"factually" poems
I abuse words verbally like my voice is Bobby and the dictionary Whitney/
Like a literary hyperbole properly arranged to explain this deranged brutality perfectly/
Force the English language to work for me like a particularly dark time in history/
Optimistically take the tongue twister trickery and aggressively attack a vocabulary vocally and personally/
Not physically but a barrage on your psyche, almost psychedelically/
Use words medically, like a surgeon I expertly plant thoughts whispered softly but assertively/
Moving letters like chess pawns to express thoughts masterfully and creatively/
Gruesomely grotesque but gorgeous thoughts written down beautifully/
You can't help but hear the perplexity of mythoticly placed words with comradery/
An oddity with the audacity to raise the bar and up the capacity/
Because what comes out of me has to be exactly what you see because it is me/
Not just a part of me but all of me/
I'm not a fallen tree sitting in the forest silently, quietly all by my lonely/
It's just the opposite actually and factually/
I will attack with a dialect so violent you violently retract causing you to react cowardly automatically/
I don't even have to lift a pinky, leave it stinky/
Let my words linger there in the air like **** smoke, thick and sticky/
Periodically come back to peek and see if you've figured out the mystery and found the key/
One that'll decipher decisively what it is that I've let out of me and spread to all humanity/
I could never have planned it, see, it had to happen naturally, organically if you will/
And not to build it up falsely but I honestly, back then, didn't have the ***** to let it out of me and it cost me considerably/
So now this mastery I hold of word delivery bestowed to me gets jotted down feverishly/
With an intensity equal to none inside of this ******* century, can't censor me/
Got a consistency that forces me to constantly cross the border of insanity repeatedly/
Time only to watch my talents as they literally wither away for all of eternity/
Such a tragedy to see such agony but please, no apology brought on by sympathy/
Just let me be as I drift farther out to sea to a place you'll never see/
To let these words mold me into someone you could never be/
©2018
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 4:00 AM UTC
This trail leads to the animal crossing
It fails to accommodate intrepid adventurers,
Bushy tailed explorers, mountain climbers,
Talkers to squirrels and chewers of pine pitch.
The divine medicine denies us the headspace to believe we're really dead,
The reclined estrogen felt good against twenty million years of insecurity
Golden-layered, factually flawed
It lay exposed for decades
Rusting innards and misfiring sparks
None of the heavy equipment does what it says
Robot arms move with intensity
No programmer yet programs tenderness
The limiting factor has always attracted the acting crowd
Always desperate for theatrical work they magically appear
When it's clear that they're needed
But heed the warnings, they're known to be cheaters; the people who say so could also be wife-beaters
No need to wait for a stereotype
Follow the one you haven't lost touch with
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
*In deep psychedelic trance
his companion painted
canvases that mix past,
present and future, factually
as quantum physics would vouch;
all of it co-exists, don't turn
a blind eye, it's not fair.
"There is more past here
that try to unseat future,
than the presence of present,
we would make reality sleep
won't believe in its patented lies,
we'd create a present,
in its fantasy, see the future"
The narrative is pictured as fallows:
The Cat and the Mouse
stopped their games,
they invented as a past time,
and also serious business.
Lucky prince befriended
a happy pauper.
The beauty beguiled
the friendly beast,
both eloped and
lived happily somewhere.
The bored king hugged
the leader of the coup
"I was dying
to abdicate at the earliest,
you were my last hope,
good riddance" he yawned,
sounding like cockerel.
He looked much relieved;
uneasy is the head
on which a crown sits
like a ****** politico
at the moment of election result.
The painter watching
what is going on said:
"Well, the colors I selected
this far, were all wrong.
Now, I am going to look twice
before I decide"
But when she worked
on her imagination
her manifesto was thrown out,
she was far more spontaneous
there is the rub.
Can't say, whether
the philosopher was pleased or not,
one can't definitely tell
he only smiled and hurried back to
catch the last bus he missed.*
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
He is a man in fact , a factual man in fact
But in fact more than man, and more natural
He is a predator, sometimes ****** endeavourer
Jumping as a feather stead upon my weathered bed
Lead at the head but it's heavier
A best of a beast, in his chest at least
A lion's heart beats, and with mine at his feet
He is deadlier
Mane across his back, mainly manly, manly knack
And a pride to admire any crazy track
Mired by those paws or clawed back
Lion's share of the hair and a siren's glare
Its enough to ensnare any to come back
To lie in the den and unpack
A purr that can stir dwelling spell in gazelles
A roar that could ensure his reign is obtained on every plain
If called for
His face is made heeding, and bleeding the sun
His legs win a race never needed to be run
Already won
Prowl and it's done
If he who rides the tiger finds it difficult to dismount
Than he who rides the lion will feel him sure surmount
No doubt, for nobility is paramount
Alpha is better beyond count, couched in whim
And he reigns as King of the jungle I grew for him
King of all that's funnelled through to him
King of all that humbles me and truly sings
And so
Clearly success best rests in
Being a lioness, not left guessing lionless
A carnivorous, blitherous, tyrant's guest
In fact I am a woman, a natural woman in fact
And factually I am a woman intact
Yet in fact a woman distracted on a lion obsessed tract
Where a leonine mess is lacked
And a lion-like chests interact
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
Branches break, the earthshakes
But not from earthquakes or big shifting plates
Its the mistake you made
That made your foundation break
That put ripples in this once calm lake
So... Now
See here, before you see there
Be heard if you cant actually be there
Now that your factually aware, you should see clear
That your still
miss, miss, missin' the point
Still tryin' to avoid coming to terms with your void
Your an adult now, no more toys
Make sure your words are properly deployed
So hate that developes can be destroyed
It was..
Inevitable...
We make decisions that we know are regretable
Were gonna have to eat whether or not the food's edible
But you can always break the mold and throw out the stencil
Just look at my ways of creating gold with the tip of my pencil
-J.A.M
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 4:53 AM UTC
Cut in half and also double,
The time I take from each perception, Sifting through the artworks ruble-
Changes constantly, with new direction
Words which placate then befuddle
Like an instinctive, intervention.
Longingly, negating trouble,
Empirically, a resurrection.
All the while my medications
(Pills to fix the way we feel)
Unraveling fast deviation
Investing in what isn't real.
Oh Destroyer, and Creater;
The Accention & Decline-
How we Falsify & fabricate,
Then factually Define.
Jan 8, 2023
Jan 8, 2023 at 5:24 AM UTC
She's a clumsy feline,
A producer of selective shivers
In sheer long glares she gives
Untimely soul feelers.
Which creeps through my bones
Since the last days of winter,
A clutched wanter of deeds,
In an almost sold properties.
She dusts me with her coat
Golden as the sweet summer sun,
Brewing my sleepy dull senses
Like a good coffee and a bun.
For I have told her factually
That these eyes are mere blinded,
But the instincts are sharpened
From the good old days I've reminded.
Come home again, she invited,
To the capital of hope and romances.
As she metals in and moans in discreet,
Then blast me with a little furry treat.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC
i was born at the heart of a ribbon jam
my analog pulse
tap
tap
tapping
out the lyrics of my fight song
since day one
india ink sludge blood has flowed
from my dog-earred heart
straight through to my ball-point fingertips
my DNA lays in cursive wait
leaping from the pages
into the light
at every aching plot twist
card catalogued depictions
not of how events factually unfolded
but of how it seems they could have unravelled
if this were a paperback i'd planned to read
and re-read
alike
but alas
when the lights go out
that's it for this round
and i'll be down for the count
no matter how hard i fight
but words...
words know not death
solely evolution
they change their shape
their time
their place
a word can only fade
like aerosol on dust colored cinder
a single word will outlive one hundred empires
one thousand governments
ten thousand authors
and so
it's within articulation that my loyalty lay
and in my words that i'll find my home
here
in the lowercase swoops and loops
of the 'A's
and the 'E's
and the 'D's
and the 'G's
...and those little cursive 'Z's that hang just the same as mom's old hammock
yeah
home
with every inhalation of stale inhabitation
i'll exhale a poem
my regenerative reincarnation through catalytic creation
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 4:34 AM UTC
Sun streaming
Brightly beaming
Into my lounge.
Golden dawning
Lovely morning
I’m still alive!
My heart sings
My soul has wings
Happy day.
Streams of photons light may be
Scientists tell us factually
Still beautiful to see.
Meerkats gather in early sun
Gazing in awe at the powerful one
Knowing the day has just begun.
Time to walk down to the pub
Ready for some lovely grub
And still the sun is shining.
Paul Butters
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 6:24 AM UTC
Nowadays the love songs don’t focus on love
Only thing the songs are expressing is ***
And taking the girl back to your house above
All else and then have her leave if the next
Logical point in the song
Everyone jams out to these signing along
Saying these are the next big thing to hit
The radio making the guy be the strong,
Macho type and the damsel throwing a fit
Because of his attitude and complaining
About how love should be and not this
“Why can’t you be like an old song?” feigning
Anger to play hard to get on him but it’s just a diss
She’s laying on him
This is the usual nowadays except for the rare
Few who were raised on the classics actually
Falling in love with her instead of a hit and
Quick and a see ya around but is factually
Never happening again, looking for the band
That sung that sweet melody that touched the
Soul
Now this isn’t me saying I’m a classic Romeo
No not at all babe, I’m just trying to say
I’m looking to make her fall in love
And find a happy ever after in this
World that killed the love songs
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
Things have been relatively fair
With the sweet kiss of October's air
Shedding bracelets, now longer sleeves
And of course a smile that everyone believes
Quite factually he's manged to fool himself
Bittling his emotions, hiding them on a shelf
And he's found a girl who might actually stay
Until he thinks, what a lovve story cliche
He's happy, truly happy, so he thinks
But then he realize's he's back on the brink
Slowly bordering relapse and recovery
Without any help from social anxiety
He's capable of laughing at simple jokes
But he fears someday he'll be a hoax
He's the guy girls all adore
Yet he believes he's someone they'll deplore
Pushed people awqay, has yet one friend
Slipping back to old ways, alcohol requisite
Knuckles bruised, self petulant
Tear stained face, whiskey on his breathe
Each shot represents a friend who left
He writes his goodbye letter and crumbles it up
He feels even worse, he's low on luck
And thing is no one knows what's truly happening
Unable to see his mutilating agony
His cries were silent whispers; unheard
No one knew, he never said a word
Till everyone woke up and he was gone
No one knew who did him wrong
Used his blade to create an allegory
And the scars fit together to tell his story
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
I've decided to write to you.
It's a little too late after all that we've been through.
But I saw you the other day.
I left immediately. Didn't think I had anything left to say.
I ran in to you actually.
I know how you like everything stated factually.
well,
I'm still high from the smoke you breathed on me.
It's not the regular Buzz.
It feels more like I'm going to die.
Because, Because.. I don't know why.
All I know for sure is that lipstick shade of yours,
Looks more like blood has stained your lips.
Like you drank blood for breakfast in small, lady-like sips.
But you looked beautiful, like an actress who through away the scripts.
Oh My Stars, you were Gorgeous.
Even with your scars that always made you resemble a hot mess.
But not that night, In that skimpy, emerald dress.
You were Beautiful in a way that was dangerous.
And It hurts me now, That you couldn't love me less.
honestly, I'm sorry for mistaking you as a Maiden In Distress.
You didn't want a fairy tale.
You're the princess who denies the prince
and falls in love with the dragon who's meant to be slayed.
In the end , I guess I was the prince who just got played.
And you wound up with Dragon's breath.
which I guess, explains how inside of me, you started a flame.
But I was stupid and left, Now you have your dragon
and we'll never be the same.
I'm sorry this makes no sense, It's all over the place.
I have to write it before I'm sober.
I mean, since when are you a smoker?
With this high, every time I close my eyes I still see your glowing face.
I don't want this to be over.
I want to taste your ****** lips.
Maybe I'm not a prince
love me.
Baby, I'm an ogre
© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
this time different,
the crafting, the words knitted,
care taken, no quips or easy rhymes,
metaphors few, but the stitching is yet
rhythmic, disciplined,
beholden to its construct
~~~
yesterday,
spoke of the more and the ever less,
and the alpha seas restorative,
today,
*the ****** quick and the ever still*
the beating of jumpsuit orange fabric, wind-whipped,
musical homage to the terrifying
silence of a battlefield,
your utility belt,
body parts and soul silences,
a composition of what was
and what will now never be
you were there
you are there
witness-combatant,
no denying the voyeured carnage
of a human self destructing,
or being destructed in a way
**********turned you on,
worse, temptingly familiar
the horror meets you, it recognizes, locates
its place within that is stored close by,
where you keep it just close enough to surface
for quick retrieval
you postulate, pose, clap hands to heads,
make groanings awful, rethinking fearful pictures
I don't believe in free will
I don't believe in free
I don't believe in will
there is good and there is no good
there is the quick and the still
the still comes fast and stays longer,
the quick lasts longer, the obvious now
always seconds of too long,
all implausibly undenied and factually reversed
I hang myself crudely,
my throat slit quick,
and the still images that follows
everlasting and unerasable,
no matter how quickly,
how often temples hard squeezed
I see the images,
the quick and the still
they won't let go of me
text me that you know,
exactly what I mean,
know what I know
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
~inspired by a poem and messages from fellow poets ~
who have ridden beside me here,
for a decade plus,
SE Reimer, & Sally Bayan~
**we take our meds, vitamins and supplements
routinely, faithfully and with a big smile
of self-bemusement at all the times I mocked
those sillys who believed that
hu man
can
override his prescribed
sentencing
record almost every morsel that passes through my portals, reporting quantity and quality to remind me of my human needs, but
more to gauge my wearing weaknesses, and
make confession of
my sins of gourmand commission
and despite this and more, regular checkups, and blah blah blah, No Lies told here, the aging days are upon us, my brow furrowed
by a lengthening To Do list, that is endlessly
refurbished with more additions than
subtractions, ergo, the list grows longer as fast as the days remaining,
grow shorter,
ever faster!
no kidding myself, you feel (really) the cells
slowing their recovery, their fading fastness in every little thing, we squint where we used
to go without trepidation, we twist and turn
to musical utterances and undertones that
are groans and laughter at the old carcass’s
refreshing harmonic epiphany
of time’s passage
and think well,
I’ll do that tomorrow,
handle that later,
deal with that problem surely
eventually,
and the only thing that is attended to almost
instantly, is writing here,
last gasp observations,
that my being demands be issued now!
in time beating to
my slowing heart rate,
or factually,
my rapidly
rising rate,
each a contradictory economic indicator
of the same,
singular portending trend
so here I am ribbing and scribbling myself
before you, prompted by a gorgeously written poem by my friend (1) and the departure of another to a faraway land
where they live, my failure to meet, a shameful delay by an old man’s cautious
fear, that should not be abided…
is this a poem,
a cri de coeur,
a confession -
something of all three, but it is done,
breaths and words rapidly expelled, and for once. I feel like I have, once, now, gambled
against time, and actually
won
Dec 8, 2024
Dec 8, 2024 at 7:30 AM UTC
───────────────▄▄───▐█
───▄▄▄───▄██▄──█▀───█─▄
─▄██▀█▌─██▄▄──▐█▀▄─▐█▀
▐█▀▀▌───▄▀▌─▌─█─▌──▌─▌
▌▀▄─▐──▀▄─▐▄─▐▄▐▄─▐▄─▐▄
Jane of the Jungle (she’s all good)
charmed our world as Darwin’s daughter.
Anglican primates notwithstood,
her leaky theories held some water.
Streams of ngombe, sacred cows
were celebrated. What were these
to which the simian cosmos bows?
Irrelevant hypotheses.
Selecting great apes (naturally)
Miss Misanthrope researched, with love;
her theories, stated factually,
were hailed as truth from God above.
Hoping for reason, shadowing Man
the graybeards came for tempting fruit
unaware of their part in the plan:
to be used, like tools (but more hirsute).
Termites on a slender stalk
delighted hungry primate souls.
Her ripe bananas were the talk
of primatological controls.
peeling off; mzungu starkness
starred the Tanzanian night.
Chimping out, she lit the darkness
claiming scientific right.
Sweating out the Tarzan fever,
naming names while hugging apes
let us, laughing, love and leave her
to her anthropoid escapes.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 9:18 AM UTC
I wasn't meant to snap you back to reality
When actually, I'm here too factually
I don't want to talk to your technology
It's in my nature to be near your biology
You'd have more fun with me, trust me, just put down your phone
You don't even realize that's the thing making you feel alone
Just come home, Just come home <3
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 12:01 AM UTC
i can never find my drink
it's not so much that i forget
it's more so that i'm never around long enough to circle back twice
but that's alright
i can always find someone's
i talk to myself
**** near constantly
i'd like to think it's not to hear myself speak
but to let myself think
the only time i get the chance
to say the things i've always longed to
is when i'm the only one around to listen
i love to listen
i also love to eavesdrop
just to see how others talk
when they're expecting only to be heard
i still don't believe in hell
not as a destination
hell is some place within me
i dredge through it daily
and not a soul can save me
guess that's why i've never feared god
no
not god
but **** near everyone else
i've got this ******* anxiety
just welling within me
and what's worse
is that no one can see my crazy
no
just me
but it pecks at my brain
and howls at the moon
and consumes my thoughts whole
*i'm afraid of everyone
always*
i'm the most afraid of me
i'm afraid of the things i see in the mirror
i fear for myself
that i'll never really grow up
just more scared
and angry
and bitter
i'm afraid of my heart-rate
climbing higher than your balcony
until it factually breaks
but i somehow know i'll be okay
i feel it more and more each day
because somewhere
in my static-charged skull
and double-time heart
there is at least a little balance
see
i've got something that most people don't
i really only know one thing:
if i ran into the six-year-old version of me
if we passed as strangers on the street
she'd smile
and think that she'd like to grow up to be just like me
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 9:27 PM UTC
darling your smile only draws tears from your eyes.
allow me to steal a kiss.
let us do our part as heaven and earth collides
when a moment is met with bliss,
feel God when all of your hurt subsides.
a downpour will be the sounding peace.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 1:31 PM UTC
Kyle, you are the unsocial demerit point, because you tame that which isn't within the same parameters as your own guilt of never being able to essentially see past your own guilt, firstly. (Which is entirely filled too the absolute brimful of shame!) Shame that doesn't detest your own abstract mind from taming the logic that truly demands the official reasoning for you too cost more energy for yourself too bear (in order to suit your own needs from depleting even quicker. Then what was first realized.) While being at the demanding odds of something either unfortunate to ALWAYS come your way. Or (for the very first time in my very own simulation full of nothing more than completely realistic prolonged "shackled" days) that doesn't EVER seem to count the reasoning you need the very most. Mostly because life is truly never fair when it ONLY operates anyways, (for your very self first and foremost). On an operating system full of very tempting, unusual, unnatural and a seemingly unrealistic taste for more demerit points to be added in a complete collection full of both "wonder and detachment." Kyle, you’re also the unsocial demerit point, because you have yet to discover your own highs and lows upon your own governing system. It's not bad to be one's own demerit point. (Hell, I've been my own "demerit point" ever since the very beginning when I truly first popped out into this world full of "realistic advantages.)" Realistic advantages full to the absolute brimful of "factually chained uncertainties!" Your nothing more than a sense in your own details that doesn't limit one's own ideology against the world head-on! Instead, you devise a proper program for yourself against the desires of an even more proper exercise in order to free yourself full of the (not so rich) details that blind your own choices, from seeing the choice in it's own decision-making...from ever being able to reach the extension of your own actions. Actions that suddenly prompt its own inadvertent consequences, because the notion is in the very specifics that again demand you too see the odds that try to impress you (without even seeing "why that is)?"
Concluding what exactly...? Well, isn't it already obvious enough for you too "effectively" notice (ahead of time)?! Or are you too busy thinking on raising the bar of the current potential rate of your still rising (to this very day)...demerit points? Because that's what you should always be focusing on "separating" from your very structure of life, altogether. Versus the still ever-increasing rate of such a demerit succession!
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 9:45 PM UTC
Is it sad I’d rather die than see where this goes?
It is sad I’d rather cry than allow this to compose?
I know it’s sad when people say life is short
But it’s even worse that I wish mine, were different
I feel like I’m at my last resort.
So many tell me to sit and figure it out
But then a bunch more say it’s better to let go of doubt
“Don’t worry, be happy” Been said before
Sounds great and all, but easier said than done
How do you all let go of your dreams?
Is it just that easy for you?
Life isn’t what it seems…(yeah I know)
But why can’t it be the truth?
Forever is impossible to reach, I’m coming to terms with fact
But in fact maybe I can find that place
Above all the stress and worry that is my life
Somewhere else would easily suffice
Somewhere outside of my head
Somewhere from before I was three
A place where my thoughts, my heart, and my future were free
Now I’m trapped
Confused is the better term
Totally lost is more appropriate, actually
I can’t even tell you how to explain it all factually
I wish there was a time I remember when I didn’t feel this way
Ask me, Ask me the last time I was happy
I wouldn’t know what to say
These have to be my darkest ages
If I’m mistaken just count me out
I’d rather it not get much worse than this
Pathetic but sometimes I wish I had an excuse
To feel so dead
Hoping for a reason to drag on (this way)
Hanging by a thread
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
I don't need your sympathy,
just someone to see the haze I see,
I don't need my memories,
just a reality that believes I'm not crazy,
I don't need your golden caging,
just an education that's costing money,
I don't need your loyalty,
just some stability to keep us happy,
I don't need “factually”,
just a true, honest identity,
I don't need anxiety,
just some butterflies to keep it exciting,
I don't need a friend,
just a person wanting to smile with me,
I don't need your love,
just the dog lying by me as I'm dying.
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 9:13 AM UTC
(hidden in last years physics notebook)
Today, you blared at me from the sun. No
prior # warning, took me a-
back with that qui~ve~ring snarlll.
I glAnced uP, and, without my
sun-
glasses,
you maybe could
piece t-oge-the-r,
factually, that I am
in love with
you, still ~ I
tried to cover up the
!rat!
of my eyes but he
-ard you gasp as you looked
down and
knew
~O~
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 10:36 PM UTC
i believe religion to be none other than a wicked curse.
i cannot bear the thought to affiliate with an organized group of people who believe in a specific set of ideas which occurred in the past.
the reason behind my logic associates with the basic perception-
there is more than one belief- so which is true?
i ask this because only one can logically be true.
catholic, christian, methodist, lutheran, mormon, buddhist, hindu, etc.
i have constructed in my mind the reasonable ideology that the truth will never be fully discovered. i may try to search for answers, but in the end, i know nothing can ever be factually explained.
in conclusion, i have chosen to be me.
if this banishes me to hell, so be it.
if this sends me to heaven, so be it.
i'm a realist and i have faith- but i will never indulge fully into one religion that "believes" they are right because i will always ask myself- "are they?".
religion is a curse that i wish to avoid in life.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
I can't fall asleep
Can't lie down and weep
My pain is not too deep
Yet my heart always bleed
My heart always crys like it's not whole
Sometimes I feel like I have no soul
Why do I always get this feeling this late
Life hurts so much I need an escape
The truth is there is no escape, only reality
But I'm not the type to live life factually
Maybe I'll fall asleep next to someone I love
Maybe I'll fall asleep and never wake up
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC