"feely" poems
I take my imaginary pen
I write down my anger
I close my eyes and count to ten
just to breathe a little longer
It's laughable really
when I see you justifying
Sure, you're all touchy-feely
only goodwill, so hard-trying
When you said that to me
where was your heart at?
Why calling me your better-half-to-be
when all you wanted was a shoulder pat?
Oh you, with your wonderful poetry,
oh, lies so beautifully written down
please just stop, you don't know no poverty
in your emerald sea everything you wanted me to believe is to drown
I never thought you would make me think
the worst of you instead
And I swear I could only stand and stare and shrink
when you didn't care to lose your head
Now you haunt me like the headless horseman
and you will forever
but I do not worry for my sanity, oh boy of thoughts turned cyan
I walked with ghosts before and a headless one is so less clever
And if you ever come back looking for this head of yours
Think twice, try a little bit harder wannabe
It might stick out of the sand at your emerald sea shores
Your love for me was never poetry
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 11:06 AM UTC
in the park
man with candy
i get in van
no good van
feely van
thats him officer
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
a writer gets their inspiration from anywhere,
a writer can have details written with flare.
a writer can see every little thing and detail,
a writer can unleash mystery like a veil.
a writer can hear these words and their thoughts and taste,
a writer sometimes have to write with much haste.
a writer can lose that inspiration with a blink of a eye,
a writer knows that some things take time.
a writer can discard these senses and focus on what they feel,
a writer can make a persons mind reel.
a writer is like an artist,
a writer can produce a picture with such a twist.
a writer can lose themselves so easily,
a writer can become touchy feely.
a writer must go through an inevitable block,
a writer shouldn't be made fun of or mocked.
a writer uses a block to experience and try new things,
a writer can get new inspiration as fast as a ring.
a writer is different, they can see things different than any of their fellow man,
but a writer is most definitely a human.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
pollen rots,
faintly wafts increasing death
in an otherwise vacant Spring breeze.
the memories of bees buzz.
melodramatically,
i add a spoon of honey to my coffee.
it isn't fair trade.
neither is the milk..fair trade milk?
40 multicultural minds
hexagonal attuned:
the IPI begins to gather
in consilience
some further future data,
worked together for a whole new picture-
target for debunkers touting
benefits of pesticides,
ultra-gene manipulation patenting,
cross-pollinating property.
i am a bland dismissal too,
not just touchy-feely rage at rampant death
upon death, on death, death after death..
for 'death has always been common' right...
as i sit here, sipping sweet and sour coffee
not quite awake
.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
We All so touchy Feely..But we dont want to be held...All in everything...but we dont want to be found..So We hide in the tall grass..stalking out our prey...Please dont run to fast..Still i want You to stay...together well not really...Cuz I just want you for your soul...But Im so touchy feely...So your body is my goal...So pirate we should be mates...Im just looking for your booty...and If I walk you down my plank..I beg you dont be moody...Cuz you so touch feely...it only was a joke...hurt you no not really...Till you come stabbin at my thorat...then you will be held... accounted for your deeds..Quite down your loud...Cuz everythings a need...Cuz your so touchy feely...little things set you off...Hide it no not really...Cuz your mind to me is Lost...So can i bring it back..Is this really what you want...opposites attract...Touchy feely meet a Blunt....
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 10:50 AM UTC
Desperate times like this call for a distraction.
Feeling wanted and craving some attention.
There's always a price to pay without an education, in the art of seclusion.
Laying on the couch as he gazed upon me.
Taking in the sight, to his delight
he found me charming.
He told me, "I'm a fighter. I'm a queen."
That he found me particularly fascinating.
"We're not so different you and me,
Which makes you superior when compared to anything."
I was stuck between the sheets. Plunging forward.
Falling further. Wondering why his smile made me feel so sickening.
I'd be crying as he took me in his arms.
Made me believe he truly meant no harm.
He held me tightly and he muttered,
"If you get any older maybe we could move past heavy petting.
You can't gain experience without experimenting. "
He told me, "I was pretty
And around pretty things don't mind if I get a little touchy feely.
Younger girls fall so very easy. Just don't gain any unwanted feelings,
without them I can still make you feel amazing."
Once again I was stuck between the sheets. Plunging forward.
Falling further. Unknowingly risking everything.
I felt like nothing when compared to anything.
He'd pull me closer as I started shaking.
Assured me that'd he'd never hurt me and there was no need to be afraid.
He made me feel uncomfortable rather than amazing.
Turns out his words meant nothing.
Still sitting frightened in his lap.
My need for comfort had enticed him so much one day when he just snapped.
And me feeling guilty for doing so, I Innocently asked,
Craving comfort and security, how was I supposed to know?
I'm sorry, that really wasn't my intention.
He started smirking as he said,
"You really like attention.
Your teasing doesn't pay the bill.
One day you won't be able to shut me out.
And those doors won't stop me from getting in.
Is that so difficult to comprehend?", he threatened.
I was a token of your humor.
I was your stupid little fool.
I was nothing but your prisoner.
I meant absolutely nothing at all to you.
I was stuck within your sheets.
Unable to move forward.
There was nowhere else to fall.
As I was screaming silently, you made me realize
the meaning of nothing meant me.
If I had known all along, that I was backed against the wall,
I would have never wrote this poem.
And I would have fought harder than just screaming, that this feels wrong I think we should stop.
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 9:46 AM UTC
I never looked at things like maybe your mom does
Like, 'I've been in love with this man for twenty years
and he doesn't want me any more'
until a few days ago. And then I realized
maybe that's why your sister has such a fixation on gender
because what a man should be
is different from what he's been
so she wants him to go back to what he should have been,
and maybe, that's why you aren't touchy-feely
or comfortable with affection, because
you haven't seen it, because the past ten years
your parents haven't been expressing love
and maybe that's why you feel uncomfortable with overt displays
or even unvert displays
and maybe that's why you don't know how to love.
Honey, if you let me, I'll show you.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
“have you masturbated yet”
no i haven’t
“do you even know how to”
yes i understand the mechanics of it
you put a couple of fingers in and
wiggle them around
“why haven’t you masturbated yet”
i lied when i told you that there was
a short answer to this
either answer involves yelling
and screaming so loud
that a fire blossoms
in the middle of my chest
and my voice cracks
and people can hear me on the
other side of the restaurant
this is not a quiet answer
it is not a quick one
it is the pull of a trigger
right into who i am
and it is a cruel
slash at my insecurity
have you ever heard of
****** autonomy
or maybe personal space
questions that
a grown man
an elderly man
should never ask a teenager
let alone a transgender teenager
and the age gap
42 years
a year younger than my mother
doesn’t make this a friendly thing
it makes you a pervert
(but i will answer this again
so more people than you
can look at me like i am
even more of a freak
than they originally thought
i do not **********
because looking at myself naked
even before getting into the shower
when i brush my teeth
and my ******* swing
like twin pendulums
over the basin of the sink
i want to cut it all off
and no
at this point
i do not care if i bleed to death
i have been bleeding for years
since that first person asked me
if i was a girl or a boy
and no
you do not understand
because you were not born
in the wrong body
you have the hanging anatomy
between your hairy thighs
and the biologically male on
your birth certificate
as proof of that
there are no
scars on your arms
or on your chest
parts of you are not going to
be cut off
and scooped out
so people will see you as
and address you as
male
so do not pretend that
you understand
because you do not
and you do not try to)
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
I give you permission
To dream of me
In something that comes off easily.
I consent to your hands
Trailing down my body
Until my vision goes spotty.
Touch me at every red light.
Make me feel right.
Don't make me ask again.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
she is waiting outside baggage claim
in blue jeans and a sweatshirt that says **** YALE
she is texting, frowning without wrinkles
her hair a thick braid to the small of her back
even among the smell of jet fuel and diesel fumes
her hair the scent of cedar smoke, campfires
picture it as a long furry tail
a meerkat, they’re cute, they’re carnivores
she stares at oncoming cars
she hops on one foot
I bet she’s really smart, really nice
she has an LL Bean backpack on rollers and a floral garment bag
she turns to me and asks
“Will you watch my bags? I need to ***
before I can answer she dashes in short steps
now I notice tall heels below frayed cuffs
the heels lift her *** nice ***
but she’s younger than my daughter
she trusts me, I feel elevated
she’s gone so long
the pack on wheels, could it be a bomb?
and me standing, guarding
leering old creep nominated to be smithereens of pink spray
but she looked sweet in an intellectual touchy-feely way
no lipstick, no eyeliner
I appreciate girls with no makeup
and nobody puts bombs in a garment bag,
totally against the bombing code
look there sticking out of a pocket of the backpack
a copy of a book, holy ****
my novel that went out of print thirty-seven years ago
which is twice her age
there was soft down above her lip, meerkat fuzz
my portrait on the back cover, a younger hairy me
did she see?
when she returns I will speak kindly
a bevy of bluebirds will fly from my lips to her ears
an SUV stops, a burly man in coat and sloppy tie steps out
opens the tailgate, throws the portmanteau inside
then the backpack with the book
should I stop him?
“Are you sure you have the right bags?”
I ask somewhat unassertively
the man looks at me like he’s bitten lime
and says, **** Yale?”
and I nod okay
and just then she bursts out the door breathless
hugs the burly man
not a glance to me, not a thank you for guarding the bags
she hops into the shotgun seat
the words I hear her say:
“Finally, at last!”
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
when she got all the righteous requirements of expressing liberty and i looked at her expression i was like? so i've been duped into being fed the oedipus complex for 100 years while she wrote as if looking for her father in a theme park? right... gear up the revs of that feminism of yours... keep them writing, by god keep them writing, let us learn all the secrets that were so attractive once when she pampered herself with corsets and bangles and rings and earrings and perfumes! come on feminism, drag them out into the bright open blank canvas of the page like dragging witches to the stake!
in my library i only have books by women
in the range of sylvia plath and anna kavan...
believe me, feminism gave women
second thoughts about
joining the ranks of men
writing, she's having second
thoughts because she doesn't
want to reveal her secrets,
she doesn't want to internalise
life, she wants it to remain
a volumptous (voluptuous,
which sounds sexier? the former
implies volume, the latter a monkish stress
of orthographic orthodoxy) affection
to keep fingertips sensitive to skin
smooth like soap and coarse like
pavement - touchy touchy - feely feely,
she's scared that by outlining
all the secrets she'll be no longer
able to wear a corset and as theory states:
bigger the earrings of loops, the eagerer she's
to be bedded, it's a shame i don't own
more books by women who'd write like
men, and i dig the part where books
written by women are so tightly bound
by social formalities of longing for love
in long-winding sagas of the harlequin
publishing house -
feminism seems like a faulty bomb
when it comes to women writing,
i mean, a girl starts writing she looses her
predatory allure and instinct,
she starts writing she becomes vulnerable,
exposed, when he does it he
gets depth and confidence he can't use
in ****** interaction... historically speaking
women used to walk without leaving
footprints, men used to walk moving mountains,
she was the countless secrets and secrecies,
feminism kinda duped her,
she started making footprints via writing,
and sadly all the former allure faded -
we became apes and peasants
slightly bewildered by an atom bomb explosion
like a falling autumnal leaf;
where is that crafty ***** with a library of intrigues?
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 12:34 PM UTC
She’s beautiful.
But not stunning.
She wishes she had more than she does.
But she could survive with less.
(It would probably make her better).
She’s good at settling for less and wearing a mask.
They’ve all “loved” her, for they were too low to realize she wasn’t the best.
However, she has never lied to any of them.
Except one.
Its simple, really; all she had to do was make them believe she lived en amore.
Once she got inside, she talked a good game, for a long while.
Knock, knock.
The sheer look of perpetual amazement overcame all of their faces.
They always let her in.
Chit-chat to her was simply that.
To them: “She talked to me about the weather!”
Excitement.
(Which doesn’t make sense to me, because if anyone else tried to converse about the weather they wouldn’t have it.)
She and they were always “big”; you know, the small-town girl always with people that she is unexpected to be with.
She always let them down.
Hard.
(They fall like dominos.)
She let something silly and casual evolve into something they thought was the biggest and best thing in the world, and she played it off as if she believed that as well.
And then she pulled the rug out from every single one of them, said her choice words, and disappeared.
She’s not touchy-feely, clingy, or insecure.
Independence controls her life.
Everything is organized to a T and while she has few friends, they are real.
Or are they?
She’s not a fence-sitter.
She knows what she wants and she always acquires it.
But in this particular case, she seems to believe that it will be grandiose.
She’ll carry through and carry out.
After she psychoanalyzes the benefits and risks.
Or maybe spontaneity will rule this situation.
She knows it will work, so why not do it?
He’ll fall.
Just like all the rest.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 1:59 PM UTC
things are better
or i stopped looking.
whatever it is
its working
except the feelings are less 'feely'
dull if you ask me.
maybe just familiar with the pains
so they go unnoticed, un-noted.
chasing my tail
in circles of ongoing obligations
and im much less than satisfied.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
You know, there are so many definitions of the word love out there. You’re mine, I’m theirs, stuff like that is pretty common. I don’t consider that the love I feel right now. Considering you know, I don’t exactly have someone that I can call “mine”. Even if I was technically in a relationship, I don’t think I’d ever use that term. I don’t think love should be this possessive thing. The way that I feel when I’m in love is sort of an off the ground, light and airy sensation. I don’t want someone to be keeping my feet on the Earth telling me that I’m “theirs” when I want to be in the air. I want the person I love to take my hand and just fly with me so we can both be free and airy together. Hell, I’m not even that worried if that person is going to actually hold my hand or not or be with me that way in general. Just being around them is enough to get me floating. The love I feel isn’t one of those you see in a romance book. I’m not getting swept off of my feet by a perfect prince charming. In fact, there really isn’t anything romantic about this at all. It isn’t a sudden spark of chemistry that got me to feel this way, its years of friendship and little things done for each other. And maybe because he is so NOT a prince charming, that I savor those little moments of kindness I get from him. No, he’s not totally rude and mean but he is one of those guys that you couldn’t get to tell you how he felt if you shanked him. Some of my favorite memories include him. Like when we got drunk off of whiskey in his basement at his sister’s party and he danced with me. He’s such a bad dancer… Then we crashed on chairs and sofas around two in the morning and it was the first time I slept over his house and I just felt so happy. But my favorite time of all was when he asked me out of the blue if I wanted to go to a concert with him to see a local band. Not only was the band incredible, but that whole night was. He was flirting with me the entire time and being touchy-feely. I’m pretty sure he even gave me that “I want to kiss you" stare but I didn’t realize that until it was too late. Afterwards he wouldn’t even let me go home, he wanted me to sleep over. We were gonna sleep in the same bed, the other two friends that went got to sleep on the floor. It was me and him. I felt his hand on my thigh, and I then gave in. God it was the greatest feeling to feel loved back. I’m not sure if he really loves me that way. I don’t need him to. I just wanna keep feeling this warm fuzzy feeling for a long time.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
Nice try,
My didactic friend.
Only the foolhardy would use
A can opener
To pry back the lid to their soul.
If even such a thing were viable,
Which, for the record, no es posible.
But let's say it was,
In a fluffy, touchy-feely kind of way.
Performing surgery
On the immaterial
Makes as much sense
As being a ghostwriter for
A blind man's alphabet soup.
Id doesn't make sense.
Could be the hemlock
Is talking back now.
So drop the act, you gadfly,
And take up cycling.
You might as well enjoy
The scenery along your mind trip,
Sharp turns and all.
Your over-the-counter philosophy
Is quaint, but comes with a price:
Fisher Price.
Feb 21, 2020
Feb 21, 2020 at 10:55 AM UTC
I had her heart in my hand
but she held my breath in her wonderland
attractivated she motormated me
and magnet-ied my eyes
laser beamed with just one goal
that
touch me,please me,feely feely
Really it was very nice
an understatement
even if said twice.
I saw some distant planetary system
when she kissed me and I wished then on a star
which fell
and far from being here
she had taken me out there
to share with me
her luminosity.
How could it last
the fires that burn so bright
still cast shadows on the wall of my desire
but she took me high above
all thoughts of love had taken leave
I believe she was angel or a demon
but she led this man into
her Queendom
and when done with me
she loosed me like a cannon ball
which is an entirely different kind of wall
like an illusion
a colliding of materials
in colour sorted serial codes.
If it bodes well
I'll find she came from heaven and not from hell
but at the moment I can't tell
and to tell the truth
It doesn't worry me.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
we had a lot to talk about we had a lot to touch about but i could not let you near me
there was a softness in your eyes there was a tenderness that brought out every ounce of moisture in my bones yes i mean there and here too
and when you tell me of grand plans i believe them
and when you take me back to that time i am already there
rhyming and writing and reiterating lullabies once video taped for you as gifts
i ask simple questions to keep my heart in check i feel each pump pump pump
you make it pump pump pump pump pump faster pump when you talk of connections and histories and weather in small feely towns that i have slowly attempted to archive
you say: we have been together for forever
you say: i never want us to not love each other
say never want us to be without another
never felt this love with someone other
love sick drawn red crayon waxy imagery
i drip drip like a faucet starts then running
from leaks to waterfalls
i talked about the pools you created but never the oceans
but god **** you create OCEANS
and when i lick my lips i can still taste your emotions
so i walk around tracing circles with my tongue making sure your sweat is not gone
making sure your taste is not gone
and you said you never want to break up again
and i begin to contemplate words like never and forever and again again again
i keep you here, mr. love sick.
feeling each feverish pump you create.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
Nobody ever told you to have a high opinion of me.
I know I can be friendly.
However I am quick to stab and ******
Into your psyche. I might be off, slightly,
Because of some anomaly. I'll politely
correct myself then get all touche feely
with your feelings.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 7:34 AM UTC
I hear sadness behind that laugh,
long dreary depression in that heart.
I see pain, such hurt in those eyes.
A slowness in your movement,
the frantic processing of cruel,
twisted thoughts in your lies.
The longing in your voice,
so sharp and distinguished to my experienced ears - fall on the deaf ones of those whom which you crave love.
From whom you wish to vanquish your fears.
You desire love, but from those who are not willing to give.
You push away those whose love to you - they feely give.
The darkness in your life so blinds you, that you allow it to take your light.
You become so accustomed to the dark that whoever comes bearing light, is scowled upon and chased away, forced to dissipate into the night.
Your one sided mind and your naïve, twisted perception,
can only leave you alone,
maybe then you'll have time for some self reflection.
To see all you've lost,
all that you continue to lose.
Open your heart,
open it wide,
let it be love that you choose.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
harmful to others
beloved by many
i feel foolish for even speaking
of course no foul deed goes unpunished
but a slap on their wrist
equivalent to a slap in my face
how do those live feely?
the menaces in society?
hiding behind gentle faces and sweet smiles
underneath it looks sickening
it’s beyond a spoiled barrel
the rotten apple contaminated all
you and your friends sharing the same mind
they'll combine the guilt and mental gaslight
i feel foolish for even speaking
i feel foolish for letting this grow
when i should’ve ripped out the roots
Sep 25, 2022
Sep 25, 2022 at 2:37 PM UTC
So I was talking to this older woman the other day
She had just retired after working for 40 years at a successful job.
So I asked her: After working for 40 years what is your tribute to success.
She said: You have to know what people to avoid.
I asked her: What do you mean.
She said: First you need to know the Men who want to be your friend, and friend only. Make them your friend.
I asked her: What about the men to avoid.
She said: The men that touch and grab, because most of them are married.
I asked her: What about the women.
She said: Avoid the *******
I asked her: What do you mean.
She said: The ones that want to know everything about you and talk about you behind your back and create office gossip.
I asked her: And only women do that.
She said: Yes, but sometimes men..... the touch feely guys.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 10:52 PM UTC
I'm not a touchy feely person
I'm not going to exploit you to friends and acquaintances
I'm not going to cry about how much I miss you
I'm not going to be a victim
Or an attention seeker.
I am going to be,
You are simply visiting
I am not going to change the sheets if you don't like them
or the kitchen
my shoes
or my heart
I just am, you are a visitor
An onlooker
An acquaintance that I let in
Never mind if I want to be alone
You want to break down the door
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 9:53 PM UTC
Going
Gone
••
Ain't no strength no more no how
No more lovers love is dead
••
Ooh the touchy feely love!
The "forever"s and the pain
••
She lay next to me
All children ever born were glad
••
Going gone
Some say we shall return who knows
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC