"fixating" poems
No food
No sleep
I can't let these things reach out and speak sweet lies
I can't let food call my name
I can't let sleep drown my thoughts
I shouldn't eat
I can't sleep
This is me
I am broken girl
Who can't eat
In fear I weigh too much
I am a broken girl who can't sleep
For my thoughts and memories
Haunt me too much
I am a broken girl who answers 'how are you?'
With 'I'm alright' even when I'm not even close
Because I don't want you to worry
I don't want you to fret
Over a broken soul
I am a broken girl who says 'I have been busy'
when someone asks me why I haven't done something
I have been busy just not in the way they think
I have been busy trying not to give into hunger
I have been busy fixating on how I'm broken
I have been busy
But not in the way they think
I am a broken girl who has let her demons
creep up on her too much
I am a broken girl who has surrendered
her soul
I am a broken girl who dates so she feels
worth something because I don't when I'm alone
I date because I need to depend on someone
Because I am not dependable for anyone
Let alone myself
I date so I can hear someone say I love you
So I can hear someone call me beautiful
Cute
Amazing
And so many other things
Even if I don't believe it
I am a broken girl who has lost so many relationships
Five to death
And so many others just because they left
I was no longer good enough
No longer happy enough
No longer
PRETENDING
I am a broken girl who pretends
And when I stop people leave
Because I am too broken
I am too clingy
I am too demanding
I'm just not enough
Or I'm too much
THIS IS ME
But no one sees
Until I let them
And when I do they worry
But please don't worry
Because you didn't when you didn't know
So why worry now?
I'm still the same me
You just couldn't see all the flaws that my eyes do
You don't see the way I do
I see a girl who's eyes are too big
I see a girl who isn't thin enough
I see a girl who's hair doesn't suit her no matter what
I see a girl with too many scars
I see a girl
But I don't
For all I can see now is a walking flaw
And no one knows that
THIS IS ME
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC
We sipped boulder rock from refrigerators doors
and watched the heavens hand out food stamps with IBM logos.
“ode to Mehmet” we sang, and licked the Mossberg—
fixating on the blue collar philosophy that lived in our empty wallets.
Trash cans filled with water bottles stared at us to find our essence—
the one we had lost while being fed quintessential American idioms
in state-of-the-art classrooms sponsored by slaves and Popol Vuh blood.
Six million years of human existence trivialized down to a single sentence—
** Man loved God, man wrote, man conquered God, and now man loves science** —
scribbled on SmartBoards afforded by fire burning from Prometheus’ female liver.
Trees sing with oxygen no more for the sake of making paper,
and eyes soak in the words on paper for the sake of making paper.
Trees make the avenue but the future holds an Avenue of no trees—
… for in the land of the free, anything but freedom ain’t free.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 9:46 PM UTC
I see you over the tops of uneven books.
I see your golden brown hair,
as wild as the tall tundra grasses.
I see you drop the musty book,
onto the pale grey carpet.
And you are unaware, of my peering eyes,
sneaking glaces from under my Algebra book.
And that the numbers are carved in my mind,
as if ingrained onto the bark of a dying evergreen.
PS700-PS3499 you are searching for great American poets,
as your hands glide over the worn leather covers.
Leaves of Grass, Sorrows Built a Bridge, Works of Poe.
As you glance at the Dewey Decimal Numbers,
Numbers flourish in my mind.
The probability that you would like me,
Numbers are more cohesive than the words,
that I have written to you in the margins.
In the distance I see you surrounded by your books,
deeply focused-serene,
I too am a poet,
I am a poet of logic.
Fixating on the truth showed by facts.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 4:07 PM UTC
When I was 17 I watched a man **** himself,
I remember the morning like it was yesterday,
the air bit at my heels
and it was too cold to be at the skatepark,
there was a lounge area of
weathered tables and pine trees
about 50 yards north,
I still remember the look in his eyes
confusion filled mine,
he was old, around 70
and I kept skating around,
he just sat there with
saltwater in his veins,
holding a long barrelled
30-30 it looked like,
I kept skating and fixating
my eyes on what he was holding,
it manipulated my vision,
reached out to hopeful ignorance
and yanked it through my throat,
we never made eye contact,
his eyes were buried down
a steel thief,
I kept rolling back and forth,
and I never knew thunder had
the ability rip the bearings
from the wheels,
the crack turned the bark
on the tree behind him
to a yelp,
and I’ve never saw blood fly
until that point,
I still remember how fast
it turned from a picnic table
to a crime scene,
how aimlessly the yellow tape
flew in the wind, as if nothing
ever happened,
time forged a signature
on a death note to man
who never felt the chill
bite at his heels that day,
that barrel screaming for forgiveness
knocked at a door with perspective
standing at the peephole,
I saw myself in his shoes
when I saw the life leave his body,
I went back that day
and saw the city worker
spraying the pavement,
running an eraser over
the pen-painted picture
in my mind,
the chill shattered my
porcelain heels that
day and shooed me
away from the
griptape forever.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 2:27 AM UTC
Fixating on the emotions you provided
But only for a second in time
Before you had me falling between the cracks
With a touch of your hand
Moments pass at accelerated speeds
My heart flutters.
Vibrations rush through my perplexed mentality
A loss of affection transpires
Beneath this dark facade suppressing my energy
A troglodytic character exposed
The inception of just another fantasy you implemented
Like any other dream I envisioned
A borderline ecstasy of pleasure.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC
When she talks about it,
it makes it real.
Her vulnerability,
is their's to steal.
It's what she fears,
forever and always.
So she speaks not a word,
she shies away.
In large group,
she feels their eyes.
Fixating on her,
calling on her lies.
They know that she,
is holding something back.
But she hasn't told them,
yet what it is she lacks.
She's scared, she's afraid,
what will they think.
As they stare at her,
she feels herself shrink.
The memories so tough,
she wanted to forget.
This isn't what she signed on for,
this isn't what she meant.
But once she starts,
she just can't stop.
She hands start to shake,
her cheeks get hott.
When she finishes her story,
she looks up with tears.
They put their arms around her,
comforting her fears.
They accept her for her,
past present and all.
Holding her up high,
comforting her when she falls.
These people are members,
of the House of Shalom.
With open hearts and arms,
this place is home.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 11:46 AM UTC
Butterflies and crows circling the water
Dive
headfirst, closed eyes into the ocean.
Fly.
Rest easy
my
dearest;
how I've missed you
but only the physical things
only the ****** things
I'm objectifying you
(....how rude)
I'm riding on the waves of creation
fixating on free form and relation
with Self
Life is animated now, see the things
that we missed?
Life is kissable
It tastes salty and beautiful like seafoam
and sweet like spring blossoms
I'd offer you my hand again, but
last time you drug me down
This time I'll offer you sand instead,
and castles and sunshine
and smiles.
They're free,
you should try 'em out
sometime, baby.
There's no rush.
The sun will be waiting whenever
you wanna mosey over.
The time for moping is over.
Your misery can be over,
snap
That moment is over
That second is over
Your entire lifetime up to this point
is over
What's that you said about new beginnings?
Finding new things?
Dive in, head first, eyes closed,
towards those things you're seeking.
Don't ever stop
Don't
ever
stop
dreaming.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 2:22 AM UTC
He whispers sweet nothings into my ear
His quiet musings that lull me to sleep
His teeth gently graze my earlobe, pulling at my earring
He's almost like a raven, always fixating on the shiny parts of me
Except instead of repeating never more, he screams forever from the rooftops
He's taught me how to fly
How to leave the ground
How to soar above the earth, into the clouds
He's given me hope and serenity and peace
And for this I will forever be grateful
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
the wrong atmospherics of transmission
move in uninvestigated chaotic archives
red and pink turbulent storms swarm across
deep space frequencies in imaginative
currents of pulsars
that are translated into phases
each represented in diverse
conflicting modes of expression
in obsessive grooves of consciousness
cut up components of recycled narratives
audibly fixating on vibrations
that sound across the universe
in diffused spirals of manic fluctuations
converting archaic symbols into equivalents
of dust surfaces that oxidise in intermittent epochs
and deposit a rediscovered earth
an expansive transferable construction
of accidental providence
that allows for expression in artificially generated realities
hallucinated images that float
across the consciousness of the cosmos
producing visions that punctuate rational thought
become preoccupied with the conception
of interplanetary transpeciation
counting the chronological diversity
of those that occupy the black, blank
vacuum of space
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC
Infatuation:
Broken hearts fixating on
each other's fractures
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC
more often misunderstood than not
i dance in spectrums of gray
where right and wrong is blurred
and faded edges
complicates this maze
i get lost in my own mind
blissfully wandering off
fixating about trivial things
staring at the moon for hours
waiting for it to answer me
perhaps im too different
beautifully broken yet starry eyed
quiet demeanor with a chaotic mind
and you, unfortunately,
are too the same
oneday i will find the soul
that finds peace in all of me
and we will wonder
and wander
together
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
My thoughts are always wrong.
Rehearsing things to say so long
that I'll never respond.
Too hard to take my time.
Too quick to jump this gun.
Fixating on all the most inappropriate fascinations.
Holding tongues on all the worst occasions.
Let's play a good old fashioned game of Russian Roulette.
Rushing to do all the things we'll regret.
And forgetting all those words we pretend to believe.
I'll always have one more deception up my sleeve.
That might just be the old me.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
Shaking the fur
off the holes in my skin,
microscopic, little dens
for every fox that comes my way.
They release,
instantly,
and I stand in the room,
bare and naked and bleeding and screaming
for the whole ******* world to
hear and hurt and hug and help and
love
me.
I'm crying and laughing and singing and dreaming
for the whole ******* school to
stop and see and sting and string
me
up
into the jewelry
wrapping their pretty,
little necks.
I am
inexpensive jewelry
to give to your
finest French *****
Read me like
one of your nudey books,
I'm just a spreadshotted eagling on the
bareskin rug,
bearbottomed with the brutish blues
of the bruises and the bites.
And maybe I
want to hide,
to run and whisper myself
into the secret,
hidden spots behind every
shadowy curtain--
but when you're up and out
and over and through
and wrapped around their evil,
little eyes,
there's nowhere to go.
You're trapped in
every word they say,
the kind,
the cruel;
you're trapped like a rat
stuck inside a cat
stuck inside a dog
which was eaten by
a North Korean man last Kim Jong-il day.
You know,
they call that day
the
Day of the Shining Star--
and maybe the man
plastered on every poster,
draped carelessly on the street signs
and erotically fixating a nation
didn't want to be the Star, either;
maybe he never wanted to
be the constant, single thought
on each of their hateful,
dreadful little minds,
dredged into the
swamps and mires
of their moist
and
sweaty
dreams.
Maybe,
he, too,
didn't want to be the
*****
drunken,
distasteful
STAR
of their hate.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
At a young age,
you laboriously worked on complex puzzles;
completing them, with an unnatural ease.
Distinguishing yourself from others.
Your passion direct.
Fixating on numbers,
calculating your future.
You try to find a formula for happiness,
although it is incalculable.
As an irrational number, unable to terminate.
You extract formulas,
despite the odds.
Conveying your theories,
constructing logarithms.
intent to prove it is not abstract,
to be a female actuary.
Seventy years prior,
Catherine Prime opened the field.
Disproving the infeasible claims,
that women could not excel to this level.
Faced with reasons not to give her rank,
amongst the stunned men.
Who claimed she was good,
for a woman.
-Marissa Navedo
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
I am the rain you are the flower.
My sun, are the thoughts that gave you your power.
You reached for the stars and pedaled much harder.
Fixating on your own flower makes you lose sight, our origin same planet.
Conditioned to only love your own kind.
What ego, refocus on what matters.
Cultivate integrity, flourish then gather.
Our beliefs are not ours, they're captured in moments, in hours.
Discipline and take control of your 24 hours.
But who am I to tell you that’s foolish, that’s madder.
My empathy sees you have to conform to the fish bowl that’s hard, can’t shatter.
Just like the dreams, I dream they don’t break, gray matter.
My vision expanded and shut out the chatter.
Comprehend the same things that unite, segregate.
Meditate, create space and gravitate.
Coexistence is all that there is.
I have sight I’m not blind to the prescribed consensus.
Need I mention all these misconceptions?
Illusions placed to distract and deceive.
Dogma, a human construct a pattern we feed.
These connections run deep, these roots are from Saturn.
This gift of space and time gave us, one ocean, one planet.
Treat it as such and radiate peace and love before… you all vanish.
The greater good.
My mission, my passion, my… mind over matter.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 8:17 PM UTC
You’re left at the back, anxious at sunrise
as day by day we drift through consciousness.
Ring the Bell. These thoughts are your demise
Act profound, fixating us with lies
Invigorate a prompt adress;
your qualms are back, anxious at sunrise
You’re mother’s boy, your father’s eyes
they know first hand, you’re prone to stress:
so ring the bell. Your thoughts: our demise.
Refrain from fear, nor anthropomorphise:
doe’s endear, their bliss is careless.
You’re stuck at the back, anxious as sons rise
and fall or fail to climb. Surprise,
surprise, with fear of death you now obsess,
over the bell. Our words: your demise.
They say you’re fine, you compromise,
it’s in your head, that last abscess.
You’re left to rot; absent at sunrise
they’ve all forgotten. Those thoughts, your demise.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 6:24 AM UTC
I just feel so frustrated,
I can't focus at work because I'm constantly fixating
on our most recent argument.
I don't feel listened to;
and when I don't believe everything you believe or talk about
I feel judged and criticized by you.
I'm tired of being the mature one.
I'm tired of waiting around.
If you mention threesomes or DMT one more time,
I'm pretty sure I'll go ape **** on everyone.
Am I not allowed to have taboo topics?
Everyone has some subject they don't like talking about
or feel uncomfortable talking about.
Why can't you understand it?
Why do you insist on talking about the very things
I've expressed less than no interest in?
Why do you question everything I say?
Why do you make me explain myself
when what I've already expressed was all I wanted to say on the matter.
We're not going in the same directions.
I don't mind occasionally just sitting around
smoking until I'm too lazy to move...
sometimes.
But it feels like that's all we do anymore.
I need more excitement and spontaneity.
Lately all we do is smoke and ****
And argue.
I'm sick of arguing.
Mostly because I know you're not listening.
And I'm sick of being ignored.
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 4:54 PM UTC
In all the time we’ve wandered,
spent landing from impossible heights;
dancing blind, in the dark, being fumbled and prodded
for feelings and requests,
the games we laugh at, wasted on self-confidence and
possession
I have much more than yours,
intoxicated on the thriving pulse of fearless flight,
we crash into opened arms,
not noticing the extent of the fall.
A wandering soul, I shall be.
Picking up sand on empty beaches,
spending time thinking of the footsteps,
surely imprinted on my trail I left behind.
You came and went.
And so you came and went.
Tumbling across my path,
like that cooling hot flush brought with salty ocean and rain.
Wandering past empty mountains,
looking over my shoulder to notice the
mortal statues I made of you,
and you,
and you,
my tended garden of people and places and things;
of darkness and light;
of scraped shells and glorious feathered wings;
of sickly love songs and hearts blazed;
of lonely nights waiting up for you,
and all the times you let me down.
Wandering alone and free,
the purple skies above offering sacred slumber.
I remain awake, watching stone eyes move
on me,
fixating on the bumps in the road,
tremors and falls in gentle dips unexpected
under my feet;
like you were.
Another came past, the smell of cut roses and
blushes minus a make-up brush;
shaking in the middle of your field of games,
playing rough and *****
feeding ego and primal instincts,
bent backwards and underneath,
an empty canvas for marred drawing;
it was ****** while it lasted,
but I turned to stone long before
you came back on your knees.
And all the time I’ve wandered this lonely escape,
I come to wonder at all my marvels,
the things that made you fall faintly for me,
and shrines of you,
and you, and you.
Whether we were meant to collect an exhibition
of second best loves;
successive wilting romances burnt on scorching days.
Whether we were meant to learn by breaking hearts;
making cold remnants left to mildew in the past.
Whether we make do with second best,
as close to first yet farther still;
because we don’t know what best is.
We know when it tumbles down,
like a broken house,
but to see it gone is much too late.
Safer to say yes to second best,
than risk the cold wandering left for us alone.
In all the times we’ve spent wandering.
And I’m still wandering.
Empty beaches and purple skies,
long past.
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 2:16 AM UTC
Demons in your head,
monsters under your bed
Hiding in the shadows, a web of awe and wonder
Fixating to descend into that abyss,
yet so terrible to fall in bliss
The calls of sirens draw you near
The wicked will laugh in dark ecstasy, ah blight--
try if you may, take flight
For in sorrow you hang your head, by your neck
Beckoned by the gallows
the realm of your heart gone fallow
Freedom is just beyond you finger tips
The choice of life is yours to steal
escape this ordeal
Let the darkness perish for your victory
And as the siren songs drown you in a blanket of pain
resurface with strength and rise again
Call your voice to smite the lies of the deceptive
Rise swift to the thunder of a living heart
courage and victory are never far apart
Hold breath fast in your chest never to be freed
Until your last day, to offer the world a parting grace
with last of life's embrace.
The succubus withers with none on whom to feast
And the dogs howl unfed by the spoils of war
the battle done and no more
Flee now to fleeting peace as you may, just remember:
How the wicked fought before evil crumbled away
and the good suffered in dismay.
But sorrow prevailed, yet after such dark toil
All was not so fair in war and in love
but reprise, there was not total void of
And all that seemed left,
perhaps bereft,
were shadows of the lost and survivors most deft--
Though victory it was
no matter the cause
And light shall reign again, Forevermore.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 6:41 PM UTC
it wasn't the way that she said goodbye,
the way she
gently departed,
leaving no stone unturned.
it wasn't the way that she
did her part,
staying behind a bit longer
to make sure no lovers
were left unjust.
it wasn't the way that she wished all those well,
fixating them always
within her heart's reach.
it was the way she cared;
for she spoke with her heart
and she moved
with an aura of awareness
in every step.
it was the way she appreciated
all that was given to her,
years after
it was thought to have been detached.
it wasn't the way that she said goodbye,
but the way that her actions
ached,
"hello".
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 7:33 PM UTC
Fixating on tomorrow’s duty
steals you away from today’s beauty.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
You are gone.
Evaporating, the fog drifting through my hands, I clasp at nothing.
But a fragmented memory of us - now just steam from the shower.
Your eyes never saw, like your lips never raced against time to save me from -
Falling down a deep abyss with broken glass on the bottom.
I was there before you meet me, but give me a light to find my way out
Don't re-lock the chains on my poisoned mind.
I am losing it - every bit of it - my poetry now spews blood
Good night, my love.
You are gone.
A flutter of wings from a hummingbird and I sigh once again
You were like an old friend - fixating on shiny drops of water.
When you took your key and left without a note, something snapped (perhaps a bone?)
My mind rolled from side to side, in a sea of emotion - My mind sinking lower and lower until
I realize..
The shiny drops of water were a storm brewing
Rain.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
You taught me mauler of trent,
on a network relevāre.
Pixel mascots, but when reality sits,
3 hour snapshots.
The unwavering syntax scoped by excluder’s;
“He looks like he’s fasting, dissipating on spot.”
Some don’t know good quality accelerators at first sight.
You’ve got your semiconductor meeting an arranged free space.
Technically, inner currents are controlled by transistors and valves.
A semi-conductor with similar components.
But you are a lone current,
binding with no electricity, leading your own.
Fixating circuitry around and around like flocks when feeding.
As far as nature is concerned, it relates permissibly.
I want to furnish counterpart currents real soon.
If you don’t mind that is. Non divided, or obsolete.
Strict countermeasure meandering from start to finish.
If just no ending happens to occur, and concurrence rises.
We’ll say theory was proven. One of natures surprises.
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 1:25 PM UTC