"emphasized" poems
My ascent into adulthood was just that, an ascent. It has come slowly with little consistency and massive amounts of determination, stamina, and a reassuring trust in the universe. But the idea of adulthood has slipped its way into my expanding comfort zone with ease, which I think has come from the preparation I received throughout my childhood. The importance of perseverance and hard work in achieving anything at all was beyond emphasized in the parenting techniques of my immigrant mother and father. They sent the babies straight from their unemployed bellies into the best forms of higher education they could find because
My achieving of adulthood was more of just a gradual shift in mentality and perspective that developed into my addiction to change and new experiences, distaste for dependence, and denial of my previous nostalgic tendencies.
With more maturity also came a more logical understanding of the world around me. The more I understood the working ways of my surroundings, physical and psychological, the better I could feel my drive to achieve. The achievement I sought was not economic or career oriented in any aspect. It was based off of my ceaseless search for something new or for the rad or for the gnar or for swagger or for living a life that could inspire a minimum of 3 people including myself. The seed of this search was planted in me during my childhood by my five older siblings who all held within their bellies a fire of the same breed.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
I am in levels. Past levels. This deep, intrinsic wonderful lost, the lawlessness of its fascinating expenditure of excite. Pushing through the wild and feral snow-dusted plains and timber ridges. Like red-spotted dots breathing through the cylinders called the spine. This descends into a narrow channel of scantly clad greenish scenery in a time-soaked visionary wilderness of snow,
Our crab legs dancing down wiry purple highways, our heads could not even look backwards if we had wanted.
Furious, love-latitudes, stalking breaths thwacking fork-ended tongues into a pinkish knot buried into the first layer of organic membrane on this railway of miniature canals, showing. And their pride snuck into the elbows, shooting down each vertebrae as it stepped with great precision every ledge that the currency emphasized. The raw accumulation of stolen heart-beats rattling between the interstices of new fuel careering these red engines. Crashing with exquisite pleasure into one another.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
I am an italicized remark,
your spicy punctuation;
I am your steamy satisfaction,
your permanent vacation.
A unique innuendo,
a read between the lines;
I am a story like no other
as I lick between your thighs.
from Cosmo,
The New Yorker;
A romantic gentleman lover.
A sweet wine you taste-test
and lick around my lips,
I am a kiss you can't resist-
a naked sweat, a seductive bliss.
I am the palm that stings the skin,
a ***** spank than burns within.
I am a moaning, seeping ******
that rumbles with percussion.
I am your emphasized description
although no adjective does justice.
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 8:08 AM UTC
1498
Glass was the Street—in tinsel Peril
Tree and Traveller stood—
Filled was the Air with merry venture
Hearty with Boys the Road—
Shot the lithe Sleds like shod vibrations
Emphasized and gone
It is the Past’s supreme italic
Makes this Present mean—
3.1k
I made a list of all our kisses, starting with just ‘kiss’
Which in the heat of passion was italicized like this:
kiss, then emphasized in variations Kiss! and KISS and KISS
Which even though ethereal somehow added to our bliss.
And later in IM we found that we could really KISS!
I mean in theory still, of course, for physically we missed
The real touch of real lips and autres choses on that list.
And there were funny graphics, I can’t reproduce them here,
But you know the ones we used a lot, they all meant kisses there
The hearton built with < and 3, which always made you smile
And the asterisks and emoticons we used once in a while
And let’s not forget those x’s which a net of crosses wove
*** and xxxx, our ****** book of love.
Soon added to our kisses came words like longingly,
And tenderly, and lingeringly and gentle morningly
Sometimes we gave it lots of tongue, but loving nibbles too
Whenever I’d le pout or tears your lashes would bedew.
These are the ones I can recall, probably there are more
I’m sure you’re itching to remind me from your memory’s vast store
And you can tell me all about them in some poetry well versed
But my love, before you write it, you’ll just have to kiss me first.
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC
**I know… I know
You don't have to say it twice
I know… I know
I see it now… I realize
That I really need to quit being nice
To quit being good to everyone, because some of these people don't care about anyone…
But themselves
They would never make a move to help anyone, unless by making that move they would also be helping themselves
This realization of mine, is emphasized by the sharp pain caused by this blade that is lodged into the base of my spine
Still with a slight limp and a wince, I move forward
Stabbed in the back by a pathetic, selfish coward
Story of my life
Sorry, but my strife…
Isn't with them
It’s with me
For allowing it
That is how I came to this situation…
And I am now in it
So, I could either choose to be buried alive… which would leave me dead in the end
Or dig my way out against the falling dirt, blatant truth against all that is pretentious… wage war against all who pretend
I say to them, *“If I can afford to call myself out on my own faults and speak to me that which is true…
I'll be ****** if from this day forward, I'm going to be lenient with you”*
I'm done.**
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 2:30 AM UTC
i know a place where there is no independence,
Opinions are controlled,well as your "character reference".
It is the place where structures are aero dynamic,
Members Believing that it would fly at the time of panic
The Social-Controller, political-hemophilia,
Millions have joined, expanding the mafia.
Polluted the minds of pioneers, --the low iQ'D,
Wise Child inherit your thy truth have been sued
The thoughts of your childhood was buried deep,
Teachings of the interracial grows in this creed.
It was emphasized, first time in my life,
Discrimination was a wound stabbed by a Knife.
I dont' believe, i can boldly state --
Man-made Cult hurted, roam from day to date.
Creed merged State, Politics, and inner feelings,
Was trespassed, influenced with imposed billings.
How come, you tell me that you can't --
Soul search, and start what you want.
It cuts my skin, when worse comes worst,
I'll go for the love, not with the CURSE!
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 5:58 AM UTC
the drummer boy’s
existence is emphasized
not during holidays
or birthdays
but rather onstage
where he’s the true conductor
of the band
I see him as the heart of the band
the lifeline which pumps strength
and keeps the blood flowing
because it is only through his heart
and his beats
when the strings know when to strum
when the cords know when to sing
when the keys know when to play
whenever he’s onstage
whenever the heart beats
it is not only the song which lives
but the band as well
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 6:55 AM UTC
Behind the youth room, sitting on the pavement, I think of past times.
I sit quietly and submerse my mind in the memories…
And I wonder, if I leave, will I ever come back and do this again? Feel the sweet nostalgia?
Will I tell my kids about these memories?
Will I tell them about the ones that haunt me as well? The ones I wish I could forget?
I think I will. I wish my parents had emphasized on the horrific things those memories do to you.
Weeds overrun Ashleigh’s and my old meeting place.
Our drainage grate where we told secrets have been overtaken by bushes.
“My chest hurts a lot today.” “And when I look back, I see you waving”
-Grizzly Bear, Fix it
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
In the frame time with mimes
Circling around in rhyme
Where the whispers are shouted
And the misery is publicized
In colorful banners all emphasized
Take thy front foot to the left
And they back foot gone to theft
All here on the bitter mans salute
All here on the fitter mans salute
All here on the winning mans salute
And in sticking finicky horse flies
War torn and wishing they were never born
Telling tales that now are screened as myths
Where love is prophesized in the shape of gifts
No man may enter and no woman may squeal
We are all habits in finely packed eight dollar meals
Shipped off and clipped off
Like coupons were are richly scuffed
So here lie the bitter mans salute
So here lie the fitter mans salute
So here lie the winning mans salute
With the bid that went through by the government official
Stating that all tax will be in the form of red wax
Each child must pray to someone else so to obey
Kidnapped minds that grind their kinds as thin as lines
Non-sensical quotes that drift in the minds like long lost boats
Skimming the surface of a service of true freedom
Reaching millions with a smile with crossed fingers as long as miles
And here lie the bitter mans salute
And here lie the fitter mans salute
And here lie the winning mans salute
Our timing in the black market square
Makes all who enter shiver and dare
Know not who you hate only who you love
Take a start toward the finishing line above
Inside all of this lies no secret and no lie
Your heart will be broken but do not cry
Bright in the day but dark all around me now
The farmers in the field work with no plow
She's memorized by pity pain capturing her life
Sharpening the ****** weapon a heart shaped knife
Make your way down and
See the bitter mans salute
See the fitter mans salute
See the winning mans salute
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 3:21 PM UTC
In the mornings I stayed in the blue, carpeted room.
My Cello played the best friend, while I played upon its bare back.
The halls sat silent there.
The walls, bear aside from the occasional music note half sticky-tacked to the white cement, only emphasized my isolation.
They hung yellowed from UV light, and their own forgotten presence.
After the day slipped by,
Through Stephen King book pages
And colored comics,
Through love notes scraped into wooden tables,
And the ring of my own repose draped upon me by scrambled, and passing conversation
I would make my way to the baseball field.
5’4” and nearing 200 pounds
My ardor was never withheld even in the face of exclusion.
I tried for the team
But when the roster ruffled in the fading sun behind the bleachers
I made myself a part of where I was not welcome.
I loved the team
Even as snide comments slithered
Through the teeth of passing players,
Even as the coach spat not a centimeter above the toe of my white, worn tennis shoes
I came day in and day out
If not to catch the practice ***** then the occasional smile of young girl—a pitying young girl, but a smile nonetheless.
The life bodes loneliness,
But to me it presents possibility.
Never doubt the adequacy of introversion.
The quiet mouth begets the much more boisterous mind.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
with your imperfect edges
you are perfect enough
to be filled in
you may be cracked
you may be broken, even
but what matters is
you know how to put yourself
back together
with gold
called self-love
you see,
you're holding yourself up
and you can see your old crack marks
emphasized from the gold
but that only adds to your life story
of how you became whole again
many people think brokenness
is destruction
but it's an art
when you realize you can fix yourself
you know you're unbreakable within
so just be and stay you
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 10:52 AM UTC
The ink was dry as sand,
It was there where I left it,
My pen, covered with dust,
It didn't write,
For a long span of time,
That time, was rough.
It showed the harshness of life,
Taught me how
An honest heart can't speak,
But the masked face should,
Something emphasized as maturity.
How lying and deception
is the new smart,
A World, where love is an alibi
for a night of pleasure
or a kiss, an appetizer.
A friend an advantage,
Or a parent, a bank.
It took time to sum it up all,
Cried at the empty nights,
For a hint to solve,
But I understood one thing,
Its not worth a try.
Time and the world,
have the rules, that
They will make you abide by.....
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 9:46 PM UTC
The trees overlapped
overhead creating a warm
cloister.
Harvey's car cooed past
the vibrant green
and sputter-stopped
at the plastic, fishhead
mailbox.
He drove up the grey gravel drive,
hopped out of his car and
with eager stride
headed toward
the door of the widow Prine.
"Hello, Harvey," Mrs. Prine
greeted from behind the screen
in her always-sugary-hushed tone.
"Hey, Mrs--I mean hello, Margaret."
"Haha, you remembered this time.
C'mon in, sweetie."
Harvey's steps matched gentle creaks
in wooden floor.
Pictures of Mrs. Prine's
three children lined the walls.
"That's Mattie, Cindy's baby. My first grandbaby,"
Mrs. Prine beamed.
"She's a cutie."
"Well thank you," Mrs. Prine picked up
some magazines lying on the couch,
"feel free to sit here. Can I get you something to drink?
Some wine, maybe? It's a red."
"Sure, sure. Sounds good."
Mrs. Prine stepped into the kitchen,
as the evening news played at a barely
audible volume.
"Oh Lord. I forgot to put the wine in the
fridge, Harvey."
"That's okay, Mrs. Prine. I can--"
"Margaret."
"Margaret, I can drink it warm."
"How about some ice cubes?"
"That works too."
Mrs. Prine's husband died
driving an 18-wheeler,
six-miles outside of Dallas
two or three years ago.
One of the few times
a sedan won a war
against a big engine.
Her cheek bones
jutted sharply from
her face,
deep crimson lipstick
and light eyeshadow
emphasized her
few deep wrinkles,
as if she wore them
with pride.
They sat sipping lukewarm
red wine, saying nearly nothing--
touching only during commercial
breaks.
When the news ended,
Mrs. Prine grabbed Harvey's hand,
led him to the bedroom,
filled with pictures of her and her husband.
The love they made--
textbook in its precision,
light in its passion--
finished chapter,
Harvey reached for his cigarettes.
"Sweetie, please don't smoke in here."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Margaret."
Harvey stared at her old life's relics,
wrapped his arm around her,
pulled her naked flesh against his,
a summer breeze crawled through
open window,
and Harvey said,
"So, tell me more about your husband."
Mrs. Prine smiled, brushed her hair
out of her eyes,
and with a retrospective sigh,
she began.
May 19, 2011
May 19, 2011 at 5:31 PM UTC
there’s something incredibly annoying about it all, this urge to be better than good enough, the columns of highlighted plans, battle strategies for a eclipse that’s unlikely to happen, picturesque visions of murky scenery; as if we’ll be here in a century or as if it will matter what lips skin eyes we had or the number we got on a test in junior year. it’s all sinking by so fast and you and i both spend the better of it worrying our insides raw and closing our eyes, preparing for the final blow – as if that hasn’t already whistled by with the christmases. they tell us to get our numbers up, they yell to have fragile figures and stand out be different, as if that’s even tangible now in this phoenix cycle where 98 percent is the new 2 percent and different is the norm so to be different would be to be the norm and all we can do is shrug our hearts up to meet their pleas. but it’s so so hard in a world where everything wrong and wicked is romanticized by screens and statistics are emphasized by angry mustachioed men from behind beautiful architecture and our skeletons groan under the weight of it all, as if as if. you and i are stuck in this fork between dusted roads and they know it, they say they were there, but how is anything the same three decades later when it’s added to this spider web of standards? so we are lost until the new sands come and when they do we will already be in the next desert over, spinning in the next yellow kaleidoscope until the day we mix with the sand ourselves; and do you see what i mean: numbers and pictures and this is our life.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
I looked between the sheets
to see if I could see your feet
Something that once was there; disappeared
Couldn't even find a single hair;
For proof you were there
Must have vanished in mid-air
Amongst the others who were just as fair
But managed to lay their head in another home
Who laid comfortably beside others bones
For proof you were scared
Now there's a lie wrapped around your finger
Married to another but your feeling still linger;
Your smile still flickers as I look in the mirror
Where I used to grab your hips in sensual bliss
For proof you loved, then lied, then sailed another ship...
Your ship missed port and now your bagging for more
But how can I love when I'm ripped up and torn;
Although, these open doors give me sight of fool's paradise;
these legs don't move after you taken them as your prize
Even when you left I still saw me on you
For proof that my mind is delusional too
Cause all this drama is emphasized by me
Crafted by a simple mind and vocalized by a feign
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
In the group that I come from, where philosophers comprise. Virtue, ethics and values they wrestle or oblige. One thing is missing and thats the truth in definition. From where philia itself is all about friendship.
Friends in wisdom, hey..it might just be empathy. Compassion hey, its truly a victory.
Whether Sophia or Nikea, it shouldn't really matter. Put them together and the robes will never tatter. Lest apart, were back to the start where this cute mythology loses its heart.
Yo, The Gods and Goddesses are just virtues. Principles of importance marked as divine. Personified and glorified to keep the spirit alive, thats just how they emphasized. Thats just how they empathized.
Dec 6, 2021
Dec 6, 2021 at 3:00 AM UTC
This muscle which I speak
Often spoke but never emphasized
This muscle than often throbs
aches often
Impatiently selfish
Only thinking of itself
This steady throb
Aches on and on
Afraid to sleep in fear of missing the next moment
Realizing that reality is much better than the next
This muscle which I speak
Often spoke but never emphasized
A quiet calm that screams loudly
Unheard because of fear
Being seen as vivid
This bright color that laughs in color
Not afraid to be itself
This muscle which I speak.
Continuously patient
Waiting to be seen
Waiting to be heard
Waiting to be felt
This muscle which I speak
The presence of fascination
Otherwise near
Fast paced
Beating
This urgent vulnerability
Being needed
Being felt
From where does this muscle begin to beat it's fastest
The answer is quite simple
This muscle which I speak
Often spoke but never emphasized
Beats it's fastest around you
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
navigating the linoleum tile barefoot and gripping the floor to feel the sand in my toes; the sand you told me would be here.
the fluorescent lights didn't warm me like the sun that tanned your skin but rather emphasized the lack of life I radiate.
I feel the ocean waves of paperwork flood my spot here on the beach where I sit next to you. I watch you tackle and surf each wave with breeze while I drown in the tides.
my fear overcompensates me and I stay on the edge of the beach while you swim in a deep blue abyss light years away from me.
the sharks ride under your board but you dodge their bite, the bite that keeps me from stepping out into the ocean.
and from miles away, I see the sun set over the ocean you've made your home, and from my place on the shore, I can see the waves calm down for this moment. this moment where I no longer long to be a fish in your oceanic tank, but rather the salty sea breeze that lingers in the air even after the waves have fallen.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 2:29 AM UTC
Did you notice me standing on the sidewalk a little ways from the both of you? I don't know if it was a dream but I remember slicing a part of my arm to let my crimson blood drip onto the ground to mix with precipitation and flow into the sewers to feel something, to feel confirmation that it was only a dream. I felt the pain, saw the blood and still you were there, intertwined around her like ribbon around a gift. I think of the times when you showed up right outside my door, looking desperate and deprived, and I still catered to your every need even though a little voice in my head screamed STOP HE'S USING YOU as it cut into my nerves and shook my conscience. Yet I broke all the rules for you, committing modern day badass-ery. And even now I question you on whether you would break your clock and volunteer time you didn't have for me. You wouldn't, I think, you didn't even speak to me and you answer awkwardly, like snakes were choking you and constricting your windpipe and as if acid were burning your larynx to the point of muting you when I did. I stopped questioning you and let you be for a very long while even though the little voice protested that I should think for myself. You seeing me started becoming a privilege because you only showed up once in a while to lock lips and embrace me. I don't remember a single day where all we did was just get ice-creams and chill somewhere with the company of only each other.
I was used and boy is it emphasized as you stand a little ways from me, wrapped around her.
I see you kissing her like how you kissed me, putting your arms around her like how you did me. But will she ever know how the love I had for you engulfed you in a dark shadow, stretching to the galaxies beyond and appealing to the moon for it's blessing? I knew, from that moment on, that loving you is mistake I will never make again. Even if I'm breaking down at 2 am suppers, consuming yogurt by the tub and pulling all of my hair out because of that one kiss I saw you share with someone I trusted, I will never tear my heart in two ever again just to share a piece with you for I know you won't care for it. Don't burn me with the memories we had since I have set them on fire the moment I saw you and her.
But I don't have the strength to keep myself standing upright as I stand a little ways from you wrapped around her, and I crumble to the ground, shattering into ash...
(lunarlullubies)
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC
... ||| ...
It matters not,
if we're young or old
fair-skinned, or colored
rich or poor...smiling or pouting
our lives...our days are never easy
we either worsen, or lessen our load
each time we make up our minds,
through the choices
we make
:::
in the midst of our daily grind
fashion statements take a big part
with nuances that define our style,
ease and comfort are emphasized
choices range from loud or vibrant
to subdued, or
not too obvious colors...
:::
that morning,
we did tiptoes...and diagonal stretches
leaps.....kicks....slower wu shu, and
other movements....we hopped with
a turn...and then back on the ground,
the world didn't reel...not at all dizzy
no aches from lower extremities
arches were just fine
feet were still feeling light...
:::
i am cool, i am hip
i walk with dapper steps
in pants, skirt or dress
i move with ease
very comfortable
with low cut
:::
most of all, i have no qualms
if i would be standing up to my last step
or, if i would be led to an early fall
i feel confident
when wearing my
yellow
converse sneakers.
:::
it could be a pair of converse
or ordinary sneakers
a size larger, or just right
as long as we feel a calm content
no pricking on the mind and chest
because, we hurt no one
we do what is right
for the good of all
in making choices in life,
shoes, or otherwise
let's do what won't make us reel, or fall down
let there be balance...in heart and mind
let us be steadfast as we
stand on the ground.
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 4, 2017
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 8:59 PM UTC
management and what YOU do with it
you'll noticed, i emphasized YOU
carve my likeness out of marble
cast it off shore, covered in barbed wire and
with cinderblocks attached by means of
a rope, let it sink weighed down but
unanchored and unsettled and disassociated and disappointed and concerned and confused and most of all but at last mention, alas
the sickness that i can
never seem to rid my orifices of
static usually but
for now frozen in endless motion
dead at first glance
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC