"fictionalized" poems - Hello Poetry

Maybe the majority of your malice march is fueled with fire; fictionalized by myself. Simply because my greatest desire is currently to avoid knowing that you long to hurt me. Dear, let me tell you this; I know everything.

0

Aug 25, 2015

Aug 25, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC

Jellyfish

I Know Everything

Maybe the majority of your malice march is fueled with fire; fictionalized by myself. Simply because my greatest desire is currently to avoid knowing that you long to hurt me. Dear, let me tell you this; I know everything.

4

A faith we fancy is that freedom is fabricated and forged for us by our forefathers who fought and forced their foes to forfeit their feud. They fended fiercely and defended fearlessly a fictionalized fact, freedom, filtered with fire and flame. A few fell to be famed fellows of the future while a fraction of the fraternity are farewelled faceless. All those frigid flashback brought-forth what we framed and fantasized as freewill and forbade freaks to falsify our fascination. It all falters as we fathom that freedom didn't fade ,but w/o a fons-et-ergo, a foolish fairytale foretold for us to falsely follow a formula for the foremen to fortify the fake façade of freedom while we flounder and they float. And if we flush and fracture their folderol, we are flagged as flagitious, frauds and fellons. For the feasibility of freedom is a mere ****** Fuckery to **** us.

0

Jan 7, 2013

Jan 7, 2013 at 12:02 PM UTC

asther-dela-fuente

freedom of a Fool

A faith we fancy is that freedom is fabricated and forged for us by our forefathers who fought and forced their foes to forfeit their feud. They fended fiercely and defended fearlessly a fictionalized fact, freedom, filtered with fire and flame. A few fell to be famed fellows of the future while a fraction of the fraternity are farewelled faceless. All those frigid flashback brought-forth what we framed and fantasized as freewill and forbade freaks to falsify our fascination. It all falters as we fathom that freedom didn't fade ,but w/o a fons-et-ergo, a foolish fairytale foretold for us to falsely follow a formula for the foremen to fortify the fake façade of freedom while we flounder and they float. And if we flush and fracture their folderol, we are flagged as flagitious, frauds and fellons. For the feasibility of freedom is a mere ****** Fuckery to **** us.

5

This thing, the words and all? I was trying on a new skin. It was made of the old -the familiar, too, but transformed. Something added that could take root, Take me out from the norm. Take on a new identity. Perform. Squinting at a light, held at arm’s length: My own spotlight. So you could watch me act it all out, Over and over, forever on the page. but nothing ends as it began. My troubles, my worries, my lust, my greed, All fictionalized and petty. Disgust and shame. Anger and fear, Are not advisable Unless they bring about change. Even those, now left behind. Moulted. Shedding my old skin. Toughening up the new.

0

Oct 30, 2014

Oct 30, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC

wesparham

Moulting

This thing, the words and all? I was trying on a new skin. It was made of the old -the familiar, too, but transformed. Something added that could take root, Take me out from the norm. Take on a new identity. Perform. Squinting at a light, held at arm’s length: My own spotlight. So you could watch me act it all out, Over and over, forever on the page. but nothing ends as it began. My troubles, my worries, my lust, my greed, All fictionalized and petty. Disgust and shame. Anger and fear, Are not advisable Unless they bring about change. Even those, now left behind. Moulted. Shedding my old skin. Toughening up the new.

21

She's a rainbow -- that rainbow in every rock song about nothing, a hidden hook that snares a sucker's wallet I'm so hot for her, I'm so hot for her She is the philosopher's stone transmuting garbage lines into shiny trinkets in desirous minds *When you're old, nobody will know that you was a beauty* What would pop culture be without woman to exploit? *She's a gooooooood girl crazy 'bout Elvis* Obscured, behind the Micks and Pettys the Kellys and Ushers the Pauls wailing MAMAAAAA the free spirit groupie cliché is Woman fictionalized by peacocking pimps deceptive plumage splayed is Woman sung about talked at reduced to an abstraction dispensed with forgotten and sold and the men get rich.

0

Jul 29, 2016

Jul 29, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC

misadventuresofcrow

Woman as a Literary Device

She's a rainbow -- that rainbow in every rock song about nothing, a hidden hook that snares a sucker's wallet I'm so hot for her, I'm so hot for her She is the philosopher's stone transmuting garbage lines into shiny trinkets in desirous minds *When you're old, nobody will know that you was a beauty* What would pop culture be without woman to exploit? *She's a gooooooood girl crazy 'bout Elvis* Obscured, behind the Micks and Pettys the Kellys and Ushers the Pauls wailing MAMAAAAA the free spirit groupie cliché is Woman fictionalized by peacocking pimps deceptive plumage splayed is Woman sung about talked at reduced to an abstraction dispensed with forgotten and sold and the men get rich.

33

you are my favorite non-fiction and darling, I've lived fantasies... I have fictionalized feelings... but what we shared was unstaged -unscripted something found in between the sheets and "I'm sorry's" we redefined the line we cut the strings found ourselves lost amidst the friends and the lovers like the rough draft of a Hemingway novel. what we are is made for the storybooks, my sweet. we witnessed monotony and wrote of miracles never intoxicated, but always impaired we could overflow libraries- flood them with our stories of how the sea swallowed up * all those * l i v e s... and we had barely missed making history we begged the other to simply save us... starving for the intrigue of a good fiction - dying to live a story worth telling...

0

May 12, 2011

May 12, 2011 at 12:14 AM UTC

km-jones

2 am texts make me think of last September

you are my favorite non-fiction and darling, I've lived fantasies... I have fictionalized feelings... but what we shared was unstaged -unscripted something found in between the sheets and "I'm sorry's" we redefined the line we cut the strings found ourselves lost amidst the friends and the lovers like the rough draft of a Hemingway novel. what we are is made for the storybooks, my sweet. we witnessed monotony and wrote of miracles never intoxicated, but always impaired we could overflow libraries- flood them with our stories of how the sea swallowed up * all those * l i v e s... and we had barely missed making history we begged the other to simply save us... starving for the intrigue of a good fiction - dying to live a story worth telling...

19

Robin's egg eyes, Disheveled blonde hair, Pupils that burn, Entreat me to your lair. Held me as I slept, Caress me awake, I watched as you wept, About a life fictionalized to date. Floral patterns surround us, A ceiling of sky blue, Close your eyes to imagine, A mingling of two. Under the star filled sky, Above the deep black sea, You suspend me, You arrest me.

0

Jan 25, 2016

Jan 25, 2016 at 2:11 PM UTC

anonymous-9

"Andy"

Robin's egg eyes, Disheveled blonde hair, Pupils that burn, Entreat me to your lair. Held me as I slept, Caress me awake, I watched as you wept, About a life fictionalized to date. Floral patterns surround us, A ceiling of sky blue, Close your eyes to imagine, A mingling of two. Under the star filled sky, Above the deep black sea, You suspend me, You arrest me.

16

I watch I understand and I feel most importantly As you sleep I know I cannot feel anything from you... it makes one wonder is love tangible? or is it humanly fictionalized written as if this what you are receiving and reading right now is... well, love. can you feel that i care? I will never know. by your stare impossible... for you are asleep I'll just lay my head down next to yours maybe my life will cease hoping I will cause an effect maybe just a crease maybe I can stop you stop you from counting sheep perhaps teach you how to read or maybe you can teach me to stop loving you as you sleep.

0

Oct 12, 2011

Oct 12, 2011 at 7:13 PM UTC

samir

As you sleep

I watch I understand and I feel most importantly As you sleep I know I cannot feel anything from you... it makes one wonder is love tangible? or is it humanly fictionalized written as if this what you are receiving and reading right now is... well, love. can you feel that i care? I will never know. by your stare impossible... for you are asleep I'll just lay my head down next to yours maybe my life will cease hoping I will cause an effect maybe just a crease maybe I can stop you stop you from counting sheep perhaps teach you how to read or maybe you can teach me to stop loving you as you sleep.

33

I thought about you last night And it's not what you're thinking I mean more like day dreaming More like a storyline Playing out in my head With ups and downs And it was so perfect I wrote it down And realized I might love my fictionalized version of you More than the real you I guess that's always the case But it made me realise What I love so much About writing It's the closest I've ever felt To god

0

Aug 10, 2013

Aug 10, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC

harry-j-baxter

I write therefore you are

I thought about you last night And it's not what you're thinking I mean more like day dreaming More like a storyline Playing out in my head With ups and downs And it was so perfect I wrote it down And realized I might love my fictionalized version of you More than the real you I guess that's always the case But it made me realise What I love so much About writing It's the closest I've ever felt To god

17

I sit at home thinking of life, On the absurdities and all the strife, Caught in a world that yearns For beings to explore it. How we’ve all grown addicted, As no one could’ve predicted, To our own little "ideal" worlds That rest neatly in the palm of our hands. We cry and complain, How things don’t remain, Just way the way we want When we point our heads to the sky. Away from our own little worlds, We see grandiosity unthought of. We see war, famine, disagreements, heartbreaks, rejection, and loss. We stare for but a moment taking it in as our minds collapse in the straw houses we created. And then just like that, we shun all that we see, And look back down to that glowing screen and start to rebuild. Not with something stronger, no. With that same old material so readily available, to those who refuse to learn. To those who refuse to face the reality of life. To those who prefer hearing their own ideas on rerun. To those who care more about having the appearance of a happiness than to actually achieve it. To those who care more about likes and comments, pictures and videos, than meeting others. We sit there smiling at that device that eats away at our growth, our character, and our resolve. And in our haste to prevent ourselves from acknowledging hardships, we miss something. In that infinite space away from our "ideal" worlds, exists the other half we no longer see. The happiness, bonds, trust, friendships, kindness, and love. The people that want to strike up a conversation, form relationships. The people who desire an emotional bond, rather than a visual one. We imitate this, attempt to recreate it, in our fictionalized lives, not realizing how much better the real thing would be. If only we would look up to the sky.

0

Aug 27, 2018

Aug 27, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC

CStarkC

Our "Ideal" Worlds

I sit at home thinking of life, On the absurdities and all the strife, Caught in a world that yearns For beings to explore it. How we’ve all grown addicted, As no one could’ve predicted, To our own little "ideal" worlds That rest neatly in the palm of our hands. We cry and complain, How things don’t remain, Just way the way we want When we point our heads to the sky. Away from our own little worlds, We see grandiosity unthought of. We see war, famine, disagreements, heartbreaks, rejection, and loss. We stare for but a moment taking it in as our minds collapse in the straw houses we created. And then just like that, we shun all that we see, And look back down to that glowing screen and start to rebuild. Not with something stronger, no. With that same old material so readily available, to those who refuse to learn. To those who refuse to face the reality of life. To those who prefer hearing their own ideas on rerun. To those who care more about having the appearance of a happiness than to actually achieve it. To those who care more about likes and comments, pictures and videos, than meeting others. We sit there smiling at that device that eats away at our growth, our character, and our resolve. And in our haste to prevent ourselves from acknowledging hardships, we miss something. In that infinite space away from our "ideal" worlds, exists the other half we no longer see. The happiness, bonds, trust, friendships, kindness, and love. The people that want to strike up a conversation, form relationships. The people who desire an emotional bond, rather than a visual one. We imitate this, attempt to recreate it, in our fictionalized lives, not realizing how much better the real thing would be. If only we would look up to the sky.

32

I know I think the best When surfing across the internet Or scanning a page for class Some forum To shift my ******** towards, Whether to impress, or to forget. It’s all the same. I do not laugh at the right time And end up in breakdowns When I’m confronted with the actor that is also me. Call it fraudulence if you will, It’s a means to ends of the perfect relationship I’ve fictionalized in my head. I’ve fallen in love with falling love And get off to just holding hands and feeling wanted. Does memory bless me the inspiration to write down in verse Some alternative that proves, I know, Useless In the long run? Are the psychologists right? Am I destined to die by my own hand? My own pen? By cause of my own disposition? Thoughts of suicide, depression, endless solipsism pervade My little godless world. Poetry solidifies it. **** you. **** you whose rejection is undeserving of my hatred Whose own life is the object of my own stupid, adolescent, immature mode Of healing, whose subjectivity, whose humanness Is of its own design and accord—I do not own you You are as you are: not mine, but your own. And I hate you because you do not oblige me as I think you should You do as you ought, as you do— Is this what it feels like? Where is there happiness if not for in the end?

0

Nov 21, 2014

Nov 21, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC

jp-goss

Lost in my Head Again

I know I think the best When surfing across the internet Or scanning a page for class Some forum To shift my ******** towards, Whether to impress, or to forget. It’s all the same. I do not laugh at the right time And end up in breakdowns When I’m confronted with the actor that is also me. Call it fraudulence if you will, It’s a means to ends of the perfect relationship I’ve fictionalized in my head. I’ve fallen in love with falling love And get off to just holding hands and feeling wanted. Does memory bless me the inspiration to write down in verse Some alternative that proves, I know, Useless In the long run? Are the psychologists right? Am I destined to die by my own hand? My own pen? By cause of my own disposition? Thoughts of suicide, depression, endless solipsism pervade My little godless world. Poetry solidifies it. **** you. **** you whose rejection is undeserving of my hatred Whose own life is the object of my own stupid, adolescent, immature mode Of healing, whose subjectivity, whose humanness Is of its own design and accord—I do not own you You are as you are: not mine, but your own. And I hate you because you do not oblige me as I think you should You do as you ought, as you do— Is this what it feels like? Where is there happiness if not for in the end?

35

i need to see the sun rise this day; for feet elucidated of patterns followed upon an earth. wearied or aching, knees to find rest on Katahdin's summit; fictionalized place of birthed sun. now mythos, now dawn and an arrow sure to have missed the moon's lover. fired by childhood mockery while birds awakened song. i need to see the sun rise this day; for eyes be witness of intri- cacies entwined upon an earth.

0

Oct 12, 2014

Oct 12, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC

townsendfm

a kick.

i need to see the sun rise this day; for feet elucidated of patterns followed upon an earth. wearied or aching, knees to find rest on Katahdin's summit; fictionalized place of birthed sun. now mythos, now dawn and an arrow sure to have missed the moon's lover. fired by childhood mockery while birds awakened song. i need to see the sun rise this day; for eyes be witness of intri- cacies entwined upon an earth.

14

There was this thing with parsley and lemon that i never knew, Before jasmine bloomed below my moonless nights. It came as a surprise when i learned the moistened bundles, Green of scented lashings, took to whipping saintly flesh. Holy was the root beneath the sacrificial lamb, white and rubbed of Tasteless degraded dirt, growing in rows facing artificial south. "Baaa-baaa", cried the appetite for its feeding in the field. "Baaa-baaa", scorned the lemon lamb. Seeds squeezed free as yellow screams dripped through divine ears. Bitter acid, holy ghost, neutralize our sins. "Nothing will be wasted, nor forgotten!" claimed The shears. as hands of holy citrus, clip-clipped-buzzzzzzz. Tremendous clouds of earthly fluff, not hung high as the Gods do for fear, lay beside the feasted lamb of peasants parsley Naked; purged; they gathered in stinging holy hands, Around their false and bleeding christ , fictionalized death, fabricated life. Lemon seeds i now spit for sport and leaves of parsley i keep pruned From their rocky stalk. the roots i boil and use to fill a truffled stew.

0

Feb 27, 2017

Feb 27, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC

fern

Theres This Thing About Parsley and Lemon I Didn't Know

There was this thing with parsley and lemon that i never knew, Before jasmine bloomed below my moonless nights. It came as a surprise when i learned the moistened bundles, Green of scented lashings, took to whipping saintly flesh. Holy was the root beneath the sacrificial lamb, white and rubbed of Tasteless degraded dirt, growing in rows facing artificial south. "Baaa-baaa", cried the appetite for its feeding in the field. "Baaa-baaa", scorned the lemon lamb. Seeds squeezed free as yellow screams dripped through divine ears. Bitter acid, holy ghost, neutralize our sins. "Nothing will be wasted, nor forgotten!" claimed The shears. as hands of holy citrus, clip-clipped-buzzzzzzz. Tremendous clouds of earthly fluff, not hung high as the Gods do for fear, lay beside the feasted lamb of peasants parsley Naked; purged; they gathered in stinging holy hands, Around their false and bleeding christ , fictionalized death, fabricated life. Lemon seeds i now spit for sport and leaves of parsley i keep pruned From their rocky stalk. the roots i boil and use to fill a truffled stew.

18

I wonder I see didn't even know that came from me I saw I begin to believe and how quickly it all changes when none can agree Agree with what that's all I'd say though I couldn't care less either way I have since forgotten what it means to be and to see with clear vision all that I am to see I haven't even tried though in rhymes I can write and with such cowardice I maddeningly deny all that I have been and hope to be It's not about me these words are just things that come to my mind screaming, ringing, being I could go on for eternities now that I've learnt to let go who cares what it's saying I've said it so now it is so what does it mean to be totally free fictionalized fantasies it seems have no place with me There are no limits to what was meant to be and even in reverse it can be what's said to me I say, I sing, I cry I'm a dreamer dreaming of things that I hope to never do but someday still will find within me dripping with meaning leaving me solemn, content, and still So many times I try not to rhyme can't stand the corniness it adds to each line Dare I depart to a world all my own where is that sound I long for and have come to know I search for true meaning though really nothing at all it's just something said for me to be saying something again One day just watch soon you will see as was meant to be words flowing freely in majestic prose stopping hearts but when they wonder why an answer they can not find Why do I do it where does it all come from can I believe can I become what it seems to me never was and never wants to be I have no shame so the words flow without haste I don't even care if they didn't keep pace You will never progress if you do not believe but more important is to try then repeat but just like me I'm going somewhere this I know it's only a matter of time before it will be so

0

Feb 5, 2016

Feb 5, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC

joel-johnson

What It Means

I wonder I see didn't even know that came from me I saw I begin to believe and how quickly it all changes when none can agree Agree with what that's all I'd say though I couldn't care less either way I have since forgotten what it means to be and to see with clear vision all that I am to see I haven't even tried though in rhymes I can write and with such cowardice I maddeningly deny all that I have been and hope to be It's not about me these words are just things that come to my mind screaming, ringing, being I could go on for eternities now that I've learnt to let go who cares what it's saying I've said it so now it is so what does it mean to be totally free fictionalized fantasies it seems have no place with me There are no limits to what was meant to be and even in reverse it can be what's said to me I say, I sing, I cry I'm a dreamer dreaming of things that I hope to never do but someday still will find within me dripping with meaning leaving me solemn, content, and still So many times I try not to rhyme can't stand the corniness it adds to each line Dare I depart to a world all my own where is that sound I long for and have come to know I search for true meaning though really nothing at all it's just something said for me to be saying something again One day just watch soon you will see as was meant to be words flowing freely in majestic prose stopping hearts but when they wonder why an answer they can not find Why do I do it where does it all come from can I believe can I become what it seems to me never was and never wants to be I have no shame so the words flow without haste I don't even care if they didn't keep pace You will never progress if you do not believe but more important is to try then repeat but just like me I'm going somewhere this I know it's only a matter of time before it will be so

84

I stumble through my words And I tell you my fictionalized truth I meant it all but I mean nothing of the sort I never do. It was - The way my chest felt compressed and full It boiled and ached when you Kiss me on the cheek. It didn't feel right, I didn't feel okay. I didn't know what to do, So I verbalized my mistakes. I counted them Again and again to push you away Hoping you'd be scared but you Kept steady, you stayed and stayed. And all I wanted was for you to leave. I love better at a distance.

0

Sep 4, 2017

Sep 4, 2017 at 5:36 PM UTC

nianko

Leave

I stumble through my words And I tell you my fictionalized truth I meant it all but I mean nothing of the sort I never do. It was - The way my chest felt compressed and full It boiled and ached when you Kiss me on the cheek. It didn't feel right, I didn't feel okay. I didn't know what to do, So I verbalized my mistakes. I counted them Again and again to push you away Hoping you'd be scared but you Kept steady, you stayed and stayed. And all I wanted was for you to leave. I love better at a distance.

17

Aint' it a shame I hear them complain as clouds of smoke circle their faces. Tight jacket teens glare at me dangerously. Tallest of the bunch growls angrily, "stop looking at me puke face." I turn away but not fast enough cause mister tough stuff has something more in mind you see. Stomping over all indignantly, he yells "Hey, you ignoring me?" I try to move faster than him, but a shove in my back makes it clear this is a race I won't win. So, I face him. Two years older, might as well be twenty-three to my early teens. He pushes me back up against a tree, then goes in to punch me in the face, but my face does not remain in that unsafe place. So, he hits the tree. Cursing loudly with a mangled hand slows him down, but doesn't stop his friends. They follow me down the street and beat me till I am out of wind. This is were this poem ends. There is no sweet revenge. Time goes on. I don't see them again, and this becomes something distorted and fictionalized in these poetic lines.

0

Nov 27, 2018

Nov 27, 2018 at 10:11 AM UTC

graff1980

Untitled 54

Aint' it a shame I hear them complain as clouds of smoke circle their faces. Tight jacket teens glare at me dangerously. Tallest of the bunch growls angrily, "stop looking at me puke face." I turn away but not fast enough cause mister tough stuff has something more in mind you see. Stomping over all indignantly, he yells "Hey, you ignoring me?" I try to move faster than him, but a shove in my back makes it clear this is a race I won't win. So, I face him. Two years older, might as well be twenty-three to my early teens. He pushes me back up against a tree, then goes in to punch me in the face, but my face does not remain in that unsafe place. So, he hits the tree. Cursing loudly with a mangled hand slows him down, but doesn't stop his friends. They follow me down the street and beat me till I am out of wind. This is were this poem ends. There is no sweet revenge. Time goes on. I don't see them again, and this becomes something distorted and fictionalized in these poetic lines.

58

How do we breath in the scent of forgiveness and never once think to ask if it was willingly met? How do humans function with one another when there is so much prejudice and turmoil? How does the wind so simply carry away all of our pains when there's nothing to keep it steady? How does love conquer all when its all just a fictionalized lie? How am I here when I should be there? How is my heart still beating when there is no value in the life that I live? How can I love when all I ever been met back with is the force of friendship?

0

Apr 11, 2017

Apr 11, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC

diamonds-undone

Untitled

How do we breath in the scent of forgiveness and never once think to ask if it was willingly met? How do humans function with one another when there is so much prejudice and turmoil? How does the wind so simply carry away all of our pains when there's nothing to keep it steady? How does love conquer all when its all just a fictionalized lie? How am I here when I should be there? How is my heart still beating when there is no value in the life that I live? How can I love when all I ever been met back with is the force of friendship?

7