"gouge" poems
Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.
Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.
Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.
Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 8:58 AM UTC
Inside, my jealousy rages
I do well to keep it in
You whisper Don't hold back from me
But if I didn't, what then?
It'd only cause more arguments,
You'll tire from my useless imagines.
Trust me when I tell you love,
That if you knew every single time
Another woman walked past
I saw myself crouching to attack,
Rip hair from root and gouge pretty blue eyes.
I want- no, need -to end their lie
That I know her beauty is,
In hopes you'll see it too.
I'm just afraid you'll fall prey
To the illusions the pretty woman portrays.
You're ever so smart,
But trust me, they're smart as well
They all went to school on how to walk,
How to smile with their pretty blue eyes,
How to make your heart, beat
And downunder rise
It's a lie though love,
I'm what's really real
So don't look at them, look at me.
I don't like the way jealousy makes me feel..
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
That statue of a god, with godly state,
whose clenching fist and arching back expand
to free the thund'rous trident from command,
will hold his step and ever warn and wait.
That statue of a god dares uncreate
that Sculptor of a god, Whose waxen hand,
in image of Himself, prepared to stand
those ankles, feet, and knees that spell his gait.
Gouge out his eyes and skyey senate seat;
his absence reassures Us, Men, the stellar
blanket warms but nameless moons and stars;
that fire that rises from an earthy cellar
lends itself and names it solely Ours,
so that Our liver is Our own to eat.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC
I told him,
"If I could, I would gouge out my eyes,
so that you can see what I see.
I would rip out my heart,
so you could see who it really beats for."
He told me,
"If I could, I would chop off my hands,
so that you could touch heaven.
I would peel off my skin,
so you can be warm."
We traded our bodies,
and we learned where we stood.
I had the smell of his skin;
he had the beating of my heart.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
Under the tree of the university
A shadow was gruesomely cast.
The branches made too much shade
And there grew no grass.
No one would lie under its wood
Down beside its trunk;
It wasn't essential, there was no potential,
Claimed the revered monk
But late at night you'll find him lying in the dirt
Wearing a Paisley Poplin Shirt
The click of the gears define his years,
A cycle on a chain
A cloud of sand thrown by his own hand
Hones forth his pain
He blows seeds of dandelion weeds
****** a ****** field
And he pretends that he intends
To reap this horrible yield
Because unintentionally he subconsciously convert
To one who wears a Paisley Poplin Shirt
Covered in rust, a blade he adjusts,
His mind remains unwrung
The words to speak were too **** bleak
So he cuts off his tongue
He'll be finished when he's diminished
These humanly sights
If there's no vision at the end of his mission
He'll gouge out his eyes
And Helen Keller takes one of her old ragged skirts
And fashions him a Paisley Poplin Shirt
Why must we be obsessed
With the unseen
When we know we cannot
Make something out of nothing
And to those of you who think that you cannot be hurt
Stones go thru a Paisley Poplin Shirt
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 2:49 AM UTC
Heart frozen,
Mind broken,
Soul stolen,
Agony in the open,
A life suffering for others.
Unbearable fear,
Scared every day,
Scared every month,
Every year,
Scared every second of my worthless existence,
Scared for other peoples wellbeing,
Scared of losing those that I hold dear,
Scared of being left alone for the rest of my years,
Sat in my cell of darkness,
Drowning in my own tears.
Chained up,
Locked away,
Kept in the dark,
Self esteem torn apart,
On fire!
Burning in my prison,
Starving flames adding to this pain,
This is how I feel,
This is my daily torture,
And I am my own executioner.
My reflection provokes me,
Chokes me,
I'm ugly!
Which mother ****** invented the mirror?!
I might as well be dead,
What could Emz possibly see in me?
I know what I see,
And sometimes I want to gouge my own eyes out,
I'm a freak and I can't stand it!
I sentenced myself to a miserable life because I dispise myself,
Only Emily can keep me alive,
She's the only one that can breathe life into me,
She's the only one that can set me free,
Please! Please help me!!
Set me free from this prison of self loathing!
I hate it more than I hate myself.
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 10:33 PM UTC
the award for 'best sense'
goes to Touch.
let me prove it to you:
I can survive without
/seeing
/hearing
/smelling
/tasting
and though I'd love to see your eyes spark with passion
and though I'd love to hear your happiness when you succeed
and though I'd love to smell your aftershave in the morning
and though I'd love to taste your kisses created for me
I would rather cut off my tongue or gouge out an eye,
than live a day on this earth with no hands of yours in mine.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
Sparkling Sister, pluck me those Eagle's Wings
And with my Claws I gouge my Pearls four-fold
Two Smiling Clowns, oft their Faces must Sing
From that Oracle you Guys take to uphold
He was Smart to cower under his Watch,
I refer to the Brother whose Bell he hid
The Capital's Hallmark whose Spy did match
With Gruning Deception he took to bid
Quite a Character, am I? That you must know
To carry a Mirror when you're with Her
And on each Night when both share a Pillow
To check your Scents before the Neighbours stir.
Cassanova, be the Hero of this Theme
Such Salted Face can turn my own so Green.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
punch me in the face/ tell me i’m pretty
shoot both my legs/ please just cuddle with me
slice off my hands/ would you hold both?
go burn my ears/ sing me to sleep
figurative cryspeak/ what words do you know?
are they the right ones/ or are they too weak?
stab me in the throat/ ask me how i feel
scratch my two arms/ it’s cool, that’ll probably heal
gouge my eyes out/ i will never see
lock the door shut/ what’s out there for me?
figurative cryspeak/ what words do you know?
they can be scary/ but they will save you
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
The blind Parisian has never seen the tower, or the lights that illuminate his city of birth
The deaf Italian never heard the opera, or Core 'ngrato from a Tuscany street corner
I never looked into your eyes and saw the cosmos
I am distracted by the power of corporate America
The unflinching pacifist still stands atop a suit of armour with his arms outstretched
and Syria rejoices as the stench of liberty matches gun powder and familial genocide
Oh western world, have you forgotten your past so soon?
Explain to the deaf man how her voice sounds
or
Explain the colour spectrum to a blind child
and then deny the tears that water your cheek
Tell the dyslexic that words are meaningless for it gives him comfort
and turn your back on the monetary religion of which we are indoctrinated
Take your ******* industry and bring it to it's submissive knees
Your weapons too, they are a disgrace
Empathy is universal
Love is blind
[Cliche]
[Cliche]
End.
A return, or a refrain, addendum to the ideas thenceforth
It's enough to leave a man crying in his coffee, Starbucks specialty
**** your poets, burn your books and gouge your eyes
This world is not broken, we are.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 12:45 PM UTC
An irreplaceable mirror
One of a kind
An irreplaceable memory
Stored in a photograph
The mirror, shattered
Shards lying on the floor
The photograph, tarnished
Smeared with paint
A room reeking of chemicals
Belonging to an asthmatic.
Being refused the refuge
Of sleeping on the couch.
A gouge in the wall
A long, scratched line
White smears across
A brand new, silver surface.
But we can't sue,
Or complain
Because your son
Runs our Real Estate.
Jul 31, 2019
Jul 31, 2019 at 8:00 AM UTC
Burning nails, the beginning of the end and black sails for the death of an invisible friend,
Tragic loss resulting from the magic catapulting from my fingertips.
Read my fiery lips:
Give me shelter from your Neptunian storm,
Split the world with a wedge and keep our bodies warm
Kick the trunk of the oak until it bleeds with the fire you stoke
And coke you need and **** you smoke, and ****** Prometheus,
You are only human. But the fire in your blood leaves their smokestacks fuming
And nothing can save you, enslave yourself
With your strong-willed bravery on a rocky shelf.
Roll your eyes, disregard, spit in faces, **** me off
Because I'm the good sister, just tend the hearth and when I speak I scoff.
My name is Hestia, and I don't often stray from the Pantheon
So just trust me on this:
I'll introduce you to the smoldering truths, induce catharsis
And let your body loose, pick up your liver, tend your wounds
As if they were ash and oil, because we alone know justice.
You alone know how you've toiled.
And I can only start to understand your firebrand,
A passionate command. I tolerate you and adore you for your mortal score.
Prometheus, don't let those raptors gouge you anymore.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
Flower flower, on your stem,
Do you not worry less and less,
What you’ll be, like one of them?
Flower flower, in the wind,
Take my heart, take me in.
I’ve wanted nothing else since.
Flower flower, how you bloom!
You shine so brightly just to be in a room.
Time controls when fate is too soon.
Flower flower, where do you live?
You’re stolen of pedals and yet you still live,
Hoping there’s more you can happily give.
Flower flower, in the grass,
Are you not crying, are you not sad?
I’m already used to it with all I’ve had.
Flower flower, show me your face,
I want to be you, I want to have grace.
So I will always have the words to say.
Flower flower, please open up,
Show us your pedals, show us your love.
There’s no reason why you shouldn’t reach for the sun.
Flower flower, hold your ground,
Don’t be alarmed when you hear the sound,
Of others mocking and playing around.
Flower flower, release your scent,
Let us know you and no longer guess,
Of your colors, shape, or past.
Flower flower, tell me your fears.
I will listen to you whenever you’re near,
And hear your voice when you fail to endear.
Flower flower, show me how.
Do they not hurt, do they not gouge?
You were tried and forsaken, yet you make no sound.
Flower flower, hear my cry.
You’ve heard so many others so why not mine?
Seems all there is to do in life is die.
Flower flower, I beg you, don’t fade.
Choose to keep on, choose to stay.
Before the wolves devour my last words I’ve always wanted to say.
Flower flower, forgive my actions.
I faded away along with the ashes,
Holding the fire, holding the rashes.
Flower flower, I can explain.
I’m so desperate to say what I’ve always to say,
Waiting for that one miraculous day.
Flower flower, I made a mistake.
I know I’ll remember it all the way to my grave.
I’ve told you nothing, so don’t bother saying what you’ll say.
Flower flower, it’s not your fault.
You were never aware of this pain as I walked through the halls.
I kept my head held high, kept my shoulders tall.
Flower flower, where will you be,
When I’m buried and no longer can see?
Guess you were the person and I was the deed.
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 10:09 PM UTC
I called a friend of mine,
you see I've always scratched her back
you know and she's scratched mine.
What makes me crazy is that
she's always one to take,
she's always on the make.
You gimmie and grab
and turn around and gouge
out my eyes,
you talk real ****
you don't answer any of my whys.
My thousands of whys.
Well so long now,
sorry but I got to go...
Yes so long, it's been a slice,
shaking loose of you is like
putting down a vice.
Golden earrings and pretty bobbles
couldn't clean up your act.
You've walked barefoot across the floor, broken fragments of glass,
everywhere, and you were there,
but, oh so was I.
I was there too
I've given you my very best,
yes I've given you my very best,
and what do I get?
I get treated worse than all of them,
worse than all the rest.
I wish I could remember
if it was a movie or if
I heard it in a dream.
It doesn't matter much now,
Because when
I see you coming
I just want to leave.
Just like Dylan said, "A whole lot of people dying tonight
from the disease of conceit."
I've tried taking you aside
and softly admonishing you,
that ended in a stalemate,
what good did it do..
You wore my Austrailian hat and battered it black and blue.
You took my painting and threw away the frame,
I lend you money
and you drink it away.
I don't talk about drawing a line,
I just do it and
if you're in you're right mind
you won't cross it
unless you really want
the **** to hit the fan.
This conflict, I must confess,
well it can make me cry.
every time you
turn around
you're telling me another lie.
I feel a lot of ambivalence .
I don't want to hear you any more.
Some times I think I want silence,
some times I think I want to even the score.
Man, I am on
cloud nine,
look what anger does,
as if I'm in a fight.
I just get to average,
but by no means normal,
the only normal I have found
is the cycle on a washing machine.
I'm not sinkin' in a hole
that was dug real deep by you,
thinking
this old world is all ****** up
and
you don't want to play the game,
You'd just end up leaving me,
so sad and feeling so full of shame.
Do you love me, let me count the ways,
it's not that I don't care,
it's not that I don't want to be there.
I just don't know any more...
what's that sound
telling me I have fix it,
that I have to
put it right.
Now you're looking
to put me down,
always wanting
to start a fight.
You're acting so abstract,
while with me it's so 'as a matter of fact'.
Knowing no one has even half the answers.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 1:44 AM UTC
I think I'm losing you, but I will never regret choosing you
Because I am in love, and for now that will be enough
And the ones around me convince me that I was the only person who was dumb enough to believe that you and I had hope.
But now I know even after you began to let your emotions slow the only reason I stood alone was because I was the only one who knew our love was never going to let go.
Everyone wanted me to see that we could not thrive, so gouge out my eyes.
Because if this is reality then I guess I'm not alive,
Because I don't know a life in where I can't make things right.
And when life teaches you to drive and you finally say goodbye
And you won't let me stand by your side
Ill know that though some feelings are hurt, none will have died.
Cause I used to stay up at night and picture myself looking into your eyes
Shouting as you would sigh “how dare you think you can fall asleep with water dripping from the kitchen sink, how dare you think you can fall asleep with all these little leaks in this home we built in our dreams”
A picture is worth a thousand words or whatever people say to me.
It's hard to believe when your mind is lost and in need,
And all you can picture is a memory inside of someone else's sheets.
A prayer that nothing will keep,
A hope that light will seek before the dark sinks too deep.
Or at least the sinking feeling inside of me will decrease when the release of perceived dreams burn in the flame of feeling free.
So feel free to be free if that's what you need.
And if someday you feel alone and everything caves in when you try to breathe,
Know that you are not alone as far as I can see,
Because you were everything to me.
Through this I have realized that if I were God we would have all just died,
Because darling you were mine and now I feel so dead inside,
And what good am I if all I can create is a projection of my own mind.
A dream of finding time to remind you that I'm still here and I'm not fine.
And darling if you're going to leave just remember who you are,
And do what you can to remember me.
Maybe someday we can talk about our past and we can talk about the weather.
Whenever you leave I don't care what I'm remembered for,
I just want to be remembered.
Because even if I failed you at least I tried,
And maybe our lives don't add up now but someday our graves will look the same when we both die.
And if I had a chance I'd give you one last kiss and I'd bite down on your lip
And I'd try to puncture it so you'll never forget that time,
But you'll always regret.
And darling I know sometimes life will take a turn for the worst,
And sometimes life will even hurt.
And I know some days, some days you'll be afraid of the lessons you'll have to learn
And some days you'll even feel burned,
And I want to let you know that I want to love you through them.
But I always get what I deserve.
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 2:47 AM UTC
I am not old, yet.
My skin is not powdery and white, see-through like a paper lantern.
But there is a part of me which
When I dare to reach for someone I love
Reaches with brittle ***** fingers, soft and cold and fluttering like white moths
That edge closer to a flame until they catch.
There is a part of me that feels old, and fragile.
And already even in the crest of my youth I’ve cursed this body
For its frailty, its needs.
It suffers and complains, always crying out for something,
Never sated, never still.
I’ve said it feels like living inside a porcelain doll
A look, and cracks can spider out along an arm,
A word and blood can bloom beneath the surface, seeping up into
Bruised pictures and symbols.
I must always be gentle,
I must always be
Watching.
Too passionate, and fissures form, marring the cheek, spreading like shadows thrown by a lace curtain.
I stare out, burning to touch everything,
And yet I pull back:
To dare is to risk, and I’ve seen
Both reward and loss.
I have seen a thousand shining colors spread across me like sunrise,
Warming my skin,
Calling to me like prayer until a bit of light escaped through the spaces between my atoms and reached another person’s palms,
But I have also seen the pale, flat shards of myself,
Sifted through white dust in dismay
For a salvageable portion.
Indeed, there are rooms in this world where sharp edges of me still linger
Waiting in obstructed corners and beneath heavy refrigerators
To gouge a foot or snag a hem,
Interred
In the dark and hollow places where they flew when I shattered and could not gather them all.
I have known
Intimately
My own fragility,
How maddeningly breakable I am
And how difficult to mend.
And there is a part of me now, always,
Which whispers to me when I would be bold,
“You are not old, yet.
But wouldn’t you just love
To live that long?”
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 10:36 PM UTC
Our life puts the "Sh..." back in
"Chicago."
This pulse could race, slow to a dull thud or stop and curdle like the residents of a container of milk who've been left out, and still you will never love me.
Gobs of waiter phlegm we never detect in our bowls of soup and teapots beg our forgiveness and howl for our affection, and are invisible.
But where is the crime in not loving
when we are not loved?
How could there be a crime in not loving,
when we are loved poorly?
Loved so poorly we cannot afford
to ask ourselves where is the crime,
thus implying innocence.
We put the "mice" back in
"monogamous."
tip-toeing, silent but for mere squeaks, nearly inaudible whispers,
furtive looks, and how we run away, screaming,
or, like mice and Chicagoans all, we freeze.
Aquiver with fear, iced up in the Polar Vortex, hands raised in the policeman's spotlight.
But where is the crime in not loving
when you are not loved, or loved poorly?
Loved so poorly we cannot afford to stand up straight,
We scurry close to building walls,
trying not to be seen or see each other as we curse our fate.
Where is the crime in not loving those whom we hate?
There is no crime, but still, not loving is the heart of all crime.
To feel so deeply unloved we wish to destroy ... you name it.
Blot out, ruin and erase them; our enemies, our families, lovers, and even the world herself.
Jab a knife into her verdant hide and twist until black blood flows.
Gouge out mountaintops seeking iron for our towers.
Remaking her grace to build our graveyard.
These vibrant phosphorescent tombstones, overpopulated pillars of mutual isolation reach up into the clouds.
Announcing to the universe, we trumpet a loneliness as profound as it is absurd and ugly.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
To start your mornings with
blood on your hands
smearing across pages
is
incriminating
and inspiring
And you must know
if you were to slice open
my veins would also
spill black fountain ink
If you were to sever my tongue
my hands would speak
for me
Go ahead and gouge my eyes
I can still see
And when I die I desire
to be cut as a cadaver
All the words visible
under paper-white skin
so they will know, too.
I do not aspire to be a skeleton
with brittle bones
I want blood
to pour with every pinprick
of a pilot pen pressed
on a page
But blood makes people squirm
Blood makes people gag
so I intend to
leave this world
with a crime scene behind me.
Let them shake and shudder
for they know not
the life they’ve lost
They live in fear of papercuts
and I carve myself open
again and again
And I will continue to
until I bleed out
and my ink dries up
If it sounds violent it’s
because it has to be
The world could use a
few more bloodstains
Makes it more uncomfortable
Makes it more interesting.
Mar 8, 2021
Mar 8, 2021 at 3:54 PM UTC
They say that Africans,
Will have to fight for a place on the bus,
So I am pulling out all the stops.
I am burning incense and,
Turning out closets,
-exorcising demons-
I am fumigating my life,
Throwing out old clothes and,
Trying to curry favour,
-surely children were not meant for the streets,
Nor nations meant for war-
I have found sack cloth and ash and I,
Intend to,
Gouge flesh with home-made irons
Flagellate until I bleed sin,
All over the carpet.
There will be gnashing of teeth,
And great wailing,
-effort must be made-
I shall identify,
Church pews with nails and,
Kneel!
But the spotlight keeps missing me,
And I manage only to elicit,
Splendid chuckles from my nephew.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 6:57 AM UTC
Every time I see a dream and chase it I run into hurdles. I always find myself running at full speed ready to leap over any obstacle in my way! I see the first hurdle and lunge into the air only to fall and scrape my knee. I wail like a small child who thinks they are dying from a tiny scrape. I am not dying! I get up and start running again tripping over hurdle after hurdle after hurdle and with each fall the scrape becomes a cut and then a ****** gouge until I cannot run anymore.
Finally I am running again and this time with a beautiful scar where I had repeatedly fallen before. I have started off a bit slower this time being more aware of what may lie ahead. I am speeding up and am feeling invincible, unstoppable, nothing can stop me now! I see the hurdles up ahead and I am ready! Hurdle 1! Yes, success! Hurdles 2, 3 and 4! I can see my dream just around the bend, I am almost there! Hurdle 5! I am soaring! Flying down the track! Hurdle 6! My toe catches and I fall. A tumbling but not quite fatal fall in which my scar reopens into that gaping gouge and my other is scraped and my right elbow.
Everything is visible now, everyone knows. I bandage myself up to hide it all, to hide the pain and scars and I continue to move, to trudge, to try and dream again. I am awkward and moving slowly, but I am moving, I am beginning to find motivation. And soon, I will be running this race again.
Jul 5, 2011
Jul 5, 2011 at 9:39 PM UTC
We used to take turns tearing down
each other's defences
like the last Christmas present or
an exit in a building fire
And when there was nothing
useful about our bodies except how
they fit against each other.
There are soldiers that don't deteriorate facing
bombshells and fire-grenades but
birthday parties and Saturday nights by the telly.
We could be two of them
Remember how you got when you
just needed something to
hurt
I was your push-pin doll.
Like how children
gouge the button-eyes and rip
the stuffing out of their teddy bears
*(but still fall asleep holding them closer than
their absentee parents)*
The truth is once,
I would have worn your bruises like
a necklace.
These days, I offer my heart up
on a platter and you don't even want
to spit on it.
All I can do now is will
my fingers to write poetry,
too cowardly
to even pick up the
phone.
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 3:59 AM UTC
Their hallow heads hold fire after being carved by kids. I wonder how they do that, gouge a gourd for human fests. I bring them water every day, until they grow with might, these now seedless pumpkins that glow all through the night. They say they scare the ghosts away but none yet have I seen except the ones of the rotted skeletons that were once these.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
Old writings are far better
Browned pages in bound leather
smells and feeling preserved
quills gouge the page with words
ink stains the page and mind
days for pages, in those lines
careful crafting under candle shine
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
I don’t want to remember,
this last month of November.
Gouge it from my eyes,
carve it off my lips,
scrub it from my soul.
You see,
the moon rests high,
while the tides pulled low
and waiting for that change
merely hardens the soft blow.
Nov 30, 2024
Nov 30, 2024 at 2:17 PM UTC
1/19/10
I’m a concrete rose, you’re a midnight
Horse
Wild flame mane black ripple me with ur touch
Rotted crowns fall 2 dust
Beneath your steed stomp feet
Our masters
Gouge their eyes out
I’m cleched in ur sweat
My concrete turns 2 rivers flowing
Death
Wet night
Midnight
My midnight horse
My voice
Jan 20, 2010
Jan 20, 2010 at 3:22 PM UTC