"dismissible" poems
Today, I'm going to **** them with kindness.
I'll walk the streets with a skip in my step,
corners of my mouth arched, skin tough.
I will be rubber. I will not be glue.
I will avoid sticks and stones.
I will be Teflon.
Yesterday, I killed someone, with kindness.
I created art, in many ways, I created Hell.
A page filled with gestures may seem ageless, however,
a spectacular self-awareness occurs.
There is closure. There is completion.
Unlike the manipulation of one's face.
There too is completion, but closure is not
always certain. Some leave with last words
that linger. Some lift their arms to The Lord,
Lord hear their prayer. And others find
themselves at peace, living on in the hearts
and minds of others, loved or not.
Is a legacy more important to an Atheist?
That's speculative, I suppose. But if what they
say is true, and most CEO's are psychopaths,
then I would assume that it is. Monetary value
will always triumph over theoretical morality.
And I say that morals and ethics can be theory
to a man certain of his faith, because in the end,
sin can be absolved. Faith in a higher being, in
something bigger than yourself, often leaves
thought of peers as dismissible. For they have
their own demons to overcome.
How do you accept indifference in a system
that is above natural law? Omnipotence should
never be exposed to have a grey area, especially
when it is considered to be set in stone. Oxygen
and gravity aren't, but tell that to a man who
is falling and trying to catch his last breath.
Lastly, consider art.
As the creator, the mastermind hidden in
the clouds to let his work speak volumes.
The divine grace that is told in brush strokes,
in notes placed to play, to be presented.
That's a beauty that is foresaken.
Another key representation of something
seen but not seen.
Even a deaf man delivered notes he could not
hear, rivaled ones able, and challenged normality.
The difference between an artist, and
a person producing art, is that an artist
will use blood, whereas the latter
searches for a comparable color.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
Examine the word "embrace"
How syllables escape into sound
Waves
Mouth shapes
Release
E - M - BR - A - CE
How tender
A gentle approach
E... arms open wide
the invitation
an elongated welcome
"Come close"
Lips parted into a smile
M... a joining together
Communion
BR... limbs entangling
Millimeters pulse
A... the one enclosed
CE... teeth in contact, lips dangle
Hold that position
The lock
No letting go. No gaps. No holes
In bracchium -- this is your home.
Hug -- to console
a rush, a thud, an immediate response
H - U - G. Hug.
Hush.
Here. Now. Tighter.
Speech Pathology & Linguistics.
How the mouth works, how we make sense of words -- Why does your face look like that when you say those words?
Anthropology. Semiotics. Etymology.
Notice how we gather and release,
what we do to make an embrace, a hug.
Mouths feel before nerves could touch.
Have we yearned so much that utterances have become placeholders?
Settling for words, we fixate on how we say them
Read my lips gained a new meaning
Embrace, hug
Opening and closing,
holding and releasing,
touching
Wishing an action upon someone is not tantamount to sensations of nerve-endings
But bodies never really touch
Atoms push and pull
It's the physics around them that we feel
When palms caress
When fingers trace
When skin brushes upon skin
Physics
Let the physics of my words be enough until our electrons can interact again
In a dance
The expanse between your atoms and mine is dismissible as long as you hold on to the words "embrace" and "hug" and "kiss" and "love" and the anatomy of how these words come to be
Until then, I wrap my whispers around yours
Their warmth is the 3rd law of motion in action
Jan 24, 2021
Jan 24, 2021 at 2:59 AM UTC
His mouth was a nuclear leak
(he fried his brain when he was 17)
And I can’t get the burning toxins off my skin
(and that is as far as he ever grew up)
Some of them have seeped in deeper, I can
(he’s amused by stick figure animation)
Hear them rupture the seams of my insides
(and the shuffling photos of his obsessions;)
My brain thankfully, is still intact
(his car, his clothes, his kids…and me)
Fighting this fight heroically
(my god, to be one of his children)
Anxiously looking over my shoulder
(he can’t keep a nanny for very long)
Refuting his demeaning accusations
(no one stays in his life who is not on payroll)
********* Narcissist
(but even they all quit eventually)
Still forgiving myself for letting it happen
(oblivious that his entourage disrespects him)
This antithesis-of-me-toxic-bath
(he is incapable of giving or deserving trust)
Disdained my beliefs and philosophies
(he still wishes he had his mullet of 1986)
Demanded my selflessness without return
(and the older woman he ****** in high school)
Reduced me to dismissible arm candy;
(immature alcoholic tantrums lie just)
The missing feature of his pride
(below the surface of every conversation)
And I can’t shake this feeling
(which speak exclusively of himself and his many impulses)
That I have truly met evil face to face
(or the stupidity of humanity who serve his whims)
Afraid to realize how narrowly I escaped
(his highest dream is to own a personal servant)
Except for the residue
(explains his demands clearly and concisely)
Adhering like burned on soap ****
(believes money and a big **** make him a man)
I feel like he will never, ever really be gone
(his reptilian brain controls every move)
That he will still try to own me or make me
(“I don’t want to be an ******* I’m just really good at it”)
Pay for refusing to surrender my soul
(funny, those words almost make me feel sorry for him)
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
i’m sorry, i’m so sorry
please don’t worry
please don’t worry
it isn’t very much at all
except:
i’m blue-
faced with apologies
and choked-up girl pathology
"i think i’m gonna hurl"
i scream, and taste
another “sorry”,
pressed like flowers,
blossomed in my throat.
speak softer, beg forgiveness,
my voice is not my business:
cut my tongue out,
make me kissable,
more easily dismissible
an echoing abyss for you to fill
with hot air, coffee breath
and sound bites
i don’t **** around,
i bite
and scratch and pound and shriek —
you will be sorry when i speak
you’re gonna look pathetic,
you’re emetic, here’s your drinks back
down your suit
i feel frenetic
i will puke, i ******* swear it,
if you call me unapologetic
like a compliment again.
not apologising
for myself
is women’s studies 101,
and i am done
with what a sorry state
you left my sisters in.
paternalistic praises
of our struggle for assertion
and insertion of your ego
into conversations
you were not invited to
is not the way to ladies’ hearts, though
we know how to get to yours:
open ribs, second ***** to the left
and straight on til morning
some things aren’t about you, little boy,
put up, grow up, shut up:
get your tongue out of my mouth.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
I wouldn't know the feeling associated with being valuable
I know vulnerable, I do know that
I know painful and invisible, dismissible and disposable
I know, "keep your nose outta trouble" hypocritical
I know the day-to-day that tries in every way to keep you face down while you play it off as being humble
It's your mind but can't join the huddle
While any spare time is stolen by the mental struggle
The battle plan is and always was simple,
"Toss more at him than he can handle,"
"More than humanly, no, humanely possible"
It's sad though
Because my recall is abysmal so I don't know
If I've never had my hands on a handle
****** from the get-go
Now just ruins of what was easily let go
By the many that have come before and there'll be more for sure though
©2024
Jan 31, 2024
Jan 31, 2024 at 5:18 PM UTC
Don't you love when
writing a poem seems
more like remembering
than creating
Plato said we never
actually learn something new
We only remember the forgotten
An idea easily dismissible
however...
sometimes this feels like
an accurate description of my experiences
Those clouds, about to burst with rain
remind me of something
Your smile, your frown
remind me of something
My idea of God
seems buried deep within me
That song, the emotions it evokes,
remind me of a time I can't remember
Her tears, those stains
seem vaguely familiar
His paintings, those cool, dark colors
make me feel at home
The way that proof glides along the lines of logic
reminds me of something intangible
The smell of homemade bread in the oven
reminds me of something inexpressible
That hurt you caused me
didn't come as a surprise
The contentment you gave me
didn't seem unprecedented
May your grace not be in vain
I will always remember
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
In My Mind
Sadness reeks, like a non dismissible odor, Misery crawls, like a zombie with no lower half, Depression claws and bites at my mind and soul, like a thought never fully finished, Anger burns and rages through my veins, like the blood that always boils, Happiness drifts down into the deep, like a fish that cant swim, Guilt pats me on the back once again, like an awkward congratulation, Screams of frustration silently echo through the empty halls, like deaths secret reapers, Love flies with broken wings, like a bird with no heart beat. In My Mind, the time has not come but the clock still ticks its empty rhythm, I cry for it to have an end but dont remember if it ever even began...In My Mind, my screams are as soundless as your whispers of courage, In My Mind, eyesight is imposable with so much darkness, Noise is just another taste on my tongue, mixed with the blood from biting down so hard, feeling is the only pain that contributes to my punishment, and scars are my only reminder that my life was lived....
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
Storytime: I have long worn this body as a mask, pinning my cravings on the easily dismissible "primal urges" shared collectively. And though I revel in the smooth, lithe curves and motions of *** it is my mind that is racing. My climactic tears have always sprung from a deeper well of sensation than the physical.
The buoyancy and depth of my spirit is directly proportional to the clarity and frequency of my Aha! Moments, and the duration and spells of radical trust and honesty shared in body and in soul. These laser beams of clarity or steady washes of electric buzzing seem the only true reason to be conscious of life at all.
I always wish to be worshipping at the altar of the stars, whatever form they manifest themselves in. A view, a meal, a lesson, a conversation, a work of art, or a companion. I feel love as less the solid, quantifiable particle, and more the ethereal wave of euphoric wonder, pulling like gravity. In a reason-less world, this is the best one to exist.
I want to share, "I Wonder You," with the humans that amplify the buzz of this wavelength. I want to go without the stretches in between where I must disguise the stirrings within where I feel the minutes of my life slipping away.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC
A thank you letter
Sip your venom and exhale your dioxide
How do you lick your lips when you have daggers for teeth?
Your stained wife beaters serve as a constant reminder of what I refuse to become.
Your hatred ruined my childhood optimism
And showed me this world is not golden
I guess, thanks for showing me what a real man looks like
One who splashes fire at those who sit in the same hell
What was once a sweet tinkling sound now rips me back to my childhood
You showed me how to manipulate people with words and destroy them with a taps
Thanks for the incredible tolerance
Both mental and physical
Thanks for being my drama teacher and preparing me for this endless play we call life
Thank you for the little things
For the runs around the park when I considered suicide
For the trips to the pool where I would swim to the bottom and wait for someone to get me
Thanks for the times you helped me pick rice out of my knees after I was done kneeling
My decision to never be a father was very easy. I will never let a child thank me like this.
Thank you for teaching me what a cycle is and how it works within families
Thanks for family values
Family value #1: family should me nothing
Family value #2: unconditional love does not have to be mutual
3: false hope is enough
4: your replacement is your rock
5: adultery? dismissible. Feminine? Loathsome inexplicable despicable shame
6: you are a fraud if you walk without God even if he ignored my sin
7: what do we now know?
I now know how to control my anger
I now have control over my emotions
I now know how important it is to love myself before anyone else
I now know how to be independent
I now know how to stop this cycle
But you won't know
You will never know that I am no longer your son
You will never see me be the pink fluorescent
You will never hear me say I love you truthfully
In fact, you will never hear the truth
You will hear what I want you to hear
You will see what I want you to see
You will think what I want you to think
But you will know nothing
And I thank you for that
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 10:16 AM UTC
Talks were talks
Sometime, somewhere, not somebody
A minute after, fondness
Reflection of my naivety
To come were moments of easily dismissible presumptions
Devoid of intrinsic rationality
Then the gush of apprehension
Soaking me with doubts about my sanity
A minute before irrevocable acceptance
Good to finally meet you, reality
Talks are talks now
Sometime, somewhere with somebody
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 2:04 PM UTC