"exaggerates" poems
Mam, from the September following Child’s 5th birthday I no longer consider you fit to raise him.
For six hours a day, five-days-a-week-term-time-only Teacher can help.
Unfortunately Teacher takes time off. She needs a break from your little monster-
so during the holiday she gives Child back. Try not to undo the good work that’s been done.
(…Won’t you?…)
If you want to bother Teacher with (daft) questions go ahead.
She’ll rearrange her face into a listening position- And respond with jargon designed to make you feel thick.
Concerns?
Child often exaggerates.
O, I see. 2 adults, 30 children and a bundle of paperwork?
She’s qualified. You’re not.
(…are you? Thought not. And you don’t live in Big House or sound T’s and H’s… So where were we?…)
Nightmares? Bruises? Cuts, scrapes, a black-eye? Low self esteem?
(…so you’re a psychologist now?…)
Child cries? Is unhappy in class?
His fault.
Or yours! Don’t worry. Teacher keeps her eyes open for signs of trouble at home.
Child skips school? Down to you.
(…There will be various consequences, of course. And implications……c-o-n…s-e-qu-e…nce-s…,….i-m-p…l-i-c…a-t…i-on-s… It’s been made clear already: You’re not fit to raise him…)
Pressured? Bored? Judged and ignored? Humiliated? Belittled? Frustrated?
It will lead to what, exactly?
O, when he leaves School! For just a moment there
I was worried.
No, no. Not a problem. Not a problem at all.
Maybe he’ll run with a bad crowd, break a few laws, end up in the gutter?
Yes. Maybe.
But it’s out of my hands.
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 4:34 PM UTC
The
distorted
feather of
cigarette
smoke
trails
upwards.
It dances
on the
first
wisp of wind;
escaping
the draw
of cracked
weasened
lips.
Lips
formed of
withered apple skin
and stale coffee;
of puckered
mouth
and deep
inhales.
Hunched shivering
shoulders hoist a
shaky hand
toward the
face.
A raspy exhale releases
another puff of smoky breath.
The icy air exaggerates
the capacity of old
and tiring lungs.
I foresee this rarely preempted fate.
I quit!
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
I crave those days back when I could just look behind my shoulder
and I would see you lying there reading on my bed.
I wonder why I never wrote about how happy I was with you.
Those suppressed smiles that would tug upon the edges of your lips as you read my poetry.
I can still remember how your tongue brushes your front teeth when,
oh how you used to exquisitely say "I love you."
I never paid much attention to the curves of your form back then.
How the arc of your spine is the red carpet for the curve of your ***
How enticing your features were, when you lay bare on top of my sheets.
How the round edges of your lips were appetizers for the round brown eyes you had.
Your cute button nose.
Your chest slowly rising and deflating to match your breath.
I fell irrevocably in love with each time your breath exaggerates the fullness of your chest.
I still remember how the skins between your ******* would feel a lot like home
and truth be told;
I'm homesick.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC
A blank spot enters my consciousness
A temporarily bright blackness
A blindness one receives if engaged
In an over prolonged look at the sun
A confusion hangs suspended
Now when I attempt to recall things
All I can remember is the absolute lucidity of this blank spot
This nothingness, a void of inarticulate reality
That exaggerates its intentions to consummate a separation
But never succeeds in its completion
This confusion however gives me a blinding clarity of perception
What I do recall is the realisation that I have always been someone else
The construction of a plural figure is what I have been trying to realize
Like Rimbaud I am another
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 1:07 PM UTC
i sit alone
alone, but with a voice in my head
the voice that reminds me you exist
and are getting along fine without me
the voice that reminds me my calorie intake
and that i am not a size 4
the voice that reminds me someone has glanced at my wrist
and will never look at me the same way again
the voice that exaggerates any imperfection
except the ones on you
the voice that keeps me company at night
but not the way i want it to
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
what is it that i am looking for
what is that convulses my mind so
i don’t know, I just don’t know
yet I keep on searching for something
something i know not what
it is in the words, i know it is in the words
it demands a recognition,
perhaps it is an illusion of complex
temporal simultaneity that plays
upon my reason but what is it
that delivers a thousand shivers
and colors from everywhere and nowhere
is it the blank spot that enters my consciousness
bringing temporarily bright blackness
the blindness one receives if
engaged in an over prolonged look at the sun
is it the inner workings of my mind
trying to free some irritant that
has intended to punctuate my thinking
without permission
an attempt to perplex
this new apostasy
that incubates within
yet a confusion hangs suspended
Of this blank spot, this nothingness,
this void of inarticulate reality that
exaggerates its intentions to consummate
a separation but never succeeds in its completion
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 6:42 PM UTC
I am a God, I am the Devil.
I provide the circumstances for an easy life yet I am the one to make it hard.
I am the one who brings you down still I am the one who raises your level.
I am the one who gives you hope and I am the one who leaves you scarred.
I am the one who cared deeply but I am the one who remained a mystery.
I am the one who exaggerates your pain yet I was the one who put you out of misery.
I was the one who helped you climb the highest mountains still I will be the one who will push you out of envy.
I am the one to lie but I expect everyone to speak truthfully.
I am the Buddha, I am the ******
I can spread peace worldwide yet I can be the mass murderer.
I could put the gun in your hands or I could free you from your own prison.
I can start the war in the name of racism or later people could pay me tribute and start a different religion.
I am a human being, that's who I choose to be.
I make mistakes and I learn from it.
I am not perfect, that's not what I intend to be.
This world ain't a joyride but I know I have the guts to live through it.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 1:32 AM UTC
***** will never fill you up
It will only temporarily allow you
To forget you are empty
But when the poison
In your blood runs thin
You will be left
With a hollow more cavernous and
Gaping than before
New space eaten from your
body, devoured by whiskey
Carved by wine
No depth of ruby stain
On your lips
Nor pungent drunk of your breath
Nor clumsy twist of your tongue
Will cultivate a remedy
Liquor does not bring life
it exaggerates sorrow
So do not drown yourself
In an acrid bottle
There you will only find
More darkness
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
I feel everything I feel
with such a strong intensity
that's why when I fall in love
I fall too fast and too hard
it's why when I fall out of love
i'm left recklessly abandoned
utterly ******
I feel with a different part of my mind
one that exaggerates every little detail
one that turns puddles to oceans
breeze to tornadoes
and me into someone who feels
just a tad too much
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
I can feel a storm approaching.
It comes in the guise of a lover's lies;
Favours bought and friendships diced.
But I do not hate him. That much I know. I am not making you choose.
But I DO hate, and I hate with a passion;
That soft-spoken pillow talk holds greater weight than the anguish you know I've drowned in -
That you would put me through it again because your lover holds your hands
And exaggerates.
I am cold. And my tears are the colour of moonlight.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
I have a brother who is the first,
I have a brother who is the last.
I am a girl who is in the middle,
Always accompanied by a riddle!
When I exchange blows with them,
This is how my mom condemns:
Give him respect, he is elder!
Show some sympathy, he is younger!
But, what Am I?
Doing in the middle?
I am not the one to be shown respect,
I am not the one to be shown sympathy...
And when my Dad exaggerates:
"My sons, the first and the last-
Are Always fast,
But, the middle is slightly in contrast"
Contrast, In What way?
I convey:
"I was away,
With my friends at the cafe,
When I had to give them a bouquet
Before I could reach the buffet!"
I reach great heights,
And show them delights
But always my neigbours tell:
"Your sons never rebel,
I think the middle is hell!"
And I am the middle
Who Is always unable
To tolerate their riddle!
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 5:42 AM UTC
After what I've done,
at the gate of my dream,
my mind cheats
exaggerates achievements
on how it affected
- how it convinced.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
I think about him all the time.
I check my social networks, just to see if he's left his mark anywhere. similar to the mark he left in me.
I make so many excuse for him. " Maybe he's not talking to me because he wants to get over me"... when in actual fact, I'm the only trying to get over him... Us.
I'm curious about him.
The way he smells when he holds me close.
How his hair would feel like as it brushes across my check and bounce on my neck.
I smell his Nicotine fingers as he grabs my jaw and pulls me in for a kiss.
I taste his tobacco lips on my ****** tongue as the dance in tangent, on a dance floor that is used to being 500 Kilometers apart.
I'm curious what it feels like to be surrounded by him, around him, behind him, next to him... with him.
I miss his messages:
The ones that got to me and the ones still hesitant to send.
I miss his imaginary laugh;
The one I hear when he sends the Emoji, the One he fakes, the one he exaggerates and the one she gets to hear.
I miss his hands;
The ones I'll never know the feeling of, but the ones that plan on holding me, grabbing me, caressing me... but right now...
The ones that are pushing me away.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
And within my dream
I recall,
The ferocity of which I could
Only really growl,
"Leave him alone,"
An "Or Else." bleeding through
My tone.
And the images of
Those that have granted me
Only nightmares
Flashed before my eyes
And I realized
My own sins
Have made theirs seem greater.
I know what lies look like,
I know how they read.
Hatred makes a truth
Twisted and convoluted,
Makes you see double the pain,
Double the anguish.
It exaggerates hurt,
And lengthens the scars.
I am aware of this,
For I do not speak
My hatred's names.
I dreamt of fire last night,
I dreamt of flames.
But you are the cold winds,
You are the rain.
I need the rain,
To **** the fire
That burned at my flesh,
At the raw parts of my heart.
And so you did.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 12:07 PM UTC
some of those vital statistics are undeniable
i may be five eleven and a half
but i generally round the number down
(my son exaggerates me into the six foot range)
my eyes are brown
and my hair
but someone who craves my voice
may tell you that they never notice
either
age changes, not year by year
but moment by moment
wisdom sometimes measures me a hundred or more
and joy may number me a child
with shining eyes
i can accomplish temporary feats
of domestic talent
sew a quilt to keep you warm
bake a cake to keep you fed
but my voice accomplishes phenomena
that defy description
i make miracles
sometimes
when folks aren't looking
nothing as tall as a skyscraper
something less tangible
and ordinary
as light or healing
my size may be slight
i may be timid
or bold
depending on the weather
storms wither
clouds focus
i had a vision
for where this was going
when i started
maybe someday
I'll get there
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC