"discoloring" poems
scars on her body.
skin isn't clear,
stretch marks,
discoloring,
roaming eyes, they peer,
it's not perfect.
still, she covers up,
layers of clothes,
to hide away the imperfections
that many other girls
show off in mid-sections.
black veils
black everything,
so they won't know.
years of years of self inflicted damage
don't worry sweetie cover it up with a bow.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 6:07 PM UTC
There is a place I go,
that swallows me whole,
when I allow my eyes to rest.
In this place,
my mind thrives,
and I have no say,
as to what use my thoughts are put to.
Here,
I am small and feeble,
swallowed by darkness,
and drowned,
in the hues of shadowy black,
and morbid red discoloring.
In this place,
my writing comes to life.
Wrecking all in its' path,
including myself.
This place I speak of,
is simply my imagination.
And it takes hold whenever it is given the chance.
Feb 26, 2011
Feb 26, 2011 at 10:28 AM UTC
Purity
Clear water without a hint of discoloring
Free from anything however small floating inside
What is the purity of your kindness
Can goodness be tainted?
Although the outcome is wholesome
Do motivations lessen the good of goodness?
Selfish "Good"
How good is goodness
If goodness is conditional?
If all the good I ever do
Is to get something back
If I neglect those with nothing to offer
And bargain with those who'll do anything for help?
A desperate cry to my ears sounds the same
As coins clinking while they form a pile
As the shuffling of bills
With every "good" deed
My heart races as the weight of debts owed to me grows
Obligatory Goodness
When the pure water of a good act
Is used to put out eternal fire
Done not because I love you
But to appease my angry master
Under threat of hell, how can my motivation remain pure?
If good people is what the master wants
Why even muddy the waters with goodness under threat?
Unless it's not about good people
But about having people that can be controlled
Monopolizing on man's fear of the unknown
To create slaves that will shackle themselves
For the illusion of safety
And to be free of the burden of thinking
The Good Face
How good are good acts
Done merely to preserve an image?
To stay in people's good favors?
To be praised for your selflessness?
Like the good that asks for something in return
And the one that comes from fear
If being good was not rewarded
Would you still seek it out?
You can't help if people praise you
For doing what anyone should
But you can help if that's what drives you
If you save all your goodness for the spotlight
For Goodness Sake
I saw you hurting
Your face was not that of a stranger's
Because although I've never met you
I know you.
You're me, if all our circumstances switched
I'm just as human as you
There are no main characters here
It only feels that way because ours are the only thoughts we hear
But you're no different than me.
We're all only people
But I have the ability to help
And so I will.
I don't need to be seen
I don't need you to repay me
I'm not afraid of any religion's hells
I just have compassion for you, fellow human.
Unconditional love is the heart of pure goodness
The heart of goodness for goodness sake.
Feb 11, 2021
Feb 11, 2021 at 7:13 PM UTC
Fold me,
Pull me,
Twist me,
Crumple me,
Then tie me up.
Cover me in reds,
And purples and blues,
Then leave me alone.
For hours.
For days.
Let me sit
Alone,
Crumpled,
Twisted,
And detained
Soaking in
The red and blue and purple.
Discoloring.
You come back when you want to.
And I let you pick me up and
Untie me,
Try to clean me.
I think I'm free,
But
I'm purple,
Blue,
And red.
Tie dyed.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
read his stuff
https://hellopoetry.com/r-2/
n.b. nowadays I write here only in praise of others,
as the rewards are far greater than any of the meager
stuff I got laying around.
a poem for his summer soul-stice
<>
self-confessed to the priest, we us, both, meeting
in the confess-urinal, wee needy for a solid projectile
purging, me, cause, I’m a plagiarist of inspiration
**** it every time a ce r tain poet writes,
its a sock to my multi faceted square sided~head,
discoloring my eye shadow, my maskara crazy running,
frustration, admiration, mortar and pestle pounded
into a white powder of unadulterated adultery with a
frothy topping of a jealousy muse laughing face, at me,
cappuccino made from bitter herbs and pink sea salt.
in eight lines the man accomplishes
what would take me eight, eight full
poems, even then, not coming close
still failing to retake his brevity skills,
his summer solstice way of seeing,
by keeping the dark away,
by inviting the dark in,
making it under duress,
spill the beans of his life’s
ironies, some hellish,
some not, all well kept,
in Georgia granite stoney face.
the softest steeling of words that irritates
me into a fine frenzy... what’s the use,
point made, in how he undresses
the eyes
into just outright gasping,
and that is the only
permissible comment emoji.
______________________
r
Her verse
I need to taste the salt
of her soliloquy
be drunk on the sobriety
of her verse
those words she writes
behind my eyelids
makes me want
to crawl inside her skin
and listen to her heartbeat.
Jun 23, 2020
Jun 23, 2020 at 8:22 AM UTC
I count the pills that were discoloring into the bile on the kitchen floor.
Like when you hold skittles in your sweaty hands for too long.
The contrast between the comparison made me shudder.
Though at that moment I did feel like a child.
The red was almost comedic against the white tile.
The beer cans were a crescent moon around the scene.
I can see you there sitting on the cold floor.
Palms on the ground, back against the corner.
I can see it and you were beautiful.
I straighten up.
My heart tumbles down into the pit of my stomach.
I feel so selfish.
I was glad to have you as my companion in this alternate world.
This world where for so long,
I felt like the only one to want to live there.
Now you are here, with me.
Of course you are.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 11:01 AM UTC
Tired of these predispositions affecting my condition.
Surely people peek out of their fancy yacht and know when to stop.
Give it all you got, until the genuine trials and triumphs come to a rampant end.
Biting tongues, curious on if one might be up for a run we call life.
Second strokes, carefully making sure there's no bruising.
Droopy eyes, suddenly discoloring the atmosphere.
It wasn't really much of a loss, nothing really is when you expect everything to toss.
Got a knife in one hand, your heart in the other. Slam one and one together.
I'm tired of this endeavor.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 9:07 PM UTC
Aching veins transmit liquid life to extremities
Warm and flowing, contrasting the cold metal interior
Sensitive to the electric current containing many memories
My sense of self shattered on the wall, became inferior
Scars are carved, reactions never reach the root of issues
The cause is now unknown, minds wander when alone
I remember the breaking and discoloring of the tissue
Thought my art dead and ****** with the displacement of the bone
I hid my wounds at first and now a cross marks them boldly
Embrace my daily pain, forget my future without motion
Temperature change controls my ways private burn or cold and lonely
Two repair attempts, a weakened state can’t stop devotion
Now I feel the hardened layer hidden in me from the air
Once frail now muscled and accustomed to the feeling
When I’m overcome by troubled thoughts I stop and store them there
My place of pain becomes my place of healing
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 5:23 AM UTC
Her heart was a burning fire
Fed each day by love and fear
Blackened by her intensity
Searing any who came near
Flames shot out with fury
She burned your name away
Into the coals of her fiery heart
Where your memory will stay
The heat grew stronger daily
Bending steel keeping it from harm
Discoloring, breaking, ruining
Setting off her internal alarm
She burned out some time ago
The beating extinguished by power
But she's still smoldering somewhere
With far less for her to devour.
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 12:57 PM UTC
Upon Re-Reading Doctor Zhivago
for two friends
Love lost along abandoned railway lines,
Grave-cold, grave-still, grave-dark beneath dead snow,
A thousand miles of ashes, corpses, ghosts -
Sacrarium of a martyred civilization.
A silent wolf pads west across the ice,
The rotting remnant of a young man’s arm,
Slung casually between its pale pink jaws -
A cufflink clings to a bit of ragged cloth.
Above the wolf, the ice, the arm, the link
A dead star hangs, dead in a moonless sky,
It gives no light, there is no life; a mist
Arises from the clotted, haunted earth.
For generations the seasons in darkness slept,
Since neither love nor life were free to sing
The eternal hymns of long-forbidden spring -
And yet beneath the lies the old world sighs
The old world sighed in sudden ecstasy
A whispered resurrection of the truth
As tender stems ascended, pushed the stones
Aside, away into irrelevance.
And now golden sunflowers laugh with the sun
Like merry young lads in their happy youth
Coaxing an ox-team into the fields,
Showing off their muscles to merry young girls.
The men of steel are only stains of rust,
Discoloring fragments of broken drains,
As useless as the rotted bits of brass
Turned up sometimes by Uncle Sasha’s plow.
For this is Holy Russia, eternally young;
Over her wide lands high church domes bless the sky,
While Ruslan and Ludmilla bless the earth
With the songs of lovers in God’s eternal now.
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC
I've gone beyond the wishes of every restraint.
My mind has revealed every betrayal of the saved.
Tonight, I walked in my old shoes and kicked down the same door.
I've literally marked the grave with the same cloth that has brought me,
limb by limb, to this ****** day, abhorred~
Prickles and thorns,
have your way with my sins and make sure upon the dawn,
I am reborn, once again.
Dusk,
I am the red in your sky,
bruising the eyes of the witnesses and
discoloring the skin of those passing by.
Twilight,
I the obscurity, am, too, thee.
Bend my metal gaps, fold my wooden trees.
Tear my spirit from my flesh and vaporize me~
Let the cells of my hope rebuild, yet after another mistake.
I am ready~
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
Upon Re-Reading Doctor Zhivago
for two comrades
Love lost along abandoned railway lines,
Grave-cold, grave-still, grave-dark beneath dead snow,
A thousand miles of ashes, corpses, ghosts -
Sacrarium of a martyred civilization.
A silent wolf pads west across the ice,
The rotting remnant of a young man’s arm,
Slung casually between its pale pink jaws -
A cufflink clings to a bit of ragged cloth.
Above the wolf, the ice, the arm, the link
A dead star hangs, dead in a moonless sky,
It gives no light, there is no life; a mist
Arises from the clotted, haunted earth.
For generations the seasons in darkness slept,
Since neither love nor life were free to sing
The eternal hymns of long-forbidden spring -
And yet beneath the lies the old world sighs
The old world sighed in sudden ecstasy
A whispered resurrection of the truth
As tender stems ascended, pushed the stones
Aside, away into irrelevance.
And now golden sunflowers laugh with the sun
Like merry young lads in their happy youth
Coaxing an ox-team into the fields,
Showing off their muscles to merry young girls.
The men of steel are only stains of rust,
Discoloring fragments of broken drains,
As useless as the rotted bits of brass
Turned up sometimes by Uncle Sasha’s plow.
For this is Holy Russia, eternally young;
Over her wide lands high church domes bless the sky,
While Ruslan and Ludmilla bless the earth
With the songs of lovers in God’s eternal now.
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 7:26 PM UTC
Darkness clouds the sky,
Bitter and tense,
Colors fade into grey and black,
Discoloring the world,
Bloating fast, in a minor way.
Hate conquering us humans,
Brining torture to ourselves,
As sadness kills the world.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
Jet black were his words
Dripping from his mouth
Poison
Discoloring my hearts canvas
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
When all of these peaceful dreams,
Turning into the nightmare they once were,
Failing to shield her eyes from you.
When all falls apart and like many times,
Your former patience snaps slowly and then all at once,
She hides between her jumpers with a trembling lip.
When the sun glistens through the curtains,
And last night is only a haze and a numbing throb,
You wonder why she flinches as you call her.
You reach out for her touch,
She can’t help but fall into your embrace,
Powder blue discoloring shining through her personal shield.
You clear her face of all facades,
You demand to know how this happened,
But deep beneath you know what happened to the pink-tinged angel.
Your shadows of what you once had been,
Slips away as the sun light vanishes fast,
Immersing into the same nightmare.
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 12:58 AM UTC
Love lost along abandoned railway lines,
Grave-cold, grave-still, grave-dark beneath dead snow,
A thousand miles of ashes, corpses, ghosts -
Sacrarium of a martyred civilization.
A silent wolf pads west across the ice,
The rotting remnant of a young man’s arm,
Slung casually between its pale pink jaws -
A cufflink clings to a bit of ragged cloth.
Above the wolf, the ice, the arm, the link
A dead star hangs, dead in a moonless sky,
It gives no light, there is no life; a mist
Arises from the clotted, haunted earth.
For generations the seasons are lies,
Since neither love nor life is free to sing
The eternal hymns of long-forbidden spring -
And yet beneath the lies the old world gasps
The old world gasps in sudden ecstasy
A whispered resurrection of the truth
As tender stems ascend and push the stones
Aside, away into irrelevance.
And now the sunflowers laugh with the sun
Like merry young lads in their happy youth
Coaxing an ox-team into the fields,
Showing off their muscles to merry young girls.
The men of steel are only stains of rust,
Discoloring the seams of broken drains,
As useless as the rotted bits of brass
Turned up sometimes by Uncle Sasha’s plow.
For this is Holy Russia, eternally young;
Over those wide lands her church domes bless the sky,
While Ruslan and Ludmilla bless the earth
With the songs of lovers in God’s ever-spring
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC