"ignorantly" poems
Mountains on mountains erupt from the earth's chambers of burdened lava and collapse back into their hellish landscape just as quickly
Waves assault the beach in frenzied randomness, striking their mark upon the sand and washing it away in the same breath
Birds flail about, learning to sail the clouds while dolphins soar their vast expanse of golden sea
People in suits war with each other for ****** glory, sign a strip of paper agreeing to stop, then ignorantly carry on their violent pastiche
Far away, tucked behind his world of scattered phrases and pretentious works of art, the writer observes all this
P
R
O
C
R
A
S
T
I
N
A
T
I
N
G
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 5:22 AM UTC
Plagiarism of worthless ideals,
that you so ignorantly hold high.
Shaking in amazement,
how can you call your self alive?
Totalitarian, lethargic lifestyle.
Ignominious displays of disaffection.
Constant contradictions;
out of your mind.
Caught up in the clouds,
cognition of mania and level debauched.
Up to high to realize, you're an “open mind” with locked doors.
Maslow, Skinner, and Darwin alike, turn in their graves,
over your lack of evolution.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
i used to write about him
endlessly
in tattered journal pages
and in cheesy poems
but i didn't want to admit it
i didn't want to admit
the fact that he was gone
and writing him into paper
wasn't going to bring back
the person i once knew
i didn't want to admit
that i wasn't in love-
that instead, i was cold and lonely
for endless summer nights
in the pitch black vacuum of my room
when everyone else was sound asleep
and i should've been, too
i guess at that time
i just didn't want to admit
the fact that i was too busy writing
to realize i was just lying to myself
so this is me finally admitting it-
this is my apology letter
for blindly lying to myself,
for believing the miserable lie
that writing about him
would bring us back to life
because so far it hasn't worked
and i'm undeniably sick
of lying to myself
and ignorantly believing it will
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
I'd rather have scars on my cheeks
And a crooked nose and
Bad skin and boney hips
Or boring eyes and boring hair and a boring mouth
And someone tell me
“You’re beautiful,”
Because I’d know they meant
I am beautiful in the way that I talk,
In the way that I listen, in the way that I love,
In the way that I am
Than have
Pretty lips and pretty teeth and
Pretty hair and a pretty nose
And ignorantly believe
That being beautiful in the way that I look
Is enough.”
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 7:23 PM UTC
The root
Of ambition
Is ambivalent
There's no “one cause”
No one causes
A man
To make life decisions
In a day
It takes
Much more
For
A man to be successful
And real
With his inner-self
Accepting
The cards dealt
With the stamina
To play through
Exercising his will
With the feel
Lingering in every pore
Unsure
Of obstacles ahead
Headstrong
Through barricades
Bearing the bruises
Trampling
Over your own
Feet
Defeat
Seen in battle
But the war’s on
And the war zone
Isn’t limited
To a few
Years
Like ages 19-22
Whose to do
Worse
Who has more
Money
CARS
Clothes
And hoes
And whose vision
Is so small
To tack them
with success
All in all
And attack those
Who lack the
Wills
To move forward
And ignorantly
Attach it
With a phenomena
Of
Your unknowing
Root of ambition
Can spread
Like weeds
And weeds
Can **** ambition
Or spread
Like seeds
How many men
Dive
Head first under the influence
Or rise above
High
From the same drug
Barack Obama
Michael Phelps
William Shakespeare
Bill Clinton
Lebron James
Pablo Picasso
The Beatles
Jay-Z
Bob Marley
Conan O’Brien
Dr Francis Crick. (Nobel Prize Winner)
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Salvador Dali
Victor Hugo
Kareem Abdul-Jabar
Snoop Dogg
Dr. Dre
Stephen King
Just to name a few
Maybe
Just maybe
It has nothing to do
With success
Or you.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 1:11 AM UTC
I'm always hungry even though I just ate a while ago
If I go without food for 2 hours my brain works kinda slow
I eat all the time, even when I'm driving
I wonder how it'll be to eat when I'm sky diving
But there's a particular food that I always crave
And if I don't get it, I tend to misbehave
It's amazing and delicious, my favorite cake
I'd go to any lengths for it, no matter what the stake
I'd eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner
I'd marry a pâtissier even if he was a sinner
When it comes to cake I show an utmost devotion
My bucket list includes having cake by the ocean
But something happened this summer, which makes me tremble in fear
And now when someone says "Cake" I tend not to go near
I was in Spain, and I was looking for some cake
I was whining and crying; my friend ignorantly sipped her milkshake
So I walked on ahead and finally found a baker
I paused my music; I was listening to Chet Faker
I walked over to him and shouted "I WANT CAKE"
He looked at his buddies and said, "This is the one we take"
The baker and Co. suddenly picked me up; I was too scared to shout
I just wanted my cake and I had no idea what this was about
I tried to escape but it proved to be rather hard
My friend had no idea I was missing; she was looking for an SD card
I didn't wanna think about what might happen, I just wanted to go home
The men had brought me to an outhouse that had a ceiling shaped like a dome
Then they placed me down gently, and were almost too polite
I turned around once I could finally stand and couldn't believe the sight
A crowd was waiting at the back, just waiting to yell "Surprise!"
A man shouted: "You fools! You brought the wrong girl, she isn't even the same size"
They apologized profusely, but honestly I couldn't care less
I just wanted to have my cake and get away from this mess
I walked back past the bakers shop and heard something that gave me déjà vu
"I want cake" said a tall girl; she smiled at me, she didn't have a clue
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
**The allure of everything bad
The allure of vices that nullify circumstances which make living seem sad
The 'Hollywood' cigarette, the hard liquor... ******* crystal ****
All very romanticized but in reality, isn't that really just a self-induced slow death?
We don't talk about it, until we watch from the sidelines
If only for a second
When partaking one repeats quotes like 'it is what it is'
'I am not a quitter'
You've built up a tolerance for one, so you beckon
The bartender to pour you a second
Social trend like a hot topic on twitter
So now you want more
You ignorantly jab the needle inside you like you don't know what your signing up for
In a sense you don't, for you choose not to
Addiction entraps... but who?
Not you
And the moment you decide to go cold turkey
It appears more enticing in another movie, or in the hands of a fellow druggie
Impossible to reject
Relapse... rubber band effect
Yet even he that doesn't use gets a little curious
One day the stress becomes too much to handle, he's peeved
He's furious
He's heard of pills sold over the counter, and also of those available from dusty cobwebbed shelves
By dealers with hollowed out eyes, ghosts of their former selves
In an alternate reality
Where 'it's all good'
It's all about finding solace in one happy, high family... 'It's all hood'
A distorted image of zoned out smiling faces
Floating around in temporary elation
These vices have comforted and haunted many, way before our so called 'X-rated generation'
The druggie, the alcoholic or the *** addict you see... could be your's or someone else's dad
Or it could very well be you or me
Seduced by the allure of everything bad
I write this expecting it to be misunderstood by many...
For a judgement between bad and good
I myself could be affiliated to one of these vices... or many
Someone reading this may have already renamed it 'The allure of everything good'.**
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:01 AM UTC
Please come and find me.
Playful whispers in the dark.
Who am I calling?
I suppose...
My baby,
Can I call you baby?
O sweet lullabyes in the night,
Hold me in mild constriction.
Squeeze a little bit tighter, love.
I don't know how much time I have left.
Delusional!
Alone on the vacuum.
Scratching at air for any oxygen my depraved lungs can find,
Suffocating on your love,
Choking on your divinity.
Oh darling,
My sweet crimson lover
Dancing on the bridge of death at the break of dawn,
You swing me in your arms,
Tight tongue behind your violent grin,
Your hair grows stars, and your arms bend time,
my fatal partner in a tango to the edge of the earth.
Heartless as you torture me,
Wrench my soul playfully,
Foolishly and ignorantly,
Pulling my strings.
Enacting
autopilot daydreams
Painting mindless patterns
On an inky black sky,
Orange slices on existential beach
Sparkling warm coast,
The cosmos like a bright sunny day above.
Bitter ashes mix and churn with the sand,
I'm sinking,
Quickly,
Help me!
But you just watch.
And I sink until I hit the bottom
And there I lie,
Falling asleep to as my grief fills the ocean.
The zodiac locked fate,
Fish and Virgins! Fish and Virgins!
Poets and failures,
Academics and frauds,
Spring and summer to autumn and madness,
My eternal indigo diary,
My blueberry lipstick,
My lavender kiss.
Leaving light stains on my love-lorn letters,
Mailed to you on Sunday,
Delivered along the Milky Way.
Waiting emptily,
In an empty white asylum,
With an empty mind,
Waiting for you,
My answer,
My meaning,
My red and blue jumper.
Not standing up to stretch,
But sitting still,
Letting my bones grow stiff,
To creak under my weight,
Like an old back porch,
Made for a pair of old lovers,
Desolate,
Withered by neglect,
Empty.
A pointless pray for solace,
In hope you will come,
My prince of waves,
My fifth science,
My escape from this never ending sporadic spiral down into the murky, dusty, purple fog of asinine and inane.
My peace of mind.
My baby.
Can I call you baby?
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 8:51 PM UTC
Cant you hear their cries
Of pain. Of suffering.
The echoes of malicious crimes.
Or have we become unaffected by the images
As history repeats itself one more time
Some where down the line
Humanity has been lost
As ignorance prevails, and their conscious dies
Who is left to preserve and protect innocent lives
As we sit watching the events unfolding
And the tears of both young and old
Like the missiles, do they fall
Have the oppressors forgotten, it was these people
who gave them shelter when they were the oppressed
United we were then to end the brutality and maltreatment
Now the tables have turned
We ignorantly refuse to believe it is happening again
For the innocents the fight continues
Their faith and their strength. It never falters
As they take back what is theirs.
Hoping that someone helps and intervenes
Giving back what's theirs, bringing them peace
The fear and dread
The weeping souls
The blessed land
Forgotten and torn
They fight the battle
as we look on
The hourly struggle
of the abandoned ones.
© maria.who
(Comment below please)
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
Clueless, full of oblivious reasons
Seasons washing away unknown regions
Lesions inside my soul, you’re teasing
Seizing, forcefully squeezing, my heart
Torn apart, ignorantly smart, but senseless
Defenseless to your love, push and shove
Haven’t lost balance, surrounded by absence
Too many years since, love differenced the equation
Self persuasion, wondering where you were
Noticing the abrasion worn on my heart, epiphany
Lacking dignity, imploring for your sympathy
Running in place, suffering from anguish
Losing hope, praying for vanquish
Heart losing strength, this isn’t the end
Exceedingly forcing myself to pretend, it’s done
I have won, I’m strong now
It’s over, I’m gone now
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 5:04 PM UTC
It was there.
And then it was gone.
Frantically scrolling up and down I somehow knew the search was useless. The frustration streaming through my blood kept my mind off of everything else in the world. I was mad. Angry. Questioning why this would happen. Hard work pays off? Or hard work gets "accidentally" deleted by the stupid device that I have ignorantly become so dependent on. It has become our way of communication; our way of becoming something else. We try to make technology a mold of ourselves. Piling in personal information until we are left holding our entire life in our palm. We stick our faces behind 4x2 rectangles of wires and data, instead of looking each other in the eye.
But you see, the problem is, you can't bleed into a device. It won't absorb. Your feelings, your life will merely sit on top of it until your phone eventually shuts down.
But you can bleed into paper. You can write and write and only be concerned about how badly your hand is cramping. You can hold it, you can feel it. And you can hope others feel it too. You can carry it around and never worry about it becoming "outdated."
There are no upgrades.
There is only inspiration.
~pw
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
They line up in droves at the voting booth
ignorantly choosing between two candidates on the same side of the same fence
They just use a different lexicon for offense and defense
we are ******* either way you choose
pull that level
push that button
tab that chad
The popular vote to be ignored by the electoral few and cash lined pockets of politicians
How much longer can we afford to play this game?
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 7:53 PM UTC
if ears had lips
mine would gladly tell you all the things
they can and cannot comprehend
they would explain the difference
between hearing and understanding;
just because they hear a sound
doesn’t mean they know what it is
or where it’s coming from
just because they hear a voice
doesn’t mean they discern words
they would ask you to please speak louder
and tell you that even though volume is their friend
if you take a jumble and turn up the juice
sometimes it becomes clearer
other times it’s just a loud jumble
they might tell you that writing things down saves time
or that texting works better than voicemail
they would tell you how much they miss
the rain’s incessant song
the wind’s sweeping whistle
a dropped pin’s pinging ping
earthy crashing blue green wave sounds
a lover’s soft whisper
eavesdropping’s noseyness
distance’s subtle sounds
footsteps’ proximity
a fire’s warm red orange crackle
freeway traffic’s rushing background noise
a phone call’s lively conversation
a tv show’s clever, non-closed-captioned script
a radio’s soulful catchy lyrics
live performance’s vibrant voice
the timbre of each note in a chord
as I strummed my guitar
they would tell you
how the ringing tones inside my head
compete with your words
they would speak of their frustration and indignation
when you ignorantly accuse them of selective hearing
they would apologize for asking you to repeat
and laugh with you at my disability
they would thank you for dealing with me anyway
they would smile in appreciation
for your exaggerated syll•a•bi•ca•tion
if ears could see
mine would overlook your rolling eyes
and exasperated sighs and expressions
they know it’s not your fault that they don’t work good
and hope you know it’s not their fault either
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 3:21 PM UTC
Decency is very immaculate.
Yet these women lack it.
Showing so much skin that the men can probably taste it.
These men insinuate women into *** objects.
But pushing them
to become a despised icon.
Now a days reputation seems to be the stereo type.
Males are pigs waiting to be slaughtered.
Girls will rant consistently about how they use and manipulate them.
Yet you live up to being a back porch baby,
as well show off those curves anonymously for lustful eyes.
False alarms wont save them. Cause they burn their own bridges.
Yet others wear their pride
and keep what most are not aware of, which is class.
Women who stay loyal to the core and Share their soul with nothing but a Heart full of
ravishing intentions are indeed very rare.
Beauty that would petrify you were you are standing.
A delightful dream
that you're scared you will wake up and suffer society's standards of a female.
The lesson of this is nice guys finish last.
My amazing charm and mentality of a gentlemen is ignorantly ignored.
Nothing but remorse can be felt with this situation with them.
Sorry that they will never feel the vibrations
of the overrated word named "love".
Things that would make Hester Prynne disgusted.
But in all words,
my sail with no compass will not be over.
The storms might get heavy periodically, but then the waves will sail properly in my favor.
My search will be fulfilled
So on this long sail I'll never acknowledge these indescent
sirens.
So when they pass "X" will mark the spot.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 2:11 AM UTC
I try so hard to reach the hot pits of my soul
Where passion, pleasure, and pain go
My inner secrets and fears I deserve to know
But every chance I get, I ignorantly blow...
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
Nature is my religion
The Earth my temple
Why can you not accept it
Your opinion I've always respected
Why must you oppress mine
Why is it you are so right
And I so wrong
The beauty of the Earth speaks within herself
Prove to me why I am wrong
Then maybe I would change
Probably not though
Indoctrination cannot penetrate my mind
My eyes have been opened
Awakening
Enlightenment
If you cannot open yours
Then it is at this time
I feel sorrow for you
A slave to the ideals of man
Ignorantly living in bliss
Forever imprisoned
I am sorry for you
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 3:00 PM UTC
Don't blame the lion for the pride
Don't let yourself whisper those insults
Don't see the bad and push away the good
Realize there's more to the pride than that
Because even though the Alpha Male
May not be who you'd choose
It's not up to you
Or me
Or he
It's up to the fittest
And his mighty roar may petrify the gazelles
Who ignorantly graze on the pride's land
Who sheepishly bolt away from danger
But the pride should have no fear
The pride should rally around the fearsome roar
Not be scattered around like gazelles
And when one member
Leaves the pride
He steps off the captain's seat
And begins to eat the grass
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
would be easy to bemoan blue Monday
but for me the downer is usually Sunday
for I am incapable of not peering ahead
drearily anticipating Monday’s dread
and knowing the day we name for the moon
will be here eye-blinkingly soon
perhaps since earth took seven days to create
Monday will arrive ignorantly intestate
left for all of us to build upon perfection
ripe for us to engage in insurrection
with the simple picking of fruit from a tree
and the loss of blind bliss for all of thee (and me)
so Sunday marks the end of a white beginning
and Monday is only the first black inning
of a game where we all run from base to base
but always return to the same selfish place
Sunday before blasphemous blue Monday
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 12:10 PM UTC
Regret,
One word,
Timeless damage condensed to
Six letters.
That are scented like cheap, Dollar store, perfume
Titled “Heavenly”.
The stench that you burned into my nostrils,choking me,
Suffocating me.
A word whose name taste like poison on my battered tongue,
Bitterly sweetless,
Just like the ***** pouring like fountains from your fingertips,
Sugar-laced manipulation.
It’s adorned with purple, the colour of the rich,
Of royalty,
Yet, worn by a wayward, penniless, and perverted sinner,
Guiltless, guilty.
It’s a word that purrs, “You’re so mature” as its filthy palms grasp my flesh,
Robbing me.
Robbing me straight from the cradle I slept so ignorantly,
So soundly.
Stripping me naked as I was born, yet wasn’t I just yesterday?
Too young.
Far too young to carry the weight of your skin,
Your sins,
My regret.
Jan 30, 2020
Jan 30, 2020 at 11:07 PM UTC
Melancholy.
A pretty word
with such a sad heart.
Makes you wonder
what made it so.
Melancholy.
The way it's said
so passively,
inattentively,
ignorantly,
makes me want to
scream.
Melancholy.
The word is reverent
and should be treated so.
A beautiful expression
to be used with care,
if you please.
Melancholy.
It's not sickly sweet
like some of the others,
yet not too sour either.
A little bit salty,
like tears.
But really,
who hasn't tasted their own?
Melancholy.
The word flows like a river
of tears down a cheek.
One filled with regret,
sorrow, loneliness.
Melancholy.
The more I say it
the more I like it.
The way it drifts,
and takes my thoughts with it.
Not to a happy place,
but a place of quiet,
sad thoughts.
Melancholy.
Even the word itself
draws me to it.
I think it is,
in part,
because I relate.
Sometimes,
it seems,
we are all
melancholy.
And I am but one
in a million
who feels it too.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
Antagonism
burgeons back bad blood.
Compatriots, courtesy can cool contentions:
doubly, disrespect demands decisive
execution. Early efforts evolved
fatuously, force facilitated farcical fighting.
Gambling gents gleefully gored
hedonistic harlots. Harassing
ignorantly, igniting
jealously,
killings
listlessly- liars lament
momentarily. Meanwhile, monetary
nuances
of opulence obscure
prime problems.
Quarries quake
running red. Remembering
solitarily- stoic steeds stand silent, sending
thoughts,
unbidden, unbeknownst.
Violence:
we were
xanthic,
yellow years yaw…
Zymotic.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
Sticks and stones
Is what they say
looking down as they throw
A cliche for strength in her face
Words they can't even begin to understand
No matter how hard they try
A pointless attempt
Until they've felt the sting of words lash like a belt when they hit
Degrading
Battering
Their every defense
Weakening
Causing doubt to the extent
Where they look in the mirror and the voices
They reflect
Others opinions becoming the definition of what their worth is
Sticks and stones
Is what they say
Oblivious to the fact she stares at a razor blade
While inside her mind all the names
grow louder
Screaming
Contemplating death of a being
with no realized purpose
Heartlessly their hate holds her captive
Sentencing her to a fate of silence
For whenever she opens her mouth to speak
Automatically she considers the negative feedback she'll receive
And quickly stops herself before the words fall out
At least someone has self control
The sea of insecurities she has to dive into everyday
Is nothing
To those who avoid her like the plague
Quick with the stones they cast
Ignorantly assuming
That the flaws they antagonize her for are of her choosing
So she's been branded
Hot and searing
What it feels like to be judged
As they create opinions regarding her existence
But a lack of acceptance is to blame
She prays for anything
Any way to escape
The constant ache, the ever present pain
Desiring to be invisible just for a day
In the end it's just a wish
Misunderstood
she goes off like a bomb in her school
One last cut, her last breath,
She blew up like a fuse
At all of those who ever judged her
Tormented her everyday
But when the report was filed and neatly put away
It was her who was held at fault
Never once was it taken into account
The triggers that were pulled by her murderers mouths
Sticks and stones
That's all they said
In one last guilt ridden breath
As they notice her blood left on their hands
Denying her perfection
Allowing her to believe death was worth it
To escape the hell in which she lived
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:22 PM UTC
Your violet iris leaves me naked
as your half-cocked upper lip remains stalwart while
a single drop of salt water backlash slips over,
falling to the ruin
where I tear your ventricles and,
blindly,
walk away.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 8:39 AM UTC