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"idolise" poems
Infatuation; when you focus, idolise and fixate upon the one reason it will work-- ignoring the million others that dictate otherwise It is unreasonable logic screams; reason shatters yet so heartbreakingly human
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Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
Infatuation
why do we always inspire the young who idolise and idealise, make the middle-aged merchants and are spoken of by the old as necessary memories by way of rekindling their own memories of youth not travelled upon the paths of the various arts? modern world decided to depict the **** perfect family as a form of ****** now we're told the perfect family is within reach of our genetic understanding of things and how easily synthesised, how easily synthesised and rarely analysed to be mutually bored before the television content and silent... raising a family these days almost feels like committing an act of ******
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Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
******
We can only afford to contain our fires Turning to... Soothsaying waters Soothsaying rain, empty out your bottles Irrigate from our heart puddles Let flow into a singular well An oasis where our hearts would kiss and silently tell Submerge us as one being The water milling and licking Kissing our warm skins Wash away as it purges and cleans Cleansing waters, wash and give birth Rid of the sadness to reveal the earth Of this earth, you and I are one Looking up to idolise the same sun Wedged between... This expanse of redundant land Pining for the mixing of our sands We... We are made of the same Earth, dirt and gravel placed in different games Bearing similar stones that beat Beating away the seconds that flit Earth biding time... Stay on ground Let wind take your souls to realms unbound Casting our souls into the wind Carved hearts on flags we pinned Kites of love set to catch the air Wind be kind... Carry us easy with care Gift us your gentle airy fingers As you would the sails of hopeful seafarers Together we would dance and billow Frolic upon your light feathered pillow Ride the wind, on wings that never tire Tiny bites that keep us afire Never needing a flint to set alive the flame Stoking the fire that burns on the same Rhymes and reasons be our fuel Combat logic and sense in a cerebral duel Fight in our eyes, subdued are the blazes Embers dormant behind glassy tearful gazes Spark them to life with passionate heat Fan them to rage till the time our hearts meet But still... We must contain our fires With nothing but soothsaying waters
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Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
Elemental
We can only afford to contain our fires Turning to... Soothsaying waters Soothsaying rain, empty out your bottles Irrigate from our heart puddles Let flow into a singular well An oasis where our hearts would kiss and silently tell Submerge us as one being The water milling and licking Kissing our warm skins Wash away as it purges and cleans Cleansing waters, wash and give birth Rid of the sadness to reveal the earth Of this earth, you and I are one Looking up to idolise the same sun Wedged between... This expanse of redundant land Pining for the mixing of our sands We... We are made of the same Earth, dirt and gravel placed in different games Bearing similar stones that beat Beating away the seconds that flit Earth biding time... Stay on ground Let wind take your souls to realms unbound Casting our souls into the wind Carved hearts on flags we pinned Kites of love set to catch the air Wind be kind... Carry us easy with care Gift us your gentle airy fingers As you would the sails of hopeful seafarers Together we would dance and billow Frolic upon your light feathered pillow Ride the wind, on wings that never tire Tiny bites that keep us afire Never needing a flint to set alive the flame Stoking the fire that burns on the same Rhymes and reasons be our fuel Combat logic and sense in a cerebral duel Fight in our eyes, subdued are the blazes Embers dormant behind glassy tearful gazes Spark them to life with passionate heat Fan them to rage till the time our hearts meet But still... We must contain our fires With nothing but soothsaying waters
Continue reading...
42
Tying knots with my tongue in soft seductive prose, A lying distraction as you tear off my clothes. Stained body and heart that have long been closed, Remains all in your hands, naked, exposed. Trace my scars with your fingertips, Lace the curves of my spine with your unsullied lips. Drink from my darkness in slow, soothing sips. I’ll sink my nails into your skin ‘til your innocence rips. Hypnotise you with the rhythm in my hips, Disguise my poison with lust lined trips. Legs locked around your waist hold like ecstasy, Shock your mind into a state of dependency. And undetected I’ll tighten the noose around your neck, Infected, you’ll idolise this exquisite wreck. And hold my wretched heart against your beautiful chest, It’s cold, all emotions have been repossessed. Confused and feeble you’ll emerge from your stupor, Bemused as to why my passionate grasp became looser. You’ll stare down at your feet and watch the blood drip, Now aware I no longer need this tangible grip, You see this touch is venom, to penetrate your weak flesh, Subdue another prisoner into my nefarious mess. Grave fear; you’ll beg and you’ll beg to be free, Yet crave incessantly to still taste me. I’ll behold and admire the damage I've done, Mould your heart into a trophy that reminds me I've won. I warned you not to get too close, I spawn destruction with every lethal dose.
