"flotation" poems
Introverted tendencies paint the scene
free to think only when locked away
cold to other people,
distant even when close
a lifetime spent close to the chest
hanging on to
an isolation flotation device
dragged to endless parties
to stand people watching
in the corner
family asks questions of depressions
and are met with "okays"
I would go out and play
but I have some things
in my own head
which I have to take care of first
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
my sadness feels like
i'm swallowing sea water -
every gulp down my throat is a step closer to
dehydration
sinking to the bottom
no flotation
lacking foundation
my sadness feels like
vomiting frustrations
stagnation -
my sadness feels like stagnation.
sensations of vibrations
surround me but do not reach
my hands
or any part of me for that matter.
I see it -
i know its there
the energy is flowing in the air
a devious glare - i swear
i stare
and stay aware that this
illness
does more than impair - it's unfair , really.
My sadness feels like everything around me is dead -
i know its really in my head but
i look at the evening sky and see not
yellows and reds but
grays instead -
i used to imbed the colors into my
brain but lately its been filled with
tar - seeping into unhealed scars
its making a home here -
till i disappear
its not just me it's "we're" that's here -
its overstayed its welcome.
My sadness feels like a man putting his feet on my
coffee table.
My sadness feels like an empty chest -
one that rots with dust and
human rust it
echoes and howls when opened -
like its terrified of its urge to leave.
My sadness feels like a parasite that *****
until it falls but
it doesn't fall -
only crawls
through the hollow parts of me
and creates substance.
My sadness feels like accepting to drown.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
our love making is an
amphetamine
coming together,
crack ******* this stunning pleasure
wilding dreams,
mescaline pretense too real
daily life,
the modulation high of a flotation device,
some call it cannabis-like
gentle drowsy,
a glass of tea and
she...
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 1:15 PM UTC
If the Tiber floods and the Nile fails to
If the overflowing mouth of Tamesis runs dry
If the weeping willow withers as the blackthorn breaks
And the regal golden eagle fails to climb in the sky
If the dried-up land yields a drought so parching
That the overarching urge is to drink yourself drowed
If the Dead Sea waters lose their saline flotation
And the carrion-grabbing vultures wheel in from miles around
Then Gethsemane's gates will crack open just a little
And the flowers of the garden will give off a sour scent
As their brazen roots recall the night when they were fed with blood
Dripping softly on the hallowed ground of dying man's lament
If the water rises slowly and yet still without abating
If it swallows up the chariots of sun and man and steed
If the kings step out and stumble to the grave, their destination
Will be broken, bold and cheerless: will be harrowing indeed.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 12:30 PM UTC
meaning
I can hear you
anchor that holds us
down
a second
I lost you
complete
fire
pierced
meaning
I am light
a flotation of end
a memory of when I was
four
a rise and you
the nebula in which
I
speck
meaning
a fullness
an overflow
a mist of brown and
wave
the hand which I
have writ
the looseness of your
outline
meaning
all the sheets
smooth and cupped
the ribbons around
the slight chip
rainbow
meaning
the sketch
and you
a prayer
I
break
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 8:54 PM UTC
I, the self, saw small subsidiaries of larger rivers.
Then I joined the water and sank deep in its hug.
As if chaos wasn't chaos.
Many simple and small expressions on the cusp of a monstrous wave.
-truly random randomness is absurdity
and absurdity folly.
Until oneself awoke to fleshy folly.
In every satirical ebb and flow
it creates neither order nor disorder because both are illusory.
There is no science of history just the insanity of hounds who trough
luminescence enough
to be dangerous,
gnarling their fangs at me.
In the distance they appear as beacons
but they are only ash now.
Electronic flotation device hovers above the memory,
kinetic nostalgia.
I the oneself can never be a memory
One has to become an objective entity to become a truly subjugate oneself.
-to reject it all,
discard all the objects,
to unplug,
to disconnect.
-reconnect to awaken to divine folly:
Contracting and expanding with the confidence of understanding with wives and
government.
The self thought it was him.
The self, a pariah, forgot the boy.
He became the whole self, the oneself,
and then forgot the self
to gain the self.
The warm plaster mold cracking.
Diseases and the cures both wear masks.
Plagues and reckless panacea are memories that only sort-of work backwards.
I the self,
poor masked sort,
felt the universe's tendons,
felt its flesh.
The oneself waits awake-
amidst the tearing of realities tissue.
Ossifying skin to bone,
to stone.
My muscles remember being metals
molten and dumb
like an Olympian.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
Reports are that New York City
Has washed out with the tide
Give my regards to Broadway
The starless Manhattan skyline
The coffee shop patrons are oblivious
To what is going on outside
With latte in hand they don't realize
They'll soon be swimming for their yuppie lives
All the business men on Wall Street
Are stuffing money in suitcases
Hoping that they'll double as
Life saving flotation
All those spotless high fashion models
Are in heels trying to run-away
It's far too late for that now
Shouldn't have gone to work today
With Central Park underwater
It's now New Yorks finest fishing spot
Tossing fishing lines out of every high-rise
Using what ever bait they've got
From Escargot to caviar
Along with diamond rings for shine
To attract the fish for that special dish
On which the rich can dine
Once a place of so much fun
The island became it's own ride
When Coney Island washed away
As New York was pulled out with the tide
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
lifeguards, free life vests, at least 15 lifeguards, always holding red flotation devices
always on the watch, telling little children to get out of the deep end
to give a rest break, a child looked faint, one guard approached, nothing
forever on the watch, no one gets hurt, required swim breaks,
guarding, guarding, keeping everyone so safe
I wondered how anyone could even cough water down the wrong pipe
here in this fully, totally, completely covered and safe lake and beach
waiting for an outdoor rinse, the screams of terror of a small child and tears
and then whack, whack, whack, and the crying increased and it took me
awhile to adjust, to reframe, that this, a deliberate endangerment, an infliction
of pain, could happen here, in a place so absolutely and intensely safe
but there is was again, the sound of striking and crying and harsh words in Spanish
and I gazed at the lifguards wetting down the sand where they had to walk to cool it
a lifeguard with that perfect surfer boy look, like the ones I grew up with
but again, the striking sound, in the relative darkness of the men's room
and a man followed by a tearful toddler emerged
the man looked like he's just performed a self satisfying act and the boy
followed him like a dog and I realize that
we as children are dogs, little animals who are abused
and follow our attackers home and live with them in order to survive
the man carried no obvious weapon, but I knew what he'd done
to be that two year old child, unable to soothe oneself, in a dark, strange room
with a man towering over him, inflicting pain for some trifle
I wondered what to do, but they walked by and dissapeared into the crowds of
picnics and music and the safe beach, with the lifeguards standing, always holding
their red flotation devices, all eyes staring at the water, the beach
it now did not look so safe at all
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
feeling it pierce my skin is a mysterious thing.. a type of pain that makes my heart sing.. it's funny what this emotion of expression can bring.. scraping my skin while all i feel is this sting.. so i lie and wait for us to start.. then i hear the machine hum.. my heart starts beating like a pounding drum.. my skin starts to feel numb.. this symbolic expression of myself in this art begins as my soul takes depart.. a temporary place where i can restart so my life wont fall apart.. this journey of pain and skin scraping keeps me sane.. accompanied by good music and mary jane.. as the pain begins to seep, my mind trickles in a drain.. washing away the heavy thoughts and the broken heart.. releasing the hate and the blame.. singing songs to keep myself tame.. with this ritual, i reclaim my creative independence.. with this artist i attendance, she looks at me to see my soul in transcendence.. slowly, this story of art begins to take shape.. this experience is more than an escape.. it is where dreams and creativity take shape.. it is where superheroes design their cape.. where love and passion dance around imagination.. this is where a poet would write a narration.. where fire and water dance in harmonious flotation.. now the pain gets my eyes in dilation.. but i know this is temporary.. for this expression of art has no expiration.. here i am ready to take the bait.. this is where i escape to less hate.. to strengthen the space where love gestates.. to have more than one reason to feel lightweight.. once in a while i find myself starting into the mirror.. looking deep within my pupils to find the meaning of my rhyme.. to find the spirit that hid with time.. do understand that these scars of art are not just for show.. they are part of the tools i use to flow.. living life each day wanting to grow.. so i implore you not to judge me till you really know; why this lifestyle thrives on being down low.. aside from the stories, these marks attack the status quo.. so there aint no way you can insult me with your stack of dough.. because these marks, these wounded stories is part of what makes me feel the glow.. so the next time you see someone with ink, dont assume you can make them feel your stink.. cause we'll be the same people who'll pull you out of your little sink.. we dont even need you to think.. all we'll do is nod, and wink..
pauldeeeeee
4apr2011
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 4:22 PM UTC
she gives me advice
and tugs at the corner of her mouth
some drugstore excuse for a smile
when i squeeze my eyes shut
because the tv
is ruining my dreams
she says things
i know are not true
but i act like she knows
more than me
she is so much
happier than me
act as if she has gotten saved
and i am still learning to swim
when i know
that she is no longer drowning
she is stuck at the bottom
of the ocean
inhaling the seawater
pretending it is oxygen
and she can breathe
just fine
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
With my growth I leave behind a shell.
A casing of the world I used to thrive in.
The past is no longer inhabitable, but still usable.
I use my memories as a flotation device in the abyss that is recurring.
I rise above my past and transcend into the new crevice that is my present.
I cannot change the past as it is set in bone.
But I can make my future fit me.
I can form my own protection
layer by layer
until all my supplies of DNA paper Mache will no longer stick.
Their glue dried up, exhausted by the length of time I've spent on earth, oppressed by the pressure of the tumulting, black sea.
Waves may break on me.
My knowledge of living my shield against depression, anxiety.
My bone hard shield saves me.
I am the chambered nautilus. I am awake.
But dream I will of times beyond 36.
What lies ahead may only hurt me on the edge because to the core my skeleton is steady.
Its weight growing heavy
Can be lifted with my spirits as if before a feast.
And dragged down to the ocean floor when realized I'm a beast.
No princess in her castle, nor farm boy in his barn
Unique to who I am, and in my niche I fit.
I may blow up.
And fall down.
And spurt salty tears.
You'd never know, my loves, my dreams, my fears.
Upon first glance I am the epitome of my life.
Upon second, as confusing.
Upon third, as painful and funny.
And as irrelevant to others as I am important to myself.
Another rock in the ocean. Another pebble. Another pearl.
Not found
Not searched for
Not hidden.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
I never knew myself as
the kind to dwell on simple things;
Like alphabet soup.
I look at the strange bland liquid,
surrounding the spongy flotation devices.
They move around just as leaves do
in a gusty gale.
I see what they spell out,
The slowly evaporating words.
I spell out the aching bellows
of what is to become my life.
Simplicity in it's finest.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
AT 20,000 FEET
such as it
reciprocates
our biological rights demands.
our genetic material reciprocate magnetism.and your seat cushion may be used as a flotation device
how couldn't i?
at 20,000 feet
drunk as ****
clinging to a chair,
clinging to each other,
clinging to the air,
this plane is quite obviously crashing,
but betwixt flames,
and screams,
shouts
of the crew
as we
all know
we
are
to
die, through
the shouts of all this
through every waking moment
through the snow
and the rain
through death
through pain
and ****
i would climb through sewers
i would swim through a lake of radiation
i would overturn every stone in chernobyl
and never
would i find.
ten whiskeys deep
and i think
"oh ****
what am i getting myself into?"
and then
"really,
i don't even give a ****
and then
"christ,
i need a cigarrette"
and then,
at the end of the day
all that really matters
is whether or not
you
svghjkgtorijhbnjkcvf
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 8:15 PM UTC
You cannot love
Two people at once
Even if they are on opposite sides
Of the country
Even if one is on the west coast
And the other is on the east
It still isn't possible
Eventually you will mix feelings like liquor
Forgetting how many shots of promise you've offered to each
How many times you've poured their glasses half empty
It is reckless behavior
That never ends well
Only in sickness and a headache in the morning
You cannot care
For two souls equally
It is not fair
To separate passion in half
When it is only meant to be given as a whole
And one will surely sense the uneven in the balance
Like a sinking boat with a crack in the base
Water flows to a side and leaves the other drowned
Gasping for air
For some sense of meaning
The sea is too dangerous to dive directly in
And it's impossible to be everybody's saviour
So don't promise rescue
To both
When you only have one flotation device
You cannot hold
Two hearts together
At the same time
Your hands are not big enough
They are too clumsy to balance the weight of disappointment
And theirs will be heavy when your shaking fingers release them
Dropping everything you've attempted to fit inside
Disaster will takeover
A hurricane of hurt will rush in
Leaving you empty and barren
With open palms
You will regret not holding on to one thing tightly
Instead you chose to grab on to two
And ended up with neither
That's what you get
For choosing quantity over quality
For stuffing your arms with more than you could carry
You get nothing
In return for greed.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
aroused by change we
summon the details of
undefined truths
into what turns out
to be explicatory
educational knowledge
overcome by wonderful
forms and figures
hiding , keeping us
away from the decay of time
nevertheless leaving us in a
dreaming state of mind
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
Swaying back and forth. Carrying my mind in vast directions. It is getting hard to stay with the current. The water tugging at every corner and crevice of my state of being. I can feel my muscles tiring, along with my cerebellum. I yell into the void and empty sea air, “LET ME GO. LET ME GO. I can make up my own mind! I am my own person!” But I am the only creature floating in this ocean of debate and discrepancy, so, not a soul can hear my helpless cries of dull agony. All I have left to do is wade, and wait. So I am waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Still waiting.
Soon waiting overwrites wading as my body gives up, and so I begin to go limp.
Now I am limp. Limp. Limp. Almost lifeless.
Almost is the word my mind seems to be holding onto, as if it is some form of a flotation device.
The Ocean continues dropping in temperature as the sun rushes itself towards the bottom, to leave me cold and alone with the moon.
He mocks me. Mocking. Mocking. Still Mocking me.
I am still limp.
“You have to keep yourself above the line.” My mind begins feeding me truths based on lies and mistakes. My mind knows that I am giving up. “You are the only person that can keep you above the line. Depend on no one else.”
For some reason, I choose today, of all days, to take what he is telling me to heart. -Yes, I remember now. I have a heart. And my heart has a beat. BU-BUM. BU-BUM.- Maybe it is the sharp, glass-like ocean, or the pitch-black air that paints the sky, that has amplified my trust.
Whatever it is, I am thankful for my mind.
I now stop waiting.
And I begin to Wade. Wading. Wading. I am saving myself.
And then,
as if I have pressed a button on a simple children’s toy,
I awake in my bed.
The sun’s arms wrapped around my apartment windows.
The air fresh, and the day looking up at me, hope painted across her face.
I have survived another dream, to live another day.
Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 11:16 PM UTC
Here I lay again, for drawn curtains
and restless sleep against the smooth afternoon overcast.
Gloss and film from smoke injected eyes:
a hazy description of counting sheep
O’ what a restless sleep I have found
on an ocean of sheets tonight,
where thoughts come one at a time
filtered by starry nights slow burning tail pipe cigar.
Another **** would open sheep filled fences
and I have surely imagined wolves
in my prairies tonight: products of the night machine
But, how does this unbelievable tossing and turning of
island factory gears knock ones course a few degrees short?
Had we been taught to sail correctly
through the crunching and clanking of the industrialized night
we might have noticed smoke in our sails,
from the moon we suspected it hails
and shines a curious ray,
that signals for workers to pack their weary souls
“It’s time to go home” they say
“and forever we shall work another day”.
And it is there, among the chaos of relocation
that my eyes become anchors
that lock me into a comfortable flotation
and as distracting clouds roll past
I come to an endless sleep
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
Apoligies retract at sharper speeds than windy tides
I'm sorry for leaving you washed at shore
but I stopped needing your flotation devices
when I learned to tread on my own and could hold more
oxygen in my lungs alone than I ever could with you on top of me
I do not need you to swim
I do not need you to breathe
The rose gold sunset fills what was left empty
by rough and unforgiving waves
I am not the same girl you pushed out to sea.
I am not drowning anymore.
I am safe at shore.
Without you.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC
I found my sanctuary
In the bottomless, raging sea.
I sank as I grew weary —
Reached its bottom with my bare feet.
Free of motion,
Evading commotion,
Ceasing devotion,
Dreading demotion.
This is a resignation;
I serenely grow my gills —
Neither weakness nor damnation,
Just a soul worn out from flotation.
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 10:07 AM UTC
to explain to you who cannot see,
the cloy, the quantity of water, tasks, and other
hurts, that fit into a day. the moment
your feet slide into mud, with one word.
heard , read, imagined, the sentence dives and plays
whole, yet as days move on, flotation occurs,
buoys, slowly we face back to sea , swim on.
either that or drown.
sbm.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 1:26 AM UTC
to explain to you who cannot see,
the cloy, the quantity of water, tasks, and other
hurts, that fit into af day. the moment
your feet slide into mud, with one word.
heard , read, imagined, the sentence dives and plays
whole, yet as days move on, flotation occurs,
buoys, slowly we face back to sea , swim on.
either that or drown.
sbm.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
Flotation was seen at sea with hydration.
Will you feel the bonds with inflation.
Because the streets are busy with frustrations.
Are the pickels in the mood for medcations.
Laughing peers pressure the piers.
And loud clanks awaken the stir.
Flutter, they hum threw the sky with nails and some thing nifty inside.
A young boy and his rubber band gun decide.
Too take aim and save grace.
For the path, of good shall have its rain.
And no more evil should proclam it's array.
It should become stale and fade away.
Will you agree with the statement here.
I'll pass the note and continue its will.
And rocks stones and nails shall become liquid.
Then a restrum takes place.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 12:38 AM UTC
I'm hardly afloat,
All I can feel
And all I can touch,
Is the water.
But I'm starting to get a sinking feeling,
My wind leaves my lungs
As you tighten your grasp.
My heart is what's weighing me down,
An anchor tied to me,
To drag me to the watery depths.
As the sunlight fades,
And as darkness unsues,
I'm surrounded by a complete sea of blue.
What used to be my flotation device,
Is what drags me down.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 7:57 PM UTC