"falsest" poems
Pure achromatic, immaculate egg, sits in a nest.
Shaking and rustling, exploding at its best.
Once hatched it latched to its mother’s wit.
For the hatchling knew that she needed it.
The dove it flourished as a dove should,
And it grew so beautiful as beautiful as she could.
Now with integrity and innocence,
The dove knew to find love, it would finally make sense.
My Dove found love of the falsest facets,
Honeyed words of lust; they lack it.
Flattering gestures that quicken heart beats
Do often allow the dove to glide off her feet.
But Honeyed words don’t often last,
And soon that love became her past,
And now she wanders lonely in the clouds,
But this kind of love attracts only nimbus clouds
Of which to them she was avowed.
Now a dove,
Is indeed a symbol of love,
But love so pure and true,
The kind of love
That is common to a dove
Hunger for it, a yearning sensation within you.
Hunger, Thriving, Craving for this feeling of being complete,
But can’t you see that dependency leads to obsolete.
You will never be you,
You’ll be the both of you.
Is that what you want?
You want, you need to be someone’s gaunt
Old, decrepit partner?
Not I, I am alone,
But not lonely.
I am empty
Yet complete.
I am moist,
Yet dry as a desert.
I am me,
Yet no one at all.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 3:08 PM UTC
there was a time when I wanted nothing but to be your forever
to wake up every morning to the warmth of your shoulders against mine
to have coffee at dawn while your favorite soccer team is playing on TV
to sit on your lap and fall against your strong chest, tipping my head down to the crooks of your neck like puzzle pieces snapping into place
to have conversations about life, about death, about matching tattoos, about travelling the world, about us
to fantasize about the future and then laugh so hard at how ridiculous we sound
to hear your raspy voice at noon when the air is clear and cool and silent, save for the birds to whistle around the tall trees
there was a time when I wanted us to be forever.
"forever and always," you like to say after every fight we have.
until I learnt about the sad truth
about whom you really are behind that façade
about who you weren't
you know me better than I know myself
you know every little secret from my dad's family to the cuts around my thighs
you know every little flaw that I try to hide
and I thought I was lucky because someone finally cared
but when everything turns cold and bitter that night in November,
you saw that as a chance to break me down
you lead me into the falsest sense of security
with every I'm sorry and I love you
after long, tired nights of pacing back and forth,
I finally realized I deserve better
I deserve so much more
thank you for loving me and showing me what I'm really worth
thank you for letting me go
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
Mirror mirror on the wall,
who is the falsest of them all?
It seems to be,
it must be me.
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 12:10 PM UTC
“I’m fine”
Words uttered too often with the falsest of truths.
I build myself up, just to come tumbling down.
"I'll be fine"
A mantra that works when I’m not vulnerable.
But lately my wounds are so raw, the simplest jest makes them bleed.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
you knew me better than anybody
and some may see this as a good thing
a chance for someone to finally care
about the girl that hid behind a façade
all of her life
but you saw this as nothing more
than an opportunity to break down
the next of your many victims
to lead them into the falsest sense of security
that there could ever possibly be
with the i love yous and forevers
then tear them down
and try to destroy them
but when you left
after trying to hurt me
you did nothing more
than save me
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
I stood there,
5'11 in secondhand shoes,
by the gate, house of god,
in the sun-drenched midday;
She drove up and parked,
as the bells rang out,
in her stainless sliver car,
newer then her leopard print hat
covering her white hair,
she approached me like a shadow,
twisted and hunting,
I stood there
by my red bucket full of change;
I did not wish her a 'good' morning,
instead just morn',
she walked up without saying a word,
but then,
when she was as close as she could get,
she said in the falsest of tone and substance,
'Good morning' and walked on,
the bucket, no fuller then before,
she walked in,
I doubt she could even spell cerebral palsy.
-Jamie F. Nugent
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC