"eyestrain" poems
i always feel so stuck, like there is this strange expectation of me, like i am not the person they are expecting, they are using, that they are searching for. Or perhaps i constantly feel like that towards everything. I belong, and yet i don't. people belong yet they dont.
constantly trying to beat others, yet never knew be friends with them was really the answer. I am not involving myself enough yet i never want to be. I try then act like I never tried, blame others for annoying me yet allow them to.
I use platforms as an escape from people yet show the same people as a way of being accepted straight after. I do things behind people's backs only to tell everything later. i want to be free yet i have no clue what of.i dont know what is trapping me, but i just know it is. im writing things for myself only to tell them to others.
i message people and they finally reply, then only to feel abandoned again. Things come and go, but never here forever or for very long.
i complain of eyestrain yet stare continuously at the screen like some kind of void for the stress and blame inside me.
Jun 13, 2020
Jun 13, 2020 at 7:08 AM UTC
She told me that women like
men with grizzled,
*******
faces, men with scars
men with eyepatches
men with very unkempt beards
Mouths that snarl
when it’s time to smile
Eyes that are like eggs buried in
a nest of wrinkles
Noses that are never straight
And the jaw,
oh the jaw has to be big
square
like a drawer
A man’s face must have a chin
that can take sledgehammers
that’s why the luckiest woman
in the world
was Belle
from The Beauty and The Beast.
That was a real man, The Beast.
although the story is a tragic one
because in the
end he turns
into a charming prince
with smooth face and polished
features.
“What a ******* she said. “If only
he stayed a beast…”
Meanwhile I think about
myself
the most grizzly feature about
my face is the mad
eyestrain I developed
because of my job, after staring
at monitors in a dark room for
all those years and then coming home
to stare at another monitor.
it is now impossible for me to get
outside and keep my eyes
open like a normal person. I die if I
don’t strain them as hard as I
can. Sunglasses don’t even help.
and there’s also the dark
circles below my eyes
they’re not even purple as I’ve seen
in other people
“They have the texture of the
skin around the ******* she said,
laughing.
She was right.
She was also right when she pointed
out that if you can’t grow
a beard by the time you’re
twenty you’ll never grow a proper
beard.
**** I said. “Guess I’ll never
be a beast.”
“It’s never too late to get your
face ****** up
though,” she said. “You
just need
to hang around
the right people.”
“Such as your dad?” I said.
“Oh, **** you,” she said,
dragging the blanket
over her *******
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 10:39 AM UTC
I am stalled.
Fatigue
enfeebles me,
and I believe
I will lose
the ability
to perceive
and achieve
the full potential
of my inspiration.
There is a slight pain
from eyestrain.
Thus, I complain
in such a mundane way
about how my eyeballs
sound like sponges
when I rub them.
The winter is not normal.
A spectral fog fills the horizon
making all dreams of
what lies beyond
seem exotic.
Meanwhile
skeletal trees,
whose leaves
have been reaped
with time’s sharp sickle,
sleep silently
unyielding
to any breezes
just a part of
the season’s
sick cycle
of birth and decay,
My eyes still strain
in a light pain,
but at least the fatigue
did not prevent me
from writing again.
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 8:35 AM UTC
I made another stain
On the missing pages
Time to pull them again
Away from the edges
Invisible and vain
Lost words to the ages
Letters call for eyestrain
Redaction assuages
I leave empty spaces
Tell another story
I draw stolen faces
And have them say "sorry"
Tell them we'll go places
But everything's blurry
Nothing else than traces
Left in purgatory
I pull on a corner
And make sentences split
The journal gets thinner
But words won't ever fit
I'll make my world cleaner
Since lines come out of wit
Squeeze tight ***** of paper
And trust the trash with it
Dec 24, 2022
Dec 24, 2022 at 10:01 PM UTC
The art of the
"FAKE" deal (according
to Walt Dizzy Take a Knee Sing
Matt Tilde) once again
as oft iterated in previous poems,
doth (soup pearly, theoretically,
and wantonly) appertain
to anyone (abstractedly, essentially,
and loosely translated), aye ascertain
ptomaine anyone can attain
driving a hard bargain,
(sans basement prices)
utilizing her/his birdbrain,
(which might be about the size
of a child size chill blain -
mebbe acquired during
weather beaten life
at sea as boatswain),
nonetheless for results,
one best ought
be without a brain
even if promoted as Captain Cain
Guru, cuz to become
star apprentice,
one must master
trumpeting as a certain
Don Casanova Chieftain
stealing the vote if necessary
and freely distribute *******
(as an ****** of the masses)
to silence anyone
that might complain,
thus sets the
figurative stage to contain
any potentially mutinous threat
(against sought after bounty)
also necessitates practicing
nepotism assigning coxswain
to an immediate family member
with a skull full
bone if eyed crackbrain
and when upon
wheeling and dealing
i.e. thee metaphorical curtain
call - pull out
all stops to detain
vendor even exhibiting
faux ("FAKE) disdain
for deplorable basket weavers
iterated by domain holder
ye wish to acquire
sought after envied goodies,
oh...and do
everything to drain
the patience of ***** who
controls coveted *****
calling for trotting
out "Stormy
Daniels" to entertain
and continue ploy long after
hated yuge, bigly, stupid losers
winning morons with
zero wind blown naturally
"FAKE" orange blond
wind blown hairm,
which constant induces
onlookers with eyestrain.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 9:25 PM UTC