"discouragingly" poems
it makes its entrance in flashy fogs,
the selfish hog of
undesired credibility,
the crushing weight of "cool."
it's so like
the fragile strength of the rain,
burning on your skin,
yearning to slip in
to something a little more casual,
a little more
******
hexual
textual
we flirt in codes
we glance in nods
we feel in rhythms
we speak in silence,
we dance together with the thrusts and sways of our bony little hips,
feeling and inspecting one another
though never looking upon either face.
it was so real yet so fake,
plastic kisses and the taste of regret,
the sterile defilement of a hotel bed,
your **** in my mouth,
your ***** on my chin,
your hand on my head and
my insecurity's egging me on,
whispering the truths that often try to hide
within the narrow little alleyways of my tiny little head,
"it is too late to save yourself,"
"you were never clean anyway,"
"heaven is a lie,"
"you have no say."
I choke on your ****
you tell me to shut up,
you slap both my cheeks and
you tell me to grow up.
it all pushes me down so hard,
so strong,
so discouragingly,
so relentless in its intent
like the gentle power of the rain,
the bursting burning on my skin,
the heaviness of unnecessaries.
I make my exits in flashy fogs,
I am a magician,
a wizard,
a ghost and
a demon.
I am a legend,
a fable,
a story with no end,
lost to the cities full
of ancient histories and ruined worlds
and patterns of the Earth forgotten;
I am woven into the rich and tangled workings of the world forgotten.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
You've serenaded me into a comotose slumber.
I'm continuously sensing lullabies whilst paralyzed.
I'm too terrified to speak; too timid to even mumble.
Your intonation is so soothing; a banshee in disguise.
I'm stuck asleep in this in-pain asylum built of thorns.
Dreaming of the agenda I've never been capable of.
So turn the lights out in the tornado haven in my insane and in-pain brain,
and never admonish the fact that this pain is a continuous refrain.
The fires of my desires are cornered and defeated,
smouldering beneath the timber of my emotions.
I know you could never be lighter fluid for me,
but with our incandescent splendor blown out we can still go blindly through the motions.
My reveries never used to be this empty, and now they're becoming hollow with my conscience;
and these hollow empty chances are drying out as I continue to discouragingly pursue you.
You'll never envisage your face as I see it, and you'll never envisage why this bliss makes me weap.
I'll never have the most alluring face to you,
and my cold shoulder only monotonously lulls you peacefully to sleep.
And now it's to everyone's amusement that I can't manipulate my liquor anymore.
I'm so messy hahahahahahahaha.
So they prevail, standing as if they're boulders upon my shoulders,
compressing my heart deep into my intestines.
So now my love is growing slender
as yours becomes a pretender
and my whispy love surrenders as I surrender to this alcoholic ******
The grains of my affinity rest in your palm and you spread your fingers and let them fall.
I could beseech you to clench your fist, but I won't.
I'm your lover you don't have to love
as my heart is left hanging above.
It's high and dry;
too weak and too shy.
So tie me to this clothes line
and hang me out to dry.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 10:23 PM UTC
You are more than you see
A child stares at the movie screen
Strutting with the confidence of a cowboy
Imagining the characters that pops off the watercolor pages
As they jump up and down in their onesie
Holding tight to their plushy sidekick
That seems to whisper an end to moon landings
With every inch taller
You gaze at your potential like it sits on Everest's summit
So discouragingly out of reach
Your disappointment juts into your dreams
And makes you feel like the pinnacle of your being
Will only amount to a mound of dirt
But that isn't true
Every time you stand with the legs
That hold a rallying cry in its gait
Of the kind of independence
penned by our founding fathers
as an unalienable right
You gain footing
Up the rock face
That stuck its rocky tongue out at you
From the jester's thrown below
But you are far from a joke
A riddle maybe
The kind that a sphinx would lovingly smirk at
Its tail thumping with an instinctive eye roll
Mixed with the gaze of Eskimo kisses
Your hand holds lie
In the reach
That pulls you closer to the jewels
That dot the edges of your resolves
A bell ringing in the background
You're an angel who deserves their wings
And flying is falling
The first time a bird leaves the nest
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
To sit thinking quietly on ones own
is perhaps today’s rarest commodity
when you say that you wish to be alone
observers will tag you as an oddity
and yet that solitariness is divine
a time to question one’s thoughts
a moment where honesty will guide you
and lies get your personal retorts.
©Joe Wilson – Private moments 2014
We seem though discouragingly needy
to resist the desire in our mind
to be seen to be caring to others
as if it was a sin to be kind
but to be kind to others is no sin
it is all that we should ever be
and He who is watching and caring
misses nothing in His Heavenly See.
©Joe Wilson – Not sinning 2014
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC