"idealization" poems
Suicidal tendencies, alleged attempt in 2011
(National Scholar-Athlete)
Bipolar with psychotic features, meds necessary
(President of student government)
Anti-social features, deceptive, manipulative, lying.
(Captain of varsity athletics)
Qualifies as a pickup. Forfeits all rights. Police involvement if necessary.
(President of an all-star rugby club)
Extreme aggression. Any homicidal idealization should be taken seriously.
(Trustee Scholarship to a renown private college)
Narcotics abuse. Marijuana, LSD, Klonopin, ******* Alcohol, Painkillers
(3.7 GPA)
Masks and shields intentions. Deceptive with professionals.
(Active volunteer)
I advise that he be admitted to a hospital immediately
(Participant in community)
Drug abuse counseling, medication, extensive therapy necessary
(Leader of peers)
Diagnoses fly like a panhandlers love affairs
Your inexact science is a disgrace to what I've created
A philosophy based on your experience
Ignoring the dynamic of the human condition
****** for feeling to much
****** for not feeling enough
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
Ancient Athens
demonstrated a demise of democracy into despair and squalor
at the hands of the voters.
Ancient Rome
recounts a reduction of a Republic into nationalist rancor
at the hands of the state.
The United States of America
is a sort-of culmination of both;
of how a Democratic Republic may fail,
impoverishing and subjugating it's own
as well as it's proximity,
reducing itself and any it can drag with it
from a respectful idealization of Human Experience
to a bloodthirsty, greedy, vapid shell
of Fascisms past.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
When I look in the mirror I see
roses. Stark and stubborn.
Bursting from the cracks
in skin too plain
to do them justice.
When I look in the mirror I see
thorns. Threatening to break through the façade
so carefully contorted to fit
that cookie-cutter idealization
of a pre-packaged identity.
When I look in the mirror I see
monochrome; like the eyes of the beholder
who twisted my covert dissatisfaction into something--
maybe not beautiful, but at least
accepted, yes; eyes that couldn't behold
when I had my own ideations; couldn't accept
that underneath that soft, dull skin,
there were thorns.
There are thorns
and there are roses, too, when I look in the mirror--
they are engulfing my reflection;
transforming my figure into one that is unrecognizable
to those discerning eyes--
but not to mine,
these fiery red eyes of the beholder
which finally recognize beauty
worthy of love.
Aug 26, 2021
Aug 26, 2021 at 9:54 PM UTC
I fell in love with the boy before you slowly,
With the kind words dripping from his mouth like molasses,
Sugar coated compliments that melt on the tongue
To reveal sticky lies and deception,
Sweet remarks surrounding insults.
He would trot out his trustworthiness
And give me the names of other girls he loved in the same second.
He would tell me I was beautiful
And a list of ways to change on the same day.
He would swear our relationship was built on anything but ***
And describe his idealization of **** as revenge in the same month.
He told me the worst thing I ever did to him
Was not say I love you even if I meant it more than enough.
The worst thing he ever did to me
Was say it too much and never mean it once.
I am still learning how to not love a ghost,
How to stop painting in rose streaks
Over his terrible actuality.
I am still learning to hate the reality.
I do not want you to become another poem.
For your sake I wonder,
Is it harder to be the girl stuck on someone cruel
Or to be the boy in love with that girl?
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 9:14 PM UTC
i dont wanna be that girl, nobody wants that pressure to be an idealization.
im me, me is julia. julia holds herself,
she doesnt let other people effect her thinking or acting or decision making processes.
so you shouldnt either.
dont act because you want someone to see you that way,
act because you like the way it makes you feel.
live for yourself, until you find your match.
then you live for your family, what you love, only
because you couldnt bare to see them hurt,
and you should care how they see you.
theyre whats matters most to you, you spend an hour getting ready
to see them.
take the time to think through
how they would feel hearing about
what your doing.
those who care dont matter, those who matter wont care.
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
Let. me.
I’m going. to. do it.
I’m going to rip every painstaking petal from my eye
I wont be okay. if the idealization kills the love. I feel
Im going to smash. And. Mangle.
These rose tinted glasses
Over this, Concrete, corner.
Don’t care who’s going to look. and judge
I am the victim
No longer will I look through a pink vial of self possessed poison
No longer will I escape true unconditional love
If there was, a Satan. this would be his game
His oracle.
Of divination.
Well. I said. **** this, I’m not going to believe in its dictation
I’m going to be. my own salvation
From its pink. Innocent. coloration
I’m going to pull, pluck, and wrench
These petals from my eye lids
It’s going to be a painfully beautiful process
Don’t be.
Deceived.
So sweet. how could it. lead you to do harm?
When. in. actuality. it will end up twisting behind my very arms!
No, I wont collaborate to torment this feeling deep inside!
Inanimate object,
Objectifying. my love.
Going to shatter this wall. that you build.
Between us.
Gonna **** this in my fury.
You separate me from my beautiful reality.
Reality, is much more beautiful. than you and I. can conceive!
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
*This bed seems so huge,
so wide
and yet here we lay
like we're
oceans away
in the Mediterranean*
*spaced-out from each other,
your so far from me.*
*We're spent,
in deliberate denial,
unfinished or satisfied
without words,
without understanding,*
*we hold onto our lacerated heart's,
giving in the only way known
carnally,unabated & undoubted*
*least in the carnal way.
I crave the unknown,
to be explored like never before,*
*to be made whole
and touched within my soul,
where my body ignites
from the inside out.*
*I'd like to know
what it'd feel like to be*
consumed
*by "Love's"
* lustful ******
*more than the
heat of passion,*
*in such a way
which leaves me quaking,
shaking, quivering
and yearning for more.*
*Once we've spent our
feverish attempts
on last-night's seductions,
under a moonlit sky,*
*I'm left inexorable,
as my body spasms,
longing for more than
what the flesh attempts to give.*
*I'll argue against the pejorative
illusions of our love making,
which deludes my mind*
to believe this is what
*it means to have
"Love's" acceptance*
*without the actuality's
of loving me....*
*We were intoxicated-
with wonderment
as we explored
one another,*
*yet
"Love's"
*touch nor "Love's"
*inspirational caresses
& soulful idealization's
were present.*
*It never enter that room,
sedately I felt a
magnificent release,*
* yet I'm still longing for
"Love's" fulfillment*
*and for you to concur
my deepest emotions,
as you'll ****** deeply
within my velveteen walls.*
* I'll moan,
crying out for what's*
*about to come
and for that
moment we'll be one.*
*But only within
that moment
because you*
*know as well
as I do*
*that "Love's"
making such*
*a Fool of me!*
* Always Me Ayeshah ™ ®*
K.A.C.L.N ©
All right reserved ®
Copyright 1977 - Present ©
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
I swallowed
the sound of your name
like it was a star--
five points,
the type they
teach you to draw
in kindergarten.
It hurt
on its way down,
stalagmites of constellation
catching on my uvula,
hanging on with
astronomical strength.
But this is no cliffhanger.
Do you know what happens next?
I stopped breathing.
You've never deserved
your name,
you know.
"Light giving,"
it means.
Oh,
and how I gave into
the sublime
fallacy
of it.
Because
all you ever did was steal
the moons from my irises.
You treated me like
I was the dirt beneath
your fingernails
(you forsake
the dust on your windowsill--
but don't you know
all dust comes from
the wondrous galaxy that
dwells before us?)
I reached out to you
only to get
c u t
o f f
at the hands
Still,
I couldn't let you
go,
didn't know how to.
Even when my flame
was reduced
to these weeping cinders,
even when the idealization
I held between my palms
found itself exiled
to this mausoleum
of severed trust,
hatred blossoming
in rosettes against
crumbling tombstones.
The epitaph reads,
"At a loss for words."
Tell me this:
what sort of
"light giver"
doesn't believe in
in the possibility of magic--
in the pinnacle of light itself?
You always thought me
a foolish girl
for dreaming--
naive girl,
silly girl,
wrists blooming
in paper cuts,
always one fairytale
away from insanity.
Until
one day,
I stopped believing
altogether.
And all it took
was a single glance
from those eyes--
glacial sapphires,
your grandest seduction.
Hell itself would have
hardened itself to tundra
at the sight of them.
You always had a way
of contaminating
the things I loved
with a frostbite so lethal,
I would have
gladly dismembered
every hypothermic part
of myself
(every fragment of soul
you ever touched).
Like a shooting star,
I fell for you--
hopelessly.
Catastrophically.
And then the heavens went
dark.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 12:27 PM UTC
How to stop
My thoughts from running
To you
From painting
Phantom pictures
Of soft touches
Warm words
Festive times
Spent together
In each other's arms
Where only happiness
Can be found
And the safety
You provide
When everything feels scary
And I feel wary
Of every choice I make
You feel right
How to stop
My hands from shaking
My blood from boiling
My thoughts from wandering
To your face, your smile, your embrace
To your scarred hands
Caressing me
As I tremble
How to stop
My mind from pretending
You didn't take your knife
Of self-centered crap
Of idealization of my body
As if I'm nothing else
Than my body
My *******
My ***
And stop myself from forgetting
How the wheels always turn
And come back to the same
Unique
Mistake
How to stop justifying
Your actions
As to not
Lose you
While I
Lose myself
Dec 16, 2020
Dec 16, 2020 at 7:26 PM UTC
Elusive idealization—
I yearn for it,
beguiled by its seminal scope.
I dig my fingers into its flesh
as my past pulls me back in
with cold, frayed hands,
seeking to drown me
in a chamber of oblivion—
until the end of time.
Or so it seems;
as every mirage has its day,
and reality is no exception—
the construct of constructs
we all imagine at once.
Regardless of the outcome,
I will see you all again
under the ground.
Oct 31, 2024
Oct 31, 2024 at 12:45 AM UTC
My insides swelled begging their casing to break.
To be set free from the confines they had been expected to find comfort within- to sit with contentment for all eternity, to accept the known with no knowledge of what was outside of their ingrained idealization of a humble abode.
They throbbed, slight at first then gaining vigor as my vitals cried out so sweetly to acquire some sort of insight as to what lie beyond such a feeble body.
Rip me open from head to foot, expose the very reason for physical existence and destroy it. I want to feel my heart on the floor.
Drop my stomach from fifty stories if it means that of a slight fluster of butterflies will evolve into a spontaneous combustion of excitement along with blood-stained pavement for my proclamation of wide eyed wonder, and the butterflies.
Give my hands to those in need.
Sever them with the grace of which graciousness should be felt and hand these hands to the masses reaching for something, someone, to allow those who have fallen to rise above adversity.
Lend a hand! Lend a hand! For I only have two.
Throw my eyes in places that uplift your soul.
Play the harpsichord of my vocal chords when in need of an extra push.
Keep my lungs, for you were my breath of fresh air.
Lay my skin atop rose petals and let it dissolve.
Throw me to beauty until I’ve become nothing at all.
Allow me to live without limits until I am all gone, for how can one truly experience all that is lovely without turning to it completely.
I want to be of use, you see.
Far from what existing as one conjoined body is set to allow me.
Cut me up into a million parts, spread me far and wide.
Then look to all the humbled souls, as if I haven’t died.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 7:34 PM UTC
I can’t do this anymore.
I seriously ******* can’t.
I love you, but you’re completely ripping my body from my soul.
I cannot deal with you, or someone like you.
There is no room in my life.
And every ounce of guilt within me me building up
Boiling over
In anger
Fear
Confusion
You lie
You pretend
Nothings okay.
It was never okay.
You can’t pretend everything fine always, because if you do, everything pops from it’s seams.
Bad **** happened to you.
Unspeakable crimes, that you should never’ve had to go through
But they did
And you let them consume you
Depression.
Cutting.
Suicide Idealization.
Suicide Attempts.
All for what?
To be worse off, than when you started?
To literally depend on a sharp piece of metal.
To allow yourself to slip away from everything?
Friends.
Family.
Lovers.
Nobody will be there for you.
We’ve all tried.
We’ve been there.
I’m not giving up,
you made me quit.
I do NOTHING but help, love, and care
and ALL you do is **** on everything
I can’t be called
a *****
or stupid
ignorant
I cant be asked
"what are you talking about"
or scolded with
" I never said that!!!"
again.
I need to give in
but I’m attached.
and scared.
for you
for me
for life
for everything
terrified actually.
For If I walk, will you crumble?
or would be be stronger?
I don’t think I’d be able to handle either.
I want you to need me
but I can’t be needed.
There’s so many things I need to say to you
There on the tip of my tounge
but they’ll never escape
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
your idealization was questionable
your actions went on to prove my point
therefore I am not stunned by the
person you have become
Feb 26, 2022
Feb 26, 2022 at 9:30 PM UTC
It's not love
It's idealization
Thats what it is
You see ,I keep on creating these little clips
These movies really
Where you come in, or call
More like text since you don't like direct confrontation
Where you ask me for another chance
Another go
But you've never been the one to do that
Maybe once in the summer long ago
Life changes you though
I'm ready to meet someone else
And I've tried
Another boy I tried to make mine
It's not love
It's not love
I swear
I'm too young
I'm too naive
I'm too me to be in love
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
I created this feeling,
synthesized it from the depths.
Now my ego's been sent reeling
while my soul's eternal slept.
From extreme-isms oscillations,
first conditional love then none,
this pervasive vacillation
makes me feel I've come undone.
Can I balance give and take
with trepidation's breath?
Would it still be as fake
as giving up what's left?
Idealization's paved the road
from a half-remembered morn.
It's domination's been the mode
and my soul's what's been torn.
I can't decide which choice to choose
to free me from all of this.
I could set the Furies loose,
if only I knew that help exists.
My problems have grown too massive,
so much larger than my strength.
Perhaps my approach's been too passive
and too drawn out in its length.
I'll try to align my focus, will, and intention,
but my authority is lacking.
My creative mind has no invention,
and of myself I give no backing.
Once my decision has been made,
I'll go forward or be drawn.
Progress's steps will never fade
so let's get on with it, or get it on.
I'll surrender to the task at hand,
bearing knowledge and responsibility.
Cast towards me all reprimand
which I'll greet without hostility.
I'll search out far and wide
for a consistent love's stability.
I'll find it wherever it may hide,
and nurture to the best of my ability.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
I could touch ground to the idealization that all love is impossible;
not the kindest touch of palms against the breastbone of my soul,
could heal this immaculate desire and terrible crushing feeling
of being alone. Not even the notion of dry lips against even dryer ones could form and mold back together the splintered pulsing place in my brain that still aches for you.
Dying at noon with a boiled shot glass of ***** seemed fitting.
The ever growing heated birth in the sky blinded out the grave-stoned silver of clouds. I wanted to reach out my overdosed arms, push that fiery ball of hate and replace it with something much more of grace: The moon, the moon in all her calm and peaceful beauty.
But I was left with the devil, it seemed, the devil and the still fixated image of your smiling face behind my clinched shut eyelids.
I prayed for a redeeming act of elegant forgiveness. If not from you, than at least from the one we both tried so hard not to believe in, the one we so desperately tried to tie a knot around and leave slaved to the broken fence out back.
God: he seemed too barbaric and cruel to even think of, but he still, lie there, in the back of our minds, keeping some part of us both safe and alive and breathing.
The ash of you is kept in a jar that doesn't speak or move or try to resurrect itself back into the loving boy that had once possessed it. And being alone here, trembling numbly back and forth on this creaking rocking chair, almost seemed like a thing of torture. You were uncountable miles away from me and I was sewn in frugally to this wooden piece of rotting slab wishing more than ever I was a ghost.
A ghost that haunted the deserted halls where you might be.
The sky should be bathed in black nothingness, instead, it washes my skin with unholy punches of toasted warmth.
I close my choking, pleading mouth shut and let the warm salt of my body dissolve in hail like figures down my face.
Accepting your loss was more an impossible act than finding out how love, the most ferocious, corrupt perception of life, could still somehow exist, out there, in the world full of tremendous hurting.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 8:13 PM UTC
some birds recently died of a smog overdose
this is not a big deal but activists are raging
last night they destroyed the lion's cage in the zoo
the lions ate all of them but they died with a certainty:
"we stood against the psychological torture of animals"
when the activists took their last breath, fulfilled
as their arms and legs were bitten off, they sobbed,
deeply concerned if the lions could digest human flesh
unselfish souls, good-hearted people; their families miss them
now they are waiting in front of netherworld's entrance
memories are rolling over their retinals, they are scared
fear is flickering, the activists are looking at gigantic doors
did they really do the right thing? dying as early?
when things have become unchangeable, doubt is arising
doubting is one of the cruelest acts of thinking and feeling
doubting leads to an idealization of the self; mirror-addiction
to kiss a shark is dangerous but some doubts will **** you
we may think that we control them – they dominate us
the mobiles of the activists are switched off
relatives and partners are trying to reach them
zoo visitors hear a ringtone coming from the lions
later on, the zookeeper finds an iphone in their feces
but the activists are fine, they died for a purpose
their funerals will be events of glorification
nobody will speak badly about them; nobody will criticize anything
they left babies, toddlers, wives, husbands and relatives behind
but they died for a purpose; they really did and that's what counts
it's over: stars are vomiting, the cemetery god is reading epitaphs
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 10:40 PM UTC
Why do we fear death? Perhaps its the fear of the unknown, but we did not fear the world as we left the womb, so why is death to be feared? It's just as natural as being born, but we still seem to be un-expecting as it approaches us, and surprised when we realize it is near.
We are in fact, just as destined to take our last breath, as we are to take our first. It is because with our earthly blindness, all we are able to see is the decaying body of those passed, that we think there is any difference between birth and death. We rarely think about a next phase, and when we do, most dismiss it as idealization. When did we become so blindly trusting in our own "intellect"? And so ignorant to the idea that this world is just one step in a larger scheme?
I cannot fully put into words why we feel like we do on this topic, but I can try to speak on my behalf. I don't believe (as I've been told,) that it is the farewell to the deceased, that makes the difference between birth and death, or our lives would be in disarray before that person entered it. I think it is the fact, that all we have ever known is in life. There simply is no way to imagine where the person has gone. This differs from a fear of the unknown. What I am saying now is that, We can see life created, and follow that life's story, we can share in the moments with them, but when they pass, even if you fully believe in a next step, we cannot see, or follow them any longer. They have abandoned us, all we have ever been taught to see is now gone. something beyond our comprehension will happen next. It is like trying to imagine a new color, it is simply not possible. So why should any single one of us expect to understand an entirely different form of existence? I think that is why we fear death. Not because of the unknown, but because of the complete lack of understanding and the fact that the few things we do understand, crumble with death.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
Faint smell of waste. Rotting garbage, feces and human body order. The room reeked of an intolerable stench. Cracked eggshells, molding lettuce, slices of beefsteak tomatoes, month old used coffee grounds, and a pair of peed on gym socks among countless other smelly disgusting things like cat ****
"Close the ******* garbage can"
' it stinks as much as your guilty conscious'
My hand flung forward with indecision, still closed into a fist. What was I striking? I couldn't see and didn't want hurt myself like so many times before. Schizophrenic, pleaded with with myself. Time slowed to make room to for chaotic thoughts. Slow motions, knuckles seeped into a black goo. Other hand flat, slapped at the abyss. The darkness grabbed me by both hands and dragged me into myself.
A full moon and a tender loving voice. Blackness.
A brewing fire floating above a swimming pool like the eye of a pyramid where deities danced. Everybody I saw under its light gazed towards the idealization of eternal salvation. I stared at the pool, fire, pyramid and its constituents. Blackness.
A maze of hallways. Red-brown brick, vinyl, some glass looking down at the pool where children baptized themselves while parents drank the poison of cultural self-identification.
'At least they know who and where they are'
I took a right, then a left then two more rights down a endless spiral. Blackness.
In angry reconstitution, my mind-state formed lists of things to be furious about. These lists of things were all in plain sight.
'An obvious case of nearsightedness'
The whole room had changed from how i once remembered. The bed was moved as well as the bed stand. Clothes scattered and materialistic shrine of self destroyed. The aura of the room had gone from blue to green. I pledged with violent resolution to solve my issues. Until I smelt the room poisoned with pheromones unlike mine. Until I dropped to my knees and felt somebody i loved and despised. Her smile greeted me while, simultaneously, my heart erupted like an early morning thunder shower. I always loved those type of showers.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 5:36 AM UTC
You look like the star Sirius,
Leading to my attachment serious.
You are a beauty by the outside,
Question unasked of the inside.
The hair of yours I want to adore,
The nose I want to touch without rapture,
Your feelings I want to capture,
You as my partner I want to feature,
The idealization I want out of my nature.
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 4:18 PM UTC
It is a sickening feeling when you think back to a different time, maybe a fuller time and the people you loved, who are gone with the wind into each other, without you even though you loved them, too. You had to start over and you’re afraid your new beginnings aren’t quite as full but yet there is no comparison because it has separated into two different lifetimes. Yet you’re still lonely despite your beautiful new life, something is missing and maybe things could be more shiny... and you wonder what it would be if either your old life could end and disappear, or completely blend in with this new one so it can finally be whole. Yet you know it is whole, nothing is missing except hurt and confusion and lying and cruelty. Why would you want that in your new world? Why would you want a little more excitement, a little more wonder, a little more laughter, a little more connection... maybe if your old life had come to an end, your current life would not be so pointless and circuitous. Maybe some thing and some people connections would be more real and life would be more of a fantastic adventure. But there is no holding on to what is the past, there should be no idealization of the horrible things that happened to you, your life could be no different and maybe this is just as happy as you can be.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 12:33 PM UTC