"indie" poems
I found you in the cracks of winter. On our first date, we drank tea from cups bigger than our faces. You also told me you wrote poetry. I noticed how every time you would lick your lips before you would speak. The first time you read me a poem your window was open and it was raining. Your voice cracked and you cleared your throat six times. I was smitten. After our third date, I showed you my favorite place in the world. I took you to a bay on the outskirts of town. I told you the stories I carved into the sand a long time ago. I told you I came here every time the world kept turning but I felt as though I've fallen off, waiting for a guitar solo crash or a midnight knock on my window.
I wanted to tell you, you were my midnight knock. You let me hold your book of poems that night. There were bite marks in them from when you said you climbed up in trees back when you were as tall as the kitchen counter. We had conversations of Bon Iver and soccer as we laid on the sandy bay.
I realized that night I wanted to be there with you when the clock swallows up your time and watch indie movies on Netflix when there is nothing good on TV. I turned to look into space and swallowed all my feelings. I felt hollow when I looked at you and noticed your skin was old and tired. But you looked at me like you were young. You said I was the first to make you feel this way. I was smitten.
At first, I looked at you like a star but ended up seeing the whole solar system.
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
Pink-Haired Wildflower
I know you.
I see you.
everyday at least once
Your pedals are short
and cute
chopped off at the chin
Your clothes are loose
and indie
style, you wear so well
You walk so confidently
each stride your own.
You glitter shining vibrantly
like the stud in your nose.
You smile so easily
and laugh with no care in the world.
Pink-Haired Wildflower
do you know me?
do you see me?
each time I pass you on the way
I look at you
and try not to stare
your flowered beauty beholds me
I wonder what you think of me
This bent over gait
dark-circle-eyed
fool. I am
struggling to stay upright.
Can you see the weight on my shoulders?
The stress in my complexion?
my gnawed on nails and torn skin
Tell me, what do you see in my gaze?
I wish I possessed your confidence.
Your grace in billowed petals.
Your fragrance has a trail
that always circles back to me.
everyday I see you.
though I say nothing.
Whatever you are
I want you in a bouquet on my bedside table
as I lie there
trying not to cry
or die.
Let your rank beauty infect me
aromatic surround me.
Be mine.
Lay claim to me.
Show me your ways.
or at least learn my name
as if I knew yours
You're a stranger to me Pink-Haired Wildflower
last night your dyed your hair Blue
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
Why is it so cool to hate on a group
for their fashion sense?
Or that they like to be off the mainstream?
You are doing the same thing that
people were doing to the
grunge
goths
punks
hippies
beatniks
flappers
and they all did something with their counterculture.
Ever think that
ours is the hipsters?
Not really,
they've been around since *The *** Pistols*
actually
they started them.
They made it cool to go to a thrift store
and buy things out of comfort
then rip it up
change it so it looked brand new.
Punk
that made Hipsters.
But now they are just some fad
that people hate on.
Just because they like to talk about
indie bands
knowing them first
wearing band tee's of bands they listen too
wearing vintage and retro clothing
likes reading
being in a cafe
organic food
vegan.
Stereotyping a group is all people did.
Now I can't wear things or do things
because some *** hole is going
to say
**"Ha you're such a ******* hipster!"**
Why don't we stop hating people on what they wear
because how do you expect to get past
racism
homophobia
sexism
ableism
fatphobia
transphobia
prejudice
if we can't even get past how people dress?
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
We should get coffee unless you drink tea
I'll still order coffee--two sugars, you'll see.
If we go for coffee and you order tea,
We'll sip on our silence
It'll taste bitter but sweet.
If you order tea, is it hot or cold?
Raspberry or lemon? Am I coming off too bold?
I'll always drink coffee, I'll never get tea.
I crave the sensation and steaming caffeine.
When I order coffee and you sip your tea,
We'll talk about music, classic rock, maybe indie?
We won't sit too close, but we won't be too far.
I'll wonder if you're like me and hate going to the bar.
We should get coffee even if you drink tea,
I'll know you got raspberry because you'll kiss me.
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC
while I may do you perfectly. the snow angels on gasoline st., did you
see them? All of the houses were dripping wet too, one girl with gold laces on her leopard shoes wore red plastic pants; totally soaked to the bone.
to train ourselves to brave the heat of each others' bodies as we awaken in one small bed, one small blanket. the both of us yawn. it's so fun to make waffles but neither of us like to eat preference. I love you to death but prefer to brush my teeth alone- one tooth at a time.
embrace your new t-shirt, even though not everyone enjoys a good show of a flock of crows. hand drawn indie wicker-hipster prints. coffee by the pint. you crack me up like vitrifying glass sheens of the individual bubbles in a bubble bath or the ****** glazed eyes of the monsters' eye while a shark attacks.
creaky sounds of bodies mapped by fingers, tickled tummies rippled by listening to witch house singers. you crack me up, count chocula. It's Saturday, I love to laugh while laying down. everybody's funnier when they're laying on the ground. we toast to ghosts.
luminous lengths of birthday candles
lickediddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd d 0 y0urself as best you can
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
indie music
dancing shoes
indie music
doesn't cure blues
it starts them
indie music in the rain
indie music standing in trains
indie music for the deranged
indie music for the off-genre-ed
indie music for the off-centered
indie music for mis-fits
that aren't actually
misfits
indie music for the masses
indie music with glassless
eyeglasses
indie music for the misunderstood
or maybe that's all music...
indie music
dancing shoes
indie music
inspires blues
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
She is disinterested in small talk beyond the park benches.
She longs instead for late-night confessions,
for the quiet unraveling between sentences—
the hidden chapters you both never dared to read out loud
She has no fondness for candlelit dinners
or anniversaries dressed in silverware and manners
What she wants is the open road at dusk,
the wind like a dare,
no map, no compass—
just the delicious risk of getting lost together
She detests the pop songs blaring from car radios,
those perfect little lies that everyone sings along to
She belongs to the sound of something raw—
a forgotten folk song, an aching guitar,
a voice that cracks where it shouldn’t
Her room is lined with vinyls and dust and memory
And no—she doesn’t want drizzles or passing breezes
She wants the storm;
The hurricane that splits her open,
the tsunami that drags her under—
because only in the wreckage
does she remember what it means
to feel
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 7:24 AM UTC
I dreamt of you (again).
It's a bit weird
for that to happen
with someone
I so rarely talk to
but there you were,
there we were.
In my room
on a rug I don't own,
flat on the floor
staring up at
the ceiling fan
listening to some
indie band on vinyl
that apparently
you seemed to like,
and we were smiling,
(I don't know about you
but smiling isn't something
I do too frequently
outside of sleeping visions)
and it was
as if it'd
finally
found us, the
happiness
we wanted.
Like watching an indie flick that
uses too much 'cam filter'
I saw it all unfold,
those two figures there
on the floor, song
ending and
your hand,
mine,
together.
the dream was
over as
the alarm rang.
god I hope
this happens.
I don't own
a record
player but
for you I'll
buy like ten
to make this
reality.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
I like to call this counting crows.
A boy told me he liked me while I was high and crying listening to some indie ********
My ex girlfriend smoked everyday, 3:11 pm, after school in her backyard, and I guess that is sort of cringeworthy.
Tell me you like me.
I like to call this counting crows.
And I wish I was pretty without make up, but I sold my soul and became demoralized.
My ex boyfriend split his wrist one day and blamed me, and I guess that is sort of cringeworthy.
Tell me you’re okay.
I like to call this counting crows.
And you really can’t call me pretty because once, I loved someone and they called me pretty, but now he says I’m not the same-
He said I’m glass, but I always thought I was marrow.
I like to call this counting crows.
And I keep throwing up water and candy and syllables, but you won’t like me once you reach the smell,
And I’ve been empty for a long time,
but eating and eating and eating will only make you nauseated.
There is a pit in my stomach filled with sand.
I like to call this counting crows.
And I didn’t expect to meet you here, but there you are smiling at me with top and bottom marbles that I’d love to play with someday.
And here I am rubbing my knees trying to stand up without looking as feeble as I feel-
I remember little things.
Princess Diana died on my birthday.
It takes one man to change a light bulb and a woman to light it.
What the **** was the punchline?
I really want to sleep.
My best friend keeps making plans.
I want to kiss you shoulders.
Please lock the door”
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
I want to take you on cute dates
Like in the indie movies
A picnic on the roof of a building
With Christmas lights and mason jars
I'll keep you warm against the night air
And I'll always protect you
The sun will begin to rise
And I won't watch
A sun rise is nothing compared to you
Another day with you is another blessing
I'll never forget that
And I'll never forget to tell you how much I love you
No matter how long we are together
I could make a movie just about your eyes
All we are missing is a flower crown
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 3:42 AM UTC
sext: wrap me in the blanket that's in the back seat of your car, call her while I'm staring into space, tell her you love her out of no where
sext: uuuuuuuuhhhhh......I don't want to move in with you
sext: I love you but I'm moving a thousand miles away
sext: I love you so I'm moving a thousand miles away
sext: I'm moving a thousand miles away BECAUSE I love you
sext: I want to bite off your tongue
sext: really bad
sext: you shouldn't have told her you love her when I was already off the ledge
sext: I'll bite your lip, it'll bleed, red will pour down your mouth and your clothes and your horns will poke through and BOOM! satan
sext: baby baby BABY you turn me on
sext: especially when your actions completely correlate with what I was always told not to do
sext: I was told not to do you, but, well....ok we were supposed to hangout at a park like this is a ******* indie movie but this cop told me that park was closed? I didn't know parks ******* close? so we met in a parking lot and you mentioned how your roommate wasn't home and la la la la LAAAAA, we ended up on your living room floor and the carpet was covered in my black lace
sext: I'm wearing high heels, tall ones. I'm 5' 11 1/2", you're, ummm...something. someone. oh yeah, I'm in love with you. well, I dunno about that anymore what's love? I defined it and it said "sext: an intense feeling of deep attachment". ah, ok, got it. I now understand you, love. this was supposed to be **** ya no, like me running down the back your legs in my red high heels, sending chills through your veins and breaking all of your bones. ****** **** right? **** I ruined it when I brought up love
sext: uh, it's been 3 days since we've talked. I know you said like 3 months ago that we needed to "draw new lines for each other" and "figure out how to have self control and not pounce the other when we're alone and I play smashing pumpkins" but we've ****** like what, 40 times since? and you told me you loved me and begged me not to leave soooooooo....? those lines need to be erased buddy boy
sext: uhg. you don't get it. I'm tired. got so drunk I could barely stand last night. slept for fourty minutes. then worked a thirteen hour shift. I'm sorry. give me a kiss. no? but this is supposed to be a sext?
sext: nothing you say is equivalent to a sext these days
sext: take your clothes off
sext: take your clothes off
sext: then take mine off
sext: then take mine off
sext: you wear mine, I wear yours
sext: jk babe the clothes are off we're ******* ******
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
I am a small and expressive six-year-old
I just came back from India, just a trip to visit family
I wear a bindi
My hands are decorated with mehndhi*¹
I wear bangles on my arm of all different colors
I wore a little churi daar*²
And everyone teased me
“She has a disease?”
“Why is there a dot on your forehead?”
“You look funny”
A few of my friends tell me that I look pretty and they wish to wear it too.
I get a few compliments but the rest hurt
I never wore a bindi in front of them again
I washed my hands to rid the orange stains
I never wear my Indian clothes
I am a not so small and not expressive sixteen-year-old
I see music festivals, I see movies, I see the people who teased me when I was six
They wear the dots that I had worn
They decorate their hands with what they call “henna”
It wasn’t an Indian holiday
I’m a little hurt
Why was I teased?
But they are praised
“It’s aesthetically pleasing?”
“The bindi is indie”
Do not tease me for my culture
And then take it for your own praise
Is that even fair?
Do you think that’s fair?
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
i am worn books and french vocabulary, ice cold chai and steaming earl grey. i am stone stares and eyes watering, uncertainty in silence and sharp decisive conversation. i am shaking hands and reciting poetry during anxiety attacks and i am indie rock showers and top-of-your-lungs pop radio in the car. i am empathy without sympathy, crying in the bathroom stall and i am childhood cartoons and your favorite stuffed animal and the beach in the summer. i am desperate to be alone and desperate to scream and desperate to find someone who knows what i mean and still likes me. i am comfort zone constellations, Orion's belt on every nighttime stroll, i am the hollow tree in the backyard of the house we don't own and i am my handwriting and the words in my poems. i am everything you have made me out to be and i hate that; hate that you see all my flaws so clearly but that isn't all of me and i know that now.
i am the trinkets my grandmother left me and her eyes when she looked at me and the way she cried when she read my poetry. i am a thousand ways i have loved those dear to me and the children who fall asleep on me and the way my cat runs to me and i don't need your or anyone's approval but God's and my own. thanks anyway.
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
**** Tumblr. **** Facebook. **** thumbs up. **** Iphones and everything with an " I " before it's name. Even if it's an " Ivone ". **** Justin and Katy, teenagers and children. **** the children. **** GIFs and Instagram. **** the hashtag #. **** twitter. **** ‘selfies’ , ‘felfies’ and ‘braggies’. Put a camera in your *** take a picture, that's a selfie too, you ****** One you can brag about.
**** you as well. **** this, **** that, **** you again. Especially you, yOU **** **** twerk and Miley. **** MTV. **** the 2000's. **** rich people trying to look poor cuz they're hipsters and that's " Indie ". **** Indie **** Everything's " Indie " nowadays. **** that! Not everyone is struggling. Make some noise, you don't have cancer.
**** people who smile to every **** a **** does when they visit the hood to buy drugs, because they're stupid and soft. **** social conscience.
**** you again for pushing a beard and a moustache because it's fashionable. **** John Lennon. **** the Beatles. **** **** as a trend. **** me, but at least i'm cool. **** cool. Everyone's cool currently!? I started smoking when I was 11. Now that i'm 25, i realize smoking is kid's stuff, so i quit smoking. **** cigars. **** having 25. **** sexist and feminist.
**** the dikes who think they have an advantage on other women for not being a **** fan. **** LGBT haters. **** the LGBT flag. **** flags.
**** Amsterdam. **** Vintage, used to be cool, now it's fake **** **** cars these days. Their shape and their drivers. **** TV series. **** this zombie **** What's with the zombies? **** FOX. **** people who hate on TV, because their to smart for that, but let computer/internet melt their brains into liquid **** **** stupid people. **** the army,everywhere. **** politics. **** you for trying to make me vote. I don't believe in it and i'll never will ,it's a ******* waste of time and i don't care. **** you for believing that's a choice. **** you for participating in that sharade, making politics who they are, you ******* ******* **** people who talk to much. **** people who don't listen that much. **** people who talk WAY to much and expect you to be as excited as they are. **** you! **** "LOL" in a face-to-face conversation. Laugh ************ **** random generation. **** " Likes " and **** " Sharing " because no one gives a ****
And yes i'm a misfit, you genius. We all are. That's the truth...
**** the truth.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
I'm just a pool table floating through the cosmos,
a snail racing in the indie 500.
I'm a mess, ******* on dirt, lying in a basement,
the Click! Now that I have mastered the click I can free my mind of all misconceptions.
I'm a grubby snail person.
Dos Bros Tacos,
served with a hard shell.
I'm a cigarette, trying to hold water in my mouth, and you're a jar, trying to make me spit it out.
I'm a vegan, with primordial urges,
a user, with blood rush surges.
I'm matter, quickly vibrating,
an organic compound, slowly decaying.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
You’ve got your ragtime, got the blues
Got country, rock, dubstep, each a different hue
Hip-hop, rap, Americana, funk
Disco, electronica, they all go bump
Indie, groove, folk and heavy metal
Screamo, emo, punk, they’re for the rebels
Pop, classical, tribal, thrash
Dark wave, bluegrass, techno, acid
Garage, roots, acoustic, dance
Alternative, jazz, ******** trance
Afrobeat, christian, reggae, jam
Honkey-tonk, surf, ska, big-band
Ambient, industrial, club, tin pan alley
But who’s ever heard of plow music?
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
"You're such a Hipster
You with your poetry
And indie music
And clothing so different"
I use to hate it
When you called me
A hipster
But now I can admit it
I wish you were here
To call me a hipster
Just one more time
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
i watch this website fall apart
the entire screen freezing as i try to log back in after so many years
and after taking ap principles last year
i can kinda tell why
i am now seventeen
with only a "youthful disposition" to be seen
but only living for her
the little kid who thought being old was all there was to be
fruitger aero
y2k
grainy photos from yesterday
it was never about getting here
it was just about getting away
and crying over an indie album
from 2008
the words hit me harder than any song from a tiktok artist today
were we never really alone?
strange individuals from ten years ago
once scorned, now cherished by the youth
and i ahead or simply behind?
the useless porcelain jars from the thrift store hold more soul to me than any shirt from target ever will
born in the correct era
for now i can love the previous one in peace
strange how we only like something when it leaves
Dec 11, 2022
Dec 11, 2022 at 3:46 PM UTC
my friend said she’s
Quirky
Angsty
And different
She’s not she’s insecure
And I don’t mean any offence bu that statement
But she thinks the chains around her neck make her appeal to her abuser
And the fact that she’s never, really, properly drunk and yet pretends she’s wild and has lives lives she hasn’t
She says “ if you ever need someone to be a crackhead I’m right here”
She’s not
She’s insecure
She has sisters
I have brothers
And although we’re no longer defined by genders I think we are now
She wants to be like her younger sister
But she’s not popular like her
She lacks for charisma
But is sweet and kind
She thinks “cage the elephant” is indie music
And thinks listening to the strokes makes her cool
And that turning of capital letters on her phone somehow makes her “not like other girls”
She’s wrong
I don’t do any of that **** and I don’t pretend to be quirky, angsty, and different
And all the boys prefer me.
And yet I’m insecure
She should go back to fan-girling over Shakespeare
And writing books and poetry for fun
You’re not
Quirky
Angsty
And different you’re just insecure
Ok yeah good. ? !
Got it perf.
Vibes. Cool,,, lel!’v
Jul 8, 2021
Jul 8, 2021 at 1:01 PM UTC
We are the kids
Who want to feel alive
We want to feel liberated and beautiful and young.
We are the sad youth.
Of cutting
And anti-depressants
Praying for some one to save us
From ourselves,
When our minds are dark
And we are alone.
We are the wild youth.
Of late nights
And city lights
With our lungs filled with smoke
And adrenaline pumping through our veins.
We are the lonely youth.
Where no one knows our thoughts
And no one understands
But God, how we wish they would.
We are the hipster indie youth.
We don't do it for the aesthetic
Because this is who we are
We live our lives in black white
And sometimes, someone beautiful
Adds in the most vibrant color.
We are the wandering youth.
Searching, exploring, running, grasping
At whatever we can
That make us see
There is hope
And wonder
And brilliance in the world.
We are the youth of today
We are different
But we are human.
We are the youth.
And even if our youth is fading,
The memories we made aren't.
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 2:16 PM UTC
sleep isn't for the weak.
sleep is for those who hear "I love you" on a regular basis. sleep is for those who can intertwine their fingers with their significant ones. sleep is for those who can feel the warmth of a hug. sleep is for those who have someone to stay up with them at night to talk about aliens, indie music and politics. sleep is for those who have someone to admire them, even at their bedhead. sleep is for those who feel content, comfort and worth.
sleep isn't for those who stay up at night waiting for a good night call. sleep isn't for those who wait for a reply to the message they sent 3 days ago. sleep isn't for those who write long-ass poetry to someone who won't even read them. sleep isn't for those who cry at night, wishing they were enough. sleep isn't for those who think they don't deserve it. sleep isn't for those who have loved and will never be loved.
go to bed, self.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
We love to chase the wind through streaks of blinding bliss,
Tagging the glorious ideals of love, peace, friendship, even
The meaning of life, to weeping willows and pensive pebbles.
We admire the monochrome sky in all its barren blue or pregnant purple;
Hues of burple and plue are dismissed as being tedious, or just confused.
Fear not, photoshop will rectify this pigmented aberration.
We giggle at clouds that resemble kitchen utensils or mystical creatures;
“Hey look a teddy bear in a spacesuit with a flowerpot on his head wielding the Sword of Gryffindor!”
We declare sagely, with the acumen of a legendary bird watcher.
We resurrect grass angels by launching into horizontal jumping-jacks, and,
Just as a disclaimer, no flower was harmed in the process. Not that it matters,
As long as we did not soil our Lacoste and Burberry.
We spin a mixtape out of the torrential downpour, our tracks pitting
The pitter of regularity against the patter of inconstancy, synchronizing
The symphony of splashes to an undercurrent of nostalgia.
We kiss against the bark of an elm, and if a tree is not available in the vicinity,
We throw ourselves down a nearby hill, tumbling into a ball of moist romance,
Panting, as we bask in the studio lighting of the approving sun.
Every still is captured by a Lomo,
Every scene arrested in sepia motion,
Every moment ravished by the chichi Bohemian in us.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 4:03 PM UTC
I let my guard down
you kept yours up
slipping my questions
like Ali bob-n'-weaves through a flurry'
untouchable
Beautiful like a butterfly, but still stings like a bee
shes got a degree in kicking ***
and enough sass to harass me
painfully, playfully.
Shes a sweet pea,
who listens to indie
drinks peppermint greet tea
a spirit so free
its something to merit
you would never believe it
In the cage, shes a killer
shes no wannabe petite bourgeoisie
shell be on a killing spree
crush you like a flea, under her knee
that's a guarantee.
Shes the queen bee
ink to show it
i'm not a poet
'but a potent moment of expression
that's my confession
and so I question;
motionless, face buried in the canvas,
why did I let my guard down.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
I like to sit down and watch indie films
Just to see how others view someone like me
The star that tends to be a loner
But eventually comes out of their shell
Due to love and support from people around them
I realise now that
I came out of my shell
A long time ago
With a wild woman at my side
A best friend who is quiet but strong
The attention seekers who have a lot of love to give
The wallflowers that are too shy to speak up
I knew them all
I was the star of my movie
I may not have a love interest at this point of the film
Or even in the end
But it is nice
My life is an indie film
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
glamourous indie rock n' roll
orbited our tiny kitchen as i kissed
the nape of her neck.
lauren sliced the avocados.
i prepped the pasta.
our neat little domestic life.
her eyes would ignite mine,
as she spoke of reinventing
the world with her love.
every word rang with perfect truth,
for she had dissolved my callused heart,
and focused my idiot head.
and that night i lied in blankets of her
mercy.
as she licked the wicked wounds
of complacent cruelty.
i've never missed her more.
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 8:43 PM UTC