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May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
I'll be your ecstasy
*the new deconstructionism will focus on how you become a humanist after studying science into maturity, you will deconstruct being enmeshed in spider-webs and cobble-stones: moths in my wallet scenarios of complex greek alphabets given scenarios of constants - the circle of π (~∞°: well, approximate but i can still enclose a shape and not bother undermining the practice of architecture by bewildering myself over the geometry of the universe, it's a substance like water, a vacuum of infinite mirrors / black holes are two-dimensional objects in three-dimensional space, like in the first tomb-raider, the two-dimensional ferns and other objects on close inspection rotating) - randomised infinite negations of decimal digits in the spinning vortex beginning with 3.141... let alone state nothing as a necessary compounding of adjective purification of nouns or verbs - e.g. pure mind, true / undiscovered self, higher being... none of that crap. come back to π = ~∞°, well, that's because the shape becomes in transit, hence the "illogical" perpetuation of decimal points after 3, the shape is too useful to be a closed-case of Pythagoras.* everyone knows the famous case of the writers' block, that big fudge-like-turd of a blank page... but no one really cared to mention writers' claustrophobia, resonating in the court of law of proofs with such books as those entitled: collected letter 1975 - 1992, proof that writers who idolise and champion isolation can't handle the strain of filling a room with so much of their own excrement they have to whip the leash like a horse jockey directly into someone else's mind - mind you, that's better than regurgitating facts, the now famous form of journalism reciting all the health parameters to basically live on air and science, speaking out the mechanics of someone's liver with that tut-tut index finger pendulum of whimsical scorn.
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Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
writers' claustrophobia (π = ~∞°)
*the new deconstructionism will focus on how you become a humanist after studying science into maturity, you will deconstruct being enmeshed in spider-webs and cobble-stones: moths in my wallet scenarios of complex greek alphabets given scenarios of constants - the circle of π (~∞°: well, approximate but i can still enclose a shape and not bother undermining the practice of architecture by bewildering myself over the geometry of the universe, it's a substance like water, a vacuum of infinite mirrors / black holes are two-dimensional objects in three-dimensional space, like in the first tomb-raider, the two-dimensional ferns and other objects on close inspection rotating) - randomised infinite negations of decimal digits in the spinning vortex beginning with 3.141... let alone state nothing as a necessary compounding of adjective purification of nouns or verbs - e.g. pure mind, true / undiscovered self, higher being... none of that crap. come back to π = ~∞°, well, that's because the shape becomes in transit, hence the "illogical" perpetuation of decimal points after 3, the shape is too useful to be a closed-case of Pythagoras.* everyone knows the famous case of the writers' block, that big fudge-like-turd of a blank page... but no one really cared to mention writers' claustrophobia, resonating in the court of law of proofs with such books as those entitled: collected letter 1975 - 1992, proof that writers who idolise and champion isolation can't handle the strain of filling a room with so much of their own excrement they have to whip the leash like a horse jockey directly into someone else's mind - mind you, that's better than regurgitating facts, the now famous form of journalism reciting all the health parameters to basically live on air and science, speaking out the mechanics of someone's liver with that tut-tut index finger pendulum of whimsical scorn.
Continue reading...
24
~ ***Nobody Loves me Nobody really cares*** But I do my darling Just take a look into my eyes I've been through hell and back with you Together we have touched the skies From the beginning to the end We've seen each other through it The lies and deceit, heart stopping truths Where others would have split We made it through our youth When we first met you were smol Barely even my height A friendship made through stripper jokes And you being my favourite white Casual racism erupted A classic joke among our friends During a time where we were once happy Innocent even, before that bitter end Slowly you grew taller Quite frankly you have changed No longer that touchy goofball Reasoning for that we leave unexplained Though I still love you dearly No matter what kind of person you become Even if you turned into a vile beast I would still act like your mum From your oddly perfectly shaped eyebrows Those glistening endless voids you call your eyes Hair roughly pushed to the side Matched with a cheeky grin that people seem to idolise 3 Years I would say its been Though clearly its the wrong number Knowing all about your weird life Sharing memories from past summers An ungodly collection of hats littered throughout your room The ugly ones shoved above the closet That black one with green splats I presume We went to that amazing concert together Rocking it out within the mosh pit I'll never forget that amazing day As we reconnected even if it was just a bit Your escape through street fighting A dark time for both of us I remember But it looks like we stuck it out We made it past that December Even if we wanted to end it all The depression still hitting us in waves The relaps of that fateful period Still echoes within my brain But like I've said once And will say a million times over I love you my dear boy Even if you feel like a complete loner I'll continue holding my hand out Incase you slip and fall Even if you don't need it Just don't forget its there is all *I want you to know I love you Remember that Riy* ~
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Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
Mr Whiteside
~ ***Nobody Loves me Nobody really cares*** But I do my darling Just take a look into my eyes I've been through hell and back with you Together we have touched the skies From the beginning to the end We've seen each other through it The lies and deceit, heart stopping truths Where others would have split We made it through our youth When we first met you were smol Barely even my height A friendship made through stripper jokes And you being my favourite white Casual racism erupted A classic joke among our friends During a time where we were once happy Innocent even, before that bitter end Slowly you grew taller Quite frankly you have changed No longer that touchy goofball Reasoning for that we leave unexplained Though I still love you dearly No matter what kind of person you become Even if you turned into a vile beast I would still act like your mum From your oddly perfectly shaped eyebrows Those glistening endless voids you call your eyes Hair roughly pushed to the side Matched with a cheeky grin that people seem to idolise 3 Years I would say its been Though clearly its the wrong number Knowing all about your weird life Sharing memories from past summers An ungodly collection of hats littered throughout your room The ugly ones shoved above the closet That black one with green splats I presume We went to that amazing concert together Rocking it out within the mosh pit I'll never forget that amazing day As we reconnected even if it was just a bit Your escape through street fighting A dark time for both of us I remember But it looks like we stuck it out We made it past that December Even if we wanted to end it all The depression still hitting us in waves The relaps of that fateful period Still echoes within my brain But like I've said once And will say a million times over I love you my dear boy Even if you feel like a complete loner I'll continue holding my hand out Incase you slip and fall Even if you don't need it Just don't forget its there is all *I want you to know I love you Remember that Riy* ~
Continue reading...
64
listen, I was still covered in placenta when they locked me in this golden cage fast at work, they didn't care how calloused their hands got rough ropes fed through the pulleys, and sewed into the heavy haze of distraction. listen, I promise you, if they could leave this pedestal and share the warmth that is burning and bubbling for them, they would do it; but the fall would **** them first. listen, there are two ways to rob someone of their humanity- to idolise them and to ignore them; so perhaps we all share the same emptiness that way.
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May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 1:54 AM UTC
Humanity.
continuously surpassing I know my obligations to some this may be considered trespassing I empathise to the point where I almost idolise your fragility and I sympathise almost to the point where I would follow if you chose to leave
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Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC
Emphatic Sympathy
To be rebuilt, to be restored, to re-establish broken walls Of former gates now rising up, to them that will rejoice On assignment from the palace Nehemiah of noble rank With zest and zealous zeal A great work to begin, relinquish finding fault Continue the consigned course, even if by force A purposeful quest, yet enemies seek to oppress Chosen people of Jerusalem Their aim to hinder To turn our plans to cinders, of ruin again Aside from jeers and jokes, we evoke the passion inside From such a purpose as this For Nehemiah here to rebuild, not to rebel To hear of enemies plans, such work began Armed hands of spears and swords Guarding watchmen day and night, to then distract, a covert act To call him away, an unprincipled trip, good intentions not Yet passing times, forward seasons Gave no reason, for continued up-rise No scheme or lies, could dissolve desire Nor cause delay Gathered rules, with listening intent Help the people, re-join and restore customs, not law Promising years, place heathen aside, do not idolise A Saviour will return The writings of Malachi A faithful prophet, of faithful words Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
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Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 1:31 AM UTC
Rebuilding the Walls of Jerusalem
Wipe those ***** on your mouth. Bitter people will always be entitled. Envy, that's what you feel right now. The worst is you keep eating it all. How fool are you? And to you my friend, You always idolise your best of friends. Aren't you worried about something you don't know? The rope you keep pulling on is the one who cut you slowly. Do you think you deserve it? Well, Indeed! You deserve what you tolerated my friend. Ohh! Look at those best of friends. The one is pulling her up while the other one is cutting her down. How shameful are they? Ahhh! I really enjoyed their fake laughs. It makes me shivered! How fool are they? © Unatnat03
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Jun 4, 2023
Jun 4, 2023 at 4:36 AM UTC
How fool are they?
Every time you look at me I melt a little more. Wrapped up in your innocent face. You idolise me. My smile makes you smile again and again and again! Arms outstretched I need no excuse to lift and protect you. Absolute pure beauty. A living doll. My girl.
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Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
My girl
**i am just so ******* tired. of people that try to write like me. i hate it. you would think i like it, and i am flattered mind you, but i ******* hate it. sometimes i just see my words everywhere, i see my sentences everywhere, **** even the way i have normal conversations. i am happy and grateful so many of you idolise me, but when i see a sentence of mine in another's poem, it actually really hurts. don't ask me to teach you how i write, because i cannot. i hate it when its the people really close to me that think just because i value your friendship, you have that privilege. i hate it more when people just try to be close to me just because they want to write like me. just stop it.. okay? or, i will be no more.**
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Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 9:08 AM UTC
hypes
People idolise celebrities so much these days We see them as perfect Praising the good Dismissing and defending the rude It's gotten to the point where they're not even people anymore God forbid we see them at a weak point Hair messy No makeup Casual clothes They're gods to us now In shape Never at fault Always beautiful We need to face the fact that our gods are people too They have bad days They make mistakes They have personal lives behind the camera Away from the flashing lights We need to see them as such And if they make a mistake You don't have to defend them if they have no defence In fact, you shouldn't But you also don't need to forget about them Saying you don't like your favourite actors, artists, singers Just because of something they did that should never have happened Everyone makes mistakes And they are no exception just because they are in the limelight
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Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
modern day gods
I idolise it here And despise it here, We rekindled our love, Under the stars, Looking at the moon Yet part of me died in here.
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Jan 6, 2022
Jan 6, 2022 at 9:08 AM UTC
TWO THINGS
What is wrong with you? Are you a ****** Have you ever made out with a guy before? Who said this should mean anything? Why do you idolise *** so much? Maybe you never had one as good as me, why don't you let me? Why are you saying no? I don't understand. All I need is for you to say yes. I have heard of your type, The type that baits it's prey The type that does not understand the meaning of no The type that has no respect for the other The type that has no respect for themselves The type that no sense of shame or embarrassment The cunning type, you just never see it coming You made me feel less of a woman You made me lose my self confidence You made me conscious of my body You gave me the ability to cringe at the sight of men You taught me to fear You broke my psyche I must give it to you, you are good! You managed to ******* me NO drugs, NO sedatives, just your words I felt the need to validate myself to you The need to please you I never thought I would meet you I thought you lived on TV and Facebook posts That you were not real But you were around me all this time How do you feel? Good? Well, I feel like crap I feel used Was that your goal? Well, you succeeded! Congratulations Mr Predator!
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Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 10:07 PM UTC
Dear Mr Predator
Hit me with the knives you sharpened with your rage, Hit me with the words you wished you released out of the cage, Hit me with the floods coming out of your eyes, the undesirable wreckage, Hit me with the revenage you composed, to stay for your soul, a heritage, Hit me with the dreams you wrote on that vintage page, Hit me with the memories you drowned down the rivage. Hit me with the passion I made you fantasize, Hit me with the pain you can't verbalize, Hit me with the struggle I gave as an advice, Hit me with the sorrows that won't let you rise, Hit me with the filth unleashed of my vice, Hit me with the agony I'd enjoy to poetise, Hit me with the sadness you should idolise, Hit me with the deception that I got to, on you, idealise. Hit me with the thoughts you ignited in your head, Hit me with the lies I loved you with instead, Hit me with the cries that to your end, have led. Hit me with the words I never dared to let being said. Hit me with the regret that you'll never get, Hit me with the anger, you, because of me, have met. Hit me with the ages of misery, I've for you set.
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Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 3:41 AM UTC
Hit Me
broken shoes on your feet, grief for a family that aren't dead - just dead to you - on your back and a book in your pocket. a book about a man you idolise. by that same man you idolise. his songs, his words, his honesty. a similar honesty that takes up the blank spaces in the notebook that resides in your other pocket. our griefs, though different, united us. yet while you begin to live, i start to die. again.
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Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 10:45 AM UTC
he built a bridge and got over it
i            the empire of temptation         defied gravity                    planets aligned         strung by locks of burgundy         asteroids plunged from her shoulders                    pleiades eyes   shot like comets through defences         the core of my force field agape   holes spluttered butterflies       spawned from cosmic clouds         ii            i lay beneath her         transfixed by the depth of majesty her galactic reign over night            i did not fall         i did not grow weary till daybreak         shielded by the blood of dawn         we faded into light and dreamt of taurus                    gravity could not stop         the empire of temptation
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Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 4:03 PM UTC
you idolise me now but soon you'll get tired of kneeling
To idolise and fantasise of whence Deities wonder. And aperpo of nothing Else, the engaging prospect dwells; a condensing cloud, It begs to ignite. Melodic philosophy after all bequeaths such license and rather, idealises lofty ideals; Relevant. Real. At times, ridiculous; but written nonetheless. Inception sacked lame defences (nature's law-bound birth) Of solace and comfort, In accepting such uncertainty. Schlock festers now, page bound by binds which Tie and plunder. Rich is he whose flacid Resistance entertains this coup. Still - Who will notice?
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May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
The Shame If Imitation