"headspace" poems
Replaying a riff four times perfectly
One missed fret and the entire day ends disastrously
Replaying moments of kindness and warmth
To overcome the feverish idea that I hold no heart
Every fourth step, threes end in ******
Maimed images constantly creep
This subconscious ludovico technique
These thoughts come and go in no particular order
A seat at the table and a serviette on my lap
What if I leapt out my chair and suddenly attacked?
What if I aimed the knife towards my hand?
I constantly question if that’s who I am
I will have a picnic with her today, all joy and cheer
When these intrusive thoughts will inexplicably get near
And terrorize my attitude as well as my image
Disassociating with a perplexed and horrified visage
I’m so incredibly tired of existing
A cruel and ironic fate
I’ve missed out on so many opportunities
All because of this miserable headspace
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC
1. That thing she did. It was so innocuous, so accidental, so minor, yet it awakened you. It consumes your headspace. Follows you through hours and days. Makes appearances in your dreams, kissing the edges of your mind. Because of it, you know what it feels like to want someone so much you grow a second heart. Such a gesture should be easily forgotten, but you can’t forget the belly-rolling starburst of it, the oh. That thing she did, it told you who you are. In one split-second act. It grabbed you by the collar, looked you in the eye, and said her. It’s her. Are you brave enough to listen?
2. You want to feign your own fall just so she will lean over you, blocking the sky, beautiful and concentrated. So she will hold your wrist and feel for your rabbit pulse. So you can blink up at her with an excuse for not looking away.
3. She’s sitting there sketching a tree in the margin of her notebook, and she is a miracle. You would die for her. The thought startles you. You want to kiss her, want it savagely, which startles you, too. Your hands stay balled in your lap, half-clenched and trembling.
4. You move and it’s just enough to push the two of you together. Which is, god, the best thing you have ever felt. She draws her eyes toward you with the soft look that takes you out every time. Her arm is pressing yours, solid and warm. You flush and can’t understand why, but you should. That blush knows everything you haven’t yet figured out.
5. You watch her when she leaves, always. You can’t help it. She’s furiously lovely, so much your chest is sore at the sight of her. She hurts you, this girl. She moves you.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 12:46 PM UTC
Places where we go and free our headspace,
spreading our hands and feeling the raindrops.
It felt like an unique amalgamation of fright, fury and pure joy.
Fright of all the obligations barged on the soul.
Fright of not being with the right people at the right time.
Fright of falling on our own feet.
Round & round on the playground,
with an overwhelming typsy feeling.
The joy of sliding on the slippery dip,
touching the sky hanging on the swing.
The breeze touching the feet, playing with the hair & ticking the ears, until we fear to fall on the ground.
The alarming feeling of how precious our life is.
The joy of constantly working on ourselves to improve in life.
The joy of keeping ourselves first.
The joy of not missing out & living in the moment;
The joy of emphatic long conversations,
The joy of selfless efforts with no expectations.
The joy of doing the right things,
always at an unsuitable time;
The joy of being intutive over calculative.
The joy of spending fruitful earnings;
& believing in karma.
Feeling no need to explain our way of doing things
& doing what makes us feel good about ourselves.
Absolute joy of not being too hard on ourselves.
All joyful things go wrong, because it is their job to.
We make all dreadful things right, because it is our job to.
It all makes sense now,
We must get up,
spread your hands,
feel the raindrops,
and say,
“We made it all worth.”
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 6:20 AM UTC
This trail leads to the animal crossing
It fails to accommodate intrepid adventurers,
Bushy tailed explorers, mountain climbers,
Talkers to squirrels and chewers of pine pitch.
The divine medicine denies us the headspace to believe we're really dead,
The reclined estrogen felt good against twenty million years of insecurity
Golden-layered, factually flawed
It lay exposed for decades
Rusting innards and misfiring sparks
None of the heavy equipment does what it says
Robot arms move with intensity
No programmer yet programs tenderness
The limiting factor has always attracted the acting crowd
Always desperate for theatrical work they magically appear
When it's clear that they're needed
But heed the warnings, they're known to be cheaters; the people who say so could also be wife-beaters
No need to wait for a stereotype
Follow the one you haven't lost touch with
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
Finally
remembering
how
to
forget.
Jul 22, 2023
Jul 22, 2023 at 2:26 AM UTC
Sometimes the words you say
make me look down and blush,
delve into my own headspace,
wondering what brings such
wondrous sounds pouring forth
from your lips.
And these things you say,
they aren't obscene in any way,
but oh sir, do they twist me up inside
and steal my breaths straight
out of my lungs.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
he wasn't in the right headspace
he wasn't in the wonted circumstance
it happened neither occasionally, but on numerous occasions
however, his surrounding be approaching and expecting his so-called tough shoulders..
..to be cried on, to be leaned on or to be the place they can dwell in for some considerable time.
his heart was made of gold, but it felt like a block of ice.
nodded his head; means acceptance.
tossed a yes; means a welcome.
painted a genuine smile; means he's all about to listen.
he was there for people, and he will always be there.
but where are the people pace their footsteps out while 911 numbers were pressed on his life's phone button?
nought. zero calls back. all dead. stone deaf.
that's how we live in, being a living buttress to people as in fact people won't ever spend their seconds to be your place to go.
aside from the bitter truth,
survive.
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 7:04 AM UTC
if I were asked , are you okay
I would know not what to say
The way my feelings work
the way they ebb and flow
turns my headspace into an auditorium
full of noise
full of sorrow
full of love
with hopes for a better tomorrow
I guess I'll say I'm okay because
I've got to chase this wolf away
It breathes down my neck
It haunts every step
it salivates at the thought
of sinking it's fangs in again
and again and again
I'm hoping the meds take effect
like a huntsman
please release me from this beast
Until that time comes
I won't stop believing that I can be
free
Sep 8, 2022
Sep 8, 2022 at 5:42 PM UTC
I am not an Amazement
People do not look at me and find gold
I am a blank canvas and Empty
And there are no stars inside because everything
Exists outside of me
I’m Mad because I do not like how I caught your eye
You thought I was Beautiful
But now your eyes have faded so they can’t see this far
And so my Beauty goes unnoticed and my scars are red
I’m a Scared, pessimistic girl
With no headspace for dreams
A lot of life doesn’t exist in my world
And it feels like the trees are blocking me
Like the curtains are drawn to keep you from seeing inside of me
Like the artists don’t want to paint me anymore
Like I am stuck staring at the mirror in my bedroom that used to give me nightmares
Like in my dreams I keep asking people who have died
If they would come back to life
And every time they tell me No, I don’t deserve that anymore
No, I don’t deserve that anymore
I like to think I don’t deserve the bad things anymore
Like I am a sculpture that’s been glued to the ground
Where I cannot stop people from staring
What if I don’t want to be seen?
What if I want to be read
What if I want to be felt
For the things you can’t touch?
But they keep carving me down to a figure
They keep painting over the parts where I used to bleed
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
the brain and mind are not the same thing.
a brain floats, suspended,
down to the tips of my toes
and the blue rivers underneath my skin.
it is a box; simple tasks and quiet construction.
the mind has no such manuals.
it sees baboons in filtered skylights,
eyes as red as the blushing dawn,
gushing about over the hilltops of my shoulders.
it sees stop signs in the glass cracks
of my wooden closet door,
where the dark seeps around the green-light-go.
it sees fingertip to lip,
raccoons at rusty roadways,
Remus and Romulus locked in eternal combat;
preserved in the grains in the cherry tree trunk.
the brain is in the head,
but the mind is somewhere a little above;
hiding away in a doomsday bunker,
loud warnings burning the air,
bathed in cobwebs and blue lights.
away from people who haven’t quite learned,
that the brain and mind are not the same thing.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 2:37 AM UTC
Clenched teeth.
My heart is beating fast and slow.
The love of my life,
His words,
Were not as beautiful.
And they were,
At the very best,
Un-welcomed in this heart of mine.
I itch for a pencil and a yellow book.
I itch for my tears to fall.
I want my heart to be taken out
I am not him
And I am not his
He is the fairytale
While he is the broken knight.
I am neither and
All I can say is my heart is closed.
As my anger towards only me
Start to consume my headspace.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 11:36 PM UTC
We’re playing the long game.
We share things, we’re lovers,
we slip in and out of each other’s lives
like jackets hanging on the back of a door.
Relationships are like instruments,
they must be played, kept in tune,
the carnal and the corny balanced,
carefully, like sections of an orchestra.
Sometimes, I feel that I have to bring the energy,
BE the entertainment - and I can do that - in spades
but not forever - I’m not a tireless-giver - in fact,
I'm atavistically Parisien (we admit loving nothing).
I’m learning that when a relationship’s conducted,
at great remove, the basics - like punctuality,
dependability and preparation - become a big deal.
When I’m in an optimistic headspace, I think we can do it,
maybe, that we know what we want and who we are.
That we’re playing the long game
Nov 15, 2023
Nov 15, 2023 at 4:37 PM UTC
A whisper left,
Upon my lips,
No one was meant,
To hear.
Shaking through
My Fingertips,
The numbness turned,
To fear.
And now I have,
Been tied up to,
A knot I cant undo.
For every time,
I seek release,
My headspace fills,
With you.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC
You don't quite fit and
Things are far from right
We are key and lock mismatched
crushed together in fits of frustration and spite
But it's new
(Trust me) (I have seen next to nothing like you before)
And I've always longed to explore
Stay for a while
And I promise, (I promise), to make the most
of this delinquent delight we've found
Before we've been presented
With our separate open doors
Before we're forced from our little headspace in the clouds
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
but that could be said of anywhere.
However, some places
seem to have hypnotic hips and easy eyes
with a mischevious, seductive scarab grin.
Like magic, it pulls me in.
Here, labels like good or bad are trite,
there is only this magnetic whirling
energy culling myself and others inside
simply because we picked up the phone and showed up.
But now it's our responsibility to find balance
amidst serene listless apathy on the beach
and party hardy into the midnight arty energy scene jack & coke down the rabbit hole we go.
Some Bedouins say Dahab means "time goes,"
which has me convinced Moses and his folks weren't lost
in terms of location but lost when it relates to time,
trying to find a middle path
between excess and sloth
in this south Sinai town.
Yes, not two but three schools of thought,
forming a triangle in this hypnotizing spiral;
two points of excess and one of balance!
All three balance each other,
and it's hell trying to stay in the center of this eye
of this metaphorical storm of enlightenment.
Naturally, gravitational forces pull some to the
gray matter island headspace of echoed sins
and carnivorous lascivious pandemonium.
Not everyone will find what they seek on the warm beaches here,
or the raving, bubble foam dance parties in strobe light nights.
That's just the way it is;
there's not enough room for everyone in the center.
And this is where we learn to accept ones place,
because only then can we move on to another plane,
on another beach with more to learn and some to teach.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
In want of a headspace
For to keep up with my thought pace
An infinite cerebral landscape
The consciousness reels and writhes through the labyrinth
Sixty five BPM’s crack the whip
Twist and turns
Indian carpets and Egyptian urns
Irrelevent
Upon starry eyed fairytales they stand
Architecture of a madman
Brick and mortar
Psychedelic caulking
Foundation
Screaming defiance against creation
Murals
Whispering fears of damnation
Wake up mate
It’s just your imagination
I know.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
>walkin in the rain, footsteps shake, head throbs, but I still hear your silent echoes as if they follow me in the dark, my whispers are silent thunders, as if screaming in the past, it won't bring you back.
<I walk on, mud at my feet. Stepping to the trail of my own weathered beat. Nature touches my senses and the space between.
>Always in my headspace, cannot get out, still stuck, cannot move.
Though I found a way out, but you never go away, so I guess I gotta stay. I hope someday I make it out alive, whether it burns or not.
<I'll feel the flames reach higher as I gasp for air
I hope the rain comes and washes away the pain and I can dance freely again
with the sun.
>The sun in my arms, I got no space for air, breathing frantically, I hold out my last to you. But in the distance, as my voice stops, I see a shadow, squinting, eyes nearly closed, I know it's not you.
<It is a part of me
The part I don't want to see
clearly
Running will save no one.
>I'm done, words filtrate, my thoughts are bare. **** my mind is exposed, no one who cares.
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 8:07 AM UTC
When my lips form charming smile
And in my eyes you see sunshine,
Be careful, darling, it's a warning sign.
Cause once sweet whispers touch your mind
And flirty laugh blurs track of time,
You won't notice that your heart is mine.
And when you watch the moves I make
And then you skip a breath intake,
Be cautious, darling, of heartbreak.
Cause once I get into headspace,
I live rent-free for weeks and days
Before I kiss goodbye and leave a trace.
Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 10:34 AM UTC
Are an interesting thing.
Because they appear in all headspace
And stratum of conscious
Orchestra slow walk of life-
In the hazy Druid gaze of early morning waking days
To the moment of the crystal revelation;
The hardwood can look dreamlike, soft
But just as easily manifest creation.
Sinewy contortions of the multicoloured drapes
To the kind and gentle ghosty in the sun;
A derealized 'umm, wait a sec' march backwards in the mind
Or the truth that I and this wood frame are one.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC
Oh your shy very shy
You will never get the job you want because you are very shy
You want to be s s baker
Too flaming hard
You want to be lawyer
Too flaming bad
You want to be a doctor
I shake too much
I want to be a super market packer
Too ****** cheap
I want yo be an actor
Keep laughing when the teacher is showing me the ropes I want to be a waiter
But I need to understand
There is not much money involved
I want to be a security guard
Too fucken weak
I want to be s police man
Not in the eight headspace
I want to be an AFL. Player
But I need to be signed on
I hear oh your shy very shy
I am cool and you are shy
The only way to achieve your dreams in come out of your shell and i ain't gay though
I want to succeed
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 8:02 PM UTC
I used to love apologies
When you’d admit your wrongness in lew of
my rightness my pride did somersaults
with my ego
I would spend hours admiring their
acrobats and my posture would reflect
their newly practiced muscles with ease
Your apologies were music to my ears
until the bow broke the string
Now the music isn’t right
The gentle hum of my ego doesn’t find
comfort in your shame anymore
I now beg you to stop the music
It has become a terrible scream
A high pitched ringing no one else can
hear but I swear it’s there and I’m not just
crazy or lacking potassium
I want to grab a needle and thread and
sew your mouth shut before you can ever
apologize again
You cannot control the weather
Don’t apologize when I say that I’m cold
You cannot control my sleeping habits
So don’t apologize when you hear how I
couldn’t sleep last night because I
was craving something but didn’t know what
it was and I couldn’t go to bed without it
Don’t apologies to me
When you say you’re sad please don’t
apologize
We are all sad sometimes
There is no shame in realizing our
happiness is only skin deep sometimes
When you say you don’t understand the
joke I just made please don’t apologize
I promise I will explain it to you differently
even if it loses its humor that way
I know you can’t control how your brain
deciphers the meaning of words
When you read my expressions wrong
please don’t apologize
It was my fault for not seeing your
hesitation and confusion and failing to
comfort your headspace with promises
that I’m not mad or upset
I promise it’s just my face and you
heard me the wrong way
That’s okay
I hear things wrong sometimes too
But please don’t apologize for being you.
---Autism is funny that way
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 6:56 PM UTC
I wish it was as easy
As you say it should be
To turn concern inwardly
Then, ultimately emerge again when successful in identifying the key to victory
I wish it was that easy
But I don't have it in me
I can't make clear the complexity
Of why I can't even be the me I need me to be to feed my family properly
I know I make it easy
To shame me, to pity me
To chain me to the pit of my own misery
Just don't let my last breath be what finally makes you take my plea seriously
You know as well as me
It's not as easy as "To be or not to be"
No further questions please
Until I free me,
I'll be in my headspace if you need me...
©2024
Feb 1, 2024
Feb 1, 2024 at 5:27 PM UTC
Pad and pen,
here are Casey’s thoughts again...
Driving down the highway, Jason is strapped in because Casey’s in denial again. She doesn’t want to lose her little one.
Wake up Casey, you’re dreaming. He’s gone.
You drove under the influence.
What’s wrong with you?
This is what you get. He’s never coming back.
Driving silent like a mime with its mouth sewn shut.
You’re just like a mime, living in a black and white world.
You’re gray matter Case.
You’re a nut-case.
Where’d you put your straight jacket?
You hit your brakes to assure Jason will be safe.
Convinced that at every intersection there’s a conspiracy against you,
sure to get hit.
But Casey, it’s too late. This is what you get.
He’s never coming back.
Why’d you have to reach for more?
Lock her up.
Strap her in.
Casey's off the deep end... again.
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 1:18 AM UTC
Its hard to concentrate
When your thoughts rattle around
Like machinegun fire
Caught in complicated clockwork
Trying to captivate
One cognitive idea
About Life
Conglomerate
While the tapestries
Of cliches attempt
To coalesce as they
Cascade
Only to fall away
As they dribble out my ears
The critics are unimpressed.
There is no one on this earth
Who is still interested
In simple lyrics backed by
Overwhelming overtures
When the focus is on expenditures
And the bottom line wont budge
Its as if it holds a grudge
Torturing visionary artists
Hiding in their closets
From monsters under the bed
And detained by superego authorities
While alone and afraid
Locked in Negative Headspace
But the artists becon of light
Is an ironic twist of common life
In a pedestrian plight
Captured on 8mm film
And put on Lifetime.
How do you write a song when
The melody is wrong
But the lyrics flow from the hand
Like the last latent ramblings
Of a dying, possessed man
Onto the page as
The imaginary lines fade
And the surreal becomes real
And in your head its something you can hear
In your gut, its something you can feel
But the fingers on the guitar
Cant catch these falling stars
And before we go to far
Its time to take a step back
To breathe
The guitar bleeds
But its blood isnt music
And if you turn away you lose it
As the sound gets trapped behind
The saturated limitations of the mind
The brass threads slowly unwind
Only to stab you in the neck.
And still,
The critics are unimpressed.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 8:57 AM UTC
Am I in the right headspace?
Do I travel the galaxies conjured by my thoughts just to end up in black holes?
I’m seeking epiphanies
You know, those elusive supernovas that defy even the eyes of gods
I claim to be rich in spirit, yes
Trying to measure my wealth with the hours I spend in the stratosphere
above every worry that injects my bones with the weight of 2 Earths-
the weight of a place that doesn’t want to ever wait
Yet it must
You can’t break a chrysalis and expect patterns on the wings
You’ll get misshapen kaleidoscopes
and fragmented isotopes
beings who’ve never climbed but will die trying to ascend ropes
Am I in the right headspace?
Is my consciousness a constellation waiting to take form?
What will be the shape?
I’ll never be strong enough to resemble the buckle on Orion’s belt
I’ll never be the mouth at the big dipper,
drunk on the secrets of the cosmos
I’d want to be the hands gripping Polaris
sharing light for the planets who only see a moon rise
Am I in the right headspace?
Because I’ve fallen into nebulas,
realms where humans stand on the heads of giants yet look no higher
I’ve seen flawed ideologies that challenge monuments with their size
I wonder what it’d take for us to realize that we could be immortals
free from the finite mentalities that stunt our growth from the very roots.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC