"firstly" poems
I am a controlling boyfriend.
No, I am not a male, nor do I have a girlfriend to abuse. But I am the crazy stalker controlling boyfriend.
I have realized something in myself:
I am free with my boy and his casual flirtations, but am extremely jealous and possessive of my girls, when I have one.
Or even in my present case of not having one, I want to possess her as she has possessed me. I want all your time, all your thoughts, as you inhabit mine.
“How do you handle the jealousy??" It's funny, I don't get jealous when I have both partners in my bed, or in my arms. That is when I’m most content.
I get jealous when outsiders are flirtatious or show interest. It's also funny, I'm more annoyed when people flirt with him thinking he’s unattached.
I don't get it either; just a quirk of mine.
Perhaps my nonchalance with my boy is merely grown out of our time together. In nearly seven years, not one has managed to create a rift. Those who have tried have failed, and he and I have come out the better.
Patience is a virtue I do not possess, and the longer I go on incomplete... mayhap my own fears make me dig my claws into a new potential. Fear that someone else will charm such a rare unicorn away from me/us, and we’ll be left again, searching.
Nor is this a new feeling, for this young woman. A year ago, I felt the same overwhelming possessiveness. Then again, it would not do to compare the two; they are two different people, who hold different qualities.
The bitter jealousy I now project I have tasted before. The shock that I’ve become my own controlling high school boyfriend fills me with disgust.
Unbeknownst to her, I imagine her not only in my bed, in my arms, in my life… but also on my knee. I’ve never before considered someone as both lover and submissive.
Unbeknownst to me, would that make my jealousy grow or fade, were I to possess her in every way I’ve imagined?
Obviously I have some things to work on.
Firstly, finding our unicorn.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 1:46 PM UTC
Ok, I didn't want to do this
but there's rules that you must know
Etiquette to be followed
A line that you must toe
Listen very closely now
I think you all should try it
The things that you will now learn
About a protest and a riot
Firstly, have a purpose
Just random shouting, that's persay
If you do not have a topic
Then all the new folks go away
Throwing bricks at coppers
Breaking windows on the street
Is this a sign of protest
Or is it idiots in heat
No signage, and no speakers
Just random yelling for a cause
This isn't a good protest
Just breaking random laws
A protest has a purpose
It presents a point of view
A riot is an ugly thing
Which one is right for you
MLK could run a protest
Make a point and get things done
All without a mob forcing
A cop to use his gun
The rules really are simple
Keep the young ones all at home
For people in glass houses
Should really not throw stones
A peaceful resolution
From a protest is the goal
But a riot is just aimless
It puts the city in a hole
Victims of a riot
Are not the ones who are to blame
They're just owners of the business'
Who get caught up in the game
Next time that you protest
Protest rioting instead
It will turn out for the better
And nobody will end up dead
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC
But soft, what flatulence through yonder rancid window breaks. If it is the east, well then I’m heading west.
I wish I could recite this and I wouldn’t be talking about my life, but life is fair… just not for me. So I dive right in unfortunately. And I bask and I bask and I bask. Hold on, wait, please allow me to retract, as this occurs numerously within occupation. I firstly divide the **** cheeks, as if Moses dividing the seas. Like Jesus I break bread… anyways… my life is literally spent with my nose sandwiched between numerous people’s backsides. This brings me to my next point… I love my job… because I love people. My favorites are obese people because they suffocate me and for a brief moment I am without consciousness and have not a clue of my reality. The people I do it for the most though are the unstable people, you know?... the people with digestive problems that are so unstable they sometimes slip and instead of their body gas I am left with a face that looks like a diarrhea toilet. I am a poet though and therefore I hold onto the only significant job related poem that I’ve seen on our restroom walls… “Here I sit lonely hearted, came to **** but only farted.”
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 1:46 PM UTC
It drives me insane when people see me holding a girls hand and ask
“So who’s the guy? You know, who wears the pants?”
I want to scream and say WE ARE LESBIANS. Firstly, neither of us are ever wearing any pants. I want to scream and say WE ARE LESBIANS, and i’m angry because lesbian does not always have to mean woman but where did you get man from? I’m angry because maybe sometimes one of us does identify as a guy. A gay boi with an I. A soft boy. A proud hairy legged 5”4 boy. A drinking pints in the pub with my dad and us both liking that same woman’s tattoo boy. A cries every day boy. A feels cool when drinking beer boy. A boy that had to teach themself to like beer boy. A boy who sometimes does not feel like a boy. A boy. A boy. Oh boy. Boys. You see, this question is confusing for me because when I was fourteen, my boyfriend and I would joke that I was the one wearing the pants, even though at that point I was very much still wearing skirts and hiding behind butt-length hair and also watching the L Word in secret when I got home from school but that’s besides the point. This question is obviously as confusing for you as it is for me because in your mind you see two pairs of **** holding hands on the tube and think: Lesbians. Now, which one’s the man? And I think to myself, there are two ways to answer this: Number 1: So I know lesbian is supposed to mean woman on woman, two vaginas, ********** strap-ons, veganism, art degrees (and a lot of this is true but let’s not stereotype). So I know that to you, although we appear to be two women, two snap-back wearing, sports-bra bearing- I mean I thought about writing ***** tearing here but it just doesn’t seem appropriate- women, the funny thing is that erm, you see, gender and sexuality: as different as my dad to my mum’s other ex-husband. We are not a man and a woman. We are two people and what do pants have to do with it? We are two people and why does one of us always have to be a man? We are two people and the awkward part of the point i’m making is that sometimes I don’t feel like a woman but you wouldn’t know that so let me say: we are not a man and a woman. We did not ask for your confrontation, we are not your designated driver, your answer sheet to an exam you haven’t sat yet, your house party when your parents go away, your girlfriend that you think is obliged to **** your **** even though you will not go anywhere near her **** You are not our three year old son who asks too many inappropriate questions. To you, we are strangers and to answer your question, you seem to think that you’re wearing the pants here. So wear them. By the way, Number 2: **** off.
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
Profile:
Yuwen Chengdu is the son of Yuwen Huaji, who was a general of the Sui dynasty. He is a warrior of Sui, only secondary to Li Yuanba, who is naturally super powerful. As recorded, he was as tall as ten feet with strong waist and body. In the appearance of golden face, long beard and thick eyebrow, he often hold a weapon as heavy as 350 pounds.
Introduction of ****** makeup:
****** makeup, or Lian Pu, refers to ****** designs for Jing and Chou roles. It originated from daily life experience, describing such changes of expression as white for fear, red for shyness, dark for suntan, and sallow for illness. Most ****** designs attach great importance to the eyes. The ****** designs for the Jing roles are made by painting, powdering and coloring in the basic forms of Zheng Lian (keeping the basic face pattern), San Kuai Wa Lian (three-section face) and Sui Lian (fragmentary face). These types are widely used to represent generals, officials, heroes, gods and ghosts. The Chou actors can be recognized by the patch of white in various shapes painted around the eyes and nose. Sometimes these patches are outlined in black, hence the term Xiao Hua Lian (partly painted face). The Chou roles fall into the following two categories: Wen Chou and Wu Chou.
Features:
****** makeup bears three main characteristics. Firstly, it is the unity and contradiction of beauty and ugliness. Secondly, it is closely related to the personality of the characters. Lastly, the patterns are stylized.
Beijing opera is one of the most popular drama widely welcomed and loved, no matter home and abroad. It is now acknowledged as a sign of Chinese traditional culture. The photos of ****** mask can be found on large buildings, product packages, various porcelains and clothes. It has gone beyond the stage, from which we can see the deep influence of ****** makeup. More and more foreigners have interest in it and begin to explore the secret of ****** makeup.
http://www.toywill.com
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 3:02 AM UTC
When Gods tried to churn ocean
For nectar with Meru mountain
Firstly it was poison which came
Because of its severity all life forms
Where in great threat
All Gods prayed him
He decided to take the poison
And save the world
Which eventually made his neck
Blue in color
So we call him Neelakanta
He has a third eye
So we call him Trinetra
He is the destructor of Evil
He wanders in Cementary
To pacify and soothe the spirits
By doing Shiva Tandavanam (dance performed by shiva)
And saved us from those spirits
Shiva is his name
Chanting his name can save you
From any hazardous situation
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
(I Could Not Knot a Knot.)
My tale is one of tortuous frustration,
when two ropes caused me aggravation,
and my every effort resulted in a situation
that left me in a state of angry indignation!
Oh, what a knotty problem I had got,
when I found I could not knot a needed knot!
Though needing help on how to knot a knot,
no one I knew, knew how to knot my needed knot!
I had two short ropes - which I’d a need to knot,
and which I’d knot together with a special knot,
but it never worked, for the knot did not knot,
and my knot came undone! I felt such a clot!
Firstly, I took the ropes, which I twisted tight
together, but still the end result, was not right,
for when I tugged, the knot, not only fell apart,
but showed no sign of a knot! Making a fresh start,
I took one rope, and placed it firmly under
the other. This was so easy, I did wonder
if my actions should have been reversed,
for it too fell apart! Oh, how I cursed!
Seems tying knots is not for faint hearts,
for any knot, that’s not knotted, soon parts
when it’s put to the test! That I’m not a knot
expert, you can tell. Truly, my forte is not
that of being very good at tying knots,
for I do not understand what knots
need, to keep them from falling apart!
Tying a knot right, right from the start,
is important, and that’s why my knot
was not reliable, but why I did not
understand. Yes, I’ve tied many knots.
but they’re knots known as Granny Knots.
Other knots are what folks call a Slip Knot.
Then there’s the Turk’s Head - a special knot,
as is the Cat’s Paw, Clove Hitch,and Bowline.
Truth to tell, - none of these resembles mine!
Then there’s a Timber Hitch, which is a knot
that truly puzzles me, and not an easy knot to knot!
There’s many other knots, that need the greatest skill,
such as the Hangman’s Knot - a knot that’s made to ****
Whilst the sheepshank? That’s a tricky one to see!
So many knots, but they’re not knots for me.
Methinks of all the knots, the one true knot for me,
is the “Lover’s Knot”, which I have tied successfully!
Rhymer. April 24th, 2018
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 4:41 PM UTC
Corruption and Seduction, twins living in discordant harmony.
Firstly, Corruption lives in a crowded home, in the lamplit living rooms and in the starched collars and sore legged dining halls.
Seduction lives in the attic, and ghosts from room to room, leaning on others as it passes, like an injured soldier.
Guiding into places seldom spoken of and rarely trod.
She asked him how he could change his mind so quickly.
I think his mind was never made in the first place.
Be it Corruption or Seduction, they live as synonyms and antonyms.
A promise broken, words thrown aside or forgotten, a trust crumbling to dust.
Credit this, not to one or the other, but to both, working for each other to accomplish the objectives laid at their feet by the gods.
Moments of weakness, burdened with fear and doubt, belong to this indecent pair.
Scoffed by most, yet intimately known to all, Corruption and Seduction manipulate and corrugate.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 1:23 PM UTC
Firstly, I'm not a body-shamer.
To each their own
(a good phrase, though grammatically incorrect),
But sometimes I find it hard to understand
The tatoos, the piercings, the colors and placements.
The usual answer, if I dare ask:
I'mhxpressthinmythelf.
Good for you.
Does the diaper pin through your cheek
Tell us you're a Dad or something.
Na.
The quarter inch bolt and nut through your ear?
Are you a machinist or a plumber, or something?
Na.
The doll-house plates in your lips?
Are you a Duck Dynasty fan?
A member of the Audubon Society or something?
No. I'mapontingxprschmyselpth!
Sorry, what was that?
I'mapontingxprschmyselpth.
I'm sorry. I don't quite get what you're saying.
I don't mean to be rude,
But could you express those plates for a minute... I... I get it.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 1:45 PM UTC
The glory of the heavens which reflect such delicate blue,
Are alike a protective ceiling, keeping us safe from harm,
Where might this harm come from if above is empty space ?
Well, firstly it manages to brighten up the day more
Secondly it takes care of the sun's deadly rays, filtering,
purifying it in the most noble sense, a breathing sky.
The heavens far above are not without danger, but worry not,
for they are too far out of our reach, thus our eyes are the only,
fragile, valuable sense which is able to grap it's visibility,
Beyond this ceiling is where the stars inhabit, all of the planets too!
But the heaven is which gifts us the wonderful, stunning, warm,
bright colours of sunrise and sunset, thus alone is a reason to
love them furthermore.
In this wretched, corrupt and unrighteous world it is of great
importance to keep track of little things which cheer our way.
It could be a simple word, heaven or just the light of day.
~ Umi
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 4:43 AM UTC
the narrative does not cling to classicalism of stating whether the pronoun usage is either singular or plural or both to allow an armchair of expression; after all... there's enough for us to bypass the classical philosophical debate about subject and object, simply investigating pronoun usage in relation to singularity or pluralism.
there’s a theory where poetry came from,
one read: cleopatra wanted to hear sweet-nothings
calibrating a razor with a viper’s kiss...
another read: she báthory?
she báthory? she the one that turned milk into blood?
she can burn in hell.
i thought we were un-dialectical in the realms of concern?
no... you see... poetry came from punctuated-impressionism...
or a fear of it... punctuation of course, not from the impressionism...
poets fear punctuation...
give them a semi-colon
and
they
treat
it
like a sidelined line of verse.
this is poetry in mathematical equations:
i had a pear(,)
it was a spare(.)
i had a care for traffic(-)
so i missed( )
the expressions and started using an obelisk to quarter up the mammoth
into chop suey...
poets simple say: next line! when prose says next paragraph
and the prized execution of the 100m sprint . . . (.)
that’s universal alpha romeo with alfa bravo charlie delta (echo)...
come on in the u-turn... give us a smile......... :),
poets says... i need breathing space
without sentenced timing of silence, for the toad to feed inspiration
and envy!
no wonder you came with the alpha - zulu
alphabet given that you used ɪɡ and zoʊ...
so tell me... where’s this copernican west upside down
(this heliocentric west with east being the big bang)?!
i'd swear the thing stopped orbiting in circles
and a thing that's on it's thought started to become
orbital... a fashion sense of the 60s 70s 80s 90s repeated -
that's right, the whole thing became heliocentric
and we became narcissists instead of solipsists
in the geocentric system of worked-up plagiarism
with adequate excuses.)
it's here it the poets apprehensive of punctuation symbology
and instead writing "sparingly,"
to write, e.g.:
i
hate
this
love
affair
claimed
to
be
the
world...
i
rather
chisel
chequers
into
geometry
of
x4
90º.
makes sense poets begot fear of
punctuation and not grammar, they
serviced to explore nothing else,
leaving grammar open long enough to *****
mathematics in... remember...
poets are firstly concerned with punctuation...
secondly with grammar...
philosophy for poets is grammar;
**** i'm um um so drunk i'll need to revise.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 9:27 PM UTC
I thought I would never laugh again,
I thought I would never smile again,
I've only realized that I needed time and space to think,
I needed time to know what I want
Even though I knew what I wanted.
I only got a time to find myself,
I only got time to find who "Am I"
I'm glad that my heart is healing day by day,
Hour by hour,
I'm glad that my wounds are now healing.
Is it because I've found happiness?
I would say;
Every piece of happiness I have,
Comes from my very own supportive friends I have,
The pain I was feeling before
It was preparing for my happiness,
It was preparing me for my destiny,
This pain was basically showing me that I can also do everything for myself.
I thought that I've failed in life,
Because I can't stand up for myself,
I thought that life has given up on me,
But then I realized that it was preparing me for another day.
Life has showed me that there are people I cannot trust,
So, I was lost because no one could help me,
I was lost to an extent where I've come to realize that no one wants to hear me,
I was lost but then I was found.
I was found by someone who can prepare me for tomorrow,
Someone who showed me the correct path,
Someone who allowed me to lean on her shoulder when times were hard,
I will never forget the day I've met the person who contributed much of her time on me,
The person who talked with me and made sure that I understand,
And at the end of the day I feel better.
The person who contributed her time,
Her space and showed me that life has it's own ups and downs.
Someone I've trusted with all my secrets and became true to me.
But the question is;
How does this become part of my happiness?
This became part of my happiness
Because only one person became interested to hear about my pain,
Not only that but also to help me step by step.
I believe that I had to trust only one person,
"The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them."
Happiness has been all my heart was looking for,
It was what I always wanted.
I believe that for one to find happiness,
They need to accept themselves for who they are,
And begin to search for it different ways.
Here I am today,
I managed to find happiness,
I've managed to search for the seed to happiness.
I think I needed happiness to find myself,
But firstly I needed to forgive and let go,
I've managed to find the seed to happiness,
The seed to freedom,
And the seed to find myself.
The most important thing is;
Find a seed that will grow the flowers of happiness to your life,
The flower that will unlock the seed of happiness...
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 4:45 PM UTC
She saw people praying and using the violence in
the name of religion at the same time, while no
religion is preaching violence. She understood that
this kind of violence was too conflictual for peace, and
yet too diplomatic for war. And that violence no
solution had; nor never none. She thought those
people lived in black light having blind eyes not seeing
the reality of life. She had to accept that this wicked
goodness and this pretty badness belong to our reality
so vixen-like, vexing and hiding so many victimless crimes.
Suddenly, she realized that she could be a new victim.
She started to run while wondering where her safe place was.
She was better than to expect to be caught. She understood
her fear, that fear leading to frightening thoughts, those thoughts
leading to panic, that panic leading to derealization. She looked
around trying to recognize the place. She felt worry because she
couldn't see very well. She searched to make a sword of everything
around, but quickly after that, she thought that the swords are the
weapons of warriors, but she's not a warrior, she's a victim. She
started to give praise with idle tears, to give praise with wisdom,
to give praise with deep despair. She asked herself if God is there to
hear her, over those ravages of war overwhelmed by the natural
catastrophes and over the ludicrous effect of their transformation
into nothing. She, firstly, believed her religious man was a fighter
against enemies of God to conclude that he was an enemy of the real
fighters for God. This man was her husband learning in time to beat her
body and to hurt her soul. She saw herself as a little bleeding part of this
world wondering to know if her man is still the man she fell in love with
once, or he's an illusion. She stopped her run to sit on the ground. She
began to pray hoping that God is there to hear her and to bring a new light
to her crying reality. She stayed there to think how much a rose can
describe a flower, how much a flower can describe a woman, and how
much the feminine can describe many things around .She concluded
that no feminine thing can break this life down. She asked herself,
''What can happen to this world in the absolute absence of feminine?''
She found herself an innocent person dreaming at a new world without violence.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
E,
i don't know if this is a letter or a rant or just a bunch of mixed up thoughts that i've been keeping in my head for far too long - so i'm just going to ramble for a bit. i firstly want to say, i would have loved you so well, and for a while that fact haunted me to the point i lost sleep and the desire to eat. i'm better now. i'm better than i've been in a long time. and i don't blame you even a little bit for all the things i chose to do to by my own hands. but for a really long time, i was angry at you for leaving me. that's as simply as i can possibly put it. just, angry. so angry. you came out of nowhere - and swept me up into the most intense whirlwind of emotions i had ever experienced in my nineteen years of life - and then, just as swiftly as you entered in, you departed, leaving me with not much more than feeble lines like, "it's for the best" and "i'm so sorry". i was very angry, and even more so confused. i think the problem was that you thought i would fix you or complete you or give you a purpose or something - i don't know. maybe none of that's correct. like i said, i don't know. (there are lots of things i think, but few i know).
you nearly loved me (i say nearly because we never quite got that far). i seemed to be your answer; or some kind of beacon that maybe you thought could be a guide. but the moment my cracks started to show, i think it scared you. i don't think you had ever loved a sad girl. or maybe you loved a sad girl and she hurt you. (i don't know). all i know is that i tried to talk about the train, and you told me no. i wanted to tell you about the things in my head and what they wanted me to do, but as soon as i tried, i was met with, "don't be stupid." i understand that you didn't. as much as it hurt. i think what made me angriest was your initial reassurance that you were different and you were staying. i knew better than to put faith in promises formed by hands of human flesh, but i had a lot of hope. so like i said, i don't blame you. and i've grown a lot since that time. i'm learning more about myself every day, and it's easier now to keep my head above the waves. i do not resent you for your inability to stay.
i think that if i had tried to write this all those months ago when my wounds were still fresh, i wouldn't have been as composed as i like to think i'm being now. i'm actually sitting here, as i type, thinking how ridiculous i'll feel if this entire thing is off and i've misread it all. but anyway, this isn't necessarily something i need you to read. but should you choose to, or maybe someday stumble across it, i hope that you understand. and i hope life treats you well.
warmth,
- m.f.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
a fair question, deserving of thought,
goodly soft care and hard consideration,
strangely, instantly and undeniable,
one worldly, word achieves **********
whether first or foremost,
après ma raison d'être,
cannot list, nor rank or certain state,
yet my heart repeats, nation, nation,
my understanding, instant and complete
worthy journey to self-fulfillment,
contentedly unhappy to be permanently,
one poem short on the one continuum,
the-road-trip to salvation,
my end, my finality / our self-acualization
aking pagtatapos, ang aking katotohanan
my einde, my realiteit
fen m 'yo, reyalite mwen
akhir saya, realiti saya
ma fin, ma réalité
M
write of the ifs of a man's life,
and come aboutface to conclusions,
instant and long in the making,
there are willing ears on this globe,
welcoming me open armed, opened lipped,
knowing firstly this open-eyed greeting,
welcome poet, tell us
for we are one nation, everywhere invisible,
indivisible with liberty and justice inherent,
creation our common good, in fact it is our
lifelong wares and goods, letter by letter composing,
we sell for the price of free
This then single common currency,
our ouro, derivation of
languages multi and mellifluous here spoke,
this my/our nation where birthright and
citizenship ego-and-geo boundless,
my loves, continentally arrayed,
to whom I pledge until last breath
utter all, guttural devotion
when one of us creates,
good manifests, I care not
in what tongue,
for our tongues
intertwine and intertaste
this one flavor,
communitas,
meine gemeinschaft, meine gesellschaft
where spoken
goodness all the days of life,
it has goodly gotten me to you...
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
I want to be a king,
Not the king who wants to boast with the title attached to his name;
Not the king to whom only exercise of power and authority is his aim;
Not the king whose work is only meant to bring him fame;
Not the king who will blame others but himself will he not blame.
I want to be a king,
The kind of king whose heart is broken when his people are in pain;
The kind of king who considers the comfort of his people as great gain;
The kind of king who will ensure that his people are never slain;
The king who will encourage love among his people but hate he will restrain.
I want to be a king,
Whose interest is to search diligently to find something vital to do in a man’s life;
A kind of king who will fight immorality and would not desire another man’s wife;
A kind of king who will encourage peace among his people by authorizing that they put away strife;
A king who could deprive himself of comfort if it means providing his people with a standard life.
I want to be a king,
The kind of king whose desire is not to be served but to serve;
The king who will not withhold the wage of the poor but pay every man exactly what he deserves;
The king who would rather die than see others starve;
The king who will not divert or misuse the funds in his nation’s reserve.
I want to be that king,
Who will win the trust of his people only by being trustworthy;
Who will place the interest and livelihood of his people firstly
That king who will always represent his people by acting and speaking justly;
The king who for the sake of the innocent, bring to judgement the guilty.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 3:38 AM UTC
Pressing charge,
unplugging the worth you have in my heart,
_Wicked, and deceitful,_—would I seem saying,
"I love you with all my heart"
What haven't I loved long before you,
I've loved another; or rather a better
taste of you. Cloying; to a degree of natural ecstasy.
Scented ravenousness, so sweet by the first brim of
open lips connected.
I've had an affair with her, over the plain;
that seemed to be what we once had.
But still I could never start my day firstly without a
hint of you; yearning yourself down throat.
Enkindled by you both; though as the latter
proved herself, only in the first few times.
My bladder full to breaking point of a glutted
water balloon; hanging on a thin string.
_The effect she had on me..._
The effect of when I picked a latte coffee
over my traditional black brew.
Jun 15, 2022
Jun 15, 2022 at 3:28 PM UTC
Holding.
onto myself, tightly,
along with my arms which seem
to be too short, too… thick.
They've always seemed to be
too slow, lacking expression.
so I gather them inside myself,
as this poor self
would firstly accept them as they are…
then it would paint them,
sculpt them,
adding them a finger or two,
until
my poor arms
start looking
like wings.
but they are not like any other pair of wings,
they do not have any feathers or scales.
these are enclosed wings,
splinted to their marrow,
closed as some misplaced umbrella,
like a chisel with its hammer.
or they might be… fine embroidery
ready to cover
the holes in my soul.
This is why, occasionally, I would hold
Onto myself.
Tightly.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 7:23 AM UTC
Love - it does not necessarily mean romance, or
silly, promised-filled, tragedies like Romeo and Juliet's,
or shallow, innocent love of teenagers, who are just starting to experience
what it's like and want to know more;
Love can mean the kind you feel for people
you care about, like your parents,
your siblings, your friends...
People whom you'd love unconditionally.
And those people probably love you back
despite your flaws and endless mistakes,
they'd forgive you
and sometimes,
they try to help you get on the right path
and correct those flaws so that
You become a better person.
But what does loving a stranger mean?
Isn't that how we all came to be?
Your mother loved a stranger, and got you.
Her mother loved a stranger and loved your grandfather,
and his father loved a stranger, your great-grandmother...
This beautiful cycle of loving strangers begins our time on Earth.
How do you know that you love a stranger?
Firstly, you might think that their fingers are rather bony
and maybe they way they stand are a little odd,
and the way they walk make you cringe inside 'coz it's awkward?
And their hair is a little too long, when they say a joke,
their lips curl up at the top and their eyes flit upwards
and you feel so uncomforable looking at them.
Slowly, you realise though...
after talking to them a little more,
becoming better acquaintances,
and then friends,
you don't notice those 'flaws' anymore (they were never things I should criticise in the first place)
In fact, you start to love them, and like it when they do that.
It's a unique part of them that you want to keep seeing.
You feel guilty and sorry for even hating them in the first place,
because afterall, they are beautiful!
Lastly, when you depart,
you know you really love them because
you'll miss those tiny details even more
since you're never going to see those lovely beauties again.
(Oh, how I regret not fully appreciating them!)
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 5:54 AM UTC
You have dreams, don’t you?
Every night before you sleep,
I’m sure there is something you long for to have, do or keep.
I know, everyone has plans;
but not everybody is ready to dance.
You see, there are these little things I call cramps.
I don’t know if you got me or not;
I’m talking about those little things behind every evil plot.
You know that time,
when disappointed of the day you go to bed,
and the only thing that can put you to sleep,
are the lies to your soul you have fed?
Them are those cramps,
Them are those damps.
In the morning you get up, I guess all sore;
but nothing looks like the thoughts you had the night before.
All those things you said you’d do,
now seem foolish, pointless, untrue…
The past and future seem within reach,
and the present looks like one hell of a glitch.
That is just the thing we tell ourselves,
looking for excuses, shuffling between shelves.
But we all deeply know,
that firstly before us, that is low.
Motivation is bad, it won’t get you what you seek.
The mind changes all the time, it is terribly weak.
Persistence is what you need;
Your own discipline is what you need to feed.
Push it to the edge,
until it’s hanging from the ledge.
Do it, even if it hurts,
if that is what your soul lurks.
Then you’ll know what you want, what you need.
Opinions and perspective change all the time;
Your own hill, only you can climb.
It’s not important what you think is stupid or smart.
Get your aim at the stuff that fill your heart.
Aim and shoot,
shoot and in your target the bullet beroot.
Rub and scratch those little cramps,
those nasty damps;
Give it all, yell and shout,
until the cramps get burned out.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
Not knowing where I belong;
Here, at home or beyond?
Spreading thin, cut in quarters,
What became of the unity we fought for?
Afraid of the landscapes built upon
We paint over lived canvases,
Struggling to focus for too long,
Looking for the creative thread among the masses.
Saying we will settle in years to come,
Waiting for a moment telling us its time,
"Don't you know that settling isn't for some",
They shout as they search for a place to call "mine".
Firstly perched close to the shore,
Seagulls as a waking call,
Horizons as signs of furthermores,
Avoiding any reminder of the restricting city wall.
Secondly a little closer,
To those who we hold in our hearts,
Greeting mornings with a train tracks murmur,
What an adventurous start.
Then wishes slowly lost their power,
Landscape stretch to resemble concrete cubicals,
Lighting up in the midnight hours
Yet another sign of the lost will.
Third is when we return to where it all started,
A full circle without filling the core,
Was this what all the searching led too?
Is home where I began reaching for?
It doesn't need an ending,
just a beginning and middle,
Endings are the one sure thing,
In life's great sodden riddle.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 7:56 AM UTC
Man enters the tavern
Claps down some cash and outbursts ;
'Thirsty Things Firstly !'
The barman evaluates his condition
And provides a session brew
Man tilts toward potential company
(a ferrety bloke in the shadows)
"Pull up that stack of milk crates
And halve a heart with me"
(he earns a quick friend
in a tolerant stranger)
Soon fellow gaspers fill out the gloom
And an eve of humour descends
Though soon upending
Gourds downed the gullet
Sunk ugly into the scene
The tippling wit drags the night
to the Slurry Pit
things turn Psychologically Rugged
his Mates soon round on him
bulldozing at the Elbows
saying he's a Cheapskate
they Berate him with rigorous Rattleprat
he's been goated with the Cain's mark
they tousle his crown malicious
Thorough in his cups and eaves
he mumbles and leaves
heaving up bile words
unheard
gurgle
over
his
shoulder
outside is dark and harsh
Outside the whole wild world does wail and weary
drunkenly
he sings to match its melancholy
but sadness lifts with his altered view
he sees 'a flock of moons' weigh down the sky
and natures churn
makes a phosphorescent stew of it all
... decay
to lifes' celebration
Jun 27, 2022
Jun 27, 2022 at 9:04 PM UTC