"immovable" poems
it was a dark dance
of an immovable body
as she was taken by the throat,
death, causing stupendous distortions
and entrancements of lunar landscapes
she reeled pirouettes between smothering
and seeing through a miraculous inner eye
deepening her sense of nothingness
as if pickled in a jar, suspended in
formaldehyde
held buoyant
where there is no reason for anything
moveless in a veiled corridor
inhabiting innerness, a raven fog
her ******* wet with the scent of fear and ***
she fell through the earth
into the infernal arms of
Hades
his tremulous kisses
a thousand glittering eyes
she could see through
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 10:35 AM UTC
Meticulous and true. They are so careful. So skilled. Deftly and with a swift and sure hand, the words,
Oh the words, they flow like a brooke. The one in the forest, you know the one. The one out there, out far. In the deep of the wood, over root, under canopy. Through the branches you have to look real hard. And the hard part is not knowing at all what youre looking for. And then there,
After an eternity and in an instant it is there infront of you. What you have been looking for. A vast clearing. Wide and open. The sun glints through the salt-and-peppered leaf roof. It crawls and stretches and lightly caresses everything you lay your eyes upon. Even matte mossy rocks, they seem to shine. You look down and it caresses you as well. Gentle and warm the embrace that you cant quite put your finger on. The location. The origin. It is everywhere, it surrounds you. Close your eyes. Embrace the sun back. But i digress my digression. The brook. It flows over, around, through. There is no stopping the water. It is relentless, it WILL get to its destination. You cannot change its mind. It is immovable.
That is what it is. It is beauty.
I know i should not compare. There is beauty in it all. But, goodness, the feelings invoked when reading others' poetry in admiration.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
His blue eyes are like glacial-lakes, wrapping around his heart till he's chilled to the bone from the cold.
A deadly place where treading is no longer permitted.
His eyes are transparent and distant as the impersonal clouds passing overhead.
Even as I stands before him, reflecting off him.
I am still merely a reflection.
He knows my face, I reason silently.
From the hills of my cheeks, down towards the valley separating my lips.
He should recognize it all.
Instead a blank expression greets me.
A look of cold, solid insouciance.
I'm immediately angry with myself for wanting to justify his indifference's.
A reflex I've never been able to expel.
The vestigial limb on a skeleton.
A party favor from another time forgotten for the newly discovered toy.
I twist in the fridged winds wrapping around him.
My force giving under the great pressure magnified by his powers.
I never wanted to dance upon his breeze.
This realization makes me burn hotter.
My anger brighter than the northern star.
I welcome it, my amounting rage.
I embraces it with a raging smile.
His glaciers may be cold, immovable at times.
A pretentious notion I might freeze.
For I am the sun swirling in nova's ring and cannot be affected by his black iced personality.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
Be smart be alert
Do not hide the truth my friend
Defend the truth until the end
RW Dennen-
Come my brothers and sisters
let us be basked in the sun of glory
Be we the tears that fall
surrendered on cheeks that tell their tale
Let slavery's master-yoke be broken
and cast away
Come my brothers and sisters
and so do join in our power's struggle
to lend a better day
Come my brothers and sisters
may your shining soul be at rest
Come be as neighbors no matter far away
let our colors merge one into one is one;
let racism fade away
and let rest us upon the immovable stone
of brotherhood; so powerful we are
And so too awaits our resolve enlightened by
our hearts of day
Then tear that awful blind of ignorance
and sing our song till all merge into one
And laud that peace that will increase good tidings to us all
Be that light until that sight
when colors merge and BROTHERHOOD,
to never go away...
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
Pencil - ****** - ***** - Penalize -Pentagram - Pentagon - Pentagonal - Penitentiary -Pensive - Peninsula - P.......
....Plagued. What is it to be plagued? Haunted?
Seiged by an inescapable force?
Haulted?
IMMOVABLE.
ability to move, yet achieving no valuable distance.
A struggle writhing within ones self.
Pen -Pent- Pent up- P...
....Please, no more....
....more miles high.....
Stakes,
In the ground.....
Great stakes.....
High,
So very high.
Unreachable.
Unattainable.
Pen-Pensive-Pacing- to pace back and forth down a narrow stretch of newly carpeted hallway.
A door.
Adoring.....
Adorable....
Sweet.
Innocence left?
May be none left.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
Those platonic verses
Shifted in between
an immovable power
Of the violin strings
Creating a dulcet noise
A paradox
Because when words
and music collide
There came a new
Force into existence
Which began to mould
every soul
From the beginning
Like a child's clay dough.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
No energy
No power
Karmic synergy
Getting lower
Wish I was free
Wish I was alive
When you look at me
I'm lost in time
An anchor weighs me down
An immovable frown
A disabling crown
A talent, so pure
Can sometimes be the cure
For broken souls
My heart is as black as coal
I am blind and cannot see
Someone end my disability
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 2:07 PM UTC
Long days seem so much longer.
Distance does not make the heart grow fonder.
You’ve conquered the empire of my subconscious.
Your crusade so short,
Yet I hope your reign continues for eons.
We’re far past passive flatteries,
Instead, we fill each other’s hearts with vows.
You mean them now,
But what about a few months?
What if you decide I’m not what you want?
The torment I am slowly approaching,
Consumes my distant soul.
I can hear the sounds of futuristic loathing,
From when you decide this love has taken it’s toll.
So tell me.
How can I pay this inevitable toll?
How can I save us from Cupid’s malicious tyranny?
His arrow is too far lodged within me,
I cannot remove it.
I can only push it farther and farther
Into my heart until it falls out of my back.
But this arrow, trenchant.
Cupid, the sharpest of marksmen.
Yet colorblind, he is.
He sees not what colors his targets represent.
He draws his bow for the pure love of marksmanship.
Sometimes, yet not often,
He will hit the intended target.
But the odds are scarce.
His subjects are often punctured,
And connected to one whom reciprocated Fate’s desire.
Yet this time…
This time…
Cupid must have hit a target of Fate’s approval.
For thrice he has missed.
This time He and Fate are in sync.
This wound may stretch over time,
But the arrow shall remain firmly lodged within my *****
***** and immovable.
Until you kick it through my backside.
But until then,
I can only endure.
I can only be woo wounded.
I can only survive,
Another ambush of the militant called Cupid.
But I will do it for you,
For by you,
I’ve been so divinely seduced.
Wooed by your lips.
Not by your kiss,
But by the music,
Which your mandibles so express.
I desire not to seal this wound,
But to evade its’ repercussions.
For I have endured a similar wound thrice.
He is winged as if an angel,
Yet Was Lucifer not once an angel as well?
Cupid is an impostor.
A spy of Agony, himself.
He prays on the young, the old, the strong, and the weak.
He cares not who he obliterates in his crusades.
He is a bloodthirsty heathen.
He makes scoundrels of Saints,
And Harlots of Housewives.
Saint Valentine is no Saint.
He is Satan’s nightmare.
At first, his arrows are ecstasy,
But like a cancer,
His poison-saturated arrows
Seep deep within every crevice of your body.
They consume you as if enriched with ******
And eventually rot within your *****
Until it is nothing but dust and a memory.
One day I will assassinate Fate’s Malicious militant,
The one we call Cupid.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC
Can the unstoppable force overcome the immovable object? The waves have been a teacher with more wisdom than any I have ever had before. Something so constant, so committed, so unflappable as the lapping or crashing of the waves upon the shore. If you need any evidence of her relentless nature, look no further than the foreshore, great boulders and cliff faces worn down to grit. A true mechanical entity, with precise surety, well versed in engineering, mathematics, weather patterns and fluid dynamics. Who would have thought a philosophical question would have an engineering solution? The answer is no, but the question lacks precision, it doesn't quite paint the picture as it happens. I dive into the crashing waves, stretched out long, offering no resistance, the wash thunders around me but still I glide forward in the water like a shark, no resistance. I am the immovable object. Suspended weightless I overcome the unstoppable force by holding ground, offering no resistance as it rages around and past me, trying to capsize me or push me backwards. The way of the seas, the ultimate peacemaker.
The parallels to life do not need pointing out thus, especially to those who fight for justice, the Davids versus their Goliaths. History's great peacemakers have been here before, the art of war is in passive resistance, principled adherence coupled with civil disobedience, your silence is considered tacit acceptance, so be not silent but give unto Caesar that which is Caesars. The fight is an uphill playing field, you must play by their rules, or the game is over, but you can win by their rules if you know where they bend. So stand peacemakers, face rows of riot shields, plow fields as Te Whiti did, collect salt as Gandhi, be not silent, tip toe that fine line between real change and hard time, wherever you see injustice speak, and seek conciliation. Peace is not achieved when nations put down their guns, peace is achieved when people embrace their neighbors as their brothers and sisters. It is achieved when people no longer speak of peace with longing in the same breath as cursing the person that parked in their carpark. Be peace and you will see peace, wish not to see it in the world if you cannot be it in your world. Change yourself and the world changes with you. So can the unstoppable force overcome the immovable object? That much is up to you.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
In the amber sunroom the regal canary perches,
Surveying his sun soaked kingdom from a golden throne,
Positioned just below the thick wooden rafters...
They might as well have been treetops.
The weathered oak armoire below, their immovable trunk;
The oversized tank, teeming with exotic fish, his ocean.
Through the translucent shades, the engorged sun turns orange,
And settles on the domes of the distant dragon trees.
Soon the silver haired woman, with "dust in the creases of her face,"
Will open the arched doorway, and into the sultry Moroccan air he will spring
Majestic yellow wings propelling him above the treetops,
Diving towards his vast ocean, circling between the dusty antiques,
Reveling in his glorious freedom, yet always returning,
For that is only the penultimate pleasure of every evening;
She will always call him home with the suculent scent
Of a luxurious dinner: mango, pomegranate, and papaya.
A sharp, tumbling trill disrupts his peaceful musing,
A flashing crimson streak leaves a momentary swatch,
Emanating from the open window, invading his territory and ending atop the amoire.
He refuses to look at her, intent on maintaining appearances.
She comes and goes so freely, innocent of any thoughts for me.
Feathers ruffling with discontent; jumping, leaping without direction.
Seeking the highest perch, closest to being free; only to be confined
By the bronze rods of social correctness, locked with the brass clasp of my own fear.
His little lion's heart becomes a battering ram,
Smashing against the inside of his toothpick ribcage.
Rapid fire thoughts soon dissolve in an attempt to compose
A song that is worthy of her. And so he waits, and watches her turn,
Red wings outspread, escaping back into the evening sky.
That blazing orange ball, finally sinking beneath its own weight,
And the failing strength of the mighty dragon trees,
Now merely blackened silhouettes of their former glory.
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 3:39 PM UTC
At times can be seen melting together
One into the other like a loving couple
At times drifting as a lonely wanderer
The clouds are there to imitate people
It can't move on a journey on its own
Without energy clouds are immovable
It'll stay motionless if not wind blown
Prodding to be productive like people
Some are peacocks parading with flair
Of damsels bosoms as white as marble
Putting air pompous what do I care
Show fame without shame like people
Arms ready for war it's getting warm
They gather warring forces for battle
They march whip up a thunderstorm
Rainclouds hungry for war like people
Clouds can be big cloud can be small
Can be rich prosperous can be poor
Like people accumulate only to lose all
To earn and loss and earn once more
They orbit the earth decorated the sky
Unaware of mortal affairs just rumble
Prone to fallacy or vanity as you and I
Can't help noticed clouds are like people
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 11:29 PM UTC
To even commence to define how profoundly I fell in love with you, I would need the capacity of a thousand-page manuscript written in the most romantic idiom.
Each, and every retention of us is stowed into the back of my conscious, and concealed deep into my heart.
Every beautiful memory plays through my head like soft music.
I would say my heart is immovable. There are days that I try to sojourn the thoughts of you, but its intolerable for me to do so.
I am so engulfed in your perfection. I do not think there has been a single day that you have escaped my thoughts.
I can feel your presence with me if I ponder our memories deeply enough. Your presence weighs heavily in my heart. It is as if part of your soul occupies its crevasses, and fills my cracks.
Your eyes are echoes of a hundred distant galaxies no man has ever revealed. Vast windows that reflect the constellations.
My heart is certain the universe resides in them.
As I begin to study your face, I feel like nothing but love can exist.
Your porcelain perfection never ceases to weaken me.
You weaken me with love, trust, and desire. Like the finest specimen created by the hands of Gods.
As I anticipate the connotation of love, the implication is “you”.
Even if the fire for what you feel for me dies, I do not reason the passion I have for you will ever dim.
I do not begin to recollect if I had ever felt this susceptible.
I let this passion be valued like the rarest stone.
I would give up the entire world if it meant I could have you in my life endlessly.
Your happiness is of grave importance to me, when I study your smile, I can overlook the darkness of this decaying reality.
Every heartbeat of time my mouth declares three unpretentious words.
“I love you”.
I say it like an invocation.
Not one moment did my tongue express profanity against these golden words of poetry.
I love you. “ I Love You” . And solitarily just you.
I wallow in my own sorrows at the thought of the culmination, when we shall one day part at death's hand.
For I deeply distinguish that you love me equally, and this brings vast pleasure to my temperament.
I sense security in your encirclement, your heart is my home.
My heart qualms of my fragile weakness that I consume when I dream of you.
You make me susceptible to the sickness of love.
If love was a poem, you would be the title.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
The listening stopped a while ago.
It’s like the monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just didn’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears.
It wasn’t always like that, though.
You used to deliver information to my being like you were the great Giving Tree.
And I was a nearby flower.
A delicate, nearby flower.
A flower that went about its normal routines, such as photosynthesis or pollination or other flower things.
Ah, those flower things.
To me they are everything.
This flower would blossom in the spring and wither in the winter.
I would spend my flower days in the summer breathing in the glowing sunlight and living my flower life.
And in the fall, I would spend my flower nights rocking in the breeze, waiting for winter to come and bring me my renewal period.
I would look with my flower eyes toward you, the great Giving Tree.
Tall and ***** like the unstoppable force.
And I, there on the ground, the immovable object.
Your knowledge was so delightful at first.
It lit up my surrounding flower world more than the Sun ever could.
Your knowledge would come at all hours of the day, no matter rain or shine.
I remember once a long time ago when I was a little, tiny flower.
It was raining on my little tiny flower head.
But you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The rain that would beat pitter-patter on my pedals.
The water that would run down my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak up the water my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
And then there was the time when I was an older, bigger flower.
The Sun was shining on my older, bigger flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The sunlight that shine zig-zag on my pedals.
The shadow that would cast from my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak in the sunlight my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
But now I am a current, normal flower.
The world is passing by my current, normal flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
You with your knowledge….
Said nothing to me, your son.
I didn’t know what to take in.
So I did just what you didn’t say.
And I just kept watching the world float by you, great Giving Tree.
You, the unstoppable force.
And I just kept watching the world float by me, the delicate flower.
Me, the immovable object.
And for the rest of our days you said nothing to me.
You don’t pass your knowledge to me, your delicate flower son.
Your immovable object.
And I stop listening to you, my great Giving Tree.
My unstoppable force.
The monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just don’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears anymore.
The relationship we had has faded away.
But I had a feeling neither of us would win when we first met.
“Because you know what happens when the unstoppable force meets the immovable object.”
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
As lovers we've learned
that you are the immovable object,
and I the irrepressible force,
though our ****** subduction truly terrifies the natives,
and has spun much aboriginal lore,
they credit us with Monsooning the weather,
but looking back, my dear, see the adorable mountains we've made.
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 8:04 AM UTC
He lives in a time of plague.
The tag team of cholera and dedication killed his father, for all Dr. Juvenal Urbino knows, his father was faithful to both work and love.
The good doctor knew from an early age that his work would be his love, and from a slightly less tender age he discovered that his love of flesh and the body ran deeper than mere science could take him.
He met Fermina Daza in the doorway between clinical curiosity and obsession over her doe’s gait, and as he walked through his heart made room for a new kind of dedication.
He thought his devotion would be equally as precise as his practice.
Fifteen or so years of marriage, between years in Paris they bled together like a Van Gogh after a rainshower, the intricacies of their companionship were jointly held in a contractual cradle, but neither of them felt obligated.
Dr. Urbino was before my time, but my story will know the life of Carlos Mucharraz, Pre-Med major, they both dedicate themselves to their love. I’ve never seen her, but I can imagine Carlos likens her gait to that of a doe. He fawns over her from 17 hours away, for nearly a year.
Like a Texas dust devil, he sends his love through the air to Minneapolis to brighten her phone screen and her day.
They’ve only ever spent time together twice.
I’d like to think of his devotion like a boulder, immovable, but twisters slither across prairies as wicked winds push them towards seas of lust, but I’d like to think his love flew above turbulent skies.
I thought Dr. Urbino as a rock.
He must have thought of his fidelity as a disease. His father died fighting cholera, and Urbino would not let his affliction of faithfulness **** him. He thought himself ill, and the mantra of his practice taught him one thing only: cure.
In a slum of San Juan de la Cienaga, pants around his ankles, holding a mulatto girl’s legs around his waist, he crumbled like stale bread as he plunged himself into infidelity.
This man of granite broke and fragmented, his sin etched a crooked cobweb of fractures into his back, I wonder if the beads of sweat stung his spine, or dulled the pain.
But maybe I should put my faith in dust devils.
Humans may be able to shatter the hardest stone, but no one commands the sky, for it straddles North and South, East and West, Fort Worth and Minneapolis.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
Remoaners to the left, Brextremists to the right,
Theresa “Maggie” May has an uphill fight.
I can’t see her lasting many more days,
Unless she changes her stubborn ways.
Theresa is an immovable object.
Her hubby must be totally henpecked.
Trying to please just everyone,
Annoying all is what she’s done.
Right now she is UK Prime Minister,
But her own back benchers are getting sinister.
Some say she’s sold us down the river,
A thing for which they can’t forgive her.
Others claim she’s gone too far,
As we should stay just where we are.
Some see Europe as our friend,
But others say the UK we must defend.
Ireland is a sticking point
A thing that’s gonna rock the joint.
They don’t know where to put the border,
Without causing grief and disorder.
What an impasse, feels like stalemate,
Are we heading to be a slave state?
Who knows what’s going to happen next?
No wonder we are all perplexed.
Paul Butters
© PB 17\11\2018.
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 6:19 AM UTC
i would hate to be built a brick wall
linear as immovable constants
and the wristwatch hands i fear
weave me around callouses
like a spring, double helix,
and i will shrug in content
nucleotides formed of consciousness
hydrogen and karmic bonds together
jacob's ladder extending to liberation
and sincerity for all the moments
i was missing from the jigsaw tangle
of pillows and down and sprawl
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
At the edge of our galaxy,
under the violet light
is where I found you.
I waited til the Sun shut his eyes
And the Earth grew silent.
Then with my heart on both knees,
I proposed to yours with a ring made from
the petals of your favorite flower.
“In your eyes is where I’ll sleep.
In your heart is where I’ll dream.
In your smile is where I’ll live.
Promise me the eternity of an eternity
spent in your arms. And I will promise you
the immovable sky will come to envy
the way the stars have left her side
and have chosen to live in your eyes..”
Jun 15, 2021
Jun 15, 2021 at 10:18 PM UTC
She’s tense tight
Locked in place with Loctite
Immovable limbs of angular lines
Ripe curves stretched wrong
Tinkling shards of glassed ice
Drop shadowed hooded eyes
Kohl rimmed cries and sighing sobs
Tense tight locked down life
Soul gripping lies slid out to fly
She’s shut off and down
Tense tight unmoving cries
cc2011
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 8:48 PM UTC
On chain they did put me,
tied up to the burglary protector,
handcuffed and battered.
Tortured and meant to be broken.
Poisoned but survived.
Marked for assassination,
and shot twice,
bullets flying around,
resilient and unflinching,
was ready to confront them.
Dead or alive I must choose one.
Must find a way out of this mess,
to escape was on my mind,
but how do I get out of here without
jeopardizing the lives of my family.
Courage summoned I revert to plan B,
the art of fighting without fighting.
Intelligence and wisdom must come into play.
Must outwit them to survive.
Cunning and craftiness must be used,
the uncanny ways of the spirit is amazing.
Become like water,
be flexible,
Yielding but still immovable.
Stealth in action but remain like the firefly.
Understanding their intent
and misdirected anger,
their aggression towards me was contained.
Tranquilized and overpowered,
their capture became imminent for
i am more than a conquerer,
for the greater one lives in me.
Today I stand here to testify of that victory against
the intruders and assassins with a grateful heart.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:26 AM UTC
How wise I am to have instructed the butler
to instruct the first footman to instruct the second
footman to instruct the doorman to order my carriage;
I am about to volunteer a definition of marriage.
Just as I know that there are two Hagens, Walter and Copen,
I know that marriage is a legal and religious alliance entered
into by a man who can't sleep with the window shut and a
woman who can't sleep with the window open.
Moreover, just as I am unsure of the difference between
flora and fauna and flotsam and jetsam,
I am quite sure that marriage is the alliance of two people
one of whom never remembers birthdays and the other
never forgetsam,
And he refuses to believe there is a leak in the water pipe or
the gas pipe and she is convinced she is about to asphyxiate
or drown,
And she says Quick get up and get my hairbrushes off the
windowsill, it's raining in, and he replies Oh they're all right,
it's only raining straight down.
That is why marriage is so much more interesting than divorce,
Because it's the only known example of the happy meeting of
the immovable object and the irresistible force.
So I hope husbands and wives will continue to debate and
combat over everything debatable and combatable,
Because I believe a little incompatibility is the spice of life,
particularly if he has income and she is pattable.
2.9k
I used to be a vehicle with such fuel to go on,
To go places where I thought was unreachable;
I have this fuel, a special one
I used to be this vehicle who moves steadily with strong force,
Though you are strong, this vehicle is weak,
But still, we moved somewhat steady;
Because of that "strong" force
Now, it's just a vehicle, a weak one;
One that cannot go on,
One that lost the force,
One that lost the fuel,
How can this vehicle accelerate now?
How can this move forward?
A 'me' that lost 'you' is,
lost,
stopped,
Immovable
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 9:06 AM UTC
The Dentist's Assistant at
the Dental Clinic
is without man.
For the 15 years I've gone there
she has watched movies
and has been single.
She has a rabbit.
Her life revolves around
her DVR and
trips to Disneyland,
but the needle that holds her spinning universe
up
is that rabbit.
Like an immovable Jenga brick,
one as stone,
the one that can't be pulled,
held onto so tightly by the other bricks --
their love.
But with enormous force, you can tear it apart.
That one little brick and the whole tower
collapses. Smashing the table.
Destroying her.
The simplest way to **** someone is to tear out their heart
and show it to them.
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 7:40 PM UTC
I have one wrist shackled to my watch strap
dragging me to obey the sweeping hands of another
like a traffic cop ordering hours of peaks to start and stop
relentlessly spilling time from a once brimming cup
splish splash out into oceans of flashy imaginings
I need the delicate precision of a jeweller's screwdriver kit
to make sense of the shared purpose of the springs
pushing the wheels to wear green amber red carats
tiny diamonds that aren't meant to sparkle
but sit immovable within sealed circles waiting
in partnership
inexorably waiting
patiently forever for the sun to release its shackle
the chain dripping a ting a ting
from the earth into a new star
winding up the decayed orbiting
to trap the same diamonds on a second
hand swept somewhere afar
and with a roll ex-galaxies expired
their guest president bracelet
their gasped jewelled weight
in loving eyes of liquid gold
not ordering us two
to be a slave to anything
now time shone
free could not be sold
apart ever again
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
We're stuck within these bodies that we're dying to change
We are ashamed because we want to be different
Modified.
We cannot escape being called by "her" or "him"
It may not seem like much, but titles matter,
As do appearances.
"I want to be this", I say
"But you're not that." Society barks
That.
We crave to be that,
The opposite of "who we are"
We're stuck, truley
We feel as if we can't escape this, containment,
This restriction,
This prohibition.
That defines us.
We didn't choose to be WHO we are,
We didn't get a choice to become WHAT we are.
I am a "he".
I am a "her".
We are confined to be one gender, "ourselves"
How can we be ourselves if our looks are so decieving?
Are we not judged by our outskirts?
I want to be "that", On the outside
I already am, on the inside
Though, I'm jammed,
Wedged,
Lodged,
Embedded,
Fixed.
We linger in these false corpses
They burn at our courage and tear at our hearts
They puncture and pierce and leave scars and bruises in our souls
Because we cannot run from ourselves.
When society is against us
We remain still
Immovable
What can we do if our skin is a lie?
I am a "he" on the inside, a "she" on the outside
I am a "she" on the inside, a "he" on the outside
I can't escape alone.
I think I'm trapped
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC