"dimwitted" poems
I was once asked to spell the word Depression
Now that was an interesting question to me because lets face it
Who does not know how to spell depression
It is three syllables
It is ten letters
It is just once word
Or at least that was the answer he was looking for.
I was once asked to spell the word Depression
I thought for a second and said
"Which way would you like me to spell it"
The teacher paused and looked at me quizzically
"What kind of question is that"
He chuckled
Like he thought I was dimwitted he repeated himself
"I would like you to spell the word Depression it is rather simple"
And now this is where I got to chuckle and say
"Sir, I believe what you are asking is a question I cannot answer, because to me Depression is not a three syllable, 10 letter word. Depression is when my sister comes home to a dead father, and Depression is when my best friend get diagnosed with Cancer. You see to me the Depression you are asking me to spell is the same Depression That gets you laughed out of a hospital. The same Depression that gets you a handful of 'cheer up's' and 'Get over it's.' and maybe even some 'Oh just be happy's' But last I checked when someone has Cancer, we do not tell them to "Just get better" or when someone is sitting in the ER with a cracked skull, we do not tell them to 'Just give it time, you're fine.'"
The boy sitting in front of you could not "just give it time"
When his mother died in his arms
And the girl that you pass through the halls could not "just be happy"
After she had true love ruined for her when some man did not Understand the word "No"
And your dad who calls every sunday cannot "cheer up" because the love of his life has died and his own son does not care to come see him on his birthday
So Sir when you ask me to spell Depression I ask which way because
I spell Depression D-E-A-T-H
and I spell Depression A-L-O-N-E
and I spell Depression S-I-C-K-N-E-S-S
So Sir I spell Depression S-U-F-F-E-R-I-N-G
And I define it as misunderstood for something in ones control/
So do not tell me it is simple to spell and do not tell me I am stupid when I ask in which way you are asking because to me
Depression isn't a simple
Three syllable
Ten letter word
That you use to define those who you do not care to know
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
the wild suburban dogs
eat
the leftovers of a tom cat
outside
my apartment door--
the neighbors gone,
they must've done wrong,
the cops keep asking me
where they went--
a bluebird lands
on
a bent limb,
no song to sing
just worms to slurp,
a nest to think about,
and a debt
to me--
for the undeserved attention
I grant.
May 8, 2011
May 8, 2011 at 7:54 PM UTC
Dimwitted cloves squashed before they developed four leaves.
Other foliage in the family constantly grieves.
Devoured and left sore
By a local herbivore
Cattle herded for the purpose of prolonged life
No more slaughtered at the point of a knife.
Living free in grassless fields
Farmland now hardly yields
Dietary concerns carefully balanced,
Finding you’re nutritionally challenged
Told its time to drop the meat
And pick up a steak made of beet.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
Am I worthless?
Am I rude?
Am I dimwitted?
Am I belligerent?
Am I stupid?
Am I unrealistic?
Am I animal?
Am I satanic?
Am I destructive?
Am I corrosive?
Am I ********
Am I abusive?
Am I putrid?
Am I lazy?
Am I selfish?
Am I narcissistic?
Am I devilish?
If I am who you tell me to be,
I am all these things.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
A toast for the strong and valiant workers
A downpour for the lazy lurkers
A toast to the women that never give in to being the mutt
Of a dimwitted man whose head is caught in a utter rut.
A toast for the dedicated and greatful lovers
Yet a downpour to the unsupportive mothers
A toast to the successful and flourishing seed
That will grow to be a caring person as time shall lead
A downpour to the simple minded men with dreams
That are self-evident as to not going anywhere like stagnant streams
Why a downpour you ask?
Not to drown them in the purest fluid to drink
But to bring them up and deflect the opposite that makes them sink.
May the flowing gold be better than the dry and aging bronze.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 4:23 AM UTC
And that's one good thing I can say,
If nothing else and probably the best quality.
It numbs the pain, leaving you open to a world of awe.
It presents a comfort zone, of being at ease. At anytime, any place.
Such a wonder thing. Your voice.
Becoming a remedy to all sorts of aches and pain.
That one helping hand that seemingly comes out of nowhere, your voice.
That warm invitation that gets you out of the house.
Often taking you to a place you've always passed but never thought to go in.
If only for a minute, your always glad you indulged in such invite.
Finding remedy to all sorts of pain and ache you forgot existed.
Your voice, becoming that feeling you get in your chest when everything just feels right.
That utter happiness that leaves you dimwitted and goofy as hell forgetting that anyone is watching.
It's brilliant.
Often doing something you'd otherwise never do,
Being taken somewhere you never thought to go.
Even if it's a passing glance on the way there.
What's even better, is that it's your voice that takes me there
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 9:57 AM UTC
What a gullible twit I was
To ever believe for a second
That those world from your mouth
Ever held any meaning at all
What an idiotic imbecile I was
To think you had chosen me
That no longer were you hers
Ever did you see me
What a moronic simpleton I was
To think all you wanted was me
That nothing else mattered
Ever was I yours
What a blockheaded buffoon I was
To give myself wholly to you
That I gave you my all
Ever waiting for you to give back
What a dimwitted sucker I was
To show you my deepest secrets
That no one else ever saw
Ever was I trusting you
What a foolish dolt I was
To grasp onto the past
That I should have let go of
Ever do I make this mistake
What a beautiful liar you were
To ensnare me with your wiles
That I could never resist
Ever were you scheming
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
I find mystery in the silence.
It's an intelligence so complex,
that it's empty because it's
seeing all the flashbacks of its company,
and remembering things it has never experienced.
The silence is full of emptiness that is
encompassing those who are searching for a thought.
(The dimwitted ones.)
The silence is an excuse to be silent--
to get away from the screaming that goes on anyway.
I'm listening to the silence and pretending it's something defenseless.
I find security in the silence,
because silence always walks by,
calling for me from far away.
But it always walks away,
fearing that it's a distraction for me to escape towards.
The silence is looking out for me,
and singing to me all the time.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
When you found out I favored writing poetry
you probably thought I was into haiku
because I loved to be precise but,
I remind you that I'm not one for
style-
the words always spill out, boiling
scalding water traveling up my trakia
dragging parts of my tissue as it
entered the real world; and it was judgement day
it hurts being dimwitted,
dull as you say I am, plastered across a door mat
as you invite everyone to wipe their feet on
the girl with the air filled personality, but
the kind heart
Your opinion always meant the most to me
and now that you're gone,
understand that I forgive you
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
The gun at my hip is ready to make you disappear,
The club your ancestor loved is no match for mind I run,
Think you’ve got the better of me,
Let’s wait and see who welcomes another day of agony,
Life is rough and resembles damnation,
From conception,
Making it to your twenty’s, ******* impressive,
I would have aborted your ***
Just a dramatic demon,
Despite the deaths of other humans,
Across the ocean,
Far from where I hide,
Far from where I can see,
Where I would mind,
Out of sight,
A place where the bodies lay,
Where militaries fill graves,
Land of the free, land of the incubated,
Indoctrinated,
Intoxicated,
Belated by your brutality,
Why do you think I reach for my 9 milly’
Betrayed by your humanity,
Why do you think my trust in you diminished?
Because you are ******* human,
And Darwin wasn’t dimwitted,
Ignorance graced by intellectually \ lives,
Sprinkled amongst the ash,
However I feel like I should last,
What was I talking about?
That’s right your demise,
At the hands of you despise,
But this shouldn’t be a surprise,
Since you spawned this stupid stride,
I feel like picking on those who can’t find their way out of a compromise,
I don’t mean to pry,
But your confessional is so humanly inviting,
I’ve gotta criticize your justifications for the way you live a life,
The fact you can’t forget the dollar,
The fact you still pop a collar,
Who the **** do you think you are,
You are just a bump in the modern mold,
What am I saying?
Oh yea you’re the prey and I seek relief,
I believe in the possibilities of this species,
But evolution out grew a generation of intellectuals,
So who is going to take the helm?
And make sure we don’t end without spewing a few words,
A generation enslaved by self-entitlement,
Nothing is given to you my son,
You’ve gotta reach for you guns,
And earn your stripes,
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
On my way back,
He got angry at the seats
Assigned separately.
A little too far,
She, a little too dimwitted,
Those who travel together
Sit together,
Now don't normal families do!
But we couldn't,
The seats were empty,
We were the first few to arrive,
She has no excuses
Other than her mindlessness.
I stopped the formal complaining
And would sort it I say.
(Rough edges).
In the aisle, a small traffic
I, the second car.
After a brief, polite but angered spat
We sat sepearate,
Say I will sort it.
The man I could tell
Spoke my tongue,
I waz getting better at observing.
