"hesitating" poems
butterflies and jitters
stutters and whispers
shaking and sweating
hesitating and forgetting
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
In order to expose my heart and truly write,
I must release my status or my pride,
this is not about me,
it was never meant to be a way to gain recognition,
another way for me to perform on a stage, some sort of exhibition.
Yet I find myself hesitating to write my thoughts,
trying to impress people I don't even know,
It was only meant to be an outlet a therapy for me, never some sort of show,
but like everything I have ever done somehow Id rather waste my time trying to impress. My guilty conscience driving me to be truly under duress. Forced to hold back the leanings of my heart I merely release a fluffy worthless shallow piece. I will not be stifled, held down by my need to please, my ribs will not rupture under this pressure as I try to breathe. I must write with heart and soul or not at all.
So this is my open message to you pride, no matter how many times I fool myself into putting on your mask, I promise, your control over me will not last.
I will take you off just as quickly as I put you on because I want someone who reads these to truly see me. To see me with all of my scars misfortunes and faith, I will put my heart out, I will never aspire to be fake.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 10:18 PM UTC
(Villanelle)
It takes patience to wait for the perfect light.
Glance away and the image can disappear.
And sometimes the background isn’t quite right.
The moment missed is like a face out of sight
That against all logic we hope will appear
From around a corner, bathed in perfect light.
Or a pause in the music on a moonlit night
When hesitating lips touch, and love leans near,
But voices whisper that something’s not right.
Technology offers consolation in its sleight
Of hand: Digitally correct the analog *here
And now*, counterfeit the perfect light.
Yet we want more than the mastered byte.
We want the flash between the waiting and the souvenir,
The instant when self and spectacle fuse, reality felt right.
And so we hold on to what’s passing out of sight,
The collision between soon and too late, the sheer
Thread connecting to the perfect light
In which the background is precisely right.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
I used to seek answers,
to unsaid questions,
to incessant ponderings,
of the world in which we live in.
I used to fill the world with my voice,
never stopping,
hesitating,
for my greatest fear
was something far bigger than heights;
it was the silence.
The illusion was unmasked,
and at once,
I understood
why those questions were left
unanswered.
And now,
I find myself basking in the silence,
breathing it in,
trapping the words inside;
leaving them to roam within the confines
of my intricate road map.
The silence assures me,
that underneath the tangle of human complication,
of man-made solidarity,
the world is still a simple
silent
place.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
I've had
****
Not ***
Not **********
Not consensually.
I've been
******
*****
abused.
taken advantage of.
whatever it is you want to call it
I've had it done.
I've been kissed
Fingered
choked
hit
spit on
spit in
I've been held,
hostage
with knives against my throat
guns to my head,
in my mouth
drugs down my throat
barely conscious I've been
******
I've been in love
I've been heartbroken
I've been touched
consensually,
let me tell you about the consensually.
I've been kissed in the bathroom, lifting
her
up against the wall
laughing when our teeth brushed against
one another's
hands fumbling up a skirt
around a throat
fingers tangled in wavy hair.
I've been touched sitting in her lap
outside on a hot day
wearing her hoodie
around children
freshmen year.
I've been touched
multiple times
by him
in band rooms, away from prying eyes
secrets to be kept and wooed over
laying in a dress
during a concert event
head in the lap of my best friend
underwear brushed to the side
fingers thrusting in
and yes, this was consentually.
I've been touched
in the school hallways
every day after school or in between classes
tasted and tasted
he tasted me
I tasted myself.
And in the living room of our best friend's house
even though I told him no
I told him the safe word
he continued.
I say it was consensual because in the end,
I said I loved it.
Don't argue about it.
I wanted it.
and I've been touched
in her pool
heated ever so lovingly
LED lights danced us into the temptation
as did the alcohol on my part
with her lips against my chest
desperate to mark, yet not to show
i mean, hey, my step-dad's homophobic
though I'd love nothing more than to show who I belong to.
We switched a lot, but ultimately I landed in her lap
water licking up my sides,
sending chills to *******
goosebumps
and her fingers hesitating
not daring to touch.
"i'm going to need a yes."
finally.
Finally asked.
I nodded eagerly
and she treated me like a piano
perfect notes
though brief I know that I was
drenched in all ways
the chlorine water yes
and of course the obvious.
you see, we were going to do something that night
we had the chance to
I wanted to
she wanted to
In the end,
she took something for her headache
though it was a sort of
similar thing to Nyquil
We were going to.
But we laid in bed
and we molded against each other
and sailed asleep.
I've slept with one person.
Her
Sydney
My Muse.
But Still, A ******
am I
Mar 26, 2021
Mar 26, 2021 at 5:31 AM UTC
I didn’t think I’d lose myself in you
Hesitating to fall,
It was a brave conquest
At the edge of it all
Looking down into a pit
And so I went without looking
Convinced that you’d be at the bottom
To crush my fall
Who knew you were the one to push me.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
9 January 2014 02.21am
"We all have feelings for our girlfriends Bea, it doesn't mean we have to act on them.."
Silence filled the room
Two opposing forces
Love lust passion
Hate anger fear
What was once owned
Has now been taken
Walking towards her
Reaching out, hand movements
So slow and graceful
An aura so compelling, senses heightened
Bodies shifting as though
Magnetic forces were playing
A sultry dance acting out
Underneath the candelabra
Eyes locked mirroring feelings
Left unspoken, razor sharp tongue
Hips graze, music intensifies
An atmosphere fraught with
Tension, favoured to be cut by a knife
Hesitating lips part with a subtle urgency
Circulatory movements dancing feet
A lowly finger fondles an inner thigh
Ever so slightly withering, exuberant pleasure
Eyes connect, glistening from the light
A smile pacifying both women
Others gazes capture their movements
For now, they are the only ones
Whose love and light fills this room
Alone, unhinged, they kiss
At first tentatively, then feverishly
Drowning, they are both saved
The lovers bodies blend into one
Possessing one another
Nothing is lost in that moment
Desperately clinging to affection
Souls freed, emotions making miracles
Two lovers effortlessly become
One soul being.
© Sia Jane
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
i know a boy
who sits behind me
always tapping his pen
tapping
and tapping
fingertips spelling
i am anxious
i know a boy
who walks me to class
looks at me before I leave
his foot keeps
tapping
and tapping
and I keep waiting
for him to tell me goodbye
so I can go to class
i know a boy
who cannot stop
like a car alarm on
christmas morning
like police sirens
underwater
a boy
afraid of the pause
the rest, the wait, the halt
the slow motion of eyes meeting,
elbows accidentally touching
words becoming deep breaths,
hesitating instead
I know a boy
who is still a child
and over and over,
i loved him "still"
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
I shatter on the floor in many pieces;
My jagged edges sharp and menacing.
Putting me back together takes sweat, blood and patience,
but I am forever altered.
From afar I look complete,
Come closer and you can see that I'm held together
only by sheer determination.
Time will allow the painful betrayals to fade
until I'm brave enough to try again.
However, I tip-toe carefully, always hesitating.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
A collaboration between SG Holter and Elisa Maria Argiro
Hesitating here, silent edge of this dark forest,
I look beyond me, warm in the white fog.
Seeing your heart, now residing deep within
the ancient wood, is to know it is blessed, loved.
*Silver tongue resting now in golden silence.
Palms of soul upon moss and brittle bark.
Animal song; scent of beasts approaching unafraid.
Fierce peace. The opposite of a machine.*
In the rising sap of silent trees around us,
our deeply beating pulses listen, dance,
smiling kisses at the shining stars, new planets.
Eyes open, anima and animus press tightly
And distance is no more.
*"What language is Yours,"
I ask the still growing giants of
Green.
"Silence and its sister tongues
Such as leaves dancing with the
Breeze," they reply within the
Gap between soft sounds and
Softer ones.
So we speak through breaths
Exchanged, of nothing.
Two souls afloat upon the stream
Of Union with All.
What is Cosmos,
But "home"?
Never a visitor.
Never a stranger.
Nowhere has anyone ever been
Lost, or
Away.*
Humming your essence into my veins,
in tune with the wordless languages
of green lives and wind, listening
among delicate flowers, sleeping here
on the forest floor, wakeful and awaiting
the next sound of your voiceless voice,
wind words blowing
through my long, curling hair,
feeling the intention of your
untouched touch,
at home, just being.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 2:48 PM UTC
It was 1 a.m.
I was at a bar,
you were probably
at your house,
drunk,
having people come over.
I texted you
and the first thing you
said to me was "come over"
but you and I
both know that wasn't
going to happen anymore.
I had to tell you I didn't
hate you.
Because the last time
I talked to you the words
poured out of my
mouth like lava
and I was sure you
would never talk to
me again.
But sure enough,
without even hesitating
the second my name popped
up on your screen
you told me to come see you.
And that's what drove
me crazy.
Despite everything
you still always wanted
to see me.
And that's what made me wonder,
despite us being so against
being together,
we can never leave each other
alone.
I could only think
you wanted me
as much as i want you,
but we both know
we will never
admit it.
Maybe two people
are meant to meet,
but can never be together.
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 9:29 PM UTC
One, two, three, two, five, seven
Rhythmless feet clad in branded shoes
Adventurous, brazen fingers strolling on wide, voluptuous stalks
Towering sunflowers with wide, voluptuous stalks
Pristine dandelions enticing pairs of hands
Pristine dandelions enticing my pair of hands
And I give in, and I willingly give in
Summer petals weaken the gullible heart
The summer petals abandon the gullible heart
One, two, three, two, five, seven
Rhythmless feet now bare
Adventurous, brazen fingers now dormant
One, two, four, six, eight, ten
Rhythmless feet clad in cheap shoes
Curious fingers strolling on wide, voluptuous stalks
Towering white daisies with wide, voluptuous stalks
Pristine dandelions spring once more
Pristine dandelions enticing my pair of hands
And I give in, yet again I give in
Winter petals capture the derelict heart
The winter petals emulate mirrors after caressing the ramshackle heart
One, two, four, six, eight, ten
Rhythmless feet once again bare, now calloused
Curious fingers now cautious
One, two, two, two, two, two
Rhythmless feet hesitating to be covered
Vacillating fingers mapping the wide, voluptuous stalks
Pristine dandelions surface once more
Pristine dandelions displaying subtle coquetry
And I stall, for heaven's sake, I stall
Fall petals demonstrate its desire to the heart
The fall petals fall but the bitter heart hangs on a silk thread
One, two, two, two, two, two
Rhythmless feet discovers a rhythm
A rhythm so unpleasant, so abhorrent
Vacillating fingers now curl
Curl into the palm in resistance
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
an assembly or
better named
a clump
of multifarious flotsam
presenting its untidy self
on a recent passing
streetcorner..
a hesitating photo records
a drifting pinecone
centering a stained
and shredding newspaper
a broken sharp stick
red rocks of scales and shadings
flecking dried green leaves..
order imposed by
framing and shaping of
the sidewalk corner..
might other forms emerge
with a focused patience?
a partial headline reads
...sound without the wires..
news of expanding connections
outside a material realm?
headline seemed embedded
in thick advertising bulk
announcing a continuing
culture of material weight..
much else of red and green..
the centering pinecone
occasional pineal symbol of
higher dimension entry..
somehow rightly here
in the dark center
of this mess
this a brief experiment
not yet for most an answer
a question now of mining
finding patterned varieties
in large nature's trove..
patient visions residing in
gathered fragments
if gathered they be..
expectations of more
in what persists
of this and that in
time... :)
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:03 PM UTC
anxiety is building up all your courage to simply tell a waiter or waitress your order
anxiety is dreading to receive gifts because you don't think your reaction will be good enough
anxiety is remaining silent at a family dinner because you're afraid of them judging your every sentence
anxiety is texting someone then wishing you hadn't for fear of them forgetting you ever existed
anxiety is hesitating to ring someone's doorbell for the fear of forgetting what you were going to say
anxiety is spending hours at night practicing conversation for tomorrow to please your friends
anxiety is going over what you're going to say when you raise your hand so you won't mess up for once
anxiety is
me
a.c.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
Hesitations grips me
Sometimes with a soft gentle squeeze and sometimes with an iron fist
That split second where you see that girl with whimsical hair and a playful smile and your body is screaming at the top of its lungs “GO AFTER HER YOU FOOL!!!” while your brain mulls over the endless stream of stressful situations
I can hear Robin Williams calling out to me “Let me hear your YAWP!” and I’m shaking, quivering, rattling, generating the vocal ferocity of a lion! And all that comes out is a whimpering “yawp…”
Hesitation grips me
A harmless compliment to brighten someone’s day, no harm done, just a quick simple “I like your pants” a smile and I’m on my way
Simple! Wrong!
That flickering candle of pleasantries is cut short by a swiftly shutting window of opportunity
The breeze not hesitating to extinguish its light
Hesitation grips me
How many moments must I suffer paralyzed lips before my can of complimentary worms is opened?
How many lovely strangers will continue to mill about their days in unblissful ignorance of my enjoyment of their simple, subtle or overt characteristics?
This hesitation grips me!
It shackles me and holds the key in front of my face and all it requires is one real Yawp! The mustering has begun! That key is my freedom of hesitant chains! Just! One! Yawp! I think I can I think I can I think I can! Just! One! Yawp! “yawp…”
Hesitation grips me
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
why is love blind
why when inlove we always bind
to the play this game of heart and mind
on which there are no ways to you find
we dont see but we follow our feelings
we trust without hesitating
if what we do is contradicting
or just being inlove is addicting
so why are we loving if we could get blinded
on things we do for love were not guided
we suffer of being a slave of love
But still we smile even when we are treated like a grub
i guess that love is blind if following the heart
better you think of it before you start
because it will be too late once you begin
you'll get blinded within
by the love that opens your heart
blinds your sight apart
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
Have you ever seen a night sky so clear;
So clear that there’s not even a sign of the moon’s existence?
Well, I’m under one right now
The street is empty and the darkness is silent
No rustling of leaves or bushes,
No hums of crickets singing in chorus
Window drapes are down
And they’re all black instead of yellow
Streetlights are the only source of light
And that telephone booth standing steadily alone on the corner
Hands inside my hoodie’s pocket, I go in it
I pick the phone up and started dialing a number
When suddenly all the lights go out
In a blink of an eye, and the world is in total darkness
Everything is quieter than ever
Then the wind comes whooshing
The thunder begins applauding
The lighting started like camera flashes
Raindrops as big as golf ***** fall from the sky
And the way they hit the roof of the booth,
I almost believe they’re as heavy
Inside the booth I still get wet from all the sweat
Then, as if on cue, the storm dies
Quietness floods again
The booth light flickers but that’s all
Streetlights never come back
Hesitating for a moment, I slowly go out
I look up and the sky isn’t just a black canvas anymore;
It’s now filled with blots of white ink
Glittered to life
I kick the waters not yet ****** up by the drains
I look at how calm they are
Mirroring the beautiful night sky painted
I can definitely say I’m top and under the cosmos
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
Stuck in the thick that drags me under
I struggle for breathes, grasping for the surface
The runner appears beyond the drowned
Do you see me?
A sense of familiarity blankets my surroundings
Yet it is shrouded with insecurity
The runner stops to peer into the abyss
Can you help me?
I reach to where the moon and stars used to be
Your conflicted face reduces to fear
Only hesitating before fleeing
Where are you going?
I sink deeper than before
As the runner abandons the gloom
A stream of tears left next to your footsteps
Why are you crying?
Now I am consumed
Now I am alone
And now I am tired
Why did you leave?
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 9:45 PM UTC
As a child, I liked to imagine animals as characteristics. Foxes were intelligence, lions were courage, dogs were loyalty, and beauty? Beauty was always a butterfly. I imagined her floating softly between humans, hesitating ever so slightly at each ones shoulder, making sure to only distribute the smallest amount of herself to each of them. After all, too much beauty is surely a dangerous thing. But from the first moment I saw you, I knew that beauty had rested her dainty legs on your shoulder for just a second, and she knew she'd never leave again. Beauty belonged to you like she had never belonged to anyone else. And they say that all is fair in love and war; but eyes like your's, my dear, were never in the cards.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 2:36 AM UTC
Departing summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.
No faint and hesitating trill,
Such tribute as to winter chill
The lonely redbreast pays!
Clear, loud, and lively is the din,
From social warblers gathering in
Their harvest of sweet lays.
Nor doth the example fail to cheer
Me, conscious that my leaf is sere,
And yellow on the bough:—
Fall, rosy garlands, from my head!
Ye myrtle wreaths, your fragrance shed
Around a younger brow!
Yet will I temperately rejoice;
Wide is the range, and free the choice
Of undiscordant themes;
Which, haply, kindred souls may prize
Not less than vernal ecstasies,
And passion’s feverish dreams.
For deathless powers to verse belong,
And they like Demi-gods are strong
On whom the Muses smile;
But some their function have disclaimed,
Best pleased with what is aptliest framed
To enervate and defile.
Not such the initiatory strains
Committed to the silent plains
In Britain’s earliest dawn:
Trembled the groves, the stars grew pale,
While all-too-daringly the veil
Of nature was withdrawn!
Nor such the spirit-stirring note
When the live chords Alcæus smote,
Inflamed by sense of wrong;
Woe! woe to Tyrants! from the lyre
Broke threateningly, in sparkles dire
Of fierce vindictive song.
And not unhallowed was the page
By wingèd Love inscribed, to assuage
The pangs of vain pursuit;
Love listening while the Lesbian Maid
With finest touch of passion swayed
Her own æolian lute.
O ye, who patiently explore
The wreck of Herculanean lore,
What rapture! could ye seize
Some Theban fragment, or unroll
One precious, tender-hearted scroll
Of pure Simonides.
That were, indeed, a genuine birth
Of poesy; a bursting forth
Of genius from the dust:
What Horace gloried to behold,
What Maro loved, shall we enfold?
Can haughty Time be just!
2.5k
Second year at a new school
I should be accustomed to it
But the fact is, most of them are strangers.
Second year should mean a second chance
But her friendship ring is leaving its mark on my hand
And my young years are drifting away at the sand
It's high tide...
To resurrect my mind into this new time
But new is different and different is unknown
And the unknown is scary.
I don't know how to think beyond
Those who are now distant characters in my storyline.
I'm hesitating..
Because new is different and thus unknown..
And I'm not sure if I can trust what I don't know.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 11:48 PM UTC
her hesitating beauty
over a hundred days
each a silk thread
each a dark pearl
kissing specifics
in the empty space of a matinée
hologram of the new sun
burning like prime meridian, the hunter's star
ripples of inhibition, making waves
and confessions in
the deep end of a pool
always submissive with a smile
like holding her breath underwater
Apr 11, 2023
Apr 11, 2023 at 12:26 PM UTC
A cool morning
After a night's Rain
Sun still hesitating to wake up
from the blanket of the clouds...
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
Letters come & go.
Messages from home: love lost.
Jefferson Davis
& “Honest” Abe Lincoln’s war…
…nothing more than flexing strength.
The sun rises up
above the barren Culp’s Hill
as Ewell kept them
back, & Jackson’s wishes were
lost on Cemetery Hill.
Gettysburg was filled
with mudpits, puddlepits, shitpits
& every kind of
pit. Not any kind that they
wished to see as guns moved up.
The barrage of shells
from the artillery was
never ending, not
unlike this cursed war, all
while brothers & sons were lost.
The second day came
with no signs of stopping, he
packed his gear, grabbed his
rifle, & marched out to the
sound of Charon’s ferrying.
The medic rushes
out onto the battlefield
hesitating not.
His crude instruments flailing
about in his pack, he works.
Medicine, horror,
they were synonyms to him
as he braced the man;
scraping against flesh, he screamed.
This Civil War--hell on Earth.
Sawing off a leg
was much harder than once thought,
the medic then knew.
In the thick of battle, screams
drowned out screams, & drowned out screams.
Bullets whizzed by him
as he cleaned up his patient.
Or was it victim?
These days it all seemed the same:
North, South, free, slave, dead, living.
What once was blue ‘n gray
was now brown & black & red.
Explosions tore up
the land around him as he
cleared his vision & finished.
Out of the brush, fear
overtook the medic as
a man in blue clashed
with a man in gray; blood ‘n sweat
drenched both as life was on balance.
The medic was stunned
& failed to bring himself to
act at first. He shook
himself awake, & grabbed his
knife, & leapt into the fray.
His knife plunged precise
into the blue man’s heart. No
soldier, but knew his
stuff. The gray man thanked him, &
the South fought another day.
All for naught, for on
that third day, Lee ran with his
tail betwixt his legs
all the way to Virginia.
Two years later, all for naught.
July fourth, eighteen
sixty-three, no cheers, no love,
no wins for us folk.
Only them **** Yanks get their love
from home: letters come & go.
Sherman’s March left him
quaking in his boots; gone was
his love. Gone was his
home. Gone were his letters. All
of it gone. Gone with the wind.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
A stubborn heart is deadly. It has the ability to short circuit the brain, exhaust all the sanity in you, crush your spirits, exhume every bit of sanity from the deepest recesses of your body. It can wipe out dreams of fairy tale endings, change your views on life and love --- turning you into this most cynical person alive. You tend to expect more...to your utmost disappointment in the end.Nevertheless, it brings about an exhilarating kind of joy that makes your being come alive. It brings that ultimate enjoyment of loving without hesitating to give your all. Bottomline, it feels good. It feels **** good.Oh if only the latter would happen more often --- forever if possible. Wishful thinking, yes. In the meantime, I'll just nurse this stubborn heart. Might be all it takes to disarm that stubborn man in his own makeshift loveless world. - Feb 25, 2010...for a dear friend
Feb 26, 2010
Feb 26, 2010 at 5:24 PM UTC