"indent" poems
A part of them remains in me still.
Which is I guess why it's true that I'll always be her friend,
Because we traded a part of us we can never give back.
When I'm friends with someone I mean it,
And so her indent will always remain.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 3:14 PM UTC
Senses explode, WWII,
Nuclear warfare on this expanse of bare
Skin supposed to be closed at my age separates,
I let the saltwater seep into this,
Slick. Time passes, hardly passing,
But, oh, how well we move. Dance
Around our icy fire, escape from the pain
Constantly eating, feeding.
We are a buffet of things to harm
Come for another plate, fate.
Do us more harm? No. We will not stand, we can't
When we are in this state of mind. We have no state of mind,
Lust driven creatures, but we can speak. Command, tell me what
You want. You want a simple thing, but so complex.
And I want it, too, but simpler for me. A simple thing, unless thought of.
Believed in, felt deeply in ways not physical.
Arching and deepening, we will not be broken down by a measly
War outside of our windows.
Fire scorching the wooden figures, but we are sheltered by stone.
We have escaped and we are left with a heavy air and the smell
Only we can concoct. Nonexistent fabric leaving traces on my skin and yours, indent.
And your eyes are all I see, even in the dark. I know their color by heart, greenbluegrey-everchanging. But I can figure it out.
Your pupils dilate you know. You look at me and I see them. You seem drugged, dear.
Let me feed your addiction. There are many nuclear weapons left, buried
Throughout the world. We can travel and love,
Never ending.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
I want to hug you
If only for one last time.
I miss your ribs pressed against mine
In an embrace I can lean into
With you always catching me.
I miss your deep brown eyes
Whether surrounded in perfect eyeliner
Or bags painted on
From worried nights.
I miss looking into those eyes
Trying to figure out
How I can calm them.
I miss your long thin legs
Sharing a seat with me when no one else will
When there are no longer seats for me to take,
They’re there for me.
I miss how every girl was jealous of them,
I miss being jealous too.
I miss your fantasy lips,
Pointing out but softly.
With a deep valley separating it
From your nose.
The nose,
I miss that too.
I miss the way it slopes,
The tiny nostrils,
The little indent at the top.
The one that makes you slightly imperfect.
I miss your feet.
Not the feet hidden in high heels
Masking your shortness.
But the feet that wore those red sneakers
On a Halloween.
You were a ladybug.
I miss you comforting me,
If only I’m afraid of a ladybug.
I miss being able to crawl into your lap.
I miss having someone who will let me
Cry until I’m done.
I miss your curling hair.
Its confidence,
Unlike mine that is burnt everyday.
I miss its cuteness,
The way it bounces,
How for every hundred brown hairs,
There’s a blonde one.
I miss the way we can be so similar,
And the way we can be so different.
I miss your appearance of evilness,
But more,
I miss your hidden kindness.
The way when we were younger you’d grab my hand,
As soon as a teacher mentioned partners.
I miss that.
I miss you.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 7:14 PM UTC
She felt his words enter her soul
As he traced every inch of her skin.
'beautiful' he whispered delicately.
She drifted in and out of realities and daydreams,
Consciousness and unconsciousness.
He stayed gazing at her pure beauty.
Her body was made for his eyes.
Her lips were made for his lips.
A perfect fit.
They lay there for the day.
Talking.
Laughing.
Crying.
They learned each others secrets.
They opened up their pasts.
They planned a future together.
And after all this they fell asleep.
She woke in the morning with a sickening feeling in her gut.
He was gone.
She was too terrified to roll over.
To see the indent of him on those sheets.
She feared that she'd suffocate on the oxygen he'd used up the night before.
She reached one arm cautiously over to the other side of the bed.
Felt his wonderful skin
Laying next to her.
She let out a sigh of relief.
He meant it.
He did.
He meant every word.
He woke with a sleepy gaze.
'beautiful'
He whispered as he kissed her forehead.
Inhaled her scent.
And for the first time in a long time.
This broken hearted train wreck really did feel....
Beautiful.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
High school life makes me quite weary, history can be quite dreary,
More than once the class has given me a cause to snore,
While I sat there, fingers drumming, some modern tune I started humming,
I didn’t see the teacher coming, coming in the classroom door.
Normally, she was quite cheerful, humming from the classroom door,
But today she gave a roar.
All the class sat still and silent, knowing that she could turn violent,
And all fearing lasting indent that she could leave upon their head.
All that time I watched with worry; - wishing I had thought to scurry
Out the door in fit and flurry - flurry from the pending dread -
From the sure and ceaseless source of impending dread -
I hid ‘neath my desk instead.
And the roaring, raving, ranting teacher started in on chanting;
Save me - brave me couldn't handle this kind of class;
Now I sat there, my mind wandering, all my thoughts were set on squandering
All she spoke, my brain was pondering, my attention couldn’t last -
As she spoke my brain was pondering and my attention couldn’t last -
I could never hope to pass.
All around me kids were shaking, but no move toward freedom making,
I began to wonder if they had a clue what was in store;
Maybe they had heard her coming, while I had been busy humming,
Fingers on the desk were drumming, drumming so I wouldn’t snore
Maybe they had had a warning - of whatever was in store; -
I hoped that she wouldn’t roar.
Sitting there in constant terror, worried I would make some error,
And thus bring about her wrath upon my mortal head;
But she made no move to strike me, showed no sign she planned to spite me
I doubted that she’d think to bite me, maybe growl at me instead?
This thought made me shiver slightly, i’d rather her roar instead -
At least I could keep my head.
She began to motion towards me, I knew it wasn’t to award me,
Perhaps she had noticed that i wasn’t wide awake?
Either way, She’d given order, so i began my journey toward her
Maybe some day I’d adore her? How many classes would it take?
How much of her pitiless lecturing would it take?
My own life was now at stake.
Now that I had done her bidding, she was at her desk, just sitting,
Watching me with those eyes and her never blinking stare;
Never once her gaze shifted, the corners of her mouth weren’t lifted
It was as if a sense of humor had never been formed there -
As if her face had never shown the signs of laughter there -
I pretended to not care.
All the while, my thoughts racing, I was at her mercy, pacing,
The room of classmates I was facing, but they had begun to snore;
i thought she was a fluke in staffing, until i heard her laughing
Now her sullen, cold, and serious mood I had no reason to deplore -
Those heartless hoards of homework were no reason to deplore -
I was scared of her no more!
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 5:43 PM UTC
The second i snap out of my dream and back into the realism of it all, im hoping second by second that your actually here beside me and that i wasn't just dreaming out loud. My body and mind, coming back to the surface of it all, my breathing pick's up and my sense of feel and smell has resurfaced. I smell the sweet and light smell of your hair but im not sure if it's just the after math of my dream. starring at this wall, im afraid to roll over, because if i roll over and your not there i don't know how well i'm going to do or if ill even continue with my day. If I can continue this dream of you, i'll sleep forever, i'll never open my eyes again. I brace myself, cause it's time for me to roll over. Tightening my muscles, stretching my skin, tired bone's cracking, hair moving in all direction's, clothes moving out of place and indenting the bed. I squeeze my eye's tight, causing my pupil's to shrink, hoping that when i open these door's and let my pupil's increase to normal size, there your perfectly shaped body will be. I imagine it before i dare to reveal the truth. The blanket's fall into place where your curves indent, your hair in a wave like the pattern flowing wave's in the ocean, your arm being tucked just under your chin where it meet's your other arm and after a few seconds i can't bare the taunt my imagination is dangling in my face, so i open my eyes and there you are. Exactly how I imagined it. I take a moment for all this to register, as if i had just won the lottery. In that moment i find myself wrapping my arm's around you and your finger's sliding up my arm and into my hand to lock with mine. This is truely the meaning of "Goodmorning", so goodmorning, babe.
Jun 9, 2011
Jun 9, 2011 at 7:17 AM UTC
Artist
The only description of her
The way her eyelashes glitter
In the shining sunlight
The way her pale face
Is angled to imperfection
In a captivating way
Where you have to feel every curve
Every indent on her cheeks
The way her wrists are stained
With the color of her hair
A raw red
Exploding into the world
Exposing her
From all the rest
It's just a shame
That art is only admired
After it's lifespan is gone
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
You are smooth against my skin.
Your surface is cool and inviting
As it wraps around my torso-
Like a protective blanket
You are my security,
Blue pleather bomber jacket.
I pick at your skin and it falls apart.
The zipper, like your bottom teeth,
Are crooked and misaligned.
You shrug over my shoulders,
But leave my chest defenseless.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
I bet you cost a fortune.
Almost as much as your nonprescription glasses,
Though you break just the same
Like the promises you keep making.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
You never kept me warm
Just less affected by the
cutting winds of your back lash.
But when I fall asleep at night
I sleep beside the indent of your absence.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
You are just now brand new,
Though your skin is already worn through
And your lining thinning by the second.
I trusted you,
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
To protect me from the cold.
Though you slump lazily
Over others' shoulders,
Not really caring I've been waiting
With my shoulders bare and frigid.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
I thought you were one of kind.
But I see your manufactured gaze
Walking down the street,
Sitting across from me on the bus.
Go on, blue pleather bomber jacket,
Temporarily dangling over person after person.
Soon I will see you dangling
On the rotting hanger in a thrift shop,
Years from now looking preserved in your waning beauty.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
Your trend is dying and your color fading.
I have been snagged by your imperfections for the last time.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 11:24 AM UTC
I reach
arms stretched
welcoming them into my bed.
Lips on skin
I taste and touch
eagerly spreading long legs.
Our body's collide
Show me my worth
what do I know of my value?
I need so much...
emotional pushed away
only physical as they enter me.
Rough and wanted
skin set fire
I like it when it hurts.
Release granted
they always stare the same
wide eyes on my face.
Hush your pretty mouth
they always say before they go
kissing swollen lips.
Just another indent
another man to call me beautiful
another mark on a once pure soul.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 1:15 AM UTC
My heart still hurts when I lie in the indent where your body once was and your hands held onto mine, but now you've found a new bed to lie in
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
A valiant woodsman of God’s green earth,
An ever gentle soul,
Treads nobly through the forest’s edge,
To conquer hill and knoll.
Morning chill, punctuates warm breathe,
Condensing on cold steel,
A rising sun greets a friend of old,
With beckoning appeal.
The singing birds, call quick to arms,
Warning to those that hear,
The woodsman’s made his presence known,
To this they must adhere.
The ageless warrior nestles down,
A clearing by a brook,
From iron sights, he takes a bead,
A short but lasting look.
Ten points in all, the target grunts,
And directs a gazing eye,
A trigger’s squeezed a slight indent,
The woodsman breathes a sigh.
A crack of thunder, a flash of light,
The beast is crashing down,
The woodsman offers praise to God,
The forest makes no sound.
A resounding victory born this day,
Upon much hallowed earth,
And from majestic creature lost,
Does spawn a sacred birth.
The woodsman leaves, more quiet than came,
In humbleness and awe,
To tell a tale of conquest sought,
To share of what he saw.
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 11:20 PM UTC
Oh, phalo skeptic,
part your wave for skirted ***** surfers,
tho, trout, tripe, and titmice thrill thrice..
Will duct tape save us?
Urge the Zamboni machine,
to microwave ice.
Quince down that pouting sphincter,
Oh, the tides do swell
on the morrow of passing fish.
Wheelbarrow pious.
Swift, awesome biblionauts,
Fire! Fire! Pail, Pail thy watered pitch.
Know this, every potato is somewhere vane ...
I'm busy now, rude duuude,
have you sweated a recumbent lout?
Indent chill mots,
Pete, I'm big in Europe, pal,
Have seen me dance the Macarena?
Fool, fool on that high hill,!
Take care when licking spiny urchins
Oy! I scare myself.
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 2:34 PM UTC
I couldn't figure why she left
so I killed her
killed the memories cut feelings-- severed;
Dismembered in these compositions, decomposition
skeleton's wish the fishes
she was swimming I could her listen,
how her waves are getting colder
silent as the ink turns to water.
drown in my notebook
choke like my love did,
no trace missing person drown in my hatred
drown you are baptized, opposite, soulless,
drown you just capsized, titanic,
roses
decapitate her DiCaprio
even playing all the roles I only get one Oscar?
you left me all alone babe,
so I safely took the safety off
like you,
safely made my core soft sole cause of secrets sore cause I keep them
no
I won't die with you Juliet,
slaughtered by a ball point to you I will be Shakespeare
and lately,
it mattered how I showered you with care
maybe
but it mattered how I showered you I swear
you left me you tempt me this weapon my intent
my motive, now I indent-- rarely but clearly this death will be punctual
Capital
punishment to you in my college ruled,
my hands electric
black attire
funeral-- my ivory dinner jacket,
remember you said it's a crime to fall in love
and I plead guilt to your probable cause
now the pigs wouldn't find her
not in mud,
not in dirt,
I'm on drugs,
not on earth,
still in love,
she,
vanished
the reality set in, even though you left I'd marry the poem that I killed you in--
I'd marry the words you left me with.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
the sofa was soft
an indent in the middle
molded after a year of nothings
cigarette burns dot the denim
and the smell of stale beer
and cereal
and *****
come out like great dust clouds
shooting poison into the air
only to be hurried out the open window
by the constant whirring of the ceiling fan
a denim couch
a blue jean clad monster
a vampire of the modern world
greedily ******* the life
out of all unfortunate to fall prey to its trap
its dance of decadent seduction
and all it leaves of its victims
are loose change
and a few beer caps
deep in the valleys and cracks
of its ever hungry stomach
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
I have cravings for you
that shatter and drown me.
Sometimes I want you so bad
that I hear echoes enhancing.
Then, other times my heart drowns
after maniacally nesting tsunamis
that lift then fall upon me.
I've been hit so hard lately
that the shore has become my lifeline.
On the borderline of consumption
I've been ordered to lay in lieu
of moving at my heart's suggestion.
My lips chap near purged wounds
as my shoulder and hip indent
the remains of our starvation.
Pearls form from my erosion.
A nearby sand castle is falling
with each passer's sinking step.
Merging into me, we become sedentary lovers
creating sound effects of restoration
that rest like my distal desires
as sediment on the walls of my longing.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 3:57 PM UTC
Skin. Teeth.
Pressure. Exerted.
Tense. Held.
Push. Downward. Sunken. Underneath.
Retracted. Released. Resurfaced. Regained
May 16, 2022
May 16, 2022 at 3:34 PM UTC
I've got concerns
Ranging from head to toe
But mostly they're about you
I'm not quite sure
But your selfishness
Hasn't worn off on me
It hasn't even affected
How I really think of you
I've got concerns
That are no longer mine
You'll be just fine
And I'm making my own way
Just like I had been
The whole four years prior
I still turned out okay
I've just got one last concern
That involves things deeper
Than the indent on this paper
So it doesn't really matter to you
You still won't understand
That's no longer your concern
I'll be just fine
I'm still making my way
Just like I had been
The whole four years prior
I am turning out okay
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 1:47 PM UTC
Just past the Rastafarian berry tree
Where bully beef boys tattooed their love’s names
On the tree’s outstretched arms,
A forgotten remnant lay
In relic and rot, its air choked with damp mildew and dust.
Not wishing to join Garvey’s gang
Or bow before Selassie’s seat,
I left Jah’s clenched jig hanging,
Allowed the inkers to indent incessantly,
Going solo into the house of rubble.
What a treasure!
From smudged, stale mascara,
The aged beauty’s heavy, dim eyes
Cast dim shadows on her rough, ***** neck
On which I now trod barefoot.
Her necklace of knackered newspapers
Hollered hoarsely through the overlying cardboard boxes,
Lowly lisping, ”Sovereign shed my lady once was
And shall forever more remain. Look not at her wilted skin –
Consider only this immortal necklace and live forever therein.”
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC
I feel it come upon me
The tightening of my chest
How it ceases to rise and fall
As I slowly remember thing that needs to be forgotten
But your memory clings tight to my spine
Chilling me to the bone
My skin reacting to the ghost of your fingers indent
The feeling of your lips on my neck, my ears, my lips
Worst of all your body calling out to mine to be closer
And then slowly again I can breath
It takes awhile but I shove the memories back down where they can suffer again in the dark
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
If this vast azure emptiness can prove
An aghast endless vacuum measure
Take it for granted, research process sure
It will fuel your thought resources, true.
Mining specks and dots in deep space treasures
Boundless designs shine assigning pleasures
Unfurl within mind in gaseous beams
Overflowing the banks of conscious streams
Filling the utmost sanctum with soft skills
Milling vacuum with colorful quills
Calming the pulses with embracing lulls
Warming all lives with fundamental pulls
Creating a sense of duo, I and you
Love and dislikes and points of view.
Feeling satiety in charity
Finding synergy in activity.
Minting amity in society
keeps you young aged muddling in daring dreams
Deeply engage you cuddling realms supreme.
So what? if this vast thought mine be blanked out
Will the ghost mute vacuum follow suit?
If sense aides guide a slow downward exit
And mind bids the fairy lids to close it
Will the sun bewail, bemoan and eclipse?
Or will the same smile prevail on red-lips?
If souls sunset in seamless sea of mind
Will lights spill out; team up to stay behind?
To form anew a fresh long microwave
To indent a start with a soul suave
A new spectrum to perceive the forces
For the soul that constantly resources
That differently formats transceiver courses
The energy that cannot be destroyed
But that which can be candidly portrayed
On a vast emptiness fluidly stolid
On a continuum vividly solid
On a clean canvas without dimensions
In a brave new world that cannot mention
A name which is beyond comprehension
A frame that doesn't fall on known convention.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
I dance in circles holding
the moth of the marriage,
thin, sticky, fluttering
its skirts, its webs.
The moth oozing a tear,
or is it a drop of *****
The moth, grinning like a pear,
or is it teeth
clamping the iron maiden shut?
The moth,
who is my mother,
who is my father,
who was my lover,
floats airily out of my hands
and I dance slower,
pulling off the fat diamond engagement ring,
pulling off the elopement wedding ring,
and holding them, clicking them
in thumb and forefinger,
the indent of twenty-five years,
like a tiny rip of a tiny earthquake.
Underneath the soil lies the violence,
the shift, the crack of continents,
the anger,
and above only a cut,
a half-inch space to stick a pencil in.
The finger is scared
but it keeps its long numb place.
And I keep dancing,
a sort of waltz,
clicking the two rings,
all of a life at its last cough,
as I swim through the air of the kitchen,
and the same radio plays its songs
and I make a small path through them
with my bare finger and my funny feet,
doing the undoing dance,
on April 14th, 1973,
letting my history rip itself off me
and stepping into
something unknown
and transparent,
but all ten fingers stretched outward,
flesh extended as metal
waiting for a magnet.
1.8k
VII
As you fold
and crease your words
sheet upon sheet
a running commentary
flows,
ebbs and flows:
your present reading;
that playlist of songs
to sing in solitude;
reflections on ‘proper’ letters
and the lost art of spelling.
Such word-gifts . . .
. . . and you ask if I mind. . .
when what you tell me
fills those empty rooms
I put aside for you:
to live undisturbed
in my imagination house.
VIII
The end in sight,
the samples stitched,
book-bound.
Show me,
and turn the pages
in your silent way,
no comment required,
none given.
The day is closing.
Time parts: for a tired child,
a birthday meal,
and now your mother’s smile.
Whilst at work in her kitchen
you thought-visit
my peninsula home,
pondering a duet
of music and sea-breathing silence,
distance everywhere.
IX
White and Yellow,
the final sheet,
a sign to stop.
With the care and formality
of closure the writing
ends, with just
your name.
How else could it be?
There’s no other word
embossed on
these coloured pages
I pick up, I put down.
My fingers trace the braille
of your pen’s indent.
the pressure and print
of letters formed.
Your very touch now
lies beneath my own.
*Legend has it
that anyone
folding
a thousand cranes
may have their heart’s desire.
For now,
just eight orizuru
with words
of friendship
written on their wings.*
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
T- Take all his rules and directives on board
H-Heed them well or he'll put you to the sword
E-Edicts he announces mustn't be ignored
S-Stay within the definition of his pit
I-Indent it into your mind's memory fit
T-Test not his patience nor his fab wit
E-Enter good work that will be a great hit
M-Mad as hell he'll become when he sees a bad post
O-Ousted you'll be if he doesn't like what you boast
N-Niggling him will obtain a certain kind of verbal roast
I-Irking his upright position means you'll be put on toast
T-Travel within the hallowed guidelines he prefers the most
O-Opposing him means debarment at a far flung coast
R-Riling him over his rule's will disappear you as a ghost
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 9:41 AM UTC
These moments - cold,
in the bathroom,
naked except for the blister plasters
and the indent across my ribs
from the new bra.
Before the eyeliner is scrubbed away.
Before I’m back to that flushed girl
with big dreams.
These moments - fresher
than the rest.
And in the end, always,
I’m churning everything inside me,
making pretty songs. But especially moments
like this.
Moments with clothes curled
on the tiles, with blue clarity,
the moments wondering if it matters
that my **** are lopsided.
Always poetry.
There are boys swimming in my head,
boys I once knew,
boys I might know,
girls I want to find. All
poetry.
Suds down the drain. Sponge on skin.
Every moment in every bathroom -
every grimy, cold bathroom,
stacks of them, in my head.
Holy baths and sloppy showers,
moments for renewal,
moments of ***** thoughts.
Underwear kicked off, inside out,
door locked so only
this moment
exists - here - in front
of the mirror, the same crooked
grimace, the same curious brows.
Moments of steam and condensation,
bed socks twisted together.
Cold weight of wet hair, always
the same cycle. Water
rolling down my back.
I am my own ****** in all these moments.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 5:07 PM UTC
I can picture my future clearly,
Every crack and warp in the floor boards,
I can see where I’m going to be and where I’m going to go
A ghost of a lover passes through every image
But is never there long enough to make an indent in the mattress;
A fragrance of false hope and dried tears fills my nose
Stains of coffee spilled over every book left on the kitchen counter
I constantly paced back in forth in the middle of the night
Wondering when you’d come home
Whoever you are
Where ever you are
And I wonder now
In the present
Who is that ghost wandering in my future?
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC