"eardrum" poems
The last kiss from you
Lasted like a huddle in
The snow blitz
Rocking my anatomy
In the frosty glitz
The last words from you
That barged in my eardrum
You were in a hurry
To smell a new leaf
Draped in a diamond dew
The last gifts from you
Was an instrument
Which still I use
To recognize people
Or to refuse!
The last time
You said I love you
I remember I was laughing
Hysterically as if I was watching
Jared Leto’s jaded mimicry of Joker in YouTube
Intriguingly, when the last time I saw you ****
It felt like pretty Ivanka’s embarrassment
Noticing her dad is a lewd
The last time I was chatting
With you on Facebook
I was wondering why
I shouldn't hack your account?
To check your inbox
Yea, it was filled with the message of *******
F- Bombs, **** shaming and tagging you as harlot
All they were asking was your service of escort
Either in full discount or in hefty cash drops!
The last time I wrote
A letter of love to you
I discovered my Keyboard
Began to blurt out
No more, No more, No more…
The last time I had a chit-chat
With you in the Burger King or Pizza Hut
I listened to your hissing clack-clack
That someone else has become your puppy cat…
The last time I became sick
When I was with you
I heard you threw a party
Where you were whispering
To your besties, how
I become your double whammy!
The last time I was
With you in the bed
I felt like I was indentured
To **** a dummy toy
Sans spirit and flesh!
Loving you was like
Santa Claus gifted me
With a Pandora’s Box
As soon as I opened it
You decided to release
Our *** tape of your having ******
In pornhub’s forum of interracial!
The last time I heard of you
Is that you were giving an interview
To The Cosmopolitan’s board of review
Facing the barrage of inquisitions
You calmly joked, the series
Of latest uproar about you
In the social media or Internet
Is because certain people always
Love to rave about Women’s body
Shoving in and out of their pigeonhole
With their one night stand queen trophy
To flavor your form in their fantasmic mouth
You also smirked in a raspy voice
Defiantly declaring “we (women)
Have been locked indoors
With no air, no food, no water”
My last boyfriend is also no exception
He certainly thinks I came this far
Through ******* and deception
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 12:33 PM UTC
Vision
is a molded masterpiece
from the Almighty Maker,
an optical order
from the Divine Creator,
becoming sight for we who do not see
Sent to each visionary
to believe
in the simple truth
we possess
Vision
is to glimpse God,
the artistic nature
that His mighty hand has left
Obvious details about us,
even if focus is found
through failing sight
With a heavenly pair of lenses,
looking at what we cannot behold,
we can imagine eternity
Vision
is a tuning device,
a fine violin
rupturing the eardrum
of mediocrity
An untapped well
in refreshing water
designed to leak and splash
and spring into potential
upon the souls and minds
of mankind
Vision,
a prerequisite to each breath,
a telescope to uninhabited skies,
a stethoscope to the desires of the heart,
is Godly intent,
the gut of greatness,
as we mortals
any purposeful plan
conspire
creation
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 6:26 PM UTC
Everything she said hit his eardrum
like a rimshot. Maybe he was losing
his hearing or she was just losing
his attention. Dinner conversations
across a two foot table flew past
him like houseflies. With her soft,
blonde hair blanketing his collarbone,
her mouth seemed to pantomime
more the closer he leaned in.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:07 AM UTC
I saw it
A figure the size of me
filled with the empty black
injecting a pricing screech
that pushed me further in my bed
I can't move
as it is looking at me, and through me
the sounds are getting louder
tickling my eardrum
I close my eyes
and open to see it climb the walls
I close my eyes again
and wake.
Dec 29, 2020
Dec 29, 2020 at 3:03 PM UTC
that’s the thing with those trophy wife types,
never really mandible in *** like a jaw ought to be,
too stiff, too anorexic model type:
pooch pooch a handbag full of duck quack pouts of the lips.
i like mandible women, scary scarred women,
the types that will grow into fond babushkas
and cook you a broth.
ah all this crap with daddy longlegs walking into a paparazzi
web of flashes is ruining the red carpet,
i was about to frizz it up into cushion afro softness
that would be quicksand for high heels.
i need blotches i need survival skills that hold the skin together,
every wrinkle, every passing jest of “irrelevance,”
every amulet glow of feeling through the kaleidoscope of depression,
jet-lag i call it, although i rather call it trombone,
with the numbers it was bound to happen, leaving the mammalian
kingdom and entering the insect kingdom, it was bound to happen,
the lost identity tiling the earth, ploughing the eardrum for symphonies,
it was just waiting... just waiting... like a spider waiting
with the flies of the urbanisation of green & green...
can’t change my mind... blotches on skin and bulges of missing protein
on the hips... perfect girth for child rearing...
i don’t like perfect... it’s supposed to have an aesthetic aura of an art
gallery... instead it has an aesthetic aura of hygiene of a hospital;
i arrested all the beauticians while talking to the paediatricians
painting my nails with u.v. liquorice in this hospital of hygienic looks
but unhygienic romping pompoms that swayed man to chlamydia.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
at first, the thunder cracks my eardrum.
the rain punches the soft ground after
being held back by the clouds for so long,
and I cannot see past the blanket of darkness.
as the storm rages on, the thunder roars,
but my body knows best like it always does.
my hands carefully craft a cup of strong tea,
and my body rests in front of the fireplace,
and the obnoxious thunder lowers its voice,
and the violent rain's touch becomes softer,
and I finally see the light peeking through.
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 8:00 PM UTC
How do I tell someone something that I don't wanna say...
I mean I could but then I will put myself out there
Vulnerable
Open to be hurt
Uncertainties about what the other person may say or feel
Oh my goodness my heart is racing cuz even when I think about them I smile
It's like riding along the Nile w/ a nice cool breeze
Simple full and free
A wonderful cadence of your voice moves my eardrum
Seeing your face gives me unspeakable happiness
I mean some may think I'm a *********
Nah I may jus have a special place for this person in my heart
But all these untold vulnerabilities keep creeping up on me
I don't wanna be seen as a ******
But u tho
R a beautiful melody to a perfect song
And maybe I'm wrong
But all these untold vulnerabilities may creep out into the light
Maybe with a fight
Maybe with a struggle
Maybe even with a muzzle
But I will put the pieces to the puzzle together
And maybe it will all come out w/ me being w/ you
Foot in the right size shoe
Cuz they say if the shoe fits wear it
But I don't know if you think you can bear the strength of my love
So we both lay w/ some untold vulnerabilities
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Flee, as the desire go towards bad reputation.
Change course as if end is calling.
Still counting but the dirt isnt moving.
Feet and effort comes together.
Like nothing happens in days.
Picture framed a portrait.
Selfie as they say it bluntly.
Peace as if peaceful in that place.
Every tick of the time.
Dots are dancing in the floor.
No orchestrated music at all.
Free, as they whispered it to one another.
With the blaming tongues and teeth.
They mailed it to their eardrum.
Lie, no hope yet there is still.
Truth, Egypt is the mountain.
Bigger as the trust settled in.
Watch them fall to their knees.
For I say repeatedly in this case.
There is still hope, there is still.
Just trace the ace for better is the Sky.
Than any developers of this land.
They may come armored in gold and silver.
With the finest stones and strong words.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
1.
Late-spring's dilemma
Is unabridged and sweet;
Beardtongues and fuchsias peer through grass blades:
Blotches on the bristly canvas.
Camellias? Still in April.
2.
Slices of rye shift on my plate;
Miramar’s war machines whip overhead;
My mouth opens into the Gulf of Kuwait;
The toast becomes
Moldering lips of Pendleton.
3.
There’s a single-story house on a hill
That to helicopters
Looks like an easel.
Great canyons open
To the south and west; the street clings to time—
A pianist’s metronome
Waltzes crosswise on an eardrum.
4.
The eucalyptus bends the deafening breeze.
Are you still dredging Coronado's cradle?
(The tide
Disintegrates the illimitable skyline.)
5.
An unlit Anza-Borrego beats about my ears,
Stars piggybacking the horizon.
The cacti shrivel:
Glitter in a hurricane.
6.
End-of-spring guesses
Prey upon a betrayer’s conscience.
Stilted, they flash ephemerally.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
I am wading out knee deep into the evening's drinks.
I let my eyeballs take a dip as my wallet plays the breaker.
You'd think the woman had tourettes the way she tries to wink.
She flirts no better than the sisters who oft walk god's acre.
Maestro, another!
A black suit hammers ritzy tusks somewhere across the bar.
The waves upon the wires lap across my eardrum's shore.
My lonely, daydream doll is finally called off from afar.
I'm far too low and far too blitzed to enjoy another bore.
Maestro, another!
When I recall how we met, I transubstantiate my veins
with hopes to find a fertile mound to plough to rude degrees.
Too many furrows to recall, but still your name remains.
So, still I hunt for lonely moths who dance beneath marquees.
Maestro, another!
Why does every truth align with all the stars at night
only to scatter just as broken glass when morning breaks?
Every wholesome oath I swear to cherish all my life
melts with every dewdrop my lawn's unkept blades shake.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 3:05 AM UTC
The light in me is alive!
Nothing will stop me.
Earthquake-erupting-eardrum shattering explosions
Brightening and exciting
Transforming the hues of the skies.
Rage with heat
silent as fire
No element can conquer or counter me
_My hatred is unmatched_
My love is stronger compared
to any living external force
_Spirit or in flesh.
Prepare for the worse and arm
yourself with your best!
My frustration in combination with faith of heart
beautifully spreads chaotic balance.
Summoned by the user who exceeds the power of fire users.
Terrifyingly destructive if misused, peacefully and devastatingly
enhances life in all I love.
I can be at peace, with all I have to face.
It will provide blessings to my joys.
Magic is a source to not play with as a toy._
Jul 28, 2022
Jul 28, 2022 at 9:15 AM UTC
3 year old,
Skinny,
Thin,
Small.
Life Changing,
Done in seconds.
Girl’s life
Never the same.
Suppose to be
Asleep,
No one knew until
Too late.
Rushed to hospital,
Then to Boston.
Doctors worried
Immediate surgery.
Loving family & friends
Together forever.
Worried for
Granddaughter,
Daughter,
Sister,
Friend,
ME.
Thoughts of
Losing me
Go through the room.
Find out I am
SAFE.
Never knew one thing would
Change my life.
Not feeling,
just leaking clear liquid.
3 years old,
Punctured eardrum,
30% hearing left,
Challenged for life.
Hope for best,
Never be same again.
Growing stronger,
Overcoming challenges.
Want to give up, but keep going…
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
A silent seducing moment
Carved out of struggle
*** can't tame her desires
She's hungry for something else from her lover
Hidden away in her chest of pain she plots
A happily ever after
Knowing full well that he would never deliver
She let go and plunged the blade into his eardrum
and asked so sweetly
Can you hear me now?
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC
He is only visible to me.
Projecting himself through
my eyes, a stain on my retina,
he is forever here.
Conjured up by a child’s mind,
native, inescapable fears,
he has grown with me.
Bigger, taller, stronger.
Hidden in the deepest shadows,
eyes bright, haunting me.
Chilly arms engulf me,
crushing my lungs and I can’t
breathe and my heart
races and I can’t
do a thing.
Egging me on,
You can do it, you need to do it.
He knows I will.
He knows I must, but
I don’t want to.
I pull back, clawing
at his hands
Let me go!
The tips of his fingers burn into my back,
perfect little circles swirling
with lines that lead me down
towards the place I
dread most.
I see the looming door.
Simple, wooden, warped with age,
swinging, squealing on its hinges.
I wonder how many secrets
it has witnessed and heard over the years.
Passed from one eardrum to another.
Making hearts thud at the anticipation.
The door to my demise.
All else falls away.
What can I do now but take
another step forward?
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:47 PM UTC
Some women will scribble your name in schoolbooks
but never spit it out loud.
Some women float away like dandelions.
Some women bubble so much they spill
over the side of your cup of coffee.
Some women will leave a minty taste
under your tongue.
Some women say they hate you but they don’t.
Some women are constructed out of paper.
Some women copy others to make themselves feel good.
Some women are as a juicy as a pineapple
everybody wants the very next drop.
Some women will call you and say wrong number sorry.
Some women win without as much as a line of sweat
on their skulls.
Some women carry names inside their jean pockets.
Some women want diamonds.
Some women loathe other women but never explain why.
Some women will tear you open like it’s Christmas.
Some women live as if on the edge of a cliff.
Some women want thin.
Some women like big.
Some women won’t care if you don’t party hard.
Some women dance so well you will fall
underneath the flashing disco lights.
Some women have you as their favourite headache.
Some women teach better than any professor.
Some women hate the size of their *******
Some women swipe husbands and keep a tally
below the floorboards where no-one has to know.
Some women have been singed
you could set them alight.
Some women won’t do what you want them to.
Some women count stars until they lose count.
Some women click their heels and make a wish or ten.
Some women can see their futures glistening
in the corners of their eyes.
Some women **** men with their lipstick.
Some women know with just one look.
Some women squeal as though
a toaster has been tossed in the bathtub.
Some women want three words three syllables
to swirl manically through their veins.
Some women would prefer it if you split the bill.
Some women choose click-flicks over ***
Some women cheat when playing Monopoly.
Some women are left-handed and until
they write the wedding invitations you won’t even know.
Some women are fake outside but real inside.
Some women judge books by their covers.
Some women bleed red if they’re feeling blue.
Some women prefer Pepsi over Coke.
Some women drive wildly because they can.
Some women turn bad when they get drunk
they won’t remember but you’ll never forget.
Some women dread the moment
anyone sees them with no clothes on.
Some women are like morphine.
Some women will watch you crawl away and laugh
the sound smacking your eardrum again and again.
Some women will treat you like their next cigarette.
Some women will offer you their Vimto hearts
beg you to keep them beating.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
Putting the receiver
to the cupped side
of my leaning face,
I'll listen to an old,
dead phone, a husk
with a sound echoing
inside like a seashell:
I tune into the static
as if they were waves
sweeping in and out
of my eardrum, hear
the whisper of voices
asking the operator
to pass on last sighs.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
The music shot into her eardrum like a trance-inducing drug, each bang of the drum, each rhythmic flow, each string of the guitar would slowly take her under. Under hypnosis.
The power of the beat was so intense, that it lifted her chin and shoved her into the floor of dance. There, was where she found herself in a state of uncontrolled and vigorous rhythmic movement. The music had somewhat possessed her limbs as though they had a mind of their own. Her routine was calculated and her foot movement, unique.
She, all at once, knew and knew not what she was doing. As her surroundings stood marvelled in awe, she was alone. Her hips shaking and bouncing as though a chemical mixture was being synthesised deep within her, a mixture that was yet to explode. Explode with power so great, it would possess others in her 'roundings. Surroundings that would, in time faster than inhalation, be under the same knife. With movements and sways that embodied and humanised the worship of music.
Rhythm is their God, the controller of beings. Almost as if dance is the ritual of prayer, and the club, a mosque or sacred ground.
Like rhythm is the favoured slave-driver. Like rhythm is the unfeared tyrant. Like rhythm is what brings the animalistic spirit within us all back to life after daylight and spiritual rest. Like rhythm is the pair of unspoken arms that push them, its subjects, over the precipise and into the river of flow. And under The Rhythm's spell, they will move, they will love it.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
My love;
Do I dare drop another shrouded truth upon your eardrum...?
I left another footprint today, you know
...but those granules of concrete are still hollow,
still quiet;
I've hidden behind your golden dreadlocks too often,
and heard your contemptuous laughter echo,
the crooked whistle of another gunshot
piercing the silence, and a silhouette
-of course
....yet I can't let go.
You're so young, I tell myself;
Your bedsheets are still crisp, still odorless;
...this sleep does not trouble you, does it?
-with her kissing nightmares.
And I dread my toes slipping-into that cadencing abyss,
...the scattered doom of my growing death wish;
there's no one to hold me,
but you.
The pillowcases still hiss...
their fingers clench my hair, often;
and threads tie me to a new paranoia
every night.
And I know
these windows aren't clean
...they disgust me;
yet they're my only source of light,
and I choose to compromise;
It's left me with nothing,
but your rusted blood on my tongue
and these shadows formed on the wall,
by your electric blue flesh...
I'm tired, dearest
...your fumbling silence hurts me-
maybe another drop of ******
will bring you back to life.
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 4:54 PM UTC
Ever since they met, he's craved deep in his stomach to hear those words
words heard so many times before though their potency is never lacking
as he greets her the craving builds up - working its way to his ever increasingly beating heart
He lays eyes on her and his pupils dilate
the event horizon of blackness expands ever so quickly in his eyes
the hairs on his body tingle as the opened door lets in the cool air
she draws closer as his body prepares for the familiar yet indescribable rush
as her mouth moves, ripples of sound begin to penetrate the soft tissue of his eardrum
"I"
he hears as the sound bounces its way to the second ear
he has come to the realization that his craving will soon be satiated - at least for a moment
"love"
the word flutters through his mind; a butterfly which he finally captures at long last
"you"
the moment he's been waiting for, the realization of his temporary high now completed
the pieced together words rip through him like a shock-wave
easing the craving in his stomach while super-charging his already galloping heart
a moment passes as he returns to normal
he turns a smile to her and says,
"I love you too" - satisfying her craving as well
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
The sky shoots its myriad blue eye
into a pavane of reds and silvers.
A farrago of ****** tastes signal second dawn at noon.
An indescribable sound pierces the eardrum
from the inside as it rushes ******
humanly,
inhumanely outward.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
every day
I don't pretend
it's not happening
every bruise
I'll never hide
again
every eardrum
not slit
shrill venomous
psychward razors
every day
not backed
into a corner
not choked
every time
I don't wonder
if I'll come to again
as limbs go limp
fading conscious
into black
every chance
for my greatest gift
not to end up like
my biggest mistake
every time
he greets the family
he'd never known
every day
I awake
to possibility
reunited family
rekindled friendships
every reclaimed moment
every shot at bliss
every joytear
is because
of
you
daring to flirt inside
messy, imperfect lines
catalyzing jumpstart
to the rest
of this
precious life
no matter
what happens
wherever you go
whatever you choose
I'll always see some cape
creeping out from under
your blackflak collar
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
I never liked crying in public. Matter of fact, I dread crying in public. Because to me personally, crying means attention craving and weakness. Two of the things I wish to not have in my fragile bones. But today, I couldn’t help but cry; nothing could describe the hurt I felt inside. Those tears were more than tears, they were my months of hard work, they were the nights I spent home studying when I could be out having fun, they were my spring break and all the time I spent hidden in my house, they were everything I gave up. And now the feeling left inside me is more hurt and loneliness. I sit in my room on this Friday night, alone. I drown out my pain with the blasting music coming from my laptop. I turn up the sound to the maximum and have the sound bounce in my eardrum.
Thump,
Thump,
Thump.
My eardrums yell at me to turn the noise down, but what I rather fight is the feeling inside of me, the devil soaring in my soul.
You know how you can really determine good friends?
The times when you’re crying your eyes out and you want someone.
You go through your contacts figuring out whose gonna actually care for you.
You scroll down looking at all the names and for a millisecond your mind checks them off them one by one.
Until you get to the end of your contacts and realized none of them has the time for you.
****
I let the music reach the limits of the stereo until I can practically hear thumping in my eardrums. Does it make me reckless? I hope. Cause I never done anything reckless in my life, so this must make me a bad- ass. HA! I am so bad I will keep blasting my music up to a point where I lose my hearing. If I cannot hear, I cannot listen to the words I have been petrified to attend to, the truth.
Don’t you ever have those times when you picture yourself losing it? You picture yourself throwing glass bottles at your bedroom floors? You see yourself throwing your phone as if all the memory of the phone meant nothing? You get so angry, so furious; you don’t know what to do. You look at your swollen face in the mirror and you cry, because you know that it’s Friday night, and everyone but you is having a blast, and your sitting in your room, crying wishing you could be in anyone else’s shoes but your own. **** how did I get like this? Maybe it’s my fault for isolating myself to a point where I was my own best friend.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
It's warm.
What is this blissfulness?
"It's me.. You're not alone"
Embedded in the eardrum.
Tears disappeared
By just one glance at that curve on the face
That weird, yet such an euphoric curve
It's called a smile
Strange-
For it made the pain scattered
What is this comfort?
Soon a smile was made apart of the appearance
Apart of the life
This curve was then around all the corners of the world
But where is the warmth?
The one that was felt in the beginning
It was always felt in thy heart
It was always seen when looked right..
But is no more seen or felt.
Blinked away,
It vanished
And where was thy?
Back in the cold.
The smile, euphoric?
What's that?
-fir.m
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
1) empty bottles that clink as you wade through them. you drown in an ever-increasing pool of bottles
2) puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. i want to pour coloured powder on her cheeks. i want to trace every single stream
3) eardrum rupturing music. he screams along to it. they become indistinguishable from the music. he enjoys being a part of something.
4) a lone figure next to a lake. they hug their legs. nothing moves. everything is completely still. if you listen closely, you can hear their heart shattering into the tiniest fragments. they try to keep it together. an internal war rages. but nothing moves.
5) the buzzing. hair falling to the ground. a blank stare and tiny smile
6) you are a tiny dark speck, against the looming white landscape.
7) the lingering taste of coffee. a lit cigarette dangling from between fingers. flecks of ash fall to the ground.
8) submerged into the deepdarkbluebutmaybeblack ocean. everything is dulled.
9) a neatly folded stack of clothes in a washing machine.
10) putting your fingers in between your legs. you are in front of a mirror. you watch yourself
11) a body falling apart into several meat-sized chunks. they are stapled back together.
12) clay masks.
13) lose strands of hair tied together in a trash can
14) refusing to follow the rules.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 9:54 AM UTC
Spare me my pride hip hop
Let me get lost in you
Swallow the conflicted emotions I carry
Your artistic touch humbles me
I think……. "Dear you....with love ...from Poetry
***** over the mere sounds of a pounding heart
To the drums and cellos that caress your eardrum
Brothers and sisters confide in you
Fell in love from the roots to souls of mischief
Nomadic as he busta a rhyme
Evidence of a bigger common dream
What he did to get there
****** bleed, notorious hit boy
That’s how some find death in the hands of art
Medusa, the beauty that shattered the lustful greed
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC