"emptiest" poems
"don't go, don't go"
oh, how those words echo in the emptiest parts of my heart.
the chambers that were once full with your presence now ache at you absence.
missing
you are missing
you are missing from me.
it's not that i miss you,
it is that i am missing you.
the two sound very much the same and yet they are very much different.
to miss someone is to yearn for them
to feel a loss when they are not there.
missing someone is the same thing but entirely different.
"I am missing you" it is much more physical
than "I miss you."
missing someone isn't so much the longing to have them back
or the immense desire that comes after parting ways,
it is that hole in your heart and the infinite absence
that comes with saying goodbye.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
Oh hello again
Familiar feelings
Feelings of vacancy
I remember
When I thought
I could fly
I remember
Learning about
Gravity
Hello again
Old feelings
I remember
How empty I was
I remember
Floating
It only lasted a sort while
Then time went by
As I was deflated
Falling is a familiar feeling
This desire keeps coming back
It wont escape me
Every single dream
Emptiness escapes
I suffocate every time
Mistakes keep coming back
One after the other
Rows and rows
Reminders
Of the emptiest time
In my life
Why
Do
You
Keep
Coming
Back?
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC
my blood-shot eyes
send salty waves
rushing down my
newly-reddened cheeks.
they are enough
to fill my entire
body with
something other
than emptiness.
but somehow,
this is much worse;
a feeling of
never-ending dread
and ravishing sorrow.
the flowers you have
planted in the
emptiest parts of me
are now wilting,
each individual petal
falling endlessly
to the ground,
only to burn
and turn into ash
once again.
(alm)
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
The sunny day of January invited the sun's radiation that burns skin as fire could burn through paper.
Perhaps that was why everything we planned was a heat-up and dramatic hope.
Perhaps like the partly burned coal, our hope too burns itself to the emptiest cinders of all.
The hopeful plan we once had was dramatized to create illusions of the fantasy we'd like to live in, but a reality that we could not create because the reality is, we are nothing but the matter of expired fire.
We are the ashes of what we left behind.
We may have stopped giving off flames, but we still have some combustible matter in us; and soon, what follows is, for the better - an explosion, or for the worst - an implosion.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
Loneliness is a jar of candy
Except there's no candy inside
And nothing there to take its place
The emptiest feeling of all time
When placed around a crowd of people
No one sees you because you're clear
And when you try to speak
They act as if they can't hear
So you stay in one place
But still no one can see
The expression on your face
Which is there because you're empty
The stillness of your body
The coldness of the glass
You wish this desolate moment
Would hurry up and pass
The vacant darkness
That lurks by your side
No way to run from it
No where to hide
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 8:49 PM UTC
I once wished
that we first met as friends, rather than
lovers,
that I knew your tongue
rolling against your teeth to
speak something honest before I felt it curling
around my skin.
Ever since,
I have tried to stay separate – I wanted
to paint portraits of the
earth, of luminaries and geodes,
but every picture looks like my body after ***
with you,
little crystals of you
cornering the emptiest parts of me.
I part as a flower blooms,
two years
and I realize I must believe in falling stars
now.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
So often are women branded
with a scarlet letter
the moment they learn
the definition of the word ‘choice’.
So often is dissent catapulted out of crooked teeth
and whose twisted tongues belong
nowhere close to the temple
that is our bodies
in which we are the god.
The valley of our chest,
ripe with liberty;
a womb like an unmapped terrain
you cannot navigate through
for one cannot simply trudge
a course he knows nothing about.
Our vulnerability is not a curse,
it is our compass;
and your preference versus our worth
makes your jaw grow soft
like how you prefer our nails untainted with red
or our hair longer than short
or our feet glued to the marbled tiles
of the kitchen floor
or laws forged to protect anything
but us —
it looks a lot like silence.
You do not get to weep
for what i choose to lose
in order to not lose myself.
You do not get to dress
your iron fist
with empathy
that is only ever in its loudest,
when it is the emptiest.
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 9:02 AM UTC
You ain't gotta lie
You ain't gotta try so hard
You don't have to flex to impress me
Be real and cool and maybe we'll vibe
You ain't gotta lie all we have to do is chill out and vibe sit around smoke an L lay back listen to music I'm allergic to ******** come at me with it I split like a banana I know that's random but I'm proving a point you don't have to lie to get in the joint
You ain't gotta lie
You ain't gotta try so hard
You don't have to flex to impress me
Be real and cool and maybe we'll vibe
You ain't gotta lie mom's said there'll be days when you question everything in your head she said those were the days when you find out who's gonna be real and ride with you until you're dead life ain't all about chasing that cake and making bread we're all gonna be in the same grave six feet deep permanently asleep so you don't gotta flex like a young dude about to have ***
You ain't gotta lie
You ain't gotta try so hard
You don't have to flex to impress me
Be real and cool and maybe we'll vibe
You ain't gotta lie I can't talk to a mattress I'd rather speak in a surreality to a canvas plant this seed in the soil of your mind
That all the loudest cans are the emptiest inside so that same logic applies to all of humankind
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 2:34 AM UTC
When the night falls,
I am at my best.
I could topple from the sky for a saunter amongst the wingless owls arbitrarily.
Carrying my futile attempt on serving the sun with a contempt glance,
As I let my imagination run free like nine jockeys in one horse race.
When the night falls,
I am the captain of my own ship.
I could set my course straight to my hiding place without any further ado;
Where I'd sail to where dreams and phantasies collide until the clock strikes two.
But most importantly,
When the night falls, life isn't like crossing a palisade or walking through a horrible gale;
Life isn't like a perpetual movement of climbing up the rickety stairs or losing a bet to the middleman.
Life isn't as stilted as when I stood dead on the yawnful street or as boisterous as the crowds watching King Louis guillotined to death.
Because there is only peace.
The skies may be the blackest black; the air may be the emptiest space,
but none like the night
where I can sit and stare,
and watch as the moon and the stars
shine my way.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
Magical notes of enchanting music she joyfully painted
Into the emptiest skies of darkest gray
Skillfully setting afire the darkness above her
With the beautiful songs she played
Sheets of ivory linen filled with enchanted notes
Sprang to life in gentle winds
As she played her lovely songs that night
Over and over again
Sparkling radiance quickly bounded in ecstatic joy
Becoming the twinkling stars array
Proudly gleaming all their brilliant happiness
Throughout the darkest skies of gray
Soon the darkest skies filled with radiant stars
Were captured in light years away
Listening to magical notes, she had skillfully painted
Into the emptiest skies of darkest gray
Sep 9, 2010
Sep 9, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
I stare at the mirror
A creature stares back at me
She has no features on her
But she keeps on banging her fist to be free.
I stare into the giant river
The ripples wrinkle her smooth face
Devoid of nose, devoid of eyes, devoid of lips,
Her face, I see, is the emptiest place.
I stare at my reflection,
But I'm acquainted with an unknown countenance,
Staring back at me like an empty piece of paper,
Begging words to be written on her to make sense.
But making sense wasn't enough.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
As the sound of her footsteps diminish in proportion to her figure
her shadow lengthens across the street
The horizon eats everything and I am always on the inside
from that same hunger I yell, please.
/
She told me a secret
Now I make maps from empty pages
and hide my poetry in her
I believe in nothing else
/
In the emptiest hours of evening
through an open window to your kitchen
stray animals are lured by the scent of flavours they've never tasted
and I knock on your door hoping you are not home
/
In spite of the chemicals
and circumstances that we are
I kiss the stars and lose my place
upon the pages you are writing
/
I long to be collecting
on your tongue
like snowflakes
like secrets
/
I see now
how
after the third try
a genie fails to complete
what comes naturally
in your arms
/
childhood is a secret we'll remember someday;
for the heroes we were, for the monsters we saved
/
hope everything falls out of your pockets
hope you arrive at the gates empty handed
hope they can forgive you for arriving empty
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
When
I'm at my emptiest,
I long to lose
Myself in physical
Ecstasy.
Desperate
yearning
extinguished
Through
flesh on flesh.
******* passion
Throats ripped,
Blood pours.
Devouring
your entirety
On a wave of
Nothingness.
I ache
to feel
Something.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
I am the sea. I am the clouds. And the dirt you carry within your dreams. i am the pain. i taste the blood. Even though it’s 2 o’clock in the mourning and time to go home. To the nothings and the peculiars of an emptiest life.
i am the child who once painted lipstick
on a pet / the grimmest hour I stood alone / i wanted to die / and now i’ve grown up without the hope of a warmer house I could call my life ||
i am the tea. i am the cup. Of no particular taste and i want to throw up / and it’s always the last one who calls me hon / you should get a better life. |||
:: 09-06-2018 ::
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 12:28 AM UTC
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail
vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,
and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in
joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.
Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 4:19 AM UTC
I’ve filled the emptiest spaces of myself with
the best parts of you
not breathing, warm like an homage
but sterile
remote
a gallery of looped memories
beautiful and untouchable
and convincingly bright
so that no matter where I am
my retinas are tattooed with the space you took in the world
cooking in a scratchy sweater- your electric rants about Jung
drumming jazz on the street corner for the pay of odd conversation
planting kisses in my hands because you hoped they would grow a wife
endlessly reminding me
(from wherever you are now)
that the best things in life weren’t free
and though expensive beyond measure
how graceful- I hardly noticed how much
I was willing to give
just to keep at a quiet distance
this neuronal gallery
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 1:49 PM UTC
second chances
third chances
fourth chances
renewed trusts
replenished damaged belief
pride and prejudice
hurt and sadness
fifth chances...
making up
making out
waking up half ashamed
walking out half naked
walking off the emptiest night of your lives
forcing a smile
pretending to be fine
pretending to be fine
pretending to be fine
pretending to be fine
lying
knuckling under
lying
falling behind
pretending to believe each other
trustfalls
with
a
harness
trust
falling
apart
trust broken forever.
sixth chances...
tears-----
weeping-----
sobbing-----
gnashing of teeth-----
staring into the mirror blankly at 3am
crying yourself up until 9
glass shard pressed smoothly
against your wrist
total darkness...
undoable sadness...
uncurable brokenness...
unsatiable...
irrevocable...
irreversible...
-------seventh chances
pain.
------eighth chances
cries.
------ninth chances
lies.
-------tenth chances
more 'last' goodbyes.
et cetera
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 6:31 PM UTC
Cry and you cry alone Smile and the world is with you The people part of home And the doors keep closing Lock you in or out Suffer the same The people part of home is The emptiest thing
Every Friday buries a Thursday Forget each one, keep your eyes away
Not so much what is said A skin holding a soul, a heart, a head Effort, sympathy breed dignity Only connect!
Sadness pulls apart The days and the hours And makes each sorry A sneering mockery If we could just take ourselves And fill the shoes of another And extend sympathy Beyond obligation
Every Friday buries a Thursday Forget each one, keep your eyes away Momentum deceives us, and lets us see Forward While keeping sideways to the periphery
Not so much what is said A word an act a thought or a deed An impenetrable cloud Concealing connection that we need A single soul Left behind or forgotten Is the death of us all An implicating 'sorry'
'I’m sorry' just doesn’t cut it 'I’m sorry' doesn’t fill the need 'I’m sorry' is for those who do something 'I’m sorry' doesn’t mean a thing
Every Friday buries a Thursday And I’m sorry you’ve wasted your day
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 9:09 AM UTC
August 15, 2013
Loneliness is a heavy burden. Like an elaborate hoop earring; weighed down with to many beads; attached to my heart. It pulls me down. Stretches me as far as I can go. Always there, my most faithful companion, insistent. Shadowing my every step. I crave touch. Love. Something other then this solitude I have been drowning in. A wet cloth gagging me. Suffocating me.
Everyone seems more beautiful. Yet more distant. Every touch, a little sweeter. More welcome. I see the potential everyone has as they touch my life. I watch it as it builds, and rises, and breaks like a wave on the emptiest of beaches. I can feel their arms around me. Their lips on mine for the briefest of thoughts as our eyes connect.
These fleeting day dreams serve only to again remind me of the hoop earring piercing my heart. They vividly highlight it. As if it were a splinter in my hand that I could remove. Except, only with the help of another, could I manage to rid myself of it and its persistent, prodding pain.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
Huffing demigod, a scarf of your hair is around my neck
and it nicks my clavicles. Pin a rose between thighs –
that is how it feels, like thorn-blood your love.
I am the emptiest thing you
have touched the toes of.
When you ****** my pulse,
I became a coffee drink, now funneling the
tentacles who suffocate my hair strings &
you cannot know how subtle I am not. Finger my teeth.
Purposely, I do not bite.
As Pacific as an ink ocean, you are deep
between what I swallow and ***** and keep inside.
Where fish once swam you took. I can only drain for you.
I know you empty me deliberately,
the final ache and void.
Love for me to stay the emptiest woman you have ******
until I do not need a house for my soul. No,
not more than I need your cut.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
this is the emptiest bottle in the world.
she can't take me home,
when I want her to,
but I loved her like I've loved no other girl.
the whiskey goes down smooth when I'm alone
I'll drink away my shame,
then drink away my pride,
and this bottle will be here when I get home.
but it's the emptiest bottle in the world
what I wouldn't give,
for just another sip,
I'd love her like I've loved no other girl.
alone now once again... I could have guessed
waiting for someone,
just me and my old friend,
the bottle in my hand keeps weighing less.
I need a pair of arms to fall into
I haven't found her yet,
I don't know when I will,
so I'll drink until my dream girl will come true.
I'll take another drink to pass the time
I wish that I had someone,
who would take a drink with me,
The Bottom of this Bottle is on my Mind.
This is the Emptiest Bottle in the World
I know she can't take me home,
when I want her to,
But I loved her like I've loved no other girl.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
By the sea, I saunter and think of her,
The tides slip into wild coves—
Like my own desires under moon.
I search the skies, emptiest horizons,
As the gawking gulls circle in windy
Tempests of confusions.
Shy stars appear as the sun is destroyed
And the sea sprays like a bursting fire—
Plastering rocky crags.
The long night that always, was coming,
Has theived its way from white hope,
A shroud for a sea journey.
A lone osprey shuttles a fish to its nest,
His heart— soaring on high—
While mine submerges at edge of sea.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 1:30 PM UTC
By the sea, I saunter and think of her,
The tides slip into wild coves—
Like my own desires under moon.
I search the skies, emptiest horizons,
As the gawking gulls circle in windy
Tempests of confusions.
Shy stars appear as the sun is destroyed
And the sea sprays like a bursting fire—
Plastering rocky crags.
The long night that always, was coming,
Has theived its way from white hope,
A shroud for a sea journey.
A lone osprey shuttles a fish to its nest,
His heart— soaring on high—
While mine submerges at edge of sea.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC