"fixated" poems
Copycat, collect the nectar,
it will optimize your splendor.
Grasping it by the gallons,
drinking poison, immune, callous,
to the pain you aligned, and profusely measured.
Fixated on this peeling label,
bend it back, are you able,
To contain symptoms as they surface?
Written down as toxic in cursive,
a sign of recovery crowned as 'fatal'
Copycat, take your weapons,
along the speckled crimson as logical 'sessions'.
Brim the shell, or remain hollow?
Graphic truth is hard to swallow,
unseen pain is being reflected-
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
Human directives, veracities unverified
Bellies belching with anger, murderers
Udders dripping hate, foundling banters
Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate
Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink
Tear motions and debates of inequality
My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise
All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield
Emergency alarms sirens from 2003
The indefinite complications and hunger
A land of the displaced, starving nomads
Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts
Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious
A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws
Inhumane human interrogations persists
A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve
Force-feeding, torturous measures applied
All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed
A Rwanda slain in divide and rule
Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed
Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves
Machetes slashing necks and hands
A lust of power, a genocide slaughter
The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch
Autocratic regime boring divisions
Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust
The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles
Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill
Indifference pooled in pits and camps
The institutional social indoctrination
The honor and killing to expose shame
The violation and dishonor of moral fabric
For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values
Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit
Confessional secrets of only what lays within
A torment watching witnesses, all dangling
Marxists calls ships to stow ashore
Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit
Invalid contracts awaits signatures
The white immigrants to be enslaved
All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor
Wage packages taken to pay for freedom
Humans bought and sold to be owned
Slaves yorked and counted as assets
Bounded to serve plantations and homes
A human, non human, a chattel, a slave
A debt ******* offended and *****
Untamed and made to obey a master
A falling global strings unturned
Tunes strumming hate, war and pain
Human trafficking, violence, inequality
Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists
Commercialism, zero hour contracts
For if we have no rights, I have none
For if we have no peace I have none
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
Supposing that we lit some candles.
One for each person on this earth,
we would blow one out at a funeral
and light one up at a birth.
The world would grow darker
every time we lost a fighter
but with every new born baby
it gets just that bit brighter.
If you travelled into a city that was dark and gritty
you'd know that they didn't have many in their committee.
But.. If the light was brilliant and bright
it would send a beaming message throughout the night.
Saying "We are here! And we are alive!"
Not wanting to be alone we endeavor to collide
and form one giant, shining beacon
that burns so fierce we're sure it can't weaken
We sparkle and crackle and bend nature to our whim
the mighty fire so strong it just had to gave in.
With it we forged iron and buildings, cars and computers
and lit paths of lives to guide commuters
We lit up the universe as far as we could see
Improving our lives greatly with technology
obsessed with our professed fixture on practicality
we completely forgot about morality
Our fires forged weapons which we aimed next door
In one swift movement we saw the effects of war
6,000,000 candles extinguished
over arguments on which light is most distinguished
So fixated on this light we blinded our eyes
and the candle smoke filled the skies.
We thought candles were good, they elevated us higher
but now all we have is thick smoke and fire.
The fire consuming all in its route
the root of our lives follow suite.
It's eating the oxygen and burning the grass
the sand is melting and forming to glass.
The glass it shatters into a thousand pieces
more candles are lighting, the temperature increases
The resources decline, as do the candles
buried in ash a hundred thousand scandals.
Now only a few lit candles remain
as they slowly melt and fade away.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 1:39 PM UTC
On Monday we met, our eyes fixated on one another, eager to know more
On Tuesday we talked, twiddling our thumbs, fidgeting in our seats, pondering on the right things to say
On Wednesday we hugged, your arms held me close, heartbeats in sync, I felt myself floating
On Thursday we kissed, our lips gravitated towards each other, like the moon and the sea, the connection was natural
On Friday we confessed, three little words wrapped around our ears,
forever tattooed in our minds
On Saturday you disappeared, no note, no call, no text
not a trace of you left that I could still hold on to
On Sunday I cried, my heart still beats, but never the same way,
would you ever give me a reason if I ever asked "Why?"
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
split the atom an we get fission
mass becomes energy
but can we split a second
enter the essence of the present
what would it mean to us
to be that mindful
ask your self doesn't your mind
only occupy past future
abjectly incapable of living in the present
in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought
theres no time to think
can we enter
an incalculable split second
and totally take in that instant
with a forgotten organic technology
is it the big bang in perpetuity
yet quiet as a mute
a raging ever expanding sea in a connected
but distinct dimension
if you entered it
would it not utterly erases all of history
the thinkers and doers along with it
the step beyond the alpha and omega
the great underlining reality
imagine the penetrated moment
an all consuming unimaginable
trans-mutational merge
omnipotent
yet forever imperceptible
to those among us
time locked
an irreducible limitation
like an ant in a closed paper bag
a fixated reflexive machine
wandering aimlessly
with an unknowable mission
and a relentless survival mechanism
with no chance of survival
time as a cosmic metabolism
its medium space
a vast cauldron
an infinite vessel containing endless points of light
everywhere
myriad phenomena
its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it
both exquisite and hideous
an incalculable zoo
histories victors and victims
one and all vanquished
by the curse
consciousness of dis-juncture
a merciless countenance of limitation
yet could time be an illusion
rooted in a narrow awareness
bereft of an eternal
inexhaustible self effulgent now
the rapture
an eternal ******
if we could only penetrate into it
would it swallow us
and blot out the drama of creations theater
is the
now
conscious
illimitable
ecstatic
a perfect meta moment ?
we hear from sacred texts
like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah
that we may enter beyond the veil
passed time and its ravages
passed mind and its distortions
not to the heaven of religion
in its endless
closed system precepts
anthropomorphic metaphors
theistic gobbledygook
and
sophomoric social engineering
a kind of cliffs notes
god for dummies
we can enter
the eternal abode of the divine
a point between
the splitting of seconds
revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing
pierced by the effort of a focused mind
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 8:09 AM UTC
She's the type of girl who spends her days waiting to watch the sunset every night, only to write about how compelling of a view it was. How she runs barefoot across such harsh surfaces just to catch a glimpse of its radiance and not even flenching when her feet are bruised.
I am the type of girl who used to not be able to imagine something more breathtaking than the suns bow as it leaves the stage for the stars to take over. The kind who simultaneously finds herself and gets lost in a matter of a few minutes while staring up at something of such beauty.
When those two things mix, when the two people share in the same unfathomable sunset, she becomes fixated on the sky while I become completely captivated in the way that the sun dances on her hair and how the light of the sun could never dream of comparing to the one in her eyes. How her embrace makes me feel a type of warmth that the heat could not possibly create. Trying not to stare, but also not wanting to look away. Fumbling on my words because the only thing that wants to come out are the words "I love you."
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 9:51 PM UTC
To be stuck fixated on one line
In your head in your hands on your feet
To wear just a word on your shoulder
When you talk when you laugh when you breathe.
Jan 19, 2010
Jan 19, 2010 at 3:55 PM UTC
looking back, i’ve realized
that in the moment
i tend to be anxious and impatient
and i don’t trust
that everything will work itself out
and i ache to know
exactly what is waiting for me
around the corner
will i alter my circumstances
or will my circumstances alter me?
i mindlessly allow myself to become faithless
and although i’ve overcome so many obstacles,
my eyes become fixated on the present
and i forget to take a step back
and reflect on my past
everyone always says,
“don’t look back,”
but i think it’s important
to remember where you once stood
and recognize how far you’ve come
i know i’ve changed
and i know i will continue to change
so why at 2am on a monday night
do i get stuck believing
that things will always be the same?
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 12:44 PM UTC
this is a series of brief letters to the pieces of my body
dear body,
we don't always work together very well,
but i swear i am trying.
dear hands,
the callouses and crescent moons in your palms
will not be for nothing.
dear knuckles,
aren't you tired of painting yourselves black & blue
every time words fall short of the fire burning behind my sternum?
dear feet,
you know better than to follow roads that lead to dead ends.
there are better places for us to go.
dear eyes,
you have sunken so far into my skull
it shocks me you see anything at all anymore.
you're fixated on shades of gray
but i promise the world will regain its color soon.
dear knees,
stop crawling.
this broken glass is from his bottles.
get up. no more blood.
dear shoulders,
it was never your burden to carry. let it fall,
and try your hardest not to feel guilty.
dear neck,
his hands will never make a home here,
and you are worth more than one night of empty bruises.
dear spine,
stop waiting to be warmed by fingers
that would reach for another body if they could.
dear tears,
do not waste yourselves.
dear ears,
you have been filled with ghost songs for too long.
stop listening for things no one is saying -
it will make life much simpler.
dear mouth,
i know these secrets have been threatening to break my teeth
but please do not open your gates. i am not ready.
dear skin,
we have never been close friends.
i am sorry for the scars.
i am trying to learn how to be comfortable in you.
dear mind,
if i could wish you into an etch-a-sketch
and shake you clean of these bad memories i would.
dear heart,
i hope you can forgive me for being so careless.
i feel how tired you are. rest is on its way.
dear body,
you will one day see a grave,
but it must not be by your own hands.
- m.f.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
Graciously kneeling before me;
Driven by thirst.
Coerced by lust.
curropted by desire.
Entranced by your aura.
Raw passion eruding flesh.
Your swells: their embodiment.
Fixated on the rush---
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
The lights go out as another day
Draws to a close,
In the distance sirens of an ambulance
Ripples through the stillness
Of the night,
I ache,
I'm tired,
But I'm restless.
The staircase extends beyond my feet,
Up into a blank space
Where light cannot reach
And darkness can wait
For me to enter.
I can feel its eyes on me,
Fixated on my body
As I approach the first step.
I don't know why,
But the lingering presence
Is always there,
As if it waits with arms crossed
And draped against my bedroom door,
It sense my fear and I sense its intent:
To creep into my mind,
To feed off the chaos that stirs
Each and every day.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
*I'm too fixated in each moment -
Each moment feels so intense,
I'm lost
On the dark side of the moon,
And nothing here has any warmth,
Worth or substance ~
Nothing here makes any sense.
Even my own shadow has left me.
The Monsters, still lurking
In the darkness,
Have stolen all of my hopes
And dreams away,
I can hear the wolves,
They are hauntingly howling -
There's nowhere safe that I can run to,
On this, here, dark, dreary day.
There will be no stars
To light up the pitch-black night-skies,
They have already fallen,
Just like the Angels
That I once loved and knew,
Everything that I once held onto
As sacred, has been molested -
I've been abandoned, once again;
Hell, again, I am being forced
To walk through.
Alone, I was born and raised,
Only my pain has been consistent-
It has held my hand
Throughout my entire life.
At some point, somehow,
I stupidly gave birth
To expectations,
Luckily, I woke up
And divorced reality,
Hence becoming solitude's
Dedicated and loving wife.
On the dark side of the moon
Compassion, loyalty and trust
Are nonexistent.
Evil dwells in almost every man
And woman,
Each with his or her own agenda,
Each with his or her own selfish plan.
Saviors do not exist,
Superheroes all wear masks,
Unconditional love is but an illusion,
Here, I revert to relying solely
On the harshness of reality,
For, the truth, it always exposes
And unmasks.
The dark side of the moon
Is a very lonely, isolating place,
In which to dwell,
There is no sunshine,
No stars or Angels -
The only light visible
Comes from the flames
Of the evildoers'
Raging fiery hell!
Placed here against my will,
No lush green valley in sight,
Taken away
From the divinity of nature,
I was cruelly robbed
Of my radiant life-giving daylight.
Doomed for being too real,
Too open and too honest,
Doomed for loving too much.
Doomed for believing in superheroes,
Doomed for allowing a human
To become my crutch.
Doomed for being too empathetic,
Doomed for being too sincere.
Doomed for being too kind
And too generous,
I'm doomed, abandoned here.
I blame only myself
For allowing my intuitive awareness
And intelligence to fade away
Like the stars that once adorned
Every exquisite night-sky,
I blame only myself
For not using the blessed insight
Of my third eye.
I'm too fixated in each moment,
Each moment feels so intense,
I'm too passionate about life
To give up and remain imprisoned
On the dark side of the moon...
But I'm too emotionally weak
And disappointed to jump the fence.
By Lady R.F. (C)2018*
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 12:27 AM UTC
You never want to mention
That elephant in the room
But all of your attention
So fixated and consumed
Pulled to that thing you fear
The tension in the atmosphere
Falls into the in between
And the elephant is never seen
Only felt inside your mind
The golden chance you left behind
The prospect driving you insane
Tugging nerves throughout your brain
All you want to do is speak
Voice the simple thing you seek
But you can’t so quick give in
Just keep the elephant within
Build a passionate defense
As life is lived in slow suspense
Watching, waiting for the time
When the elephant is unconfined
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 3:38 PM UTC
Once upon a time there was a girl that couldn’t tell stories.
One night, she wanted to tell someone a story
Because it was dark and she longed to sleep
And she never seemed to be able to sleep
Even though she had heard so much ********
About counting sheep and drinking hot cocoa
She knew none of it worked
And it was no use being hopeful
But little children always asked to have bedtime stories read to them
And she guessed it helped
Because children sleep and they dream and they imagine
…she wished she could imagine
So she tried to tell a story
Because there was no one to tell her one
But because there was no one to tell her a story
There was no one to hear her story
She was lonely
So lonely that she didn’t even want to talk to herself anymore
(Something she did with frequency)
Even she wanted to leave herself alone
She was irritated by her shadow
And this was why she wanted to tell stories
So she could forget about the loneliness
And sleep
But when she tried to think about something; about anything
She found it hard to imagine
Because her dreams weren’t images anymore
Only feelings
So she decided to tell a story to nobody
About how she felt
Rather than what she couldn’t imagine
And couldn’t create
It was about what she hates
And how uncomfortable she is
So… she fixated her eyes at a spot on the wall
That would listen to her intently
She took a breath
And said:
“Once upon a time…
…
…
…
I hate. I’m uncomfortable.”
Mar 13, 2012
Mar 13, 2012 at 11:52 PM UTC
when I say last year I hit an all time low,
I mean that I spent two hundred and eighty nine days without sunlight,
I’ve never known a rose to grow immersed in eternal night -
auctioned off my heart for the gift of sight,
I wonder how long I’ve lived my life blinded by the rose tinted glass?
false love will have you struggling to distinguish between gold and brass.
I draw out the sequence.
your palms met her flesh,
my reflection in the mirror is reduced to ash.
I feel my heart hit the floor,
blood stains in the carpet - proof that love does not live here anymore
next time just wrap them around my neck,
I get the same hand of cards
out of every single deck.
from love,
suffocating, choking,
that is the only sensation I have come to expect,
you know that better than me,
extinguished every fire set to your trees,
don’t you remember?
she left everything around you to burn,
choked on all the smoke,
still you fixated on all the ember,
if this body was ever not hollow,
I wouldn’t remember.
two hundred and eighty nine days,
I spent treading in the shallow,
moulded my existence out of clay just to fill another persons shadow.
Aug 23, 2021
Aug 23, 2021 at 9:20 PM UTC
To often we fail to tune ourselves in.
We get caught in rut after rut,
Morphing into puppets... just going with the motions.
Too fixated on all we could lose to recognize each win.
So weary of love we keep our hearts bolted shut.
We are so afraid of change we cringe at the notion.
Sometimes you need to runaway from reality,
Take a leap off of comforts shoulder…
And dive into your intuition.
Free yourself from that corrupt mentality,
And smile to keep the world from growing any colder.
Your soul will sing a melody of bittersweet honesty…just listen.
That is where true beauty lay…
In each untouched corner of your heart,
Beneath each unspoken word of your inner voice.
It is never to late when you are blessed with another day.
To live simply, take a breath and let the past part…
And confidently make happiness your choice.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
I get tired of a lot of things
But i don't get tired of reconnecting heart strings
With my words
And i don't get tired of helping the broken become fixed
That's what i'm mostly fixated on.
Helping the wounded heal and the runners steal
To third base and to home
Not away from it.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
The world has moved on and I am fixated on one **** detail. A blank stare that lasted maybe two seconds before he carried on with his work. The look was indescribable because the expression was void of emotion. This is incredibly ridiculous, but I am so horrifically bothered by it. That **** expression. This **** minor occurrence has somehow managed to ruin my day. But here's the thing - this is routine for me. I know myself too well. I will be incredibly self-conscious from now on in that space. So many things go past that man, but my stupid digressions didn't. I am a victim of over-analysis. I will patiently wait for the day my memory will finally let this go.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
A fat girl's Thanksgiving is being told to pass on the pumpkin pie
A fat girl's Thanksgiving is being scrutinized over everything you ingest
A fat girl's Thanksgiving is being met with questions no matter what you eat or don't eat
"Have some more potatoes, Sarah"
"Haven't you had enough yet?"
A fat girl's Thanksgiving is a double standard wrapped up
In a pretty floral bow
Just like the cornucopia in the table's center.
A fat girl's Thanksgiving is a broken tradition fixated not on giving thanks
But on her every movement in regards to her plate
A fat girl's Thanksgiving is only eating half her helping
A fat girl's Thanksgiving is throwing up each and every bite of it
Into a porcelain garbage bin exactly thirteen minutes later
A fat girl's Thanksgiving is perfecting a purge
Stand up and lean
Time it just right
Dry heave first.
A fat girl's Thanksgiving is the second to last time she sees her grandpa
And she cannot even focus on family
Because this disease has intertwined itself into the crevices of her mind
A fat girl's Thanksgiving is her worst nightmare and her favorite holiday
For she is constantly under surveillance
But no one questions her habits that day
So she is free to be sick as often as she likes.
A fat girl's Thanksgiving is counting every calorie
Knowing exactly how much she needs to compensate for every particle of food
Polluting her system.
A fat girl's Thanksgiving is shoving things into her body
And immediately wanting them out
While having the means to get rid of them.
A fat girl's Thanksgiving has always been shared with her alter ego,
Bulimia.
A fat girl's Thanksgiving has always been a paradox
Hopefully this year she will be able to go alone.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
I open up to you
My Deepest and Darkest thoughts
Gloom was my mind in the thick mist of depression
Awaken was the beast of endless tears
The sorrow of always living in fear
Having an open heart
Subsumes the probability of a broken Soul
Pieces shatter of ice so thin
So cold it makes the flesh
As it travels within the cracks of the pulsating muscle
So red and pure
Lively and pulsing
Transiting life in the form of little oval hopes
Peaceful as they move in motion
Rhythm as they move with stride
Knowing they are keeping the body alive
The cold turns blue
Blue is the gloom
Blue is my favorite color
The blue of cold Souls freezing what is giving me life
The blue freezes
Motionless is my body
Silent is my heart
Can you hear it?
No longer is it alive
Yet I am still breathing
Barely
My eyes fixated at a wall that has been torn
Trust has won the war to break these walls
And now deception reigns through my veins
Black as death as it poisons my skin
Revealing to the outer world a broken-hearted fool
You fool
You complete *****
I look for comfort only to realize I am alone
Alone in a world where so much care about you?
How is that possible?
When the one you care about the most
Is not there
Does not hear you calling
Does not feel your pain
Loneliness resides
And darkness rises
And my life
Is now an everlasting crisis
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
A woman and a knife:
The blade glistens,
ever sharply
in the rain that is pouring from heaven.
Her black hair sticks smartly
to the sides of a sharp face.
I trace my gaze
over a smart mouth
with red lips.
But her dark eyes
never falter with such desire.
Her cold stare ever fixated
on the knife's destination:
My chest.
Mar 7, 2023
Mar 7, 2023 at 5:08 PM UTC
I see the sympathy pour from your lips,
A waterfall of meaningful words I'm sure
but I'm fixated on the twinkle in your eye,
it reminds me of the midnight sky
The midnight sky my lover was taken under
The stars stood witness yet they took no pause in their dance above the clouds
Now the stars are hidden well behind the sun
Still,
blue skies don't make you smile
at your lovers funeral
The stars in you eyes make me sad,
Obsession with revenge takes hold
so I mutilate them.
a slurpy cosmic soup
sits behind your tired eyelids
A small victory in the war with the sky
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 10:10 PM UTC
I feel the wind crash against my skin,
enter my nose and into my lungs. I am
alive today. My eyes are fixated at the thought of
those Narra Trees, standing proudly
in the backyard; how the wind rustles
with their branches; how the noise becomes
music, whispering through my ears. I feel
safety. Safety, like the way I lay
at my hammock—the way I trust
the ropes with an arm-strength
of a man; how they held me so high
that I could touch the sky, like freedom
soars across horizons in form of contrails.
Today, I feel love
and I soar to the
Universe.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
Words are raining down like snowflakes....falling on your tongue like icing from a cake. I don't bake...but i create rhymes sometimes.
Happy or sad....I love to write about love ....I try to be hard...but that's just not me.....I'm more of smooth talker. Take my hand and come walk with me.
Can we lay in the grass and look at the clouds....and daydream about our future together out loud. I avoid drama because that takes the attention off of you...but i wrote about Attention that was dedicated to you.
The power of words....My Word is "breathe" because God breathed in the nostril of man.....and for that reason .....I am able to caress your hand. To kiss you ever so softly and look in your eyes.....I don't compare myself to those other guys ......because i stand alone.
I love a challenge.....and you make me work. My mind is working overtime in an effort to impress....but my eyes are fixated by your body in that dress.
What is poetry? Poetry is the connection I have with you. I'm the paper and you're the pen, Amen.
I learned from a teacher that "A parent is the first one we see. The apple falls next to the tree.
So...you continue to be on my mind even when I'm sleep. That letter from a stalker made your heart weak. He cut your brakes and said he was looking inside....maybe he saw you....while I gave you a ride. The **** on my head as I tried to protect you was well worth the wait. I glad that we could share a peaceful date....but hold up...wait!
I'll be right back. Look up in the sky! What do you see....a poem written in the clouds all courtesy of me....your favorite superhero. I don't go by a name....because i am free.
Hey...I'm back ....with a few more dollars from that bank.....for some odd reason there was a hole in the wall. A guy walked by and said he saw an advertisement on Craigslist and stated it was free....I grabbed all I could carry and said that's cool with me.
So...as we are together and the rain is money green. I pray you understand what this poem means. It was a paper that i found from long ago....A poem about a poem was the title. There were severel judges and comments like American Idol....but I never had a clue.....until I read that last line.....the author was You.
The mind is a terrible thing to waste.......
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 9:46 AM UTC