"incompetently" poems - Hello Poetry

Today I saw you as you. I saw everything about you. I studied you. I attempted to understand you. I shift my eyes away from yours diverting them to your ears the ears that listened to my incessant cries and heard my foolish fears I move down to your mouth which spoke to me only kind words and also incompetently mimic the chirping Of Abyssinian lovebirds I scan over your honey-olive arm and the smoothness of your skin which, for warmth, among other things I seek refuge in I hung my head earthward giving attention to your feet the ones that brought you far and wide just to let us meet You call my name. I glance back up and look you in the eye those eyes were now blank and cold I could not see you anymore, but I still try.

0

Aug 14, 2014

Aug 14, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC

martin-i

today i saw you

Today I saw you as you. I saw everything about you. I studied you. I attempted to understand you. I shift my eyes away from yours diverting them to your ears the ears that listened to my incessant cries and heard my foolish fears I move down to your mouth which spoke to me only kind words and also incompetently mimic the chirping Of Abyssinian lovebirds I scan over your honey-olive arm and the smoothness of your skin which, for warmth, among other things I seek refuge in I hung my head earthward giving attention to your feet the ones that brought you far and wide just to let us meet You call my name. I glance back up and look you in the eye those eyes were now blank and cold I could not see you anymore, but I still try.

24

In the stands the crowds cheer, It's what they do best. And in class the professor lectures, About the greatness expected for every test. And at home the parents preach, About the wrong that shouldn't be done. And outside the officers enforce, With their hands firmly on their guns. But nobody ever teaches you, How to handle the disappointed faces. When you've gone down your own path. Leaving the rest still in their braces. Nobody ever tells you, That the disappointment is rough. That handling what can't be handled, Is nonsensically tough. So here I am to write it. In hopes that it will be read. In fragment whims of lyrical rhymes, Incompetently attempting to ease the dread. Take these words and conquer. Take them as weapons like swords. So when they judge and cast their mockery. Your arsenal of protection is what wards. Let you be safe and sound during the fight. And walk unbothered by those with selfish plight. And journey till you reach the destination of choice, Where freedom rings in the form of your own voice.

0

Feb 15, 2013

Feb 15, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC

h-2

Let Nobody Tell You

In the stands the crowds cheer, It's what they do best. And in class the professor lectures, About the greatness expected for every test. And at home the parents preach, About the wrong that shouldn't be done. And outside the officers enforce, With their hands firmly on their guns. But nobody ever teaches you, How to handle the disappointed faces. When you've gone down your own path. Leaving the rest still in their braces. Nobody ever tells you, That the disappointment is rough. That handling what can't be handled, Is nonsensically tough. So here I am to write it. In hopes that it will be read. In fragment whims of lyrical rhymes, Incompetently attempting to ease the dread. Take these words and conquer. Take them as weapons like swords. So when they judge and cast their mockery. Your arsenal of protection is what wards. Let you be safe and sound during the fight. And walk unbothered by those with selfish plight. And journey till you reach the destination of choice, Where freedom rings in the form of your own voice.

28

I long like something plush weeping into a pillowed hug of empty oxygen though I try the Brave Game, (and usually win) flakes of me run off my arms and face and scrounge around the corners of the room looking for your mellow sting. supposedly, “heartache” is figurative. But I definitely feel a s t r e t c h i n g mush right where the Doctors say my heart should probably be a slight tremor ( echoes ) through every joint of my toy frame, like a thousand elfin voices talking about your favorite foods, and the color of your hugs. the tightening muscles of my throat send their regards to your amicable eyes 2.5 is a smallish bird when one observes the blue expanse of my ocean life but it pecks my most tender tissues when I sit [flat] inside Today. I miss like someone resized my skin incompetently. though I am grateful for your delicate absence (the elusive Good deserves you most) I feel as if the petty bird’s wing tensions won’t be satisfied with the look of my dappled shoulders till you stroke them densely with your matter-of-fact fingers.

0

Nov 12, 2013

Nov 12, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC

laurel-elizabeth

A New Flavor Of Missing You~

I long like something plush weeping into a pillowed hug of empty oxygen though I try the Brave Game, (and usually win) flakes of me run off my arms and face and scrounge around the corners of the room looking for your mellow sting. supposedly, “heartache” is figurative. But I definitely feel a s t r e t c h i n g mush right where the Doctors say my heart should probably be a slight tremor ( echoes ) through every joint of my toy frame, like a thousand elfin voices talking about your favorite foods, and the color of your hugs. the tightening muscles of my throat send their regards to your amicable eyes 2.5 is a smallish bird when one observes the blue expanse of my ocean life but it pecks my most tender tissues when I sit [flat] inside Today. I miss like someone resized my skin incompetently. though I am grateful for your delicate absence (the elusive Good deserves you most) I feel as if the petty bird’s wing tensions won’t be satisfied with the look of my dappled shoulders till you stroke them densely with your matter-of-fact fingers.

50

Tedious tattered tracks cast aside and cliched. Freeze the frame upon the lapsed remnants of yesteryear's past. Various voyages traversed, infusing history, instilling wisdom. Inattentive iris, incompetently fail to grasp, the weary beauty of the veteraned tracks.

0

Nov 20, 2013

Nov 20, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC

bonni

Veteraned Tracks

Tedious tattered tracks cast aside and cliched. Freeze the frame upon the lapsed remnants of yesteryear's past. Various voyages traversed, infusing history, instilling wisdom. Inattentive iris, incompetently fail to grasp, the weary beauty of the veteraned tracks.

12

The first time you are told That you are beautiful You will not believe it You will swallow it down harshly Like a glass of ethanol Force a mona lisa smile on your unknowing face And say thank you Say it like it's something you're used to hearing Like it actually means something Like it doesn't hurt as much as it does Compliments aren't supposed to hurt But you were taught them backhanded Raised on anticipation Expecting to feel a sting after every one you're given Conditioned to regard praise as unfamiliar As foreign territory Body only knowing warzone And battlefield Not knowing genuine Body was never taught how to be loved How to love You were too busy trying to learn to love men with rough hands and heavy breath Too busy giving away parts of you in hopes of getting something back And what was left over never felt like enough Felt hollow Felt maybe you were never meant to feel like you are important Or desirable Or anything for that matter So the next time you are called pretty Or something of the kind You will have mastered the art of acceptance Will have memorized the routine Will be able to swallow it down faster Quicker Will know how to bury it deep inside of you Yet still bare a vacant hole underneath all of that skin You were told at a young age That there was too much of it That nobody could ever love thick That they only want thin When he tells you that you're body is flower and stem Is garden Is beauty Is something to be admired You will feel the same kind of longing You have felt so many times before A kind of homesickness For a body that has never quite felt like home Too many residents have attempted to tear it down Have set it aflame Have tried to burn you to the ground It takes someone who treats you well To realize how incompetently the rest did It takes someone with intentions of gold To realize that the rest were just rust Flattery may not be a language That you will ever fully comprehend But it will always be one that is Unavoidable You will learn to nod your head Learn to agree with a cause you might never truly believe in Might as well accept the inevitable So when you are told That you are beautiful Do everything in your power To hide your disbelief Your skepticism Your complete disregard towards them Your inability to understand how anyone could ever possibly love something like you When you are told That you are worthy Do your best To smile And make it seem like you already know Like you have known it For a very Long time.

0

Jul 3, 2014

Jul 3, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC

danielle-shorr

The first time

The first time you are told That you are beautiful You will not believe it You will swallow it down harshly Like a glass of ethanol Force a mona lisa smile on your unknowing face And say thank you Say it like it's something you're used to hearing Like it actually means something Like it doesn't hurt as much as it does Compliments aren't supposed to hurt But you were taught them backhanded Raised on anticipation Expecting to feel a sting after every one you're given Conditioned to regard praise as unfamiliar As foreign territory Body only knowing warzone And battlefield Not knowing genuine Body was never taught how to be loved How to love You were too busy trying to learn to love men with rough hands and heavy breath Too busy giving away parts of you in hopes of getting something back And what was left over never felt like enough Felt hollow Felt maybe you were never meant to feel like you are important Or desirable Or anything for that matter So the next time you are called pretty Or something of the kind You will have mastered the art of acceptance Will have memorized the routine Will be able to swallow it down faster Quicker Will know how to bury it deep inside of you Yet still bare a vacant hole underneath all of that skin You were told at a young age That there was too much of it That nobody could ever love thick That they only want thin When he tells you that you're body is flower and stem Is garden Is beauty Is something to be admired You will feel the same kind of longing You have felt so many times before A kind of homesickness For a body that has never quite felt like home Too many residents have attempted to tear it down Have set it aflame Have tried to burn you to the ground It takes someone who treats you well To realize how incompetently the rest did It takes someone with intentions of gold To realize that the rest were just rust Flattery may not be a language That you will ever fully comprehend But it will always be one that is Unavoidable You will learn to nod your head Learn to agree with a cause you might never truly believe in Might as well accept the inevitable So when you are told That you are beautiful Do everything in your power To hide your disbelief Your skepticism Your complete disregard towards them Your inability to understand how anyone could ever possibly love something like you When you are told That you are worthy Do your best To smile And make it seem like you already know Like you have known it For a very Long time.

77

Unpredictable and often occasional there are abrupt, viscous spells - asphyxiating, grim, austere - when you incompetently beseech rather ineptly squeeze the unmoored mind - vagrant, erratic, blind - to somehow concoct a reasonable rhyme in which you could artfully arrange - this-a-way-that-a-way - unwarranted, disfigured, discolored bunch of rogue thoughts. But the mental friction does not sanction the end to this sluggish, incongruous trend. Towards the end, some patchy amends are all you can dispense to a taunting and tipsy blob of trivial poetry.

0

Dec 4, 2019

Dec 4, 2019 at 10:37 PM UTC

csbhatnagar

Trivia

Unpredictable and often occasional there are abrupt, viscous spells - asphyxiating, grim, austere - when you incompetently beseech rather ineptly squeeze the unmoored mind - vagrant, erratic, blind - to somehow concoct a reasonable rhyme in which you could artfully arrange - this-a-way-that-a-way - unwarranted, disfigured, discolored bunch of rogue thoughts. But the mental friction does not sanction the end to this sluggish, incongruous trend. Towards the end, some patchy amends are all you can dispense to a taunting and tipsy blob of trivial poetry.

19