"encouragements" poems
at age 10,
my mother pointed
At the small birth mark
On my left knee and said,
"Someone's going to love
You for that one day."
At age 16,
I told her that a boy,
One far away,
Told me I was unloveable.
"He couldn't be more wrong,"
She promised.
At age 19,
She picked up my prescription,
And cried,
"I don't want you
To get your heart broken,
Mary." She sobbed.
The empty encouragements mean nothing,
When a daughter has decided
That the need to be tragically beautiful,
Is more important than the need
To be exceptionally loved.
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 5:54 PM UTC
For every action
There is an opposite, equal
Reaction.
That's what the chemists say,
But I promise I'm no scientist
And I, too, believe in this.
Every time you win,
Someone else loses.
Every new child brought into this world,
Another one exits.
And every angel that whispers encouragements,
A devil tells you even in hell you couldn't do it.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
Scribble Scrabble Dot.
Over the blank pages
She dotted down the words
She had not courage to speak
She drew her feelings
On the empty sheet of her notebook.
One day she ran out of pages
So she drew along her hands
Scribble Scrabble Dot.
The doodles of how it used to be
While the breeze gently touched her hair
The beat of a song flowing through her ears.
And then one day she ran out of hands.
So she wrote daily encouragements along her arms and legs
Her mama yelled and told her she was silly, she would get poisoned.
And she just kept writing.
Until one day she ran out of arms and legs.
So she started to doodle down her chest and on her face.
But then she realized she was doing it all wrong.
Scribble Scrabble Scratch.
She washed her hands, and her arms, and legs, and chest, and face.
She then picked up a phone and started calling various companies.
Scribble Scrabble Dot.
There she was, at her autobiography book signing.
She put down her pen she got from her father at the age of 4,
And held up the book that had her face plastered across it.
She smiled and held her book up I'm triumph.
Scribble Scrabble Dot.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
They tell me I can do anything.
Looking down the throat of a challenge.
Hanging on to the coat tails of life by the fringe,
above a fire that is trying to singe...
...Who I am
My Identity
Targeted by
a self created entity.
To bring me down...
...Below my potential
to see what is essential
through consequential actions.
I AM A MAN!
no matter my wingspan... I CANNOT FLY!
And those childhood encouragements are a lie.
But through accomplishing what I am capable
I find that my boundaries are escapable.
I'm not shooting for the stars,
or looting and ending up behind bars,
but I am me, myself,
doing what I can so I'm not rotting on a shelf.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC
I'm pretty sure
Eyes glaring
At the surface of my soul
Isn't supposed to feel
Any less like a stabbing to the heart.
But it does.
You have cupped
My burdens
In both of your hands
And sprinkled them over
The driest corners of my mind,
Watered them,
And let them grow
Slowly
Into something lovely.
I'm pretty sure
That every hiccup of an
'I miss you'
Isn't supposed to
Cause my blood
To blush warm.
But it does.
You toy with words
In the best way
Making sure each syllable
Is coated in
Silky persuasion
And I try,
Believe me, I do,
To let them sink
Into this heart,
You've called beautiful
Far too many times.
I'm pretty sure
Your lips have quivered
And tired of
Grinning encouragements
And whispering warmth
And uttering
'I love you's
But they haven't.
For this, I am pleased.
And this fluttering thing
Residing in my chest
Can't find a way out
To tell you,
To thank you.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
Wing clipped at birth, domestic birds they were.
Farm and spacious pen bound together six years.
She a prodigious egg layer, Don her attentive,
aggressive defender.
Daisy one day predator killed,
old Don outwardly mourning her loss
became a very different bird. All alone
for the first time in his Duck life.
We opened his gate and let him free roam.
A lonely flightless fowl only earth bound.
All aggression subsided with no mate to protect,
he became more social, needing a friend.
Crossing the yard from the barn,
when ever he may see us there.
He hunkers down in the shade
while I tend to the garden,
him like a supervisor, chortling occasional
reprimands or encouragements, I can never
tell which. All just to be close to some living thing.
He will chase after wild doves that land near by,
sadly mistaking them as perhaps a new mate, they
fly quickly away, him wondering what social Duck
blunder he might have made.
When finished in the garden, Don and I to the
barn retire, I ladle out a cup of corn for his pleasure.
Then it's back to his always open pen where his
bathtub sits, I turn on the hose and his excitement
ramps up. Excitedly he squawks and ***** his wings,
jumps into the tub, dives below the surface, reveling
in the cool spray of man made current in his artificial lake,
and with our few moments of companionship shared.
Him doing what ducks do, for a while loneliness abated.
It's almost as if I can see a smile on his pleasant Duck face.
Most days he sits close to the chickens pen, watching
the laying hens, scratching and moving within,
perhaps wishing he was in there with them.
I fear that if I open that wire door and let him go in,
that those ladies would peck him bald or even dead.
No matter how much a lonely Duck wishes he were
a chicken, they remain birds of a very different feather,
and a Duck can remain but a Duck forever.
A thing we might all remember....
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 5:29 PM UTC
My wonderful & Beautiful Grand Parents Jordan & Dorothy RIP
Sometimes it's still feels like you are still with us.
Almost 11yrs since you both left us.
Although you are up there with the angels, your love, caring ways,
wisdom you instilled in all of us and the love you gave us still lingers deep in our hearts.
All that you were, your smiles, your talks,
and loving words and how managed to put smiles on our faces
No matter how sad and blue we would be feeling,
Your encouragements about life, and your giving ways is what inspires me to be a better person.
Even though you are gone and I can stiill not accept that you are really gone,
Your souls and spirits watches over us.
You are truly missed.
All your grand children still misses u a lot.
All my love your big baby granddaughter Mimmie ***
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 5:34 AM UTC
"I love you," you said
Three times
Sober
Or, at least, after only two glasses of wine
With an expression that wanted me to see its sincerity
You thought about the way your face looked
And how I was looking at it
Which, naturally, made me suspicious
Less of whether what you said was
Or is
True
And more of whether you really believed it
I certainly don't
Although, regrettably, too big a part of me
Hopes that you do
But you won't even go out to lunch
So the concept is moot
If you dwell on me so frequently
Where are you?
Not here, in the growing rift
Between our potential and reality
Where I fume
You flatter
Whipstitching my raw edges
But your adulations can't repair
The fact that you don't know
My favorite color
My stance on religion
Or the quality that I admire most
In a friend
Negligent though you may be
I'm harsher still
On myself
Allowing you in, while I know all of this
How you must find me!
So easy
Malleable
And still I permit you
"We're alike," you say
And you tell me how you care
So little
About so much
But not when it comes to me, apparently
Or so said the lips
That have only kissed me once
Without seeking more
But I kissed you then, anyway
Knowing what would come
Freckles
Sinful dimples
The unfathomable brown eyes
For which you hold so much disdain
The slightest gap
Between your front teeth
Your encouragements didn't stir me
Already shoved
From my resolution
Before your many admittances
And rare
Melancholy musings --
These, perhaps strategic
But disorienting, nonetheless
I'll chalk it up to us finishing the bottle
Which I started
Frustrated
Half an hour before you arrived
And carve myself some apathy.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
but
i don't want your advice about hanging in there
i don't want to hear about how i should wait for the rest of my life to begin
i don't want to hear about what should give me light
i don't want to hear about the struggles of valuable lessons or the triumph of hope
i don't want empty promises or vacant encouragements
i don't want your moral high horse or veiled condescension
i want to hear your honest opinions
i want to hear your soul cry out in protest
about how you're drowning your sorrows
about how your brain feels like a worn out sponge
and your heart an old wrung rag
i want to hear how you're close to giving up
i want to hear how you're burning out
i want to hear how coffee makes you shake
i want to hear how you need pills to sleep
i want to hear how the thoughts of your future scare you more than your past ever did
i want to hear all your fears.
i want to know that in all of mine,
i'm not alone.
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC
I sit and I observe the
gazelle leaping wildly
dancing, their beautiful eyes
skating the floor in front of them
the sky is a mirror for the
elephants
who don't know their own size
and have thick skin to ward off
what? what could stand up to a
lion
who epitomizes what you want to be
and growls, at his cubs
while his beautiful wife lays by him
purring, only to be replaced by a
hyena
whose only means is to survive is to
take and to destroy
because the lack of an opponent is easier
than the presence of a
vulture
who feeds off the kills of the hyena
and tags along in a great mob to take down the
greatest of all: the
mouse
who scuttles and runs along the hooves,
offering quiet encouragements to
the elegant-fast-high gazelle,
who points and shows the mirror of the sky
to the rest of us.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
The conversations on the post-its we share
Aren't
Lame.
They're just constant denials and
Occasional encouragements;
The exchange of unanswered questions because
For some reason,
I'm not comfortable answering
When everyone is staring.
It's almost as if
I'm going to write this
Secret essay full of love and concern and
A script expressing all I feel.
All the bottled up worry about you would be
Matched from thought to term,
Scribbled down onto that
Tiny piece of paper but
Who am I kidding?
I **** with words.
I **** with expression.
All I do all day long is
Sit behind this stupid screen at 3am in the morning
Typing down this hell of a poem (is it even one?)
And regretting everything I hadn't done
When I was still
Face to face
With you.
I should have sat down and
Thought a little longer and
Maybe my brain would come up with some
Wonderful solution or word of encouragement
Like the powerful ones you always give me.
I should have, at least,
Gone over if I needed your help instead of
You always coming over to my side
And then ending up getting criticised.
I should have given you a
Huge hug and asked
You
How you were feeling but
I'm just a fudging coward
And a fudging selfish creep so I
Sit there every morning and
Wallow in my own sadness,
Fighting a seemingly non-existent battle
And I neglect you again — ******
I promised.
I promised I wouldn't do it again but
All I ever do is make you
Worry and worry and worry and
I don't seem to be there, ever.
When it's time for me to help you
I DO FUDGING NOTHING.
.
.
.
The conversations on the post-its
Aren't
Lame.
They're just little bits of hope that
Maybe one day, the replies would both be honest ones,
And even if it says "No, I'm not fine" and
The other one says "You want to talk about it?"
It's a glimpse of hope.
And it'd be true hope for once,
Not just a mirage for disappointment.
It'd be the beginning of understanding,
It'd be the beginning of another beginning,
It'd be the beginning of starting over, you and me,
Closing up that gap
But most importantly,
It'd be the beginning of
A New kind of Happiness
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
whenever i'm not eating
she whispers softly in my ear
sweet encouragements
when i'm finally happy
eating and starting to look healthy
i can see my bones starting
to be covered with soft fat
her screams start to get louder
i try hard to ignore her
"you look disgusting"
"look at all that extra skin
hanging off of you"
"you're so fat lose it all again"
you can tell me i'm beautiful
but i can't hear you over
her deafening shrieks
convincing me that i've lost again
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 1:55 PM UTC
I heard of this poem that’s circling the universe
It’s known to be trending faster than the speed of light
With words of encouragements and positive feedback
each verse represents life, hope , truth and hope.
Its poetic use of words is organic, it unblock
release and rejuvenate your mind, body and spirit
That poem was the last thing you remember
Leaving you with a clutter-free peaceful mind
Who? Why? How? What!
*Sunna Shelley Wong said, “At every moment in a life or in a poem, the formal choice is between answering to that which is alive, or attempting to enslave it.”
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
From "Eating Poetry*
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 6:42 AM UTC
snow is dancing outside your window
tiny reminders sent from the clouds
if you listen close you'll hear them whispering
small encouragements to touch your lover
as her breath dances on your neck
the snow catches your ears
its quietly singing
warmer warmer
as your kisses litter her stomach
the snow softly hums along
further further
as her gasps fill your ears
and your name is stuttered sweetly
the snow will dully whisper
louder louder
as her fingernails claw your skin
and your back becomes artwork
the snow is numbly chanting
deftly deftly
volatile encouragements
from evanescent crystals
animate adoring hearts
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
it hangs
to my
right
it says
“keep calm
and
carry on “
the union jack
sits behind the letters
a white crown
sits on top of them
it against my blue wall
screams its message so
quietly
maybe I should listen more
when I’m feeling down
or glum or depressed
or maybe I can’t listen
maybe I’m deaf
maybe all those encouragements
fall without a sound on my
ears
and the poster
still sits there
saying:
“keep calm,
and carry
on.”
and I wonder
who could say
such a thing
when all anyone
can ever do
is
panic
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 11:31 AM UTC
i am supposed to be letting go
moving on, getting over you, and so
tell me how it is that once again
i found myself this morning
rolling over when a phone alarm went off and then
realizing it was your alarm not mine
and that your duvet and sheets were the only things adorning
our bare-skinned bodies as we lay together
and that warmth on my back was your fingers tracing down my spine
while you pulled me closer to you and snoozed your alarm after briefly debating whether
you were ready to get up or needed a few more moments
of just us, bodies entwined
the lightest of touches received as encouragements
serving to once and over again spellbind
in the soft morning light drifting in your windows
as we once again play the parts of slaves to our libidos
choosing to stubbornly ignore our established credos
in favor of experiencing the lows and crescendos
that inevitably follow any amount of time spent with each other's favorite ******
because i am yours and you are mine
and it's gotten to the point that we really shouldn't bother to deny
that this is not some passing thing
and what we had - have - isn't just a fling
but i guess you need time to get your head straight
to sort out exactly what it is that you feel, perhaps
so i will try to be patient and not remonstrate
but it's hard when i'm the one still in love
just waiting, wishing, hoping that maybe you will relapse
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 7:39 AM UTC
even the inevitable yearning for us,
the north and the south pole,
to recover whats lucid;
whats been left just for me,
leaving your share behind for this
world without my love.
shrapnel of your wasted time and love burrows
deep into my reason to continue
on this unforgiving track of meaning and purpose.
Hopes and encouragements melt
into the crimson puddle of my hearts tears
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 12:59 PM UTC
I stare at my laptop screen waiting for ideas to form in my head
Emotions are coming but my words can’t be contained
Hatred, disgust, betrayal swirled like the storm
My heart and my brain needs some reform
One question was stuck in my mind,
Why do they make you feel important but still leave you behind?
I asked myself “Was being with me just a game?”
Why do people find it hard to remain?
I have the right to ask specially when I’ve given them parts of me
Parts that I shared though I know I will need them eventually
Gave them shards of my heart though it was broken,
My encouragements, my kind words were my love’s token.
You know, these heartbreaks may come anywhere, everywhere-
Your mom, your dad, your aunt, your pet, your best friend
They could all leave you in the middle of nowhere
The sad thing is, even in their minds, you could find yourself dead.
To prevent this, follow my one and only rule.
Don’t get attached
Don’t tie the string if they’re going to loosen it up and leave.
Don’t build bridges to reach them when they haven't done anything to be with you.
Don’t get attached for in the end they would all leave you
You're going to be alone with your thoughts and feelings
Feelings that seem so strong but no one cared for
You'll just pity yourself like never before.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 9:23 AM UTC
Everything I do
It's all wrapped up in you
It's like our thoughts are on the same baking sheet, running together as the heat increases
Forming one big lump of something delicious
I was just trying to finagle my way into getting there
And now you're going
Alone
Alone for a whole month
Maybe you'll be better when you're back
Maybe you'll want me around again
I understand needing space but you clearly aren't living in solitude
That's what hurts I guess
The other people you're surrounding yourself with
You'd rather them, than me
They've been toxic for years
I've been a salve for the last one
I'm still confused
I'm still sad
I will probably still cry for hours and make bad decisions with even worse people
You won't be there when I need you because I'll be too scared to talk to you when I can't handle life
I won't want you there when I cry because I'll be crying over you
Over
and
Over
and over.
The memories replay in my mind
No more late night excursions into further knowing each other and wandering around never getting lost because you always know where you are.
No more late night talks about anything.
No more I love yous.
No more texts that make me laugh in inappropriate situations.
No more small encouragements when I feel at my worst.
I miss you like you're gone. Even though I know you're not.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC
My thoughts in this fierce world are to brutal in truth for the Lions den to handle.
Your facade gives you weakened followers who know no better.
When the thinker speaks and followers listen, then this is when the truth becomes feared.
The truth begs and makes you not only see, but face the reality, the reality which you fear so deeply, the reality that you can not see by your own.
This is a brain washed society, with few hopes nowadays.
Don't be a follower, don't feed this negative energy being used to shut out hope for a better you.
We need encouragements for our selves, our lives, our strengths.
To believe in our soul and speak only with our heart shows the greatest of all beings, a true being.
We need not the "fear to think" we need to display our thoughts and need to fear the resentment towards a free thinking society before it is too late. Please help show others there is hope and it is never too late.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
I shouldn't be calling you
well we haven't got that far.
all those facts you've known,
signals are diminished and stopped
Your silence is killing
you're presence is unseen,
you've marked the days in your calendar
and I am not part of your key wins,
You've deleted my number
in your phonebook and probably your mind,
memories are just shadows
of distractions and pure back draft
Did I just deleted you,
well my memorization is strong.
I wanted to transform you
and sing you a song,
Like a disguise of wise words
words of penned encouragements.
maybe some about love,
and my hidden admiration's bent.
It's a joyful mission
to let you hear,
even for a few precious minutes,
beside me without any fear.
And I love to see you again,
talk about random things you say.
sing songs we try
and find time to take.
I just miss you
more than anything in the world
But I'm that snob or shy
but I'm adjusting my chords
So this is love,
or we're just too lazy to come out our shells?
playing the sweet note's too obvious,
But I hope you can ring some chime's and bells.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
I'm really tired.
I'm really exhausted.
I'm sick of getting hurt by you time by time.
I hate getting deserted by you
All those fake promises
All those false hope and encouragements don't mean anything to me anymore
All the attempts I tried to build back the friendship.
No just no.
I know you would never understand me maybe because you look down on me cuz I'm suicudal.
All I really need is someone to make me smile to understand me and not give up on me.
Just so you know,I'm fighting this battle alone with a broken sword and shield.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
You sing me to sleep
with stories
so creative
and active.
You sing me to sleep
with encouragements
and compliments
that drip
with sincerity.
You sing me to sleep
with sincere words
and gentle reminders
that I am loved
and I am worth it.
You sing me to sleep
with an assurance
that I am likable
and I am enough
and that tomorrow
I will wake up
still loved
because I have you.
You sing me to sleep
secured in the fact
that you are there
and you care for me.
You sing me to sleep
by quieting my fears
hushing my insecurities
speaking life to me.
You sing me to sleep
by reminding me
I am not alone
I never have to be.
You sing me to sleep
by pointing out
that I have a God
who loves me
and I have you
who looks out for me.
You sing me to sleep
by showing me
the difference
between being exposed
and being known
and letting me know
that with you
I am known.
You sing me to sleep
at bad nights
when memories crawl
beneath my sheets
penetrating my lungs
flooding my veins with fear
strangling the breath out of me--
you whisper gentle reminders
of who I am
until I calm down
you make sure to stay up
until I can fall back to sleep
you are there for me
you are true to your promise.
You sing me to sleep
that is why I told you
you are
and you remain to be
my sweetest lullaby.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC