"envies" poems
when she was eight years old
she
asked her mother
have you seen the girl with
lashes like butterflies against sharp cheekbone branches?
a dandelion sprouting from sludge covered gutters and streets
streets, where you feel that bitter bland nothingness in your stomach
it feels buttery to stare at her:
see how snow outstretches arms and twirls tippy toes, envies her grace
see how balloon sized raindrops pop, target the freckles on her arm
see how her forehead crinkles when she concentrates, nothing more than a beacon
proclaiming she trickles with stars
when she was eight years old
her parent's violent protests slipped bruises under her skin like pennies in a coin slot
but they could not contain the celestial girl tucked under her ribcage.
she would still look at her like she was the breakfast sun on a saturday
whistling by the creak, catching glimpses of dresses from behind the legs of trees.
see how this is special love, sweet as strawberry fields under soft sun
they would never feel on their forked, sour tongues
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC
With a face and voice like that you’d never guess
the girl was five foot ten
she walks in and towers above the image
you expected
a girl pushing five feet, dainty, even whimsical
but surely petite
she’s far from petite
This girl sympathizes with transgender bodies
yet envies those who succeed
Hormones and knives can fix gods mistake
but nothing can fix me
so women will sit dreaming of dropping pounds
and she dreams of dropping feet
never complete
Psychs and shrinks digress this to be nothing more
than another disorder
Her views on herself are simply brushed off
as body dysmorphia
yet therapy nor pills shall shake her desire
to fix gods mistake
by freeing her soul of this giant hell hole
leaving it for someone else to take.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
Aztec in arts
Spanish in conquest
The Mexican breathes
And lives
Taking control
Controlling the taken,
Our blood hot
Like the chile we eat
Don't expect any less
Outside we are strong
Desert cacti
Sharp unforgiving and rough
On the outside
But the inside
Water flows
The love flows
For la raza
Death envies our vidas
So rich and full
Fearless
And feared
Tattoos cover our skin
Like they did
Our ancestors
Soon we will rise
Soon we will unite
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
444
It feels a shame to be Alive—
When Men so brave—are dead—
One envies the Distinguished Dust—
Permitted—such a Head—
The Stone—that tells defending Whom
This Spartan put away
What little of Him we—possessed
In Pawn for Liberty—
The price is great—Sublimely paid—
Do we deserve—a Thing—
That lives—like Dollars—must be piled
Before we may obtain?
Are we that wait—sufficient worth—
That such Enormous Pearl
As life—dissolved be—for Us—
In Battle’s—horrid Bowl?
It may be—a Renown to live—
I think the Man who die—
Those unsustained—Saviors—
Present Divinity—
6.9k
Happy the lab'rer in his Sunday clothes!
In light-drab coat, smart waistcoat, well-darn'd hose,
Andhat upon his head, to church he goes;
As oft, with conscious pride, he downward throws
A glance upon the ample cabbage rose
That, stuck in button-hole, regales his nose,
He envies not the gayest London beaux.
In church he takes his seat among the rows,
Pays to the place the reverence he owes,
Likes best the prayers whose meaning least he knows,
Lists to the sermon in a softening doze,
And rouses joyous at the welcome close.
5.5k
"In all the celestial bodies out there whose love story is your favorite?" She asks him.
He looks at her with curiosity, urging her to continue talking.
"*Mine is the earth and the moon and I think yours is the sun and the earth. I just think it's amazing for the moon to stay in the Earth's orbit despite being just an extended light. The only thing that keeps the moon holding on is the mutual gravitational attraction. And if that's gone the moon will probably fall and break. It's a one sided love not much of a love story but for the moon it is. The moon is so strong for it to stay knowing she's just a cheaper version of something, knowing she gives the earth light only when the sun is out.*"
"Why do I feel like the moon envies the sun?" He chuckled and as he continues to speak the facade of his face now turning more serious.
"Don't you think it's the sun who should be envious? For it's the moon who's more in control of the earth. Tides are caused by the moon and the sun, but it has always been more influenced by the moon for it is much closer. The moon has more influenced to whatever the earth feels if it's high or low, it all depends on her."
She does not know how to respond to his surprising reply but she finally says,
"But the moon just confuses the Earth."
"How could you possibly know are you "Earth"?"
"No..."
"But i know for I am the moon and I wish that mutual gravitational attraction will never be gone just so no matter how far you wander you will always end up in my arms, because I will always be here" she thought to herself but instead of saying it out loud she just smiled and pointed out the kid who just fell and suddenly it was just another day.
(K.Cross)
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 11:06 AM UTC
The roses of Love glad the garden of life,
Though nurtur’d ’mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,
Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,
Or prunes them for ever, in Love’s last adieu!
In vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad heart,
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;
The chance of an hour may command us to part,
Or Death disunite us, in Love’s last adieu!
Still Hope, breathing peace, through the grief-swollen breast,
Will whisper, “Our meeting we yet may renew:”
With this dream of deceit, half our sorrow’s represt,
Nor taste we the poison, of Love’s last adieu!
Oh! mark you yon pair, in the sunshine of youth,
Love twin’d round their childhood his flow’rs as they grew;
They flourish awhile, in the season of truth,
Till chill’d by the winter of Love’s last adieu!
Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way,
Down a cheek which outrivals thy ***** in hue?
Yet why do I ask?—to distraction a prey,
Thy reason has perish’d, with Love’s last adieu!
Oh! who is yon Misanthrope, shunning mankind?
From cities to caves of the forest he flew:
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
The mountains reverberate Love’s last adieu!
Now Hate rules a heart which in Love’s easy chains,
Once Passion’s tumultuous blandishments knew;
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins,
He ponders, in frenzy, on Love’s last adieu!
How he envies the wretch, with a soul wrapt in steel!
His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
And dreads not the anguish of Love’s last adieu!
Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o’ercast;
No more, with Love’s former devotion, we sue:
He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast;
The shroud of affection is Love’s last adieu!
In this life of probation, for rapture divine,
Astrea declares that some penance is due;
From him, who has worshipp’d at Love’s gentle shrine,
The atonement is ample, in Love’s last adieu!
Who kneels to the God, on his altar of light
Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:
His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight,
His cypress, the garland of Love’s last adieu!
3.7k
That golden sunrise
against the summer horizon,
Bursting through the purest of sky blues
calming and secure,
was easy to get lost in.
Like the shades in your eyes that day,
a whole spectrum.
An entire world in your depths,
filled with seas and landscapes.
Where I wish to scale it's mountains
and deep dive it's oceans.
And then I catch myself swimming.
Swimming towards an indigo.
Your indigo.
I was getting lost in it's twilight,
Like a super nova from an exploded star.
A color that wakes up all of my sense
you brushed upon my lips,
Painting in shades that the world envies to create.
It just lingered there,
absorbing into my skin
coloring every word I say.
Swirling in a mist,
a color that orbits over me now.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC
Gravity is negligible
Ground below disappears
Stars are within reach
And our energy grows
Even Einstein envies us
Because time stops
When we are together
Control is needless
With full confidence
we make every desire reality
Even Atlas envies us
Because the world lies
In the palm of our hands
When we are together
As brave warriors
We boldly crash
Every border ahead
For a higher cause
Even Napoleon envies us
Because we are the masters of power
When we are together
The melody of
Our melded bodies
Is the only thing we hear
Even Mozart envies
The perfectly composed symphony
When we are together
Moral vanished
Rationality forgotten
Our psyche ruled by Id
Even Freud envies us
because pleasure is the only drug we use
When we are together
The fantasy is real
As is the breathing
Mine and yours
Deep and passionate
Even Nietzsche envies us
Because the Übermensch becomes alive
When we are together
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
I am a Harbor
Moss-covered barnacles
govern my legs, and my back
is drenched in fog.
My wooden walkways creak,
and the wind makes me
groan with loneliness;
but life stirs underneath,
in waves.
Ships arrive at the worst hour,
full of regrets and suspicions,
and aches and envies,
and troubles and fears.
I welcome angry sailors,
the worst of all mankind,
to drink at my tavern,
and dangle their feet
off my docks, and
stare at the sea.
They look
east by southeast, north by northwest,
to home, where only
memories
return.
Some men are bustling airports;
they welcome millions a day,
and millions a night,
see them off to other skies
and do it over again.
But I am a jealous Harbor.
I keep my vessels with me forever.
I guard them with an icy peace.
And relish in the slap of the sea.
And bathe in the salt of the wind.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 8:30 PM UTC
God loafs around heaven,
without a shape
but He would like to smoke His cigar
or bite His fingernails
and so forth.
God owns heaven
but He craves the earth,
the earth with its little sleepy caves,
its bird resting at the kitchen window,
even its murders lined up like broken chairs,
even its writers digging into their souls
with jackhammers,
even its hucksters selling their animals
for gold,
even its babies sniffing for their music,
the farm house, white as a bone,
sitting in the lap of its corn,
even the statue holding up its widowed life,
but most of all He envies the bodies,
He who has no body.
The eyes, opening and shutting like keyholes
and never forgetting, recording by thousands,
the skull with its brains like eels--
the tablet of the world--
the bones and their joints
that build and break for any trick,
the genitals,
the ballast of the eternal,
and the heart, of course,
that swallows the tides
and spits them out cleansed.
He does not envy the soul so much.
He is all soul
but He would like to house it in a body
and come down
and give it a bath
now and then.
2.5k
Oh, angel darling,
Protect me from the night sky,
The stars glare on the beauty of the
First full moon.
The sun envies
The softness of the glow,
When bolides crash down
To find the eastern glow.
Where are you now,
Dreaming in the dark?
When you left me it turned off
All the light.
But I don't mind--
I love the feeling this night,
As the moon slips sleepily,
I am left alone.
Alone.
Why can't I get use to that?
Maybe because the stars have their kind,
And the sun has a family--
Why am I like the moon?
The night is colder,
But I don't mind,
Tonight I love the night sky.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
It is in my conscious stream to speak of restricted words
the kind, that hang off your two separate lips quietly
that usually hold hands in that scrutinizing silence
the beauty of these two things my eyes find hard to hold
may you come to me on blazed days, and shivered nights
with the wisdom of owls, and teach me all the things life has taught you
and show me your scars from that faint childhood
and tell me about the beautiful lands you wish to immerse your body into
may I be blessed enough, that you - glorious you
sacrifice your time to simply stare at the immense turquoise of the sea with me
the veins in a leaf, the memories written on tomb stones
I hope to figure out the secret paths of your garden labyrinth
to find your white beaches and leave but a footprint upon the shore of your inner arms
at night, I find the most joy in asking you to look at the stars
for when met with your eyes, they burn brighter and become shy with your beauty
they scatter and hide behind each other. The moon envies me.
She dances in the sky
gloriously.
your hair unravels like a bush of silk
harmoniously tasseled out in the sun and when you smile
fruits of labor fall off the corners of your comely mouth
all of natures most passionate things are instilled in you
you are every season of the year
every phase of the moon and rotation of the sun
the rain that I stand under
the waterfall I fall asleep too
the immense darkness of the night that inspires me
your eyes taut, like black diamonds - your tears benitoite
even that from you is something to be admired
I wish to be a leafless tree standing somewhere
in the outskirts of your world
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 1:29 AM UTC
She thought she had it;
Significance
Muddy dress, an outfit depressed
The sunshine blinds
A use for her view
Then realistic features come walking in
Scolded shoulders tower over
Her fishnets and black lipstick hide her
mildewed heart
She fights
Fighting submerged her feelings
Numbing the pain she became hate
Hate became her soul
A control
A defense
A way to save her from death
To bad the devil has a toll
A fee
He envies ugly
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 8:52 PM UTC
I asked the mule just yesterday
Whether he ever envies the bay
Who burrows her soft, brown nose in the oats
Laid out for her pleasure, to brighten her coat.
The mule responded, with just a hint of chagrin,
“I know nothing of the world or the way I should live;
There are others who tell me this for my own good, thus:
My life is blissfully simple, yet lush—
“Lush,” he continued, while he swatted the flies
Gathered round his muddy coat and panicked eyes,
“Lush is my life that they make so secure:
By bringing me down, they make me demure.
“And,” he concluded, with a wheezing sigh,
“It’s for my own good that I’m covered with flies,
And for the good of the people that the bay gets the oats,
While I struggle and toil catching flies with my coat.”
I meant to ask the mule again
On the issue of his grievous chagrin,
But a crowd led the keening bay out of her stall,
And the world stopped to answer her demanding call.
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 11:17 PM UTC
En 1987
J’ai joué à touche-pipi dans la caravane de mes parents
Il s’appelait Nicolas et sentait bon la fleur d’oranger
C’était assez agréable
Nous passions des vacances dans le Cantal
Il n’a cessé de pleuvoir
Le camping était en pente avec en diagonale un interminable vide
Mes parents jouaient aux cartes avec les parents de Nicolas
Je ne sais pas qui ce jour-là a baisé qui
Ceci étant
Nicolas m’avait demandé si je pouvais manger un bout de sa viande avariée
Je devais avoir huit ans et des poussières d’étoiles dans les yeux
Le soir à l’apéritif mon père a vomi dans la bouche de la mère de Nicolas
La soirée se termina ainsi
Et tout le monde à bout de ses envies alla se coucher dans sa caravane respective
Pause
Ce furent de belles vacances
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 7:37 AM UTC
1:49 a.m.
a thought : only you.
i think love needs to redefine itself in my head, now that it has met you. a.m.'s are not times of daydreams and unintended smiles, at least not to me. a.m.'s are more of emotional breakdowns and trying to cool myself the **** down. sometimes a.m.'s are transient thoughts and other times just deep sleep. but all a.m.'s have been about lately are you. an unsteady heart beat, a churning stomach, and a nervous laugh. surprisingly, i don't hate it all that much.
9:45 p.m.
i slept while thinking of you yesterday, i think that's the best sleep i've had in a while. anyway, you know how they say you're ****** when the thoughts that only hit you at night, start taking over 24/7? well, i don't agree. my nights have always been about you, and now my days are too and i cannot think of anyone other than you who's worth thinking about, dreaming about, talking to, laughing with.
9:52 p.m.
i forgot that i'm supposed to write these hours apart from each other. i guess i can't wait a whole lot to start talking about you again. i don't think i've ever craved someone's presence so much. i don't think i detested anyone's absence before i met you either. they say time is not to go to waste, but even if i spend an eternity trying to figure you out, i'd still have managed my time well. nothing ever goes to waste when you're involved.
10:56 p.m.
my mind has been wandering off for the past hour. i think i'll create a new language to describe you with, i might've run out of adjectives that exist. i'm not one to ever get speechless, i think you know this by now, i talk more than i breathe, but my emotions for you sometimes render me speechless and i don't want to spend a second not telling you how beautiful you are.
11:11 p.m.
a time in which people wish upon. now, i don't believe in this crap at all but i still wish for your well being every 11:11 just in case it's not as unrealistic as it sounds. i may not pray much, but when i do i always ask for you to be okay and i may not always appreciate good when good comes but once i had you back, i swear i've never been more thankful.
11:28 p.m.
i keep saying you're beautiful but that's not even the point i want to get across. beauty envies you, beauty tries to be you, because beauty will always only be appearance and you'll always be more than only that.
you can never be only one thing, you're not that limited. i know i talk about you like you're holy but that's only because you are and you always will be.
12:00 a.m.
i just realised that maybe i love you too much. you deserve all the love in the world though, all of it.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
Masterpiece of curvaceous precision,
Artwork sculpted and delicately lined,
As beauty’s natural definition,
She is the mold for all womankind.
The redness of cherries based on her lips,
Honey envies the sweetness of her tongue,
Waves aspire to the curve of her hips,
She’s more seductive than any song sung.
The trees model fruit on her perfect *******
While sunlight was made to mimic her smile,
She’s sensuality that never rests,
Longing for her dwarfs the length of the Nile.
Butterflies wings are no match for her eyes,
Her embrace is lighter than clouds above,
Her perfect beauty makes me realize,
She entered my life so I’d fall in love.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 9:45 PM UTC
She once thought she was strong,
She once believed she could take it all.
She sat, picking flowers,
giving them to her Mama,
as a sign of happiness and love.
She pranced through the halls,
in her long flow-y gown,
being told she could be whatever she wanted.
She became the little tom boy, with her hat on backwards.
She ran 'round with her brother and friends,
and used him as her role model.
As she grew older, she realized...
She was more like her brother than she expected.
But she's not alone.
He was alone.
He envies what she has,
What he lacked.
She realizes the mistakes,
The terrible things she should've stopped,
and the things she never started.
He had no one,
She has two.
He told nobody,
She told few.
He was secretive,
but she knew.
She once thought she was strong,
She once believed she could take it all...
she once thought she could give up.
She reminds herself, He didn't.
He had no one, but he stayed strong.
He survived. She tells herself,
So can you.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
All the beauty in the world envies you.
Yet you offer out a hand to any who may need it.
Holy beings dance to your melodies,
songs so soothing they cure a broken heart.
The ground around you sparkles with a myriad of blossoms.
Words so sweet satan himself shows you compassion.
Your silky golden hair eclpises the shine of all precious treasures.
I never knew love could be filled with such certainty.
Apr 24, 2021
Apr 24, 2021 at 3:20 PM UTC
I am a speed-dialled emotion
an ex-employee from hell
my name is [ ]
written in capitals
all over narrow alley walls
where blood traded its lingered beauty
in kind
the wind envies me
for the way I blow into oblivion
the unforgettable truth
and its reason
disguised in a moment
of adorned power
a flightless bird
is flapping its wings out of instinct
this is the apology of a tsunami
on the peaceful shore of a Sunday morning
my trail is a promise
but I will pass
Mar 3, 2010
Mar 3, 2010 at 1:22 PM UTC
The salt envies my lips,
jealous of your tongue
when it wants more
longing for yours
craving slow soft moist caress
It melts in the sharedness,
sparkles in our breath,
a crystalline melt of desire
stretching the flavor in timelessness
fusing in sweet a figure of eight
of our tongues’ thirst
It speaks our secret language
teaching new grammar;
it weaves our thoughts in scarves
spilling cool ambrosia,
warm in our veins
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 8:46 AM UTC
I watch you sleeping,
Impossibly long eyelashes, black as rooks
flutter against yesterday's sun blushed cheeks,
small digits twitching,
right thumb firmly in mouth
suckling salt soaked skin.
You are the sea my boy,
the earth, the moon and stars.
I sip at my coffee,
eyed by Spiderman
as the Joker grins
and the Riddler envies Dr Seuss.
This moment is perfection,
a little bit of calm
before the tornado hits
with the blue of your eyes.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 4:29 AM UTC
Doctor, tell me:
What do you believe of a woman who envies
not the placement of the ******* sword
but the expectation
placed upon the glorified weapon
to penetrate the holy blossom positioned
between two soft mounds of rosy flesh that
she would die to run her mouth over?
Faceless textbooks whisper
of specialized jealousy
that I, for a lifetime,
will never comprehend—
instead:
Red rouge cheeks plastered against
a clear pane, staring at the winged
angel behind the counter;
Doctor, I hate being a consumer—
I would much rather use my hands
to create a small squeal from
behind her silver tongue
revealing what she thinks
about my manner of exclaiming desire:
writhing lust, ***** thirst,
with weighty spit and heavy breathing
again an instrumental soundtrack:
her movements, mattress creaking—
But Doctor, do you think I am sick?
What is my diagnosis if I can only find beauty
in this societal No-No,
if I have never been an artist
but I always find myself painting
wonderful masterpieces
(a protégé’s standard)
with a cut lock of her hair as a brush,
dipped in white crushed powder,
fresh from a plastic orange bottle
that fell off my desk—
Must I confess to another sin, as if this is the church of
my grandmother’s rosary-laden hands?
Yes, I am reluctantly in love with my Escitalopram
so I have flirted with Acceptance
but he did not seem to like me.
Look here—
Just yesterday
I tried to sell her portrait
to a blonde woman in a pristine art gallery
who peered at my matted hair and how
it fell over the sweater I was wearing,
stained with dark muck,
and I was sent away with the canvas
clutched loosely by my
trembling fingers so that it
barely escaped being dropped.
I do not have nails anymore, Doctor—
What do you make of that?
I have plucked them off their
respective beds and that makes me
feel a little sick but
all is well because it is infinitely better
for my girl's fragrant little blossoms
when she comes into my arms
and allows me to pick them,
one by one, as I roam her field—
Doctor, I would sooner live
in the crumbling pavements of Hell
for an eternity than lose the dreams
that I freely, frequently dream
regarding her and how my nubbed hands are held so dear.
Anyway, Doctor, you need not worry:
I will always have my Escitalopram.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
Dawn breaks as the sun appears over the horizon, swallowing the darkness of an insatiable night.
A fresh breeze ruffles the hair, and the heart, with a peculiar spell as the sounds of rattling trees settles in.
The stains of tears are replaced by the shine of joy, as the sorrows of night dissolves in the mist of a promising dawn.
A sight of a dew shining on a flower, like a beautiful Pearl, instills something pleasant inside..
As the eyes travel further, they're pleasantly surprised by the bed of flowers; the spread of meadows; the colorful birds.. Chirping.. Flying.. Playing.. Nothing to bind them. Free spirits.
A heart envies them for a while.
And when looking upon the vast sky - the sheer vastness of it, leaves one enthralled.
Upon closing the eyes, one could hear the silent whisper of the clouds, of the trees, carried by the passing winds. A strange sense of belonging settles in. Leaving one calm. Inspired.
Perhaps, the birds have felt it too. One wonders.
A mind then engages into a divine contemplation, as the mystery unfolds.. Feeding on the pleasure of unravelling dreams.
A sheer bliss.
PS: Just another perfect dream of a blessed moment.
Hashim.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC