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"disrupted" poems
My mother should be an author She carves her soul into millions of pieces Leaving it behind all of the family photos When I see my mother I see a woman Who wants to hide her soul in a needle Just so the screaming can stop in her mind, These bottles are rattling in the living room You see they have put shackles on her heart, She can't love anymore Without having ***** in her water bottle. Where is she hiding her beer? I feel like my mother is giving me a scavenger hunt From the shards of glass that were left on the baseball fields My mother used to take me to. You know she always wasn't like this She was strong minded and had a big heart Tonight I will tell you the story of a woman Who lost her soul to the Keystones to the Miller Lites To the ****** Mary’s. Let's rewind time See how to **** the soul in ten years 10- I look into my mother's eyes and I start to cry Because I'm looking at a woman who I don't know anymore 9- I refused to bail her out of jail again Because I'm afraid her kidney will fail if she drinks again 8- My mother staggered into the theater and disrupted the whole play, My cast mates turned to me and asked, isn't that your mother? 7- I had to hold my mothers hand Because she was throwing up the cocktail of drugs and alcohol 6- Daddy had to get mom out of jail she was drinking again 5- My mother throws the bottle across the room And told me the reason why she drinks is because I'm Autistic 4- My mother overslept for my piano recital, I didn't think it was a big deal But I remember she spent the whole night crying With a wine glass in her hand. 3- Mommy I didn't know your prescription came in a needle 2- Mommy the prescription say 2 pills a day why are you taking 6? 1- My mother went to the doctor Found out that she has Rheumatoid Arthritis I don't know what that means, But I know she will still be strong right? 0- She took me to a Dodger game for my birthday. I remember Sammy Sosa hitting a home run that game She told me that the only person that can **** your soul is yourself
0
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
How To **** The Soul In 10 Years
My mother should be an author She carves her soul into millions of pieces Leaving it behind all of the family photos When I see my mother I see a woman Who wants to hide her soul in a needle Just so the screaming can stop in her mind, These bottles are rattling in the living room You see they have put shackles on her heart, She can't love anymore Without having ***** in her water bottle. Where is she hiding her beer? I feel like my mother is giving me a scavenger hunt From the shards of glass that were left on the baseball fields My mother used to take me to. You know she always wasn't like this She was strong minded and had a big heart Tonight I will tell you the story of a woman Who lost her soul to the Keystones to the Miller Lites To the ****** Mary’s. Let's rewind time See how to **** the soul in ten years 10- I look into my mother's eyes and I start to cry Because I'm looking at a woman who I don't know anymore 9- I refused to bail her out of jail again Because I'm afraid her kidney will fail if she drinks again 8- My mother staggered into the theater and disrupted the whole play, My cast mates turned to me and asked, isn't that your mother? 7- I had to hold my mothers hand Because she was throwing up the cocktail of drugs and alcohol 6- Daddy had to get mom out of jail she was drinking again 5- My mother throws the bottle across the room And told me the reason why she drinks is because I'm Autistic 4- My mother overslept for my piano recital, I didn't think it was a big deal But I remember she spent the whole night crying With a wine glass in her hand. 3- Mommy I didn't know your prescription came in a needle 2- Mommy the prescription say 2 pills a day why are you taking 6? 1- My mother went to the doctor Found out that she has Rheumatoid Arthritis I don't know what that means, But I know she will still be strong right? 0- She took me to a Dodger game for my birthday. I remember Sammy Sosa hitting a home run that game She told me that the only person that can **** your soul is yourself
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47
An empty boat glides through a tide-less sea Echos of thunderous silence reminisces the rowdy sailors once on board Without fear they sailed across the dark waters Without the knowledge of forthcoming doom they kept the spirits high Navigation impaired by the wrath of silence, their abominable gaiety and preposterous hopes were muted for eternity Life drained, flesh rotted, bones crumbled to dust, and the boat was filled with peaceful death Though without an inhabitant it still continues to drift towards a predesitned chaos Its calm trail behind disrupted by an impatient tranquility Its still path ahead disallows all animations with an unfluent time Yet it moves forward
0
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC
An empty boat
I thought I would be raising a glass to freedom. But my counterparts didn't know that history had its eyes on us. The choices seemed apparent, Yet, we have been left bewildered and scrambling - Wondering whether we did all we can. My glass is raised to freedom - The end of freedom. History has repeated itself. The beginning of the end. And thunderous applause filled the amphitheater. Those that have felt wronged have decided the fates of those that have had no wrong doing. Two exes. One overwhelming Y... It's ineffable. We may weep and mourn today. We may weep and mourn tomorrow. We may be frozen in the moment - But our legacy isn't etched in stone. It can be changed by us all if we choose.. These sleepless nights will wear us down. The disrupted R.E.M. may disrupt our rest. But we must only rest until we are capable to go on. And when we move, we will move as a force of love. Love will oust the darkness that has descended upon us. Love will out. Truth will out. We will endure the worst and rise. And then we will raise a glass to freedom. We will raise a glass to all. We will raise a glass and drink to the revolution- The revolution that will be a beacon of light for those that need it most.   In a sea of red we will be the silver lining In a sea of red we will be the light. We will call those home. We will call to those that need us most. We will be united against the fear. We will rise and rise and rise. We will rise until lambs become lions. We will overcome. We will show them that we cannot be killed or swept aside. We will rise up.
0
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
Rise
I thought I would be raising a glass to freedom. But my counterparts didn't know that history had its eyes on us. The choices seemed apparent, Yet, we have been left bewildered and scrambling - Wondering whether we did all we can. My glass is raised to freedom - The end of freedom. History has repeated itself. The beginning of the end. And thunderous applause filled the amphitheater. Those that have felt wronged have decided the fates of those that have had no wrong doing. Two exes. One overwhelming Y... It's ineffable. We may weep and mourn today. We may weep and mourn tomorrow. We may be frozen in the moment - But our legacy isn't etched in stone. It can be changed by us all if we choose.. These sleepless nights will wear us down. The disrupted R.E.M. may disrupt our rest. But we must only rest until we are capable to go on. And when we move, we will move as a force of love. Love will oust the darkness that has descended upon us. Love will out. Truth will out. We will endure the worst and rise. And then we will raise a glass to freedom. We will raise a glass to all. We will raise a glass and drink to the revolution- The revolution that will be a beacon of light for those that need it most.   In a sea of red we will be the silver lining In a sea of red we will be the light. We will call those home. We will call to those that need us most. We will be united against the fear. We will rise and rise and rise. We will rise until lambs become lions. We will overcome. We will show them that we cannot be killed or swept aside. We will rise up.
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41
When he's trying to convey a message about the mathematical equation of light by drawing on my skin with an invisible finger-pen, the pictures of electromagnetic quanta, photons, and particles becomes disrupted by a static-wave of goosebumps.
0
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 7:39 PM UTC
Etch-A-Sketch Skin
It begins with the ominous clouds that roil and billow over the sky. Then they darken: Soft whites... Seductive greys... All the way to the purple black that haunts the skies on the cusp of a winter night. The smell that follows this sinister nebula of vapor hanging over your head is that of life bringing relief. The smell of dry earth mingling with that of the fresh water above reminds one of summer breezes, freedom and relaxation. The cool but warm drops of moisture start gently stroking your shoulders and arms. The strength increases, forcing you to squint as you take in the beautiful composition of nature above. Soon you're covering your head as the rain pelts down and you race for shelter. The puddles appearing on the floor disrupted by the matter consistently falling into them. You peer into the world, completely changed, as you visibility decreases and smile, the metallic twangs to the rain hitting the patio roof fill your ears and soul with its rhythm and music.
0
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 12:14 AM UTC
Rain
Here I tread on a woodland promontory— With wings and wind conjuring the rains, All is vastness and shroud, open, empty, Even the light is carried away in silence, My flesh all but smearings on the tableau, Foothold of dream within disrupted dream, Our hands once reached out into forever, Now my soul is seeping from veined cairns, Cut chains, mist, rains hollowing the wind.
0
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
Estranged
tempest aroused weather throws a crink in the atmospheric pressure, sun lazy long weekend planned rejuvenation, disrupted, all day rain and wind gusts that whitecap/kneecap the river-fed bay forcing a couch-curling up, a doozey dozy, cozy writable assessment, a tempting answered with positivity close your eyes and all that can be felt is memorized by your forefinger cells, a stroking upward gesture, your stroking. your finger. the children you have brought into this difficult place and a woman’s face as she rests uneasy and needs calming but the memory of your own cheek as a living fired thing being stroked is a gone, because it was not frequent enough, is longer than long past than what matters now   my pointer finger remembers though pointer finger points at my chest stoking, pushing,   what does your artistic heart remember?
0
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
to stroke a cheek, to stoke a heart
Propped up I see the the lush green thirsty grass Confusing and pretty I feel its needs To want to be nourished Always to be trotted on No reasoning for our disrespect Yet never disrupted Disaster we love
0
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC
Smell the watered lawn
The American said: let's drink the words. She was so right. A loquacious gin & tonic An acerbic Darwinian daiquiri on ice A French martini disrupted not stirred A mojito muddled in abstinence A Belfast bomber & brimstone Love on the Rocks with perpetual dissent *** on the Beach with a dash of chilli & lime ***** scorpion splashed in ironic ascension Dark *** stifled by the sting of a disturbance Love scented petals infused with tequila worms Salubrious shots of Sambuca Absinthe toasted in lunacy flakes This is my bar. Choose your poison wisely
0
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
Let's Drink the Words
Here I tread on a woodland promontory— With wings and wind conjuring the rains, All is vastness and shroud, open, empty, Even the light is carried away in silence, My flesh all but smearings on the tableau, Foothold of dream within disrupted dream, Our hands once reached out into forever, Now my soul is seeping from veined cairns, Cut chains, mist, rains hollowing the wind.
0
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
Estranged
I have locked myself inside of my car in the middle of the school parking lot. I can still hear the ringing of the bell that caused us to scatter out of the school like ants escaping from a disrupted colony ringing in my ears. I am no longer a fire ant, but a caged animal, and I’m not sure who the metal barrier around me is supposed to be protecting. I still don’t feel safe. I am thinking about how the glass at the zoos muffles the sounds of the animals, and how you might miss their cries unless you stopped walking and got right next to the glass. I don’t want to be seen, but, at the same time, I am hoping and waiting for people to stop walking past me, stand next to my car, and listen. I am laying down in my back seat like a wounded animal, and my screams are being muffled by me burying my face into the seat. I no longer feel like a caged animal, but a fish inside of a tank. I don’t know how long I have been crying, but I feel like I am drowning. You can’t hear noises in the water unless you are below the surface yourself. I feel like I am the exhibit in the aquarium that everyone ignores because whatever’s in the water is hiding under a rock. My head feels as though it will explode, I can’t breathe, everything is blurry, my chest hurts, I can’t stop crying, and I have convinced myself that I am dying. When my cousin was three, he would have died if my dad had not performed cpr on his blue, limp little body after he was pulled out of the pool. Now, he is eleven, and he knows how to swim, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that you don’t need water to drown. Now, I am wishing that I had been the one that drowned that day. I am sitting in a fish tank, I have no gills and I can not breathe. My screams are silent, nobody can hear me, and I am kicking the inside of the car to try and make some noise, but everyone has gone home by now. I am able to breathe again and I have grown a pair of lungs. I am sitting in a zoo after closing hours, and all I can do is practice my roar and try to be heard again in the morning.
0
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
Fish Tank
I have locked myself inside of my car in the middle of the school parking lot. I can still hear the ringing of the bell that caused us to scatter out of the school like ants escaping from a disrupted colony ringing in my ears. I am no longer a fire ant, but a caged animal, and I’m not sure who the metal barrier around me is supposed to be protecting. I still don’t feel safe. I am thinking about how the glass at the zoos muffles the sounds of the animals, and how you might miss their cries unless you stopped walking and got right next to the glass. I don’t want to be seen, but, at the same time, I am hoping and waiting for people to stop walking past me, stand next to my car, and listen. I am laying down in my back seat like a wounded animal, and my screams are being muffled by me burying my face into the seat. I no longer feel like a caged animal, but a fish inside of a tank. I don’t know how long I have been crying, but I feel like I am drowning. You can’t hear noises in the water unless you are below the surface yourself. I feel like I am the exhibit in the aquarium that everyone ignores because whatever’s in the water is hiding under a rock. My head feels as though it will explode, I can’t breathe, everything is blurry, my chest hurts, I can’t stop crying, and I have convinced myself that I am dying. When my cousin was three, he would have died if my dad had not performed cpr on his blue, limp little body after he was pulled out of the pool. Now, he is eleven, and he knows how to swim, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that you don’t need water to drown. Now, I am wishing that I had been the one that drowned that day. I am sitting in a fish tank, I have no gills and I can not breathe. My screams are silent, nobody can hear me, and I am kicking the inside of the car to try and make some noise, but everyone has gone home by now. I am able to breathe again and I have grown a pair of lungs. I am sitting in a zoo after closing hours, and all I can do is practice my roar and try to be heard again in the morning.
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10
Here I tread on a woodland promontory— With wings and wind conjuring the rains, All is vastness and shroud, open, empty, Even the light is carried away in silence, My flesh all but smearings on the tableau, Foothold of dream within disrupted dream, Our hands once reached out into forever, Now my soul is seeping from veined cairns, Cut chains, mist, rains hollowing the wind.
0
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
Estranged
we live in a place where the streets are consistently renewed with black tar and the people smell as comfortable as they live. there are soft clean-cut beds as well unkept lawns people hardly dare venture into for fear of revelation. an entirely new sense of being and worth can be renewed from a walk between the skyscrapers. life is hardly disrupted unless the upheaval is directed towards a reckless teenager in search of a great thrill.
0
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
hometown
*je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) Have not chatted in awhile, me rutted in NYC, a city of constant tear down and sometimes flashy urban human renewal... While you, you getting on with life, growing up, growing down, buying clothes for a new school season, or growing children, or boxing up now grandchildren memories of memories... falling in love, writing poetry all about it... You, in Nepal, Malaysia, India, Seattle, Portland, and the Florida's panhandle, the US Midwest sainted hinterlands, the South, that makes one love water, water that has travelled from the faraway, island continent of professorial Australia, Did I forget the Philippines? worse sin committed, is that in your poetry I have not toe dipped, quite the long erstwhile, after loving it with obsession devotion... so just a Saturday afternoon note penned just to you and you alone... je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) So by way of apology, craft a poem for you exclusive, more than each word, letter, every syllable, tongue tasted for conjuctivity, breadth and thus discovered notes of red soil, raspberry, lemon, even a hint of sweet masquerading as a salty kindness in our veins, our unique vintage of connectivity Your hand to my lips raised, grasped twice, by mine both, slow lifting with stature, affection and respect, kiss it and whisper just enough for we two to hear... je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) even this seems weakly insufficient, but care taken nowadays, a new economy of words, write less, think more, and give up the truly deserved words only as a mark of my fondness and respect these come on no schedule, often months in the making, so forgive-me-not my unsweetened silences, accept them with easy knowing that je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) the summer man wintered in discontent, his journey now disrupted by forces exogenous, stealing his vision, jailing him in between walls of indecision, knocking down his own twin towers, but carelessly not making provision to tell you well and often enough je pense bien à toi (i think well of you)* Sept. 13, 2014
0
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
je pense bien à toi (i think well of you)
*je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) Have not chatted in awhile, me rutted in NYC, a city of constant tear down and sometimes flashy urban human renewal... While you, you getting on with life, growing up, growing down, buying clothes for a new school season, or growing children, or boxing up now grandchildren memories of memories... falling in love, writing poetry all about it... You, in Nepal, Malaysia, India, Seattle, Portland, and the Florida's panhandle, the US Midwest sainted hinterlands, the South, that makes one love water, water that has travelled from the faraway, island continent of professorial Australia, Did I forget the Philippines? worse sin committed, is that in your poetry I have not toe dipped, quite the long erstwhile, after loving it with obsession devotion... so just a Saturday afternoon note penned just to you and you alone... je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) So by way of apology, craft a poem for you exclusive, more than each word, letter, every syllable, tongue tasted for conjuctivity, breadth and thus discovered notes of red soil, raspberry, lemon, even a hint of sweet masquerading as a salty kindness in our veins, our unique vintage of connectivity Your hand to my lips raised, grasped twice, by mine both, slow lifting with stature, affection and respect, kiss it and whisper just enough for we two to hear... je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) even this seems weakly insufficient, but care taken nowadays, a new economy of words, write less, think more, and give up the truly deserved words only as a mark of my fondness and respect these come on no schedule, often months in the making, so forgive-me-not my unsweetened silences, accept them with easy knowing that je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) the summer man wintered in discontent, his journey now disrupted by forces exogenous, stealing his vision, jailing him in between walls of indecision, knocking down his own twin towers, but carelessly not making provision to tell you well and often enough je pense bien à toi (i think well of you)* Sept. 13, 2014
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73
she closes her eyes as the nightmares flash she screams and wake up in cold sweat her heartbeat accelerates as she glances furtively around her dark room frightened and terrified as she lies back on her bed she keeps her eyes open in fear of the dark the unknown lurking there yet another night of hers where her sleep was disrupted just like any other nights its a wonder how she hasn't gotten used to it she prayed and wished to escape this state of insomnia even if it was comatose she wouldn't mind
0
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
Insomnia.
Treading water so calm and peaceful tranquil water rising falling rising falling as if the water was flowing to the tempo of my heart inhale exhale my tranquil waters are disrupted something is not right the water slides past my ears suddenly I am jostled out of my daydream the ripples turn into waves they want to engulf me feel me tumble in their depth and feel me gasp for breath
0
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
Part I: water and air
peril is not what i fear, i fear your death at such a scintilla of contentment how can i love you for such distorted exaltation, if it is love at all she has sunned only her heart, a weathered inamorata of gangrenous pallor timid and stark naked in the swirling moonlight, blood viscous and ripe to drink, she speaks at last: i cannot be your lover. in retrospect, the affair was a whim; lithe but so bitter love is not divine will, but tenacious valor as i have learned as anything have i disrupted your cadence?
0
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 5:59 PM UTC
ride
oh i can tell you why Brexit happened... apparently in light of the European i was not European enough, a mongrel, a ******* Mongol... eastern Europeans are Mongols, mind you...                 i'm pretty sure the Brexit vote happened... because the A8 joined...         when the Eatern European joined the old post-colonial powers... plenty of Pakistanis...      do i mind? do i ******* care?! i don't care... you deal with: the minding!     no...   i have an inheritance tax without any ceremonial                                 past... your **** is your ******* **** plus the Arab, and the curry... **** off!             i'm no ******* *vierte ***** pussy-whip... you ******* yo-yo oreo!         mind you? put me down on this one... i hate the Poles... i ******* hate the Poles...    what they did to the Chernobyl me? i hate the Polacks...     don't like them...                i'd rather spit than talk to them...    i've learned my lesson...                     i hate them more than the Germans, or the Russians... i hate them with the sort of hatred reserved for               patriots...   Judas Priests...    i abhor the ****** catholicism... it makes me... cringe...                 then i think: thickens the thong - better than the Islamic crap to mind making a boot... Brexit only happened because of the supposed invasion of the A8...    the Pakistani mobile gave off a jitter - somehow the "excess" Europeans migrated...               whites combined with whites... Europeans mingled... big problem for the Pakistanis... Brexit only happened because "eastern" Europe joined the *vierte *****   well... "joined"...       some of us had enough sense as to keep the currency...   ******* Pakistani bullshitters...   what?! i thought English girls loved being gang-rape-fucked?!   no?!    my bad...                 the joining of the A8 disrupted the presence of Britain in the EU...          thumbs up on the curry-sauce... thumbs down on the Baltic sauerkraut.... guess what?!                           **** you! you ******* British Empire bonkers...   relief contra racism with an Empire disintegrating!   wankers...                    sure, beseech alliances outside of Europe...   seek them, find them, govern them...       the next time you come shoveling your **** into my: awareness... i'll be asking... so... Rotherham...           no, not really... don't bother me with that sort of **** you deal with your ******** before shoving your ***** into my mouth expecting me to gargle on the produce...                you're closer to Pakistan than i am to Mongolia... you draw the the postcard... i'll draw the pretty picture. don't get me wrong, thought, i hate the Polacks... i don't belong between them...    i'd prefer to be strapped to a Hydra of homeless dogs... than exercise the humanity of a shared tongue with these... mongrels; mind you... the British are just as bad... when it comes to their, mongrel stature.
0
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
the Mongols are coming! / scenes from Warsaw
oh i can tell you why Brexit happened... apparently in light of the European i was not European enough, a mongrel, a ******* Mongol... eastern Europeans are Mongols, mind you...                 i'm pretty sure the Brexit vote happened... because the A8 joined...         when the Eatern European joined the old post-colonial powers... plenty of Pakistanis...      do i mind? do i ******* care?! i don't care... you deal with: the minding!     no...   i have an inheritance tax without any ceremonial                                 past... your **** is your ******* **** plus the Arab, and the curry... **** off!             i'm no ******* *vierte ***** pussy-whip... you ******* yo-yo oreo!         mind you? put me down on this one... i hate the Poles... i ******* hate the Poles...    what they did to the Chernobyl me? i hate the Polacks...     don't like them...                i'd rather spit than talk to them...    i've learned my lesson...                     i hate them more than the Germans, or the Russians... i hate them with the sort of hatred reserved for               patriots...   Judas Priests...    i abhor the ****** catholicism... it makes me... cringe...                 then i think: thickens the thong - better than the Islamic crap to mind making a boot... Brexit only happened because of the supposed invasion of the A8...    the Pakistani mobile gave off a jitter - somehow the "excess" Europeans migrated...               whites combined with whites... Europeans mingled... big problem for the Pakistanis... Brexit only happened because "eastern" Europe joined the *vierte *****   well... "joined"...       some of us had enough sense as to keep the currency...   ******* Pakistani bullshitters...   what?! i thought English girls loved being gang-rape-fucked?!   no?!    my bad...                 the joining of the A8 disrupted the presence of Britain in the EU...          thumbs up on the curry-sauce... thumbs down on the Baltic sauerkraut.... guess what?!                           **** you! you ******* British Empire bonkers...   relief contra racism with an Empire disintegrating!   wankers...                    sure, beseech alliances outside of Europe...   seek them, find them, govern them...       the next time you come shoveling your **** into my: awareness... i'll be asking... so... Rotherham...           no, not really... don't bother me with that sort of **** you deal with your ******** before shoving your ***** into my mouth expecting me to gargle on the produce...                you're closer to Pakistan than i am to Mongolia... you draw the the postcard... i'll draw the pretty picture. don't get me wrong, thought, i hate the Polacks... i don't belong between them...    i'd prefer to be strapped to a Hydra of homeless dogs... than exercise the humanity of a shared tongue with these... mongrels; mind you... the British are just as bad... when it comes to their, mongrel stature.
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111
When I was young, About three years of age, I was made to stay at creche, When my parents were away at work. I used to see those yellow wasps glide, Curious I used to look at them, Elder people used to warn, Warn me of their sting. But I was still curious, Curiosity subsided my fear, Hard to grasp the idea of pains, I just wanted to grab the yellow wasps. And as I remember a curious younger myself, I was by the carpet bed of marigold at creche, There wandered a golden wasp on a marigold, I wanted to hold that puny wasp in my hands, Unaware of its sting I caught it out of curiosity, The next thing I faintly remember is its sting..! The painful sting lingered for the followup time, The inflammation on my thumb followed it, And I caught fever as well as the fear, Instilled was the fear like a dread, I used to remain fearful till ages. The fear was vanquished not long later than it, It stayed there in the crevices of my mind, It was until I was bitten by several bees, Once it was me and Rishabh my chum, We had just stepped out of the school, Someone had disrupted a honeycomb, Angry bees were stinging us there then, The painful panic inside was totally silent, We managed to get to the bike and escaped. I took anti-allergic tablets for two days, Even Rishabh took the same medicines, But I recovered soon with an experience, Seemed to have worked better with my body, Thanks to my compatibility with the medicines, Rishabh caught fever with his face swollen for 2 weeks.
0
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
How My Fear Of Wasps Came & Vanished
When I was young, About three years of age, I was made to stay at creche, When my parents were away at work. I used to see those yellow wasps glide, Curious I used to look at them, Elder people used to warn, Warn me of their sting. But I was still curious, Curiosity subsided my fear, Hard to grasp the idea of pains, I just wanted to grab the yellow wasps. And as I remember a curious younger myself, I was by the carpet bed of marigold at creche, There wandered a golden wasp on a marigold, I wanted to hold that puny wasp in my hands, Unaware of its sting I caught it out of curiosity, The next thing I faintly remember is its sting..! The painful sting lingered for the followup time, The inflammation on my thumb followed it, And I caught fever as well as the fear, Instilled was the fear like a dread, I used to remain fearful till ages. The fear was vanquished not long later than it, It stayed there in the crevices of my mind, It was until I was bitten by several bees, Once it was me and Rishabh my chum, We had just stepped out of the school, Someone had disrupted a honeycomb, Angry bees were stinging us there then, The painful panic inside was totally silent, We managed to get to the bike and escaped. I took anti-allergic tablets for two days, Even Rishabh took the same medicines, But I recovered soon with an experience, Seemed to have worked better with my body, Thanks to my compatibility with the medicines, Rishabh caught fever with his face swollen for 2 weeks.
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38
You always talk about how you conquer lay women of all types and credentials figure it out that you are a ***** of a man and pieces you have shattered along promising empty and delayed dreams get your sick **** to sleep for a while and treat your girlfriend right and good because she is a queen and deserves love Don’t fool yourself in this age dear friend As your flag posts don’t really matter because you still remain so cold and lonely shallow and always disrupted to grow as your oats floats with the melting snow watching all your friends leave you behind wanting, groaning, moaning and frowning It’s like some sort of a Piscean crises crushes of addiction and utter mind games When will it stop, come to a halt dear friend
0
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 5:24 AM UTC
The Pisces Crises
August before the arrival, cloud water hearted, Yula drift, long Sasa, Laji a monk's footsteps, I walk alone, walk in July. Breeze disrupted my thoughts, I will stand in which to stay, at what station will also continue to drift, but life was however, learned to understand life, to understand life, learned in this way and the way the landscape room becomes indifferent, learn to be a wanderer. (Yiwu export) Standing on the junction of the season, I do not know the years makes us hurry, or we go hurry. Earth road, Journey, life mountain water a ride a ride, who can use words of happiness and sadness to resist the pace line prime years. I like the night, a person can go to find quiet in the memory, to the longing to stray, along the way, seen the earthly noisy, bustling seen the world, I think I should be quiet, give yourself a little heart lake, let my heart sink to the bottom of the lake, guarding a suitable melody, so that I can put down his heavy heart. Let yourself get a little dry soul to rest, get a little water moisture. How many nights like repeat such feelings. I do not know, tonight the cold moonlight cut the silence who dream? (Yiwu buying agent) I do not know, who are independent of Migiura up for ages? I do not know, a cappella blowing a flute in the moonlight hurt much Red? Youth wind gently blowing, will we gradually grow, gradually happiness, sadness gradually, gradually, we are lost. Our short life is to experience something, meet some people came. Some encounter in life, like gentle wind, snow, like (yiwu export agent) purity, should meet, then please cherish each other, give each other a warm smile, a warm hug, Xiangxi too, cherished, Should really gone, maybe not leave any regrets, I remember your world I have been to in my life have your shadow. Vicissitudes of time to write more than just wandering, there was a Shizumori, a quiet beauty. Sketch moonlight, I write and draw, describe all the thoughts became a ****** pieces of painting, set into roll of a roll, hidden in the depths of my heart, you can go to wait until spring, waiting to all things prehistoric, waiting for the world to the next reincarnation. Life, melodious, memory or stranding, go learn to really make a person do a lonely wanderer. I was alone silently took years before the trip, like the horizon of their Su Yi Strider, became a vagabond, wandering around the world.
0
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
Rangers edge of the city
August before the arrival, cloud water hearted, Yula drift, long Sasa, Laji a monk's footsteps, I walk alone, walk in July. Breeze disrupted my thoughts, I will stand in which to stay, at what station will also continue to drift, but life was however, learned to understand life, to understand life, learned in this way and the way the landscape room becomes indifferent, learn to be a wanderer. (Yiwu export) Standing on the junction of the season, I do not know the years makes us hurry, or we go hurry. Earth road, Journey, life mountain water a ride a ride, who can use words of happiness and sadness to resist the pace line prime years. I like the night, a person can go to find quiet in the memory, to the longing to stray, along the way, seen the earthly noisy, bustling seen the world, I think I should be quiet, give yourself a little heart lake, let my heart sink to the bottom of the lake, guarding a suitable melody, so that I can put down his heavy heart. Let yourself get a little dry soul to rest, get a little water moisture. How many nights like repeat such feelings. I do not know, tonight the cold moonlight cut the silence who dream? (Yiwu buying agent) I do not know, who are independent of Migiura up for ages? I do not know, a cappella blowing a flute in the moonlight hurt much Red? Youth wind gently blowing, will we gradually grow, gradually happiness, sadness gradually, gradually, we are lost. Our short life is to experience something, meet some people came. Some encounter in life, like gentle wind, snow, like (yiwu export agent) purity, should meet, then please cherish each other, give each other a warm smile, a warm hug, Xiangxi too, cherished, Should really gone, maybe not leave any regrets, I remember your world I have been to in my life have your shadow. Vicissitudes of time to write more than just wandering, there was a Shizumori, a quiet beauty. Sketch moonlight, I write and draw, describe all the thoughts became a ****** pieces of painting, set into roll of a roll, hidden in the depths of my heart, you can go to wait until spring, waiting to all things prehistoric, waiting for the world to the next reincarnation. Life, melodious, memory or stranding, go learn to really make a person do a lonely wanderer. I was alone silently took years before the trip, like the horizon of their Su Yi Strider, became a vagabond, wandering around the world.
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11
It started in a coffee shop Where you worked Four days a week And I knew the hours I knew it with a deep visceral longing With a terror and a joy A forbidden pleasure that sickens me And I tried very hard to let you be But you took the town over With the musk of a presence that I longed for with the whole of my being All the while, the quiet and logical part of my disrupted mind reminded me that being near you was not appropriate How I loathed that Vulcan presence But I heeded it more or less. And as you became attached to all the little places In this quiet little town I knew I had to leave in order to let my violent need die And now having lived in a far off state I sit at the SeaTac gates And the old familiar clutch of deaths bony palm on my soft intestines squeezes, and a small anxious voice whispers What if she gets out at this gate? Do you now own the whole of Alaska? If I find you move to Chicago Will I quail at O'Haire With the small chance that you're there?
0
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 2:56 AM UTC
Will You Take the World?
Words impossible to pen down , let go like a loose electric wire . Mixed lines , confused verbiages , unsettled like random mosaics. Composure of the birds disrupted , like ripples in the calm water . Running with my life onto my palms , over to topple .. gasping to breakfree. Lost identities , scars of the past rooted deeper. I want to run , walk , fall but not stop , i want to caravan the world , conquer speed. I dont want to be tagged intelligent , to meet the social benchmarks . I want to set myself loose , breakfree cross boundaries, i want to be a ROGUE NINJA. I want to let the untamed breeze fill my hair , I want to live .... Theres no point penning down your thoughts with perfected adjectives.. JUST BREAKFREE.
0
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
BREAKFREE ....
We sit in silence, backs crooked, the couches' cushions caving in. The weight of passing hours and minuettes alleviating thinking in a miscellaneous metronome ticking to bring time to a heaving chest. Stay calm, the pain of realignment will pass. Burdensome they may be, burgeoning wings will free you of... Pressure collapsing this cage, walls torn from studs, leaving only this skeleton surrounding us as we find delirium the backbone of convulsing lungs watched, earthquake mute laughter marring the faces with jagged faults. The cost of cracking, we must accept the scarring permanent. Breaks unplanned infirmities, alone, our time line disrupted itself and the heavens came, tumbling down. In silence, we lay, arms barring our escaping words. Eyes overstep boundaries, slipping through the gaps, a second moment of clarification fractures restraints whilst beguiling brainstorms sparked our interest. Our tongues meet, shyly. rubies placed upon your breath slipping against molded clay. In sapphires you and I hold nighttime reflections of passion contained in coal, waiting. Ivory runs my length, bending to ecstasy, breathing shallow, asynchronous, failing to find it's end in persistence. In night the danger dropped us, longing that dusty light beaming down on the show, Act 2 is the comedy. Off. Parallel parabola line diamond reflections, allow for recall with brushed fingertips, horse hair undertones realigning smiles, abstract the paintings of today, of yesterday, stealing away tomorrow in a previous reiteration of our variant indifference. The wings of the demon opened in symbolic solace, fell far across this burning emotional harbor, aflame in angels' suicides. We've fallen, taken knees to grace, whispering eulogies the waves applaud. Sands wash away to cupped stone palms, caressing the troubled banks lost in time. The blood washes away, momentary marks, brown, stained, it passes. Demons foreshadow. In their shade we are seen falling into broken arms, sinew stitched through hearts, still healing strength gives way. Our tongues meet shyly, this reunion a mistake, now locked, staying stilled while attempting apologetic phrasing. We sit in silence, backs crooked, blank walls and barren recounts crashing in.
0
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
Silence Crashing In
We sit in silence, backs crooked, the couches' cushions caving in. The weight of passing hours and minuettes alleviating thinking in a miscellaneous metronome ticking to bring time to a heaving chest. Stay calm, the pain of realignment will pass. Burdensome they may be, burgeoning wings will free you of... Pressure collapsing this cage, walls torn from studs, leaving only this skeleton surrounding us as we find delirium the backbone of convulsing lungs watched, earthquake mute laughter marring the faces with jagged faults. The cost of cracking, we must accept the scarring permanent. Breaks unplanned infirmities, alone, our time line disrupted itself and the heavens came, tumbling down. In silence, we lay, arms barring our escaping words. Eyes overstep boundaries, slipping through the gaps, a second moment of clarification fractures restraints whilst beguiling brainstorms sparked our interest. Our tongues meet, shyly. rubies placed upon your breath slipping against molded clay. In sapphires you and I hold nighttime reflections of passion contained in coal, waiting. Ivory runs my length, bending to ecstasy, breathing shallow, asynchronous, failing to find it's end in persistence. In night the danger dropped us, longing that dusty light beaming down on the show, Act 2 is the comedy. Off. Parallel parabola line diamond reflections, allow for recall with brushed fingertips, horse hair undertones realigning smiles, abstract the paintings of today, of yesterday, stealing away tomorrow in a previous reiteration of our variant indifference. The wings of the demon opened in symbolic solace, fell far across this burning emotional harbor, aflame in angels' suicides. We've fallen, taken knees to grace, whispering eulogies the waves applaud. Sands wash away to cupped stone palms, caressing the troubled banks lost in time. The blood washes away, momentary marks, brown, stained, it passes. Demons foreshadow. In their shade we are seen falling into broken arms, sinew stitched through hearts, still healing strength gives way. Our tongues meet shyly, this reunion a mistake, now locked, staying stilled while attempting apologetic phrasing. We sit in silence, backs crooked, blank walls and barren recounts crashing in.
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83
“Every act has meaning. Accident is a word born of confusion.” –Agnes Whistling Elk Some memories are like crude graffiti some gray in museums still others, vulnerable chalk on the pavement all fade dawn makes no promises it never has If you’re afraid of what the night will bring, or worse, you know what it’s like to be young and out of control leaving a scent trail of blood and flowers for the monsters of yesterday to follow just let them the fighting makes me so tired Rust in the sun until rubies form cry through the night until you have diamonds pressure makes us perfect because it made the cracks that make us imperfect fear is ancient, normal, mundane even but fear is the anticoagulant Meanwhile, I am very busy construction’s going on in Hell disrupted by random clouds of revolting, revolving gravity knocking girders loose violent vertigo claiming kingdoms work horses slide into black holes yellow tape flails as white flags cranes arch and spark swing into the dark silky black tar bubbles, pops, seals everything is untimely interrupted and later ungainly speech mocks the tombstones growing in the lake Pain is like a good book so hard to put down separation of critical moments crystallize until everything has a compartment and no one can touch each other Decades old daydreams stink stale like sour seeds in green fruit lilies could grow out of so much manure. Rot bleeds through involuntary walls The past is sweating, afraid of what I know
0
May 17, 2010
May 17, 2010 at 11:40 PM UTC
Accident