"depreciating" poems
In my heart, you are an asset
But in my mind, a liability
You are an entry I can't forget
That's slowly shaking my equity.
Loving you is an understatement
For a beauty's carrying value
And so I made an adjustment
Of the love that I must issue.
But your heart had a preference
For someone who's not me
Who can give you more dividends
Than a hopeful ordinary.
All my hope was expensed
For such unrecoverable loss
And the business I've commenced
Resulted in an opportunity cost.
And so you went depreciating
Ending this going concern
There's this pain accumulating
From a romance unearned.
Now I'm left here to close
All the journals I've made
Correct the errors I chose
For a love that I would trade.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 10:38 AM UTC
My body is the training ground for
All of the reject demons
My inner demons failed to qualify as the right sort of fight
To match with any worthwhile struggles so
My inner demons are over dramatic children
They do not wage wars
They throw tantrums
They stand inside my temples and pound the walls
When they do not get what they want
And shriek ringing into my ears until they turn blue
Then fall asleep when they get tired
Forgetting that they were supposed to be upset
My inner demons are pretentious
They call themselves demons
When they are more like imps
They tickle at anxiety with the nerve to call it an attack
And separate velcro and seams with the audacity to say that
They broke something
Then press on my heart
Daring to call it an ache
My inner demons are clumsy
They walk with their toes curling around my eyelashes
And slip and spill their handfuls of tears
At inopportune moments
As I tremble due to the ones
That have tripped and tangled themselves
In my heartstrings and vocal cords
Causing me to grasp my rib cage in desperate attempts to reach them
And tear apart the inconveniences
My inner demons are shy
They sway in my veins to the rhythmic pulse
With clawed hands outstretched to the blue walled sky
Cautious to never leave a scratch through my skin
They dance on nerve endings and muscle tissue
With footwork just gentle enough to not summon bruises
And hold themselves still against my capillaries
As if their presence might distract my blood from
Its daily circulation
My inner demons are hoarders
They over-stuff the filing cabinets in my brain
With reports and analysis of too many situations
And pick up old emotions and hide them in the recesses
Of each ventricle and aorta
Creating pseudo-space for newer, stranger, replicas
Then pack extra breaths into my lungs
Storing "just in case" inhalations and overused sighs
They insulate their homes with extra calories and extra clothes
Hiding until they can forget themselves
My inner demons are moody
They like to stitch up new wounds with the thorns of roses
And pry open old ones with feathers
They tie my tongue with pages of foreign textbooks
They tie my tongue in gauze and cotton
They tie my tongue with other tongues
And pins and needles and teeth and drawstrings
They are self depreciating and they know that they
Are not worthy of their title
My inner demons are pathetic
I suppose they're right where they belong
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
I hate looking at you.
You are so strikingly beautiful
And so viciously ugly
When I see you, you lock your eyes with mine and give me a devilish smile
You tilt your head forward
You’re trying too hard
I want to scream
**** you
Hurt you at the very least
Punch you right in your beautiful ugly face
I laugh to try to make you stop
But inside, I collapse.
Please, please stop looking at me.
You’re piercing right through my ugly, sexless body
Right into my nervous, teenage soul
You are so beyond me
I hate you for that.
I’ll always hate you for that
I know you feel superior to me
I know you use me
I know you take comfort in my cynical, society depreciating, feminist convictions
My mumbling garbage of sadness
I know you think I’m smart
but at the same time pathetic
I know that you want me
Because you think you can have everything
I know you need me
Like you need anyone
Because you can’t stand to be alone.
Yes, I know you can’t stand to be alone.
Your wretched body that you toss around like an object
All in a vain attempt to be wanted
But you still end up alone.
You aren’t what you think you are
What you want to be
So don’t you look down on me like that
With your practiced sultriness
I say all these things in my laugh
But you’re oblivious
You look away smiling
Like you’ve won something
I collapse inside
I want to crumple
I’m too tired for violence
Too sad
So I just sit on your couch
Perturbed by the silence
Even when I hate you most
I’m afraid of what you imagine of me in the silence.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 9:08 PM UTC
the regret, that depreciating voice in your head
that chastises you, calls you stupid, a coward
and you look back and agree with it
ignoring that hindsight is always 20/20
and i know the one you're with now provides you with all that you ever needed
possibly more than i could ever have
but that doesnt make it feel any better
as incredibly selfish as it is to feel one should "belong" to another
and as much as such a bond could destroy a beautiful friendship such as ours
despite fantasizing "stealing" you away
as if you were an object
as much as the guilt of that very thought
weighs down my spirit everytime you cross my mind
the temptation to bear my soul to you gets greater each time
it hurts
deeply
and i cant help but wonder, what if
and now i hate myself for it
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 1:33 AM UTC
Clearly observing the wicked danger lurking within you…
What a paradox to witness a change of benevolence ridiculed by your truth.
If only you understood what it takes to genuinely smile,
You could move mountains across those magnificent cerulean skies.
Even after our unpleasant confrontations, so cruel and wry.
You deliberately chose to dance around to a distinctive rhyme.
Using your words of trickery, resembling a serpent hissing fear.
You untiringly strived to strike fatal arrows through an artificial crack on my fortified shield.
I gave you only one chance to earn my professional trust.
Then you destroyed it with mendacities absconding from your Machiavellian filthy mouth.
Candidly, after foreseeing your vile pestilence emerging from within.
I erupted in an outburst of laughter to have ever believed in your skin of sin.
Beware, you have revealed an irrevocable glitch that is deceitfully sly.
It portrays tyranny and narrow mindedness, depreciating with every malicious try.
Running cunningly through your veins oozing massive animosity in disguise.
Have you not scrutinized the gruesome language intensely stimulated from your heinously gazing eyes?
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
we are young gods,
daughters and sons of a generation
who gave up on love a universe ago,
but we do our best to experience it-
we sell it in bottles of pop culture and rabid obsessions;
turn it into a conglomeration that profiteers on excess,
a chaos of depression, anxiety, dark self-depreciating wit-
and become artists who lament on first-world tragedies.
we are young gods,
we scoff at religion and we bathe in unholiness,
sin is the new in, black is your best act, and we love it;
we wear our indifference like an armour,
because we fear what we'll see if we're allowed
to understand our emotions and display our vulnerability.
we are young gods,
happy ever after is a joke and true love even more so,
we inhale criticism and exhale cynicism,
because the titans before us acknowledge that the world is cruel
but we embrace it- we drape ourselves in abject and misery,
stitch and mould uncaring faces onto our flesh that gaze upon
the heartbroken jagged shards of ourselves, bleeding guts and glory
embedded all over the cement patch wood floors, amongst the whisky and wine.
we are the young gods;
a mass of degenerates with our entitlement and liberals,
a numbing, sweet hollow feeling that we substitute
for the lack of love and care that we've grown used to;
a realism that carves like a knife at tender ages and
we wear our sadness like a charm- aesthetics to be envied;
we're self-destructive, faithless, pointless,
burning in our question for the meaning of existence
and the only religion we'll ever bow down to
is ourselves.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 5:13 AM UTC
The beauty of life isn't captured in files nor profiles.
It's in a blink or a thought of a distant place.
It lies in emotions that reminice of a time not yet spent.
It is a few seconds in a multiple uncaptured frames.
It lies in the ignored existence of composure.
It influences the untapped recognitions of appreciation.
The beauty of life is not about me showing or telling.
It's only about a few thoughts that inspire ambitions.
A few dreams that elevate fantasies.
The beauty of life is about me in a second painting a picture of elegant brush strokes,
the motion of the eye that composes a visual symphony,
it is an organised cluster of sounds that co-ordinates the performances of all other senses.
It is about leaving open a beat of the heart, only to fill it with the energies of the living.
The beauty of life isn't about searching for joy,
but learning from memories of both depression and tranquility.
It is about the heart losing weight,
the smile gaining width and height.
The beauty of life is about the value of sorrow depreciating.
For me it's about ploughing joy from seeds of madness,
or overturning a frown into a thing of beauty.
It's about dreams that don't need me to sleep and nightmares that have no back up files.
The beauty of life...
As much as I try to define it,
the statements always have a questionmark at the end.
So forever I search, for the beauty of life...
Jul 14, 2011
Jul 14, 2011 at 8:19 AM UTC
Everyone wants a piece of you though
And you don't even know
Self-depreciating like you're not worth it
Though the leash you've got on Earth's a perfect fit.
No, they don't crowd you
You don't have millions at your heels
Because they've learned respect
(Or they're afraid, if they touch, you won't be real)
Everybody wants you
Every single soul
Everyone, I swear
And you don't even know.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
Does shiny hair really matter? Or painted nails?
Or glittering eyes? Or soft, soft skin?
Yes. For the initial rush, they have no match.
Undoubtedly we are familiar with the captivation, the dance.
The trouble is, there are only so many ephemeral rushes.
Until they become tired. No, not from the busy nights.
But then the freshness oozes forth and gushes like a river
The freshness, the capacity each has
to be a relief,
to sooth,
to put at peace.
There is nothing like it.
A college freshman, realizing what it all means.
It is a means to an appreciation. Yes, definitely from the busy nights.
The nights filled with getting to know someone
in the un-Biblical sense.
There is nothing quite like the yearning, the hunger.
The lust for understanding.
And let me tell you, there will be tiny lingering questions.
But they are not as important as the perpetual question:
How much did you love?
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
Considering me a talented, aspiring shill
My muse loaned me a feathery quill
Brokering her wisdom, leasing her skill
With embroidered frills each barb with beauty did distill
Lithographer's vision, a graceful dividend to reveal
Depreciating vane my artistic license to bill
Hollow shaft gilded so her availing light could the vacuum fill
Inky reservoir with inspiration did instill
A deep well with literary devices did rill
Ideas streaming from strained cavity to the mind's tip with zeal
Burnished hues, sharp tones aesthetic notions to congeal
A precision valve appended vagaries to swill
An automated inkblot defibrillating patterns to spill
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 11:28 AM UTC
I'm afraid to think
I am only moments from a time,
where the luster in your eyes and
the tilt on your smile
are confined to the degrading
depreciating nature of my mind.
I want to remember you in
all your brilliance,
in all your defiance
in your broken
ragged resilience
I have spent a life time
fallowing
lost notions
misconceptions at the notion that
morality doesn’t come in color,
you are the brightest quilt,
the most colorful humor,
you are a humid summer,
you lovely woman
my father’s mother.
I will hold you tenderly in
my wilting memories.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:18 PM UTC
Considering me a talented, aspiring shill
My muse loaned me a feathery quill
Brokering her wisdom, leasing her skill
With embroidered frills each barb with beauty did distill
Lithographer's vision, a graceful dividend to reveal
Depreciating vane my artistic license to bill
Hollow shaft gilded so her availing light can the vacuum fill
Inky reservoir with inspiration did instill
A deep well with literary devices did rill
Ideas streaming from strained cavity to the mind's tip with zeal
Burnished hues, sharp tones aesthetic notions to congeal
A precision valve appended vagaries to swill
An automated inkblot defibrillating patterns to spill
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 5:20 PM UTC
charcoal smudges and
indistinct hazes of darkness
phrases laced in harshness harnessed
and armed with my conviction
addiction to truth even
when sharp enough to harm you
disarm you
dis-arm
dismember
sever limb
from limb
tongue from clever whim
from quipped retort
designed to thwart
off the largest offender
up wind down wind
I don't remember really the direction
from whence one came nor
name nor much anything
other than
charcoal smudges and
indistinct hazes of darkness
phrases laced in harshness harnessed
and armed with my conviction
addiction to truth even
when sharp enough to harm you
disarm you
dis-arm
dismember
sever limb
from limb
the smother hot tension seething
wriggling writhing ringing in my head
sirens throwing up red flags
at catch phrases
stated like razor blades
repeated like mantras
she said she said
he said they them,
my head
they said I was lonely
they said I was weak i think i thought
I believed
they loved me
someone told me
I wasn't worth a cent or sense
or that I had no sense
or that I was nonsense
all of it I think I thought all of it
I tense, became tense I tensed
over overwhelming disapproval
even at a distance
for my depreciating assets
the expense of my existence
my penance for loving myself
when it so inconvenienced
those I was living around
was letting myself
think I was worthless
forgetting
how to count
senseless
centless
arbitrary
I have digressed
I guess this is all jumbled concept
an attempt to recreate the conception
of my desecration
of the crumbling of my foundation
of the ashes left
when they, when she,when all of them
broke inside my head
to watch the walls burn
from the inside out
ashes
and charcoal smudges with
indistinct hazes of darkness
phrases laced in harshness harnessed
and armed with my conviction
addiction to truth even
when sharp enough to harm you
disarm you
dis-arm
dismember
sever limb from limb
sin from sin
self
from worth
you hurt me
they hurt me
I hurt myself
because I believed you
were telling me the truth.
I became dark
charcoal smudges and
indistinct hazes of darkness
phrases laced in harshness harnessed
and armed with my conviction
addiction to truth even
when sharp enough to harm you
disarm you
dis-arm
dismember
sever limb
from limb
kin from
kin
i'm gone now.
think of me as charcoal.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 2:36 AM UTC
There's something about everything about nothing about how we were created, tiny blips in a system of "Nothing Even Matters" starring the worst producers in the universe. One could catch a glimpse of us as they pass by to get to somewhere better and laugh, and shake their heads and they would know our only purpose in existence was to make them feel better inside. But whoever writes a book in the view of the indifferent? Whoever directs a movie where nothing different happens? That's like asking who remembers the forgotten, it's possible but ever so unlikely, and sure as sine is undulated, under appreciated, somewhat very deflated, and though we aren't remembered, we sure aren't too terribly hated.
There's something about anything that could be distributed as significance in this underrated little beauty, flourished world that runs about full of life and clarity, streaming with disparity, slow depreciating, and sometimes we're defeating the purpose of why we're unique, and we slowly take the filters out of our little selfie, loosing all this isn't healthy, and we diminish all signs of any significance and we become as lifeless as a meteor, and I sometimes think "What is this for?" And then I simply sigh and take my sunglasses outside and stare into the sun, and wonder if anyone in the entire world has gotten off their iPhones or TVs and stared at the sun along with me.
There's something about how I feel when the little things get to me, like grades or dating drama, getting larger, more dramatic, oh it's such a ceaseless phlegmatic, and I sit at my stirring house and wonder how I can bear to live it anymore. But then I start to realise the person passing over is really staring us in the face and watching this world run in place. I'm not going to think about it anymore, it's all part of Earth's perpetual cycle, I'm not going to stop this utter nonsense now because it's time for me to go to my next class.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
These mental movies playing in subdued technicolor;
An entrapment that seduces my entire consciousness like a glimmering silverware under the sun.
It has kept me enthralled, convinced me to strip myself out of my worn out realism,
Then lead me through a journey that is neither truth nor a dream.
These constructed storylines which overpower my will to resist,
Leaving me no choice but to surrender upon its bittersweet, artificial melody.
How tempting and dangerously self-depreciating it is to let myself be consumed by an illusion's thorn-filled embrace,
Emphasizing in persistent bold letters the cruel honesty that it projects.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
asset reallocating
is last in first out
the last out tends
to be left out
accounting and all
the receipt records keeping
is a hat full
my head gets weighted down
keeping track of
so Accounts receivable, are
archived while I burn
the Accounts Payable.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
The creator had created this world,
Not specifically but only randomly.
There're just so many of loopholes,
Negatives're so many in this world.
All creators leave some holes agape,
Even Eliot was unable to cover it all.
He can't be blamed for it - perhaps the world is like this,
Maybe things go on depreciating along with the clock.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
Your apprehension hangs heavy like a pollutant in the air, depreciating greatly my ability to care, so I stammer and step to the road once more, to alleviate some tension from the one I adore, your smile has been tainted with the taste of doubt, so I step with great care when I move about, now the links on your ankle are as hard as they're sweet, and your will to be free leaves warm blood on your feet, so no longer will I struggle to keep your body chained, you have my blessing to go lover may your memories remain.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
I'm seventeen years old
Young, with my whole life ahead of me
But I've tried to end it before it could even begin
Because society tells me I'm not good enough
So I put on mascara and swipe on my lipstick
In hopes that I'll be worth while
Because the media and magazines and tv told me
That I wasn't
I feel ashamed of my body
Because it doesn't look like hers
And her body is what mine should look like
According to Cosmo and Glamour and Vogue
So I buy a salad when I'm craving a burger
Cause the size of my thighs is more important
Than my desires
So with every diet pill I take
And every self depreciating remark I utter
I become more obsessed with being perfect
An impossible standard that's been set by society
And every time I don't reach it I buy more things
That media tells me will fix my disgusting flaws
So that maybe one day I'll become perfect
And worth while
So that one day I can be proud of who I am
Instead of hiding myself away
Like a princess in a tower
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
No one notices the minor mistakes and flaws that blink like neon lights in your self depreciating eyes.
No one notices if you've stumbled over your words.
No one notices that you couldn't do your eyebrows perfectly this morning.
No one notices that you spelled a word wrong in that text message.
No one notices the little blemish that you've spent hours googling how to get rid of.
No one notices that your hair isn't perfectly curled because you woke up late today.
No one notices your flaws because everyone is too busy trying to make sure you don't notice theirs.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
tHE bEAST lIES dORMANT.
You stumble upon a cave.
Cool breath purges from its mouth;
Waves producing shivers—
Shadowed by curiosity?
Cremating all doubts.
And for one last time,
Reason dictates how you behave.
“Come in, oh ripe blood.”
tHE bEAST’S vOICE tRICKLES oUT.
Amalgamated teeth—hung above,
Saliva drip-drops unto the ones below.
Under your feet,
A tongue of damp-dark snow.
Although... last light lies within,
Hence who’s to claim it isn’t so?
Eyes strain—a distant glow.
tHE bEAST lICKS iTS lIPS.
Slight stumble—
If only you could sense these ***** tricks!
Again steady…
aS tHE bEAST iS tOO.
Desperately you reach for the light,
Blinded by its cathartic might,
You grab tight.
Oh!—how the cave grows darker than night,
Depreciating sight.
tHE bEAST’S hUNGER iS sOOTHED.
Relentlessly you paw for a way out,
But the beast’s mouth has long since shut;
Infinite rut—you scream and shout.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 1:01 AM UTC
Hardwood floor pushes pressure points into the meat hanging off the bones of ribs and hips
Lifelessly staring over head, the false elagant propeller twirls
Attempting to make this over priced shoebox seem exqusite
Tassles on a silicone breast, spinning as the cockroaches crawl up my back
Gag on this sick joke, you gladly will
Is this the pipe dream, perfumed reality masking societies sweat
All that the populous aims for?
A self depreciating laugh
I
Raw eardrums are about to burst
Tearing into nothing, twisted words set off burning fireworks
Death rage fights, moronic blame, victims in our own heads only we're right
Neither could we ever be wrong, just wronged we make ourselves the prey
Fire in the vains over wet brained illusions, stories made up on the spot
Enshrining the chip on that shoulder
I Hate
City teeth a chalk smile, missing a canine seems all more harmlessly passive, the defanged vampire
The beast lays in wait licking it's chops thirsty for all it can take
Bare your thoat be the willing meal
Let it **** you dry, why not?
I Hate This
Fret and flutter running loose on a lost dime
Calm, cool, collected, yeah right
Lies, storming rage under too thin skin till it bursts at the seams
Lava pouring till everything's gone
"Life's what you make it"
Spoon fed hogwash to make us feel it's our fault where we end up
Dreams held in front of our faces
Treats on a stick, can't reach it but it keeps you going
Till legs break, lungs cave, and your will is snuffed gone to the gutter.
I hate this ****
I think bugs are creeping around in my pores, in the stitching of my clothing, each individual focal of hair, running rampage in the creases of my frontal lobe.
**** I Hate This ****
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 2:51 AM UTC
I miss the roar of the fires...
The warmth of the flame
that fuels the luscious
red in me.
I despise the wiles
of indifferent clocks,
the incessant ticking...
That eats into skin and bone.
I anticipate the return of colour.
For all I see, only lingers
within the seemingly infinite
levels of grey.
But I loathe the notion...
That when that time
would finally arrive,
all would’ve turned to stone.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 6:24 AM UTC
The day you accepted fate,
That day you choose to let go.
The same day u loose it all.
Dear, that day you get wounded.
The blood is still bleeding.
You never had the nutrients for clotting, and so you keep loosing value.
You keep depreciating from life to inexistence.
Time heals all wound you think.
But time can never heal this one wound.
You've been hurt once, that gives the needed access.
Though the wound is now scar to you.
Yes scars to you after a while,
But to your inner man, it's as fresh as today.
And you think you can move on with the pain,
Because you concluded there is no remedy.
Yes you have substituted fate for your passion.
You have replaced your ever available oil with toil.
Your vessel you have shattered because time has vexed you.
You keep going about with the scars of your sacrificed passion.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 2:58 AM UTC
Boy in a corner
Left
Forgotten
Praying to God
You say he can't hear your call
Do you copy?
Listening so hard for a reply
Missed the sign
Written across the sky
In blood
You ask why me
Why couldn't the almighty
King of all kings
Seer of all things
See me?
In a corner
Bruised battered
Flip then repeat
Serving up men
Men who can't comprehend
Beyond their own being
Blinded
Entire world disguised
Stuck
On what you can see
Forgetting you are blind
Rejecting the only light
Source of sight
The true source indeed …
But not yours
You serve the false accusation
That God wasn't there for you
Forgetting you are alive
Trying to get people to explain
Things you can only discover
Through an all knowing mind
That you don't want to know
How do you explain the unseen
Smelled
Heard your word
Which touched my soul
My natural senses failed me
How can I naturally explain
An unnatural being?
Revealed through revelation
Needed trial and tribulations
While you still scream
Why me
Well now I place a question
On the table
I ask you to answer
If you are able
Why not you?
Jesus died
For crimes he didn't commit
Temptation…
He didn't submit
Why him?
Why did he have to be stuck in the side
And lashed thirty nine times
For people who wouldn't believe
Or appreciate
Depreciating the value
Of his sacrifice
While he prayed for forgiveness
Because we know not what we do
Though we do it on purpose
But I will not judge
I have no room to even breathe
But I must explain
Rearrange those thoughts of self pity
And replace it with gratefulness
Because you were given a
Promise
You will make it through this!
Boy In a corner
Purposed for greater things
But he can't hear his calling
As he continues Screaming…
~Why me~
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 4:04 AM UTC