"flooded" poems
you will never be forgotten.
ever.
your name twisted into metaphors and colors and distractions will forever
be painted across pages and pages of her favorite brand of notebook,
no matter how many she burns
there will always be one she forgot,
and she will only find it once she had almost forgotten you.
she will find the one Papyrus notebook
and all of your metaphors and colors and disractions will come flooding back,
just like how the ocean in your eyes
flooded her heart all those years ago.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 1:29 PM UTC
In the place where the moon meets broken shadows, it begins with the swelling of my eyes
Tears roll across the scars, that no one else can see
A phantom’s curse
Only this place can release my from this dystopian enchantment
The sweet smell alone entangles me with feelings of safety and wonder
For a reality flooded with forest flowers and a throbbing wind
It teases my subconsciousness, it trickles down to my soul
Like a an agonizing murmur
The hypnotic web forms
In this quiet place clouds hurry across confusing shadows
Shivering in the delicious sunlight
My immaculate hour of rediscovery begins…
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
you didn’t like the way i answered the phone,
and you thought it was gross that i liked mushrooms on my pizza,
and you told me i was weird-looking when i was a kid,
and once i sent you a tattoo and you said you didn’t like it, you didn’t know they were my words that were written on her body
you told me what “too much damage” meant on halloween after all the trick-or-treaters had fallen asleep
and when i kept silent for three days after,
and winced at every kissing scene on television, because they flooded the insides of my eyelids with images that made me feel very small,
you said i was being unfair
because i was the one who decided we were just friends,
and i told you we weren’t, you knew we weren’t
we couldn’t be after what we used to be
i told you i still had feelings that hadn’t gone away yet,
you said they hadn’t gone away for you either
i pictured you holding my hand
but then you said,
“that’s why it’s easier to run from them
and hide in other girls beds.”
you always told me every thought
that popped into your head, and i used to find it endearing,
i kept telling myself that you deserved my ear,
but i really hope you have nothing more to say
because, i promise, i’m done listening
so clear off your bedside table, and cut the
blue string that’s wrapped around your wrist if you’ve yet to do so,
and stop asking me if i miss you,
because this is me saying
i don’t.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
You are my pink skies with candy floss clouds
My open fields flooded far and wide with cherry blossoms
and green feathered sparrows singing tunes of your favourite songs that sound kinda-something-sorta like your voice,
The walls in my castle populated perfectly with portraits of you
and you already know portraits are my favourite.
Somehow my imagination bound beautifully with my reality such that I could tell no difference.
You are my Utopia.
But utopia is subject to interpretation.
You like candy floss occasionally, pink is not your favourite colour and I do not even know what your favourite flower is
Without forgetting to mention, you prefer beaches.
You like puns, peaches, foxes and fairies but my world has none of that, I want to accept those but you will not have it any other way.
I want our worlds to collide but in a more subtle way, but when that kinda thing happens it is almost always apocalyptic
So, what is yours will never be mine and what is mine you do not even want at all.
My utopia sounds like it belongs in a book, but we all know how long that lasts.
Be sure to check out Utopian Dystopia Pt. 2!
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
It follows me around you know
Maybe it never really left
It hangs around the air, light as a feather
But it´s presence, heavy as a weight.
As I sit on the bus, an empty seat at my side
It sits, it looks at me, and it stares...
And my mind is flooded with thing we used to do
Things of lovers: to kiss, to hug, to lose myself in you
To show you my affection, to show you I cared.
As I go out to take a walk, it walks by my side
It matches my speed, no matter how slow or fast
And my heart weighs heavy with things I could have done
Tell you I love you, being there for comfort
So much time wasted, never to return.
As I lay in my bed, it lays by my side
Perfectly still, just outside of my grasp
And our future banishes in front of my eyes
Our home, our family, our lives intertwined
It tears me apart, as I begin to cry.
It follows me around, but I can´t leave it behind
The ghost of you, it haunts me day and night
The mistakes I made… The errors of my ways…
I pay for dearly, every single day
Loneliness follows me, and it has your shape…
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
homeless, no
metropolis without a home
blaring and clinking and laughing
lights sharp like daggers
me and strange men—and
you
blinding
motorcycle
red, yellow, purple, neon
all blurs together
then, music, like iceland, like
a flooded jungle, drowning
I let go,
take me away
you are my key,
---
gun in hand
orchestra in other
and bach and beethoven in between
I'm sure we heard the same organs that day
but you, other hand on bible
prayed
why hadn't I?
my actions will have consequences
.
---
my only chance
test after test
failure after failure
higher
and
higher
suffocating desperation
I
grab on and
never
let go
**** you, and
I'll
be
free
Aug 30, 2020
Aug 30, 2020 at 4:06 AM UTC
Potholed road full busload, rumble cloud rain,
Hole in sky angers fly, groan they all in pain,
Flooded way joy at bay, no relief respite,
Begged it rain summer’s pain, scorching day and night,
You prayed it god brought it, the monsoon’s delight,
Don’t grumble slip tumble, curse it as a plight.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
As you know
Its so called
Tuesday
1st of July.
Monsoon at door and you're not there
Love is so alone as usual.........!
The inevitable dark grasping me day by day
Am idiot to find you out
As the Monsoon at door-step
Let it shower once again
Let me be flooded......!!!!!
As you know
This time the Monsoon isn't all natural
But also of some manly emotions
Ever in cover
But with the Monsoon
No more........................................................................!!!01.07.2014
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
The emus formed a football team
Up Walgett way;
Their dark-brown sweaters were a dream
But kangaroos would sit and scream
To watch them play.
"Now, butterfingers," they would call,
And such-like names;
The emus couldn't hold the ball
- They had no hands - but hands aren't all
In football games.
A match against the kangaroos
They played one day.
The kangaroos were forced to choose
Some wallabies and wallaroos
That played in grey.
The rules that in the West prevail
Would shock the town;
For when a kangaroo set sail
An emu jumped upon his tail
And fetched him down.
A whistler duck as referee
Was not admired.
He whistled so incessantly
The teams rebelled, and up a tree
He soon retired.
The old marsupial captain said,
"It's do or die!"
So down the ground like fire he fled
And leaped above an emu's head
And scored a try.
Then shouting, "Keep it on the toes!"
The emus came.
Fierce as the flooded Bogan flows
They laid their foemen out in rows
And saved the game.
On native pear and Darling pea
They dined that night:
But one man was an absentee:
The whistler duck - their referee -
Had taken flight.
9.7k
My breath is lost as I gaze upon the magnitude of the mountains that surround me. I marvel at how beautifully the water reflects the sky, pure white clouds stretched across blankets of soft pinks and blues as the sun sets behind the trees. I see the steadiness of Your hand in the horizon. I see Your love of variety in shells scattered along the shoreline. I see Your flawless detail in the veins of a maple leaf. I see Your creative spark in fireflies glowing subtly against the darkness of an airy August night. I hear You in the winter wind, I feel You in the summer heat. My soul is flooded with joy at the sight of Your creation. I cannot help but lift my hands and praise You.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 2:47 PM UTC
I remember you
from your beautiful smile
your cinnamon scented hair
your contagious laughter
your nail-biting addiction
your pointless insecurities
to our silly inside jokes
our dumb little fights
our peculiar bets
our goofy text messages
through tears and smiles
you were the only one who understood
my unspoken words
my concealed pain
my unexpressed happiness
my puzzled feelings
counting your days
we recalled our mischievous memories
when we danced in the rain
when we rang doorbells and ran away
when we pranked the gullible ones
when we stole Ikea pencils
when we fangirled over stunning guys
when we were together
everything turn into excitements
moments with you
I remember them all, Grace
it was a week before December twenty-fifth
when the monstrous cells stopped your heart
a glimpse of smile
appeared upon your face
as you're being taken
far away from us
skin turned pale
body stiffened
tears flooded my sight
there were wailing across the room
time flies like a bullet train without you
it's a rainy day today
you've always loved rainy days
sinking my knees in the dew-wet grass
raindrops whisper in my ears
as I brush off the gray snow from your stone
I still remember you, Grace
I still do
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
One thread came loose with alcoholism at a very young age.
She recovered. She forgot and proceeded.
One thread was yanked loose by a growing tendency to self sabotage.
She clawed her way out of the spiral.
One thread pulled at others when she learnt she didn’t need alcohol to have a good time.
She felt deprived by self-restraint. So she slightly caved.
One thread burned along with her personality when she became a stoner again.
She was suffocated yet high.
One thread was singed by ****
She fell back into her ***** habits. She found herself here, but not quite present.
She became dependant. As she flooded her body parts with superficial happiness, just a quick release, her mouth grew dry. Then the peeling skin on her stained lips began to stick together and she regressed into a still and faded silence. In the end, she was in shreds and blissfully unaware, alone with nothing but one solitary thread left to grasp at.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 7:30 PM UTC
The rain came in rivers
Flooded the streets
Trees and debris everywhere
Up to my knees
In the sky's sorrow
I couldn't wait
"Till tomorrow"
To borrow your heart
I swam the roads
That overflowed
My heart for yours is what I owed
And at the crossroad
There was no water
No flood
No trees or debris
Up to my knees
Just you
Only you
Always you
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
You used to be my pink skies and cotton candy clouds but now everything is grey, rainy and miserable.
And it makes me want to cry.
We're going in a different direction now and I am not the one who pulled the steering wheel.
I no longer see my open fields flooded far and wide with cherry blossoms and all the green sparrows have flown away.
They are crying now and I can no longer hear your voice.
Instead, it is all a barren wasteland. And the sand is not even at least the beautiful orange the Sahara desert always is.
All the portraits in my castle have gone blank. The castle itself, war torn, brought down to rubble as a result of the battle I fought within myself.
I may have lost the battle but I have not yet lost the war. I hope.
Unfortunately, our worlds did not collide as subtly as I had prayed. It was a violent mishap, an event outside of time.
I sit silently and alone in the centre of my dreams as I have witnessed them being violently washed away by ocean waves with my hands tied and bound by my admiration for you.
You like beaches right? That has to mean something, maybe a reason for you to stay a little longer.
You are my Dystopia.
But dystopia is subject to interpretation.
And what is yours will never be mine and what is mine you do not even want at all.
My dystopia sounds like it belongs in a book, but we all know how long that lasts.
Be sure to check out Utopian Dystopia Pt. 1!
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
When I am with you,
I can't stop smiling.
When I talk to you,
my stomach is flooded
with butterflies.
When I see the shine
in your eyes,
my sorrows go away.
When I think of you,
I can't help to wish
that I could call you mine.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 1:37 AM UTC
Warning:
The seagull flying over the Appalachians
could not possibly be amused by the
puzzles of an illegitimate composer
and the skyscrapers climbed.
1.
The skyscrapers were played by tall
rocks a girl climbed when she couldn't
remember if the cape she wore was
made from steel or newspaper.
11.
The newspaper they all read together
that morning (girl, boy, king, etc)
promised nothing but a fifty percent
chance of dandelions terrorizing the bus stop.
2.
The bus stop had since become a
dealer corner and the sunset behind
the mountains was blocked by the
flipping hair of a lost boy.
7.
The boy bought a toy for cheap -- it had
a built-in laser, so she stole it to blast a
whole hole in that guilt-ridden quilt hung
over the four dollar love seat.
6.
The love seat, she bought the day he went
to maple -- the soap dispenser was broken,
but she couldn't find anything new (that she
knew) to wash her hands with.
5.
The hands that handed her a hammer were covered
in promotions, so she stole the motorcycle when
they were watching the scarecrow going
through electric-shock, disco therapy.
8.
The therapy that she received from the
parrot-king and his troupe of square roots
was enough to make her not forget not regret
the boy with feathers in his ears.
10.
The ears she woke up with one morning
were different in shape than before
and the black fur she knew
was growing before her eyes.
3.
The eyes of the boy were wider than
the nightly news station promised, and
there wasn't really a difference
between caves and boxes in a town that small.
4.
The town she arrived in didn't have
a carpool lane or derby, so
she had to take her pet goldfish
to the river for his depressive state.
9.
The river wasn't as flooded after a couple
weeks of changing the tune on the jukebox
she found way before the departure
of her white gold pearls.
12.
The pearls she wore for her
coming-of-age were buried beneath
a dirt mound when she promised herself
to always insist on herself.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 10:49 AM UTC
A wild man is not a boyfriend, he is a force.
Can you love me in the blinding heat of a birthing star, when I shower warmth on distant moons?
Can you love me in the hole of the cosmic Black, where no one can reach me? Not even you?
Can you love me then too?
Can you love me when I drag buffalo skulls through the dirt for days, to the rhythm of an ancient drum?
Will you love me if my beard hides the scars in my heart, from battles I cannot explain?
WIll you love me when I lack courage, when I am defeated, when I won’t let you patch my wounds?
WIll you trust me when I smell of sweetgrass and sage, and when I stink of whiskey and sweat?
When I drink from the cup and play in astral light, will you anchor me to Home?
What happens when my words don’t work, and I can speak with only my eyes?
Can you love me enough to let me go, without asking me where I’ll be?
I am no poodle to lay groomed on a leash at your feet. I am the wolf that fetches the bones of truth.
A wild man is not a boyfriend. He’s not built for animal husbandry. He is a force. He is a cause for an effect. He is a mission.
Are you afraid to let me inside you? Not just my flesh, but my soul. The wild man is neither burglar or vandal. I will not take anything from you. I will not trample on sprouting seeds or pick flowers as a trophy. I am the sun on flooded fields and the fire for tangled webs.
Don’t be scared, lover, mother, maiden, crone. Take me as I am.
Even if I have the power to destroy worlds, I will not destroy you.
A wild man is a protector. A father. A warrior for all that is good.
When the chaos seeks to obliterate you, sheering your flesh from bone, I will hold all the pieces together in love, until you are ready to reassemble.
When your seas boil, and your winds throw cars at corn fields, I will wait patiently for you to catch my eye, so that both of us can laugh.
When Hell opens up the fiery gates, and sends all the cosmos against you… I plant my heels deep in the ground. I lay my shield low. My sword is sharp then, my love. The steel sings sweetly. With a smile, Hoka Hey! My last breath a farewell kiss. Today is a good day to die.
For ours is the oldest love affair. The greatest story ever told. Cupid and Psyche, Shiva and Shakti, You and I.
Same same but different. Would we have it any other way?
A wild man is not a boyfriend. He is a force.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
On a shore flooded in the tide.
Now on a flitting log:
Rain, trying to fill up
the ridges white,
that, I, along with
***** snails and tiny starfish
are ambling to escape from.
The trees, they are laughing wet.
As are the distant waves,
snapping on returns.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
December, May and then June...
We've fallen out of tune.
A stroll down memory lane.
Lost in solitude
Once... [more].
Shadows play in the cold...
Expression-less figures dance [together]
in the Spring rain ...
walking on the seaside
Wonderful moments to embrace
A dust clouded you and I
...where were we?
followed the Autumn leaves
Smells of cinnamon, apple, and fresh wood
[but] I only remember
December, May, and June...
We've fallen out tune
[where we'd say 'I Love you?']
September alone
awaiting rain of May,
shadows of December,
walking in June.
could I have forgotten [happiness?]
without knowing, We would meet here.
life begins in the spring of May
continuing in June
Inside December's warmth...
Wrapped up in memory
easing from fear, my hope.
that an end never draws near
always holding for Love...
Walking in December,
Cold in May,
Raining flooded June...
we've fallen out of memory
and a tune
like broken pottery, scattered,
harvested in June
sculpted in December,
awaiting May...
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 1:06 AM UTC
The ballerina rises off her feet to stand en pointé.
Sparkles from her white costume shimmering
From the bright lights focused on her.
She elongates her arms into the air, bending her small wrists
And the tips of her delicate fingers lightly touch each other.
She glances at the crowd, looking for him
Even though she knows he is not there.
The long legs of this ballerina are linked, chained together.
And as she hears the music begin to play,
This ballerina slightly tilts her head and turns.
She does not blame him for leaving,
For this ballerina knows she drove him mad.
And onstage she chained her legs tighter and turned faster,
Eyelids fluttered shut, head tilted downward for a brief moment.
Obsession to the point of perfection.
He would never understand, which she always knew.
She had to be perfect.
Her head spinning and facing forward, this ballerina turned faster.
Drunken from Dom Pérignon and love along the coast of La Seine.
Allongé, this ballerina reached further and
Tourné plus vite sur ses pointes.
*Kisses filled with wonder outside the Place des Arts de Montréal,
Yet still she had to be perfect.
Faster with every chaîne tour; never stopping, wishing he could stay.*
She began to slow with every turn
As the ballet dancers flooded the stage.
White sparkles glistening everywhere,
The Prince made his presence known.
The tears she shed one night on the Pont Marie bridge as he walked way.
This ballerina slowed until she no longer turned, slowly lowering her arms,
One hand gently and softly grazing her face.
She stood in front of two rows of ballet dancers, searching for a face
That she knew would not be there.
Allongé, she bent her wrists where the tips of her fingers lightly touched
Before lowering her arms until they were in front of her.
She danced across the stage towards her Prince
Where he waited, arms outstretched, the ballet dancers facing him.
This ballerina turned once more before falling back into the arms of her Prince.
“I’m perfect.”
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
beyond Montana’s yellow lines
there is a field
~a field of painted soles
and laces rubber tread
~a field of ****** curls
and fallen headlights
where kaleidoscope lenses
look onto twisted frames like origami halos
where teddy bears hug stop signs like pickets
fringed in anger
runaway childhoods sleep cautionary tales
beyond Montana’s blushing acne
there are red cup melodies
blasting from blacked out tints
weaving blues notes through Rock & Rap
distant cries are drowned by Bass
or maybe Bud (light)
a haze of teenage eyes
they might as well be ghost riders
whip game copped from GTA
these pubescents are a Vice to their City
blooming sidewalk sloths
like flowerbeds
beyond Montana
is a country of bar stools
where bar tenders play therapists
and therapists play coroners
precedents are shots of whiskey - taken to the head
and reflected in flooded eyes
beyond Montana
is a country of MADD mothers and SADD students
beyond Montana
is a country of unexpecting pedestrians
beyond Montana
is a field
~a field of wing-clipped snow angels
That field is Mariah's home now
and she challenges you to change
yourself
your friends
your country
she challenges you to
STOP DRUNK DRIVING
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 2:22 PM UTC
Walking through a field,
Bountiful with flowers,
Their aroma caring my senses.
Green grass in plenty,
The sun shining down,
The ultra violet rays lightly touching my skin.
With so much beauty to scan my eyes over,
I’m not entirely sure where to begin,
Within a few steps Im paralyzed.
What I see is absolute bliss,
A single lotus surrounded by wildflowers,
By roses and tulips.
I’m set back by the luck I have to come across this.
Unsure of what do first,
I stand back and gaze at the perfect and breathtaking natural beauty.
Yes there is a few broken leaves,
Yes there is other lotuses in the universe.
However, this lotus has come into my life.
At a time where im walking alone,
Where my mind is flooded by screams.
I decide to take a step closer,
And another,
Then another,
Till finally the lotus is within my reach.
The screams have ended,
In their place is a beautiful song being sung,
Overcame with joy I lean down and smell the lotus,
At that moment im sent through the galaxy,
Witnessing pure amazement,
Simple pleasure,
My heart swells and my throat tightens.
I feel a single tear leaving my eye.
I begin spending moment after moment admiring the lotus,
My eyes transfixed upon it,
I forget im even in a field surrounded by other wild growth.
Then I notice the sunset,
The moonlight shining upon the lotus,
Revealing that within its broken leaves there is light and color.
I’m entranced.
I reach out to touch the lotus
But stop.
I realize I cannot pick this flower for it would stop growing.
Instead I go day after day,
Watering and caring for it.
Watching it grow,
Watching it become more gorgeous by the minute.
With every hour spent my happiness grows.
With every second passing,
It’s my heart I surrender for the lotus to hold.
Several years pass,
Still I visit this magical field,
Still I care for and water the lotus.
Learning patience,
Gaining strength.
This lotus is conforming me into a better man.
I’m growing older now and soon my life will end.
When that time comes I hope to be buried in that flowery field.
Next to the lotus ive surrendered my soul to yield.
With hopes that I can spend forever with it by my side,
Sprouting into something as blissful and breathtaking as the lotus.
To my lotus, for taking my heart.
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC
Couldn't see the rain before it flooded everywhere.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC