"disarranged" poems
Look into my eyes..
If you can see. .
You can see that there's no lies.
I stand true I have a strong spine
I tell you the Truth I have nothing to hide.
Like at earlier points in my life I wish I would die.
I locked the pain inside
If it wasn't for God I would not have survived
Dysfunctional brain cells
I held them captive disarranged my mind needed help..
So I prayed
Prayed for freedom..
God I needed to see him
Cause for to long my pops death plaque like a demon..
I would see pistols flame while dreaming .
I cried tears of rain like it was monsoon season
I was hurt didn't really allow love to love ..
I embraced partially like a half hug...
I would write lines of sorrows.
Stuck in the past and was afraid of tomorrow..
Picture me then..
Stayed to myself I didn't have many friends.
The word trust to me sounded ugly..
I never would of thought that I would write so lovely..
For my God who today I know loves me..
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
mark of cain in my hemoglobin, i'm more open to repast on brains.
to dine on flesh enmeshed in baseball parks and homes restrained
by greed of the same. and the cry of the people takes great pains
to refine the message of a blank stare. a blemish, stark with catacombs
disarranged in harm honey. the ogre of pine. the amber pane
where we bleed. we name nameless, by the by,
to the finish.
but not
alone.
up your petticoat with my blind cleaver. my Occam razor to your stain.
a fine mess express in hateful art and boneless jade
we feed on the frame of our reference. skylarking harmonious curves dismayed
by their own mind. they confess it. at the statefair. replenished, they knish in falderal
disengaged from honesty. the poker blind. where the eye staid.
where we need. we need most ... tell ya why.....
to diminish
but not
atone.
and so it goes. i erode the continent. sneaky pete in the crease of all strange.
itchy feet. maimed in false lies of the ripple. made fake
to real love. unclaimed. a gangly part of broken promises made
we retreat at last. with our last mimes. we undress. with savoir faire. distinguished in our dashery
ill fated. calamity's bark. hard to define. where the mind misbehaved.
we're complete most where the hole resides...
to imprison
but not
hold.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:29 AM UTC
fresh tilled soil revealed phalanges of innocents
disarranged,
like chewed chicken bones, pointing or reaching
mixed with lost tree leaves that steel tines stirred in;
twigs snapped from limbs by some storm long forgotten,
skeletons left behind after picking the cotton
the Farmer sows afresh earth’s next crop rotation
seeds of winter wheat for bread we’ll be eating;
or grasses and sorghum for new cattle pasture
laid in shallow furrows with prayers for cover
a swaying anthem of living,
our losses forgiven by a harvest of summer
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 10:12 PM UTC
we arose high in delusion
a projection of tranquillity
for once in this disarranged existance
I thought that I could breath
but it was just a mass of lies
a masquerade of misfortune
an impression on impressible minds
for now we fall entwined
screaming towards certain desolation
like an earthquake during a firestorm
descending into spiritlessness
spiralling downward apart
as this ghastly specter shatters in my mind
forever spellbound
© 2011 joshua deathdealer
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 12:01 PM UTC
Mark of Cain in my hemoglobin, i'm more open to repast on brains.
to dine on flesh enmeshed in baseball parks and homes restrained
by greed of the same. and the cry of the people takes great pains
to refine the message of a blank stare. a blemish, stark with catacombs
disarranged in harm honey. the ogre of pine. the amber pane
where we bleed. we name nameless, by the by,
to the finish.
but not
alone.
up your petticoat with my blind cleaver. my Occam razor to your stain.
a fine mess express in hateful art and boneless jade
we feed on the frame of our reference. skylarking harmonious curves dismayed
by their own mind. they confess it. at the statefair. replenished, they knish in falderal
disengaged from honesty. the poker blind. where the eye staid.
where we need. we need most ... tell ya why.....
to diminish
but not
atone.
and so it goes. i erode the continent. sneaky pete in the crease of all strange.
itchy feet. maimed in false lies of the ripple. made fake
to real love. unclaimed. a gangly part of broken promises made
we retreat at last. with our last mimes. we undress. with savoir faire. distinguished in our dashery
ill fated. calamity's bark. hard to define. where the mind misbehaved.
we're complete most where the hole resides...
to imprison
but not
hold.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
so colourful
so iridescent
so artfully
arranged
so insightful
so righteous
so incandescently
deranged
so articulate
so devoted
so incomparably
emotive
so particular
so insightful
so inevitably
disarranged
so empty
so full
so
strange
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
We were ledge-sitters.
We understood why birds perch themselves on penthouse patio rails
And why airplanes sigh with breaths of relief when they are defying gravity.
We would hold the crooked hems of our dresses while we climbed metal stairs like mountains.
The urge for heightened perception of depths, distances, and the disarranged built in us like skyscrapers we hung ourselves over.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
A time will come for wants and needs
for things we thought by summer trees
when things were odd,but odd to us
is strange and changed and disarranged
the thought of right was surely wrong
yet wrong right now can still belong
and time it still falls from the face
where hands they glide by gentle pace
concealed by a sneer that waits
a centaur, it minds the gates
with children's teeth around his waist
and golden locks down by his face
return once more while still awake
the gray, the old, with ernest hate
to strip the bloom from garden napes
and prune the vines in oddly shapes
to laugh, to cry, to sing once more
and soak in waters they once adored
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 7:47 PM UTC
Sometimes I don't know if I should cry my eyes out, cut my wrists, or cut my eyes out so I never have to see you again.
Sometimes I just can't hold it in.
The pain I feel is real.
I love you enough to let you hurt me over and over...
Again, I need a friend.
Sometimes you say I am selfish and snappy.
Those are the times when you can't even make me happy.
I don't see why you don't understand when I tell you it hurts.
You just keep on and find a way to make it worse.
I don't even know,
who lied to who first?
You seem to know just fine,
you like seeing my face rubbed in dirt.
How many times will I ask myself why?
I know I'm disarranged and you're no better.
Sometimes I can't see
how we are ever happy together.
It's deeper than you.
And me.
There is no looking up.
We are covered distilled in concrete and glass,
we have to pick at each other just to see.
Maybe one day we'll recognize each others pain.
And stop ripping and tearing, layers from our skin.
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 10:40 PM UTC
At the hour of the dawn
When the sailors have gone
And the ship is standing
To be taken
And the cold singing breeze
Sings its changes to the seas
And the song will never
Be forsaken
But the change that has come
Will never stay here at home
And the sailors will leave
In the morning
And the girls will just cry
When the songs have passed them by
And the breeze’ll cease to try
To be pleasing
And the curvy horns of time
Will surely always deny
That there were branches to
The girls’ soft feelings
And the trees will just swing
Every morning again
Waiting for the change
To be coming
But the old men will rot
And young be forgot
And nothing will change
In the end
The same hour shall strike
Everyday every night
And nature’ll be whimpering
And moaning
Calling to proceed
To pay some more heed
To the pain of the innocent
That’re falling
The swift sea has changed
And the feeling disarranged
And songs no more mean
The same meanings
Like a hound that moves
As it looks at the moon
And the moon pretty
Just keeps smiling
And the hound then howls
Its deep lamenting growls
To night and its forgotten
Promises
And at the side of the dawn
When the pirates are alone
With their smiles and their scars
And their singing
And their cheer shall be heard
To the wind and the birds
And the air in celebration
Cheering
For nothing is lost
When happiness the cost
And happiness the prize
In winning.
The girls will dance again
To the tune of the rain
And their dresses shall flow
Like silver
With soft shining eyes
And their innocent surprise
And their bodies moving
And swaying
Like gods they shall rush
Away from the hush
And remember the dawn
With laughter
Once that the hound
And the pirates have calmed
And the girls have ceased
Their chatter
And tired they shall sleep
On their beds in a heap
Free from all thoughts
Of slumber
And the wind and the dawn
Shall pass on and on
And wait again for the
Cheering
When the pirates shall return
And surprise everyone
With their smiles and their scars
And their singing
[That’s it!]
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
yes.
we have the avenue and the fortress,yes.
we are genuine. we thunder the spark of a long darkness
but alarm heaven from the porch of our peachlight.
the pit, asking why we bother
as we shackle the sun to our gross harness.
come.
come and be clean and be witness.
be the few. the proud. the serene.
join me in the fathoms of the lost found
and jungle your monkeys
in the branches of a drowning
dowry.
i suggest you move.
i plot, you prove. indeed, i will it so -
but you must leave now.
your demons are quite proud, and no one
has the stick
to stave them off now.... now that you love
them so.
So
my voice, choose.
let your game prove game-less
and be twice removed.
shed your dark god
and trod upon the soft drench
of my deluge.
swirl the sun of it
so the fire burns like ablution
in the rendered fat
of your angels.
Use them.
or be disarranged
by them.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 12:19 PM UTC
I want to tell him that I
love everything from a distance
but can cross oceans in seconds
that the people before him sopped
through my fingers like wet sand,
were ever flat and disarranged, empty
men with waterless words and exigent
appetites for my body--(that this is where
i learned the only way to please a man was
to give him myself)
I'm still undoing the knots, unraveling the little girls
coiled in lies, and taking mallets to the plaster molds
I built up around myself, mannequins for different men
and if there is anything I am confused
about it is him, his I-could-nevers, his frightening
absolutes, the ways in which he vows he can never change
*you think you want me but at the back of your mind you want
something else*
I don't want you--not like that. Not as if
your worth was based on how quick you jump into the fray for my sake. How many times you make me smile or say your name--however
you are soaked in rosemary and oil, folded up out of my notebook
into a thousand paper cranes--no, not even like that.
How do I tell you that I see your soul? Your threadbare spirits peeking out and the willowy fibers unraveled in your wake, that you are more than your mothers many marriages, more than the women you did not
want to have-- and deserving of a lasting love that transcends your mistakes and leaves your mirrors remarkably clean, did you know you can be clean?
How do I tell you that the broken do not fix the broken, how I cannot share the blueprint for healing but the burden if he asks--are we in the same book? The same chapter? I once heard that two people must grow in a similar direction at the same pace--are we on the same boat? The same road? On the torrent seas, will you hold your own?
I realize I cannot come at you with such brazen artillery, that the paths I choose have no gates and are often unmarked, not even the grass gives way, nor the trees and twigs their secrets--and the journey is wholly faith, an expedition I have not fully taken but is presently on its way. When I tell you what falls first and where my priorities settle, I speak down the pike of the ways I hope to be and the woman that waits in whole.
So when he tells me I am confusing for the hundredth time and I sink somewhere off the Atlantic with the weight of my own thoughts, I am quiet. His words are ever resounding but do not fill me up--just the glimmering hope that we will somehow
meet
in the
Middle
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 7:26 PM UTC
If we were the last people on earth
Nothing would change.
I would still wake up
To your sunkissed skin
Dancing down your back
As your warmth embraces me
I would still kiss your lips
Say "good morning, my sweet prince"
And wrap these lanky arms
Around a promised tranquility
I would still examine your nakedness
A form only I can admire
Every crevasse of deep desire
Melts my heart of iron, how easily
I would still laugh with you
As we dance in strange places
My hands glued to your every move
As we are one, separated as two
I would still lose myself
In the candid way you live
A fly on the wall I hope to be
To catch every smile painted with glee
I would still wrestle with you
As I puff out my chest
To hear your giggled breath
I am not strong, but with you I am strength
I would still find myself
In the darkness of your eyes
When the world is disarranged
My home will never change
We would still fall asleep
Just a little too late
But you'll see me in the morning
And I'll see you in my dreams
Because if we were the last people on earth
I know, nothing would ever change
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 2:36 AM UTC
I stand here covered in all my sin
(But what am I to do)
Please just take a look again
(I'm right in front of you)
No way I can make amends
(please open your eyes wide)
Wish you could feel where I've been
(anger is only my disguise)
Under the weight of this pain
(my angry words I threw)
The things I did were not sane
(the distance between us grew)
At times I'm still disarranged
(Fighting , I'm only human too)
I'm so very sorry, I know what I did was wrong
I'm so very sorry, I know I can be headstrong
I hope you forgive me, but either way we must both carry on
If I'm not in your life's journey, may you feel my love is strong
©Pauline Russell
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 8:00 PM UTC
cant even sleep,I've got thoughts running through ma head, like a whole streak of, disarranged bits
can't even think straight ,thinking so hard to even write this lyrics
unusual of me even with inspiration
feel like am writing my own story but emptying ma soul
it's like am living the lives of other people with ma self gazing from afar
locked up ,but i Django,in the jungle of my cross puzzled mind
like a twisted crown of thorns of Jesus ,suppressing my salvation
mi casa es su casa ,but am treated like a mutating tenant.
The world crumpling ,rumbling in ma mind ,high tidal waves
washing every happy memory i can find
don't mess with me cos you get smoked out by my troubles
loki divine ,misinterpreted,interlocked,inter-coined.
soulless lyrics only the dead can decipher
knowledge of the so called wise men is stupidity before God
so you see the world is ruled by stupid precepts ,so i free my mind
we don't make mistakes,but i say we took and mistook opportunities
okay i feel like am writing a story ,no but an advice ,not love ,
neither hate ,not fiction or non fiction but i think its your to decide
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
Who is worthy of interruption
Might I ask
Or is that another question you have no clue how to even begin to process
To understand
Too lazy to answer
so you murmur
"I don't know man"
Now a decade,
nearly two,
later;
You're reactions haven't changed
And I ask you yet another,
You become all disarranged.
"Cause that's just life"
That's all you ever answer
"And if you believe it's not fair, than go talk to your wife"
As is she's some kind of necromancer
A woman fueled of power
who has the key to numb your pain
Take that pain and devour;
But you and I know you are just a man
with lustful thoughts
and dreams thats rots
and one who never
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 5:43 PM UTC
I'm sent back
burning in ice
I glide on my skin
drinking venom
from these fangs
Oozing in the dark
Cast from broad daylight
Why even bother?
I puke out this wine
disarranged, how divine!
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
*If not for my eyes
Grown accustomed to being lost in the woods
Entrenched in the subtle darkness that is always collapsing
Without color I see gray figures in the night
But I can't imagine their faces
If not for my eyes
I would have never seen you
If not for my ears
The noise of bitter cries and longing screams
The disarranged voice of love not speaking louder than the din
Without music I can still hear melodies
But the key would keep on changing
If not for my ears
You could not speak to me
If not for my nose
The stench of life and its rotting carcass
The odeous wind of putrid odor that finds me even in fields
within the stink I still smell your perfume
But the aroma is gone to soon
If not for my nose
I could not have smelt you
If not for my tongue
Often times abrubt and razor wire
The bitter flavor of the most sour and hateful food
Only wanting of sugar and honey
But going without
If not for my tongue
I go my life without your taste
If not for my skin
These hands which hold broken glass
These frayed out nerve endings too many times feeling pain
But desirious of pleasure
Carnal knowledge
And stimulation
If not for my skin
I never would have felt you*
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 1:10 AM UTC
The assembly of words come stepping in the still vagueness of thinking, “Is there something you want to say“ “Something words need saying?”
At times you wait seeming to ask permission “Shall I come along? Shall I wait here again for you?”
A word slips not sorely but given away, a gift, a challenge, a burden born to itself.
It feels beautiful… waiting. Then it comes another and another like raindrops they begin to flow. Disarranged, compelled, brought to a meaning or question. You resist judgement. You embrace a distant muse rumbling uncomfortable within you
.
Then if you should venture to stray. In an utter silent doom; the likes of being at the bottom of a well overtakes you. Apologetically amusingly as a slight smile words return pleasingly again. The ebb and flow rushing in and out, back again and again in a hurried parlay. Exchanges are made, substituted, let go. Only on paper or by spoken word is the muse emancipated so freely.
So large the mind of it, so softly the sound, as wisps kindly drift into wandering fingers tapping keys in a dance split and crossed over. In hindsight by a little chance you acknowledge grace is blessed whatever you caught in the master mind of transcending lift. You've risen above the fray, above the plain of earth and have fallen deeply in love with the unified thought of mindfulness.
Writing is accelerating, distressing, bashful, and proud, playful and dangerous but always leaves you like a kiss.
BB2015
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
Suffocation. Loss of breath Numbness to every step. Depression at its best.
Back to hell again. Where my mind welcomes my sin. My brain has always been my the hell I’m living. Isolation. Yet you’re the only thing worth seeing. Vibration. Of a frequency worth believing. You are the worth of my life. Let me pick up the notebook and drop the knife. Figures of desolation. Yet when I look at you you’re my only inspiration. Living isn’t for the weak. I see that phrase living in me. Combination of mental instabilities. Colliding with my purpose. Always questioning if I'm worth it. My breath slows as it colliding within your sweat. Yet loving you has freshened my scars. Thinking of losing you tears me apart. Our love is complicated. Yet underneath the desaturated makeup I see a soul damaged by the fragrance. The smell of trauma emerging throughout the pavement. Seeing me aid your struggle gives me hope for my struggle. Disarranged and unfit. And as we scrape our knees you are the one to help me sit. Bandage my wound just as I did to you. I lost myself looking at the reflection of you.
Flat line. The thought of losing you. Tears a bind directly through my heart tearing apart the spine. And as I am left disassembled., Society walks over our pieces like we are just a doll.
Sprawled out broken. Damaged and misspoken. Lost to them. But never Forgotten
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 6:23 PM UTC
I don’t really know who you are.
Kids use you like a monkey bar.
You let them bask in your cool shade.
All of this without being paid.
A tree, unappreciated.
To this dull life, you are fated.
Unknown, unloved, longing for change.
You are limited in your range.
Dear tree, I now know who you are.
Your love shines as bright as a star.
They'll try to shake you; don't be swayed.
If you fall, I will be dismayed.
Give up? I'll be devastated.
Be more than you're estimated.
While although they might call you strange,
do not become disarranged.
Dear tree, you are big, strong, and tall.
Do not let them be your downfall.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 12:56 PM UTC
I've been feeling...
like a king or a weak joker
putting my hopes in the sky
hoping the rain will heal my pain
trying like a madman to be normal
all roads lead to the same place
confused,bruised and abandoned by my mind
i cut and fought, thinking if i am right i will be alright!
the fog touching my arm of life
making sense for me it s fantasy
love got me feeling estranged
disarranged by the rays of shame
sensing my name burning in flames
i still hope your eyes might make it all in good name!
Apr 9, 2025
Apr 9, 2025 at 7:38 AM UTC
I wanna reinvent meetings,
with the proper composure
and bright sense of humor,
nothing can be awkward
and sad at 24;
and everyone for the rest of
the year will hope for more
meetings, classes and more
get-together meetups
that includes me
but hell no. . .
I am engrossed in all
the events, conversations and
relationships I’ve had
that didn’t end ell.
I am one with
the common strangers,
the hidden prostesters,
the loners,
the all assuming and
over analyzing
disarranged bedroom
clothes’ owner
engaged in a deadlock with
how well things aren’t
doing good.
My playlists are stockpiled
and it is too much for
only two ears to listen alone,
the music seems to be distant
no matter how straightforward
it is for people
because no one ever
speaks of loneliness
and keeping it is
supposed to be the only
way there is.
The contradiction
of the help
I get from others
is that it always has been the help
I didn’t really needed
and as for how
The Wonder Years’
song goes:
“I’m sorry I don’t
laugh at the
right times...”
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 3:57 AM UTC