"gauzed" poems - Hello Poetry

I was 10 when I first started to pray for the cabinet to swallow me whole. To splinch my human body into something a deity won't pass up unworthy to enter a magical realm where I can meet a godly lion and a warmer sun. I was 10 and, even then, I wanted to be more than just the creaks of the floorboard, more than the weight of my innocence, more than a mere disdainful stare. I was 12 when I first started looking out the window, waiting for a temperate owl on a tropical sky. I twirled the wood chips I tore off my mother's dresser with the pink lipstick stains, and thought to myself, my god, my god, what a life I am destined to live. I was 12, and even then, I wanted to be more than just the creaks of the floorboard, more than the weight of my innocence, more than a mere disdainful stare. I was 16 when I first started distancing myself from the wardrobe, from the wooden dresser, from the creaks of the floorboard, from innocence. I flicked the ash off my 20th cigarette to the tear-soaked dishcloth I gauzed on my wrist to keep me from tracing the intersecting lines my father etched on the living room floor after a night of bowling and tears and tears and sadness. I thought to myself, my god, my god, my god, what life am I destined to leave? I am 20. I want to be more than just the creaks of the floorboard, more than the weight of my innocence, more than a mere disdainful stare.

0

Aug 28, 2018

Aug 28, 2018 at 12:47 PM UTC

speakbluebell

path

I was 10 when I first started to pray for the cabinet to swallow me whole. To splinch my human body into something a deity won't pass up unworthy to enter a magical realm where I can meet a godly lion and a warmer sun. I was 10 and, even then, I wanted to be more than just the creaks of the floorboard, more than the weight of my innocence, more than a mere disdainful stare. I was 12 when I first started looking out the window, waiting for a temperate owl on a tropical sky. I twirled the wood chips I tore off my mother's dresser with the pink lipstick stains, and thought to myself, my god, my god, what a life I am destined to live. I was 12, and even then, I wanted to be more than just the creaks of the floorboard, more than the weight of my innocence, more than a mere disdainful stare. I was 16 when I first started distancing myself from the wardrobe, from the wooden dresser, from the creaks of the floorboard, from innocence. I flicked the ash off my 20th cigarette to the tear-soaked dishcloth I gauzed on my wrist to keep me from tracing the intersecting lines my father etched on the living room floor after a night of bowling and tears and tears and sadness. I thought to myself, my god, my god, my god, what life am I destined to leave? I am 20. I want to be more than just the creaks of the floorboard, more than the weight of my innocence, more than a mere disdainful stare.

30

i always knew i would never be "girlfriend material" maybe the gods forgot to cut me carefully from the same cloth they doted out to everybody else a thicker and more claustrophobic material one that overheats and suffocates you my mouth is a forest fire that ignites at the first sight of thunder ahead other people use their words to heal and comfort their significant other while i'd always had a natural disposition of wielding my tongue as a freshly sharpened knife i wanted to learn i wanted to teach myself that in order to be in a relationship you have to treat the hardships like delicately gauzed wounds changing them out every few hours and applying ointments to soothe and mend the broken flesh but i don't know if it's because of my mother who was never very nurturing taking emotional withdrawals from me throughout my entire childhood teaching me to cultivate my isolation and find comfort in my loneliness i'd see the signs of her packing up her bags and departing from a mile away and the only survival method i knew was to let her go before she let me go, again and again and again and again i tried to mend myself for you to be less broken down for you i promised myself i'd be healthier and fight my depression like a true viking at battle i knew i was never girlfriend material i don't have the patience or understanding to learn how to nurture wounds my natural instinct has always been to throw salt in them to slit my throat and slit my throat and slit my throat until i bled out all of you entirely it's not that i never knew how to love but that i never knew how to love properly caring too much and showing too little displaying my fear of losing you with an anger that destroys everything in my path instead of affection and vulnerability my lovers never know if i love them i display my feelings in watered down sentiments that take shape in the way i allow my body to mold into theirs under bedsheets the love i carry though, suffocates me it drowns my internal organs and floods the entirety of my body leaving me speechless and incapable of articulating how i feel or why i feel the way that i do in turn i appear cold to the touch and that is how i knew i was never girlfriend material i want to lay down on train tracks and sacrifice my body again and again until i get it right but i fear it only leaves me in poorer condition than the last i'm sorry i don't know how to love you properly i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry you see, i'm just not "girlfriend material"

0

Nov 2, 2014

Nov 2, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC

sailor-moon

Girlfriend Material

i always knew i would never be "girlfriend material" maybe the gods forgot to cut me carefully from the same cloth they doted out to everybody else a thicker and more claustrophobic material one that overheats and suffocates you my mouth is a forest fire that ignites at the first sight of thunder ahead other people use their words to heal and comfort their significant other while i'd always had a natural disposition of wielding my tongue as a freshly sharpened knife i wanted to learn i wanted to teach myself that in order to be in a relationship you have to treat the hardships like delicately gauzed wounds changing them out every few hours and applying ointments to soothe and mend the broken flesh but i don't know if it's because of my mother who was never very nurturing taking emotional withdrawals from me throughout my entire childhood teaching me to cultivate my isolation and find comfort in my loneliness i'd see the signs of her packing up her bags and departing from a mile away and the only survival method i knew was to let her go before she let me go, again and again and again and again i tried to mend myself for you to be less broken down for you i promised myself i'd be healthier and fight my depression like a true viking at battle i knew i was never girlfriend material i don't have the patience or understanding to learn how to nurture wounds my natural instinct has always been to throw salt in them to slit my throat and slit my throat and slit my throat until i bled out all of you entirely it's not that i never knew how to love but that i never knew how to love properly caring too much and showing too little displaying my fear of losing you with an anger that destroys everything in my path instead of affection and vulnerability my lovers never know if i love them i display my feelings in watered down sentiments that take shape in the way i allow my body to mold into theirs under bedsheets the love i carry though, suffocates me it drowns my internal organs and floods the entirety of my body leaving me speechless and incapable of articulating how i feel or why i feel the way that i do in turn i appear cold to the touch and that is how i knew i was never girlfriend material i want to lay down on train tracks and sacrifice my body again and again until i get it right but i fear it only leaves me in poorer condition than the last i'm sorry i don't know how to love you properly i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry you see, i'm just not "girlfriend material"

47

there is a straightjacket noose man gauzed inside my chest. breathing with inside fever and moving around the edges with a mumble and a shuffle he crowds the walls with blue light. the tapes fuzz and hiss when his hands raise up to the glass the security operator is crying into his wrinkled shirt collar and the wind whips itself to a frenzy, the tapes fuzz and hiss when his mouth opens up and crawls a gasp straight to the shout the shout rises like sharp pockets of steam and the director is shaking so hard the pens on his desk chorus like a thin drum choir, the desk is too hot to touch, the noose man slips to strands then to particle then to simple sugars and energy like light right through the floor and the ceiling and we are live so live. the glass once slow flowing moves faster and sand is everywhere and his eyes snap and chip into the locks and the tape. he rages in the deep the lightbulb left, in the dark desert, the red dust. he lights like sparks and rises again until my every muscle trembles and the mothers chatter and my teeth chatter and the director shakes and the neurons shake and operate like telegraphs. (outside, I am a clenched fist. a tired pillow, the shadow under an open hand and a closed eye.) inside there is a crack and a moment of confusion so brief as the smoke clears and the neck has broken on the noose man, cut open by the speed of his own sharp snaps.

0

Aug 5, 2014

Aug 5, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC

glen-brunson

Mr.Mania

there is a straightjacket noose man gauzed inside my chest. breathing with inside fever and moving around the edges with a mumble and a shuffle he crowds the walls with blue light. the tapes fuzz and hiss when his hands raise up to the glass the security operator is crying into his wrinkled shirt collar and the wind whips itself to a frenzy, the tapes fuzz and hiss when his mouth opens up and crawls a gasp straight to the shout the shout rises like sharp pockets of steam and the director is shaking so hard the pens on his desk chorus like a thin drum choir, the desk is too hot to touch, the noose man slips to strands then to particle then to simple sugars and energy like light right through the floor and the ceiling and we are live so live. the glass once slow flowing moves faster and sand is everywhere and his eyes snap and chip into the locks and the tape. he rages in the deep the lightbulb left, in the dark desert, the red dust. he lights like sparks and rises again until my every muscle trembles and the mothers chatter and my teeth chatter and the director shakes and the neurons shake and operate like telegraphs. (outside, I am a clenched fist. a tired pillow, the shadow under an open hand and a closed eye.) inside there is a crack and a moment of confusion so brief as the smoke clears and the neck has broken on the noose man, cut open by the speed of his own sharp snaps.

49

all my past imposes on my breath today i enter a grand mosaic public building and on goes my medical face mask i join the back of the queue with my documents in one hand and my numbered butcher ticket in the other i admire the mosaics a jarring tide of art against the bureaucratic purpose of these rooms gauzed in with own product exhaust all my past is attending exhumed patted into my breath baiting remembrance with unsubtle notes for example : integrated spittings of 'drum' tobacco (i quit a decade ago) horning catches of cologne every boy used as a teen seasonal scents unweaned from deep in my system (some reigned in from the different countries i lived in or visited) then i am frisked back to infancy with breast milk and rusks it's all there a basking flippancy all there in musk about my face one fragrance after another it's an honest relief to host an alternative to my 'old man' breath but odd and concerning something of the brain ?

0

Apr 6, 2024

Apr 6, 2024 at 1:40 PM UTC

neth-jones

aerosol

all my past imposes on my breath today i enter a grand mosaic public building and on goes my medical face mask i join the back of the queue with my documents in one hand and my numbered butcher ticket in the other i admire the mosaics a jarring tide of art against the bureaucratic purpose of these rooms gauzed in with own product exhaust all my past is attending exhumed patted into my breath baiting remembrance with unsubtle notes for example : integrated spittings of 'drum' tobacco (i quit a decade ago) horning catches of cologne every boy used as a teen seasonal scents unweaned from deep in my system (some reigned in from the different countries i lived in or visited) then i am frisked back to infancy with breast milk and rusks it's all there a basking flippancy all there in musk about my face one fragrance after another it's an honest relief to host an alternative to my 'old man' breath but odd and concerning something of the brain ?

29

theres dark spaces between my bones that she has not crept on and there are soft spots i have not spoken of kept wrapped and gauzed and waited when she would hold the kiss she knew where to plant there are places that are lonely inside my head that she cannot fill, for a heart like mine could hide away the loveliest lover and the faintest lies. theres no heart beat loudest enough in this dark forest for a lover to hear the sound” — there’s no heart beat loud enough

0

Dec 21, 2016

Dec 21, 2016 at 11:21 AM UTC

peacefulpressure

Untitled

theres dark spaces between my bones that she has not crept on and there are soft spots i have not spoken of kept wrapped and gauzed and waited when she would hold the kiss she knew where to plant there are places that are lonely inside my head that she cannot fill, for a heart like mine could hide away the loveliest lover and the faintest lies. theres no heart beat loudest enough in this dark forest for a lover to hear the sound” — there’s no heart beat loud enough

16

My clothes are familiar and I blend in well the shops are quiet and do not sell I drive on regardless each day the same way a sagas myth is here to stay the welcoming inn a buzzing hive clothes unpeel and emblazoned I rise in short sleeved blue Jim Jams with clogs of noir to follow tiled pathways and stairwells on high scale the walled harbour and tide gloves now cover along with gauzed hair levy labelled with cóem and time a mask of no air a visor upon my stare gloves that give birth in a pair entering the abode the door is unsealed la dévastation is revealed with each breath mists my brow stifled sounds and blurried spectres angels wings unfurled amorphous canoes float among modulus forms each suspended on ripples that care moorings avail the fare pure is the air each a lifeline engaged in dance the lines waver a harmonious swell take gauntlets and bib many hands take hold the canoe is in white water capsized and adrift what’s up is down and down is sound the turbulence unfolds blue now runs red muscles unwind eyes now a veiled dreams on thin air eyes are the story telling their all prepare, engage, and consider action stations now all the canoe revives eddies are restored the brows repose the eyes belighten a canoe is transformed the moorings are loosened our chance to assist the derrick is grasped air finally comes forth a canoe breaks loose a belling arises and then one more steers an outstretched hand the lines are gathered the harbour protects all a poem is written an eloquent enigma each number makes news a zero the grail summoned by home the inns light fades with the distance a refreshing shower a cooling drink a warm meal tired eyes, fasten shut the canoes float past my eyes open but nothing stirs I mouth in silence 'yield thou viral hold'

0

May 9, 2020

May 9, 2020 at 7:32 PM UTC

kevin-wright-2

The harbour protects all

My clothes are familiar and I blend in well the shops are quiet and do not sell I drive on regardless each day the same way a sagas myth is here to stay the welcoming inn a buzzing hive clothes unpeel and emblazoned I rise in short sleeved blue Jim Jams with clogs of noir to follow tiled pathways and stairwells on high scale the walled harbour and tide gloves now cover along with gauzed hair levy labelled with cóem and time a mask of no air a visor upon my stare gloves that give birth in a pair entering the abode the door is unsealed la dévastation is revealed with each breath mists my brow stifled sounds and blurried spectres angels wings unfurled amorphous canoes float among modulus forms each suspended on ripples that care moorings avail the fare pure is the air each a lifeline engaged in dance the lines waver a harmonious swell take gauntlets and bib many hands take hold the canoe is in white water capsized and adrift what’s up is down and down is sound the turbulence unfolds blue now runs red muscles unwind eyes now a veiled dreams on thin air eyes are the story telling their all prepare, engage, and consider action stations now all the canoe revives eddies are restored the brows repose the eyes belighten a canoe is transformed the moorings are loosened our chance to assist the derrick is grasped air finally comes forth a canoe breaks loose a belling arises and then one more steers an outstretched hand the lines are gathered the harbour protects all a poem is written an eloquent enigma each number makes news a zero the grail summoned by home the inns light fades with the distance a refreshing shower a cooling drink a warm meal tired eyes, fasten shut the canoes float past my eyes open but nothing stirs I mouth in silence 'yield thou viral hold'

71

he just knew when he saw her with her porcelain skin he bet her heart would crack because it too was made of porcelain he touched her hands they were ice cold he had gauzed them with the thickest cotton he could find he promised her that he would never let her go even though she cried "let me go" he accidently fiddled and little by little he had let her go he did this not because of lack of love because he had been a man of love not a man of words his actions told more. he had been born of with weak fingers but yet had a strong heart and couldn't let her go so then when he saw the girl with the pretty porcelain skin he promised to never let go (b.d.s.)

0

Feb 16, 2014

Feb 16, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC

distortedimages

he just knew...

he just knew when he saw her with her porcelain skin he bet her heart would crack because it too was made of porcelain he touched her hands they were ice cold he had gauzed them with the thickest cotton he could find he promised her that he would never let her go even though she cried "let me go" he accidently fiddled and little by little he had let her go he did this not because of lack of love because he had been a man of love not a man of words his actions told more. he had been born of with weak fingers but yet had a strong heart and couldn't let her go so then when he saw the girl with the pretty porcelain skin he promised to never let go (b.d.s.)

31

twined, grey & silver sing along the edges of consciousness, bolstering themselves in the still life of subtle breathing, the ear, caught by midnight’s velvet blue, drinking muted honey dark’s elixir, a blanketed embrace technicolor mind dance, coupled with the gauzed feet of presence these are Nox’s symphony of arms wrapping awareness inside her primordial soup

0

Apr 11, 2021

Apr 11, 2021 at 12:49 PM UTC

aifirefly

Night’s palette

twined, grey & silver sing along the edges of consciousness, bolstering themselves in the still life of subtle breathing, the ear, caught by midnight’s velvet blue, drinking muted honey dark’s elixir, a blanketed embrace technicolor mind dance, coupled with the gauzed feet of presence these are Nox’s symphony of arms wrapping awareness inside her primordial soup

14

Our scars show the wars Past tears & growth Birth, trauma the healing over The telltale signs of living for better or worse Reminders of pain, loss Gain What has been here & now gone Choices we made Toxic spills cleaning up The calcification stone rub of our sentence & prison years , Falling down Falling up the ****** **** gauzed over Second skins Words harming me and mine bleeding on the inside cuts tear scars sear the burning of rhyme chaos in mind Faded welts from forgotten paths but not forgotten for etched in flesh Rivlets bumps holes puckered scars aberrations in our universe The pink red welts The wriggle worms mind slashes time our years our fears Our scars & battles Survive these days our ways past memories ripping apart the darkness Letting in the light Green glow of heart Glow of hope The truest carefree smile Full breath of life No holding back relax Our scars only signs Our miracles of flesh and light Revenants left behind Momentos Memories Souveniers from the roads we traveled I wish to store my scars Away in jars I don’t mind the reminders but please no remembering today.

0

Nov 7, 2017

Nov 7, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC

Lesley_Poet

Our Scars

Our scars show the wars Past tears & growth Birth, trauma the healing over The telltale signs of living for better or worse Reminders of pain, loss Gain What has been here & now gone Choices we made Toxic spills cleaning up The calcification stone rub of our sentence & prison years , Falling down Falling up the ****** **** gauzed over Second skins Words harming me and mine bleeding on the inside cuts tear scars sear the burning of rhyme chaos in mind Faded welts from forgotten paths but not forgotten for etched in flesh Rivlets bumps holes puckered scars aberrations in our universe The pink red welts The wriggle worms mind slashes time our years our fears Our scars & battles Survive these days our ways past memories ripping apart the darkness Letting in the light Green glow of heart Glow of hope The truest carefree smile Full breath of life No holding back relax Our scars only signs Our miracles of flesh and light Revenants left behind Momentos Memories Souveniers from the roads we traveled I wish to store my scars Away in jars I don’t mind the reminders but please no remembering today.

51