"deviated" poems
Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic,
plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory.
In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears!
Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories
abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased,
edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects
rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories
of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit graciously on silence's table,
And study my evolved, yet un-evolved self,
Undisturbed, unhurried, un-agitated,
By world's brightest gulf.
...and smile back, as I watch myself.
If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit cozily on peace's table,
And watch my wounded, yet un-wounded self,
Un-agitated, un-deviated, unmoved,
By world's sorry self
...and smile back, as I watch myself.
If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit calmly on agony's table,
And observe my painful, yet not too painful self,
Unmoved, undaunted, unleashed,
By world's weirdest self,
...and smile back, as I watch myself.
If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit gladly on glee's table,
With my eyes smiling, and smiling at myself,
Unaffected, unguarded, unremitted,
By world's unrequited self.
...and grin back, at myself.
If I ever happen to meet myself,
Twill indeed be a blessed, contending miracle,
As that's when I could pat & greet myself,
In real, In real, In real!
And make this fact to myself perceivable,
That Our world may sure often demand struggles,
And our mere existence in it,
May just be negligible,
But we never gotta forget
To stay hopeful, smile and giggle at ourselves,
No matter how hard,
or harder are the struggles,
As that's the precious fuel,
That can truly cause miracles,
In a world,
Often so obsessed with struggles!
And then with a grin,
A sparkling hope within,
I'll bid myself,
A sweet, serene,
farewell.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
the season-change of the vagrant pole-star easily picks up a sip
from the list of ducks of the night-watchers
standing on the bye-lane of the horse-race … by the weight of the confession made
by the spelling-mistakes of a moonlit night to the lotus-leaves … the amputated
tongues of the night-bulbs gradually rolls down to the banyan-pods of the side-characters
the sharp archer of the star-apple moves away some furlongs from the usual
word-stairs and swallowed a whole grammar with fumes by spoon
thus with the number of velocity-poems that the punjabi with boutique prints
can produce… or will produce … gluttonous flower-vase of the magic-painter
can make cool the slaughter-ground … spread to the horizons of the krishnachura
that is deviated from its own track
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 5:30 PM UTC
If 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth graciously on silence's table,
and studyeth mine own evolved, yet un-evolv'd self,
undisturbed, unhurried, un-agitated,
by w'rld's brightest gulf
. and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself.
if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth comf'rtably on peace's table,
and gaze mine own wounded, yet un-wound'd self,
un-agitated, un-deviated, unmoved,
by w'rld's s'rry self
. and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself.
if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth calmly on agony's table,
and obs'rve mine own painful, yet not painful self,
unmoved, undaunted, unleashed,
by w'rld's weirdest self,
. and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself.
if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth fain on glee's table,
with mine own eyes smiling, and smiling at myself,
unaffected, unguarded, unremitted,
by w'rld's unrequit'd self
. and grineth backeth, at myself.
if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
twill forsooth beest a did bless, contending miracle,
as yond's at which hour i couldst pateth & greeteth myself,
in real, in real, in real!
and maketh this fact p'rceivable,
yond our w'rld may sure oft hest struggles,
and our m're existence in t,
may just beest negligible,
but we nev'r gotta f'rget
to stayeth hopeful, smileth and giggle,
nay matt'r how hard the struggles,
as yond's the most wondrous fuel,
yond can oft causeth miracles,
in a w'rld,
so obsess'd with struggles!
And then with a sigheth,
a blooming grineth,
yet a sparkling desire within,
i'll did bid myself,
a farewell
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
As the sun reaches it zenith & the moon becomes full,
Soldiers are deployed at various point,
Allowing their thought to wander away into ephemeral violence,
Well armed,
Red pointers at human sight,
killing in the pretence of liberation,
Defenceless civilians murdered in sight,
I don't have the adequate vocabulary to constructively & emotionally create that atmosphere,
As a poet they don't mind if I make a sound
But it's a real problem
if I ever get too loud,
It enrages me,
I'm bitterly miffed,
Imagine the agony, stress, depression & tension they are
going through,
Let's be factual,
Their based desire & legitimate purpose is to associate ,affiliate & standardize us as terrorist,
They come in front of our tv & give us speech our forefathers have never heard of,
Humanity in it eternity have been blindfolded & deviated from the truth,
They have become the fixed & Luminous center around which innumerable lifestyle revolves,
Civilization will not lead mankind to insanity,
It feels good to be in power ,
But a day will come when they will ponder, reflect & introspect,
but their reflection will be to no avail,
Reflect over what I say,
In silence & tranquillity,
We may be on a Long arduous journey,
But victory is to the oppressed,
Categorically & selectively speaking ,
It will become a practical reality,
Innocent souls are been lost everyday,
In pakistan,Syria,Iraq,Iran
Yet the conference continues,
Killings intensifies,
Women are murdered,
Fathers are slaughtered,
Kids are held captive some rigorously excluded,
Without them labouring humanity searching for peace will perish,
It's a sad time we live in,
Educated leaders with no heart of human sympathy,
Acting upon their based desires & ego,
You may call this character assassination,
I call it supreme words of justice
Only time will tell who is the true terrorist
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
unlike these other migrants -
i remember Ilford,
during the Balkan war,
and the Kosovo refugees -
who didn't bother to remain...
refugees having this superiority
complex over
economic migrants...
somehow victim-hood is
a better economic model
than skilled labor...
i didn't assimilate into
the English culture,
i wasn't spoon-fed this
multicultural ********
where some ******* Somali
could speak down to me
because he was
bown und bwed in
Cuntish Toown...
****** can brown-beat
me down with his
exotica...
up to a point...
i haven't been brain-washed
by some ideology of
assimilation / integration...
i never assimilated
or integrated into the English
"culture"...
i'll let you know...
sprache über kultur -
*meine treue ist zu es ist sprache,
nicht es ist volk,
sogar wenn ich haben
zu sprechen deutsche*!
i was never assimilated or integrated
into the English "kultur"...
i acquired it, and by acquiring it,
i acquired it to deviated from
what was being prescribed...
by a ghost consensus...
i never signed up to some
******* Somali brown-beating me
as some minor, the always inferior,
"eastern", "European"...
not a chance in hell...
*hölle erste,
besagt streit? zweite*!
...and why do you think i'm
seeking escape in tickling German?
i'm not exactly bugging the Ottomans -
after all... one of the Axis powers...
and i love my Turkish barber...
i can't imagine any other ethnicity
to have perfected the trade of
the barber...
who... whittle east African
subsaharan Muslim with no knowledge
of the Saudi slave trade of Bangladeshi
workers?!
mouthing off his over-priced
privilege position in England?!
bingo!
no no no...
i'm not assimilated,
wenn es kommt bezüglich die krone?
mein antwort "bezüglich"
eine krone?
die ich von gott:
ist der ein und erst krone!
i didn't integrate or assimilate
into this "kultur"...
i made a claim for this sprechen...
da ist nicht kultur
außen die zunge!
which is why i have to tease German,
the old father...
of the English tongue...
because?
because i find the English language
plagued...
and i'm puritanical at herz.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
Bathtubs don’t work for quantum suicide
But every time I take one,
A part of me dies
What was nice under the crescent aglow?
Drunk on stars, or the moon lit show…
Ash of night, cradled what was once mine,
The repertoire of ever-syncing- jawlines.
Puissant is the chalice, its exaltation shined so bright,
Bestowed liberation underneath the chatoyant light,
The open windows left niveous fogs-
Breathed -stained –air, against crystal *****
Alive and one, under the entire earthly tempo,
Together left her organic imprints of art nouveau.
Beneath the warmth and petrichor ground,
The Lord and Lady commence to be crowned.
...Tree roots sink as veins of gods.
The serpent whispers his mellifluous facade...
The sharp shove of love’s first arrow
Lover’s spit, a seed for cupid’s bucolic furrow.
Scripture of Solomon’s *** temple of doom
All within the nicotine-stained-blue-infrared-bedroom,
Velvet allure, bellies of vigor,
The cold point, the pulled trigger.
Dance of Thelma, ancient cults of non-lovers
Feasting north, under the Horned God’s antlers.
The concoction of the widow’s deviated lust
Skins alive, the excited wolf-mans’ husk…
The gun’s mouth ex hailed bullets of smoke
Piercing hot wounds became tender lilts in up word strokes.
Still, they brought, perforating ice knives through the chest
Catching fades perpetually, just until two came abreast.
The shadow dalliance and hair pulls leave those weary,
The anise flower seeds sanction the suffering query.
What was once so beautiful at night?
Forgotten, as I turned red-haired-heathen in morning’s sight
So I take my hot bath, inure in my offing.
Emollient paean of the porcelain,
...which is my skin
See you, my ethereal being,
In short time spring will be fleeting
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC
Painted pictures come to life,
Twirling landscapes with subliminal words,
He gestures back and forth with life,
The white canvass transforms into a palette
You stood on the inside,
Wanting to go out,
You watched from the inside,
Wishing you were someone else
He’s driven around in a limousine,
With a stack of green bills to light his cigar,
He’s got it made and does not know you exist,
He dines with pomposity and drinks in gold
You stood on the outside,
Watching him dine and wine,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing you were sitting there.
She was a model, thin and tall,
Brawny and bright with a flair of the fair,
She smiled and danced, gyrating her hips
She partied until she could no more
You stood on the outside,
You wished you had her life,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing someone invited you
To life’s grand celebration
You did not know though,
The model died of drug abuse,
The tycoon was murdered,
And the artist…ahh the Artist!
That was you…that was you first and foremost
You forgot and you deviated!
You re-arranged your priorities
And now…and now
You stand on the outside,
You no longer can watch the world go by,
You no longer can wish,
You in a wooden coffin,
Being laid to rest.
You died yesterday,
Poisoned with affection
By someone who stood by
And watched you from the outside
Vijaya Balan (2009)
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 4:12 AM UTC
My father, he always has so much to say,
you know.
He loves weddings.
My daughter,
yes,
she’s always been so smart,
and we’re so proud of her.
He says it like he knows anything about me.
I nod and smile,
and shrink myself in front of the men.
What is there to do but pretend?
No one needs to know about
the ways that you made me unlovable,
the way I spread my legs,
the way I strike a match.
We don’t talk about it.
It’s cultural values,
or something like that.
Look at the happy couple,
interchangeably
pharmacists, physicists, or physicians.
The groom smiles,
the bride does too,
they’re both so
good.
I sit there
and dream
of it.
A mandap, a
great big white horse.
I would be forcing it,
I knew,
but I wanted them to see me in red.
I wanted to walk
down that aisle alone,
and smile, demurely, smugly –
look what I did.
I got him,
I
wore him down.
I dream like it makes it redeemable,
the things that I’ve done.
How bad is the punishment
if I deviated with best intentions?
We hold onto these tiny ambitions,
the boy
the buffet line
and the bragging rights,
like it undoes the damage.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 10:35 PM UTC
We were always bored
Looking for a piece of the action on
Ash tray floors and bong-ridden windows
Ambitious, ambidextrous fools
Trying to reach the icy heights at flaming fifteen
As we got older
Now we're too busy to just sit
And stare at the wall
We should've just stared at the wall
While we could
But we were too busy climbing
Overcoming building blocks
Now that they're stepping stones
All the doors we really need are locked
We should've stayed grounded
In trampolines and pavement chalk
Biding our time in the
Occasional tightrope walk
But to have it all when you want it
Is such a drug
So we pushed each other off
Just to feel the flight of falling
We tried so hard to make the pieces fit
But one puzzle solved
Is just another with more anguish in it
Taking left-hand paths
Just to prove ourselves right
Filling unknown vacancies
We were explorers in the night
As we got older
Now we're to busy to just
Wander in the woods
We should've just stayed in the woods
While we could
But the page has turned
The properties of sin have left us
Stranded in empty lots
Drawing straws for who and who is not
Passing notes and paper planes
We should've been holding hands
Connecting dots, embracing pain
We could've formed a circle band
Kings and queens and peasants
We were them all
But the trinity was dissolved
By geometry's laws
We tried so hard to make the language fit
But one riddle solved
Is just another with more questions in it
When genuine thoughts begin
To get abbreviated
You better pray you're not
The one who's deviated
Cause as we get older
We become too busy to
Recognize the truth
We should have recognized the truth
But it's no use
I don't know what happened to us
But I thought the underdog
Always got the glory later
So I saved my moments in a box
But the contest for youth fame
Is masked by drama's feeble gain
Cause what transpires long after
Is a race for cheap laughter
Better cross your fingers
And stand out as a loser
Lest you become a cabaret
The second you begin to change
I tried so hard to make myself fit in
But one problem solved
Is just another nihilistic moment
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 10:36 PM UTC
**** you, and **** off. **** me? ohhh you wanna say **** you to me? Well here's a middle finger for you found this **** in my pocket, got it half price at target that is why I bought it. Who knew it would come in handy.
Our relationship is like a deviated septum because one side is always getting more than the other and if you didn't realize, you're the deviated side because no matter how hard I ******* try to give you the oxygen your heart desires, you can't open up to it. You sit and block almost all of yourself off to the world and even off to me and I've only known parts of you. A small wind casting through an open field, this is how I feel. I am the tumbleweed in every boring movie scene, gliding by just so someone will notice me, but essential to essence nonetheless. So **** me right? Well frankly, I'm tired of all this ******* because none of it consists of love making, because I don't actually know how to make love but I sure know how to **** And I find myself writing the same lyrics as Wale, I think this is what rock bottom feels like.. Because :p I :P find :p myself :p more :p content :p with :p being alone than I ever ******* have with someone else. Always stepping on toes or picking up the pieces and it's cool if you're parents are still together and you've seen love like that your whole entire life, but me? I haven't, **** I wish my parents weren't together maybe then I would be able to leave my prison cell of a room. I have seen love ripped from the hinges and thrown to the wind- like ******* Owen Wilson's nose type love. I grew up with that **** but I still love harder than I ever have but you can't tell me that you do the same because this fuckery has been my whole entire life, so I have adjusted.
I have dabbled in alcoholism, and maybe a little drug abuse, but see these apples don't fall far from the tree and misery seems to be the best currency.
So who the **** am I?
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
On a Sunday it was dark; girls infatuated with attention
Consuming on facebook uploads, and hashtags that have no explanation for your comprehension
I stand alone in a world, a total suspension
From the societies of fake likes and relationships and self pent up tension
I had faith in you, but your beliefs are not worthy of my mention
For the things you lived for, the mundane delusions that causes your detention
For you are detained in your self- created stress and your feverous passion that is derived by convention
You are stuck in a world not yours, and once I tried to liberate you from it you couldn't stop clinging and clench'n
To your false priorities and you call this a life… you call yourself living when your hollow ego and pride has out shadowed your repention
And sin became a right, and good became a privilege, all this in the world craving attention…
Souls like me are buried, embodied by peace we have with our existing forms
Free thinkers; attached to our beliefs and religious rituals yet deviated from your filthy sociological norms
And values we have created and you chose to forget
And destinies we work to change, yet your destinies are set
For sheep follow each other into circles of indecorous confusion
And every one of you follows what he thinks is fun, or cool or the trendy illusion
We have reached a time when we follow people, not thoughts, material not ideas and we demand respect
How could I respect clones? For their values become lower than that of an insect...
I trusted you were different, but I grew beyond that thought and realized you're the same
You just yearn for the spotlight, live on opinions, and follow your low life leaders into a path of misleading fame…
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 7:38 PM UTC
My definition of truth is: An action synonymously described as it happened, within this barrier of admission, an image portrays a substance, occurance, or incident. This social term can and will be deviated for manipulation, self interest, and out of blatant ignorance. In society truth is hardly colloquial in politics, media, and law; recognizing that it is used to manipulate and persuade for power, control, or materiallity. There are cases in which deception is the best choice in the longevity of a subject larger than ones self, a substance of this will and shall never occur in a mindful, intellectual, and adept utopia. Sadly, in the global aura we see as today; we lack faith, trust, and ubiquity in fault of karma, the perpetual domino effect of deception, and the ignorant facade of physical dominance. From this computer screen, the pants you are wearing, and the mind you hone are all subject to the absent, mistreated, and altered reality of honesty versus deception.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 1:40 PM UTC
Lately I've been seeking for light,
Looking for truth and searching for life.
The shine of the sun does hurt my eye,
So I totally fell for the silver moon's light.
I'd be with the moon for hours on end,
Living more on the sky than the earth.
I haven't deviated from my lunar path,
But a new moon invaded my heart.
This tiny moon is lively and rad,
Like a heavens treat or a wicked trap.
Broken-hearted moon with an angel's face,
That infected me with her heart ache.
I wish I could share her my feelings made words,
But that heart of hers is utterly shut.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
From flowing rivers of light, you will become a comet-star left alone, who has deliberately deviated from its now predictable orbit around the earth and, true to itself, wanders in the galaxies of infinite cosmos, because it is driven by some unknown-familiar homesickness-Odyssey.
You will sooner or later only take off the Enkidu-shroud of your body before your calculated mortality, as you yourself know that even a simple man sets off on his own towards the other shores of the underworld, no one can accompany him. Your restless, self-defeating Soul wanders on the paths of the deceived; it would be good for you to find your own depth and height inside. Because be careful!
This current mud-world offers only superficial, old, tinsel-like brilliance, nothing else, with which the greedy loyalty-chambers of beating hearts can never be filled, because a growing army of ghosts of doubts is already raging and besieging it. Outside, they can understand less and less that the Darius-treasures they have acquired are only the nails of Golgotha for a coffin, and the boundary line considered honesty, from which there is no turning back, is far away.
Take good care of yourself, Man, as you can know and feel; the beast of hesitations, suspicions, the underdog, the belittling one, is only watching you, watching, suspecting, while it sneaks unnoticed into your troubled nerves and tears apart your handful of self-esteem. It would be good to believe for sure that somewhere in the holy gate of the All, besides your life, which you believe to be wasted, Someone is waiting for you. It would be nice if that crazy mechanic would put a stop to his restless atomic bomb impulses in his buzzing, cogwheel brain.
And although you have long been unable to bear the shackles of your meaningless, wordless silence, your intermediate silence, you must decide within yourself to finally forgive your stubborn, childish selfishness!
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 12:24 AM UTC
I don't fear the dark
My eyes just adjust to the twinkle of the stars and the rays of the moon
I don't fear heights
The clouds just soar around me, masking the spot on which my feet are found
I don't fear creepy crawlies
My body's design has just deviated from my micro friends, and my skeleton runs within me
My only fear is that I'll never hold you close to me in the dark of the night
That I won't be able take you to the heights of heaven again
Where the world is just a tiny speck to what we, together, have become
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
There was a fork in the path and I chose right
And right was the wrong way to go
I could ponder the holdings that left had to offer
But the wrongs of right are all I know.
There was a fork in the path and I chose the less taken
And it seems it was abandoned for good cause
I could regret and bemoan my decisions now
But I am impossibly and urgently lost.
There was a fork in the path and I deviated from the map
Not a single person told me I'd gone the wrong way
And now I meander down roads not meant for me
Looking for shelter, a place to stay.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 10:14 AM UTC
Something sad, horrible,
condemnable happened this day
Two passenger planes deviated
from their designated way.
Intentionally two planes crashed
into huge, tall, towers two.
Thousands died, survivors
were less, negligible, very few.
But who were behind this
barbarous act, heinous crime?
Can they do? , people living in
caves, way back in time.
Surprised were pilots experienced
when plane took turn U.
Can a passenger plane be flown
that way by pilots new?
Will any sophisticated mobile
phone function from that height?
Can any airfuel melt steel
strong, hard, standing upright?
Can fire bring down structure so
strong, quickly, veritically that way?
I have seen buildings fragile
standing ***** and burning for days.
I am writing poem, stories
and novels I cannot write.
Islam is not the enemy, - >Quran (5: 32) , (5: 82)
break glasses black and white.
Now so costly are petrol and
diesel, cheap is human blood.
These are modern days, in deserts
one can find rain and flood.
In Google type ' Scientific Forensic
Evidence Exposing 9/11 Lies'
Try to increase your thought's
horizon, take my honest advise.
Must be destroyed tall tower
of lies, huge tower of greed.
Two aeroplanes filled with fuel
of truth is all that we need
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC
a mess to be adored, forever
a one and (l)on(e)ly endeavor
a starvin poet
you chose to eat
her ***** beauty
her fabulous deceit
the question of her that remains unanswered
the lust drippin from her fingers
.
no blood here miss
no blood here sir
poor demeanor
as the overload of
your fascination
is the breaker of her growth
.
her worth is hidden there
there there
who dares to care
a villain with impeccable flair
mental and compared
to the dreadful solitaire
chained into the streets of despair
a humble reserver of deviated stares
there there
11
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 11:44 AM UTC
I'm there, but invisible.
I think that I'm invincible.
But I'm no Iron Man.
I try to be a Green Lantern
In a room full of Red Lanterns.
But trying is never enough.
Trying is never good enough.
Rage-filled regret
Strength-radiated reliance.
They call me devoted
Little do they know,
I've just deviated
From them all.
They tell me not to
Put up a fake front
A façade of sorts.
But I have to
To hide my scars
And shattered mind.
To say that
I'm good
When I'm not
Like aspiring to be
Like Atlantis
A picturesque paradise
An upsized utopia
An insecure phobia.
We were born
Into this world
Told that we were meant to
Change it.
Told that we were
Superheroes and princesses.
But I'm no Superman.
I'm a Sentry at war
With my own self
With those around me
With my own mind.
The happiness that I see
Is one that I cannot bear
Like Batman re-living
Past deaths in his lair.
I live it everyday
Feet full of lead
Like Doomsday and Superman
Here I lay,
On the ground,
Dead.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 12:23 AM UTC
*Many days and nights, I wished my life could be like an Angel's harmony
Sweet... Perfect... In tune...
But during those many days and nights
While I wished my life to just come by
As flawless as my favorite fairy tales and fancy novels
Fate strung the wrong string
Pulled me out of my comfort ring
Turned everything upside down
And with billions of people around me somehow
I felt completely alone, doing every wrong thing all along.
Many days and many nights
Like the many nightmares that took away my smiles
While I went on with my own curse,
Breathing in the life that hurt me first,
Exhaling everything out of my weakened body,
Treading on a path that kept me cold and down and lowkey
Saving my weary soul from being burnt
Rescuing others while I was in absolute hurt,
Not realizing what it's all worth.
I thought it could be sweet... Perfect... In tune...
But like that one Angel who deviated from its moral roots,
Like its harmony that's destitute of perfect tune,
I had to live my life in all the darkest rooms.
I just want to run away from all this life's dooms
And run back into His hands and finally find my ultimate refuge.*
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
In an effort to preserve a solitary strand of consciousness laced with conscientiousness that I can only describe as the lingering remnants of hope within me, I'd like to take the time to catalogue this lonely thought amidst an overwhelming, unwanted, and relentless cacophony.
Sometimes, even within the most ludicrous events or wanderings of the mind we can find a moment of gratitude or humble ourselves to then change our perspective
-however briefly.
Think about how tirelessly a phone speaker or any electronic device for that matter works to provide as a source of consistent entertainment, comfort, and support (depending on how you utilize your devices). Yet the minute it breaks or fails, we viciously attack it for having failed us; chastising, deploring, and implementing our derogatory sleights once it deviated outside of its expectancy. Negating the circumstances previous in which it has been right there to provide what we desired or needed in real time.
The same thing can be applied to how we treat each other. It is vital to remember if we feel that someone has failed us to simultaneously recall how many times they have been there when we needed them. And most importantly forgive them the faults of their human condition while gaining the ability to recognize those very faults within ourselves. Approach with understanding, share wisdom, and spread compassion as you tread. Even if the circumstances do not fall in kind with you. The reason behind your pain, confusion, and suffering is so that you'll know when the good times come. "What you are, I once was. What I am, so you will become."
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 2:58 AM UTC
How could I not see the signs,
before this even started people were hinting,
she was so good,
clever woman,
instinctively deceiving,
would have given her the world,
said she loved me,
she does not know the meaning,
she does not even deserve the title of a woman,
used to call her my lady,
she is not even a girl,
specimen of sorts with no conscious,
her and I together,
thought nothing could not be conquered,
fantasize about having babies,
what was I thinking ?
All this time I thought I was flying,
when I was sinking,
from day one I should have known,
all the signs,
they were well shown,
she was so good.
That look in her eyes,
she must have practiced,
it was a joke,
I was a joke,
so pathetic,
so naive,
lingering on hope,
that this was real,
the look she would give,
the way she felt though,
it was surreal,
now I know the truth,
my heart will not melt though,
for I was a joke,
I will laugh,
It was my fault for being so dumb,
I should have known it all from day one,
she was an act,
thought she was special,
deviated from the rest,
it was the contrary,
I was just part of a contest.
Almost killed myself over her,
could not stand the thought,
of us not together,
but now the joke is over,
I cannot dwell,
I cannot stop,
for the momentum I've built,
I felt a happiness overwhelm me,
when I confirmed,
for I am not crazy,
she is a bird.
The joke is on you now,
one day you will learn,
I was true to you,
what I felt was unparalleled,
no one will have a love for you as deep,
for anyone who truly knows you,
would never adore you,
as I do unconditionally.
Even after the revelation,
I adore you so,
so I guess the joke is still on me,
for now,
but you will know.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 4:34 AM UTC
The living legend is ****** into a rut of pining for his splendid playwright
She was his everything
A new breed of woman
No societal entourage could compare
No jovial jubilee could top her
Her humongous measure of perplexity
Her grace
Her charm
Her mystery
He now despises himself for this moment of nostalgic weeping
The mucus makes it hard for him to breathe with his deviated septum
He looks for something to alleviate his sniffling
And eviscerate all his emotional anguish
Nasal spray and bourbon
He can breathe but the alcohol only exacerbates the visceral issue
And dampens his already flaccid spirit
Clouted with the disheartening reminder that it wasn't all her fault
He fumbles with the bottle while retracing the event in his mind
"It was the golden age of bronze metals"
"She was asked to do as she was told"
"A white lie"
"A foul up"
"An accusation"
"An accessory to ******
"Madcap ad libbed alibis and recounts verbatim"
"She turned on them, they killed her"
The bourbon was gone, his nose was stuffed again
Wheezing, gagging, crying
What's the word for when a living legend wants to die?
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC