"imbalanced" poems
making love with no love
(kissed her with his freedom)
<•>
a new person in an overnight stay in a strange,
aptly named,
bed and breakfast
and
you do all the same things that just feel good, careless loving
that comes from practiced renewable remembering,
kiss her neck for hours, drink in her crescendoing cooing
rename her Appalachia, bemused, wondering why,
she gasp-asks, when your tongue traces her odyssey body
from her Georgia to her Maine, then no need to explain
it all feels familiarly strange, imbalanced, shaky, loving the thrill
of your first solo bike ride, an invisible hand letting go,
the wow of walking the line of new freedom and
old responsibility that you have walked on both coasts
carry on, love is coming to us all lyric, enacted-recalled,
loving yet another
long cool woman in a black dress with unquestioning
how to explain to her, how to yourself, loving with no loving,
and the best you can stammer is it is like writing a poem
with too many commas or none at all
she laughs you up with one mouth lingering,
then one amazing kiss on your heart
and nose,
grabs a piece of toast and gone girl,
then you are returned to alone, to the dreams that
may or may not have occurred and two hands overflowing with
too many commas
and none to keep
<•>
11-18–17 2:54am, somewhere
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC
How many more Valentine's
How many more birthdays
How many more New Year's
How many more of tomorrow's rays
How much more strength
How much more perseverance
How much more fortitude
How much more despondence
How many more circles
How many more misleading clues
How many more loops
How many more déjà vus
How much more sadness
How much more to be paid
How much more discomfort
How much more to be laid
How many more questions
How much more time
How many more answers
How much more must I rhyme
How many more roses
How many more seasons
How many more Valentine's
How much more to achieve balance
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
Schwinny, Baby,
You were supposed to be
my
Bicycle.
So I don't ask for anthing special.
No dark Harley divas
To whisk me off into the sunset.
But I thought we were at least
On the same road together.
So please.
Don't go droaning on how
Life got too complicated.
I mean,
You've got one flimsy gear.
And don't go moaning how
The road got too bumpy.
I mean,
You went blind bonzai batshit
over burnt black tar pavement.
You just
Let go.
Threw away your
Chain of reasoning
Faster than I could brace for impact.
So am I bleeding?
Yeah, I'm bleeding.
And the worst part is,
I still need you!
No, No, no.
Not like Pom Pom pammy
Needs her purple-plated pogo stick
Nor like Princess Paris
And her prissy pink prom queen limo,
No.
I mean I need I need you like
Alibaba needs his golden cherub camel,
Like Ben Hur his crimson-fury chariot.
Because work is 37. Blocks. Away.
And it starts in 16 minutes.
And the bus is really unreliable.
So we ride again,
Guts against the wind.
But now I've got all ten fingers and toes
Crossed,
Two by two,
And point in fact,
Racing down Guadalupe with
Forked Philanges
Gets really hairy.
But your suicidal tendancies simply scare me.
Your thirst to incur first degree burns,
Fractured femurs,
And flayed skin whittles my patience
To tire track thin!
Think I'll
Roll my dice with a Segway.
She'd be a quaint, play it safe kind of girl.
Type to show off
To a Mom and Dad
Reveling in rosemary jubilation.
Aw, son.
We knew you'd land a keeper. That's my boy.
But in ten days tops,
I'd begin to miss your fiery imbalanced breath.
I'd yearn for your bipolar 180 turns that
Make my heart skip that terrible, syncopated beat.
So let's just say,
I'll give it one more shot.
But ***** just promise you'll stick around a little longer.
It's storming outside and
We both got a few blocks to go.
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 10:17 PM UTC
Who can tell?
Whether malice has its own purity?
If odor has its own fragrant smell?
Does right wrong right
Or wrong right wrong?
Could darkness have its own light?
What do you know?
Guilt might have its own innocence
For all you know
Humility and modesty
Could just be a show
This is how life is
You either laugh hard
Or you cry in pain
You love too much
Or you die in vain
If you don’t make someone smile
You end up being a bore
If you dress up too guile
You are tagged a *****
You may be very pretty
but deceitful in act
You may be called ugly
but are beautiful in fact
In sadness
you’re creative
In happiness
well that is tentative
and yet sans it too
you may appear narrative
If you know too much
you realize how less you knew
If you are too ignorant
you realize that all lies are just few
Humor shames trivialities
Irony is the truth about absurdities
We scorn at all harsh realities
So we smile at its mockeries
Could love really be true?
And hatred absolutely false?
Is sadness a gloom
Covered in joy so sparse
like a dull audience
forced in its applause?
Without a doubt
A truth has a lie hidden
Simply because
The mirror isn’t clear
It hides many flaws
and your aesthetic sin
deep within
If you counted the seconds
and minutes and the hours
Will you still be wasting time?
Or would you still
have to make an orange juice
out of a dainty lime?
What’s rhetoric
if a question has an answer
if silence it’s own message
and guns and bullets
its own power?
What’s the point
If you’re devising a plan
for your future
to become a big man
And you still say
that you don’t know
what might happen tomorrow
That it all looks bleak and dark
And you sit there
not working hard
you crib and worry
and fake a smile
to everyone
you appear
as blithe as a lark
We dwell with glee
In a world where
two extremes meet
Order deals with its chaos
And chaos struggles for order
Everyone fights
for the latter
And to straighten
an imbalanced balance
and dispel a dulcet clatter.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 6:26 AM UTC
Sleep deprived feel alive
Seen a live band saving others
The chosen one selected to be the DD
Up late work early finding balance
Over things bein imbalanced
Responsible always working
Making time to do it all
Waiting for the call hoping
Things change for the better
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 3:21 AM UTC
10 sacrificial exhales
9 regret scented fingertips
8 matriarchal castigations
7 breathes corrupted
6 bummed ember tips
5 second hand coughs
4 derisive stares
3 relapses
2 lungs
1 heart
Parasitic paradise with death in hand
A gift to me,
self receiving
Toxicity imbalanced
This is worse than bleeding
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 8:49 AM UTC
I wish I wasn't so upset by a lack of music in my ears,
I feel so alone when no one's there to dry my tears.
I'm wasting time trying to figure out what I feel,
Instead of realizing all the things I have that are real.
I've skipped all the good and jumped to the bad,
I'm a worst-case-scenario thinker that's always sad.
Questioning intentions and arguing compliments
Instead of worshipping myself and my accomplishments.
Tell me why I should have the right to complain,
Besides the fact that I'm burning alive in pain,
A mental pain that exists due to a chemical imbalance
Kind of ironic that a libra would encounter that challenge.
But nevertheless, here I am wanting to scream,
Asking God why I can't have what I dream.
Not sure why I feel so empty when I'm alone,
but when people are near, I turn hard as stone.
I'm a catch 22, a ******* hypocrite, too.
Being a happy person is hard work when you're naturally blue.
Fighting the same battles, years after years,
An internal struggle to justify all these **** tears.
But when the music is gone, it all comes to the surface,
I am an endless cliche of a girl with no purpose.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
Imbalanced at heart
So often I press restart
but nothings starting over,
I'm just pushing myself back
There's so much I lack.
I'll stay in old habits,
So I don't have to face it;
My avoidance.
Even when I try to be right,
I'm still wrong.
My last finger is slipping from the dogs tail,
Will she turn around and bite me or disappear?
I sit and wait to see the ending,
But it never comes.
The globe keeps spinning
And time moves on, leaving me unwinding.
Mar 14, 2024
Mar 14, 2024 at 8:32 AM UTC
That magic summer where we first met and wooed
fades further from us with each passing year.
The words we spoke are gone; the words' tune lingers on.
We'd tasted love--
sweet, imbalanced, temporary--
now longed for the same only more complete,
more complementary.
Intimacy comes easily to some.
Others store their feelings up:
treasure for those who can rightly claim it.
We met at a party for new students,
drinking strawberry daiquiris.
For me, the attraction was immediate;
a bit slower for you, you say.
We were wary; our trust grew quickly.
And we, in the confines of this serious trust,
at last could be
our own childish, playful selves.
We went to movies, plays, folk-dancing;
walked in Crystal Lake Park;
ate; watched your soap opera;
touched each other constantly;
fought; made up elegantly.
And then, as we sat on a warm stone bench
on top of that underground library,
eating lunch,
--heart in throat--I said:
"The pleasure I have known in being with you
for these six weeks is something quite unusual.
And if the same is true for you,
if this's a love which could lead to marriage,
then I will try to find a job nearby,
where I can see you frequently.
But if your love is of a lesser sort, then I
will cast my net this great world o'er
and go where Fortune takes me."
Then you,
not hesitating a single moment,
flooding my eyes with your radiant smile,
replied, "It could! Oh yes, indeed, it could!"
Much has happened since,
but I say it was then, that summer, that moment,
love reached the final, high plane
where we, though hardly conscious of it now, still dwell.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 2:11 PM UTC
chemically imbalanced.
these two words
made up all of me.
my whole personality
defined by this one thing.
they call it anxiety
it takes away your sleep
it tears down your dreams
it makes you think
everything is a bomb
waiting to explode
a disaster
waiting to unfold.
a live wire
in my bones
making its home
in my soul.
a part of me
never apart from me
i lost myself
in anxiety’s causalities.
the cure came in an orange bottle
with a child safe lid
at first the pills were white
tiny little circles
burrowing in the creases of my palm
smooth down my throat
healing that tasked like chalk.
the pills are sunshine yellow now
smiling up at me
carrying the end
of my disease.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 4:50 PM UTC
Miss my misery is this:
Six weeks of torment, 6 days of bliss.
Undone the former by the latters weight.
Then weightless as I sink slowly.
but warmer as I near my fate.
Quick to anticipate, I fall straight. Laid down
Amidst mid air, I feel my fall is fair.
For its not unlike flight, I just might not
be mistaken. Cause I can’t even remember
If a last breath was taken.
Breathless like the panic attacks- the anxiety medication.
Chemically imbalanced, I was just another nothing patient.
Waiting on a waiting list, unease and anticipation.
For a numb tongue, a black lung and an empty room for pacing.
I haven’t tasted my taste buds in two months,
But once they tasted bliss. It’s a wasted, missed misery
a deep and dark abyss.
But my tongue still twists truth like a noose for a neck.
Lie to the young in a suit- so they show the man some respect.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
1. A little grin peeks out almost unnoticeable; an introduction, as the letters wax and take shape. Slippery from the thoughts, dripping and solidifying on paper. The wonderland of words has been entered.
2. A silver half of a plate, a yellow half of the nocturnal sun, an inked half of the paper. Imbalanced but semi-complete, words written halfway were still wholely thought of.
3. Midnight's peak is the best time to write. The full moon rises as the keyword is written. Clear as a mirror to reflect the emotion desired.
4. The ink is now running out, with the poem waning. It's coming to a close, growing into farewell's small smile. The process may be ending but the life of the product has just begun.
5. With the final curtain call of clouded skies and emptied minds, the poem is finished. The new moon take its place in the lives of people, invisible to the eye but fully felt with their hearts.
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 4:34 AM UTC
*We each partook of our respective
Champagne glasses almost in spot on simultaneity
Toasting to a life full of nicety
Hadn’t we been born with silver cutlery
In our mouths?
Armed with a sense of perspective
But this doesn’t guarantee an alienation of misery
We being hormonal imbalanced youths
Rational irrationality the bedrock
Of most if not all our decisions
We ourselves each other’s stumbling block
Nursing grandiose delusions.
We hence seldom ‘work ‘hand in glove
As we’re “drunk in love”.*
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
...
Two years ago in time
Seventeen of age, twenty seven of mind
On this blue planet sewn with heart breaks,
Blood pouring like it’s red wine
Took birth a love story
Another one of cupid’s crimes.
Ten days to meet
Twenty to plant the seed
Forty, and they had their first fight
This is not a story of love at first sight.
Oh Romeo, do you remember
The day when you pulled her closer
To comfort your lonely heart
Signed an agreement with the devil that night
Which would tear your life apart
And now here we stand, reading your memorial.
Contemplating everything that went bleak.
You knew the outcome of this journey
Even before your feelings learned to speak.
It’s a dangerous equation,
When LHS does not equal RHS
The mathematics of life starts to collapse
Like an imbalanced swing abandoned by the kids
All you need is to be cared
To be a priority in someone’s life
I understand, little brother
But you cannot demand love as you like
Oh Romeo, I do empathize
You suffered from PTSD, I do realize
From when depression molested your feelings
And left you naked on the streets, bleeding
But you were the captain of your sail
You drove the Titanic to the bottom
With the ocean so deep,
It made her love for you rotten.
Her emotions were like
the wings of a butterfly.
They would flutter restlessly
from dawn to dusk.
Our conversations felt like
a trip to some remote hill station.
The view was pretty,
with a few crests
and countless troughs,
but I fell sick of the constant motion.
Oh Romeo, she did love you
After all, you felt like returning home
But love fades over time,
just like the memory of this poem.
…
-KD
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
The Grand Canyon
Was once a shallow river bed
Until the water wore away the earth
So far down that when you look over the edge
Many have the urge to jump
When you leave this planet
As you rise
You’ll see
Waterfalls are really mountains
Weeping your departure
Tears enough to make oceans
The thought of your ghost
Quakes the earth in shivers
At the imbalanced caused
By your missing weight
You are that important
Tornadoes are just the sky’s
Way of funneling your soul back down
To the ground where you belong
But we both know
You’ll never stay
If the earth is not strong enough to keep you here
Can’t imagine there is any way
I ever could
I could never mourn
As loud as thunder
I don’t have lightning defribillators
And
I don’t sleep at night
Because I am used to sinking to the left
Your weight is that significant
And yeah
Sometimes the earth wins
Tidal waves
And earthquakes
Even tornadoes claim people
But not you
Not when you leave on your own accord
Not when you have the urge to jump
Making mountains weep
And the sky mourn thunder
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 12:38 AM UTC
Although I don’t have a split personality,
it's certainly interesting to see a new way
of looking at myself… in terms of duality.
I seem to be in conflict with God’s plan,
dealing with struggles of an imbalanced stand
that occurs between my inward and outward man.
Even though my outward man is perishing,
the unseen inward man is under a daily renewing –
provided The Word, I’m still consuming.
Therefore, with the knowledge I’ve heard
and an attitude that’s Holy Ghost stirred,
I’ll continue to move forward… undeterred.
So help me Lord remain in unity with thee;
allow me to become the great man You see
and accomplish Your purpose… that’s laid out for me.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
2 Cor 4:16-18
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 6:35 AM UTC
Paranoid minds never find peace
A thousand battles I have fought
With nobody here beside me
Anxiety builds swiftly
The pounding in my chest
Every mistake I've ever made
Makes me wish for death
The future looks bleak
Taking a pill every day
Chemically imbalanced brains cause suffering
Praying for something to take me away
Hit the bottle hard, looking for an escape
Anything to outlive this madness
That plagues my every day
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
perhaps we do not wish to admit,
that the majority of the words we speak,
the conversations overheard, even without intent,
leave us not awash, not suffocating, but
mesmerized in an awful way
squelching tirades of banality,
humdrum housework life's tirades of
meeting basic needs, functionaries of life,
bureaucrats of our domestic affairs,
accountants calculating marginal cures,
overridden by the occasional impulse,
which delights until it too
is humdrum-ed out of existence
a passing blazing ambulance
begs to contradict,
reminders that there are
crevasses on the city streets,
that in minuscule moments,
life becomes twisted making our lethargy,
a course 101 introduction to tragedy
but this is not the norm,
this imbalanced equation,
1X = 99 whys,
to survive,
to justify,
to mediate
between these un-counterbalanced weights,
I write poetry
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
am I clinically depressed
or am I just crazy
chemically imbalanced
motivationally challenged
or am I just lazy
attention deficit disorder
hyperactive distracted
interactive media addiction
progressive techno optimist
idealistic unrealistic
future obsessive affliction
am I terminally indecisive
or am I just manic
in need of professional help
to just get over myself
or should I just panic
am I clinically depressed
or am I just crazy
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
There should appear some respite,
despite
the fact, I am a Nyctophile
as I too love my collapsing sight
I too flicker in the bright.
Like an earner without his earning
The dark existence,
by the sphere that lurks, partially satiated
'See-Saw' a fodder for human poets
The other aspect, totally denied.
Skin is imbalanced
which showers mixed colors
Why not an equilibrium?
Vampires licking honeyed sanity
The sane too, join the party.
But, if he complies, they wouldn't
If she complies, they wouldn't
Fluctuations are eminent
There should appear some respite,
despite
the fact, I am a dust stained file
as I too love my collapsing might
I too flicker in the bright.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 3:34 AM UTC
Like sweet & sour,
Life sure is peppy,
And even a bit more.
Imbalanced like my old diet,
It is more on the sour side.
But it's okay for me,
More patient I'll be.
I'll not make time bend,
For I know not the end.
Making sure to keep her happy,
But forgetting not I'm not a puppy.
Except abandoning it at stakes,
Learning from my mistakes,
Give life all what it takes.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
Leave me out in the dark
I'm not your playground of destruction
that you run to during your recess.
chiseling the grass,
sharp as sickles.
thrashing your leather whip
on the dusty ground
with an unerasable frown.
Strangling it around
the rusty bridles
of my broken swingset,
ripping it out from root down
at the twitch of your wrist.
Straddling my worn out see-saw
imbalanced by the wreckage of time
prance around until it
shatters into a million steel slivers,
While your hair brushes the clouds
while you have the first taste of rain
and feel the chill of snowflakes against your skin.
But this playground,
this zealous monument,
was built for
a higher purpose.
It's a place where
streams overflow,
wildflowers grow,
solace to the fireflies afterglow
& poetry readings during
seasons of snow.
If it does not stand for it's purpose,
my trembling hands will flick
a matchstick on the the wick of the trial
to arsonate it's submissiveness
and eat it's dispossessed soul.
It's flames will touch the
cradle of the crescent moon.
And from the ashes
I will rise,
***the Undying Light,
the Untouchable Night.***
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 1:52 AM UTC