"hims" poems
*This is a poem I wrote looking out my window this same evening in autumn I think I was just feeling a little lonely..
Life, it passes by outside the cold chained window
As I stare out into the light, out of my lonely dark corner
My eyes burn a little, I don’t mind though, I’m used to the pain life brings me
It has grown to a dull itch rather then a perching pain
It has been made null and done in by the pain my heart brings me
For the love of my life, the one who lied about his feelings,
He, he has ripped it out of my chest, painfully and slowly
Taking his time and plotting each and every single step he shall take
To make me suffer more then I should
I see a copal, and how cute they look together
But then I look into her hims’ eyes and see, I see what I saw in my hims’ eyes
I shan't worn her for tiz her own petty fault as was my own when my "incident" happened
I’m not mad at him, I’m sure he couldn’t help it, it’s just one of those unfortunate inconveniences
I hope it was anyway, even so I’m not mad, it was my own fault
So as happy life goes on outside my cold chained window
I watch and wait to see all the unsuspecting victims who will end up like me
But they’re different, they think they’ll have someone to blame*
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
What I am about to say
Will save you
From a great sadness
1. Don't ever caress your broken heart in your hands
The blood will stain your finger tips scarlet
And be imprinted on the next person you hold.
2. Don't succumb
To the comforting grey side
Of Sadness
I know its warm. I know its safe.
But its only all those things
Because darling,
It will never leave.
3. Don't keep things hidden.
Who are you?
How can you even think of not being the main character of your story?
4. Don't read books about girls being left behind, and about boys dying
Or about people who are too afraid
Or too courageous
Or whose main characters are liars
Who come alive when you look into
Their eyes.
5. Don't let your heart pull away from him
Because you feel like
"You love him too much"
He won't understand why
You are holding his heart
And your own.
6. Don't start writing when you are sad.
The ink won't be able to run from your fingers when you are happy
And you will be left without the words you have
Become addicted to-
You will hold your heart in your hands
And you will pick at its stitches to feel
And your heart will bleed
And it will stain your fingertips red.
You will reach out to him,
And your will leave scarlet smears across his cheek
And his chest
And his wrist
And no matter how many times
You kiss
The stain will stay
And you will
Wrap yourself in the soft grey
And the Sadness will swear
To always stay
And you will feel loved
Because it will never leave.
And you will start to hide it-
The warm grey
The phone call
An opinion
The fight you had
The tears and words
That want to come out
And you will turn to books
Not to escape
But to learn
About other
I's and hers and hims
And their words will come out
Black and white
The next time
He whispers
'I love you' in your ear.
And then you will start to pull away
Because
god
You love him too much
And that means he is going to leave
And he will look at you and see
That you have his heart
And your heart
But it will be too late for him to
Have kept yours
And it will be too late for you to keep his.
And suddenly
It will be Saturday night
And he will still be yours
But it will feel like he's
Gone
And you will pull the thread
Of soft grey.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
My nights are filled with nothing. No regrets, no mistakes, no happiness, or nostalgia, they are simply void. There are no sheep on my ceiling, so instead I count the boys I have passed time with. I meditate on their finger prints engraved in my mind- as if any of them had ever actually touched it. I follow their individual swirls to centres, to lips, and my own fingers comforting them, easing them, helping them forget. This is to the boys who I can remember, who I can separate from gropes and short dances. The boys who met my mouth with their eyes closed. I wonder if they think about the times? The encounters? Do they fluff our moments into their pillows, make room for our memories in their beds at night? Do they swallow instances like painkillers or stomp them out like cigarette butts? Do they even remember? Kissing me in the dark, squeezing their lust into my body in the morning frost? Rested heads against shoulders and wrapped arms around necks and waists? Does he remember my lips crashing against his after pulling off my shirt? Does he remember sifting through my chest like he was searching for my heart? Does he remember car headlights, streetlights, houselights, my lights- my eyes. Does he remember breaking me, remember filling my gaps, remember numbing me with his needle fingers, and does he remember warming me to another life? Do they think, do they realize their words and their touches were the air in my balloon? But there are a lot of hims, just as I'm sure there is a million mes but do they recall, do they think about me? To the boys I have lent myself to, thank you. When insomnia kisses me I know it is empty, I know I am empty, and we are just helping each other survive another nothing night.
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
there is havoc at the tips of his skinny fingers.
there is passion and fury in his rhythm.
to the eyes,
he is nothing but a quiet silhouette.
but,
his sound
burns through your ears,
down your spine,
falling toward the floor
granting religion to your feet.
the guitars are discordant,
the vocals are merciless and incomprehensible.
the smoke is perfect.
******** clad women,
drunken men,
just dancing,
crashing,
clashing.
i stand idle,
a regular sore thumb,
in the collective chaos.
but the skeleton in the back,
conducts the shouting symphony
with a barrage of symmetry.
scream.
howl.
holler.
focus and control are his,
not mine, hers or, any of
the other hims.
a psychedelic metronome,
a machine
of a heavy metal drummer.
sweat.
hips.
hands.
i watch him closely,
silence inspiring the noisy.
his eyes closed, his mind
counting,
while my mind
melts,
and all anyone thinks or felt
was the beating of their
hearts, matching the beat
of his drums.
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 10:01 PM UTC
We married in the back of that old Rambler in that syrupy summer. Kitkitdizze mortared under pestal of our tires and its grind made an aroma of peculiar pungency. The moon was plump as an unshelled fava and I was about to peal her. This was all the commitment ceremony we needed. Stars be our witness. Outsiders we were, and the cliffs of the Malakoff Diggins where we did our rambling. I initially met her at her wedding to him, whence she gave her away, though rumor had it she and she were once an item prior to he and she ever meeting. Still, more ****** talk spoke of them being a three. This was all good with me, being that I had had that other he who was still bound to that she who had two hims herself. Lucky gal. Notice, I'm not naming names here.
It was our life and we lived it in polyamorous faultlessness. Gurus, rock stars, poets and other worldly scholars were all in the club. As gluey as all that free love was, most became unstuck in their ways. Hot, hot, hot sticky June crooners. Man I can't wait for summer to come again. Who's getting married in the morning?
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 1:08 AM UTC
Let it be, songbird
Let it be
He thought these words would make him feel free
But then she went ahead and listened
Now she's gone, long gone and a piece of hims just missin, her
Let it be, songbird
Let it be
He thought these words would make her feel free
But then she had to leave
She couldn't bear it
Now he's lost her for good and unsure how he'll wear it
Let it be, songbird
Let it be
He thought these words would set them both free
But now all he feels is that crushing loss
Ever present to remind him
All he had is lost
Let it be, songbird
Let it be
Let it be, songbird
Let it be
Let it be, songbird
Let it be,
Let it be me
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 2:54 AM UTC
I miss the notes that,
Completed the symphonies that followed your love.
How the earth shifted beneath my feet,
As if the its plates,
Also felt the tremors of your kisses.
The orchestra of the universe,
Beckoned at the curl of your lips.
The stars motivated into melodic choreography,
To celebrate your happiness.
That was once upon a time.
That was when our love was alive.
When that love died,
Ominous echoes followed.
My heart bellowed.
Living became as labored as breathing.
Dissonance grew with thunder
Air gathering weight.
Every part of me felt absence,
As if your love suddenly became extinct,
And mines an endangered species,
On the brink of a similar faith.
I remember the glory days.
I remember how beautiful skies were
before you tainted them with,
Splinters of your shattered promises.
Promises to love me forever,
When you gave your love to someone else.
How the fallen petals once fresh,
Wilted, scowling,
They will know beauty no more.
How angry jagged peaks,
Loom over gentle rolling hills.
Can you feel it?
Because I can feel.
I can't feel every sensation,
Every impression,
Cutting amorphously into
Every dream I've ever dreamt
Erasing every inch of hope I've ever felt.
How cruel love dismembers its victims?
The damask surface of my heart,
flickers threats of gossamer hints,
as song birds chant their heavenly hims.
Memories of our sins.
I want to forget you.
But how can I forget you,
When you've left such an impression on me.
Euphonious melodies,
Imprinted into my my being.
Taking so much of me when you left,
You left me no choice but to move on,
To the sound of my doom.
What could I do?
There was a time when of our love,
I used to boast,
How can I now,
With these missing notes?
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
The world felt so small until I looked into your eyes.
It felt like you just walked in one frosty morn
Into the vision of my vacant mind.
Filling it with calming hims.
Letting me know that you didn't have to be with me,
But instead wanted to be with me.
Feeling your touch wanes away the frost
That has kept me isolated for so long,
Meeting you felt like the first sunny day after the longest winter.
I know that more storms will come
Seasons will change back to winter.
But for now at this point.
I can look into your eyes that pair well with your smile.
Knowing that I won't have to worry,
About the Burdens of Tomorrow
Dec 17, 2021
Dec 17, 2021 at 9:07 PM UTC
There he is, asleep in his house
There you are, asleep on my bed
just waiting for me
I smile because the sweet fragrance
of sweet lilies and passion
that lines your neck has already
permeated the room and it hits me as soon as I walk in
I lay behind you and wrap my arms around your
far too familiar waistline that my fingers
know far better than my logic should allow
You scoot farther into me knowing I’ll protect you
Protect you from the thems, hims, and occasional hers
You know I’d never let anything harm you because
my warm body behind you tells you
I reach for my Panda and when I turn back
I come to the harsh realization
that you put Everclear in my drink last night
It’s ok, it was a good dream anyway
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 12:35 PM UTC
My biggest fear is standing within earshot of a crowd
in front of a microphone that'll amplify my thoughts
i've always hid in print like a theme you just can't figure out
because if I write slow my tendency to mix letters to a spaghetti mess hardly shows
but when words find their voice in my mouth
its like a shuttle race gone wrong
who goes first, is it the stutter or the lisp
theres too many s's like success just fits and sits amidst words smoothly spoken
when i read out loud I remember the crowd of eager faces witnessing my sure demise
when it was the top five competing for that shiny prize at the the spelling bee
dyslexia
...
your word is dyslexia
like some sick joke in a word i've never heard that would come to shatter how I felt about my imperfections
running out in a frought...no...i meant a fright, not quite sure if I was headed to the right
you see, if you all put L's up to your forheads in your dominant hand, they all look right or left...or right
I missed my turn
to show my tiny world that I learned to read and spell like all the rest
instead of in a tiny jail cell in my head where I would write words in every which way to try and learn them in a way that made sense to all the rest
but instead I turned down a road of "its your turn to read out loud"...
so I'd read really slow not sure if I was reading a history of Korean or Japanese in English
but written in their natural direction for impact
and i'd get through a paragraph before they stopped me
because my words choked behind my teeth
its just embarrassing
let me tell you
leaving highschool was more relaxing than distressing
eventhough everyone that knew me was now left behind
and so I packed up my life in notebooks
and sealed them in a recycle bin
like I could recycle the thought of them
but no matter if I liked it or not
my letters would come to know no order
when stumbling out of my mouth like a night at the bar passed two
because nothing good happens passed two am
but I write according to my greatest whim
when all the hers and hims retire from a night at large
and so im still stuck here with words leaping from my pages looking for a home, in mouths that know how to shout and let it all out
but, no matter what, im trying
so I stand here now choking out this combination of consonants and vowels
because I know now, my imperfections will lead me to a story only I can tell
so thank you for listening to this garbage disposal of spoken notes I swore looked better when I left them just to be wrote
in notebooks bound by the thoughts of just me
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
Sad today
For the might have beens
The what ifs
And almosts
I’m blue for you
For the hims and hers
The us and we
And what could be
Melancholy
For me and myself
The darks and lights
And the possible flight
But not depressed
For in all the mess
The hopes are near
And so skies are clear
May 19, 2021
May 19, 2021 at 11:41 AM UTC
His kiss didn't taste like candy
or blooming flowers
on some "crisp spring morning"
He tasted like human
a good
hygienic human
earthy almost
like a kiss on the neck
it lingers through my senses
I am addicted to his
all of those hims
there seems to be new hims every month
a new mouth
but his tasted the best by far
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
Feeling something
Lonely like a concrete wall
Cold in my bed under the covers
I want to forget
I bet they feel the same
You confuse me with your spiral eyes
I cut myself for money offer you
A portion and all my love
Yet I’m something faltered
Wrong for the right reasons
Wrong for the wrong reasons
Alone and waiting for no one
Unconventional methods
We tell each other how we’d **** ourselves
You’re hitting me through a straw
I’d prefer a bite of something sweet
Everything reminds me of him
All the hims really
Every new him is like the last but with a separate journal entry
Now I’m on a grainy camera trying to make a living or something
My dad calls me a failure to my face
My mother is violent in her silence
I’ll never be anyone else they see in me
I’m a moth drawn to the flame of promise
A flame I burn my skin with
Writing words for you
Not for myself
Because there is nothing here
I spend my days curled up with my own fingers
In the palm of my own hand
Mar 28, 2023
Mar 28, 2023 at 5:15 AM UTC
Fragment I
So long ago, so long ago,
You are just the bones of memory now,
Yet your influence remains in every gesture,
every glance of all the hims I've come to know.
Like a Cheshire cat bound for Hell,
You lie in wait behind unconscious eyes,
Watching and waiting--with a knowing smile...
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 7:01 PM UTC
Fifteen years old Corinne says that
alcohol is like confidence in a bottle
And she just ******* loves that ****
and I say, you know it's not something
you have to buy, at least that's what I've heard.
But I get her. To me, alcohol tastes
real real good until I'm drunk and then
it just feels like falling. And I get tired
of falling. Into things and out of things
so much so that I abstain from drinking
unless I'm in private and then
I sit in my closet with all of my hims'
and we get drunk together
and we **** to get her and
we fall together
like we get her. And we kind of do.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
She is beautiful
but she can't see it
her eyes are clouded
by the fog of his
her heart is troubled
by the make of his
She's beautiful
but she hurts
every night her thoughts haunt
every day her eyes jaunt
of him
for him
But she is without him
Tears fill my eyes now
she's my light
but she's turned off inside
she's a barefoot summer
but she's wearing shoes
We all have that thing
and this is hers
I just pray
we all move past our things
and those hims
One day
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 12:42 AM UTC
how you laughed when you heard the news
rationalizing
he isn’t dead just in
a different room
and for six years you fabricated business trips
made your life busy
he walks out and you walk in
too many just-missed-hims to count
until
one night your wall falls down, and six years
worth of tears push their way out of your eyes
he really was dead all this time
he really was dead all this time
he really was dead
he really is dead
reality hits you hard, a kick to the throat,
a low punch to the stomach
so you curl up smaller
and smaller
until you feel you may disappear.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
prejudiced both against each other and , see
a red squirrel or fox the same, as a conveyer, of seeds.
The pine tree, or cedar, just as me, grows acidic
green year round, day and night, commenting little as
possible striving to get the sun and water,
not judging the broadleaf nor the four leaf clovers,
just rising above the reaches of it all.
Flora vs. Fauna,
aura in clorophyll, or flesh
the squirrels don't care what species,
color, race , gender, or whether you
like hims or hers,
just put in their pouch whatever, stand on back legs,
laughingly adorable, going their way.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
For you My Dear,
I would give you the world, or die trying.
You My Dear, are never the reason i'm crying.
My Dear, I have saved you once, and i would
save you again.
But know, you owe me nothing.
For You My Dear, i have a different kind of love.
You bring me joy under the sun.
I hate to hear you struggle,
I hate for you to think i am abusive
and cold.
For You My Dear,
I
Am
Open.
Openness is my kind of love for you.
I Love You.
For him, i feel differently than you.
He can break me, just as you, into two.
For Him, I long to be near.
For You Dear, I feel the same.
But the nearness i yearn for, for you both...
Are on different planets.
You are always going to be,
The one person i know will love me forever.
He, i hope and i pray, that him and his promises will stay.
But there have been so many hims, but hopefully, he is it.
But You My Dear, Are Altogether Another Thing.
My
Love
For
You,
Is
Innocently
Pure.
For Him,
I want things, thoughts that have just barely begun.
With him i want to share extravagant things.
But My Dear Sweet Child,
You
Come
Down
To
All
I
Need,
If
He
Shall
Fail.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
Life’s been a little tormenting recently
She keeps chewing me into tiny morsels
Chewed meat getting stuck between sharp canines
Then she has this immoral habit of spitting me out , hard
Meat flying through air to splatter on the concrete
Combined with the dirt
Camouflaged in the brown
Rupi told me my skin is the color flowers grow in she forgot to mention how cold it gets being unrecognized
She lied
Just like all he hims ,
They all have some demons
First he chooses metamphatomine , cuts his palms open and pours in orange juice , he yells to and throws very scary words at me , my therapist said I experience abuse
I don’t know if I believe her or if I’m in denial
Maybe I am I don’t feel the connections sparking
My nerves in my cerebrum feel like they’re missing a circuit or maybe a current
The second him is electricity he fuels everything he is power , or that’s what I believe him to be, maybe he’s just a weak dark colored boy who was never taught how to love
Maybe his demon is himself
He self sabotages because he doesn’t realize that love can be kind , he only knows how to destroy
“Belief” its been hard
Connecting with the him that has no flaws the him that watches everything and hurls tests only to my capability
These tests are beginning to strip me of my smile I don’t know what’s wrong
I promise I’m trying to dig
I just feel sad
I feel like water
I want to burst and flow and I want to shimmer on shards of mint green plants , I want them to praise me , I need to praise him
I want to cover my hair
But MY DEMONS are pulling at my follicles like threads of a old T-shirt making me believe it’s pain it’s not pain I know that
It’s beauty to be given the steps on how to be happy
Prayer ?
How can I be so ungrateful for all the blessings you have given me
How can I complain so much when people are being tested to work
Why can’t I talk to you?
What is wrong with me ??
I need to connect I need to talk
I need to make a friend of you
Please find me , I am drowning I am water , I am calling unto you .
Save me , I want to breath contentment I want to spread contentment , instead of disappearing with the fossils I want flowers to grow out of my eyes
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
I’m Writing For The Universe
I’m writing for the universe;
No man or woman, special group.
I’d hope you understand this,
Aim, a statement/thought
Encompassing the concrete and abstract.
The philosophic reaching out
To turn into endeavors
Which depend on character
Which finds itself in x conditions,
In you, out you;
Efforts too,
All undertakings the result
Of birth and genes and chance surroundings.
(is this dance really just chance?)
Special needs abound within the needs of all:
The ego, vanities, the strengths, the skills;
Bad, good, dark, light,
Mediocre and the bright –
A sameness sewn in rich arrays
Of hims and hers,
A one which covers,
Pierces through the universe.
I’m writing for it all, the All, the Goal.
In short, the whole,
Myself included.
I’m Writing For The Universe 11.10.2017
Nature Of & In Reality; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; I Is Always You Is We;
Arlene Corwin
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 1:47 PM UTC
Need him
right now right now
Want him
right now right now
It turns into many hims
right now right now
But there is only
one
him
I have all of him
Aug 19, 2023
Aug 19, 2023 at 2:31 PM UTC
My heart was ill , my heart was sick
I can’t determine if it was a parasite or a virus
Because it ****** my blood, all of it
It couldn’t live without me yet it killed me
I’m not sure if it was a virus or a parasite
For it was silent , I lived for months not feeling it sneak up on me
Not feeling it weaken me , not seeing it killing me .
Because I didn’t feel it grow inside me , use me , as it’s host for my endless amounts of love and life
I didn’t feel it become a part of me ,
I’m not sure which one it was , because I didn’t know how to differentiate it from me
Because it took over my thoughts , made me crave things I’ve never thought of before
Because it infected every single one of my cells with this disease called love
Maybe it was just a bacteria . after all it did make me sick to my stomach
Butterflies paired with a little histeria
I believe he could take what was mine and make it his
Could build a resistance to all my attacks and destroy all my bounderies
Lay skin to skin preparing , waiting , starving
to take it all , consume me , infect me
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 3:48 PM UTC