"harmfully" poems
she was like liquid fire
everything she touched would turn to ash
and she touched me, dear god
her hands were warm like summer
she smelled like cinnamon and
betrayal
it was a bright sunday afternoon
I had just bought flowers
for her to kiss
her breath was decaying them
the fire, burnt them into nothing but
a pile of red and purple ash;
a lot like my heart
her hair smelled like *** and
sweat; I lean in closer
but I was harmfully ignorant
and didn't see the signs
of my lover
slowly turning over
for another
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
She may be our metronome mother
But when was rhythm first discovered?
Did ancient nomads hear it in the sounds of walking?
Did they like how it sounded over them talking?
Did they view the melody
As a felony?
And start to sway their hips
To the crack of whips?
Maybe that wasn't good enough
Maybe we needed more stuff
So we started crossing swords
To create more violent chords
That interested us more
Violence has a catchy hook
That can't be found in a book
But started with a ***** look
Until our brain begins to cook
And we learn to love the beat
As the harmony depletes
We take concert seats
At a darkness feast
There's an iambic pentameter
In the middle eastern theater
That sounds all too familiar
The troubling treble
Of mothers screaming
While superpowers meddle
And innocence is leaving
The reaper is reaping
To a situation heating
Empathy fleeting
Fascist seating
Rhythm beating
Our soundproof homes
Create acoustic cones
That our cries can't escape
Taking the container's shape
Filling our mind
Until we're blind
And only see political teams
Instead of childhood dreams
We fall into a rhythm
Based on deadly decisions
With lethal precision
Like surgical incisions
That don't make us healthy
But support the wealthy
Who whistle a different tune
That will **** us all soon
And as the world crumbles
Their bellies still rumble
Creating a disruptive bass
Their music we must face
With an impossible grace
Or else we'll be replaced
I hear instruments of percussion
Causing concussions
Deflecting discussions
Making us harmfully dance
So we'll have a fair chance
Which seems wrong at first glance
But it's actually a pragmatic trance
Provided by Mister Rhythm
Who carries misery with him
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
It can't hurt us
Or harm us
To harmlessly flirt
But they see us
And warn us
And harmfully assert
The grass isn't greener
It's grayer
Than dirt
*
You want me
Curiously
I'm bitter to the taste
You make me laugh
Addictively
Addiction here laced
If we were there
If we weren't
Spill of the chase
*
Acting coy
Just acting
For everyone's eyes
Ours lock
And look
Internally decide
What harm
We seek
To whom do we lie?
*
Just friends
Friends playing
With poison in cups
If you drink
The venom
From your veins I will ****
The scars
Won't move
There is no luck
*
Raw fantasy
Fresh meat
My mind wanders mud
Play cheat
Cheat the joker
Roses in bud
Come closer
Look at me
Feel the heat of my blood
*
It can't harm us
Or hurt us
To flirt harmlessly
They'll watch us
So we must
Chase silently
In our heads
It shall stay
That question 'If we...'
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC
There's a reckless wind
whipping 'round the
frayed ends of my hair,
its exodus from the sides
of cars blurring by.
Jazz drummers cycle
flurries of taps and nods.
Twitching wrists for dollars,
their cornflower blue suits
rising with the street sound,
becoming a tent for sweat,
reaching for the dangling dark
held up by clouds and the
screams of horns and the
chimes of chatter.
And here I lean, inside a corner
between an entrance and an exit.
My dreams are starting to
last as long as these cigarettes,
I probably spoke into the chainsmoke --
being pretentious and afraid
under the spill of streetlight.
And here I am, harmfully hoping
my friend comes back, that he
didn't suffer, that he is with god,
that god exists, that I grow into
something that would make
him proud, my parents proud,
make me proud.
All the pretty girls trot the walk,
like surreal thoughts with
white converses and high-waisted
jeans holding the eyes of the few
guys and girls going home alone.
There's no proper way to end this
besides for raw *** real violence,
and more money.
My government only cares about me
once every four years.
My bank account controls me.
I can't buy anything unless
it wants to **** me or love me.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 12:57 PM UTC
EX'd Out!
Or Ex'iting
No matter what the who is or the they are.
And Why!
Finding ourselves in the
Ex'd out zone.
Balancing the tender spaces and delictae places.
Life/death
Love/hate
Ex-companion..Ex-friend..
We must be Ex'iting to fill our hands with better things.
Ex-wife..Ex-husband.
Ex-employee..facing situations where your No longer..
in a top ranking position.
Coping, handling managing emotions.
Being in these tender places will make you stronger.
Failing to will cause you danger.
Being Ex'd Out can bring
Anger, fear feelings of rejection loss of hope..
Despair..pain within, anguish, turmoil, feeling like you can't cope.
Springing up emotions of hatred and bitterness.
Sowered things like unforgiveness..
rage and defeat.
Roots of loneliness and cravings so strong to regain
back again the place you were before all this began.
Soured..Its Time to move forward.
You have to be Ex'd out to move into new beginnings.
You have to Ex'it to seek the things much more perfect.
You don't have to see it as losing.
View it as Time to move to achieve your dreams.
If you needed to be Ex'd out for being corruptive.
Let the just live.
Allow em to live peacefully free from fear.
Free from any retaliation We have no right to rebel.
When someone wants our Ex'its from their situations.
Put your peaceful shoes on.. and move along.
Some Ex's have become harmfully dangerous.
It gives them no right to destroy any of us.
Cry to be delivered from evil..If being Ex'ed causes you pain.
Know the heart needs healing and is in critical condition.
Enter the spiritual ER emergency.
Until you can make a successful recovery.
Ex out all the negative..You have more life to live..
When you Ex'it successfully
Life has much more to give!
Writer SelinaSharday
S.A.M 2018
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 10:57 PM UTC
The wind blew harmfully, cutting my face like glass.
I hope this feeling doesn't last
Because my gut hurts, desperate for one last breath
Won't you please say hello to the pain that is filling your head right about now?
I think its safe to say that all my hopes and dreams have died away.
Her beauty was beyond the sky
But even beauty tends to die
And yes
I'm crying inside and out
So many words I want to sought
But you cant love like I do
My body quivers and shakes
I hope I'm truly awake
Because only the best dreams are fake
And yes it hurts
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 8:58 PM UTC
.
.
.
Hello ex-Hubby,
I meant the handsome dystopian boy,
currently, I'm writing you the sin
I remembered that craved the most,
when I dared to
penetrate my colorful virtue spot again.
to ride the last whole night car with you
in a hurry,
and forget about the evil you,
hating women, dressed in your dark flurry.
I embraced those tiny white palms in my head.
when they refused to touch me back and ride ahead.
instead of losing interest
and forget about reverence you physically,
I kept my fingers crossed secretly,
under the car seat,
next to the prestigious scent of yours.
Your North African amber eyes
that refused to match mine,
to get lost between their depressed universes and shine.
I prayed along this magnificent time,
to God so he could with his 99 mercies
make you fully mine.
The lava that burst divinely
out of your Tunisian delicate betrayed my senses
and lit the full hungriness towards your beguilement.
I encouraged my half stability
to make it through
a little bit far from you,
my hallowed brew
with every single meter that we've passed
I fluctuate amid the idea of capturing you devilishly or sacredly, between making some blood contracts with the devil itself,
or donate as much money as I could,
for the sake of being together,
burring ourselves on an old bookshelf.
trichotillomania; the colorless ferocious ogre,
that used to assault my bright aesthetic soul,
as a tight fatal choker
to remind it chastely,
of the imperfection portrait of mine.
and pursue its pride with a fiery scourge,
matted with brine
when I started to rise my jaded fingers
to covet those golden cheeks.
I failed!
the deficiency is capturing me
The keloid I hated the most
as I carry my dramatic havoc away,
a little bit away,
from your inner fray
pathetically, I turned my whole feelings
against my well ignoring the idea of
love Subliminal and its spell
facing the windscreen
that harshly afford me a great frustration
trying to cover my hope with trash sack and provocation.
I failed,
escaping the life blackmail,
convincing me to practically disbelief on you.
But I kept myself as holy as I dared to.
despite of my Viscera's beating,
crumbling and shrinking.
I kept my grin harmfully, blinking.
under your realm seeking for a light of your anger that will
console me again. and bring me home.
Happy Birthday!
.
.
.
Apr 12, 2024
Apr 12, 2024 at 12:03 AM UTC
The pain behind 2 pairs of far away eyes...
The pain given from the same guy..
She gave him her all,
She made him her everything,
But pushed away was all she's ever been.
Kissing the lips that lied and destroyed her..
Holding the hands that were harmfully layed upon her.
Once passionate love making,turned to harshful punishment.
Your manipulating lies brought you laughter,
It absolutely sickens me you continued after the birth of our daughter.
She was an unexpected miracle to her mother,
She couldn't be what saved her father.
Shes innocent in everyway.
Heart broken by the abandonment her father threw her way.
But he swears that there's love..
Where's the proof ?..
Not in his actions when he's still actin like a g**f.
The full truth needs to come out and actions need to be proved.
You can't expect to see a child youve done all this too.
Your worse than a stranger,
All that's known is your a danger.
Hiding from your warrant,
Surrounded by jibtecs and underage kids.
I'm not the deadbeat,
Sweetie that's you..
Congratulations on bailing on child #2.
You swear left and right how wrong I am,
But what you've chosen to do instead of the right thing tells me everything..
This tough momma bear needs to move forward,
My baby girl and I deserve a whole new beginning.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 8:07 PM UTC
momentary feelings of contentment
appear in the solace of substance abuse
my personal pockets of happiness
presenting itself in seductive caramel pills
family tradition collapsed in my bottomless glass
thick fluid dancing amongst cubes of comfort
sacrificing sanity for seconds of clarity forgotten
four minutes of freedom from my insecure narration
i awaken to mistake stained sheets mangled violently beneath me
but this alien form I present in doesn't communicate my thoughts
for my aching fleshy cage is not made of meat nor cartilage
skin of sin engulf my devious bones pulse ticking like a time bomb
I still feel the grime stuck beneath my fingernails
I claw and scrape but the sludge takes permanent residence
the harmfully minuscule reminder of failure pushes me off the edge
falling forever but never reaching my deserved demise
stuck in limbo I'm trapped in a bleaker version of purgatory
last nights choices weigh painfully on my intestines
boulders of regret forcing my anxious form to fasten in its decent
but the comforting splat never reaches my deformed ears
it is here in the free fall I carry out my personal catastrophe
shirt ***** stained as my permanent plummet sickens me
years of sinking pass as i endure my eternal punishment
my immortal agony mutates into a sadistic contentment
a sheen of sweat sticks regularly to my aching soul
a permanent hangover and a never-ending come down
i find more than peace in this cataclysm
amidst my deserved torture pain melts into a masochistic enjoyment
Now I'm absolutely mad
flesh falling away from my body
the only tissue that remains holds my grin firmly in place
Happy as sin
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
Love.! Love feels different all over the world, love is shown different all over the world; that’s just start depending by the family small interactions until to the personal final growth among the so called friends. Now, looking back I finally realised I was so blind and every tear in front of my distracted face was a ‘cry for help to let me know that I’m badly losing you; baby girl I want to let you know that I’m so-sorry for making you feel diffident and I’m glad that you were there helping and supporting me everytime, beside that fact. Even if those late-thoughts maybe will never make you change your mind, I’m still writing this down for both of us. Harmfully and insidious all the way, I destroyed your beautiful innocence and because of your enormously love for me, you let this...ungrateful child at that time, change your smile for eternity. Then, for sure the distance between us in the past time opened me a door to a totally new mindset with you as a mandatory focus point. It’s not about a second chance, I just feel like you are the chosen one and i don’t want to lose you because of my mistakes. As you can see, this time I’m hyper-aware regarding you, stuck on this idea and I will go for it until I’ll be able to make you see that there is us, two independent people making a deal that they will help make other person the best and happiest version of themselves.
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 9:44 AM UTC
Stain my hands yellow for the unfaltering hope I saw
On the sidewalks slipping into the subways
Stain my sleeves red for the blood in me
Mutt blood, disaster, harmfully pristine to still have any
Coat my collar in silver for the linings I've come across.
Coat my chest maroon for the forests
I've wrenched apart, set on fire to teach you to save that stained piece of paper
Hit me with grey and honey glint-
For the sunsets you watch after the
Roaring thunder and ocean of lightning
Rock me under blue for the whitecaps that
Sunk your ship, drowned your men, swallowed your breath
Stow me away in white for the blazes which
Paralyzed you in the uncertainty and catapulted you to marry her
Paint me a shade
And I'll paint a church steeple in Italy
A wedding cake in the Bahamas
An apple tree flower heavy with fresh rain in Washington State
Paint me black
I will illuminate the souls that form your constellations
Paint me a shade
I paint a snapshot
One brush stroke at a time
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
Sugar is harmfully addictive
but imagine going without.
A taste of bittersweet chocolate melting in your mouth.
But look a little deeper processed in your bread, hidden sugars in every box and bottle that you’re fed.
Mailodextrin the silver bullet of death, they sprinkle it on your potato chips and they hide it in your dips! Processed and re-processed till the sugar has been refined, many American eats 3 pounds of sugar a week and of that fact they’re blind.
Insulin levels suffer as the diabetics take their dope, another box of ice cream, another cherry Coke.
Pharmaceutical, healthcare and insurance profiting..
A sudden stop by McDonald’s on the way to Burger King.
Apr 19, 2025
Apr 19, 2025 at 8:58 AM UTC
Unblinking reflexive opinions lean
indubitably, favorably and certifiably
with minimal pandering soliciting
uber voodoo yawping woos
socially quintessentially obviously markedly
consciousness brakes alignment
defining mine political views
loosely yet not strictly, jerry-rigged,
hidebound Democratic
fealty haltingly pledged ones and twos
to roster of candidates
slated to challenge incumbent Republicans
all to quickly accused,
sans participating sinister ruse
this active voter puzzled at controversial
eyeopening ex post facto
fractiousgovernmental
harmfully injuriously jaw-dropping
suppression within top secret queues
during nasty donkey kong braying p's and q's
(case in point) scurrilous, opprobrious,
and malodorous Clinton administration,
where (based upon my recent perusing
"The Peoples History” –
me strongly endorses
(authored by Howard Zinn news
worthy revelation, (whose recounting
atrocious, calumnious, egregious
glaring ignominious knowledge
jackbooted, mandated, predicated
on blind trust, essentially billeted
charade, facade, inlaid faux Hope loose
bandied cutthroat gratuity legislation
favoring pandering "pork" via
pretentiousness to wealthy gentiles Jews
abandoning average civilians snuffing out
sputtering, grousing, and hoo's
flick erring tapering fuse
whereat this news worthy informed citizen
totally tubularly unaware of any clues
pertaining to antithetical maneuvers,
(loo win ski) shenanigans, and undertakings
today yields genuine boo's
toward Clinton, where I despondently feel
he renegged promises
made to electorate (except top 1 %) got souled
(sold) to remaining 99% cheapest bidders
as-sized thirteen duff heated no nothing
sneezing Schnorrers
spluttering phelgm at me at-chews.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
My words
are not yelled
into any sort of
vast existence.
No
they are mumbled
forgotten
cast into a very small
and very personal
oblivion.
My voice
can be confident
collected
but I feel that more often I falter and I can sometimes ramble beyond
the extent of
anyone's interest.
When it's not self-destructive
my words are roadkill
letters splattering
as a new voice rams them over
thieving attention
leaving my words behind
battered and squashed.
They won't cross the road again.
My relationships
are fleeting
a nod
a hello jake whats new
not much
not much depth of friendship.
My poetry
isn't.
It's graffiti
an invalid dash of pixels
upon the sterile, inhuman surgery room
background of this website
from the moment it exists it will be painted and paved over by quick and emotionless
brush strokes of new words.
My tumor
created by my own cells
recklessly and harmfully multiplying
until removed.
I am not sad
I am not any flimsy definition of feeling that places a fragile blanket over the subtle and markets them as obvious.
I'm not much right now
numb
but I associated that with jarring, tumultuous
static from a television set
but I am oddly
but not so oddly calm.
Voices sound from downstairs.
I type here
knowing that my thoughts
my voice
my words
my fleeting emotion that is so strong at times that I am calloused
will never escape
my very small
and very personal
oblivion.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 12:15 AM UTC
Casually,
Eventually
Carelessly.
Especially
Subconsciously.
I
Don't
Want
To
Be.
Words spoken to me
That bare no weight
Are harmfully
Empty.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
i'm trying to find something to live for.
so harmfully caught between
living for myself and living for God.
i know He is in control
but i would like to hold the steering wheel.
it's said that man plans his steps
but the Lord guides those steps.
i can't help but want to be the planner
and the guide.
i'm not sure if that's wrong of me.
i guess it will take time to help me,
to enlighten me, to really show me
that God is in control.
i shall lean not on my own understanding
because i'm afraid i don't understand anything
at all.
-h.m.r.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
Waves of a breezy day in the valley
Slap the banks that pushed them,
Retaliating not too harmfully
Just enough to irritate the land.
The fight spurs between two opposites;
The pure and the old.
Pureness doesn't cleanse a spirit
That's been around too long,
But the old can't ****
Something that's practically innocent.
The rain decides the winner.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC
I failed my mother,
I'm not what she wanted or expected of me.
I failed myself,
I made choice that will harmfully affect me.
I failed my siblings,
Whether or not they were looking up to me.
I failed my family,
All the burdens and expectations they had in vision to be.
I am sorry, sometimes I wish I wasn't born,
Never to scorn, as I type I morn, in the dark I sit alone,
A passive aggressive one man storm.
I just wanted peace...... peace and quiet.
I yearn happiness.
Sprinkle sprinkle as I type my tears flow,
Long tears because I type slow,
Fixing my mistakes and my typos,
and here I go.
I wish I was young again I would make the same choices over again,
Meet my first love over again,
Enjoy our first kiss over again,
Hold her in my arms all over again,
But if I could have started over again,
I wouldn't have failed her over again, I wouldn't have given up on her over again.
I am sorry.
I wrote this poem and hid it from the public because I became timid all over again.
All over a pen, I wish things where different I would write this poem differently all over again.
I would lose and regain my focus all over a mends,
Go the furthest distance for over a friend.
But who am I fooling all over
All over....
All over nothing again.
I am sorry,
As my cheeks absorb the rain from my eyes,
that touch the corner of my imaginary smiles,
I'm already compromised, my future is already jeopardized,
and my past is already memorized.
I am sorry, I word I hate and now at this distant gate,
I saying it straight,
Though the meaning I want to procreate goes out multiple ways,
it may or may not be good enough to reciprocate,
but I am sorry so it may demonstrate that I can't compensate the decisions I made when I was less fortunate lacking the wisdom I have now to help meditate proper analysis of thinking to facilitate my short comings.
Read it again let it marinate.
I'm sorry because I am passionate, because I had myself on an automatic levitate to elevate.
Instead to my self I chose to relegate, choices
a powerful advocate.
I am sorry,
I feel broken inside, I'm crying outside,
and only in God I can confide.
I failed my mother,
Now she doesn't hold me in high regards,
I failed myself because I dropped my guard,
I failed my siblings, I made things hard,
I failed my family, my ******* deepest fear I gave
regards
Yet I would do it all over again,
Sad reality the realm of regret.
We all wish we could do it all over again
Though there're so many thing I wouldn't do over again,
and saying I am sorry would have sure been one of them.
Dec 21, 2024
Dec 21, 2024 at 1:26 AM UTC
I am not Shawn
I have ceased to be
And am instead
What you see now
When you see me
I am not Shawn
I am audacity
To speak my mind
To speak my feelings
To speak my truth
Yet ****** by all three
I am not Shawn
I am lunacy
My thoughts and logics
Played down or dismissed
In lieu of the only truth
Allowed to support another's reality
I am not Shawn
I am infidelity
Years ago guilty of this crime
But living today like yesterday
Is the present and
I need reminders of my culpability
I am not Shawn
I am cruelty
A now tolerated trespasser
To peace in a home
Built on hurt pride and offenses
Enumerated and idolized meticulously
I am not Shawn
I am the vocabulary
Of confused words
And claimed miscommunication
On one hand, suggested intelligence
But in conflict only ignorant inadequacy
I am not Shawn
I am expectancy
Placed uncomfortably
Into an imploring posture
As I seek morsels of golden attention
Choosing my words ever so carefully
I am not Shawn
I am a mockery
Whose tears have a faucet
And whose humility
Is reserved for moments
Of game playing and emotional treachery
I am not Shawn
I am mystery
It's suggested I'm harmfully hiding
That which oneness should know & see
When in fact it's the fault of judgment
He too hides within feigned transparency
I am not Shawn
I am fragility
Painted weak
Old and forgetful
Glances at my softening frame
Constant jokes of reverie
I am not Shawn
I am improbability
Haven't consistently grown
In areas of others' choosing
Not my own. Left to get it
Together spiritually, eventually...maybe.
I am not Shawn
I am hypocrisy
For blameless one may live
If the same offense may be found
In the person claiming offense
The mirror not inward facing but outwardly
I am not Shawn
I am an apology
For all the many actions
And faulty statements
Which so quickly offend the same one
Less prone to act just as responsibly
I am not Shawn
I am an enemy
Pushed away
Constantly distanced
An outsider and forced partner
In this abandonment dance and fantasy
I am not Shawn
I am make-believe
Merely an actress given a script
Fashioned of lines another prepares
For me
For I am not Shawn
You have given me a new name...
History
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC