"discomforting" poems
Strange malaise,
One I can't place.
Struggling of late.
Discomforting state.
Persistent lethargy.
Sloth-like and heavy.
Burning internals.
Frequent intervals.
No temperature.
No warning lever.
Don't know what's wrong.
Been rather long.
Medicine trough
Can't rid me this cough.
Expulsion so violent,
Incessantly recurrent.
Over a fortnight
This ailment I fight.
Still hasn't eased.
Can't be appeased.
Development is seen.
Now spitting green.
Not just all
That joined this brawl.
It's just the coughing.
No injury I'm suffering,
I haven't bled...
But I see red...
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
a draper is someone who creates garments or patterns by draping fabric directly onto a dress form (Wikipedia)
~~~~
I am a draper,
by trade, by nature, by instinct;
a fling of one arm across her body,
while she dreams and sleeps, rambles, mumbles,
and even convulses,
to hold her tight with two, with both,
soon grows discomforting as the blood ceases to flow,
the heat breeds unsweetened sweat,
and the snuggling impact,
is too fast subsumed by the pins and needles
numbing, deadening,
and ironical attenuation
this is my pattern,
how I address her,
how I dress her,
draping my contiguous,
drawing five fingers
upon her form,
reshaping her in her sleep,
the arm flung, there, and then
there,
to be hung,
at varied places across her body,
higher lower, above below,
but her face,
free and clear,
so not to interfere
with her sensory preceptors
and as I draw my pattern upon her skin,
her body whole,
listening her to indeterminate utterances,
to determine
which
pitter patter pattern
to which.
she feels best suited,
then,
I prepare my
invoice
for her,
for services rendered,
to present upon awakening,
demanding
in voice,
by her voice,
payment in words,
of her own chosen
amuse-bouche,
mmmm, will it be?
good morning my love?
hello you!
or just an indiscriminate
but yet,
a discriminating
sound of
having been pleasured
by unknown forces
in her deeper sleep, using her lips
to say, to hum, to sing,
a genteel unspecific
but, and yet, a
terrific,
deep from within
guttural remittance,
the sound of a delicious,
mmmmmming
greeting
a new equinoxal gale
of a refreshing fresh
birthing, fulsome
already satisfying
draping of the
day
Aug 13, 2025
Aug 13, 2025 at 5:01 PM UTC
caught off guard
by yet another downpour
unprepared again
he could shelter
from the torrent
tormenting
and tempestuous
beneath the hung branches
of this laden tree
overreaching
beyond its means
but he knows
it cannot keep him dry
for as long as
he might need
from bough to branch
to leaf and bud
down the back of his neck
through layer upon layer
soon sodden and soiled
those discomforting drips
will expose that
which he didn't want
to feel
Jul 27, 2023
Jul 27, 2023 at 9:30 AM UTC
Inspired by The Mars Volta
Encased in, tubular, too much too fast, written again with music in the background!
Screams now or be they babies? Here it's more with talking, psychedelic naturally!
Complete the creativity contract stingy stars stealin' popcorn RIPS, and I can feel it coming to me. Groaning, rhyming with the rather outer despite the order AND GO! Build up, build up who wants a build up? Pause.
Groove to me my Ukraine tartar! Make no sense, make it so hard you can't understand where it or was she GOING, go, go, go! Membrane skin saturate thy kin with separating spin so I can't fuckin' breathe! Correct my sins or be you scared to talk to pins though they your friends. The tack is in to lift paper from she and she can't see. Are you a man or a mouse or anthropomorphic spouse of any of these fleeing an-i-mals?! I find in the mirror myself and beer to drown the pain or discomforting disdain I can't quite get it right anymore therefore goodbye all truly universally bleeding. I say goodbye to my past and won't come to grip with it! GRIP your children's ears but it is you who doesn't want to hear. You cover their eyes because of the size of daybreak rise! Rise to the occasional borderline street sign between
Inspired by Tool
I will explode into the stars, become all of them, but all in sparkle of another's eye
I can't rip this mind any further, or else it'll break and snap and slow-mo crack
May, may, may, may you starve, breathe, sink, rise, steep, leap, creep into my parallel like a feeling
Demented in this way due to you, the closest I'll ever get
Five years, apparently not enough to forget
Five years, without you
Five years, and you still break into my dreams
Five years
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
Parting my subtle fingers, touching the silky,mellifluous hair
Slowly moving beneath,
Placing my hand beside ,
Drawn to your marvelous, profiled, sculpted, jawline
Teasing fore play and kisses,
Without wasting hesitation,
Removing fabrics swinging in rage across the room,
Bare back and body,
Temperature rising,
Top to bottom,
As you harden and drenched,
Your rugged , tempestuous hands,
Throwing a weak influenced temptation,
Into a lustful haze, spinning
An imitation on repeat,
The heat intoxicating , inflaming the bonds between our desires,
Penetrating our virginity,
Throbbing in and outwards,
Notion the anguish and agony ,
Discomforting in moving surfaces,
I plead within your name ,
Carelessly tugging and hanging onto your body,
Arms flung around your waist,
As you angrily demanded more from me,
Ordering to continue on wards,
The obsession grew expectantly,
A new form of infatuation,
Thrusting relentlessly,
Earsplitting moaning,
Sensual whispers,
Piercing marks ****** ,
Licked,
A Sign of ownership,
Smacking grip below,
Letting go uncontrollably,
Reaching into the endearing ******
Seizure,
Absolute Bliss.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
the sol and solitude
scalpel~dissect layers of tissue,
marrows of nuclei separate,
the warming is discomforting
dismayed and dissuaded,
cannot be in two places,
either/or/or simultaneous,
my centerpiece is a-kilter
wavering and waving,
my balance is mis-weighted,
teetering and tottering, in a land
lightly and thickly discriminating
between bodies and disembodiment
I am neither
I am both,
therefore,
I am invisible
to eyes that are shut by
obstructions of
willful
blindness
Nov 26, 2023
Nov 26, 2023 at 8:39 AM UTC
Black eyes, blue heart, green hands, yellow soul
Girls in white dresses, who dip their face in blood
Bear themselves with a hellish grace.
Forked roads never lead to the correct destination
Following the angels of hell leads to nothing but the abyss
Gorging myself on beauty, I see the white sky
Flogging myself with duty, I see my heart go by
Burning myself with nothing, I stare into her eyes
And I feel like I'm dying, like I am death,
Like it's in me, like it is soaking through me
And I can't breath, or look away.
This is my life, and I have to live it. Even though everyday I'm handed a black rose.
I feel like I've been shot through the heart to many times to name.
They are times I feel like my life is repeating itself,
Things that make me sad,
Disgusted,
Keep happening,
In various ways,
Over again.
What am I to do?
It hurts my heart to think of you,
yet you're always right at the front of my mind,
right along with the discomforting thoughts.
What am I to do?
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 5, 2011 at 10:59 PM UTC
Poetic justice, I suppose.
She imposed a thought within me, a repetition,
A groove upon which this melody plays,
A soft saxophone timbre eskimo kissing with the cochlea lashes.
Every face passing in alleys and sidewalks is a puzzle box shifting,
Incoherent until its cubes turn into her face again.
The city within me says she is anew, and this cube does not shift to the same old solution,
But the earth in my soul sprouts vines beneath its bustling feet, and the vines twist into her visage.
My words are phantoms, and I speak them to the newest beautiful stranger,
Each stranger more beautiful than the last, more comforting and satisfying,
But the nucleus of those scattered electrons, those uncertain ghosts finished by a period,
Is the tattoo upon my recollection, my favorite neon puzzle box.
I wait in the ambiguous, discomforting silence for a day she will be solved.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 4:16 PM UTC
In her shadow you hid and bade your time, all the while looking like something she could love.
Yet she only saw you in the dark, playing the part of something she could love.
The day she found a flashlight and struck your moths askew was the day she sent you spiraling to the ground.
Do you know, oh do you know, what you did to her?
Now you jump from window to window, seeking the shelter of the darkness when she blinks.
You’re scared of imperfection in her thoughts, yet tomorrow you’ll see you’re as imperfect as it gets.
You tricked her into thinking you could help her with it all and she saw.
She sent you scurrying back to the shadows to dissolve calm widows there.
But she’s scared you’ll worm your way back to her brain-- you’re already planting seeds of relapse there.
So she swore to someone more faithful than you that what you are will not infect her brain anymore.
She was tolerant, let you bend her backbone, now she’s rigid, standing straight as stone.
She isn’t breaking and won’t bend for you anymore.
This someone she swore on everything to will do what it takes to make sure you’re gone.
So stay away, we don’t need your discomforting stare ruining our dreams anymore.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 10:26 PM UTC
Oh! A spark!
Better let the wind blow
Better not let this THING glow
For once it glows
It glows for a while
Slowly,
It gets difficult to survive
Who's choking who?
Nobody knows!
Killing it equally,
Faster then we built
It's like the cold steel now
Discomforting to touch,
Unbearable to handle.
Now, in the dark,
How do we light the candle?
Oh! A spark!
Better not let the wind blow
Better let this THING glow
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 4:59 PM UTC
The darker your eyes glow,
The more of the second you; you show.
A mask to hide the beast,
Ugly and mean.
Defined by those slaughtered,
By its talons.
A fierce darkness,
Blinded by only rage.
Discomforting agony,
To one so caged.
Those who look upon thy beast,
Exeunt!
External bleeding can occur.
If you anger the darkness.
A fierce creature,
Blinded by rage.
Become one with the fallen,
The fallen inside its cage.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
~a unconscious commissioned poem~
<>
La Lumière est une Dame d'honneur
advantage Frenchies,
everything sounds
better in their language,
we readily concede
we make do
with those tongues
whose fluidity
clothes & coats,
those, we are
best at
confessing in
first light this morning
was emasculated, in thickened
first fog, eerie, discomforting,
but yet, mine alone to utilize,
and make discomfiture into
a poem of coffee and cream,
stirring within, colored dreams
Lady Light finally arrives,
descending on a staircase
from heaven, radiating all
with patience, the animals
all, proclaiming in a thousand
tongues, their thanks, their
love, for everything breathing
understand best she is the source
of creation, reanimation, and a
sharing, unsparing, birth mother
to animate and inanimate, and
the death father to all we & us,
guide to our ultimate end
the waiting is most interesting,
for indeed, there is honor within,
as I compose, the sunrises to the
precise angle to bar my vision,
power to blind and enlighten,
how can this be, but it is so,
my bones warmed, suggest I
do not complain, accepting with
no exception for this is the power
source to us all, and humility is
the key to acceptance & understanding
is this poem, is this the missive,
me~my, intended, to write,
know not,
for the words leech from my skin,
in format uncolored, uncontrolled
by mine minuscule impoverished
compost of senses, morals and my
compote of cells that are products
of a thousand prior generations
morphed into a mess of me,
as of yet, purpose hidden,
undisclosed, perhaps my
reasoning is unseasoned,
my presumption of purpose,
is just a fool’s ridiculousness
Lady Light smiles kindly on my
rambunctious ilreasoning,
for I just one of billions come,
gone, and rebirthed in chains
of endless possibilities, two
words permanently paired,
conjoined, and though the
light has now risen to heights
to totally absolve my sight,
can no longer track what
is being written, accepting my
temporally blindness with grace,
even with solace, and-bid you
adieu, adieu, (bye~bye)
so musically,
until relief will
honor me with its presents…
and I can contemplate my
foolishness once more…
and the letting…
of the
*Lady’s light
of
honor illuminating
(even me)*
<>
commissioned by Pradip
7:35 am
in the sunroom where
the intersection of all light
illuminates all kinds
<>
music:
To Try for the Sun, Song by Donovan
Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In by Fifth Dimesion
Aug 5, 2024
Aug 5, 2024 at 7:52 AM UTC
12
6+6
7+5
8+4
9+3
10+2
11+1
12
Seems simple enough.
Reality was like a *****
film. Beaten and touched
by the sins of a woman corrupt.
Too poor to play.
Mom was getting high,
so I joined a play
to stay away
from the fists and verbal abuse of the day.
No lunch money.
Mom was getting high,
So I left for school at 6 A
M. Yes Ma'am, I was dropped off I would lie
everyday.
No, Sir, It's ok I already ate" I would lie
everyday
Tim, wanna come over and play?
*No I have to go home and get slapped and and screamed at when my mom isn't screaming some strange man's name...I mean...I have homework to do."
Straight F's. Never attempted a page.
Too busy learning what goes well with sage
And how to calm my rage
The singe of my skin let my emotions disengage.
Every time the levees were going to break
Just crawl into my hiding place
Heat up a paper clip
and all that was inside would slake.
10 years later I am covered in scars
Hundreds, head to toe, all over my fleshy bars.
They are much more difficult to see.
However they are still embarrassing
Thus the long sleeves and I always wear jeans
irregardless of how hot or discomforting.
One day I want new scars, head to toe
tattoos to tell a new story.
of how I escaped the blues
I never really did but it sounds nice.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
Broken relationships unlike broken bones
don't make noise when they crack,
neither do they shriek out of an unbearable pain.
Their sequence of suffering is different,
beginning at heart with
a discomforting pain at the edges,
moving towards its center and strangle,
spilling the torment from eyes
Broken relationships unlike broken bones
cannot be healed with a plaster cast
or feel better if put to rest.
Though, they unknowingly do repose-
anticipate healing,
which is only a woeful void,
filling back with stronger protests
and irrevocable agony .
But once broken,they all are same
splintered and dejected,
desperate to gather but feeble
seeking refuge in the days of healing.
And once repaired, they are no different,
cracks heal but scars remain,
like trophies screaming the struggle.
Forgotten pain stays nestled in disguised hidings,
longing to come back with a slightest wrench.
Be careful!
-Pallavi
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 8:08 AM UTC
This poem is not a poem
This poem may be meaningless,
Weightless yet worth reading
This poem lacks vocabulary
It holds nothing unique of poetic essence.
But carries simple words of a message
A message that seeks a place to land
Traveling within the walls of a heart.
Imprisoned, Ignored, Tortured.
Violently cracking the bricks of its cage
A message fighting for its own freedom
Seeking a break through.
A message desirous of overcoming solitary confinement
The message wants to meet others.
But others seem to have no message for this message.
This message refuses to quit fighting to escape the ******* of a home in one heart.
It hopes to locate its friend in another heart.
Futile journeys this message have walked.This night the message is discomforting.
It fights with vigour for escape.
I was up late on my bed
The same bed that puts me to sleep
The bed that invites me to rest
The bed that convinces me to forget unfinished task and rest
The bed with the magic to infect with the virus of forgetfulness for a moment
Is the same bed making me remember the message’s violence
Dreaming wild dreams and thinking wild thoughts
Opened-eye dreams
Plenty dreams
All about one figure.
When will be sleep time?
Having communion in my mind with you
I see you close though you are afar off.
In my heart I hear a voice singing your name.
The song wasn’t harmoniously great but lyrically strong.
The lyrics of the song preach truth.
It says I love you.
I fight against the thoughts with all strength
I knew I would lose the fight.
Nothing in my hands I bring.
Simply to your heart I come
Holding love in my heart.
Love looking for a place in your love
It’s homeless love
Homeless yet not hopeless
Hopeful for a place in your heart.
At your heart’s door I keep sounding the same words of old
I love you.
http://selormcharles.blogspot.com/
Dedicated to the lady I admire secretly
SPECIAL THANKS TO:
1. RICHARD RYE YAO BAKU
2. ABIGAIL FORSON ALISON
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
I speak my mind,
And I'm rewarded with blank stares.
"You're too young to not feel fine!"
Yet I wake up every day to despair.
I feel my hands trembling.
I see their confusion.
They aren't understanding.
They yell at me to come back in unison.
I'm only Thirteen,
And I feel as if I have the weight of the world,
Weighing down on me.
Suffocating me, blocking out all my words.
I write with my blood,
I've watched my arms be drained,
They see my cuts,
And ask me how it happened.
They think I'm too young to feel pain,
But I have it in Spades.
I can't tell them how it happened, so I run into the rain,
Panting, exhausted, and lost, just looking for somewhere to stay.
They don't understand,
Your just a kid,
Are you mad?
Just because I'm young doesn't stop pain from digging a pit for me.
I crawl into the pit every time,
Knowing it's the only peace I'll ever have,
Even if it is discomforting.
They see me suffer in silence, with a confused look, they'll never understand such a young soul to be tormented like this.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 12:14 PM UTC
The horizon deemed to turn black from blue pleaded with its faith by disposing all its secret in orange hue and cry. Aghast by the spectacle, I felt very discomforting breeze trying to peek inside me. Should I let it?
No! i felt involuntary resistance build inside me.The stare of the imploring horizon filled my sentiments with gush of paranoia. I closed my eyes, right then and there. As I opened my eyes slowly after saturation of my daunting breath, I was surrounded by black despair. And the moon still shined with its borrowed light just to display its caged dark hare. There were no stars that day, I pulled them down to makes uncountable amount of wishes.
What faith decreed for horizon have been my own reflection.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
a lumpy bumpy proletariat hardness has harnessed, hitched and stitched itself into my abdomen.
with the precision measuring instrument, Eye calculate with my fingers its latitude and longitude, using my belly button (half insy, half outsy) as a reference point.
a few days after Eye quite accidentally encountered said lump (for Eye am not in the habit generally of belly rubbing), a slight discomforting sensation joined in to make sure I was never not going to forget it's
invasive presence.
soon Eye shall do a doctor's visitation, who will ummm and hmmm, before sending me downward and inward to a
"S p e c i a l i s t."
I am sorta quite pleased with new adventure,for it encourages fantasy in the most heart wrenching, delicioso tragic manner.
Then along comes the Sunday NY Times, in a piece entitled "Imagining the Lives of Others" just how difficult it is for someone to truly put themselves in the shoes of someone else.
"There are certain limits, however, to how far we can go. The philosopher Laurie Paul, in her book “Transformative Experience,” argues that it’s impossible to actually imagine what it would be like to have certain deeply significant experiences, such as becoming a parent, changing your religion or fighting a war. The same lack of access applies to our understanding of others. If I can’t know what it would be like for me to fight in a war, how can I expect to understand what it was like for someone else to have fought in a war? If I can’t understand what it would be like to become poor, how can I know what it’s like for someone else to be poor?"
The solution?
"One approach is to go ahead and actually have the experience."
ahh. So I shall, until the certainty of unobtainable uncertainty is formally declared, the mind is free to roam about the cabin of life, imagining various and vainglorious dramatic outcomes.
More strange, if it is the worst, I shall be happily relieved by the knowledge that I can plan around a certain mental scheme...what a gift that is, knowing how to allocate a scarce resource well.
Eye will stop here, until mine eyes can see this clearer; here, until the
*bus stops for the poet...
or the poet's bus stops...*
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
When I envision pain,
I do not see myself nor my past.
I see white walls,
Strange people,
And odd, complicated machines.
I see a flash of red,
A pool of purple,
And a poisonous green.
My pain is not mine.
Your pain is mine.
It kills me to see,
That you and I are the same,
Yet you went through so much more,
And I, nothing.
Yet, there you are.
"Fixed,"
And I still malfunctioning from time to time,
With no socket wrench or duct tape in sight.
I still see the flashes from time to time.
Not the red or purple or green.
But the flashes of my old self.
The me that comes out when I'm not with you.
And it's weird that today,
Was the first time I've ever seen these,
When I was with you.
It was discomforting.
To know that you're not completely steel.
That I can still be reached.
To know I'm still broken,
Even with my force field to protect me,
And my super glue to keep me together.
I pray that I never again,
Have to endure your pain.
To see those white walls,
To hear your muffled voice on the phone.
To know that you are a stranger,
Yet less strange than your surroundings.
To know that I will not see you,
For at least a week,
And be completely helpless about it.
I changed my mind.
And my prayers.
I pray that I can endure,
Every bit of your pain,
So that you don't have to.
I pray that I remind myself everyday,
Of that flash of red,
That pool of purple,
And that poisonous green.
So that I can learn to forget to feel the pain,
And simply endure.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 2:21 AM UTC
Melting in time,
Frozen in an image.
Devastated by my own disposition,
Dying.
I have seen my soul melt in my own,
in my own.
with Concrete bones, It Suffers.
I comfort myself,
discomforting others.
Parasites exist.
They have never existed.
I put them In me,
They have Never existed.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC
Daddy held me in his arms
Once, when I was five;
He wasn't one to embrace,
To clap and say well-done.
To hear him speak two words
Was volumes from someone
Who tsked and rolled,
But never scolded
His daughters and his sons.
In his hold, so foreign,
He made his assumption,
That I was content to be held,
Though squirming for the ground.
For me it wasn't soothing,
He never was inviting,
His demeanor so discomforting,
He never did it again;
Not that I could tell;
And yet the security
Never diminished
From arms that once held me.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 10:33 AM UTC
It was a beautiful and warm Monday afternoon.
Everything felt in place—except her mind.
That day, she laid her body carelessly in a bed of a thousand lilacs,
Engulfed by her thoughts
She was unready for the day to consume her
Unfortunately for her, the world craved her undying attention.
The lilacs, nipped at her noise with pungent notes of jasmine and rose
The sun kissed her cheek,
While the breeze tousled through her hair
Rather than humming in curiosity, her mind danced along the brass of the wind
She could feel everything, but simultaneously, nothing at all.
Too much or too little, it never seemed to be enough.
Carefully, she listened to the breeze
She didn’t miss a beat
The rhythm felt smooth—natural
Trying to comfort her discomforting thoughts
Finally
It was quite and her mind now felt at ease
A sudden shadow casted above her undisturbed body
The lilacs comforted her in a way that her bed could not
The breeze silenced itself
Her thoughts picked up
Quietly, she listened to the raspy and familiar voice that would not stop humming
In a chuckle he asked, “why are you laying in a bed of flowers?”
He didn’t even notice that they were lilacs
Flustered by his sudden appearance, she opened her eyes and realized that it was time to leave the garden
She stared at him for a moment before she actually responded
With a slight nervous laugh, she responded honestly “I don’t really know.”
Dazed and confused, she gathered her strength to stand up “It’s been a while...”
But before she could even finish her sentence,
The brassy breeze started to chime
“Want to go grab some coffee?” he nervously said.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 8:33 PM UTC