"fantasizes" poems
my fantasizes
haven't even been this remotely close,
to what i laid my eyes on.
she was perfect,
just amazing,
absolutely stunning,
with the perfect shade of skin tone,
and perfect with touch.
a goddess like ***
with a soul so well developed
and pure
that her soul instantly created a chain reaction with mine
simply breathtaking,
what a piece of "strong black woman"
with gracefulness and individuality
and a "Erykah Badu" style.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
"I love the way her hair falls on her shoulders
I love the way she cuddles when it's colder
I love the way she smiles at me
I love the way her eyes are ******
I love the way she laughs out loudly
I love her, even when she's cranky
I love the way she's so moody
I love the way she effortlessly looks lovely
I love the way she holds her phone
I love the way she makes it feel like home
I love the way she stands when she's shy
I love the way she goes to me to cry
I love the way she talks
I love the way she likes to kick rocks
I love the way she gets all excited
I love the way we are, reunited
I love the way she makes weird faces
I love the way her moles are in all places
I love the way she's emotional at times
I love the way she's so good at rhymes
I love the way she thinks about every tweet
I love the way she's nervous about people she meets
I love the way she fantasizes about food
I love the way she does so much good
I love how you've showed me life (in the most amazing way ever)
I love how you say "I love you forever"
I love how you notice when I'm faking being fine
I love how I love you and you're mine"
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
She saves swatches of fabric
pinked with special shears;
orders them in co-ordinated heaps
to keep her life fuss-free.
The finished quilt bubbles in her head.
She imagines it telling her bedtime stories
or lines of poetry to help her sleep -
"Better than sheep" she thinks.
She cuts card; stitches with rough tacking;
fantasizes downy feathers floating
between her patchwork story and
backing of silk slipping against skin,
then secures with neat tiny stitches
and strong coloured thread, to ensure
that her dream won't fall apart at the seams.
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 11:57 PM UTC
Some days i am angry, actually most of the time im angry.
I sprout out rude snarky remarks, so people can have a reason to hate me.
I roll my eyes and cross my arms, hoping that someone can give me a reason to be filled with annoyance.
I hand out ***** looks as if they're candy.
I lash out on friends and family.
I tell people’s secrets so they have a reason to leave me.
I break people, and I break things.
The violent anger in me never ends. Anger is sadness, and sadness is anger, misery is despise,and despise becomes misery,
But the anger is all just a charade.
The anger cloaks the victim in me by pushing people away.
The victim in me cries lakes of tears
The victim in me stays in bed all day, and stares at the ceiling
The victim in me craves the feeling of being held
The victim in me fantasizes of blades, knives and needles
The victim in me cannot be happy for other people's successes,
The victim in me craves the sweet comfort of feeling loved by another person that it almost hurts.
The victim in me yearns for the love that other people receive.
Sometimes the victim and the anger like to play a game. The game consists of the seeing who can botch my brain up the most.
The battles in my mind goes on and on, as i lose friends, one by one.
The anger tells me to push people away while the victim is telling me to accept the love a random girl gives me because that might be the only love you can get
The battle in my mind has now become a war that I cannot win.
The anger in me cage's my heart slowing down my breathing, making it impossible to honestly love someone.
The victim in me has told me to be sad, so people will care, for the victim urges me to over share my thoughts to anyone that is willing to listen.
The anger, tells people off, the anger hurts people, the anger ruins lives.
But shrouded by anger, is the victim, the victim who just wants to feel the love that other people are given.
The victim in me looks at the word love as if it's a magical word that could possibly fix anyone.
The victim in me believes in fairy tales. True love, a princess and happiness.
But the victim in me doesn’t know how to love, nor does the anger. Neither know how to love properly, but maybe just maybe they don’t have to love, maybe I can be the one who learns to love.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
Only my heart could tell
What my face could not express
Though,I smile as if at ease
But only my heart could tell
That truly I miss you so often
Often
As my heart beats,
It plays a blues encodes
With passion
Its rhymes you could hear
And slowly dance together with my heart
Although,
The lip expresses a happy face
But deep down my heart
I'm hanging..
Its like suicide....
Yet,I'm not dead...
This distance is becoming unbearable,
To see you becomes my dream
As long as my eyes re shut
And my fantasizes
Even when they re widely apart
I tell you again,
Only my heart can express this feeling,
The feelings the face can not tell
The light of my Hope seems burning out
My faith diminishing...
But with Love I believe
Its liquids will regenerate it
That long lost hope...
Will burn again
Ravishing us and tighting our bonds
And together I believe we will walk through this
Because,
All will share is true Love
And true love,I believe
Live happily ever after.....
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
what kind of person fantasizes about being sicker than they already are?
man, it's time I realize life is worth it and I've made it this far
when I can't forget, can't forgive, and get stuck
tires spinning, thoughts running, strength thinning
out of control
what role does my faith play in feeling whole?
I wish I could erase this hole eating away inside
but then I might just feel more empty
I try to cut through the feelings by cutting through the skin that covers this lifeless body
the razor shreds my flesh instead of fleshing out all of the chaos inside this mess of a mind
Oct 23, 2023
Oct 23, 2023 at 8:08 AM UTC
Like snow,
a blank page tantalizes me
fantasizes me
luring me into the vastness of its grip
and asking
What will you do with this space?
But unlike Creators,
my art provides no function,
serves no definitive purpose
other than to sit in awe
and appreciate
the Art of Others.
It's hard -
I'm overwhelmed by the potential of
the unexisted,
by the grandeur of what could be
that I sometimes slip
forget
that I don't have to do anything with it;
I just have to witness.
That,
that space between
Standing
and
Wondering if peeing my pants is a work of art
is slick.
But as the place between
Stagnation
and Movement,
Sanity
and
Peeing your pants,
Grave is only achieved by Balance.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
's favorite meal is not children as you may expect
it is old people, the elderly near death
they taste better to him
he fantasizes their whole lives with every bite
whose heart like bottles or ransom clinks against
itself eating the useless parts of its own stomach
rotors of bone hum about revenge
the earth clones pale enigmatic cyanide
my spawn sweat bourbon and bleed sweet milk
I'm the Tower
Look Look
let us hold eachother here until the dark blossoms
into an invisible canine snarl
crushed by feathers at a
tomb-encrusted countryside
wax swans bleed from
their eyes and bulls inside run
in circles around ancient ice prisons
Look a clock
century weary mariners
gape in disbelief
at a yawning dawn
of cadmium
on the tongue of
a bristling free roaming
continent of
gothic salt
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 8:31 PM UTC
He still hears her voice like sweet melodies on a lake
Her name comes up, and he realizes
He never stopped loving her, he just took a break
He pauses, thinks then fantasizes
Her love pierced like an arrow,
Love so brash, he craved some intimacy
You see he was far too deep , but her love was shallow
Painfully amazing how he was stuck in a fallacy
Call him a prisoner of her love
How did she capture him to not call her bluff ?
It’s hard to comprehend; hard to solve
But he’d always say, “she had me in her cuff
I breathe and let go today
Tomorrow I’m still stuck like yesterday”
-Dyn
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 3:34 AM UTC
*** Julia sways in the same Winter, losing an up hill battle of deep seated Calvinistic virtues and the excitation of **********
@@@ Julia goes on weekend holiday with her parents in hopes of losing her virginity in some square of Savannah.
@@@ Julia packs a bible, hoping to burn it in a symbolic rite of passage.
@@@ Julia packs a doll, hoping to drop it from a rocky bluff, post de flowerization, a highly political and artistic statement.
@@@ Julia packs the lucky strike cigarettes she took from the family gardener years ago, saved for her first post coitus cigarette.
@@@ Julia fiddles with a razor in her parents washroom. Breaking a piece and tucking it in her fingernail, as she read once that prostitutes do.
&&& Julia plans to draw blood in her ****** the man or men severing herself from the responsibility of a ***** & she severing her skin as tribute to a new brokenness.
@@@ Julia fantasizes her flower's loss to be on a rich man's bed with one or two plainly handsome sons of a rich man.
@@@ Julia desires the experience to be ****** seething with heat and violence.
@@@ Julia prays for this chaos, to shed her modest and humble skin, to become a quiet ***** in this painful flash of light.
@@@
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
"I love the way her hair falls on her shoulders
I love the way she cuddled when it's colder
I love the way she smiled at me
I love the way her eyes are ******
I love the way she laughed out loudly
I love her, even when she's cranky
I love the way she's so moody
I love the way she effortlessly looks lovely
I love the way she holds her phone
I love the way she makes it feel like home
I love the way she stands when she's shy
I love the way she went to me to cry
I love the way she talks
I love the way she likes to kick rocks
I love the way she gets all excited
I love the way we were, reunited
I love the way she makes weird faces
I love the way her moles are in all places
I love the way she's emotional at times
I love the way she's so good at rhymes
I love the way she thinks about every tweet
I love the way she's nervous about people she meets
I love the way she fantasizes about food
I love the way she does so much good
I love how you've showed me life (in the most amazing way ever)
I love how you said "I love you forever"
I love how you noticed when I'm faking being fine
I love how I love you and you were mine"
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 7:32 AM UTC
I've been fantasizing death like a child fantasizes Disneyland
It seems that death is the only thing right now that could bring that kind of joy
A renewal of innocence that will bring me back to Main Street
but the only street I see now is the one at my feet as I walk with my head down
staring at the ground while trying to hide the frown that's forever buried in my skull.
I want to reach out or float out into an empty void but one much more empty than the abyss,
the precipice that has become my waking thoughts.
I sleep because my dreams are my only safe place
but even now my dreams have become a dark space
so I hide my face in my pillow at night
lie awake and hope that when the morning breaks
that life will be a little more kind
maybe life will be a little more aligned with whatever it is that keeps me behind that steady pace that I used to find
as a child
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 5:46 PM UTC
She fantasizes of falling stars
breaking the bleakness of the night.
And as she closes her eyes,
she opens her heart- she then whispers
through the echoing space-
‘Lead him back to me.'
-ever so quietly, ever so longingly.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
In every rejection
In every missed call
In every promise not kept
In every lonely night he's had spent by himself
replaying events in head over and over and over
there is opportunity
Light does exist, despite its scarce amounts
He coughs
then spits out a combination of blood,
dirt and naive optimism
while closing his eyes
and fantasizes of how things "once were"
How? he wonders
How can something as delicate as a heart
remain intact
if it's being continuously attacked by it's environment?
How can one soul maintain
its divinity in the midst
of so much lies and anguish?
He buries his face in his weathered hands one last time
wipes away any residual frustration from his eyes
and continues onward
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
One step in, One step out
Her palm pressed to mine urges me on
It's the perfect place
She says
You can rest and think and find peace here
A friend of mine says it's the best
Fog rolls in and out of my mind
Two steps in, I'm forever insane
I remain at the threshold of the door
I laugh quietly in my own head
I sob quietly on the outside
How did I find these shoes?
I look down at them
Are they even mine?
I was that girl everyone said was strong
I was that girl who faced everything awful
Without even a wince
These shoes are now filled by a girl
Who lays crucified to her bed by leaden bricks
While the world makes its demands
As the bricks press her firmly down
Tears form steady streams in paths down her face
She dreams, no, fantasizes of her own death
She knows exactly how she'll do it
Her heart races all night
Listening for slamming doors and
Heavy objects being thrown against the wall
Her brain has become a muddled mess
Of panic and pain, of blacks and blues
And sometimes extreme reds and yellows
The simplest questions can no longer be answered
And yet, she's supposed to make this choice?
Two steps in, insane forever
Or remain at the threshold of the door
One step in, one step out
I break the connection of our palms
Walk haltingly away
I'm not prepared to mark myself forever
The fog lifts just a little bit
A shadow of that strong girl brushes by
"I can do this on my own," I say.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
She sits in the rocking chair
steadily rocking, to and fro
She peers down into her arms
Knowing she won't ever let go
blowing gentle kisses
from her lips
She trails her hand lightly
over silken blankets
with over bitten fingertips
She dreams of lazy walks
in parks of sunshine
and reading little books
after bath at bedtime
She fantasizes about
golden hair and pretty skirts
about skipping time
and graduation
until it almost hurts
She completely breaks
with reality, testing faith
against mortality
She sits in the rocking chair
steadily rocking, to and fro
She peers down into her empty arms
Knowing she won't ever let go
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 3:03 AM UTC
I am still that shy girl who’s afraid to approach people and have her words and thoughts heard. I am still that girl who fantasizes scenarios of her confident self. I am still that girl who’s afraid of social interaction. I am still that girl who mentally prepares herself just to say hi on the phone. I am still that girl who’s silent in one of those corners. I am still that girl who mutters and stutters words and sometimes finds it difficult to decipher her own emotions and thoughts. I am still that girl who doesn’t run because she’s afraid of her body being judged. I am still that girl and is more magnified some days.
Just this time she has a little more faith in herself. She wants to be louder than her “not good enough” talks. She wants to be bolder and burn brighter than her fears. She doesn’t want to be en-caged by the fear of others thoughts and words because it really wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth not reaching her potential. It wasn’t worth not moving forward. She’s the same girl, with the same dreams except for this time she wants to move past the fear for herself.
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 9:40 AM UTC
She said she was a twin
And had a twin sibling
So right away as I'm not gay
You know what I'm thinking
And if not then I'll simply
Be abundantly clear
A ménage trios is wut a man
Fantasizes will appear
So I imply and she hears
Understands and says hey
"if that's wut u want then I will do
It cause I love u" and so I wait
For her twin siblings arrival
Still In shock that my girl
Is willing so I'm praising her in
My head, as best in the world
And as the doorbell rings she smiles
As I jump so eager
And I'm not the only one as my
Girl looks happy to greet her
So as she answers the door
And invites her sibling inside
They both walk where I sit in the
Living room so I
Lift my head from the magazine
I have been pretending to read
As they stand infront of me now
And as my girl introduces me
My face has shock as my
Sister talks and grins
Saying *** this is my twin
His names James but likes Jim
And he's **** ****** incase u
Still want to get
Freaky she says laughing
Walking away and yes
Twins are opposite ***
Sometimes I forgot
Now wut the hell am I gonna do
With this rock hard ****
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC
My heart aches for something,
my mind longs to avoid.
My thoughts run wild in search for a resolution,
my heart dispises.
My heart fantasizes for that undying love,
my mind knows you arent capable of giving.
My heart hates my mind.
My mind hates my heart.
And after it all.
My heart loves you to this very day,
but my mind knows better.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
As he waits for the school bell to ring
He counts from ten down to one.
Looking at the clock near the widow pane
Excitedly he fixes his stuffs on his side.
He then grabs his backpack when clock strikes five
And hastily runs at the corridor side
To wait for the angel of his life
Who he secretly fantasizes in the inside.
At the moment he hears the door creek,
He fixes himself and lean on the red brick
To have a glance on the beautiful chick
That he got attracted to since last 7 weeks.
Down to earth his heart melts
With the stunning beauty of his angel
And the smile, that beautiful smile of hers
Brought himself in the paradise he longed for a long time.
But one day, on the same place
and at the same time,
The angel of his dreams did not appear before his eyes,
And that made him wonder why
His angel is out of his sight.
He waited for a couple of hours,
But, she, never he'd seen,
He decided to go home,
He just went home.
But while on his way he passed by a store,
Went inside and bought a drink,
Shocked as he is, he began to cry,
When he saw the dead person's picture on the
newspaper's headline.
She truly became an angel in another life...
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 5:01 AM UTC
Hope is precious
Hope is pure
Hope is what helps those
Waiting for a cure.
Hope is ther
When love is not.
Hope can be reassuring
But often times not.
Hope is false
But all we got
Hope is false
But cannot be forgot
Hope helps us through
As we go on in life,
Not knowing what to do.
Hope fantasizes
What we cannot
Hope is something that cannot be bought.
Hope sees us through,
Encouraging us with its gentle coo.
It is soft,
It is kind,
Hope is what comes to mind
Once war has begun,
And war has rung
It's desolate cry.
Hop gives us the wings to fly.
Hope calls out to those
Weakened by their falls.
Hope is talented
Hope is sure
For many, hope is the only cre
Hope is transparent
But hope is real
Hope is perfect
Hope is the missing fill
Hope is awake
Hope is alive
Hope is where madness thrives
Hope is pleasing to the ear
Hope rings loud and clear
Hope is gentle
And hope is here.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC