"disect" poems
I hear a voice
Screaching noise
Is it in or outside my head?
Is it mad?
Is it sad?
Is it my brain
Or my heart that's dead?
Well ill cut it out
Slice it up
Take it out to the back
To the streets
To the thugs
Pass it off as ****
Can you feel me?
Can you hear me now?
Ill shine my shoes
and get my coat
They'll never know
Ill be on top
Be a rock
Be the star of the show.
Am I experiencing reality yet?
Well this is what
Staying up til 5 am does
Ive got an itch that I cant scratch
Im covered in membrane and dust.
Sharpin my knife
Dont think twice
Ill disect the top layer
Take out the bad
Leave the good
But then there is
Nothing there
At all.
Try to put
It back in
But it doesn't fit
So ill serve it on a hot plate
Let you take it all in.
How's it taste?
Whats it like?
Don't ask the price.
Is it hot?
Does it burn?
Does it stick to your tounge?
You can't afford it anyway.
You cant afford it anyway.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
As He And I take a dip into each others solar eclipse
He sips from my faucet that drips
and not the one located between my thick thighs and hips
but from the truth that flows from the softness of my lips.
In that moment he Indulged in Truth's kiss.
As he was overcamed by a state of bliss.
Thats when He knew That God must Exist.
Now to him I say this.......
"Lets Go beyond Us
As I allow you Undress my Conscious
Make love to my thoughts
As you diminish my distraughts
Lick my intelligence to taste the saccharine nectar of my Essence
As I give you this mental ********
You will be headed in the right direction
And there will be no need for a ****** for our protection
Just dive into my purely unadulterated love and affection
Make your understanding stand at attention
Stick your knowledge in my head's dimension.
Giving me all its been missing
as I not only hear but Inventively listen.
Love me good and so deep
That upon me your heart begins to seap
And My my eyes begin to weap
Make my cerebellum ****** until it reaches its peak.
Keep going deeper until you hear all the words I dont speak.
Have you found the Subtance in which you seek?
See into the depths of my soul until you see A light of shimmering glittering Gold.
Touch my psyche with a gentle caress.
Until you uncover the glory of my nakedness.
now its spiritual fire burning with Red hot flames from within inscreasing my soul's desire.
I let him see the quintessential part of me that in just a short time I had courageously bared.
And He allowed me to breathe in the fresh air from his atmosphere
As I tasted his words like freshly cut herbs
And He explored all my bountiful roads to learn all my turns and curves
As he Disect my unwritten literature to understand my creative verbs.
We fly beyond the clouds like 2 lovebirds.
I have become the many pages of his diary
As he shares his most private moments between him and me so secretly.
I feel like my my world is being pulled into his force of gravity.
And yet the question I ask is,"Is he into me?"
But I can already answer that by his his energy.
While he's staring into my eyes endlessly.
My universe has been shaken by the waves of his charismatic frequency.
As we are luxuriating in our Unfiltered Raw level of Intimacy.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 9:34 AM UTC
No second chances!
Once the deed is done,
No changes!
Do only deeds of love and respect.
Elsewise, It may cause regret.
Once done, the effects remain forever,
What's left? A memory to disect.
There are no do-overs.
So be sure of the effects!
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC
Drugs contain compounds
Not naturally derived
Not nature's intention
We don't eat jellyfish
Yet, we disect them
And process them
To make pills
To ease the pain
Is this part
Of the Devine plan
To make ourselves
Immortal?
We are meant to hurt
We are meant to suffer
We are meant to die
Not live forever
Disease
Famine
War
Is population control
Only the strongest
Will survive
This is
Nature's Devine plan
Only the smartest
Who survive
The digital age
Will find freedom
When we all convert
To ones and zeros
Will we finally realize
Immortality
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 3:32 AM UTC
I Have So Many Words I Wish To Say,
To Describe The Way I Feel,
Yet I Think I'd Be Describing It The Wrong Way,
I'd Have To Disect Them--Tear Off Their Peel,
My Days Are Lifeless, As A Danceless Ballet,
I Am Hopeful Yet Lost, Needing A Spin Of A Prayer Wheel,
So That's Why I Walk This Worn Past, Wanting To Stray,
Stray To The Less Traveled Path, Just To See How It Feels,
A Path Where I Wouldn't Have To Be Ruled And Obey,
Where Life Would Be Kind, And Keep It's End Of The Deal,
Where Nature Would Be My Friend--Where I'd Lose Count Of Days,
Where I Could Soak In Every Shade On The Color Wheel,
Where I Would Sit In A Bed Of Flowers And Watch Them Sway,
But Sadly I Cannot Live In That World Which Seems So Ideal,
I'll Just Have To Wait, Till This World No Longer Needs Me,
Till The End Of My Days
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 5:43 PM UTC
I hear a voice
Screaching noise
Is it in or outside my head?
Is it mad?
Is it sad?
Is it my brain
Or my heart that's dead?
Well ill cut it out
Slice it up
Take it out to the back
To the streets
To the thugs
Pass it off as ****
Can you feel me?
Can you hear me now?
Ill shine my shoes
and get my coat
They'll never know
Ill be on top
Be a rock
Be the star of the show.
Am I experiencing reality yet?
Well this is what
Staying up til 5 am does
Ive got an itch that I cant scratch
Im covered in membrane and dust.
Sharpin my knife
Dont think twice
Ill disect the top layer
Take out the bad
Leave the good
But then there is
Nothing there
At all.
Try to put
It back in
But it doesn't fit
So ill serve it on a hot plate
Let you take it all in.
How's it taste?
Whats it like?
Don't ask the price.
Is it hot?
Does it burn?
Does it stick to your tounge?
You can't afford it anyway.
You cant afford it anyway.
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 1:46 PM UTC
I am feeling inspired
By everything
My fingers are itching to write...
To blurt words from my fingertips
Nagging to scratch paper
With my sighing pencil...
However, I am longing for my muse
I feel it inside me
Inspiration...
Lightly bubbling
Begging to burst
Yet staying a light
Tingling
Nothing major...
Just a slight something.
Yet, I feel uninspired
I'm not sure how to make sense of if
I feel as if I am in the darkness
Trapped by my heartache
They say that heartache creates the best ink, it scribbles and scratches and begs to be let out of one's heart
It wants to tell its story
It longs for them to hear
About your sweet misery...
But, today, I am feeling uninspired
My muse has disappeared
Because my muse was you...
And maybe I need to find a new inspiration...
A new muse
A new piece of art
To wonder at
And disect my claws into.
But for now
I will feel inspired by everything,
Yet, also Uninspired...
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
I avoid utilizing any real skill.
The person,
the human,
that I am is wasting away.
We can find ourselves inspired in the midst of tragedy.
We take the pain of others,
their mistakes,
graft them into our own lives to relate.
Am I still whole?
Am I still mine?
In my heart,
at the core of my animal
*** is vital.
I want to write about it,
how it makes me feel.
but it is the me that sits alone in her floor that needs to empassioned.
I sit with all the tools at my fingertips.
Volumes of empty books to fill.
I'm not who I want to be.
Simpler obsessions fill the void that they used to exploit.
Fits of writing about how I cannot write.
Dig
Disect
Nothing replies.
Stare into the void.
Load my pipe again & again.
I don't feel myself.
The one who could pour her heart & mind into pages.
I am just like everyone else.
Boring & monotonous.
I am in a cycle of comfortable survival.
I do not create.
I do not expand.
I do not contribute.
I only consume.
I dug myself out of a hole only to become planted there.
Foreign to this reality.
I don't want to waste away.
Constantly entertained.
I want to find madness.
Lost in the worlds inside my head made real on paper.
The pleasure in staring at the emotions painted on a canvas.
Breed the life force of every morsel I intake.
Burn for the next physical limit to be broken.
Speak languages that make me weak.
God beneath the tree tops.
In love with all the life that came before me,
full of the things I love so dearly.
Where is Satan
while fighting this war of doubt & inaction.
This stagnant misery should be ammunition enough
to break down Heaven's gate
& turn the tide against the luxury I've entombed myself in.
But I must claw,
enraged,
& labor to bring life into this wraith.
Great demons be my muse.
Ancient disease doth stir & demand nourishment
from control & fear.
Abandon my world of weakness to become
of new things.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
It only takes words to form a sentence
It requires only thought to disect it
the importance of a theory sometimes staggers
because lazy people like me, are too down to test it
How many ways can we avoid waking up
until we can't open our eyes for anything
how many times will i dream a dream that discourages me
until I've figured out how to disregard it
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
We used to climb through
the broken fence and
visit the ancient
Ash tree that
stood, splendid
and solidatary
we would wrap our arms
around it, our fingers
far from touching
in our minds we would
disect the trunk and
count the rings, ageless
it was, beyond
number
we would sit
beneath it’s branches,
that reached out like
arms, hands desperate
to be held
it’s leaves would fall
in autumn, we would kick
their red and orange
offerings, disrespectful
as to where they
had come from
I still go to to it,
sometimes, I still
listen for it’s song
but it is dead
and quiet
without her
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 7:20 PM UTC
This was a World we hadn't known
Had not been shown
And the winds that had blown through our formative years
To steer us along
Had been wrong.
If our sails had been set
By the school
I forget.
Let the ferryman see
Who we've been or will be
It's a very short hop to the stop.
But assured, that we had a lifetime
We threw the lifeline thrown
To the future we hadn't known
And on the face of it
It was okay.
But in the tomorrow's, we staggered through the bricks hurled and daggers
That were aimed in our direction.
A mad collection
Of misfits
Not fit for this era or content in the last
We became what was past and the webs held us fast to the time we had cast away.
If the sails had been set I forget
But the mast had been rigged.
Our futures?
A bet in the minds of the Masters we met
A test in the dayroom
The best of the baby boom
The Grammar school reject
The obvious suspect to disect and cut
But it doesn't matter now.
Time moves on
That's how the wet paint dries.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
We poets write what's on our mind
and in our heart.
To us it comes naturally, never questioning
it. To us its art.
To every curve we feel the pen stroking
on the paper wall,
like a dancer swaying in rhythm and to
dare not fall.
From one poet to another, we have a common
courtesy for most.
We either love it or we don't or can share it
playing host.
We appreciate each others differences and
poetic style.
Even when we disagree, we never argue,
as we smile.
From one poet to another, we can feel ones
pain and joy.
Though we never knock each other down
or do no harm employ.
From one poet to another, its a way of
sharing what's in our soul.
Whether it be good or bad, we respect each other
for simply sharing and letting go.
We can write about most anything like nature, love,
pain, art, or rock.
The worst thing from one poet to another, is a thing
called "writer's block."
So when we take the time to very publically; to
from our depths do share.
Its a way of sharing a piece of our minds like a
a window to our soul declare.
Even though we may hide away from
time to time.
It's because we're always thinking and
reflect on past experiences to rhyme.
Most of us are pretty social and can
be artistic in other ways.
Like music, dancing, singing or
acting and directing plays.
We choreograph our feelings out
and lay them out as words of art.
Sharing to others to enjoy a piece
of our life that taketh part.
We don't always say things out loud
properly and publically.
We are sometimes better writing in what we
do best- in written poetry.
From one poet to another, we know some get it
or they don't.
Most poets will because they can disect it
or they won't.
From one poet to another, we know we
don't always have to rhyme our word.
I prefer to write in rhyme, but when I don't-
other poets don't think its absurd.
From one poet to another, we write our
feelings, thoughts and beliefs with ease.
From one poet to another, for some its
a masterpiece.
Sherri Harder
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
You make me hurt
You make me crave
You make me want to see a meaning within every
Wasted line in every dark moment I've left behind
You make me wonder
You make me wish
You make me want to run head first into a brick wall
With only prayers and a hard head to save me from dying
You make me scream
You make me cry
You make me want to write you an angry poem just so I
Can feel the hatred dripping like blood out of every line
You make me ponder
You make me hate
You make me want to hate everything that I am and everything
That I have let myself become since out deterioration
I want to hate you
But instead I crave you
I pull myself deep inside every moment I have alone
To disect every thought I've ever had to find a meaning
I want to wonder about better things
but you make me wish for you
I find myself running toward a wall over and over only to hit
It again and again but each time still hoping it will be different
I want to scream my hatred for you
But instead I cry out your name
I can't gain control enough to make myself dispell you from my
Ever present memory long enough to convince myself I don't need you
I want to ponder life without you
But you make me hate life itself
I want to become someone new someone better then myself because
You killed me and won't let me remember anything else
May 9, 2011
May 9, 2011 at 3:16 PM UTC
What do you want me to do?
When you lie to me..........
What do you want me to do ?
When you down,degrade and disect me.........
What do you want me to do ?
When all the things you say I am.......Is really YOU
No lie! Actions speak louder than words.
You can only
do so
much when your
the only one being
100................
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 10:24 AM UTC
I am afraid to hurt you,
But I am willing to do it
If you hurt me first.
So be careful, my friend
Or I will disect you
With my own emotion.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
You my dear.who sits in the chair and disappears for the time alloted.
What holds us appart but fear.
Of seeming foolish... is.that our stock and yolk ?.
What emminates is pure desire. I desire to stand with my soul extended naked In your fire and plumb the depths of your desire.
Feel you close ...disect your inner feares
Listen to you breaths crescendo...tell me all your deepest darkest in the still of an autum night.
MY MIND TO YOUR MIND.
YOUR ID REVEALED... pealed away as husk.
Your aroma and musky essence sweet and desirous. Eyes closed, mind open. Cant you see us now.
Send In the clowns.
Well maybe next year.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
I've loved writing words
That I'm sure nobody would purposefully read
Yet, I truly hope they like it and read it
I hope people get me
Understand what I'm trying to say.
I hope that someday teachers teach my poems,
Disect it mercilessly to understand it,
It would be so much easier just to ask the poet.
Although I hope I'm not dead by then.
I'd love people to read my words
And appreciate it like my friends do.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
i am poetry
i am the figurative language English teachers aim to disect
i am the metaphor within the metaphor within the simile
i demand commas and semicolons because no sentence should only have a period
i am the body of language that people seek to understand
i do not need to be understood
you can check your dictionary
understand my anecdotal properties
see how many stanzas there are
i am poetry because i make no sense
these are words
the purest language yet impossible to understand
i am poetry because i can listen to the sound of the wind
i can speak volumes without speaking
i am poetry though i am not always fluid
but rhythm is not essential and forced thoughts do not matter
i am poetry because i want to be understood
but there is no clear meaning
there is no clear cut
evaluate me as you may
interpret what you will
i am poetry and i will live on
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
If a woman things men aren't going to talk about their body.
Then they don't know man talk.
When you not around they will size a woman down.
From her breast to her hips.
It's man talk.
Been around for years.
And will stay around for years.
Sure words offends.
But, if it's a compliment.
Then it's what it is?
Man talk.
Many women gets thrills off of it.
While others complains loud about it.
Brains attracts.
But, who truly believes, if you're a woman?
That always the catch.
A man can disect a woman like an insect.
Tell you about every single part of the body parts.
Yes, alway down to her heart.
When men speaks.
The other men agree.
If their sight is set upon a picture.
Then the photo has sold the show.
These are things only a few women knows about the male specie.
He's a work of art.
Instantly impressed by the things he see.
Until you point various other things.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
I want to hear the soft secrets you keep in the stars below your skin spoken in the lost language of hushed whispers and silent echos
I want to dance with the dark silk demons of shadow in your soul and disect what makes you beautiful beneath your sin
I want to read your every story of heartache and every triumphant tale
spread yourself before me and leave no page unturned
I want you in all your souls splendor and anguish
I want to be the name you moan when you bleed pleasure from pain
I want to be the bruise of loves teeth left below lusts skin
I want to know your every prayer to desire
I want to be the fire your kiss devours
I want to be the eyes your words are hungry to feed
I want you in a way that has become a desperate need
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 8:39 PM UTC