"dramatically" poems
Polite
Typical
Smiley
Daughter
Pointlessly
Trusting
School
District
Professor
Turns-blind-eye
Struggling
Drastically
Packets
Turn-to
Stacks
Deficient
Panic Attacks
Turn-to
Self
Destruction
Pulling
Teeth
Sick
Design
Plans
To
Stop
Discussing
Peace
To-her
Silence
Disturbs
People
Talked
She
Distracted
Passed
The
Snacks-to
Dinners
Pulled
The
Same
Dimensions
Pre-K
Then
Smaller
Didn't
Pause
Third-Grade
So
Dead
Parents
Though
She
Drowned
Piled
Thoughts
Suffocated-her
Dexterity
Patient
There
Suffering
Depression
Problems
To-many-to
Score
Dispute
Progress
That
Shockingly
Developed
Potentially
Taken-away-the
Suffering
Dramatically
Poor
Tiny
Sweet
Doll
Part
Traumatized
Sleep
Deprived
Phobic
though
Sixth grade
Doesn't
Play
Though
Six-Years-of
Death
Until... The little girl, learned she had,
Post
Traumatic
Stress
Disorder
and, school treating her badly is only one of her three traumatizing events.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
I'm fat because my first boyfriend in seventh grade broke up with me for another girl and called me a fat ugly ***** over and over.
I'm fat because my best friend joined in and wouldn't lend me his jacket when I was cold because he'd rather give it to another girl because she was skinnier.
I'm fat because I'm too lazy to work out since depression hit.
I'm fat because I stress eat and have a bad sweet tooth.
I'm fat because my last ex wouldn't disagree when I asked him if I was fat.
I'm fat because he wouldn't let me eat.
I'm fat because he would see the plate of food and dramatically say, again?
I'm fat because I carved it into my stomach.
I'm fat because I have horrible mood swings and panic attacks and had to be put on antidepressants and birth control.
I'm fat because I don't look in the mirror anymore unless it's above my chest.
I'm fat because that's what I think everyone whispers when I'm not looking because I'm an anxious paranoid freak.
I'm fat because my parents say I shouldn't eat this or that.
I'm fat because I can't fit in my old pair of jeans.
I'm fat because I've always been scared to wear a bikini, now I refuse.
I'm fat because my mom says tells me she is fat, when she weighs less than me already.
I'm fat because no guys will look at me anymore.
I'm fat and I don't know what to do anymore.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
start
set the scene...
somewhere enclosed, close and closed
like a bed
(tight, restricted like, uh, the world all around me, how fitting
now it’s political)
on a morning
and maybe the sun will be rising,
or setting−yes−to represent the ethereal dusk of my cognition,
Say I’m with someone−don’t identify whom−it’s meant to be a mystery:
unfinished, left.
it could be you
and I’ll search the dictionary
for words to make my pseudo-philosophical, imagist, absurdist poem obfuscated, esoteric,
tanquam yet favillous; beyond recognition
So that it sounds like Dr. Seuss,
that is, a Dr. Seuss that knows Althusser, Derrida and the early writings of Flaubert.
add some random enjamb-
ment. cut out the capitalizationandspacing. start a sentence;
end it. Section break
Oh, I’ll need more words, you know, to remind my peers of my intellectuality,
-out of place words that don’t actually mean anything:
Specificity or
literati
that’s good. Now, to end-
bring it to a close in one all-encompassing word:
(to be read over-dramatically)
pretension.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
maybe the reason why I dislike Batman
and love the X-Men
is because Batman, gifted with money and power, chose his struggle
the X-Men were forced- they had mutanthood shoved upon them
and had to be crucifed as society pushed them away
hiding in fear and hatred of what they must face
the X-Men learn to adapt, they take what they have
and choose to be the better man, or the worse man,
but they take the fight that was given them
and the freakery that they were born with,
and they adapt.
Batman, however, was born normally,
did not have to run or hide, for he was privileged,
and he walked, walked straight into freakery
he took the burden others were throttled with
and laid it upon his own shoulders, crying 'woe is me'
whilst he went about the noble task of hero-dom
he made himself a fancy suit- he had been given
normalcy and he invented freakery in order to claim sacrifice
he did not need to give himself- he was an ordinary man
that laid down his life.
The reason why that bothers me so much
is that ordinary men do not need to lay down their lives
they are not called to that future
it is not in their cards
he claimed his heroic deeds and choose to throw himself into the
furnace flames- while others suffered unwillingly
he chose it
he took their pain and made it less
'see, I can do it! anyone can do it!'
what makes the X-Men special is that
their mutation isn't 'deal with pain of superheroism'
it's some other power, but they have to learn how to be ostracized
not anyone can do that- they had to
their survival depended on it
Batman walked into the struggle of their lives
and declared himself a hero
though, for some, the declaration
was not in their words or actions, it was written
into their DNA, it was marked in their skin
by the brands of their oppressors, it
was pounded into every heartbeat shocked with electricity
they fought and hid their heroism their whole lives
for they knew- it was not something to love,
it was something to suffer with-
and Batman took that, he took the heroism
and he projected it across the night sky,
declaring, "I am Batman",
and it is something he can escape from,
he can walk away, he can walk away, he can walk away,
and yes, he chooses not to,
but what he does is steal from those who cannot walk away
his heroism takes the nails in the hands of mutants and orphans
and masochistically drives them into his own palms
crying whilst doing it.
rather than being forced to adapt and look normal,
he puts on a suit and prances through the night dramatically
he takes everything sufferable about being a hero
and tosses it out the window-
he takes everything noble about being a hero
and growls it in a dramatic voice, posing, in his fancy suit,
when he could be safe at home. why would you choose this
why would anyone choose this
be thankful for your ability to be safe,
that is the real superpower- the ability
to be normal, to have a home to go back to, to
have a normal purpose and a normal life,
and Batman is completely, utterly, ungrateful-
he wishes there were more,
while those born with 'gifts' would be satisfied with even less.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
I remember twirling around in circles, bare feet on the gray concrete floor of the one car garage.
The space filling with the thick smoke from your cigar drifting about, filling both our lungs with the poisonous chemicals.
My five year old self wearing a loose fitted Barbie dress,
“Daddy, look at me! I’m a Princess!” I shout with laughter, posing dramatically.
“Not now, the adults are talking!” You said sternly.
I cower away from you and go back to my childish dancing,
Oh, how badly I wanted your validation,
Your love and attention.
But I was a mere child,
Not worthy of your time.
Perhaps, that was how I learned to be silent,
To be submissive.
How I lost my voice,
But did I ever have one to begin with?
You stole my voice before I even found it.
~sdr
Oct 15, 2021
Oct 15, 2021 at 2:40 PM UTC
The Picture Window
The vista view never changes but daily.
The naked eye, registers the same distances,
resting objects unmoved, modest alterations
by wind and water are noted, but for intent,
for purpose, the watercolor one would paint
be invariably unvarying as a Swiss Alp.
The subtle nuanced worldview, where the sky
stretches from ceiling to a foot above ground, as
I lay prone neath the coverlet, vista always subtly differing,
from its prior reincarnation, self-reflection demands to know.
Alive & Awake? Yes.
Breathing steady? Yes.
Toes? Still can wiggly to & fro.
My soul?
Presumably ok, as I write, because I write, the
picture window into to my insight, though oft blurry,
yet intact, making discernible the changes in light,
temperature and heart rate, as the body/soul contraption modulates, just as the gradient of daylight shifts lighter and higher, with a rising sun bringing more clarity to our interactive encounters with our environments..
The picture window internalized, much the same,as
the vista, subtle modest changes, colorations variegated,
are registered. Today is mostly cloudy overcast, and shall remain so for the foreseeable future, which be about two days hence. Not unsurprisingly, methinks, the future tends to be cloudy.
Beyond that peripheral, no one can say, our macular envisioning only gets weaker,time is a tough taskmaster
and uncertainty is it’s own principle.
But I can say, forecast from well under the comforter,
that more than less, where less is more, this picture window,
ex and in, shall remain, unchanged for the remainder of my years that fortune shall provide, and will & would grant me awakenings to the ex-sight and in-sight of a sculpted landscape, of negative entropy, where disorder minimal.
My musings end here, unless you still wish, come the morrow,
what the marrow the day reveals, what the window will spill,
new and exciting, subtly unchanged, and always different.
Caution: The injection of caffeine may dramatically alter
the windows perspective, as the exogenous always trumps the
endogenous.
5:50 AM
P.S. Making coffee clarifies: If the vista in +/- unchanging,
then, all my personal, own horizons are immortal as well.
Jun 4, 2023
Jun 4, 2023 at 6:34 AM UTC
I have a habit of packing a labyrinth in the back of my hippocampus,maintaining balance,like coasting through ocean,its outlandish.I'm on the tangent of ravenous madness complete with calculus captiousness capturing the effect of parabolic randomness.Long story short,I'm just dramatically imagining,I think my genius is overactive again.Calamitous analysis compatible with harzardous pathogens passing through passages to the abucus of antagonists,but its backwards,shhh.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
Roof over our head, smile on our lips.
Rings on our fingers, baby in the stroller.
You and I work the 9 to 5 shift,
Before heading to bed, lights out with a kiss.
A perfect life: Except I'm bipolar.
The day to day is more than bearable.
Little fights, taking little to heart.
Then I snap, and it all gets terrible.
Singing dramatically, dancing on the table.
That's when the fun part starts.
What triggers it is anyone's call.
It could be a traumatic event,
Or it could be for no reason at all,
Other than neurotransmitters not being sent;
Sending my mind into a place I'm enthralled.
I'm sent to a building that makes me feel well,
After bringing your patience to the brink.
It's a necessary evil, but at the time, it's Hell;
And when it will happen again, no one can tell.
I'm sent home with pills and time to think.
Roof over our head, smile on our lips.
Rings on our fingers, baby in the stroller.
You and I work the 9 to 5 shift,
Before heading to bed, lights off with a kiss.
A perfect life: Except I'm bipolar.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
Listen you don't need a Therapist
Sure they help you but do they really help?
They're never there when you are looking at the mirror and calling yourself disgusting, and that you're hideous.
They're never there when you are on the verge of tears when something impacts you dramatically.
They are never there when you want to cut yourself so bad.
They ask how you are doing, they ask what you want and need.
But do they really care? You just get money out of me do you want to help or do you want the money to survive.
After this you always go back to your happy home planning the next family vacation
But I always go back to the loneliness, the dark room that doesn't shut out the screaming behind the walls.
I go back to feeling like I'm nothing and that I'm unwanted
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 10:03 PM UTC
The curtain opens, and I am lit alone.
Chagrin is my monologue.
On opera balconies, giggling wraiths shield themselves from my humorless improvisation.
Served on a platter, I am on stage, eyes squeezing out precious salt, holding my hands over my red-tipped ears as they still roast from the taunts of my imagination's cruel gossips, who sit, deliberately carving into my breast, intending to cut out my breath. Jabbering, with ***** claws clasping at tarnished silverware.
I stammer and my throat begins to hang itself with a velvet string and cat-gut noose.
I sweat, clothed by the filth of makeup, menstrual blood, and leftover food stains. Palms held up, dramatically surrendering on the condition that mercy be extended, for they have seen my miserable condition and that it is me. The cloying stench of uncertainty and greasy hair envelops me.
I cannot kneel, for the coals on which I stand,
make me suffer more from the pressure.
No water in my heels to soothe this felon.
I cannot provoke or endure, my performance is to be left early. Hume would not grant me fame.
If you have a heart, do not waste ink or time or money on me. I am a clot of blood, clogged in the sink. I will die in a ***** bed and no one will care, not even myself.
I just wish it will be swift and fleeting if it is painful.
Hoping harder, I am not remembered as a miserable girl, the way I am.
So, sing violins, and let me swing for the cannibals.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
1.She seized me with one glad eye,
Some cryptic intent lurking behind.
The other eye gestures to me,
To move closer, I couldn't see why.
2.But her overture my system accepted,
Though not fully understood by me.
I couldn't even process the proposal,
But the verdict was out without the judge.
"My system is compromised, no doubt,
She has managed to hack it, I did suspect.
My legs moving towards her in quick time,
Is clearly the evidence for the breach.
Her kohl lined eyes, too played some trick"
On mind's screen, thoughts flashed.
3.She met me half way through,before
It became too evident, the undercurrents
That control the whole episode,unferled.
The smile she flashed was a command,
Didn't I hear a click, somewhere deep inside?
4.Her Kohl lined dark eyes
Concealed a suggestion of magic.
Dramatically she said what sounded,
Like a convoluted password,
My transformation was completed.
As a green parrot, so exotic!
5.Did I ever in my life
Had any hunch, that indeed I was
A parrot in disguise, and my sole aim
Was to meet her, the siren with distinction,
I loved the stupor slowly taking over.
To me it was what was badly needed.
After such magical change to an avian!
That too without even the wave of wand.
6.Gently she lifted me and put,
At a spot on her left shoulder.
Then, as if by some prompt,
I started telling her, things he liked to hear.
This I guess as parrots we learn from nature.
A line of eager admirers she walked past,
They seemed pleased hugely, no doubt,
Because, she is with some one,
She seemed specially care.
7.At home, the enchantress was
In her elements, on a cage hung high,
On a perch, I sat gazing at her.
The prince in daring disguise,
In a bid to meet the enchantress in person,
And lose myself in her radiance.
Her face beams a smile that sugests,
All of this was a trick , she had perfected
In keeping with nature's wish.
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 4:35 PM UTC
mvp arena
s pearl st
albany, ny
8/30/22
*(to summarize how
we got to this point
i was in the
darkest year of my life
and in my pragmatism
self-inconsideration
i gave myself
an out
the only way i could
survive was to
tell myself it was
going to be over soon)*
i’m screaming
the words into
currents
of noise
i should be
happy
still hearing the ringing
in my ears and
seeing flashing lights
in my eyes
*(9/25/16
was the day
it was going
to end for me
concurrently
i discovered
a genre designed
for kids like me
spent hours
in full blown panic
not at the disco but
twitching on the floor
trying to drown it out
with fall out boy
nights that didn’t end until
dawn picking apart
twenty one pilots theories
in razor free showers
and then
my chemical romance
was back from the dead
10th anniversary album with
new tracks
coming 9/23/16)*
things have changed
i’ve changed
and yet still
traumatically
dramatically
the same
”what’s the worst that i could say?
things are better if i stay?
so long and good night
so long and good night”
*(and i realized
there was something
out there to
look forward to
maybe
just maybe
i make it through
just for now)*
”we’ll carry on
we’ll carry on”
i did
and i made it
all the way to here
found a way to
scrape myself through
every lonely night
but in that
moment the
crushing weight
of my own
insignificance
caught up to me
i should have been
happy
to have made it
to here
but the only thought
in my mind
was that
if i hadn't
made it to here
this moment
in this sea of
misfits and margins
in this sweaty stadium
four hours from home
**if i hadn't
carried on
nobody
would
have
noticed
my absence**
i'm reduced to
a face in the crowd
twenty dollar bills
in a merch line
a scream in a stranger's
snapchat story
**and the world doesn't
need me
one more person
to add to the chaos**
i should have cried
happy tears
but instead
i began to regret
what makes me
strong
what got me
to this point
would it be better
if i had ended it?
would it be easier?
does it even matter
either way?
because i'm
beginning to think
it really doesn't
and i know
i made it this far
i have his hand
around my back
and don't cry
alone at night anymore
but in the cosmic
scheme of significance
(which i want there
to be and i want
to be in)
i just don't
think
i don't
know
if it matters enough
what's the worst that i could say?
are things better if i stay?
"so shut your eyes
kiss me goodbye
and sleep
just sleep
the hardest part
is letting go of your dreams"
Sep 5, 2022
Sep 5, 2022 at 11:34 PM UTC
the clatter of machinery
invades my bedroom
as rotors defeat gravity
for as long as fuel allows
someone's on the run
headed for the woods
at the back of my house
why do they think the
darkness of trees and
undergrowth will hide
them from infrared's
all seeing eye, their
journey to freedom
is about to end dramatically
under spotlight
I've got to get up for work
in under four hours
Aug 11, 2022
Aug 11, 2022 at 9:07 AM UTC
On of the things i commonly see that disturbs me massively
Is a man wanting full control over a woman
It upsets me dramatically and i would never desire such a horrid concept
I want my girl to be free, as she bows to no one.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
I sit in the steaming hot water naked and vulnerable, both mentally and physically to blemishes accumulated on me.
The mental thoughts race back and forth between my eyes playing and rewinding back through mistakes I have made.
Remembering the wrong paths that dramatically changed my history.
As the water rises I feel the anxiety inside my chest making me hyperventilate profusely.
I close my eyes plunging my face into the water, feeling my hair floating over me.
Staying under as I feel the anguish of the misconceptions of my life fall off of me.
coming up as if awakening from the dead, while ceaselessly stepping out of the ***** water leaving it behind.
I peer into the mirror inhaling the air surrounding.
Slowly wrapping my arms tightly around my body, letting the women in the mirror know I except her.
Telling her I will always love and fight for her.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 2:41 AM UTC
Promises
A linguistic signature to your word, as binding as cursive
I'm never sure if your tongue knows which curves to merge
Swerving across defining lines
Dyslectic joy rides, is it still considered homicide if you hit and run when the ink dries before you have the ties to derive a sentence.
Sentences
Time served.
Grammatically speaking,
Your word
Is the act of dramatically seeking the exact adjectives and verbs to
Purge every truth from the definition of true.
Tell me why, in your book of synonyms is
Promise handcuffed to Lie...
When spoken
Words fly free, gravity is defied
When broken
Words are deceived, credibility dies
Words have weight and time is heavy.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
We were unknowingly stuck at a broken stoplight as I was watching you dramatically mouth the words to Use Somebody by Kings of Leon. I was cracking up in the passenger seat but all of a sudden the song changes and I'm wondering why the light is still red.
We brush it aside and listen to the next song while paying close attention to the stoplight cycles.
The third song comes on and at this point everyone is aware something is up. We look around for that line up of cars and sure enough.
Cars from behind are turning around and cars in the front of us take the safe right turn instead.
It was funny.
The way all the cars reacted at the same time. As if a plane with a banner was in the sky saying: THIS LIGHT IS NOT FUNCTIONING.
All this to say that sometimes, if not always, humans are secretly on the same wavelength.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC
The ship(notified) lost
leisurely drifts over waves
westwards, "Unhurried hereafter"
is the slogan written on it's mast
it would seem to an onlooker.
A net is cast wide,
to catch as much fish
as the tired crew now needs.
Each furious wave
that rushes towards the ship
changes tack, proclaims
a frothy message of peace.
No more communication exchanges
causing disturbances, no hurry any more.
None waits for the lost ship,
in any distant shore, with a binocular,
or spanning a Radar, uneasily .
The crew had already forgotten
every mission undertaken before.
It has no schedule, deadlines, plan
the ship feels more buyout than ever before
,just floats along, as if it's a tranquil thought,
towards the direction where
the purple sun prepares to set dramatically.
Accompanied by two astonished whales,
sailing along like two mates, the ship,
now a lone wolf,with a hidden yearning
has become more alive, once declared lost.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
A created moral aspect of human awareness imbedded deep within the hearts and minds of mankind.
Who's sympathetic to the pain and suffering of others, aspirating the need to reach forward with compassion.
Feeling the sorrows of the poverty stricken and the ill afflicted soul as one struggle to extend his hands in alms while his strength quickly diminishes.
Even the impiety of the ungodly, feels the remorse of the neglected, has they take sight of a weak child who struggle to place a grain of rice into her savoring mouth.
While the tears of one who's compassionate, are channel through his ducts, forming a matrix of a salty saline solution that falls like the morning dew from a leaf.
The life around her fragile body falls dramatically as she watches her under nourish flesh wrap around her tiny bones while holding on to a seemless life that holds no promise.
A vulture wait patiently with anticipation and eagerness for carrion, as her emaciated body collapse in preparation to sleep soundly in the afterlife.
By no means shall you attain righteousness unless you give of that which you love and whatever you give, of a truth, God is all knowing.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 3:07 AM UTC
Many doctors had failed to heal her;
her wealth was gone; unable to cope,
seemingly having no options left, she…
faced the idea of being bereft of hope.
A difficult issue of continual bleeding,
had bothered this woman for twelve years;
purposely maneuvering through the crowd,
she hoped to meet Christ, and draw near.
“If only, I could physically touch Him,
my personal need can be forever met.”
Summoning the last of her inner strength,
she pressed onward without any regret.
Her health was dramatically worsening
and drastic action was now required;
since Christ was visibly close by,
perhaps healing she urgently desired
would become available to her this day.
Moving boldly with faith towards Him,
silently reaching out for his garment
with her weakened, slender limb…
she briefly caressed the hem of His robe.
And suddenly- her discomfort was gone!
Without warning, virtue leapt out of Him;
and now He wanted a face to gaze upon.
To everyone’s astonishment, He stopped;
then came the simple, unexpected question:
“Who touched me?” He patiently inquired.
Initially, there was apparent confusion,
from not knowing who, He was addressing.
Scared and embarrassed, she fell face down
at His feet, ready to weep and apologize.
“Rise up my daughter, from the dusty ground;
tell me your life’s story of suffering;
since your faith was successfully released,
My strength has cured you of your agony;
return home with my blessings and peace.”
.
.
.
Author Notes
Loosely based on:
Mark 5:24-34
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
©Jeannine davidoff 2011
table 22
sitting at table 22
wondering what to do
life meanders around
keeping me on the ground
opening options
opening dilemmas
process thoughts
delight in fantasy
develop dramatically
time is ripe
pick the fruit
sally forth
** ** ** **
here i am again
at table 22
knowing my heart
knowing what to do
(moving on is easy - jack johnson – playing in the background)
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 1:42 PM UTC