After two lines of request he agreed,
And I waited for the aisle to empty.
(Questions. Answers.)
In the wait,
The man behind got up
And offered his place,
I couldn't thank him enough,
Our frivolity
Made his act a nobelity,
I declined.
We smiled at each other
Our truest of smiles
And things were better again.
We were one big family,
Looking after the other.
The man of my tongue
And the man of my family
Drifted off to a conversation,
And I to a digital page.
I can't speak for the noble man,
I didn't look at him again.
(Silence)
After a light meal,
I am craving a tea,
That's the first thing I ask now
Everytime I come home.
(It might be red.)
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 7:58 AM UTC
The mystic Mys-Match of Mew Manor mounts the moon at midnight. He flies freely, forgetting the faltering fallacies that fold this failing facade of figments of the imagination and inglorious nations into a crooked caricature of creeps, clowns, and carcinogens to our culture. From crack and **** to casual deaths, the population prays for post-pissing match days.
What's the reason of rhyme if you don't have a reason to see a new season of sweethearts and treason? The mystic Mys-Match of the planet Piblatch has snatched nary a glance of this reprehensible romance. He hums happily, hovering over the homes of the hurt and the helpless, unaware of the ugly and untrue souls of the suffering below.
Due in part, perhaps, to the planet Piblatch, whose population prowls playfully amongst the pipperplitz plants and the tinktertip trees. A civilization unaware of Gods and demons, Guido's and dip *****
At sunset, the Piblatchians partake of rackaday root and crushed up clibber clatch cuttings. They see the psychedelic sky ways that sing of sweet things and spacey swings.
As mankind manipulates, murders, and maims itself, the world which waivers with weakened wings is consumed by the carnivores that **** off the common crowd and leave only the corrupt and cantankerous crooks that fall to the depths of despair when the bomb goes off, blotting out humanity's light forever.
But the mystic Mys-Match and his planet Piblatch live on, past the end of time itself. The peaceful people continue to enjoy their lives and never know of the negative notions that drove the dimwitted denizens of Earth into a violent and gruesome grave.
Mankind could have learned something from the Piblatchians, if only they had opened their eyes and seen the light.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
What the actual **** is this
Are you somekind of a ****
To know about everything
And just do anything.
You're a ************* ********
A ****** ******* piece of ****
A dimwitted ironic *****
And you look like a gay witch.
Oh ****
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
A periwinkle snap of the fingers
A glazed-over, ungazed-at afterthought of a dimwitted maker
Allowing only specks of atmosphere to puncture through for gasps of air
An assassination without capacity for reflection or modesty.
Broadening my horizons, my eyes adjusting to the sun's sheddings,
I notice the satin ribbons of the west, trotting over the hills, blood-lusting,
Roaring in anticipation of the persecution of the dry, dusty chandelier to the north
Forcing the lumination,
Breaking open the porous night-covering threatening to its final breath
The self-mutilation to bring it and its 3 navigational acquaintances to the bone-encrusted, sadistic
Hell of the humans, modern-day Terra, the disease-laced, frayed blanket of Gaea.
And as I viciously avert my eyes as the first blow finds a weak exposed abdomen,
I pray to God that I might participate in this brawl,
And I curse high heaven that it is so fateful a dusk.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
Inasmuch as I would like to believe you
In the spirit of keeping things light
Cognitive dissonance is shaking me honest
Let's not continue this plight
Disingenuous w/ myself or you
I cannot be, Please stop saying
These things you know aren't true
Just to feel emboldened and free
Vacuous optimism only helps for
Not even a split second
And ultimately, in the end, hurts the
Feeble and dimwitted who believe
When the illusion is seen through
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 4:43 PM UTC
My blood is not red anymore
It is not even rufous
It is achromatic
I’ve seen it go to a watery grave
with moonshine
It drowned
for a foolish fluid
one so dimwitted
it forgot the word “No”
could be spoken
to bring their negligent ears
into *******
(And not me)
My blood rushed out
In it’s gloom
I wanted to emulate it
and exit my body
just as they entered
What a theft
What a “five-finger discount”
Literally
It was a perfect portrait
A gun kissing the crown of my head
and my indifference
towards the money in the cash register
that I called my soul-case
If I’d even had any left
My lips moldered shut
They don’t like parting anymore
Two buds charred sorely
as a pen
that speaks only in black ink
I searched every crevice of that washroom
for a noose
I found my reflection
and thought that close enough
So there I hovered
hung up on my mirror image
suspended by two claws
honed with dejection
My eyes slammed taut
My pulse ******* bones in my face
and gnawing itself
with prowling fluorescents
I grazed the scuffs on my thighs
I hadn’t put there
for once
Then I remembered the nausea
snarled up in their cheeks
Their words like spiders
I don’t know where they’ve gone
and I don’t want to
“Is it that time of the month?’
said the shorter, more truculent boy
and he sniggered
I stood submerged
in hard edged a laugh
that liked to wrench my ears
and make rounds
on nights hot and heavy
with languor
and perhaps,
had I not been so small
or weak of muscle
had I worn a different dress
or forgotten to coat my lashes
had I sipped on tea
instead of *****
I could’ve flagrantly pushed them away
Darted not with my eyes,
but my legs
I could’ve screamed “Get off me you scumbags!”
until my throat shriveled up
into a dried cranberry
But I didn’t
Instead I’m screaming
on a piece of paper
Because the worst that happens here
is a paper cut.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
Note is wrapped around a small pink apple, the size of a fist
I suppose
But what better honor is there
than to wait for the right time
and receive but more glory
in which to bathe your humble self
instead of crashing and burning,
being missed by all whose eyes
have had the pleasure of
meeting yours.
My irises,
for one,
would love
nothing more
than to witness
the fire within the
saddened eyes of
the friend I have made
easily, almost too easily.
Niklas.
It rolls off my tongue better than my
own name, it sounds of bells within
my dimwitted mind. If you could hear,
I would sing it over and over again to
be borne by the fingers of the wind
goddesses for your ears and yours alone
to relish, to give you rest from your
current toil.
How helpless am I, Little Cherie.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 3:45 PM UTC
I have fashioned myself a cosseting nest of denial to protect me from my earnest yearnings.
I sit atop my stoop in cavalier crusted pessimism lobing over stones at the passing pedestrians enraptured with the bliss of romance.
"rigamarole dimwitted **** I huff as I examine the fluidity of their movement.
They bob along as two flocculent clouds set agog.
Such dulcified fools; they see their lovers lips brimming with nectar and skin dashed with gold.
"Such farcical magic musings, who needs such things?" ; I question rustling in my scathing bed of delusion.
One day I awoke to see a frenzied nest stationed next to me with a peculiarly pristine fellow bellowing.
The days following my eyes were deterred from ogling at the lovebirds beneath me as they grew curiously closer to the voltaic man vexing me.
He didn't pass his hours feeding from the disdain and self deprecating disarray, instead he perched giddily reading books and pacing incessantly.
This mans marrow doesn't reek of lovers idealism, but his eyes lift a veil to show me utter perfection.
Owning the vessel he inhabits he doesn't allow room for preposterous inhibitions.
As he unrobes to show me the mind wrinkles fueling his insanity, I began to wonder if his lips are coated in the same sugar doused divinity.
As his hands gingerly caress mine, I decide to retire my stones, It seems about time I let myself learn to float.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 11:58 PM UTC
You treat me like I'm fragile
Ignore me like contagious
Make up your mind, you dimwitted one
Is your head really that spacious?
Do I sound like a joke to you?
Because that is how you act
I'd say it hurts but I'm just offended
I'd much prefer a slap
Of course I'm over-exaggerating
Of course you say you're sorry
I really don't believe you, babe
That doesn't cut it, darling
You should seriously think about your words
Don't throw that attitude around
You call me fat, you call me names
You'd rather I not weigh a pound?
I'm seriously not caring
About all of your crap
You could fall off of a cliff
And that would be that
So do what you wish
Just don't involve me
Have a nice life
Pack your **** and leave
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 3:42 PM UTC
I'm unapproachable;
Antisocial - like the last polar bear
pondering where all the ice went.
This apocalyptic wasteland's death grip
strikes like Spock's back hand,
but lacks the tenacity to finish them.
Unkempt revenge - pit me against the spent.
I'm locked in combat with these autopilot pussycats
as they feverishly flutter by life on burnt batteries.
I'll stay strangling the head of a lantern
while banging on the door of the Banished
'till those mother ******* get fed up and answer.
I'll subdue every corner of evolution 'til
I grow fangs and communicate via echolocation.
Then I'll circumnavigate the coliseum
like Casper tweaked out on freedom.
Throw away your crucifixes, Lucifer.
That's not what you're supposed to use them for.
This is just linguistics infused with an acid drip;
Fourth dimensional Hieroglyphics ripped
from the pages of forbidden scripture
then translated through star patterns.
You see a pentagram, I see an anagram
dispelling your dimwitted notions.
A page from the past - A name tag crippled
by your misplaced primitive gasp.
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 1:53 PM UTC
In the midst of thy
dimwitted beauty
o ' earthened
-thoroughfare
how seriously, I am
at a scrutiny, if what
I want a soul mate thou
is in ameliorate - fashion,
soulest heart's desires mate,
He's my ideal fit to live without
and that’s what I stand in need of,
My true soul mate is my mirror,
the one that shows everything
that is holding me back-
the one who brings me
to my own tender
LOVING care!
So can I invert lifestyles?
into his lest do whatever
it takes- let thee blessing
corset be what I say or do.
There are hundreds of
ways to kneel and
kiss the ground.
Through my cling
for him, I want to
express my
sweet embrace for the
whole cosmos,
the whole of
humanity,
and all beings
to caress.
By existing for him,
I want to dig up
For him more,
wholeheartedly.
Just I come
next to him
into loving him,
The way thou art love myself
I will be able to woo everyone
and all sorts o' order, disarray
Aside from unfit for the world
And of the world
[And I am beaming joy..
Yea glad with all my heart
That thus so blithesome
I myself can I be freely ache free]
A real understanding o' amity
What I really starve to do
is what I really aspire to affect to .
Whence doing well
what's purposely longed swell.
Whilst called for,
HOPE aught not get the worst of
Hard times
Nothing but good times
therefore,
Whether economics
meets waterloo breaks through;
comes to us,
Abundant mammoth o' thine mercy
open for us,
I feel functional,
and molded
deemed,
in the manner to be fond
of each other.
Discern to versed what I ache for
and if I dare to dream
of joining our heart’s pining
God's entwined love - waiting!
Because, all this time,
I've hankered to love you and you alone!
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
See those stars twinkling so high in the skies?
Some are sad stars trying to avert their eyes,
They've observed lovers who have parted ways,
To keep from crying, they must turn their gaze
And those stars displaying faint hues of red .....
Don't know if it's true, but I've heard it said
Love songs and poems tend to make them cry,
And cause these soulful stars to blush and sigh
Now each star's assigned a task to perform,
To create galaxies, many must swarm;
Stars must grant favors when they're wished upon,
Should they fail their tasks, their light soon grows wan
And such stars will be expelled from their berth,
The Lord God sends them careening toward Earth;
It's not clear what offense they've committed,
Perhaps they were lax, or just dimwitted
But how lucky is the star that hovers
And twinkles in the bright eyes of lovers!
Their satisfying task never grows old,
(With stars in our eyes, love never grows cold)
If love has found you, then you have been blessed.
If you're still searching, don't give up the quest;
And when love tears down despair's prison bars,
Don't forget to thank your lucky stars!
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 12:48 PM UTC
It seduced you, did it not?
It left you lifeless, did it not?
You screamed and begged.
Stop it;
Freedom is not your!
And now you wander
Mourning for your innocence.
The veil between life and death,
Torn beyond repair.
Yet I still scream and beg;
No more a dimwitted fool.
Someone who has seen
Someone who has touched,
Tasted.
It will never stop.
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
Words flow from this pounding heart.
Vultures take from my Soul
Like 1,000 Dementors demanding their Tolls
To be collected for riding their
Soul Train
Paying Up
I feel like I'm starting to grow insane
Harpies lecture me on how Happiness can be used like *****
They tell you to feel "Half of the sad"
To balance and create the soul's Equilibrium.
Laughing in their old and lack of street educated faces...
I lean in my seat, proudly, "I've earned my scars"
"I've traveled these roads.."
Like "Frogger" and "His Game"
I've paid the prices for everyday trifles...
"With stronger powers than you..."
"I deserve to intoxicate myself in these "odes..."
Of "The Drug you call Happiness.."
So educate that "Dimwitted Someone"
"Who doesn't know as much as I "
"Or has no hands-on training."
"On life's battlefields."
For "I've been drafted many times"
"Sit. Let me teach you, teachers.."
"Experience sometimes deserves trust.."
"moments of enjoyment for the ease of weight.."
"For you, teachers, have become 'the students'
who I am about to re-educate."
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC