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"ignorable" poems
I can still hear your lisp the way it covered every "r" you sounded bare skin under mist, your eyes matched your hair the first, all blue raspberry stained lips the second, pure spring sky Never before, had I loved the rain, as much as when we ran through it we let the downpour soak our clothes and congruent, thunder couldn't scare us we felt naked, or I did, but I didn't mind it to be naked with you was all that I wanted Never before, had I looked at a girl, and wanted to hold her, the way I held you suddenly, the laws I believed in felt paperclip thin, and completely untrue it didn't take much strength to twist every one of them into a shapeless and easily ignorable pile of waste You knew the flags of every country as if your allegiance was to the entire world I wanted it to be to me only and I think I knew that it was, but that doesn't mean I didn't want you to say it
0
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
Lisp
He kinetically arrived with 1973. Night is the longest day, here come the warm jets, served on a cold plate. Play it back at half-speed and you've got auditory wallpaper, it must be as ignorable as it is interesting. His own world spins within a device: cacophony of sound mixed in a blender and xeroxed; a little snake guitar, a little Leslie piano — music to resign you to the possibility of death. Then came 1983 and beyond just him. Tamper tantrum hotline, amplifiers on the balcony, secretly taping Edge and Adam Clayton on a 4th of July. The numbered streets and desert rain add soul to this heartland, it's the gospel truth he wiped the deck clean. (sort of and maybe). His device spins within its own world: manageable hums, danceable drones, welded into night; daytime variations held together no better (and no worse) than a cloud. Then there's sfumato: music without lines or borders, in the manner of smoke — theatrical fog — a different kind of blue. Densely layered, so impossible to track, this being lost in the magnetic hush of airports and   other strange kiosks, it all falls into a creative lull. Guess it's time for Oblique Strategies...
0
Jul 9, 2022
Jul 9, 2022 at 1:43 PM UTC
Brian Eno
Your hypocritical mind is un-ignorable I’m below it holding light towards it I don’t want it growing or rainbow-ing out of your body Find it please, its making me cringe Be rid of it Don’t look down on others Or bellow their flaws Laughing at them won’t reattach your lost pride Doing as they did to you will not conquer Fight your ever oozing, flowing, growing sickening **** of forgets Remember things you say Don’t mock or pout at others who say the same things Think of how you shouldn’t do as inferiors do But do not highlight your superior-ism Not that you even are And you’re blind of the fact you’re conceited You would only deny it if told Your immaturity is spiking up through my back And cutting me—slicing me open But I don’t want the blood to drip in your eyes I don’t want you to realize through the liquid of mine But realize through somebody else I can’t break it to you The ice you’ve frozen is too thick for me to melt And you need to crack it yourself
0
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 10:31 AM UTC
You're Not Doing It Right
In chains trying to make change Arrange for a plane to far away plains In vain he hopes to stand On his two feet but love, he cannot believe. So much pressure he bought it no receipt. I got these white collars stressing me, telling me, wear your tie pick up your feet, please, my ancestors didn't fight to see, me, 36 floors up fashion hanging me, from the metaphorical tree. No they won't see me groveling on my knees. I'm a proud black man dyeing to be, free, and its funny cause we all dyeing to be, something, and time don't cease and we just micro-living in peace, or pain, or plain vanilla. (Columbus day) In a noose finding proof Board a boat to a faraway moat Round we go, at least he's afloat In a sea of uncertainty, certainly, he can handle what he see's But what about what he feels I don't know what's worse. The loss or the hurt. I see the day as the end of natural earth. Borders crossed never to be returned. The order was established I'm still fellin the aftershock. They mock my art, mock my creativity, try to mock the essence of me. But in a sense its good, I guess, allowing free expression to get this stress off my chest. Blessed I feel every day to know I aint got to go. The box that surrounds me is just metaphorical. Even the rules in place are deplorable, meanin ignorable. If it don't help it hurt and the new jim crow need some work. But as long as I can escape it, as long as I can break out the box, as long as I can stand on two feet, the oppressor will never catch me on my knees in a noose or fighting to get loose. My mind is already liberated, my education has focused my hatred, and I realized they the ones that need the savin.
0
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
Diary of a mad black man
In chains trying to make change Arrange for a plane to far away plains In vain he hopes to stand On his two feet but love, he cannot believe. So much pressure he bought it no receipt. I got these white collars stressing me, telling me, wear your tie pick up your feet, please, my ancestors didn't fight to see, me, 36 floors up fashion hanging me, from the metaphorical tree. No they won't see me groveling on my knees. I'm a proud black man dyeing to be, free, and its funny cause we all dyeing to be, something, and time don't cease and we just micro-living in peace, or pain, or plain vanilla. (Columbus day) In a noose finding proof Board a boat to a faraway moat Round we go, at least he's afloat In a sea of uncertainty, certainly, he can handle what he see's But what about what he feels I don't know what's worse. The loss or the hurt. I see the day as the end of natural earth. Borders crossed never to be returned. The order was established I'm still fellin the aftershock. They mock my art, mock my creativity, try to mock the essence of me. But in a sense its good, I guess, allowing free expression to get this stress off my chest. Blessed I feel every day to know I aint got to go. The box that surrounds me is just metaphorical. Even the rules in place are deplorable, meanin ignorable. If it don't help it hurt and the new jim crow need some work. But as long as I can escape it, as long as I can break out the box, as long as I can stand on two feet, the oppressor will never catch me on my knees in a noose or fighting to get loose. My mind is already liberated, my education has focused my hatred, and I realized they the ones that need the savin.
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16
Find conviction in your answer And hold it forever To hold you together Through the bad weather That seems to go on forever Never getting any better Never wantin' to become a trend setter I'd rather avoid a subplot endeavor A standard cease and desist letter An awkward deliverer Of an ignorable order Internal by nature From a habitual quitter ©2025
0
May 17, 2024
May 17, 2024 at 5:01 PM UTC
~•§•~ Habitual ~•§•~
The rumbling of our urges clattered as voices would sound arguing to one another. But there we were, standing in silence. Using only the blacks of our eyes to send the messages back and forth. The ****** discourse is ignorable, is incontrovertibly uncontrollable, but not solely forthright. Sometimes I really believe what Im saying. Its not necessarily the tone that matters.   What matters is the outcome and it can sometimes lead to just that. Like peanut butter jelly, with a baseball bat. Or the soft, round belly of a blind black cat. Didn’t I tell you in my last life? Glass is as hard and see through as my plans and my will. But tell Neo I’ll take the blue pill.
0
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
The Lovers
By your witch we're considered deplorable; but we love our new king. He's adorable. We have learned, from your spite, that your souls are not right and your media truly ignorable.
0
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
Unelectable Limerick
You are, to me, like a spider. When I move I can feel your web tighten around me. I am, to you, like a puppet, You push, pull, and I react. You are, to others, nothing special, Another face in the crowd, A print in the sand. You are, to me, blinding, Startling and magic. My vision dances when I look away. I am, to you, Expendable. Unfortunate. Ignorable.
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Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 1:29 AM UTC
I am, You are.
*My love! How sweet, how prosperous!         He lives within my heart~! Nurtures, Oh, He cherishes –         Oh, never shall we part! Though I may beauty and elegance lack,         My heart strung with sorrow’s strings, My love, His soul does sing for me –         In perfect melody~! And I do love, with all my heart,         With fiber, mind, and soul, My perfect man, Oh, man of dreams –         My sweetest dreams unfold. His flaws are seamless, seams are flawless –         Imperfections perfect – My darkness His light, His bright my sun –         My blight, His love confesses none – All this, except for only one.         A single state which rattles my commitment, A flaw which overlooking may not come.         Bastardly, it prevents my love’s fulfilment. Though He should love me in all my ignorance –         My shame, and clumsy arrogance – That I should question Him is deplorable –         Yet, Oh, this flaw, it’s un-ignorable! For He is a dream, Oh, not to be!         In my mind it’s Him I see, but – Among the living, out in the world,         He does not exist but in my words. What sorrow indeed, sweet imaginings bring!         His rose-petal scent – His eyes blue and green – His mystical magical magnificence –         A figment of my imagination. In what cruel world do I live where no one accepts?         His love so extensive, mine potent, and yet – Because He is fake, in only my mind,         My love is doomed, empty, lonely, and blind? My love feels so real; I weep and I laugh,         My emotions run rampant for Him, and still yet – Is it not real? Only a lie?         A lie which is felt – but still not alive? My love, it is real, but fake just alike.*
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Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 2:50 PM UTC
Real Fake Love
*My love! How sweet, how prosperous!         He lives within my heart~! Nurtures, Oh, He cherishes –         Oh, never shall we part! Though I may beauty and elegance lack,         My heart strung with sorrow’s strings, My love, His soul does sing for me –         In perfect melody~! And I do love, with all my heart,         With fiber, mind, and soul, My perfect man, Oh, man of dreams –         My sweetest dreams unfold. His flaws are seamless, seams are flawless –         Imperfections perfect – My darkness His light, His bright my sun –         My blight, His love confesses none – All this, except for only one.         A single state which rattles my commitment, A flaw which overlooking may not come.         Bastardly, it prevents my love’s fulfilment. Though He should love me in all my ignorance –         My shame, and clumsy arrogance – That I should question Him is deplorable –         Yet, Oh, this flaw, it’s un-ignorable! For He is a dream, Oh, not to be!         In my mind it’s Him I see, but – Among the living, out in the world,         He does not exist but in my words. What sorrow indeed, sweet imaginings bring!         His rose-petal scent – His eyes blue and green – His mystical magical magnificence –         A figment of my imagination. In what cruel world do I live where no one accepts?         His love so extensive, mine potent, and yet – Because He is fake, in only my mind,         My love is doomed, empty, lonely, and blind? My love feels so real; I weep and I laugh,         My emotions run rampant for Him, and still yet – Is it not real? Only a lie?         A lie which is felt – but still not alive? My love, it is real, but fake just alike.*
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41
There’s this grief simmering underneath. Steady and ignorable, or - boiling and unmistakable. There’s no going back but the grief is there. Tangled grief for two - husband lost long ago, and a love that brought me to life. Grief for my innocent self that slammed up hard against his mental illness — and lost. I know the actions I take now will frame life going forward. It’s just that, sometimes, relief from the grief is so tempting.
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Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 4:48 PM UTC
Relief from the grief
I am not a number I am not a cypher. I am a real live person Not a hypothetical one. I am part of a portion Of the total population Not an ignorable thing Only fit for eliminating If it suits a demographic, Budgeted body politic; Something looked upon As something better gone. By some venal banker, Number crunching ****** I matter. Please remember I’m real And the turning of the wheel Might make you a rich man But your carefully worded plan Might crush me underneath. Is this what you bequeath To the society that bore you? Is it the proper thing to do? I am not a figure, a jot. A squiggle on a page, not Some negotiable loss Decided upon by a boss Who wants a higher bonus Jettisoning an onus Foisted on him by liberals. My problems are not literal, They are real and due To be looked through For a way to be humane In matters mundane, And not as profitable. Don’t be despicable. I matter. Please remember I’m real And the turning of the wheel Might make you a rich man But your carefully worded plan Might crush me underneath. Is this what you bequeath To the society that bore you? Is it the proper thing to do? Talk to your accountants And see what the amount is To do things for fiscal gain Without causing people pain. There has to be a way We can all have our day; Our place in the sun Things good for one That are also good for all And don’t cause a fall In the economy and health For those without wealth. If the rich lose big gains They will still eat again, But the poor just may not With what little they’ve got. I matter. Please remember I’m real And the turning of the wheel Might make you a rich man But your carefully worded plan Might crush me underneath. Is this what you bequeath To the society that bore you? Is it the proper thing to do?
0
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
I MATTER
I am not a number I am not a cypher. I am a real live person Not a hypothetical one. I am part of a portion Of the total population Not an ignorable thing Only fit for eliminating If it suits a demographic, Budgeted body politic; Something looked upon As something better gone. By some venal banker, Number crunching ****** I matter. Please remember I’m real And the turning of the wheel Might make you a rich man But your carefully worded plan Might crush me underneath. Is this what you bequeath To the society that bore you? Is it the proper thing to do? I am not a figure, a jot. A squiggle on a page, not Some negotiable loss Decided upon by a boss Who wants a higher bonus Jettisoning an onus Foisted on him by liberals. My problems are not literal, They are real and due To be looked through For a way to be humane In matters mundane, And not as profitable. Don’t be despicable. I matter. Please remember I’m real And the turning of the wheel Might make you a rich man But your carefully worded plan Might crush me underneath. Is this what you bequeath To the society that bore you? Is it the proper thing to do? Talk to your accountants And see what the amount is To do things for fiscal gain Without causing people pain. There has to be a way We can all have our day; Our place in the sun Things good for one That are also good for all And don’t cause a fall In the economy and health For those without wealth. If the rich lose big gains They will still eat again, But the poor just may not With what little they’ve got. I matter. Please remember I’m real And the turning of the wheel Might make you a rich man But your carefully worded plan Might crush me underneath. Is this what you bequeath To the society that bore you? Is it the proper thing to do?
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71
It’s all internal now. You’re in a room. No door, no windows— just four tall, white walls. The walls shake uncontrollably, as if the earth were coming to an end. What’s happening? "Walls, stop shaking," you say. "That’s enough." You wonder if you’ve ever had any control over the walls at all; they don’t seem to listen to you. Shortly, everything will come tumbling down, and you can’t do anything about it. You sit and wait. Suddenly, through the nonexistent cracks in the walls, waves come crashing over your head and down to your feet. If a spark were to touch the water right now, the room would instantly turn to ashes— or so it feels. You close your eyes, hoping for an escape. Yet you still know where all the water is, simply by following the un-ignorable surge that is felt across your entire body with each ever-growing hit of a wave. Where are you? Why don’t the walls break already? And why aren’t you dead yet? You open your eyes again as you jolt awake in the middle of the night. Your heart is pounding and your hands are trembling. The beginning of the waves— you’ve felt them.
0
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
Anxiety Attacks
We travelled sunny Manhattan, my family and I On the top of a double decker, to see what scrapes the sky The bus saw it all, Times Square, Empire State, Broadway, Wall Street, Central Park, it was great! When we drove by the office buildings, I saw a large set of stairs It was beautifully vast with a refreshing air Dozens of suited workers were scattered about Some sat there to rest, some went up, some went down… There was one man who sat there and really drew my eye When I looked the time slowed and I wasn’t sure why He was generically handsome in a way that was vague And was contently unrolling his brown paper bag In a dress-shirt and tie, his blazer set aside He sat, eating a sandwich with a surreal air of pride Unlike your average stressed out business man He was at ease with himself, sandwich in hand As the moment had passed our bus travelled on And just like that, the young man was gone We finished the tour and returned to our hotel We relaxed in our room and gabbed and shared tell Of our thoughts of the tour we had taken that day “One thing I noticed,” I heard my mom say (I could already tell what she was about to relay) “was this man in a suit who made quite a display, eating lunch on some stairs, I kept looking his way” I could hardly believe it, that she saw him too I expressed in excitement, that I totally knew Precisely the man she was talking about “I saw him too!” I heard my dad and bro shout We all laughed in surprise that of all the people we saw To that very same man, we all had been drawn What was it about him that made him stand out so much? He was only a man just enjoying his lunch He just seemed so content and at peace with himself His aura made it clear of his internal wealth What was it that set such a grand vibe in motion? Perhaps he had just been handed out a promotion It could be that his un-ignorable gleam Was the personification of the Manhattan dream Or maybe he was just basking in the warm sunny day Whatever it was, we all felt his array I wonder if that moment when we looked from the bus Was as important to him as it had been to us I can’t help but feel like it must have been Cause whatever he was feeling drew all eyes to him
0
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
The Man in Manhattan
We travelled sunny Manhattan, my family and I On the top of a double decker, to see what scrapes the sky The bus saw it all, Times Square, Empire State, Broadway, Wall Street, Central Park, it was great! When we drove by the office buildings, I saw a large set of stairs It was beautifully vast with a refreshing air Dozens of suited workers were scattered about Some sat there to rest, some went up, some went down… There was one man who sat there and really drew my eye When I looked the time slowed and I wasn’t sure why He was generically handsome in a way that was vague And was contently unrolling his brown paper bag In a dress-shirt and tie, his blazer set aside He sat, eating a sandwich with a surreal air of pride Unlike your average stressed out business man He was at ease with himself, sandwich in hand As the moment had passed our bus travelled on And just like that, the young man was gone We finished the tour and returned to our hotel We relaxed in our room and gabbed and shared tell Of our thoughts of the tour we had taken that day “One thing I noticed,” I heard my mom say (I could already tell what she was about to relay) “was this man in a suit who made quite a display, eating lunch on some stairs, I kept looking his way” I could hardly believe it, that she saw him too I expressed in excitement, that I totally knew Precisely the man she was talking about “I saw him too!” I heard my dad and bro shout We all laughed in surprise that of all the people we saw To that very same man, we all had been drawn What was it about him that made him stand out so much? He was only a man just enjoying his lunch He just seemed so content and at peace with himself His aura made it clear of his internal wealth What was it that set such a grand vibe in motion? Perhaps he had just been handed out a promotion It could be that his un-ignorable gleam Was the personification of the Manhattan dream Or maybe he was just basking in the warm sunny day Whatever it was, we all felt his array I wonder if that moment when we looked from the bus Was as important to him as it had been to us I can’t help but feel like it must have been Cause whatever he was feeling drew all eyes to him
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45
It seems unsolvable Completely Improbable An equation With no answer They tell me to add pounds But they add more doubt Subtract self-hate But all I do Is lose myself in the problem Beauty standards? I’m on the bottom I’m a fraction Denominated by ideals of Perfection Numerated by my Own demons Like pi I’m irrational However I am not infinite Only temporary Average me out Calorie count Weight in pounds Calculate the BMI But My Inverse Operation Can’t be ignorable Trying to find a semblance Of self control Factor it out Solve for x What piece Of the puzzle Did they forget When they wrote my Problem Keep subtracting I’m shrinking Prime number Divide me By my own weight Half of a person Less than the other Negative exponent In a positive Expression Graph it out Linear equation You don’t need A computer To see the Decrease in Motivation 3D? More like 2 dimensions Paper thin with Pencil markings Multiple choice? More like multiple guess Balance the scale Life is a short answer question Sum it up In a few words It’s the beauty equation
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Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
The Beauty Equation
At best... Im a stranger Im a danger to everyone around At best... I'm nothing I'm no one I blend in with the crowd At best... I speak to you I inspire you Can you hear the sound Of hooves on the ground Of horses back's bound Of screaming in homes As a vagrant roams To find his next meal Imagine how he feels Hungry Loneley Lost Invisible Ignorable Aside he is tossed At the end of my life I'll have won no real fights I'll have given up my rights And I'll turn off my lights to die like the rest Because thats who i am...at best
0
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
At Best.....
fidgeting is my specialty if there was an Olympic competition for anxiously biting nails to the bone, I would take the gold. my biggest fears revolve around other humans; talking on the phone is like piloting a fighter plane towards the city and you know it is proven you will crash into a skyscraper with a hundred different daycare centers within its walls. I know that's a terrible thing but now you know how I feel. I have this disability, the ever-present feeling of fear radiating from my core to my tips. Its un-ignorable, i can't wait to wake up one day and not remember what it is like to want to go back to bed and hide.
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Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 2:48 PM UTC
its a constant feeling, anxiety