"emptier" poems
#*Your hair stills heart's rhythmic meter
For this I wish forever
Strands spun with goddess gossamer;
softer than touch of mother
Your eyes dazzle with no glitter
For this I stare o're yonder
Locking jewels with coins of others;
Leaves throbbing chests emptier
Your form flows as gentle rivers
For this I grudge past swimmers
Glory bequeathed to the winner;
drown will the losing suitors
Your voice humbles angel choirs
For this I listen eager
Songs molding seraphs from satyrs;
in harmony with nature
Your being stirs wildfire
For this I bear the pleasure
Ethereal flames dance together;
fueled by spiritual tethers
You are my love light of summer
For this I waded winter
Glowing 'bove, spring was made greener;
blooming nascent desire*#
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
This is for my generation.
A generation full of selfies, in short for selfish.
A generation of women murdering their own unborn babies.
Woman walk around half dressed hoping a man will grant them respect.
As they reclaim their lives, renaming it feminism at it's best.
This is for my generation.
A generation of men that rather play with their hands.
Rather than creating work out of their bare hands.
Lusting for women as if we were created for one night stands.
We are the millennials. We're full of worldly distractions.
Looking for our parents to be the lending tree.
Since we spend most of our money on ***** & ****
This is for my generation.
Can't you see we're slowly dying off? We are becoming too self involved.
While every pleasure keeps causing our own demise.
We're too stubborn to realize our ways are flawed.
We mask it and look for love in other people. Yet, we feel emptier when the love isn't reciprocated. Some call this "unrequited love".
This is for my generation.
I'm here to tell you that, you are loved, you are cherished, and you can be forgiven. You can be saved, not by your works or how much money you make.
If you only believe what He did for you on the cross.
The perfect blood Atonement.
We are the Godless generation. Most would say they believe in evolution, perhaps others would mention God.
This is for my generation.
See, Jesus didn't come for the religious people. In fact, he called them frauds. He's more than just a bunch of rules and laws. In reality, He only came to save the lost. Which lead him to be hated, beaten and killed on a cross. 3 days later, He rose from the dead something Allah never did.
Now that our King is risen, He's offering a free gift of salvation. That's why it's called Grace. Being coming Christian doesn't make you perfect, don't get it twisted. I'm just a forgiven sinner by His definition.
The choice is yours.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 3:43 AM UTC
Jo mere dil mein tu basi hai, (If inside my heart you reside,)
Toh zindagi ki har khushi hai, (Then I have all happiness in life,)
Na jaana – Na jaana jaanam mujhe chhod ke, (Don’t leave me alone,)
Na jaana – Na jaana mera dil tod ke… (Don’t ever break my heart…)
Tum se hi mera hausla hai, (My morale is from you,)
Tum se hi har faisla hai, (From you each of my decisions,)
Tere bagaer zindagi, begaani… (Without you my life is, stranger…)
Tere bagaer zindagi, veerani… (Without you my life is, emptier…)
Tum se hi jaana pyaar kya hai, (I have known love after knowing you,)
Tum se hi nayi zindagi hai, (Knowing you only I have a new life,)
Tere bagaer zindagi, begaani… (Without you my life is, stranger…)
Tere bagaer zindagi, veerani… (Without you my life is, emptier…)
Jo mere dil mein, tu basi hai, (If inside my heart you reside,)
Toh zindagi ki har khushi hai, (Then I have all happiness in life,)
Jo tu nahin toh, kya zindagi hai, (If you aren’t here, what my life is,)
Jo tu nahin toh, kya zindagi hai... (If you aren’t here, what my life is...)
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
These oceans are named Between.
Yes, I know them all.
They've separated me before
By water's solid wall.
*But I imagine when I
Jump and make a splash
At my local Brighton beach
That ripple travels
To your shore so
You're never out of reach!*
And at these rugged shores
That ripple reaches land.
As good as any letter penned,
A wave; an outstretched hand.
*Like a message in a bottle
I hope it reaches you
Every nuance of my love and care
Dripped in oceans blue*
Much more comfort in that
Bottle, than the one before
Me now. Its insides shared
With me; still I am emptier
...somehow.
*Well you can't run on empty
So let me fill your cup
With seashells whispers
Wisdom pearls
And jellied joy to
Fill you up*
A whispered wish
An uttered prayer.
That space that pushes
Here from there to
Disappear; give room for
Place to share as lair,
There's places everywhere...
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC
Though nurtured like the sailing moon
In beauty's murderous brood,
She walked awhile and blushed awhile
And on my pathway stood
Until I thought her body bore
A heart of flesh and blood.
But since I laid a hand thereon
And found a heart of stone
I have attempted many things
And not a thing is done,
For every hand is lunatic
That travels on the moon.
She smiled and that transfigured me
And left me but a lout,
Maundering here, and maundering there,
Emptier of thought
Than the heavenly circuit of its stars
When the moon sails out.
6.5k
I need to read love poetry
For the same reason monks read bibles
the irrepressible need to believe
That love exists
That love is omnipresent, omniscient, all powerful
That it is eternal
For someone somewhere, at least
The emptier I feel, the more I read
Let me believe
Someone kisses
Crusty eye-lids in perfect bliss
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 5:20 AM UTC
How selfish of me,
to crave a happy ever after,
when I have already tasted forever
in a fleeting moment with you.
It was enough
to carve your name into my bones,
to make the world without you
feel smaller, emptier, colourless.
And yet…
if once was all I was given,
if forever was just a heartbeat,
then I would choose it again.
And again.
And again.
Because even as a wound…
our love was still the sweetest eternity.
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 7:29 PM UTC
You and I would stand in front of my bathroom mirror and
just hold each other, naked, acquainting ourselves
with the strange, biblical union of joints and hair
and skin and crevices and curves that we make
together...
Fingerpainting reverently on your chest,
I'd kiss your freckled shoulder, eyeing your reflection as it melted,
falling for me again-- and you'd
tell me in return
that my eyes are beautiful, and that they are green,
just like yours.
They are brown, I'd say, and
laugh and
leave
you to
confront only yourself
in my mirror.
Every day that I stand again
in front of my mirror alone--
a similar but emptier amalgamation of joints and curves--
I could swear that my eyes
look a little bit paler...
like if I
point my nose up to the high hat on my ceiling,
with the fluorescent light spilling into them
the color could certainly pass
as the same green in your eyes and
I wonder,
and I hope
that being wrong all this time
doesn't mean I was wrong about you, too.
Dec 22, 2021
Dec 22, 2021 at 11:19 PM UTC
I was once a boy who believed in words dipped in magic
Carefully coated with sugar
From a distance, they shimmered
whispered fog in its wake
surgically dipped into your heart at hummingbird speed
these sweet tender words were easy to swallow
however leaves a burning hole in your chest once it finds shelter in your body.
Even though your lips produced sweet words
I could never get the sour taste out of my mouth
The most you could have done was give me something to wash it down with:
the leftover tears in Samantha Thompson’s eyes
above Wedgefield’s polluted night sky
somewhere in the middle of an empty field inside his pickup truck
between the words I’m and Sorry
the cleanest and most deceitful of them all
I doubted every word.
I never cared much for the empty spaces between the lines of college-ruled paper
They are only meant to be filled with even emptier phrases
If I could, I wouldn’t fill in any spaces in the time we were together
It would only make our story much more incredulous
Adding more would make us less real.
Two hearts in love need no words
but in reality, you did most of the talking
The ***** blanket of faith
is a cocoon of words shared only between you and him.
We, however, were alien to this Earth
We dissolved amongst the shadows of light
produced from lampposts, only to be thrown back into the light
whether or not you wanted to show me who you really were
You always fancied yourself in artificial lighting compared to natural lighting
Fearing the natural light would show the colors you only kept to yourself.
Lovebug ran to each light as quickly as he could
for these lampposts can only cover so much of the unknown
We’ll be together forever
He ran to each one until he was alone
Until he couldn’t find himself
Each shadow that was passed before can be seen, traced
however his new reflection is indiscernible
You can try your hardest to look into dry puddles
only to find something that is not so concrete.
The only words worth believing in are the ones that are burnt slowly afterward
Entre deux coeurs qui s’aiment, nul besoin de paroles.
But no matter how much the lampposts grow taller,
or how the spaces between ruled-paper continue to dance, the word
love will always be the easiest word to swallow
but the hardest to digest once it rots in the thick of your stomach.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
I was sick of being a woman,
sick of the pain,
the irrelevant detail of ***
my own concavity
uselessly hungering
and emptier whenever it was filled,
and filled finally
by its own emptiness,
seeking the garden of solitude
instead of men.
The white bed
in the green garden--
I looked forward
to sleeping alone
the way some long
for a lover.
Even when you arrived,
I tried to beat you
away with my sadness,
my cynical seductions,
and my trick of
turning a slave
into a master.
And all because
you made
my fingertips ache
and my eyes cross
in passion
that did not know its own name.
Bear, beast, lover
of the book of my body,
you turned my pages
and discovered
what was there
to be written
on the other side.
And now
I am blank
for you,
a tabula rasa
ready to be printed
with letters
in an undiscovered language
by the great press
of our love.
4.9k
The light tail of the tail light leaves me blue in the dark hues
… when it carries away what I belong to…
Unfolding the tar-black sky of asphalt, the longest arm of missing you…
My body is now the distance between us, big and empty,
The bigger, the emptier, thinner than air…
As time piles up, my ladders turn into pointless meters
Measuring the ratio of nothing in everything
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC
it's not the large things that send a man to the madhouse
a woman, a
tire that's flat, a
disease, a
desire: fears in front of you,
fears that hold so still
you can study them
like pieces on a
chessboard...
it's not the large things that
send a man to the
madhouse. death he's ready for, or
****** ****** robbery, fire, flood...
no, it's the continuing series of small tragedies
that send a man to the
madhouse...
not the death of his love
but a shoelace that snaps
with no time left ...
The dread of life
is that swarm of trivialities
that can **** quicker than cancer
and which are always there -
license plates or taxes
or expired driver's license,
or hiring or firing,
doing it or having it done to you, or
roaches or flies or a
broken hook on a
screen, or out of gas
or too much gas,
the sink's stopped-up, the landlord's drunk,
the president doesn't care and the governor's
crazy.
light switch broken, mattress like a
porcupine;
$105 for a tune-up, carburetor and fuel pump at
sears roebuck;
and the phone bill's up and the, market's
down
and the toilet chain is
broken,
and the light has burned out -
the hall light, the front light, the back light,
the inner light; it's
darker than hell
and twice as
expensive.
then there's always ***** and ingrown toenails
and people who insist they're
your friends;
there's always that and worse;
leaky faucet, Christ and Christmas;
blue salami, 9 day rains,
50 cent avocados
and purple
liverwurst.
or making it
as a waitress at norm's on the split shift,
or as an emptier of
bedpans,
or as a car wash or a busboy
or a stealer of old lady's purses
leaving them screaming on the sidewalks
with broken arms at the age of 80.
suddenly
2 red lights in your rear view mirror
and blood in your
underwear;
toothache, and $979 for a bridge
$300 for a gold
tooth,
and China and Russia and America, and
long hair and short hair and no
hair, and beards and no
faces, and plenty of zigzag but no
*** except maybe one to **** in
and the other one around your
gut.
with each broken shoelace
out of one hundred broken shoelaces,
one man, one woman, one
thing
enters a
madhouse.
so be careful
when you
bend over.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC
The dusk came;
I watched the moon glowing,
and there I have it,
a word to describe the feeling when you’re bluer than blue;
Yellow, darling,
that’s what it felt like, right?
Glowing, but empty.
It’s time to let go of those
who lift you up just to leave you emptier
than when they found you.
Remember how the sun sets to make way for the moon?
Well, this I tell you:
The moon leaves for a brighter day.
The dawn came;
I watched as the sun turned slowly
from red
to bright orange.
It’s the morning,
and
it’s
beautiful.
It’s time to rise and shine darling.
Rise above the horizon
and shine brighter.
To become your own sun,
to realize that you are the world,
and that
the people,
and the places,
and the phrases
and words
and thoughts
and ideas
that revolve
and pass around you
are
to each
their own solar systems.
It was wrong of them to tell us
that no man is an island.
Each one of us is an island,
and it is when you
peek into
The
Looking
Glass
that you realize
that some islands
have beacons
and some have
watchtowers,
yet all of them
are searching
for another light.
To shine in their way;
to lead,
or be lead
home.”
— Y.O. & D.C.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
The tightness and the nilness round that space
when the car stops in the road, the troops inspect
its make and number and, as one bends his face
towards your window, you catch sight of more
on a hill beyond, eyeing with intent
down cradled guns that hold you under cover
and everything is pure interrogation
until a rifle motions and you move
with guarded unconcerned acceleration—
a little emptier, a little spent
as always by that quiver in the self,
subjugated, yes, and obedient.
So you drive on to the frontier of writing
where it happens again. The guns on tripods;
the sergeant with his on-off mike repeating
data about you, waiting for the squawk
of clearance; the marksman training down
out of the sun upon you like a hawk.
And suddenly you're through, arraigned yet freed,
as if you'd passed from behind a waterfall
on the black current of a tarmac road
past armor-plated vehicles, out between
the posted soldiers flowing and receding
like tree shadows into the polished windscreen.
3.5k
There's a hidden sweetness in the stomach's
emptiness.
We are lutes. No more, no less.
If the soundbox is stuffed full, there is no room
for music.
If the brain and the belly are burning clean with
fasting,
Every moment a new song comes out of the fire.
The fog clears, and new energy makes you run up the
steps before you.
Be emptier and cry like reed instruments cry.
Emptier—write secrets with the reed pen.
When you're full of food and drink, an ugly metal
statue sits where your spirit should.
When you fast, good habits gather like friends who
wish to help.
Fasting is Solomon's ring.
Don't give it to some illusion and lose your power.
But even if you have, if you've lost all will and
control,
They come back when you fast,
Like soldiers appearing out of the ground, pennants
flying above them.
A table descends to your tents, Jesus' table.
Expect to see, when you fast, this table spread with
other food,
better than the broth of cabbages.
~Jalal ad-Din Rumi
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC
I have always imagined your touch as sunlight
As the heat trapped beneath my blanket when I first wake up
As the rug warming my bare feet in the morning
But that was before I realized I was loving a ghost
Before I saw my breath in front of my face
And realized we had just shared our first kiss
Before I wrapped my arms around myself after walking outside
Feeling the air cut through my skin like a thousand knives
Now I see you in the bottom of every glass
When I am left feeling even emptier than before I took a drink
Now I see you at the bottom of every staircase
As a reminder that even if I would jump
You wouldn't be there to break my fall
Because no matter how far a ghost's arms may reach
They'd never be solid enough to catch me.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
Bottoned to the jaw
stone cold face to thaw
roughed and raw under
the black cloud dress shirt,
loud like thunder
as a I skirt the jungle
that is the tangle of bangles
and bands, hanging from wrists
followed by hands, twisting
to grab clear courage
with a flourish
Gulp, gulp, gulp
another plunge, more lurching
spiked up exterior like a sea urchin
lurking in the deep, dark ocean
Slowly getting dull
I'm emptier the more I am full
fire slowly flitting out,
I'm a dying coal
a half burned ember
put out by the snow of December
just pretending to be fire
I'm happy (I'm a liar)
but I never tire
of drowning
lurching, lurching
prickly again, I'm a sea urchin
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
I saw the saddest scene today,
when a boy— now a year older—
abandoned his bicycle because she was older.
Enticed by lust, on his new bike he rode away,
caught up in the moment—he didn’t mean to scold her—
yet no second was spared to look back over his shoulder.
I stopped watering my lawn, eyes where the bike lay,
imagining the loneliness felt when he disowned her,
and I felt emptier than a bike’s seat with no owner.
Even inside my home, on my conscience it weighed
because of their tryst, there was another knower.
“He took her for a ride, and he didn’t even know her.”
In my mind I console her, such idle words I say,
for nobody’s pedaling foot would ever suit her
until that pettler’s foot stopped blocking the suture.
“I was like you recently, so for you I pray,
though, the absence was open and lacked closure;
hopefully, your steel frame employs better composure.
“Nostalgia will make him pine for his yesterday,
pictures’ll frame the story of love lost when he’s older.
In time, loving hands will lift you up,” I told her.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
December has arrived
You promised me a million things
You said you'd make me happy
And always be there
December has arrived
you promised to love me even harder
and make me the happiest girl alive
December has arrived
Your promises were undistorted
but I was totally wrong
Those were just lies
As December has arrived;
Mirthless smile was drawn on my face
you promised to fix
the broken pieces of mine,
Yet-
you left me a little emptier than before
a.r
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
I looked for love held by an empty hand
She left yours shaking too hard to ignore.
Brittle bones and cracked knuckles,
Burying your pain in the wall above a bed where she used to lay.
Its empty
Bare
Naked
And you've slept on the floor ever since the creases of her body indented in your sheets started whispering things you wish she'd say.
But no matter how forcefully you scream or how silently you cry
The voices in your head are always too loud.
I guess no one ever told you not to believe everything you hear.
So when your lifeless body is scattered on the floor,
Drugs filling voids,
3am,
And nights never seemed so dark;
When your throats too raw to curse her name
And another "please come back" only makes her feel further away
You'll learn that not every "I love you" is sealed with a kiss
And meaningful words are often emptier than the people who speak them.
When you start searching for the trek marks her fingertips left
Or her scent lingering in the smoke,
You'll learn that not every story has a happy ending
And sometimes the book ends once tragedy begins.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
I don't love him but he's here and you aren't
And he doesn't ******* hold my hand, all he does is **** me
And god forbid that god forbids you from being near me
Because when I see nothing but headlights and tire tread I think of salvation
I will hold onto you tighter than my father when he came home and told me I'd hate him
We don't speak anymore except about the time you were supposed to kiss me but instead I felt my jaw shatter
And he still wishes his fist could've done the same to yours as a 16th birthday present for me
But I guess you've never liked my voice so why would you wanna hear it
My tongue falls back into my throat like words I've choked on in front of you
If you came back, even as a dream, I would fill half a glass and let you decide if I'm emptier
I have the audacity to think I meant something more to you than to your temper
And I never needed a lighter to play with fire when baby, I had you
I fear fences because the one in my front yard couldn't keep your voice out
I'd gate off my mind but I'm sure I'd still fear January the 1st and I might even miss you
I always loved your hands even when they were breaking me
Even if they've made me flinch at a raised hand or a friendly pat on the back
I ******* hated the roadmaps in your arms because they couldn't guide me out of your grasp
I knew you were dangerous but I was excited by the fear of getting caught with you
I told you, "I am too ******* young."
And I felt more electricity in your fist hitting my cheekbones than I ever had in your lips
Even when I lay my sorrowed mind on his silk sheets I cannot fall asleep anymore
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
1
you were what Adam called poetry those first days in the garden; there were no words to encompass You so he used all of them
2
I have heard voices at the bottoms of bottles, always emptier
3
I am angry at my hands for being too weak to turn house keys, maybe you would've let me in if I was strong enough
4
it's all my fault, I know it. the day my father loaded his fear into the back of a pickup truck and drove away was the day I learned that leaving is just coming back, falling out of bed when I thought I felt your warmth beside me
5
show me a word that doesn't look like loss when you hold it to the light too long; there isn't one
6
maybe if I didn't cry so often I would feel fuller; if I was fuller I would have more to pour out to you
7
love me with a depth and severity that would make hurricanes green with envy
8
we want so much and we desire so deeply, it is no fault of our own that we always feel so disconnected; empty of a thing of which we have never felt full
9
playing foul piano chords to an audience of my nauseating loneliness, roars of applause come from your side of the bed
10
it's okay that he only calls when the morning after has proven to come too early & too bright, you've always been the warm & familiar darkness
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 5:31 PM UTC