"distaster" poems
You my dear are my
Beautiful Distaster
Your beauty bounds me
But you are a tornado through my soul
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC
I dont have a tendency to write things when im happy,
Only when things are breaking or crashing down.
Dysfuntion usually laces the words that end up on my paper
Going down my readers throat, so that im not the only one
Whos infected with mayhem.
I am still writing about dysfuntion
But with the flavor of fantastic confusion.
Because I used to think that when you met someone
Youd know right away, that they were important.
Until now, I found out that you could meet your best friends ex
As a sophomore in spanish 3 and wait for another year
And still not know that they make you smile.
That my dear is dysfunction.
You can then finally meet them in a class
That you werent going to take in the first place.
And let them read about your biggest fears and happiest moments
Finding out that you dont have one bit of trouble letting them in.
Still you wait though, because its highschool
You will either break up soon or break up when you graduate
So why bother in the first place, if you know itll only end in distaster and heart break.
But they stay and they let you figure things out
And you ask for time
And you ask for time
And you ask for time
And thats what they give you.
And you question and question and question
And they answer and answer and answer
Until you have no choice but to accept that they are special
Because they dont make you nervous when they say the word girlfriend
And they don’t make it awkward when you ask them questions not fit for 3 weeks
They arent juvinille with the expectations of hand holding and careless I love yous.
So you let them come to your house and meet your parents and you go to theirs
You make the mistake of developing a loose mouth, and take oppurtunities
To tell your uncles and aunts about how wonderful they are and you feel yourself
Digging a hole deeper and deeper into the ground made of them.
And you know that when it ends, you will be so deep
That it will take you forever to get out.
But you stay and that is dysfuntion in its finest
Because you know the longer you stay, the more itll hurt to leave
But you stay anyways because they make you smile, and they make you laugh
And they make you happy.
So if this is what type of dysfuntion my writing will be laced with then
Let it come by the gallons.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
You are the word that no one can speak aloud,
That cannot be spelled or pronounced.
You are the feeling of bravery and accomplishment, of cowardice and failure.
You are a paradox, a contradiction, a distaster.
You are what no one can know,
But everyone can feel.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
My bed has become too big for me.
And not in the sense where my limbs are dangling off the edges,
But in the sense that there shouldn't be just one person lying alone in the dark listening to the stories the walls are telling.
I've come to the point where my tears either burn on my skin like the razor blades you once turned me off of or I've not any left to shed
Because my soul has become as dry as the desert on account of bleeding out until I had no cells left to live for.
There is no more little bird fluttering it's wings to help me know I'm alive, its pulse has left with mine to go off to paradise and ive become a walking distaster-piece trying to find any amount of solace in being forsaken.
My bed beckons me to come back; to uncover it of whatever clean laundry I didn't feel strongly enough about to put in its proper place, to lay down in its arms again and stay a while..
But I no longer find comfort there.
See, my couch has only room for me just as my heart only had room for you, but now I've been left vacant like another apartment after the lease has expired.
I may as well wonder around with a sign reading 'Damaged heart for rent, contact Valerie at 1-800-MYFEELINGSDON'TMATTER' as advertisement.
I've clearly peaked your interest as some sort of toy long enough for you to continuously return and play with me.
So, go ahead and make an attempt at erasing the history we have between us, officially published or not it still exists and it still bestows significance within our lives.
In yours.
In mine.
You pick up your phone, your hand trembling as your fingertips carress the numbers designed to reach me and me especially.
Go ahead and make love to me one day and then later treat it like a one night stand because I don't have emotions and God FORBID I would call you out on the way you kissed me goodbye that night and didn't talk to me for days following.
You carefully reach towards the green call button to make the engagement more realistic.
Go ahead and abandon me like everyone else, I don't expect you to need me when I don't even need myself.
"I'm sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error please check the number and try again."
1-800-MYFEELINGSDON'TMATTER
I'm going back to bed.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
Making Broken Patterns
We’re all broken,
that’s why everyone’s searching for a fix,
we’re all hoping,
for a reason to believe well maybe this is it.
Here I sit,
alone again,
as are you,
I sense a trend,
a pattern,
of minor disasters,
mixed with,
major factors,
combines to,
define you,
into whatever comes after,
all the world’s a stage,
all of us are actors,
in The Book of Life until we turn the page,
and enter into the next chapter,
laughter,
from the voyeuristic crowd,
soundtrack,
from the orchestra of sounds,
sounds,
a lot like life right,
now,
we are all in the limelight,
our scars are watercolors,
our feelings are ink,
our attitude is honest art,
we use pain and bliss to paint the masterpiece,
a distaster we,
are for sure none of us are pure,
as times moves faster we,
see that none of this is sure,
sure,
we’re all broken,
that’s why everyone’s searching for a fix,
we’re all hoping,
for a reason to believe well maybe this is it…
∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
he threw dirt into the crevices of my mind
making it a horrid, wretched place
but you came along
and planted flowers.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
He wears a breaking suit of armour,
Now, a lone wolf soldier.
Standing upon a fortress wall beginning to shatter and break,
It can no longer be held by wooden stakes.
In front is an army that decided to team up,
No longer do they want the door shut.
His army's almost dead,
As a crack of thunder and lightning dance overhead.
The world is being set ablaze,
As the sky is scorched with fire and haze.
Slowly the army nears,
The lone soldier fights to hold back his tears.
He can't bare this much more,
He just want's this to be forgotten, like old lore.
As he falls to his knees, he takes off his helmet and begins to scream,
Why can't this be just a dream?
A distnant nightmare that dosent have to resurface,
Like a pencil mark, easy to erase.
The sky begins to fall and the ground begins to shake,
His mind is begining to break.
He gets back up onto his knees and stares at the distaster around him,
The army marches toward him and they begin to shake their limbs.
He grabs his helemt and his weapon,
As he deals with the tension.
He sees it, the lesson they wan't him to see,
As he hears the broken melody.
It is no longer time for fun,
All that he hears in his head is the word:
Run.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
the weight is tiring and the spills burn
he stays steady because hes learned
but steady is a skill the young dont have
so he moves slowly
but every movement is a distaster
defeated and in pain
he holds that heavy *** in his shaking hands forever
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 6:31 AM UTC
I hate how she changed. But she didn't change til I did.
It hurts, what they say. But they only live how I live.
Two hands for two faces but Im the real vantriliquist.
The more I fight the deeper I slide inside the holes that only I dig. In every distaster I am the common denomenator, Im intent on dominating my situation. I'm well aware of my lack of patience. Altercations with myself leave me hear standing at attention, waiting for instruction. After all nothing can be different if I stay the way that I am.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 10:45 AM UTC