"feeing" poems
I sometimes I get this feeing as though I was being forced into a meat grinder.
Urged to remove my fat only to spit out chunks of blood and bone instead.
The cracking, clicking snaps of marrow that exudes from it like wastage.
The fat engorging through the tiny weeping holes.
All I can see is the repetitive nature of damage leaking from this abstraction and I feel it in my flesh.
Crawling like tiny bugs, entrapping themselves and eroding their bodies into the hair on my skin.
Uncultivated; I have fallen into the funnel hooked up to the grinder and I feel its body churn me.
It thrusts its cold metal exterior against my lean limbs; ticking.
I try to form a response when all the while this loud heavy machine is echoing against the walls, making my voice utterly meaningless.
Like ground beef I am belched out only to be covered in a plastic film that pushes all the oxygen from it.
I am stuck in this silhouette, shaped as a slab of meat.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
I am just another fish in the sea
One who writes poems to set her heart free
This is just simple average
Nothing more than that
Nothing uniquely different about me
I am just a clone
Even though these thoughts, ideas emotions are my own
At times, it keep me feeing all alone
I'm just searching for understanding like everyone else
Trying to search for this identity
This individuality
Writing my realities down on this page
Doesn't mean they're anything extraordinary
Doesn't mean I should keep going
Keep these dreams
Keep this boat of ideas floating
I try to come up with this reality
When in all actuality
There is nothing, nothing uniquely different about me
I am just another fish in the sea
One who writes poems to set her heart free
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
in the morning i put on my war paint,
conceal the blemishes so i won’t be blown away,
bronze and silhouette, so i will ignite like Athena.
the eyes, the eyes, the eyes
are my favorite.
eyeliner to smolder, to create fear, to cause your mouth to overflow.
mascara to pop, to outline, to appear innocent (which we both know i’m
not)
lipstick.
orange, if i’m feeing flirtatious,
pink if i’m feeling like *** packed in a case of cigarettes,
red. red if i’m feeling like dancing against walls that are
graffiti stained.
red if i want to kiss you senseless.
but, darling, do not be confused.
i do not dress for you. you may gape, you may whistle,
but this war paint is for me.
because everyday is a battle, and i must be ready,
with weapons blazing
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
*i'm sorry that i'm not happy.
but all the lives i have lived,
all the heartache & pain
have caused my unhappiness.
it's nothing to do with you.
all it is, is the past.
telling me that love means pain
& that if they don't hurt you constantly
it's not love.
my past tells me that love
is always perfect & happy,
that there are no issues in love,
love is perfect.
all these ideals & perfectionism
sabotaging my relationships
sabotaging my happiness.
telling me that this is wrong
because i was raised in contradiction.
contradiction is my home.
i've seen the war between my parents
i've heard the screaming of insults
i've witnessed the anger
i've been the blank screen
on which to cast the anger on.
i was taught from a very young age
that my failures were catastrophic
instead of a normal process of life.
i was taught that my temper
was a way to gain the attention
i so desperately craved.
i was taught that my pain
was insignificant & invalid
that i was a brat for feeing anything
except grateful.
i grew up thinking that nice
was boring & unsatisfying
& that danger & manipulation
would fill the empty void.
i grew up with negativity, pain
& contradiction
clouding my every thought,
clouding my every judgement,
shaping my every decision.
so i'm sorry i'm not happy.
saying "it's not you; it's me"
sounds like such a cliché.
but it couldn't be more appropriate.
forgive me.*
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 9:54 AM UTC
I woke with a sleepy start to find the devil standing over my bed.
I screamed in alarm and punched that ******* in the head.
He frowned then said he was feeing lonely
with a sad little shrug
So I laughed and gave him a big bear hug.
Then God sent me to hell for being nice
0_0
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 9:10 AM UTC
I tried to write a happy poem.
I tried to throw myself into a pit of nostalgia to try and remember what happiness feels like.
All my poems are so sad, I don't know why I'm so sad.
My therapist tells me I have self esteem issues that effect everything else in my life.
My insecurities have ways been there, I had just never been able to put a name to the face until I brought a razor to my skin for the first time and the pain didn't feel wrong.
I didn't know what I was doing was wrong, I had no idea that it was wrong to be a 12 years old with arms covered in scars I call my battle wounds,
because no one wants to talk about the elephant in the room when it sounds like I've been to war and I'm only 17.
They won't poke and **** me with questions when it sounds like I was captured by the enemy and skinned for my beliefs.
I won't be questioned why I am not happy.
Why at 12 years old I was unhappy and why I am 17 years old now and I am still not happy.
I tried to write a happy poem.
I tried to write a happy poem by thinking 6 years back to before I knew I put the name to the face, before my insecurities were put on show for the world to see,
before I knew it was wrong to hate myself for what I wasn't and for who I wanted to be.
Until it finally hit me.
I've never been happy.
My hair was never as long as the girl on my left,
my body was never as skinny as the girl on my right.
My smile was never the shiniest nor were my eyes the brightest.
I tried to write a happy poem, but I can't write about a foreign entity, I can't write about something I have never had.
The concept of happiness is so alien that no wonder that when people are overcome with the feeing they feel out of this world.
Happiness is a luxury that I have never been given the privilege of.
Happiness is a luxury that I have never I will never been given the privilege of of.
I tried to write a happy poem,
I feel more empty inside than I've ever felt before.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
When you fall in love
The World is an open book
A sky filled with white doves
Beauty in everywhere you look
When you see her crying
There is pain deep inside
As if your heart is dying
It strips away at your pride
When she kisses you
On the clouds you walk
Feelings touch so true
Finding voices to talk
This is a feeing of hope
Deep down in your being
For each day you can cope
The gift of the feeling .....
.....To love
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 11:07 AM UTC
Misunderstood
Miss out of place
Miss force a smile upon
Her face
Miss feels alone
Miss way too shy
Miss never wants
To say goodbye
Miss always there to
Hear you cry
Miss never lets anyone
Close to her side
Miss never heard
Miss never seen
Miss she's just one more
Stupid teen
Miss hates to cry
Miss hides her scars
Miss wish upon a
shooting star
Miss writing this
to tell you how
She's feeing
in the here and now
Miss this is me
Its who I am
Its all i'm ever
going to be
Miss take or leave it
Its how I am
I'm not changing for anyone
I don't give a ****
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 8:22 AM UTC
You always know what to say.
I was so lost, in the streets of the abandoned.
And then one day, you came my way,
You sat down beside me, took my hand and
said, "What I would give for another day."
I was left with a choice,
My heart no longer hell bound,
Feeing stuck.
I remember the day my heart drowned.
"It's okay," softly spoke Zach.
"I love you to the moon and back."
When I had said that, his eyes brightened.
He leaned in and kissed me, my throat tightened.
"You are unlike any other girl I've ever met. It's true."
I looked at him, why?
"Why? Just because you are you."
I felt like I could fly.
Tears slid in my eyes,
If I spoke, I would cry.
I felt so at peace.
This love we shared,
should never cease.
"I support you through every rough decision you have to make."
A smile grew on his face.
"And my heart is yours, in which only you can take."
Which ended with a hug, well embraced.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
Minds afire with wanton desire
The feeing of skin touching skin
Silken soft verse velvet smooth
A kiss a breath all pants and moans
Desire in motion lets apply the lotion
Music all blearing all going crazy
lost in thoughts, Minds on fire
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 10:55 AM UTC
A loved one to hold close to you
It's a shoulder to cry on when your feeing sad
Loyal because its with you the whole night and will be there when you wake up in the morning
Listens to you talk about your fears and thoughts
What if men were like pillows?
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 8:21 PM UTC
for an awful lot of time, I have been feeling an overwhelming rush of emotion. all kinds. I experienced every feeling there is to feel and I thought that this is the worst thing any human can experience [feeing too much]. on the contrary, now I believe that feeling too much is better than feeling nothing at all.
when an individual is numb from all kinds of emotion, one tends to act careless. may start to push some people away and may seem really distant and becomes isolated. [speaking from experience]
reading this, whoever you are. you might not understand what's so bad about not feeling but imagine it this way.
someone that means a lot to you, it might be your beloved or a dear friend have gone into a horrible car accident and they may not come out alive from it. and you feel all this pain that someone you really care about might not be alive, you might not see them ever again and you can't handle the thought of loosing anymore people and you just want to stop feeling. you want your heart to stop aching but it doesn't. you keep feeling all these horrible feelings and then after a few weeks you get a call from the hospital telling you that the person is dead. so you rush to the hospital crying and when you see that person lying on bed, with their face cold and their heart not beating, you get overwhelmed by emotion that you start to not feel anything at all. you're empty.
you go to the funeral but you still didn't shed a single tear. you want to, you want to let it all out, but you can't you're just numb and that's what you wanted right? to feel nothing? now that you do feel nothing you know how it's even a harder struggle than all that you've felt. now it feels like there's a missing part of you and you can't get it back. you can't move on because you didn't take your time to grieve. and you have to live with the emptiness until one day you get to feel something.
advice: allow yourself to feel every emotion there is to feel.
take your time to grieve and cry when you need to. don't keep anything in because yeah in times you just want a switch off from reality and pain and heartache but just remember that this is not the only emotions you can feel. there's joy, happiness, love, compassion, etc.. and life can be beautiful if you want it to be.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
*with me it's all ***** free, she laughed me teasing ***** and not her **** and then i said: i was bitterer free than a caged slave freed; so tell me... when did rhyme rhyme with untrue and dry prose with truth?*
none of the free women could uncouple ******* from the *****
none of these free women
could love me like a ***** the "master,"
but they did - common free ****** themselves
while the saints arose to challenge the antichrist
deciding it was better to salvage driftwood than the whole ship,
and give common fee to ******* than salvage
common freedom from common ******* fees with ******* the commons
of sedating parliament of freedom feeing freedom:
but the ****** became saintly snakes
asking for less and the common woman for more!
what mattered more was slapping the cheek,
none of these free women could compete,
none of these free women could salvage the ****** slaves,
instead they asked for opinions through actresses,
and while i broke chime of dirges with sirens
for the chandelier flutes dropped - i heard of demonic
song being poetry, and angelic songs continued without poeticism;
oh lark and sorrow i heard that no free woman ever bore
the freed love from sexing it asked for yoga exercise
to thrill a lost packaged youth,
but the free women sexed up, and the ****** were
skeletally libra minded to tangle the heaviest with the lightest
and the freest with the most leathered up to tangle in whip lost
sparking less gallop and more thought:
as once in town a randomised woman to my writing said:
now that's the devil, said, and i walked on.
none of the free women who spoke of feminism ever
gave third introduction up, with limping the second artillery was
salvo dis-loved, for the third introduction was sold
to ***** and man managed all, but not this;
none of the free women could ever pair man with her involvement
satisfactory: first ***** second **** third lips and child goodnight:
for the free women were more than ****** could be,
found the woman, entering a brothel and hearing of whores' graces
to do not what free women did: no **** no harsh movement,
the ****** dictated that freedom felt what it wasn't with me bought,
****** a ***** and kept **** to myself
while i argued the digestion in reverse and liberated them
from a child engaged to be tucked in, and sweetly dreaming of mothers
of tomorrow with hanky and bacon and scrambled eggs for schooling,
marching into marsh and sweet mud, in order that some general
might satiate the feel of ordering a fee of orderly salutes into hades'
6ft gape of a yawn of cracking marble into moulding earthenware to
suit root and worm.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
I went to visit a friend today
but thats obviously nothing new,
i saw her home, cold and wet
and around it, briars grew
i walked towards it hand on my mouth
the rain just started to fall,
but i didn’t cry out, not a word to spare
feeling oblivious and really quite small
i saw her in the flowers thats grew
in the sun and in the trees,
her laughter whistling through the wind
that old soft summer breeze
I imagined her smile, that warm touching voice
or the way her brain seemed cuttered,
her touching heart, her beautiful soul
the way my heart had fluttered
i didn’t want to forget, that angel face
or the way her clothes had smelled
her comforting touch, her helping hand
the secrets her eyes had withheld
As i sat next to her new home
‘Abigail-grace, with love-
devoted daughter, mother and wife’
i clenched my jaw, let out a long breath
feeing old in this half life
I talked for a while, not sure how long
telling her about my day
the flowers i left were bright and fresh
as new clouds had begun to grey
I cried hard that night alone on my bed,
but thats obviously nothing new,
my home now feeling old and wet,
and around my heart clawing briars grew.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC
Ocular cavities were vacant in slumbering,
for when the twilight of death exhales on
nightfall, they exhumed from there cages
of waking moments, eye lashes no longer
bars of there keeping. Now pliable in there
movements, optic nerves were there
renderings. Staring at the dismay of there
awaking, they ventured upon a world a static
silence and they hungered to visualize.
They looked upon each others vision,
heads of ocular circumference gazed as if in
headlights. Leaning so slightly distorted from
the others leaning opposites of others motions.
Inclinations were observed as a scurrying ventured
with there distance and they attained to have this
morsel as a pet. Each mimicking steps as if symbiotic
in motion, this new addition to what was perceived
and many that walk the halls in the censorship of volume.
The night wove upon there longing to visualise that
not seen in the slumber times. Many had gathered upon
there motions upon cold floor boards. But they became
restless in the motion and knew what must become of
those in there care. That which was there reason for
vacating there prison to feast upon others sight.
One after another each insect was now unfulfilled of
pools of view, now vacant tomes of emptiness.
Littering the floor some static others roaming in
abandoned motions, colliding upon another
they vented out. No guilt was seen in this pools
of blue as they watched until the last one became
as the others hollow of life for it had bled tears of
dismay upon the floor. But time is a ***** who peals
of in front of you never regaining what had parted.
Light was echoing its arrival through undisclosed
segments not hindered it shone abundantly.
Without thought, instinct took over as they ascended
upon the bed quilt. Moments were corroding in front of
them as light motioned towards an awakening.
But they clambered in slight motions to not awaken the
exhaled slumbering's. As each opened the bars, so gently
so not to observe in hollow pockets there undoing.
They inserted themselves once again into this confinement,
knowing that they would have no motion only seeing
what they saw prisoners of reality.
As they awoke eyes feeing dry, drops descended into this
pools to awaken them, and in confusion a insect leg teared
outwards. Curious he motioned with silent expressions.
Unseen to him under the dresser was the killing spree of
the slumbering time. No glasses did they were 20/20 vision
they could see like a hawk. But unbeknown is the fact that
others pay for this precious gift of sight. For one must
consume others pools, your have skeletons deep within
yours. But you'll never know, for what happens at night
are vacant visions that see things differently you know.
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 7:06 PM UTC
unspeakable words that
burn with such a passion
in your throat waiting to
burst letting them know
what it is that has you
in the ever silent gaze
into their pale gray eyes
that glow with undying
trust and affection
for what you believe to be
unrealistic but they find
to be the most deep
and understanding feeing
that has ever crossed their
mind as an emotion as if
they know exactly what
you are thinking and
dying to say but the words
choke in your throat over
and over again while you
watch them slip into
what will be your ever demise
and your forth coming death
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC
What's there between the feeling
And the vast confusion it creates
Between the chest and teeth
Something stuck and bulging
Unnatural quivering of the vessels
And yet the meaning never faltered
And while I feel so small
Looking into the dark hole of
Never and ever
I still hold on to the thinnest possibility
Of seeing meaning behind those curtains
Talent is goddesses' weapon
I wasn't created a mirror to be pretty
Still much to learn but certain of this psychic
Vision
They say powerful yet
Feeing so fragile in the face of overcoming
Emotion that invades intermixed
Oh what a mess of feeing
Can't know my own from another's
When all I feel is you and me is a
Shadow on the background
Mere reflector that sees inside another
So unknown to myself
And ever lost
Yet my feet never stopped never strained
From the path on which
I knew only the direction
Of the next step
And now as never before
I am filled with faith
That what needs to happen will
Through you and me
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 9:57 PM UTC
Meltonin taken nightly
To combat insomnia
Causes one to wake up more
Due to the dreams it causes
Trying to convey some meaning
That you assign yourself
Waking up gasping
Screaming for air
Feeing like you can't breathe
Dreams are for the sleeping
Hope is for the dead
A one man happy show
A starving artist
Who does it all
Not for some vague philosophical end
But because he doesn't like the taste of food
Light bulbs flicker
And the demons come
And I'm left here wishing
I can just sleep soundly
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 9:11 AM UTC
I don't want to think about it...
Falling in and out.
I have a lot of love for you
I don't want it to burn out.
I never want to forget
the feelings you've made me feel.
The way I can't stop smiling
when you're done laughing
or squeezing my hand...
How I feel as you kiss me
or when you're just sitting nearby...
I don't want to stop feeing warm and bubbly
the thought makes me want to hide.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 2:16 AM UTC
The water hit my back
It felt as if it was getting warmer
I started seeing blotches in my vision
Nauseation washes over me
Quickly seizing the water from flowing
And grabbing a towel to wrap around my damp body
I padded my way down the hall to my room
Where I flung myself onto my bed
and hoped the feeing would go away
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC
It was time to think about what she said
Another day had passed and I started wondering
Did I get what she was saying or was it over my head
I needed to stop talking and start listening
I thought about the cost of not feeing her emotion
I wasn’t being a lover in the things I was saying
She talked about things like loyalty and devotion
And how we shouldn’t let others separate us
What would you call a beach without an ocean?
This time what I saw in your eyes wasn’t lust
You walked away from the things I’d mistaken for love
You said being alone is better than living without trust
Fighting everyday was something you were tired of
Somebody once told me passion isn’t always pleasant
You said whoever said didn't know hurt from love
I always thought I was the gift, God’s present
But when you walked away I was ribbons in the trash
The only gift there ever was, was your heart’s presence
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC
your the color's of the sky.
when i see you i feel so high.
you show all your color's.
you talk to me like no other.
even when your feeing down
and feeling bowned.
i love your smile's.
everytime i see you i think wow.
i send you flowers
every hour
i cant see how i can stand
when your around
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
I was never the kind of person who was
always believing the colors of the world
happenning ahead
Sure I’m aware of what is red
it’s pretty similar to rivers of love
surrounded by hearts of the dead
but color blind people see differently
As well as other beings which
make us question colors reality so
How are we sure that
what we’re feeing is felt...
When we need to reach out for help..
What are the little things
that we focus on
that should just be left out?
If how loud we’re screaming
comes off as just a mere shout
-I am not a product of my environment
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 7:09 PM UTC
Never seen a painting as pretty as her,
She’s got texture to her but more importantly she’s bold and she’s courage.
You frame her to the world anonymously sharing her elegance would be far too generous, crime to humanity even I assure you.
When the sun shines on her, **** do you sink into a *** of love feeing lucky but you only got lucky once.
Trying to restore beauty where beauty needn’t be restored.
Chipping away at her stature until you chisel too deep and she crumbles into your hands, that? That is indeed damnation.
So the painting becomes a picture, then a memory, then it just f a d e s a w a y
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 8:18 PM UTC
Hillsides of evergreen where the breath of nature
weaved within the branches, kissing every leaf
they bowed in sensibility of this moving.
Below magnetic in its roaming, barks of trees
caressing its need to scratch needing of relief.
The pack awaiting for there brother to join again.
Playful in there roughing up of others, but never
blemishing a brothers flesh, always looking out
for each the alpha always feeing first respect earned.
When the seasons linger between lucid hues of
decay and the white washing of scenery they,
Playful times are less, hunger is there regress.
White lingers as tears of life's wine saturates,
the need of the many feeding on the fallen
motions of there prey, living for another day.
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 12:05 PM UTC