"disappointingly" poems
******* white people;
hide their racism behind
vapid "opinion".
******* white folks will
argue you can't argue with
results and numbers
because white people
can strip race from the issue
and swear it's "equal".
White people without
culture or identity,
strip it from others.
Call you naked as
they strut in stolen clothing.
Full of silicone.
**** with white people,
find out they know the struggle
by the article.
They can sweat big stuff,
but their racism is in
the cracks and seeping.
Disappointingly,
you can't trust white people for
**** not even me.
Not Bush, not Clinton,
Donald Trump, Bernie Sanders,
******* Macklemore,
Not Bill O'Reilly,
and not Jon Stewart, and not
viral feminists/
white feminism,
Taylor Swift's white sisterhood,
their artists, music,
writers, poetry,
actors, authors, painters and
sculptors and bloggers,
their politicians,
obviously, but also
their lawyers, doctors,
their engineers and
scientists and businesses,
economists or
pastors, preachers, religion,
programmers, products,
video games and novels;
They will let you down.
The rich or the poor,
it really doesn't matter.
They will let you down.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
I hurriedly pull my street dusted , golden brown Toyota into the middle of a gas station war zone. The kind that turns neighbors into enemies, fighting to gain the only valuable piece of real estate around – the gas tanks. The drivers collectively sport the exact same exhausted and frustrated grimaces. A rusty and dated “ Exon Mobile” sign stands tall and strong against the sundrenched sky. The day is coming to a close, and the sun seems hurried to set as if it is exhausted from the day’s labors and expectations that it must rise again tomorrow, just like the gas station’s patrons. This station, to most, is just another stop. Another errand that puts itself between you and the warmth of home. This station, is just another stop. Another errand at the end of an endless day. But to me, this place is full of promise. This is the one place on earth that gives us life. It gives us the chance to see the world and to explore uncharted grounds. This place brings us closer to adventure and myseries, to happiness, to heartbreak, to feeling. This is the fuel and the energy that is waiting to help you make it to the hospital at 4 am to see the birth of a child. This old and worn pitstop let’s us fall in love with the world, with what we can see, with eachother.
But there is this silver truck with tires too big and a man two sizes to small in the passenger seat. There is a prominent dent in the left side door that has remained unchanged, unhelped, in weeks. As this silver, dented piece of metal sits in the way between me and my pajamas, I have the chance to stop. Not to stop because I’ve finally got to where I’ve been trying to go. Not to stop to pay the McDonald’s cashier in shameful regret of another broken new year’s promise. But to really stop. For an unexpectedly and disappointingly long time. To stop with no expectations. To be forced to just stop. And to wait. And to look around.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
I love the way that you can still always manage to write perfect circles
around me.
My words feel so small. Insignificant. When I want to write you back.
Falling short out of my lips. Hanging disappointingly in the air.
Maybe this time will be different. Maybe if I shout it
like I want to. Maybe if I make a declaration-
my words can stand next to yours.
I feel the same way.
I want your answers. I want your intimate details. I want to trace your skin over, and over. I want to feel the curve of your spine
and the curve of your lips
and your fingers as they curve around mine.
I want to savor the feeling
of words pressed against you. Hot, lost, unobtainable desire.
My greatest vice is not ink on paper.
It's the canvass of your soul and skin.
That's what I've always loved about you. Poetry in motion.
Definitely a unique love. It is not like loving a poet. It's loving: living,
breathing, words. It's knowing them by heart. The way you dance through vibrations cast in the air. The way I know that you are a poem all yourself. The closest thing to religion I've ever felt. Reading you- cover to cover. Discovering your words.
Maybe that's the most disappointing part. I'm lying.
I haven't read you cover to cover. I know I barely got past the introduction. There's something deeper within you that I crave to know.
Desperately.
Something that I'm afraid I'll never know. The best thing I've ever read. Left unfinished.
I guess I don't deserve to know something so wonderful. Maybe that's the limitations of an earthly body. Where I don't get to know you because I was lost- a victim of distance and a slave to circumstance. Taken by life. Taken by being busy. Taken away without really understanding why.
I'd give anything to sit down intimately with you
and devote all of my time
savoring all of your words,
counting all your pages,
loving each one,
until I could close the spine,
only to turn you over,
and start all over again.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 10:19 PM UTC
born of blood
from a thorn
of a beautiful flower
from the love
of the horned
adorned
in power
cowering
in the vicious
maliciousness
of the constituents
in the deliverance
to my ridiculousness
saw
twisted shapes
and contorting faces
heard
blurred words
displaced
in hateful slurs
of aggression
and i cannot count the cases
in my tasteless confessions
in my reluctant concessions
in my brutal perfection
of my obsessions
imposed against my will
you're supposed to feel
what they do
right?
opposed to killing
for the thrill
but it sometimes
just feels right
shanky gone unscrupulous
shivering
his shimmied
blood on the walls
stuttering stanleys
still silly stringing
calling for candy
but missed last call
and fell to the floor
as Bruno butchered the boar
in a deplorable fashion
a crime of passion
we were hungry
rubbing our tummies
for the honey
of bee hives
jive turkeys
turning to bunnys
for good times
but we were alive
while others were not
fraught with darkling majesty
sparkling at the seraded points
disjointed
in Freudian
ointments
self anointed
as god
standing over
some butchered
brod from abroad
wiping the fog
of dislodged
eye sockets
from my grog
how you get
from there to here
isn't really a fair mirror
on my intention
i meant to
suspend her
just enough
to face f--k
and with luck
strangle her
but she prayed to be ripped down
in her own way
my f--king way
stripped her
of dignity
wimpering
in little cute sounds
who am i?
but the guy
who spaced
hit her
too many times in the face
and replaced her
facelessness
with ***** toiletries
disappointingly
underwhelmed
still in search of a fairy
to take the helm
and ferry me
from this film
disparagingly
just spare me
the tragedy and grief
blaring from the TV
as i mock
their expressions
in my lessons
of humanity
before the flock
to shelter
my anxiety or not
gonna be
a real boy one day
and conform
to the
wayward ways
the way
of sheep
sleeping
soundly
in decay
blue fairy
gonna
marry me
one
day
be
real
one
day
one
day
1
d
a
y
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
Loneliness is craving love from a person you know isn't right for you because nobody else is around.
It's wondering what it feels like to feel at home and secure in someone else's arms, and if that feeling can truly really exists forever.
It's choosing men with darkened lives because their dependency brings you a selfish feeling of permanence and safety.
It's a gut wrenching and sick feeling seeping into your bones when you are held with pure and genuine tenderness because you can taste the closeness of your expiration more than sweetness in the moment.
It's keeping the weak and fearful girl locked and imprisoned within the core of your heart, thinking that it is the only way to exude perfection, while only further losing yourself in the process.
It's missing out on yet another chance of revealing your wounds, and letting someone truly sit beside you and accept you, because you took too long, and no one waits forever.
It's allowing for others to take advantage and treat you poorly, because your self worth runs shallow.
It's asking suitor after suitor what trait it is within you that they find most endearing, and the response is always superficial, making you disappointingly wonder why no one can see what is in your heart and mind
It's dwindling further and further away from God unintentionally and missing the serenity and peace He once brought to your soul.
It's gazing into the eyes of your unborn child and wondering what that moment of motherhood will feel like -when you're looked at innocently for protection and unconditional endless love
It's realizing that whoever my life long companion will be, will not be the one who is responsible for filling these gaps
It's wondering how I am going to win this battle against myself in a cold and lonely world to feel like a stronger and confident women deserving of the beauty and sweetness life has to offer.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
Don't try and save me.
Thousands have tried and failed,
watched disappointingly,
each time I've derailed.
Don't set of shore and raise the sails.
Im drowning,
Sinking in a sea of what could have and what should have been
There is no life boat strong enough to take back the things I've seen
withhold my weighty heart.
my soul is anchored in the the darkest parts,
The murkiest waters.
It is held down in the depths
of despair
Save your own sons and daughters.
Im a wasted rescue mission.
Throw down your ammunition
i have enough to tear myself apart.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
Have you ever seen a bright eyed
Glowing person
Sober three years
Pull a dime bag out of her purse
It may have been three years
But the person reflected back up at her
From that small mirror
Is not the person in front of you;
It’ll be the same person she was three years ago
It’ll reflects her long forgotten face, but also will be a window into her own personal rock bottom
It is a hotel room key to a tailor made suite in a town she never should have visited
This is not the face she dreamed of growing up to see reflected in her astronaut helmet
Her self-image disappointingly is only eclipsed by passing streetlights
And not the skylines of glitter scattered on the earth’s outline
It would have been a beautiful circumspective background
But she can’t look from aircraft window microscopes now
Now she sits viewing the world through city bus window magnifying glasses
And she worked hard to get here
She earned her urban lab coat and degree from the harsh alleyway lessons
And a life path of two steps forwards one step back
And three here forwards
And a few more back
And really
It’d be a shame to wear out a perfectly good pair of shoes to make this journey all for not
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
*When she is
over joyed
by love-filled emotions,
her words delicately
dance upon the page,
When she is
brokenhearted,
disheartened,
and overwhelmed by darkness,
her words fall heavy
and splatter all over the stage.
When her wings
are raised in flight,
it is love,
singlehandedly,
lifting her up,
ever so gracefully,
When she is
spinning around,
out of control
with two left feet,
it is pain and anxiety
forsaking her--disappointingly.
Her poetic dances
are well known
for being freestyled,
erratic and spontaneous,
Be it a classical ballet,
or an explosive routine,
her artistic expression
is always crafted
and delivered
with style and finesse.
By Lady R.F. (C)2017*
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 1:38 AM UTC
You
1.
used to refer to the person or people that the speaker is addressing.
"are you listening?"
2.
used to refer to any person in general.
"after a while, you get used to it"
I wish I wasn't listening
Or reading
To the broken
The mourning
The snide remarks
The boos
The cheers
I never got used to it.
The teasing
The gap
Just because
I'm Korean
We were
All
Walking the tightrope
And
I,
Disappointingly
But
Unsurprisingly,
Fell.
Book
Music
Films
Sports
Art
Dance
I went through them all,
Trying to find relief.
But none came.
I am not what you think I am.
No one knows the true me
Hell
I don't even know.
"Have you ever smiled?"
"I never seen you smile,
Is there something wrong?"
"Are you alright?"
The question bounce
Around me
Eating me
Drinking me
Consuming me
Breaking me
I lost my smile
At a very young age
I stopped talking after that
Singing
Dancing
Being ME
Was a totally different girl
I sit
With my math in front of me
After a violin performance.
Being called nerd,
Asian
Yellow
Bomber
North K
******
Gay
******
********
Medusa
I'm used to it now.
I look up, and
smile at my mother
Who loves me
And hates me
"After your homework is done,
Dry your hair and
Get ready
For your concert
On Saturday."
She kisses my head
While my father scoffs
"How did you get 2nd chair
With no skill?
You're only on book three"
I look away.
I look back.
My father hasn't spoken.
Nor my mother
They're downstairs
And
I
Just
Cry.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 9:53 PM UTC
I feel(t) my prettiest with sunken cheeks and
A dragon spine and
A suggestion of ribs and
A coffee stomach
(disappointingly swollen)
I turned in the mirror
And slowly painted
Away with dark circles
Away with premature wrinkles
On with the perfect skin the
Black eyeliner the
Huge eyes
(i see everything, you *****
(post pictures on Yahoo!)
(oh, a seven.)
(disappointing.)
There was no food in the house
(she bought coffee with the $20 I lent her)
I hungered for nothing but
Cavernous blue eyes (my own)
I hungered for nothing but
To have fun (i can prove it)
I turn the pages of my diary and there
Is nothing but song lyrics (they made sense to me)
Somewhere
Testament to my weakness is where
I say I want to be loved.
(there's nothing left)
(i was living when I was running on coffee)
(i wish i could go back)
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 3:52 PM UTC
What’s the harm in joining with a crowd of people
United around a rainbow and a passion for equality?
If it’s true that
God Hates ****
Then we’re in real trouble
Under the colours of His great judgment on the party of depravity
Entitling the parade as
Pride
Which goes before destruction
If it’s true that
God is Love
Then let’s not be offended
There is no need for
Straight Pride Day
Unless I missed the memo
Threatening the death penalty for love and marriage
Is it not the case that the driver for Gay Pride
Is that some are treated differently, judged by their inside
When the rest of humanity can step up and take Pride
In their efforts and achievements, and not what they confide
In their most trusted friends so as to dodge that stereotype?
So why has the parade become the world’s greatest collection
Of the loudest, brashest versions of the most extreme ideas
When almost every gay person I know is almost disappointingly…
Normal?
My Gay-Proudest moment was when I gave a job
To an LGBT chairman, who stood out from the crowd
Not because of his leaning and not because of pity
But for being the best fit and better-skilled than the rest
The Day on which we can be
Gayest and Proudest
Will be the day when there’s no need
For Gay Pride Day
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 5:09 AM UTC
It happens just because we need
To want and be Wanted too
Serendipitously here, spontaneously there,
A true friend I've found in you.
Now friends will come and some will last, but in the end so few;
Are in actuality Ride or Dies
Disappointingly it's proven true.
Lucie my friend, has forced my hand
To write my words of feeling
For untill now there'd been no reason
To attempt a written healing.
♡
Jul 23, 2022
Jul 23, 2022 at 8:00 AM UTC
A Few Short Years Of Grace
Looking at my sagging face,
And thinking about what I saw –
The cheeks, eyelids and sagging jaw,
And postulating what would be
If I had plastic surgery
With what I’ve seen of movie stars,
The tight, creamed skin,
The scars without, the scars within
The thousands spent during and after,
Smoothed out skin deprived of laughter;
Then I see my sagging face,
Know that I’d have some years of grace
Before the sagging showed again.
Folk who know would shrug and say,
“She looks okay!”
Folk who do not know me:
When they meet me would accept me as I am
‘Cause frankly, they don’t give a ****
What does some years of smooth-skinned grace
Mean to an aging face
That’s changing every second of each minute every day?
I cannot get away from that.
I’ve tried to hide, slide, glide from aging, lesions, prides illusions.
In conclusion, and for reasons written;
Leaving out the surgery and thoughts of temporary beauty
This old jaw will have to be
Left as it is (a little disappointingly)
And as it is becoming.
A Few Short Years Of Grace 10.13.2016
Circling Round Aging; Circling Round Wrinkles; Circling Round Vanities II;
Arlene Corwin
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
There is a secret place
Where I stumble over moments
Bleed out
Small tragedies
Ossuaries of unbirthed dreams
I pick the bones clean
Fat with the bitter marrow
I **** my own ego dry
Always hungry for more
Reality imperious with her stark sun
Will obtrude this paper veil
Lethal
Wasps in the wine
Sting my throat
Bloated
I cough out only lies
Transfixed by specters
The thin skin membrane fantasy
Effaces
I am so…
Disappointingly mortal
Transfixed by shadow Christologies*
This shallow breathing
Slow asphyxiation
Of mantras that never rise
Appropriate the faithless
Words that burn
Catapult my personal truth
Against your stone walled beauty
I am ragged
Broken
Imprisoned in this walking cadaver
I call soul
She wants what she wants
There is no beauty in this lie
Only the resonant sensation
Of the inevitable decay
When the secret place that is me
Turns to ash
And blows away….
TL Boehm
2010
*Shadow Christologies - is a term often used for Old Testament teachings that alluded to Christ - many Jewish Festivals were examples of "shadow Christology" - in this piece specifically the intent is to illuminate the futilty of chasing shadows when the real thing is available...
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
The strength of people's voice, loud and clear
Can any elected representatives speak
As loudly, as clearly as the people?
True courage and democratic freedom
When people gather and march unconfined
Not cowering in their corner
Only to hear their pitiful squeaks
If it must rain, let it not drizzle disappointingly
Let the trumpet sound from the hills
Not under your bed, but let the light of freedom
Blaze fiercely
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 4:48 AM UTC
Always doing things
Hand up my skirt
Down my best knickers
Inside my lovely bras
In fact !
At it forever
It'll never ****** stop
But !
The strange thing is
And so disappointingly
He doesn't do it daily
Only !
When they are on my line.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC
I could be a dog left out in the rain,
Hungry and counting every minute
In sevens.
I'd wait for you for days, through
Nights, never giving up.
Raising my wet head at every and any
Shadow passing. Hoping. Hoping.
Hoping.
I'll wait forever for you to trust me.
I could be a single seed, windborne,
Then dropped in just enough soil
To crack open and whisper myself roots
As faint as mere thought at first.
Growing, drinking, bathing in sun,
Bending with the movements of
Earth and air.
I'd grow forever until you trusted me.
I'll wait forever for you to trust me.
I've hurt as many people as I've shaken
Hands with in this life.
Nearly every important choice I made
Was a bad one.
I take full responsibility.
So trust me.
I'll never lie and say *I'll never make you
Cry.* I love you too honestly for
Truthlessness. No cloak and dagger,
No lie less white than *Girl, these flowers
Are not for you.*
I am as disappointingly human as
They come.
Men.
I'll let you down, I'll make you wonder,
I'll see you question your own
Judgement, and taste in men.
I refuse to pretend to be more than I am.
I'm too old to fake.
Too old to care too much for
Opinions and impressions.
So trust me;
I'll shake my wet fur on your new coat,
I'll jump up and lick your face,
Leave strands of hair and smelly
Wet smudges all over you,
As happy as only a dog can be.
Trust me.
Take the leash and walk me home.
I've been waiting forever for you to
Trust me.
I'll wait forever for you to trust me.
I'm not even tied to that pole.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
I jetted to Italy
last week to interview
sweet, dead Juliet.
So how is
that true love thing
working out for you,
I asked?
Not well, she replied.
Romeo is grown
old and cold,
his fingers like ice,
his kisses like stone
his ardent desire
sadly has flown.
I pointed out,
in all fairness,
You realize that
after 400 years
you are mostly dust?
Well then, she snapped,
make him into
a vacuum cleaner
that he might
**** upon my sweetness
as he did before.
You may call that
true love.
It was a disappointingly
predictable interview.
~mce
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
externally, I believe in masks. pull at my ******* when I have them. pull old man. you are my soul. happiness is the impossibility of incidental sadness. tell happiness to child one through child four. too many tear too tamely at the face no goddess dies in. a time honored receiver is disappointingly brilliantly a sponge
living off
your mother’s hand.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
i
who would have imagined i´ d
have my very own computer
we had wooden pens in a class
of sixty..
two a third of a pint of milk every
day
(though i never made monitor..)
in the summer the milk could become
disappointingly tepid
and in the winter
the blue **** fed on the icing cream
thus rendering it unfit..
(though we drank it any hows..)
we all found that very charming
and did not begrudge their ingenious
ness..
(they who had no breakfast drank
sometimes three bottles..)
we had abacus or what ever the plural
is..
(i don´ t care..)
which if i am correct
was a system of mathematic
invented by the persians
or so..
but my favourite lesson
was propelling paint by
a straw..
(i was a budding pollack..)
the random and sub conscience..
and some old newspaper..oh yeah..
i used the same method years later
to wean myself off *****
opening up pleasure
that had been sleeping..
stimulating and fused..
now,i have a computer..!
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 6:28 AM UTC
Aches and pains hurting.
Family abandons us.
Disappointingly.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 6:06 PM UTC
I am Wet and Cold.
I am Cold and Wet.
On weekly nights like these,
It seems that is all I get.
I shiver as rain drips down
From my neck onto my back.
My head down, all I see
Is the street--a shiny black.
My hair sticks so tightly,
Like a lover, clinging to my face.
Is it possible for me to find
A more disappointingly lonely place?
These walks back home, I know,
Are slowly killing me,
With rain and rust surrounding
As all I ever see.
I made it to the bridge somehow
To watch water touch itself.
I cannot seem to comprehend
How my life became this hell.
My feet dangle over the edge,
My elbows rest upon my knees.
The cold ice in my chest
I fear, just might make me freeze.
I jump without a second thought
To the river down below.
Just as I hoped, it only gets warmer
The further down I go.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC