divides us by its radiance.
Groping in darkness,
I stumble over objects
of wood and stone,
my unsteady tread tripping
over their contours.
I light a candle.
Bathed in amber light,
our shadows merge.
A new door opens,
stretching the perspective.
No formal borders here,
they wouldn't survive
the present climate.
In their place,
intricately carved
figureheads and totems-
a vision of the past.
My eye is a camera,
retinas branded with imagery
for the photographer's delight-
coloured pebbles, carved wooden animals,
tin cans, bones.....
....A Glass Sentinel
(though she isn't visible)
I can see right through her-
a vision of smokescreens
and subterfuge.
Past stumps of driftwood,
past the uncut grass,
a few flowers...
...to the fabricated backdrop
of a burning house, black smoke
rising
in
a
thin
stream.
At the open door -
The Guardian,
(I know her inside out)
unmoved,
(she didn't bat an eye)
defiant in a new skin,
a softer version-
The Mother protecting her children,
arms splayed, prepared
for fight or flight.
A russet flame
Licking her spine exhales
'Get out of my way!'
but she wasn't listening.
Smile fixed,
eyes of a phoenix,
a lion,
a raptor,
protector.
We all need feeding,
but not this way!
Throw me a cloth,
a napkin,
a man-size tissue
a lifeline!
She wanted this,
no, wished it-
this symbolism,
this burning of ironic portraits,
to clear the deck,
make way for new.
It shook the house,
its fate sealed behind closed doors.
I compose myself,
pull her back from the perilous edge,
gather her in my arms.
Fragments of shattered words
flutter in the ether.
What is real?
What is fiction?
A carbon copy of thousands?
A charred corner?
A forgotten candle?
WARNING:
'Eating fire' is a risky business
but can attract a large audience.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
There Is But One Law (The Dancer's Coda)
There is but one set of laws,
One that need be obeyed,
One that brooks no heresy,
One that gives no absolution.
One that needs no priests, no canons,
One that that refuses disobedience.
We all bend knee at altar invisible,
Though feasance never requested.
The Laws of Physics.
A body at rest, a body in motion.
Laws immutable, unconditional,
Equations, proofs, demonstrable,
Inequalities inexcusable, banished.
Dancer says:
I am heretic, even these laws I refuse.
My body denies limitations,
My mind believes I will make do
What it could not, but yesterday.
Defiance from wire to wire is the
Fuel in my veins, fear but a detail,
Leaping from from ten meters more,
My Declaration of Independence.
My body plastic, my mind ethereal,
Some mock, call it trickery,
Some hail, call me hero.
There are forces greater than mine,
Forces irrevocable, mathematically superior.
Each day my force grows as well,
Visions imagined supersede the
Tedium of definitions, of boundary lines.
Bend the law, conquer the null, fill the void.
Each day sketch, devise, organize a
New rebellion, follow only one command,
Honor but a single battle cry.
Leap, then fall!
That dancer, your only law,
That heretic, thine only coda.
Action is freedom.
For you are dancer,
Whisper as you leap:
The Fifth Freedom I possess,
The Freedom to Fall.
May 17th, 2013
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
This morning,
I walked with god and man, and animal
I've come to believe,
no other possibility,
He denies me sleep
as His insurance policy
some One wants to be sure,
someone sees His sunrise poem,
He selected this ancien regi-man
to be His admiring audience,
with deer, squirrels, rabbits, a red fox, an osprey
always complaining, why do they get
the cheap seats
so up at five,
no jive,
gotta get there early,
for a good seat,
on the dock by his name
watch the color blue transgender
from feminine elegy elegant pale
to peacock royal male,
the water,
a contributing editor,
phases in with a steely grin,
with ermine whitecap hints
and an orange marmalade sky homage,
I cannot try to describe
and here is where man comes in...
as the tableau reveals a still life
come to be,
a painting enlivened,
come to me free,
bursting with
effervescence and
animal life tribunes,
paying on...
strange...
my Pandora app
back to back,
plays for me
Gershwin's Rhapsody In Blue,
hard upon it comes
Saint-Saëns's
The Carnival of the Animals
and I
enfeebled amateur,
needy for a
word titan Titian,
can think only
this trite thought:
*I know not who is the
instrument and who
is the
artist,
but virtuous us,
We, all, now-capital-buddies,
now, all, well-color-capitalized,
god and man and animal,
crooning a chorus of appreciation
let this "accidental" miracle,
this collaboration,
enthuse me,
to live happily
with anticipation
for just one more day...*
June 2014
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
When did my feelings get so deep
Why did they take that big long leap
Going from friend to crush
What a rush
And I don't think she knows
Since when did her smile make me go weak
Since when did her tears make mine start to leak
Why does this happen when I'm always so strong
When people called me Superman I guess they were wrong
And I don't think she knows
When she talks I cant help but watch her lips
To notice their shape and curves when they dip
Wait, why am I looking? I don't even know
And I cant help but wonder if she even knows
Her beautiful eyes are nothing like ours
They're so deep and bright you'd believe they were stars
They pour forth emotions in raging rivers
They could make even me believe that Santa always delivers
And still she has no idea
Her body is perfection though she denies it
It makes my head spin with every glance I give
She could put any man under her spell
But she doesn't know how I feel and I don't think I'll tell
I love how she looks and who she is
And how she makes me feel like this
I love how she's beautiful and smart with a heart so strong
And how she lives every day like nothing could go wrong
Still she hasn't got a clue
Now school is at an end on the 11th at noon
I wonder if she cares that I'm moving soon
We're parting that day after schools many months
I just wish I could have kissed her just once
Now that I've said it with my poetic skill
I don't think she knew, and now she never will
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
I can no longer disguise
Contempt in my eyes
The lows and the highs
It is you I despise
Heart no longer complies
While your heart denies
It’s me you chastise
Deceitful demise
There’s no compromise
I agonize
While you apologize
But my love I surmise
It’s fossilized
And I've normalized
What you’ve minimized
Gone are my cries
I’m numb from your lies
Like this I will die
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 9:35 PM UTC