"hundredth" poems
remember that when
your wavering soul
catches fire
for the second
or hundredth
time
when you call on me
once more
misery boiling over
a cascade of every
decision, you
never made
i will not be there
you are alone
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 1:55 AM UTC
I.
the emperor
sleeps in a palace of porphyry
which was a million years building
he takes the air in a howdah
of jasper beneath saffron
umbrellas
upon an elephant
twelve foot high
behind whose ear
sits always a crowned
king twir-
ling an
ankus of
ebony
the fountains of the emperor’s
palace run sunlight and
moonlight and the emperor’s
elephant is a thousand years old
the harem of
the emperor
is carpeted with
gold cloth
from the
ceiling(one
diamond timid
with nesting incense)
fifty
marble
pillars
slipped from immeasurable
height,fall,fifty,silent
in the incense is tangled a cool moon
there are thrice-three-hundred
doors carven of chalcedony and
before every door a naked
****** watches
on their heads turbans of a hundred
colours
in their hands scimitars like windy torches
each
is
blacker than oblivion
the ladies
of the emperor’s
harem are queens
of all the earth and the rings
upon their hands are from mines
a mile deep
but the body of
the queen of queens is
more transparent
than water,she is softer than birds
2.
when the emperor is very
amorous he reclines upon
the couch of couches and
beckons with
the little
finger of his left
hand
then the
thrice-three-hundredth
door is opened by the tallest
****** and the queen
of queens comes
forth
ankles
musical with large pearls
kingdoms in her ears
at the feet of
the emperor a cithern-
player squats with
quiveringgold
body
behind
the emperor ten
elected warriors with
bodies of lazy jade
and twitching
eyelids
finger
their
unquiet
spears
the queen of queens is dancing
her subtle
body weaving
insinuating upon the gold cloth
incessantly creates patterns of sudden
lust
her
stealing body ex-
pending gathering pouring upon itself stiffenS
to a
white thorn
of desire
the taut neck of the citharede wags
in the dust the ghastly warriors
amber with lust breathe
together the emperor,exerting
himself among his pillows throws
jewels at the queen of queens and
white money upon her nakedness
he
nods
and all
depart through the bruised air aflutter with pearls
3.
they are
alone
he beckons,she rises she
stands
a moment
in the passion of the fifty
pillars
listening
while the queens of all the
earth writhe upon deep rugs
11.2k
Here at Kinkos
We have a saying, “copies of copies”
You are trained to always ask for a source file
The digital file of the picture the camera took
The negatives of digital cameras
You see because when you print a picture from that file it’s the best it will ever be
Every detail captured in that moment stored in bits and bytes ready
If you make a copy of that picture it will never be as good
And if you make a copy of that copy it’ll be even worse
And if you were to make a copy of the hundredth copy of the ninety ninth copy you might not even recognize the image
Whether it’s a speck of dust on the scanner
Or a crease in the print out
Sun stains from prolonged exposure to the elements
Or simply from time
Copies never look as good as the original
Even if you try and protect them
And even if you were to magically protect that photo from any external forces
The next copy still won’t be the same quality
A scanner can never pick up every detail from the print on the glass
Copies of copies are never the same
Sometimes the printer is calibrated different
Sometimes it’s a heavy magenta day
Sometimes it’s a saturated cyan day
Maybe you touched her face when you handed it over
And now every copy has a feint of your thumb print above her eyebrow
You had him taped to your rearview mirror for a whole year
And now every copy you make has a glare where the tape used to be
It blocks out his heart shaped hands he was making you from the bus window
Folded in your wallet and now all the copies have white spaces where her face was
I mean where the creases were
I’ve heard that when you remember something you are simply remembering the last time you remembered it
Memories of memories
So that after you’ve remembered her a thousand times you’ve forgotten all the details you forgot to remember the time before
So that the more you remember something, the faster you’ll forget
Maybe that’s why we forget exes faster than family
Maybe that’s why we forget the great parts of high school before the painful ones
I remember that you had red hair, that your eyes were kind, that your hands fit my cheek
I remember that you were bad at pool and that it felt like love, and if it wasn’t you’re the only one that knew it
And now I’m wondering after all these years what I’m forgetting to remember
What I forgot to remember last time
What did I forget this time
What won’t I remember next time
Memories of memories
Like copies of copies
Fading over time
If I never wanted to forget the best moments of my life
Should I never remember them
Is the fastest way to forget the bad ones
To remember them often
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
~
*She leans over the sink
weight on her toes
to applied lipstick
in quick certain strokes,
the way a man signs
his hundredth signature
of the morning.
With lips of convictionless curvature
as the lipstick retracted like a red eel
all day she left her mark
on everything she kissed.
Even the air remarks
like intoxicating news
whispered from ear to ear.*
~
Jun 26, 2019
Jun 26, 2019 at 9:48 AM UTC
"Stop It!" shouted the man
who was dressed in a ***** pin stripe suit,
eye glasses half askew on his nose,
ski-slope haircut sported since his youth.
My face turned blank, shoulders shrugged
not fearing this man's belligerent outburst
because I was used to it;
it was the hundredth time I felt it's sting.
I stood there, patiently and quiet
caressing my double bass violin
my secret seventh grade lover;
she had **** curves and a deep, soothing voice.
I stood there, impatiently and quiet
waiting for Mr. Heidrich to finish the lesson
focused on the third seat violinist
whom played without feeling, again.
I stood there, overbearingly anxious
tapping on the shoulder of my wooden BFF
my rendition of the William Tell Overture
A performance worthy of a Grammy!
The man in the ***** pin stripe suit,
turned and looked at me, scornfully
his half-bald head turned beet red
body shook violently like an earthquake!
The energy released from his gullet
would have made Mount Vesuvius jealous
fiery vocals of curse and rage
would have made the evilest of demons run for cover!
My face turned blank, shoulders shrugged
not fearing this man's belligerent outburst
because I was used to it;
it was the 101st time I felt it's sting.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
Anthropos apteros for days
Walked whistling round and round the Maze,
Relying happily upon
His temperment for getting on.
The hundredth time he sighted, though,
A bush he left an hour ago,
He halted where four alleys crossed,
And recognized that he was lost.
"Where am I?" Metaphysics says
No question can be asked unless
It has an answer, so I can
Assume this maze has got a plan.
If theologians are correct,
A Plan implies an Architect:
A God-built maze would be, I'm sure,
The Universe in minature.
Are data from the world of Sense,
In that case, valid evidence?
What in the universe I know
Can give directions how to go?
All Mathematics would suggest
A steady straight line as the best,
But left and right alternately
Is consonant with History.
Aesthetics, though, believes all Art
Intends to gratify the heart:
Rejecting disciplines like these,
Must I, then, go which way I please?
Such reasoning is only true
If we accept the classic view,
Which we have no right to assert,
According to the Introvert.
His absolute pre-supposition
Is - Man creates his own condition:
This maze was not divinely built,
But is secreted by my guilt.
The centre that I cannot find
Is known to my unconscious Mind;
I have no reason to despair
Because I am already there.
My problem is how not to will;
They move most quickly who stand still;
I'm only lost until I see
I'm lost because I want to be.
If this should fail, perhaps I should,
As certain educators would,
Content myself with the conclusion;
In theory there is no solution.
All statements about what I feel,
Like I-am-lost, are quite unreal:
My knowledge ends where it began;
A hedge is taller than a man."
Anthropos apteros, perplexed
To know which turning to take next,
Looked up and wished he were a bird
To whom such doubts must seem absurd.
3.5k
Jump...
Jump, jump, jump...
Jump, jump, jump, jump, jump...
Jump, jump...
Jump, jump...
Gets hit by car.............
Restarts...
For the hundredth time....
Jump...
Jump, jump, jump...
Jump, jump, jump, jump, jump...
Jump, jump...
Jump, jump...
Falls in river..............
Restarts.....
For the hundredth and one time....
Changes character....
Chicken...
Frog...
Unihorse...
Alien...
Dark Lord...
Flea...
Celebrity...
Turtle...
Nothing wins...
I try...
Over and over and over again...
And I can never beat Crossy Road!
...
...
...
...
...
Restart...
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
I found seashells and driftwood,
Cans and bottles and much more
Like diapers and picnic stuff
While walking along the shore.
I found cigarette butts and bags
And those horrendous soda holders
That catch on sea life and twist them
In their middle or at their shoulder.
I saw palm trees and jacaranda
Waving in the balmy breeze
And broken plastic lawn chairs
Leaning against the lovely trees.
I found six-packer carriers sitting
With all the beer bottles inside.
I saw pieces of bicycles and big batteries
And I swear I almost sat and cried.
But I had too much to do right then
Gathering up all that random junk.
I carried them to a ******* bin
And I threw it all in, kerthunk!
I wondered for the hundredth time
The parents these creeps had
That let them grow so ill behaved,
And so embarrassingly bad.
What kind of selfish brat can come
And look out on this lovely scene
And throw their ******* all around?
How can they be so mean?
It makes me hope for recompense;
That what goes around come again
And we can stash these human pigs
Into an appropriate kind of pen.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
Insanity,
Insanity.
Who knew that you'd be my clarity?
From the lies,
the I wonder why,
I've finally seen that the sun doesn't shine.
The moon glows,
the depressed take their blows,
and no one else knows.
Insanity,
Insanity.
Who knew that you'd be my clarity?
Death,
Oh Death.
Who knew you'd make me happy during my final rest?
Being alone,
eyes of stone,
I've broken every single bone.
It starts with a twitch,
when they call you rude names like a *****
and here comes your one hundredth stitch.
Death,
Oh Death.
Who knew you'd make me happy during my final rest?
Heart,
you poor aching Heart.
How long will it take you to fall apart?
I cut!
It's my mouth that I keep shut!
You're nothing but a ****** and clogged up rut!
You make me want to find the rope,
the stinging pain when you're rinsed with soap,
**** you and all your hope!
Heart,
you poor aching Heart.
How long will it take you to fall apart?
Blade,
the very sharp Blade.
Why do you always make me cave?
Worse than pills,
I'm addicted to the chills.
The loss of blood is what is making me ****
I'm completely done,
you've finally won.
Can I at least say goodbye to the sun?
Blade,
the very sharp Blade.
Why do you always make me cave?
Memories,
the flashes of Memories.
Why did you add to the painful casualties?
Remembering you,
I had thought it was all through.
Never thought you'd come back so soon.
The messages I never sent,
the revenge I wished I had vent,
and the little sanity I had left, you bent.
Memories,
the flashes of Memories.
Why did you add to the painful casualties?
Plants,
the powdered and processed Plants.
Why did I even give you a glance?
Addicted,
eventually evicted,
appearance now withered and wicked.
Not a soul in sight,
no money for a bite,
and trying not to go down without a fight.
Plants,
the powdered and processed Plants.
Why did I even give you a glance?
Jealousy,
sweet and fiery Jealousy.
How'd you give me strength as I looked at this reality?
Hated!
Completely out jaded!
I'm nothing but a memory faded!
Filled with hate!
A fight will break out at this rate!
Why can't I remember the last time I ate?!
Jealousy,
sweet and fiery Jealousy.
How'd you give me strength as I looked at this reality?
Suicide,
sweet sweet Suicide.
It is now you that I decide.
Always there,
I knew you were waiting for me somewhere.
You were watching me from high above air.
You're an angel,
no matter how painful,
you've kept me stable.
Suicide,
sweet sweet Suicide.
It is now you that I decide.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
Almost a week has past
Since it was announced you will die
A day like that was always destined to come
But I am still not ready
Gordon Downie I want to write your eulogy now
And maybe you will see it
And understand how you've changed the life
Of this child of America
Gordon Downie you have made me scared
And if any sort of courage is going to come
Let it come now
I can't think of a worse time than this
Why must all my heroes leave me here?
But I understand that before a person becomes a saint they must perform miracles after their death
The three words I would use to describe you, you already know
Gordie you are a man
A machine
And a poem
The first song I remember learning how to sing, you beckoned me in from the wicked prairie winds
And now I just hope that when I hear the news of the final words I smile
And it will be fine
But Gordie
I have avoided all the trends and clichés a young man of 20 can
I have sat in parking lots and coffee shops and witnessed beautiful things continuing as long as this world will let them
But it is you who has traveled to the hundredth meridian
The man who can get behind anything
The man who stood neck deep in the lake and yelled "you are not the ocean" and refused to swim
I learned that I must be ready to live my life because we get no dress rehearsals
I learned to be honest with who I am because no one's interested in the things I didn't do
Gordon Downie you are the machine that powered my childhood so this poem is for you
And when you die Heaven will truly be a better place
And one day I will meet you there
But until then
I will go to Bobcaygeon
And watch those constellations
Reveal themselves
One star
At a time
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
Oh no,
he did it again,
undressed another woman,
as she begged him no,
while her head spun to a different world,
she pushed him away,
her fingernails grasped at his skin,
she whispered,
“please…. stop,”
but he didn’t listen,
not a single soul would listen.
She’s all alone,
stripped of her dignity,
her spirit pushed down the drain,
as he entered inside her,
her heart beat faster,
but her body was numb,
she couldn’t feel her arms,
or her legs,
her fingers lost all touch,
and her voice screeched with pain,
she’d never cried so much yet felt so little,
as her body stopped,
and her soul tried to escape to a better place.
But truth is it doesn’t always happen in this way,
with a firm “No” and attempt to get away.
Sometimes he’s kind and sweet,
or powerful and famous,
he’s your teacher, mentor, or friend,
the love of your life,
or a one night stand,
and you uncomfortably say “No”,
“Maybe not now”,
“I don’t feel like it”,
“Maybe you should go”.
Yes,
sometimes we scream “Please No”,
but other times we drown under the waves in our ears telling us it will end soon,
or
we fall into the sound of our body begging for forgiveness for letting another human take a part of us away.
As he touches you,
and you pull away,
after the hundredth time you’re so weak,
so violated,
caving like a prisoner pushed to the edge,
laying numb and senselessly wishing for your last breath,
as your body is fumbled,
and your heart tumbles,
your honor and morality thrown to the floor,
stomped and spit on as your words become worthless to another person's soul.
Drugged or drunk,
sober or young,
you’re futile,
as your body becomes his,
and what once belonged to you is stripped,
and slathered in pain,
then thrown aside like a bad book and never looked at the same,
but his life doesn’t change,
and all the things you used to love become a reminder of what once was.
The feeling of his hands on your hips,
imprinted on your skin like a tattoo you can’t laser off,
a lifetime of what should’ve been,
but will never be.
“What can I become when his face is all I see when I think of;
love, lu*st, or even my own sanity?
Where does the healing begin when my body’s just become an empty limb?
What will my friends and family think?
What can I say when the world won’t even believe the rich who’ve paid the same price of insanity for the man who took their dignity?
It took him just a few minutes for me to feel this pain everyday,
So who’s going to believe me when I say by ****** me he took my life away?”
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 4:09 PM UTC
I.
So far as our story approaches the end,
Which do you pity the most of us three?—
My friend, or the mistress of my friend
With her wanton eyes, or me?
II.
My friend was already too good to lose,
And seemed in the way of improvement yet,
When she crossed his path with her hunting-noose
And over him drew her net.
III.
When I saw him tangled in her toils,
A shame, said I, if she adds just him
To her nine-and-ninety other spoils,
The hundredth for a whim!
IV.
And before my friend be wholly hers,
How easy to prove to him, I said,
An eagle’s the game her pride prefers,
Though she snaps at a wren instead!
V.
So, I gave her eyes my own eyes to take,
My hand sought hers as in earnest need,
And round she turned for my noble sake,
And gave me herself indeed.
VI.
The eagle am I, with my fame in the world,
The wren is he, with his maiden face.
—You look away and your lip is curled?
Patience, a moment’s space!
VII.
For see, my friend goes shaling and white;
He eyes me as the basilisk:
I have turned, it appears, his day to night,
Eclipsing his sun’s disk.
VIII.
And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief:
“Though I love her—that, he comprehends—
“One should master one’s passions, (love, in chief)
“And be loyal to one’s friends!”
IX.
And she,—she lies in my hand as tame
As a pear late basking over a wall;
Just a touch to try and off it came;
’Tis mine,—can I let it fall?
X.
With no mind to eat it, that’s the worst!
Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist?
’Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies’ thirst
When I gave its stalk a twist.
XI.
And I,—what I seem to my friend, you see:
What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess:
What I seem to myself, do you ask of me?
No hero, I confess.
XII.
’Tis an awkward thing to play with souls,
And matter enough to save one’s own:
Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals
He played with for bits of stone!
XIII.
One likes to show the truth for the truth;
That the woman was light is very true:
But suppose she says,—Never mind that youth!
What wrong have I done to you?
XIV.
Well, any how, here the story stays,
So far at least as I understand;
And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays,
Here’s a subject made to your hand!
2.1k
THREE old hermits took the air
By a cold and desolate sea,
First was muttering a prayer,
Second rummaged for a flea;
On a windy stone, the third,
Giddy with his hundredth year,
Sang unnoticed like a bird:
"Though the Door of Death is near
And what waits behind the door,
Three times in a single day
I, though upright on the shore,
Fall asleep when I should pray.'
So the first, but now the second:
"We're but given what we have eamed
When all thoughts and deeds are reckoned,
So it's plain to be discerned
That the shades of holy men
Who have failed, being weak of will,
Pass the Door of Birth again,
And are plagued by crowds, until
They've the passion to escape."
Moaned the other, "They are thrown
Into some most fearful shape.'
But the second mocked his moan:
"They are not changed to anything,
Having loved God once, but maybe
To a poet or a king
Or a witty lovely lady."
While he'd rummaged rags and hair,
Caught and cracked his flea, the third,
Giddy with his hundredth year,
Sang unnoticed like a bird.
2.1k
Hundredth time she fell,
The devil inside never awakened,
Eyes still glinting,
The same faith within,
The crimson clouds shall part,
She’ll see the distant star.
Only at the zenith of ecstasy,
Did she realize,
Her soul clenched by sorrows,
She fell again,
For the nth time,
Never did she barter her soul,
Still strong and holding on.
Temptations of the real world,
Pulled her heart and soul apart,
Teary glint in her eyes-
Weak now.
“Give away thy soul ”- He asks
“Never” – She whispered.
“I’ll come again.”- He says,
Gods own child,
The precious one - Weak Now.
“Never” – She held onto her mass
She sees the distant star,
Her chaste soul departs.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
There was a strange moment
where time itself seemed to slow down
to a hundredth of a second
where everything was perfect.
Maybe it was just
the last vestiges of the sunset
dancing off your hair,
or maybe it was just a trick of the eye.
But for a moment,
there was perfection.
Maybe it was just,
because I like the way you smoke,
the way the colour accents your eyes,
in the mere moments that pass as you exhale.
But for a moment,
there was perfection.
Maybe it was just
because your smile ignited sparks,
that warmed me like the soft glow of a candle
as darkness started to fall.
But for a moment,
there was perfection.
Maybe it was just,
the way your voice lifted my spirits
as if nothing at all,
could make you happier.
For a moment,
there was perfection.
But for a lifetime,
there was true happiness.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
I. My father taught me that
there’s always something better around the corner
if you just never stop looking
when he committed infidelity.
II. My mother taught me to take what makes me angry
and knock out its teeth
when she shoved my father off our front steps
and then had her fingerprints taken.
III. My grandmother taught me that someday
you will be able to forget the bad things that have happened
when Alzheimer’s rotted her mind
and we all became someone else to her.
IV. My grandfather taught me that
love does not get up and walk away
when the going gets tough,
when he picked my grandmother up off the floor
when she fell for the hundredth time.
V. My brother taught me
that forgetting is bliss
when he lived his life to the fullest,
without his past tied to his feet.
VI. If I teach people anything,
I want it to be
that you can get back up
and dust yourself off
no matter how badly you had been shoved onto that floor.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
We sat there listening to each other breathing.
The others in our company merely shadows and scenery:
My eyes were fixed on you.
Careless laughter and playful words were thrown between us.
Our friendship blossomed and our feelings grew. Unspoken.
We lay there listening to each other breathing.
Soft and quiet as our friends all slept around us, in a daze of alcohol,
While we lie sober and content talking of our lives and our dreams.
And that night, when I fell asleep wrapped safely in your arms,
I knew that just your friendship would not fulfil me. I wanted more.
We sat there listening to each other breathing.
Tense and nervous as the credits blurred on the TV screen,
Giving me the signal to pull you close and kiss you back for the first time.
My nerves dissolved as your lips enclosed me in safety
And you asked me if I would be yours.
We sat there listening to each other breathing.
Slow and steady as I looked into your blue eyes and saw my happiness
Dancing across your pupils and mirrored on your lips.
Your goofy, crooked smile and silly laugh confirmed what I already knew,
And together we voiced our feelings and dreamt of our future.
We lay there listening to each other breathing.
Soft and gentle until our lips met for the hundredth time,
Then deeper and heavier as your love consumed me.
And I let you in; let you take my innocence,
Let you take my fragile heart.
We sat there listening to each other breathing.
Sharp and short between our hysterical laughter,
Rolling on the floor like children in pure ecstasy,
Drugged from the presence of one other
And laughing at the joys of being alive and in love.
We lay there listening to each other breathing.
The long breaths and secret smiles I knew too well.
You stopped my breath with kisses and we spent all day in bed.
Your touch was my poison and your skin my drug,
Words were seldom needed as we shared our love in motion.
We stood there listening to each other breathing.
Loud and violent between the shouting and the silence.
My frequent spells of anger and your lack of concern
Pushed us further apart. But I could not bear to lose you
So we quietly forgave and spoke softly of our love.
We sat there listening to each other breathing.
Calm and even as we enjoyed a quiet Thursday night.
Comfort and routine surrounded us
And embraced us with a familiar hug.
Snuggled on the sofa we were peaceful.
You sat there listening to me breathing.
Jagged and heavy between my sobs.
All the while you were silent,
A predator watching the slow death of their prey
While I tried to find the strength to breathe at all.
I sit here listening to my breathing.
The echoes of your smile and the shadows of your voice in my mind.
But my reality is silent
And my breaths are pained and solitary,
While you continue breathing all the notes of life.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
How can you define time?
Is there a definition to it?
Some say time passes fast.
Some say it passes slow.
The universe has been around for billions of years.
But that wasn't long ago, right?
There is no beginning to time.
Or end to it.
It's infinite.
But, is a second little or a lot of time?
A second is in an hour is in a day is in a week is in a month is in a year is in a decade is in a century is in a millennial, is in a million years is in a billion years is in a trillion years and so forth.
Yet...
A nanosecond is in a microsecond is in a millisecond is in a hundredth of a second is in a tenth of a second is in a ninth of a second is in an eighth of a second is in a seventh of a second is in a sixth of a second is in a fifth of a second is in a fourth of a second is in a third of a second is in half a second and so forth.
Time doesn't start, but it doesn't end.
TIME IS INFINITE!
What is the definition of infinite?
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
I cannot sit with this disgust
while you thrive in life.
I make the wrong choices—
you stay right.
What a sad game
we play.
I always enter the fight
with my eyes tied.
The sores on my body
leak with stolen glances,
moonlight nights.
My bones turn outward.
I crawl to God—
forgive me once.
I beg
for the hundredth time.
Agony owns my heart.
It’s stuck in the yesterdays
where you and I
rot.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 4:07 PM UTC
When you're clearly eating rice
And right beside you is your mom
Who then asks why you're not eating rice
And that you should eat more.
Eat more eat more eat more.
Flashback to three years ago when you were at your heaviest
Which to be honest wasn't even anywhere close to obese
You were told to eat less.
Eat less eat less eat less.
It has been an endless cycle
And on the hundredth time you hear this comment,
You finally break.
She says you're too sensitive.
Oh really? What about those other 99 times that I never gave a **** reaction?
You're always too affected by her comments!
They were clearly just meant to encourage you to be "healthier" since you've been working hard on your project lately.
You should understand what they're feeling when you react like that.
You're hurting THEIR feelings when all they want is the best for you.
The best for you.
In the back of my mind I think,
I often eat more than my friends.
I trimmed down my unhealthy fat.
I'm trying to gain muscle.
I've been working out to stay fit not thin.
I'm trying to be healthy.
So how is it that I should be sensitive to your feelings when you're not sensitive to mine?
When I look thin to you,
I don't need to eat more eat more eat more
Just to gain weight.
When I look fat to you,
I don't need to eat less eat less eat less
Just to get thin.
Because this is my body.
I know how much food to eat to feel just the right amount of full.
This is my body.
I know it better than you.
-D.D.
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 12:35 AM UTC
Not the first, nor hundredth view inside.
Masks forgotten with departed boundaries,
Tied through inner worlds and silenced words;
Stripped. Of everything but a shadowed view of depth.
With this, a fall into bottomless fragility.
A glittering lock of unknown vulnerability;
A naked tether. Souls on show.
An illuminance playing in purity below.
Outlines blurred of who, or what, we are,
With memories brought ashore in tidal waves.
After learning to float, succumb to the intricate sway
Of days spent glimpsing our reality.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
Raisin colored Island, how the waters pruned You too, lazy coconut day, climb with rope tied feet and lack the fear of heights. Such terrain as if every part of the world shared a piece to make you. I praise your autonomous solitude, rest assured amongst the South Pacific Blue.
Piecemeal makes much more simply than succeeded individuality. A Euro here, a Euro there, the Rail can take you everywhere....Well, Eastern rules are slightly stern, seems time stood still in terms of brood, but, betwix the contrast of the artistry it is hard to be angry with Tradition.
Goa, India I will never forget You, how could I, You raised me, my mother tongue was Konkoni, the shore side village was Home for me. Later in life coming back shaded a more solemn hue, it is my Heart that couldn't handle it, the Truck ride through....the major transit cities, those who have seen, you know what I mean. It did not help to have to leave my childhood memories and GodParents behind for the hundredth time. I miss you Madrina.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
counting goodbye kisses-
there were only five or six instances when they didn't happen
when you fell asleep during the ride (at least I kissed you on the cheek)
when you wanted to give me a hug instead-
that day you dropped me off at a party.
when you told me to get out of your car-
we were actually official then haha
and when I "stormed off," frustrated- that probably happened three times,
counting the dollars spent-
for someone who's a broke college student,
I didn't let that stop me from showering you with thoughtfulness
because money will never be able to buy a gaze from you
counting the reminders I've given you-
that we are something, special
I think this one might be the two hundredth one
counting your equivalents
I have them all saved in a folder,
and I dont ever go a day without looking at them.
counting all the times I've cried the last few months,
there were at least 133, and only one was over a movie.
counting all the times you hurt me
I stopped at 18 before I told you
I loved you-
not worth counting those
because that just made it 134-
and pain in the form of endless sheep.
so I decide to sleep instead- and forget-
and never count again.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
the cold fan running
the people chattering
i'm in the waiting room
biting my own nails
my brain is wired
my mind as blank
as the white wall in front of me
it's half past the scheduled time
of the appointment i never wanted to show up to
the psychologist is not here yet...
where is she?
i'm sitting here anxiously waiting
shaking my knees, rocking back and forth
can she just get here already?
so we can go back to that same old room
talk about the same old useless ****
for what must've been the hundredth time
and does it even matter
because none of it will fix my problems?
i'm still sitting here
my thoughts are consuming me
with each ticking of the clock
the fan feels a little colder
and the chatters seem a little louder
Jan 7, 2023
Jan 7, 2023 at 9:27 AM UTC
That moment when you see her
for the hundredth time
like it’s the very first time
That moment when you stare at her lips
and wish that they were
touching yours
That moment when you find yourself
speechless and unworthy
standing in the presence of this angel
That moment when you remember
she was always there for you
and saved you from yourself
That moment when you realise
you need her too much
you can’t risk losing her friendship
That moment when you know
she’s too perfect
so you can never have her
That moment when your shoulders
are nearly touching
but you have to pull away
It all happened in an instant
I wish my eyes were never opened
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 3:59 AM UTC