"ideations" poems
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
My thoughts of you are like poetry in motion
That fashion an endless bouquet of words
As if it were some type of request from the Divine
Each group of thought
Respective body of
Notion
Emotion
Devotion
Every moment brought on
By obsessive reflection
Or hopeful speculation
Embodiment of manic despair
Epitomizing this neural affair
Somewhere between the realms
Of dreams and constellations
Callus realizations
Curious ideations
My thoughts of you are like poetry in motion
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC
When every bone in your body aches to be relieved through death, When it hurts to breathe, when the thoughts and ideations of self harm cut you deeper than any blade could and the thought of suicide is one of hope not fear, when the burdens you bear are so heavy you feel them weigh every inch of you down, when you wake up with regret that you made it through another night, when you feel like you're drowning in the millions of tears that have parted from your eyes, and yet you march on anyway, you throw away the pills, you put down the blade, you pick up that fork of food and you eat, you don't turn to a bottle or drugs, you dig deep within yourself for the fight you swore you had run out of months ago and you carry on with life, that is the rawest and most admirable strength there is.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
It is winter in my head.
Even as the warm summer breeze
touches my face.
It is winter in my soul.
My body enduring
the constant ache
of a frostbitten heart
and numbness is sought.
All bread,
all fruit is ash
in my mouth.
I long to feel empty
and this pain lifted.
I yearn to be buried,
cinders sifted,
fallen leaves
to be my shroud.
Apr 27, 2021
Apr 27, 2021 at 4:08 AM UTC
I must be sick...
There’s hope
I have plans
Things are working out
I met someone
Yet
Depression fills me like a heavy fog
Passive suicidal ideations linger
I can’t eat
I’m drawn to cut
I just... I just don’t understand
Jun 28, 2020
Jun 28, 2020 at 2:25 AM UTC
Maiden and Observer
As speculated,
The observer and the scientist
See an enigmatic entrance.
The arrival of the specimen:
He shows haste,
His wrist flickers:
Punctuality.
He mouthes questions of career:
Orderliness.
His vocal appetite silent:
Surrender.
He declares instruction:
Superiority.
He brightens athleticism.
Focus.
The smile appears through
in the unknownest places,
Within restaurant doors,
Through the soundwaves.
Through ideations:
Competitive movement.
Inertia and stagnation is of disinterest.
Wordly reflection produces empty reciprocration.
Can it be a metaphor for the observer,
Can the specimen by the symbol?
Both reflected from one another.
There is the one,
and then, the other.
The challenge is:
Exhibiting both states
Simultaenously.
This is the task of the maiden.
The balancer of scales.
The scientist seeks to understand,
There is evidence of somes sort
A hidden bliss a smile inside,
a moment of analysis.
Notions brought on by previous experiments.
Past failures predict present outcome,
Recent knowledge or estimation?
Emotion links to reason,
Reason negotiates but stands firm,
The scientist is fatigued, his hand lowers.
Body language is lazily interpreted by curious Observer,
Studying this new behaviour.
The professor places his spectacles on,
He sees no other path to take,
He concludes and hypothesises,
This specimen can be learnt from
No more.
Specimen's silence allows flowing thoughts to pervade the mind of the observer and the scientist.
Silence given to the cynicism of life,
the broadened mind
perceived as narrow.
The observer is observed.
Now conciousness changes in the realm of the user experiencing himself.
Self perception, self defense,
Guard is raised,
Gates are closed.
Only water flows through,
Other matter obstructed.
Maiden, Observer, Scientist, Specimen.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 11:07 AM UTC
I quit smoking cigarettes.
Romantic ideations of death.
Thinking of the paper taste, now
brings me the same enjoyment.
Balmy, blue summer nights.
Cradled my audience of stars.
Laughing at the shape of waste,
they smile down upon me these days.
I don't know why I quit.
I don't know why I started.
Desperation. Depression.
Emulation? My grandpa, he waved
his hand with his fingers around bones,
tracing orange stories with his dead light,
of his would have been adventures
would he have had the time.
I. I.
I.
I don't have to die
soon!
I don't have to re
tire to my
tomb
to
spin
a tale.
I've been so blue.
Out of the loop
with my body
& my mind,
but,
I. I.
I still have the time.
I've been so stressed.
Forgot I could
depress the stress
button just
fine,
On my
own!
Now, when
I have ***
I have the breath
for pleasure:
Oxygen.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 3:33 AM UTC
There's no room for happiness
in this crowded mind of mine
where decentralized ideations
push and shove to be at the forefront
squashing any small hope for anything else
to move or scream its way in.
Annoying streetlights outside windows
penetrating the all-consuming darkness
that serves as my consciousness.
Illuminating the nightmares with vivid detail.
Nightmares reflecting horror
in gruesome images of conquest,
of demons breaking free.
There are no boundaries here,
in the place I call my mind.
****** suicide, **** assault.
All of these take place with the
frequency of glass shattering from
a high pitched note,
held for the longest time,
falling toward a field of spears.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
Days awake in unwell sleeping patterns,
Mechanical days are flourishing, I've
Kinda wished everything wasn't so fast;
I kinda wish I wasn't alive.
I was taken away within stabilization,
Carried in the means of unstable air.
Bury me, I scream, reassurance is blared,
I open in the truths of holding no care.
I doted on ideations,
Creating my world wielded in shame.
Crested on my darkest demons,
Resting with every ounce of blame.
My molecules are crying out,
"The world uses broken tools"
If only this world understood me,
And the impulsivity of oncoming abuse.
Inside I am an unkempt person,
And days are passing more than I know.
I gifted your works with my happiness,
And it is now time that I let you go.
I can't forgive you but I can
Forgive myself for loving you.
Goodbye mom
Nov 22, 2019
Nov 22, 2019 at 12:17 PM UTC
Calmer thoughts, replaced by wars
Resentment only summons more,
Shock that thunders with a crack,
Now, there's no more turning back,
Pebbles scraped, tumble and dive,
Smashing shallow ground from high,
A tragic fate that calls to all,
A pushed, prodded, and triggered fall,
Doom crystalized, serrated and bladed,
A glass knife thrown, from impact, aided,
Adrenaline amplified, enticed mind,
Alas, the influence, an unnatural tide,
Explosive ideations, undesired,
Optimism and life mired,
Pysche turned to marionette,
Taken by subconscious threat,
The gnashing teeth of the spirit,
A silent figure, you already fear it,
Collapse of the soul, defenses beat,
He who pulls the strings, is he who you'll meet.
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 6:46 PM UTC
I want to wear myself
inside out
spill out what I feel on the inside
on my inner beliefs and ideations
all the conversations I could have
if I wasn't wearing a t shirt and jeans
if only I wore my
opinions like rings
on my fingers
and sport my values
on the soles of my shoes
my head flowing with
ideas and I could let my hair down,
fluid// flowing// with tendrils of readings and teachings
my wardrobe filled with hangers
of clothing repressing theories and
hypothesis
dress myself in principles and prospects and proofs
we do this instead by expressing ourself through our dress
and underneath brand names
we hide what we're about
instead I want to turn
myself
inside out
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
my violent ideations
quell at the presence of
you only
as you lean in for a kiss
i find myself again
in some analeptic bliss
my mind is subdued by
only you
but you stepped out from
my dreams and now
you haunt reality
and this love is just an addiction
that i can't help but feed.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
Not all thoughts are articulated
by endless deception.
But, through these ideations
of sincerity, comes a depression.
A wizened mind gives way to
a lack of rapport with the one who hears,
the listener.
A perfect mirror, the speaker is always near,
asking,
“What side are you on?
What side are you on?”
Vexed by confusion,
the poor culprit of deception
is nothing but a bellicose invention.
What can it do but release dreary,
thoughts and ideas? The fear of seeing clearly.
The one who listens, must witness obsession
if they want to conquer their impaired
personality that lacks confession,
as it tries to ask,
“Whose side are you on?
Whose side are you on?”
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 2:16 PM UTC
Affliction with mental illness beasts sans,
depression, panic/ anxiety
obsessive compulsive disorder
didst for most of my lix splitting life zap
psychological state plagued with
sweaty palms, irritable
bowel syndrome, mind chatter
constantly doth yip and yap,
whereby extensive stretches of time
bore cerebral torture
housing invisible
mailer daemon nemesis wrap
ping entire corporeal to suicidal ideations
to escape once and for all asphyxiating,
gamesomely hectoring imps,
nauseating non-apparent trap
regularly pitching emotional
welfare to and fro,
hither and yon, thence
lashing out at self - summarized
with the non medical term,
yet descriptive word "snap"
though a half dozen medications
(listed as follows) alleviate
sensation akin to feeling
besieged, and pugilistic-ally rapped,
yet (Quetiapine tab 300mg,
Clomipramine cap 50mg,
Fluoxetine cap 40mg,
Fluoxetine cap 20mg,
Busipirone tab 15mg,
and Clonozepam tab 0.5mg)
prior to prescriptive palliatives,
aye experienced
debilitating quality of life, thus I accept
function-able, manageable
unfortunate side effects such,
viz thinning hair,
necessity to take daily nap
abdominal weight gain, where love handles
replaced wash board stomach, adipose tissue
not quite spilling o'er me lap
so in summary burden of proof
no longer tethers Sisyphean rolling rocks
interestingly enough this figurative lid locks
akin to sealing schizoid "Pandora box).
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
Your lips move as though they are going hundreds of miles per second-
As though they’re on fire,
the driver is dead and the only way to stop is to crash in a ball of flames
I can’t tear my eyes away,
I watch,
morbid curiosity making me waver-
My mind is swimming,
hands shaking,
my breathing stopped-
Time has stopped.
Your words are suspended in midair
Their arcs aiming for my ears but they miss entirely
Instead, they crash against my face,
forehead,
eyes,
nose,
until I am buried in debris,
In your words and their meanings and I can’t dig my way out.
tickticktick
I'm sorry that I’m not quick to understand
Pardon my pauses,
my fidgeting,
my wide eyes
Pardon the way I twist at my bracelets when your words almost immediately blur as soon as they leave the confines of your cheeks
I scratch at my face because the record needle of my brain can’t find a pre-recorded song to match your pace
So it scratches across the wrinkled pink surfaces instead
And nothing but a stutter and incoherent sentences are played and I’m left to fend for myself
Against your nonstop talking at me because this stopped being a conversation a long time ago
tick.tick.tick
Call me surprised when you say that you understand
That I must delicately balance my medications on the tip of my tongue with ideations that get out of hand
In order to get out of bed the next morning because sometimes it's hard to rise from the grave when the dirt above me is each minuscule thought
That has accumulated over the course of the nightmare that lives in the tension in my shoulders.
tick. tick. tick.
I am alive, but without sleep, I am a lie
With whispers and rumors dancing with my worries across the ballroom that is my mind
Worn shoes scraping up the floors,
rude guests pushing my own thoughts off to become wallflowers
And I dance with a single mutter in a black mask that asks how you’re doing.
It asks if you really love me
as it guides me through a waltz
It asks if you’re lying
as it lets go of my hand to lead me through a spin
I don’t answer a single question as the song’s long, drawn-out metronomic beat continues to reverberate in my head because
tick
No matter how many times I ask
tick
No matter how many times I crash
tick
You’ll be there.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 2:49 PM UTC
dreams and ideations are
weaved into gold laurels,
tight circles of serpentine as they fall,
carelessly flung against railroad
tracks and burnt bridges
to be smothered by black smoke
you’ve got a habit of leaving
people behind– don’t you?
you laugh into the rings of ash
there’s a melecholy taste to
running away; it sticks against
the roof of your mouth,
past sharp teeth and soft flesh
and buries itself in your unyielding
throat like a parasite
you’ve become a host to these
horrors, shuffling day by day,
wondering, horribly, if this is all life is:
to be Atlas, and to hold the Heavens
prostrate against your back,
burdened by gods you do not believe in
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 6:56 PM UTC
‘Side my castle of creation
queries ‘trench their tangled teeth
‘to the skin of ideations
left by my kindly hearth to sleep.
Barbaric! Fixing little ones,
woken from their tender dreams,
as trophies ‘top their flags of war,
proud to wave their silent screams.
Drag me, ruthless, from my chamber!
Throw me, forceful, ‘pon the ground!
Show me, lifeless, cased in embers!
Pour me, endless, blood to drown!
Look, they shout, amongst the ashes!
N' ****** my face into the bones.
Cradled in their kind-less caskets,
ugly truths I’d always known.
Now ‘lone I sit in contemplation,
scared on stony perch to find,
‘side this castle of creation,
hope to ease my loveless mind.
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 6:05 PM UTC
Fertile earth’s seductive sorcery
Like ephemeral effulgence’s effluent effusion
Can lead you to believe that it’s not a travesty
Like life’s visceral intuitive eternal is not lost in subtle evasive confusion
Life’s virile translucence reflects this glow
Like an aorist ensemble of interludes transposition
Can lead you to believe that you’re in the know
Like omnipresence presages omniscience’s ubiquity is existential exigency’s peroration’s exposition
Corporeally preternatural's metaphysical mystique
Like a mirador bartizan tableau panorama
Can inspire us to rise above its critique
Like spatiotemporal’s telemetry incarnate is creation’s vivid intrepid cyclorama
Spectral verve’s liaison’s consortium
Like eclectic synectics' conclave’s fatidic
Can leave you lost in germane compendium
Like terminus thrall’s apriori inclination is transcendental accession’s endemic mnemonic
Monad’s transitional majestic splendor
Like residual harmonic vibration’s resilience
Can autonomously evoke and vicariously render
Like rubato’s actuator’s prospectus revealed is orchestration rendition’s intriguing brilliance
Eidetic preterit’s aesthetic amendments
Like protractive analyses’ dimensional delineations
Can lead to cogent salacious enticements
Like phantasmagoria’s fantasia fantastication’s magniloquence is sultry solace’s ostentatious ideations
Nov 1, 2024
Nov 1, 2024 at 9:05 AM UTC
I have become nothing
in the hands of my abusers
just skin cells
collecting dust under beds
I only remember the smell of.
Please don't look at me
I am only a fraction of a person now.
The other parts of me
linger on the bodies of those
who barely remember what they did.
Who smirk at the idea
because they got what they wanted.
I am scatter-brained and shattered
at the thought of them.
Intimacy trying to make its way
past carbon fiber memory.
Not once has it gotten through.
There are three faces I see
when someone is inside of me
Theirs, hers and his.
Each getting something they want from me
Stealing away what I once held so close and so sacred.
I never want this,
and I'm not sure I even did the first time.
Shouldn't it be special?
Why does it make my heart break?
Why do I not even remember
the way it happens half the time.
I remove myself from the idea of closeness
in hopes all of these ideations go unnoticed
and I sink into the bedsheets
Slip into the space
between the box spring
and the floor board.
My favorite hiding place.
Nothing but dust in my wake.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 1:46 PM UTC
My mouth makes its daily pilgrimage
A sacramental routine to the Divine
She resonates in eyes and mind
But that's a tale for another day
On a pedantic quest
He is meticulous, a perfectionist
In nothing
But this...
Stop now:: hold me at the hips
she is my anticipation in alabaster
so Sadistic, brooding, now my near biting mouth moves...
“please?”
projecting points, two sinful
hipbone temptations
as he traces
soft skin with two fingers
***in the serpentine tradition
Of fallen
Eden Grace***
he knows she feels the same
Her chest pounding, sweat shakes
a daytime ****** for that salination:::
coyly she recoils
her toy taught and long since conditioned for the taste
it all seems so familiar
A mind's race to the vault of all his ***** thoughts of her
***”Now to play in real time what was run through
in those shower wet ideations”***
cdh
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 5:56 PM UTC
Now is the time.
Everywhere is the place.
We are THE people.
This is the time for change, for growth, for advancement.
This is the time to learn a better understanding of each other –
Of our differences, our similarities, and our history.
Seeing an opposing point of view and actually trying to understand it.
To tolerate it.
To empathize with it.
To realize.
To realize that different views and different experiences shape different ideations and different aspirations.
To appreciate that various advantages or disadvantages are ever present, even if we don’t always see them or feel their deleterious effects on our daily lives.
To understand that opportunities and situations can be different.
And that’s OK.
The first step is acknowledging that difference.
Because once you take that first step…..
The Movement has begun.
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 12:39 PM UTC
When alive and livingsocial
within webbed wide world
analogous to an emotional hell
I never experienced pomp and circumstances,
and quavers with inconsolable tears
graduation theme song
popularized courtesy Sir Edward Elgar,
thus suicidal ideations no longer relevant
yours truly need not quell
he rages against series of unfortunate events
comprising his life and hard time
(one protracted existential crisis) and yell
like a rebel into the infinite abyss of darkness.
Every subsequent high school graduation year
antedated since June
ninety seventy seven where
yours truly stepped to the podium
to secure his diploma
(I barely squeaked by
from one grade to the next)
stricken with anxiety and experienced urge
to sprint mile a minute evoking manic tear
zipping by at light speed
creating spindleshanks to blur as pair
sorry excuse for legs burning ghee
until reaching destination re:
a specific rocking in casbah Kashmir
actually a sought after interview
with popular Emir.
Personal mailer daemons aside
Azrael readily befriended me before I died
and ably, eagerly and willing obliged to guide
these lovely bones of mine
went for out of world joyride
away to subterranean habitat
where heavenly delight magnified
sense and sensibility overarching credo
unconditional kindred acceptance
downplayed prejudice and pride
communion among apostolic auras
and personas spied
greeting halo trusting word of mouth
as adequate signal to be verified
nullifying former dependence
on prescription medication
to thwart becoming zombified.
The following pharmacological medications
taken courtesy to cope with anxiety,
obsessive compulsive disorder, panic attacks
and generally curbing tendencies to avoid
physiological symptoms such as:
nausea, palmar hyperhidrosis
(unrelenting sweaty palms), and vertigo.
GLYCOPYRROLATE, TAB 2 MG (thrice daily)
CLOMIPRAMINE CAP 50 MG (once nightly)
RISPERIDONE TAB 1MG (once nightly)
FLUOXETINE CAP 20MG (once daily)
PRAZOSIN HCL CAP 1 MG (three pills nightly)
BUSPIRONE TAB 15MG (twice daily)
PRAMIPEXOLE TAB 1MG (once nightly)
CLONAZEPAM TAB 0.5MG (once nightly
AMITIZA 24 MCG
(prescription laxative - as necessary)
May 31, 2022
May 31, 2022 at 8:43 PM UTC