"inexistence" poems
Some people show their gifts as badges
They put them on their foreheads
They put them on their jackets
They put them next to their hearts
Some people hide their gifts as plagues
They put them under the carpet
They lock them in a cage
They lie and say they have none
They convince other people of their inexistence
Some people hide their talents so well
Some people eventually forget they ever had a talent at all
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
These eyes have felt
their fair share of tears that burn
Forgive my eyes for they are yet so green
They have seen much but still they do not learn
These lungs have breathed
The air both fresh and acrid
Forgive them for they are yet so green
They only do what they must when all runs turbid
These ears they've heard
Hurtful promises and whispers that have stung
Forgive my ears for they are yet so green
They're know not to ignore the language of forked tongues
These lips have served
The most callous of opinions
Forgive them for they are yet so green
They can't seem to curb pent up notions
These hands have grown tired
From shielding my tear-stricken face
Forgive these hands for they are yet so green
They're still so afraid to welcome the gift of future days
These legs are sore
For they have travelled far
Forgive them for they are yet so green
They knew better than to enter through doors left slightly ajar
This mind is weary
From thinking of a life meant only for dreamers
Forgive my mind for it is yet so green
They know not of the inexistence of greener pastures
This heart... My heart
Pounding each beat that betrays
Beats with an anvil in tow
Forgive it for it is yet so green
It's having more trouble than it cares to show
This face I wear
A weathered mask I'm unready to shed
Forgive it for it is yet so green
There's still life in it...
For there's yet much to be said
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
The Albatross
Lone de-odorizer of the toilet
Its smooth contour covered in a clear blanket
Wrapped around with cheap plastic,
Adorned with cheap silk, the semi-lucent plastic
Like unwrapping a yema
It smells very sweet. Very, very.
You seldom notice this white bird
In your long hours of comforting, brooding
Hungering for attention beneath the swollen toilet
Asking for unwanted pleasures
The toilet asks "why must I feed?”
The Albatross mums in its silent reprieve.
Still you didn’t notice the wounding
Of your smooth oily toilet
In long comforting hours of sleep;
No, only excretion is wanted here.
The albatross takes away the scourge
The scourge beneath your noses
And still you didn’t notice
The glory in its inexistence
(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / June 28, 2008)
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
Avec mes premiers droits d’auteur je m’achèterai une vieille maison à retaper
Longeant une petite route déserte au milieu d’un champ immense
Je ne sais pas qui retapera ma maison
Je ne mentirai plus oh non jamais plus
Mais j’aimerais que l’ivresse me vienne plus vite
Comme ce mur blanc salement tacheté de jaune
Je voudrais tout couvrir, effacer toutes les traces
Ne plus penser à toi
Mais te dire à quel point tu m’as troué le cœur
Te tordre le cou devant un parterre de gens débiles
Oui
Je ne veux pas penser à la mort de mes parents
Encore moins à leur folie
Même si je sais, je sens qu’elle approche
Je me vois bien crever toute seule comme une vieille conne frigide entourée d’une centaine de cadavres de lapins dans cette vieille maison que j’aurais achetée avec mes droits d’auteur
Les gens je les déteste, ils ne se rendent pas compte du mal qu’ils peuvent faire
Ne se rendent jamais compte de rien
Non
De rien du tout
Pourtant
Je sais que ces trous du cul ont mal eux aussi
Je sens d’ici leur souffrance
Sous leurs mensonges et leurs faux-semblant je sens leur douleur d’inexistence
Mais moi vous savez
Je ne sais pas pour vous
Mais moi
Je veux juste écrire
JUSTE ECRIRE
Que mes parents demeurent immortels
Et aussi un peu d’amour charnel
Juste
Une fois
De temps à autre.
…/…
Avec mes premiers droits d’auteur je me suis achetée une vieille maison à retaper
Longeant une petite route déserte au milieu d’un champ immense
Mais comme mes parents sont morts et que je suis une vieille conne frigide qui n’aimera jamais un homme autre que son père
Personne n’a retapé ma maison
Vieille maison qui tombe à présent en ruine
Dans laquelle je m’effondre
Jour après jour
Minute
Après
Minute
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
###
the buzzing in your limbs when you lie on them for too long
is the buzzing in my head
the static in my mind that makes
the world
s p
n i
in deadly motion;
as rivers run from my eyes
tear-soaked tissues clenched in my smothering grasp
lungs
c
o
l
l
a
p
s
i
n
g
inwards
while the world spins around me
threatening to spin me into infinite inexistence by breaking me
into an infinite number of slivered
p
i
e
c
e
s --
for i am too smothered by the world
and it is not the first time today
i couldn't breathe.
###
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
The mind is endless space
So much room for so many ideas
The phrase "open-minded"
Is a wonderful phrase indeed
To open that infinite space
And to accept knowledge, opinions
And other things
Things you can not simply get
By yourself
So now, you must agree with me
When I say that the phrase
"Small-minded"
Is incorrect and impossible
The only correct phrase
For the meaning of
"small-mindedness"
Would be "close-mindedness"
No one has a small mind
They just refuse to fill up
The humongous space they have
They want to believe
That they have all the knowledge
That they'll ever need.
That, of course, is impossible
And irrational.
But These people are not
Stupid,
Or dumb,
Or stubborn,
They were simply taught wrong
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
They say you fell into the creek.
Well you did, but not by accident.
You fell from the willow,
Like the tears you so often shed of late.
Life was too much
So you breathed the water like it was air,
Gasping between unheard sobs.
Drop by drop by bucketful of current
Moved between the folds of your dress
And pulled you in deeper and deeper.
The wreaths of flowers entangled around
Your wrists, your hair, your neck;
Beautiful nooses,
Symbolic of despair and misdirection.
Your life left you
Like a hey nonny, nonny
As innocence fled from Denmark
To the safety of inexistence.
How she wanted to pull you free,
But didn't.
This was your final escape.
You deserved it.
And now you lie
In a grave dug by comic relief
And filled with regret.
An unmarked grave
For an unmarked soul
Tainted by nothing,
But the wet mark of suicide.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 12:58 AM UTC
The smell of whiskey makes my teeth hurt and today I woke up gasping for breath
Missing you kind of feels like rubbing alcohol on every paper cut from the scraps left behind
Some days it is a hollow swelling but the majority feel more sunburn, easy to forget but sore when touched
I used to dream about waking up with you as a normal routine, instead there is only quiet
I hold my hands together when I sleep to fill the space of a bed too big
I find pieces everywhere, your hair on my pillow, your cologne on my sweater, your sock, just one, tucked into a drawer I didn't know existed
I don't think about you often but when I do it becomes a sinking
A hole jammed into the side of a ship that had just learned how to stay afloat
There is never enough time for me to save myself from drifting off and I give up
It is back to you, and the guilt washing on your face when you said this feels weird, lips building lies like the fixing of shelter after a storm
When another someone tells me how soft my skin is, I want to light it on fire to burn off your fingerprints,
To forget that you said the same so often
I want to call you and ask why you haven't tried to reach me
I want to remind you that we live in the same city, big, enough distance apart to ignore
I want to pull your hands out of my hair and your breath off of my neck but I'm aware of the inexistence of both
I'm aware that now you have become nothing more than a figment of my imagination
Gone from reality but still alive in memory I do not try to erase
I'm not waiting for your return, I know you wont but I am waiting for the day my tastebuds don't crave you
It will happen, sooner or later but
for now I still do
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
There will certainly be
A great many of them
Far readier than I’ll ever be
O blessed unborn one
Yet endowed with inexistence
To whom mercy shall slip from
And re-emerge in its awakening
Beings past or below my shrinking age
A great many among them
Whom I once did or shan’t collide
Beyond the captured scope of mutual days
To relate to you what high events
Unrolled before our common eyes
Folks granted with the privilege
Promoted to the status of witnesses
Historians, athletes and prophets
By themselves and their narratives
I let them unroll their good accounts
Forfeit their tales of what must be bound
To mould your unsuspecting
Circumspect mind and
Save you from sensing
Delicately sensing
Voices that once knew more
Than in haste speak
Than with haste carry
Daringly could the silence hear
Untangle the mumbling tango
Of the vociferous crystal parade
My darling unborn one
The tortuous path out of the forgings
Of reason almighty, the ventricular beast
Played and echoed in loops and on repeat
No, you shan’t feast on their hymns
Yours is meant for the engineering of belief
In something further, of glory,
Far more, furthermore,
Something extraordinary
Than the days of days
And the knowns of knowns
And to lodge firmly out of the stillness
That’s woven in the heart of your chanting storm
And in the precipice of the forecast
May you never come to designate
But the space between the notes
So that when it comes not to ever pass
We shall rejoice in the untold absence
That binds us as if pierced by an arrow
While we ask about the bow
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 6:26 PM UTC
There is
a perpetual hole in my life
where you used to be
And it doesn’t matter if
it’s only been an hour
Or seventeen days
Or seven months
Or three years.
It’s still there.
It has the cruelest consequences.
Even when you’re absent
You’re here with me.
and when I want you to be gone,
You are
but I feel your goneness,
and your absence
becomes a presence.
and not the one I want.
What’s worst is
you’re not dead
Or in a desolate war zone
Or being a good Samaritan
in a third world country;
You live right down the street.
You chose to be a hole
rather than to be
with me.
I might as well save electricity
And just unplug the “no”
of my vacancy sign.
Because there will always be one.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 9:10 AM UTC
There once was a girl who now no longer exists
In a city that no longer exist, with a name
That no one in existence can pronounce
And that only inexistence can imagine.
She lay in a bed that also no longer exists
Playing a game, that only existed in nonexistence,
With a boy whose existence is, again, no longer real.
The one rule of this game that has long been lost in existence
If it ever really existed at all, the one rule of this bed game was and is,
The bed is the only thing that exists at all.
The boy and the girl who both no longer exist they,
Drew a line around the bed, rendering it their only plane of existence
Neither a toe nor a finger could touch the floor as they were sure
That that was too close to earth to not nonexistence
And touching this floor, this divider between existing and not,
Was not the point in their coexistence in their nonexistence
You see this game was not for those who exist
Because they did not exist. Not in this house,
On this street, in this city, all of which are no longer in existence.
But they exist to one another in their bed of inexistence
But to no one that now exists at all.
Centuries of existence will be worth this kind of inexistence.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 8:04 PM UTC
I am indebted
to this life,
for giving me
the meaning
to the
whole context,
despite
the meaninglessness
of it.
For its inexistence,
I am just
going to be
another stardust
in a vast, darkly sky
above the raging sea
in every cold, empty night.
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 2:12 AM UTC
problem: for the longest time, i was in the mindset where i did not want to die, i just simply did not want to exist.
experiment: this summer, i did just that. i severed ties with most of my friends, cut off communication, and burned down a lot of bridges.
outcome:* i lost a lot of friendships but i found parts of myself.*
summary: i had two months of inexistence and it sparked with me a desire to live again, a fire within me that had been missing for quite some time now. it taught me how to be okay by myself, but it also taught me that it’s okay to allow good friends to help you better yourself.
error analysis: it’s not okay if you purposely burn bridges down and end friendships on bad notes. they’ll haunt you later. so leave friendships on a good note. if they’re a real friend, you won’t be leaving them; you’ll simply be putting a pause on the friendship. it’s okay to take time for yourself, and it’s also okay if friends want some time for themselves. you should not ever apologize for wanting time for yourself, nor should others.
solution: if you wish to inexist, then isolate yourself for a while. make yourself comfortable being alone. once you are able to be content in isolation, you will naturally want to exist more, both inside and outside of isolation. allow yourself to let people into your world again.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 1:50 AM UTC
i see the world through welded steel bars that fence around my body, masking armor, but realistically locking my free spirit inside the walls of flesh that make up my being
i walk around, bewildered to see other miraculous women of all ages, races, and orientations trapped behind the same impenetrable incarceration, trudging along sidewalks, tendons diminishing in their knees as the metal jail cells they live in is a weight incapable of being lifted with ease
i clang on the bars with a metal can, i am soothed by the sound of my own imprisonment, i am lulled to sleep by vibrations of the vague oppression encrusted into the cell of my cells
i have not thought to cry, i have not thought to fight, for i have no idea where tears could possibly find their way down from, their inexistence is almost certain to me
i see the world through welded steel bars, that close in tighter with every aortic pulse, with every respiratory heave
you may be thinking at least you can still see, which is true, yes, i am so glad to be able to see
i only wish, i could see more
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 11:39 PM UTC
Seize the day, because it might be your last,
Leave the problems, drama, and fights in the past.
You can cry later, but now you should laugh,
You never know when you’ll see your life in a flash.
And when your whole life flashes before your eyes,
That same time and moment that you realize,
That your days have demised and you’re about to die,
Please don’t act surprised, and please don’t ask why.
People don’t realize that we’re on borrowed time,
Living there lives like tomorrow never dies.
Believing that their lives, are actually their lives,
And in there lies, what appears a clever lie.
But if our lives, were actually our lives,
Wouldn’t we be able to choose when it was our time.
Instead your destiny is undefined,
And you’re destined to be unalive.
Eternity is the enemy of mortality,
So internally we wish for immortality.
But even immortality is reached from immorality,
Unless you happen to become a nature’s casualty,
Only if it happens naturally,
Can your passage be in existence, your mortal inexistence,
But you’ll exist in the Heavens you enlist in.
Then, and only then, can you live life at ease,
The days you no longer will have to seize,
On the set day you leave,
Before death is seen,
The concept of “days” you leave.
Does this mean that after life
Time will lose meaning?
Will life after death leave us with nothing to believe in?
Will we still try to seize the day
When we become immortal beings?
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 1:28 PM UTC
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Everybody knows
That this isn't true
But everybody doesn't know
That my love for you
Had a maximum of two
Consists of me and you
Nothing red
Nothing blue
Our love is like an airplane
It flew smooth
But our love is inexistence
So it just flew
Flew by you
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
I unwrap myself from the red linen shroud
And head towards the wavering closet.
Today the skeleton seems less proud,
Stupefied, only relatively.
Sometimes I take it out and waltz with it,
It seems the right thing to do.
Sometimes I carry it on my friendly shoulders,
Hoping its rage would undo.
Then there are times when I shun it away
To acknowledge its inexistence.
And veiling myself with the shroud, I stay
Till I am disrupted by the rattling of bones
Walking back towards my bed,
I lie down, crying still
With the skeleton at my elbow,
It’s a story of me I want to ****
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 8:57 AM UTC
I am but a worthless ****
An idiot.
Stupid.
Worthy of inexistence.
I do nothing but scare.
Hate.
Break.
Wreck.
I pity myself for being like this.
Helpless ****
Empty egoist.
Hard as ****
I know I will live in hell.
There is no heaven for me.
I am cursed
And ****** for eternity.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 1:04 PM UTC
Night, beautiful night
But why beautiful, I asked
You are just void,
Dark, as if hiding in a shadow,
Signify inexistence
Then what makes you beautiful.
Light, the night murmured
faint dispersed light running through me,
Making me visible enough to be visualized
If if were not for that something I have always been against,
I would have never glown in the dark,
Lost forever in existence.
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 7:48 AM UTC
The day you accepted fate,
That day you choose to let go.
The same day u loose it all.
Dear, that day you get wounded.
The blood is still bleeding.
You never had the nutrients for clotting, and so you keep loosing value.
You keep depreciating from life to inexistence.
Time heals all wound you think.
But time can never heal this one wound.
You've been hurt once, that gives the needed access.
Though the wound is now scar to you.
Yes scars to you after a while,
But to your inner man, it's as fresh as today.
And you think you can move on with the pain,
Because you concluded there is no remedy.
Yes you have substituted fate for your passion.
You have replaced your ever available oil with toil.
Your vessel you have shattered because time has vexed you.
You keep going about with the scars of your sacrificed passion.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 2:58 AM UTC
Nothing is a thoughtful word
that we take for granted.
Nothing is everything it’s not.
It is not a word.
Yet we use one to describe it.
It is not a sound.
Yet we say that we hear it.
It is not a place.
Yet we hate when we’re nowhere.
It is not a feeling
Yet we try desperately to feel it.
It is not a person.
Yet there are so many nobodies.
It exists as something it simply isn’t.
Yet I fear it is God and Truth –
Everything.
So why then, in its infinite existing inexistence,
this void that is being without being,
do I exist?
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 5:24 PM UTC
My words are vocalizations of what is
cognitive reverberation upon my thoughts.
They are vapours of what was unintelligible
upon the surface, but sank to deeper reflections.
When they spilt on the white from inexistence
to my voice in simplistic vocalization of verse.
Then what collected in rendition collected forth.
Listen to my voice, now you are reading these
last vocal mentions not in yours but the perceiving
of what my voice resonates between. From thought
to paper welcome to my words in my echo of my voice.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 11:14 AM UTC
Tell me about the easter where
the egg hunted the bunny.
And tell me, just me, about the morning glory
when feeling dew on grass,
air in fluffy carpets.
Tell about running blindfolded
towards something that never
shows it self.
And tell me, only me, about when you flew to Cali
and found a filled bed.
Tell me about the drop
that weighed more.
Show me how to tie my shoelaces,
my shoes never untying.
Show me how to stand up as if
my own hair is the crown I wear.
Show me the short cuts and the easys.
Show me how easily the trophies break,
And show me how to stitch up a wound
I’ll soon be stitching up my own.
Tell me about the vespa that got you places,
like Aladdin’s carpet got him.
Tell me about the power of the seas,
and show me your favourite hat.
Show me how to reck
and show me how to build.
Tell me about the flower that never blooms,
just like a night in winter.
If you do, remember to show me the flower that always blooms,
with the spirit of the olympic fire.
Please tell me.
The maze of a life turns in
unexpected places.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 7:54 AM UTC
in the moment, it's like a motel bedroom with no furnishings, a blanketed inexistence, like backroom deals,
hands shake, exchanges made,
players in a game that you'd think no one ever played.
in that moment, it was a garage with trash filled floors, crusted couches, a blanket and maybe a thrill,
memories fade, so they say,
but who's to blame when some memories decide to stay?
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC
Tonight was
The first crescent moon in a while
And the last time your lips
Will touch mine
See I have never been one
To believe in religion
Or anything for that matter
But loving you almost makes me have to
Because how else could something feel so **** right
Tonight I learned
That attraction can not be reversed
That although
Six months have gone by
Since our skin last met
We still have magnets in our bones
Opposite particles that reach for eachother with open arms
I can not explain it
Physics is just complicated like that
I am just complicated like that
I did not mean for this to happen tonight
Retracing the maps of your body
Was not in my plans
Was not my intention
I simply wanted
Closure
But what I got tonight
Was so much more
Than that
Before tonight
I had spent months placing my rage over hot water
Letting it boil inside of me
I had spent months
Learning to hate
Knowing that the only alternative
Was to love
I had spent months
Writing solely envy and nostalgia
Hoping that a pen and some words
Were enough for you to want to let me back in
I have learned
How to ball point my feelings into letters
But not how to embrace them
See I wanted to hate you
Wanted to scoff
Roll eyes
At the thought of you
Awaiting the day
When your prescence
Would be synonymous with inexistence
But it never happened
I've learned that feelings
Can not be erased
Only covered
Shoved into corners of your mind
And attempted to be replaced
But you simply cannot
Just change something into nothing
And to me you will never be nothing
You are a flame I set inside myself
Long ago
That will never cease
Will never burn out
The fire tonight
Was only a reminder
That some things
Will never die
So I'll leave
For the other side of the country
5,000 miles away
With less weight on my usually heavy heart
Knowing that I left part of it
With you
You can have it
It is yours to keep
It always has been
And it always will be
You always will be
My first
Love.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC