"flawlessness" poems
The jaguar of your tongue
Slithers and stalks to desolate locations
Unburdened by the guilt of temptations
Burning deep in the gullet of desires
Forsaken by the drawings of cave paintings
Clawed ragged breath discipline
Polaroid flawlessness beneath the Blood Moon
One wild summer
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 12:31 AM UTC
A queen she is called
Rich with light hair
Bright like the sun
It shines.
And in her eyes
The deepest sea's
Savage waves
Are calmed with the batting of long, dark lashes
Her lips,
Like pomegranate
Together or apart
Keep a perfectly hidden kiss
The skin she occupies:
Immaculate
Like the body
She wears with grace
Yet within this ruler
The flawlessness
Of her exterior
Has vanished.
Inside her brain,
Dark brooding
Thoughts
Roam around.
Senseless ideas
Nestle in her heart
Looking for the passage
To the outside world.
Her locked mind
Has time
To wander
Behind shut lips.
To infest with
Musings of better places,
Of welcome speech,
And worlds beyond this.
Yet,
She cannot
Get through this life
With such thoughts
Soon enough
They begin
To gnaw
Her
Breaking her down
Piece by pretty piece.
The beauty of her face
Will soon be absent,
An ugly exterior
To match
What had been
Flooding her insides.
Jan 11, 2012
Jan 11, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
pretty words for pretty girls
*courageous caress of a send key pressed,
after practicing
speechless up to the assumed,
up to assured point of perfect,
flawlessness, visible in each invisible breath,
pauses full of poignant stories unspoken
but eye cleared visible for seeing the future*
pretty words for pretty girls
*intuition incorporates superstition,
unending, intending infatuated moon gazing,
but not pagan worshiping, no it is love worshiping
your hiding cave places are moon apertures dark spots,
impenetrable to my eye’s naked telescoping,
but heartbeats spring my unharnessed love poems to you
me and millions whisper in full certainty of our
lost but beloved presences, moon stored for us,
my darling dares the light shine upon my bay,
here to me, our path, a moonlight waving hand
provides on many nights, a clear direction to follow,
pseudo-thrills of continence that my vision uncovers,
but my body knows is but a poor substitute*
pretty words for pretty girls
*my disease has a diagnosis.
your body attacked,
your body reacts,
defeats the infector,
remembering the next time
that disease comes round
how it got beat prior
and how to do it again*
so how come I’m falling love once more?*
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 5:20 PM UTC
I am a white, Jewish girl from Florida.
Hit me.
Hit me with your white girl jokes,
Your Jewish American Princess stereotypes.
I will giggle and squeal right along with you.
Because yeah,
I do order white chocolate mocha frappuchinos from Starbucks,
I Instagram pictures of my nails,
I take selfies, whiten my teeth, straighten my hair,
Shop at Forever21 and drink Naked Juice like it is my job.
Yeah, my daddy buys me things,
I don’t pay for my data plan,
There’s no way in hell I would drive a sedan,
I wear Nike shorts and avoid any nearby cameraman,
And let me tell you, I love jamming out to old school Britney Spears.
Hit me one more time, because none of that means I am any less intelligent,
Any less diligent,
Any less likely to face judgment
Than any other slice of diversity around me –
I am a white, Jewish girl
My nose is not its own cartoon,
I eat bagels (but I absolutely hate lox),
I’m not tan or even the least bit tinted,
And god knows I don’t wear Uggs.
Tell me I need to get married young,
Major in business,
Wear clothes that leave me airless,
Get some of that European gracefulness,
But don’t tell me I’m dumb.
Don’t tell me I’m not thoughtful.
I’m a white girl.
Take a glance at my resourcefulness,
Understand my goals of being ambitious,
Get rid of your own stereotype-inducing cockiness,
And notice me in all of my flawlessness.
Because I am a white girl,
And I am unique, strong, inventive,
Empowered, passionate, adventurous,
Indomitable, unbeatable.
I am an individual –
Not part of some whole that you put me in to stabilize your mold,
Not the example of a societally scatterbrained ***** meant to be your centerfold,
Not a previously worn-out piece of clothing thrown to the gutter unsold,
Rather a human being of my own rules and my own morals
A human being with ideas and intelligence and power,
A white, Jewish girl,
A person.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
Beauty written on her face
Perfect sits on scarlet lips
Elegance in every pace
Flawlessness in every glimpse
Temptation etched into her skin
Amazement dances in her eyes
But deception fills her grin
She's disaster in disguise
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC
I look at someone else's poem
And I see flawlessness.
I look at my own
And I see nothing but flaws.
I write poetry to get away from the bad feelings.
Not to make more.
And it's hard.
Everything is hard.
I've become hard.
Hardened to the beauty of the world.
Hardened to the beauty of poetry.
All I can focus on is my own writing
As I try to be as good
As you.
Feb 7, 2021
Feb 7, 2021 at 10:32 PM UTC
I couldn't tell you
what perfection is.
For every time I try,
my mind closes its windows and locks its doors,
frightened by the concept of flawlessness within a single person.
I could, on the other hand, list the many things perfection is not.
perfection is not twirling a blade between your fingers, wondering where it will leave its mark next.
perfection is not buying shirts 4 sizes too big to cover up what we think is there.
perfection is not tilting back the bottle again, promising yourself that it is the last time.
perfection is not the face I see staring back at me each and every day.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
his fluid being mimics that of cigarettes;
death chopped up and rolled
into a curious little thing
i could hold him in my hands
but that is a mere only;
his wonderment insufficient
my soul too mammoth
my lips crave the grim reaper's touch
my skin detests the flawlessness of
staged idiosyncrasy
this world has seen enough
of those
you yell misanthrope,
but you do not understand
i seek
the intertwining of
precariousity
intimacy marked by fluttering thumbs
tracing specks of golden
on his cheeks
galaxies splashed across the
bridge of his nose
he is everything i yearn
yet;
everything i cannot be
he is my exotic morns
and my sunday siesta
fingertips outline
connect-the-dot maps
i could only ever get lost in
freckles.
like a lacklustre silence
the end of sentences pinpointing areas
chipped fingernails have lusted to memorise
you only crave what you know cannot be.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
I am madly in love with you, is that not clear?
When you talk about her flawlessness and I have everything to fear,
You text me asking for advice on your girlfriend and I'm still here.
You call me asking for advice on a girl whose intention is clear,
To tempt you with a life outside of those three years.
In your compliments and love you seem sincere,
And yet I can not bring myself to disturb and interfere
Because I know you do not love me the way that I love you my dear.
So I will stay and I will persevere
Because I know that one day there will be no more tears.
And I will watch you be happy with another whom I will revere
As the woman who stole your heart and kept as a souvenir.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 4:43 AM UTC
Like the pages of a book
We took to read an authors mind
Our lines define us
In a way
They say what sometimes we've forgotten
Or neglected
Or reflected upon many times
Our lines tell us the story
Ourselves in all our glory
As we bolted down that hill on a skateboard
And did somersaults on the concrete
Or slid down steps on plastic sheeting
Left bleeding where the board cut into wrist
When it stopped at the bottom
And we didn't
Our childhood misadventures notwithstanding
We are still standing looking back in time
Through our lines
Our cuts and incisions
Our many decisions that left us souvenirs we can never throw away
But never would anyway
Because what else tells stories like scars do?
Of what we've been through
What we've seen to
And come out the other side
Just to hide our reminders
As if we don't find them satisfying
A blemish on our perfect skin
As if there's such a thing
As if you'd want such a thing
Like you'd bin a book of poetry because of its lines
Or throw out a painting because it was no longer a perfect white canvas
Perfection lies in the imperfection
There is beauty in the brokenness
The flaws in the flawlessness
The differences and nuance
That are lined upon our skin
Akin to lines upon the paper
Taper off towards the end
And then the storytelling starts
For what is art if not a story
And what are lines if not art?
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 5:40 PM UTC
Of beauty's description
You are my greatest affliction,
No star shone brighter than;
The twinkle in your eyes,
Nor hath the sun's rays shine;
Like the glow of your golden hair,
Neither hath a rose; softer petals;
Than your soft yielding skin,
And no orchestra or instrument could procure;
Such beautiful sound as that of your voice,
Then again never has there been;
Nor will there ever probably be,
Any such comparison to flawlessness,
Nothing comparable; nothing similar,
So stay, sitting pretty you;
On that throne of yours so high,
For none could ever rise to you close;
Fear in their every thought,
Acknowledgement of it in their every word;
For you are perfection incarnate...
© okpoet
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC
*being the topper in the class, he developed certain pride
that the envious derided, ignored flatterers on his side.*
the first bench was his permanent place
from where shone his haloed face
when the teachers spoke seemed it thus
there was only him in the whole class.
all questions he took the answers he knew
solved hardest sums others had no clue
not once an intruder could invade his space
he shined in glory of his flawlessness.
from him was never unfinished homework
ruthlessly made on exams his mark
was taken for granted he would win first place
the rest of the herd would just run the race.
the teachers indulged him the pride of the class
but you know all fame are fragile like glass
it so happened a new teacher joined the school
unbiased he was not to blindly toe the rule.
he asked the first boy if he had ever flown a kite
played marbles on road picked up a fight
if ever he had walked barefooted on the grass
stole a look at sky bunked even one class.
if he had ever chosen to close the book
hid him alone in the scariest of nook
scanned the horizon to catch first moonrise
counted the stars bamboo grove's fireflies.
he looked nonplussed didn't utter a word
anything than studies he hardly bothered
had he answered it would all have been no
to him most precious was his place at front row.
he bowed his head down with ashen face
for the first time in class he failed to impress
what happened next was no riddle to guess
that teacher was gone without a trace.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
I watched as your chest rose
And descend
In silent intervals
I drew closer to you
Our noses brushed,
And oh how my blood rushed.
Through the course of my veins they flowed
like a tsunami.
I remained motionless
My fingers laid gently upon your cheek
I began to trace the meticulously sculptured structure of jaws
Before I met your lips
Your lips
They were the Devil's prized piece
and God's miraculous work of utter flawlessness.
They were parted slightly
And my fingers found their way to the tip of your lower lip.
I looked on intently
As your lips quivered subtly with each paced breath that you took
How I battled the urge to press my lips against yours.
I looked on to your hair that rustled so delicately
with the passing journey of the wind
I gave myself the luxury of mildly stroking each piece off your forehead rigorously
And watching as how they folded back in compliance.
Your eyelids were laying perfectly on one another
Hiding away the jewels.
Jewels that shone so magnificently that nothing could be in comparison to its rare elegance
That it had to be sealed behind the locks of your eyelids.
Your slumber had made you peaceful and serene
And I could watch you as you were;
You were naked
And I could see all of you
No bars barred,
No walls built up.
You were bare,
Vulnerable and defenseless
Yet, that has made you even more majestic.
k.m.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
Perfection is such an ugly concept.
Fortunately,
Beauty and flawlessness
are not synonyms.
Society twisted its definition though.
Into something hideous.
Something unattainable.
It's meaning has gotten tangled in the words
and lost in our worlds demented web of lies.
Pretty shouldn't have a size
and I'll be the first admit despite my shame
I'm guilty of thinking that
sometimes
before I catch myself
and remind myself
Beauty is not tangible
or even explainable
Beauty
one of the few words
that are not words
but concepts
and one of the few concepts
that are left undefinable.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
She lies on the swaying hammock, watching butterfly’s flutter away.
Her skins glows in the shimmering rays of light, and feels of only smoothness; flawlessness.
Twirling around the lawn with her mother’s hands in hers, like a bird soaring through the infinite blue. She was in complete bliss. So innocent. So unknowing.
And as she grew older, the ecstasy began to fade.
The world continued to revolve around her,
rapidly replacing the naive with the conscious.
The understanding that our creation is malicious diminished her hope until there was nothing left but the mere memories of her childhood.
She longed for the day where life was as simple as those, when pain seemed not to exist.
But although she grew up to realize the misery,
she never stopped watching the butterfly’s flutter away,
into the world of unknown.
-s.s
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
She was beautiful,
she was elegant,
she was stunning.
She was everything he had ever wanted:
how could he ever be with one so striking?
Surely she was in love.
In love with someone equally as grand.
Someone who could rain down all of the wants
she had ever dreamed.
But he could look.
He watched her often.
The way her eyes would squint in response to her smile.
The way her teeth revealed their apparent flawlessness when she laughed.
The way the colour of her eyes would wane,
from one remarkable shade of blue to another as her mood varied.
The more that he watched her, the more that he heard her.
The more that he heard her, the more that he listened.
And the more that he listened, the more that he learned.
He knew so much about her...
and she had no idea.
She could never know.
If she knew, she would laugh at him;
Embarrass him.
Tell him how ridiculous he was,
for thinking she could ever be with him.
Maybe.
But the thoughts of her would never cease.
He had to talk to her...
Day in and day out he talked.
She was so gracious to placate him this way!
How could she feign such enthusiasm?
Perhaps she wasn't.
How could she possibly be interested?
If she discovered his intent and her feelings were not reciprocated,
then everything would be ruined.
It wasn't worth the risk.
He could not lose what they shared.
And still he talked.
And still his feelings grew.
He was in love with this girl,
this untouchable girl.
The agony of keeping his secret was destroying him.
He had to confess.
Her reaction would be predictable...
But hope was all that he had.
He wished on every falling star.
He spoke her name into every wishing well.
He mentioned her in every prayer.
All seemed to suppress his longing,
his desire...
Hope pushed him forward.
Hope also held him back.
For as long as he had hope,
the chance for her affection was still there.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
This is a special typhoon of sorts.
It revolves and turns;
A windy conch-shell blowing in a
Random, disorderly manner.
The patrons that travel in them
Are enviable. Unclothed and unashamed,
They are useless to be reminded.
They remain oblivious throughout this
Journey, that demands so little out of them.
They get a whole world of ***** love in return.
Yes, it is love, the sick purity of it
Makes them feverish. It’s like being
In the middle of a tornado of
Hot-coal, with no control of the temperature.
It is quite a traffic in there, with hordes of
Turned-on traffic looming together
With the cheekiness of rotations.
Clockwise, counter-clockwise,
Either way, they look comfortable being
In their own skin.
This twister are more like telephone cords.
Not so black, but with the same
Terrible, manic curls, each concocting
Its own love story. The lovers are wind-bathed
And pampered. The flawlessness that resides
In their hair, faces, bodies! They are so white,
They’re almost perfect. It is so pure, so magical
In there, it is heaven!
If only the wind lasts forever
In this eternal sea of people,
The world would start
To utter more sense.
Shalini Nayar
© 2002
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
Hello good-bye.
Hello good-bye.
Twenty years compounded into twenty minutes
Please make this night last forever.
The clock ticks the minutes pass nice to meet you over and over again
Rise and fall only to rise over and over again
Shaking hands introduction meeting
Killing so softly softly slowly
Only to be born again
Rising living born here right now in this moment within the last twenty minutes
Twenty years crashing colliding complete
Completely alive right now and for the next twenty minutes
Inhaling and exhaling deeply slowly making the minutes last forever
Please make this night last forever.
Sleeping moon never asleep guided by the light
Guided softly softly slowly death like birth dying feels like living
Living life in one night in twenty minutes
Twenty minutes of perfection flawlessness beauty grace
Softly perfect sinking away shining away
Morning sun rising reflecting
Reflecting eyes that speak twenty years
Eyes that whisper beauty grace perfection life and death hope and tragedy
Twenty years in twenty minutes in those eyes
They made the night last forever and the morning arrival too soon
Hello hugging embracing shaking trembling good-bye
Good-bye admit good-bye to the night to the eyes to the life to the air
Hello to the morning good-bye to the night
Night that lasted forever that brought death and life
That rises and falls
Wishing it would rise again and last forever.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 10:32 PM UTC
The flaw from yesterday
Is not the flaw of today
Today's flaw is the fact
That I believed I was flawed yesterday
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 2:01 PM UTC
Maybe if this c h a o s didn't exist, life would no longer be as normal.
Maybe if these conflicts, problems, and daily issues we are forced to deal with were non-existent, the world would almost seem perfect.
But is that what we're shooting for, flawlessness?
I suppose these issues are required to make life/world as we know it, otherwise everything would be uniform and boring.
...our ability to lose interest in something is increasing drastically.
Perhaps, this is what scares me the most.
May 31, 2010
May 31, 2010 at 7:00 PM UTC
Once again
You are conscious
Another flow of memories
Is bursting through your veins
Like painful ache of piercing knives
Awful flawlessness, overflowing perfection
Corrupting your bloodstream with agony;
Why is there blood on your hands?
Blood-soaked sleeves of your sweater
Blazing on your pale skin with crimson glow
Like redempted lovers in a land
Where death has already conquered
I cannot hear your breath
Restful beating of your heart freezes
Yet I will sheed no tears over your frigid body
My wretched ***** lover
You loathsome empty egoist
Who left me here on my own
I will not mourn your death
For it killed who I was
Or ever will be
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
We endure
Miles of wasted conversation
Hand in hand.
I listen to
Those
Same.
Tired.
Names.
With heavy ears
As you paint pictures of
Your ideal perfection
To the one-two
Rhythm of our footfalls
On the sidewalk.
I want to take your breath away
And replace it with an air of knowing.
I want to curse you
With “can’t keep your hands off me”
Attraction.
I want to offer you
Rich,
Handpicked expressions
Of what you do to me;
Subtlety painted notes
Of brushing kisses
And gentle touches.
But she-
Oh she,
She will be perfectly noticed,
She’ll offer infinite
Counterfeit smiles,
Soft skin,
Honeyed breathing,
Dream lips,
As you become
Another.
Lost.
Good.
Man.
While I fight
The natural drift
My hands hold in place
All of the “do you remembers,”
Wishing
I could be
The reasonless dance,
Senseless under-the-blanket kissing
Bringer of look into the sky laughter,
The seer of what’s behind
Those eyes,
The cinnamon-sugar warmth
Of home,
That living flawlessness.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 3:43 AM UTC