"iota" poems
shred, dash, drop, pinch, soupçon, jot, iota, whit,
atom, smattering, scintilla, hint, suggestion, tinge,
a modicum of good works,
my endeavor, to serve and deliver,
man's bounty of good words
from my kitbag,
fresh, hot, n' crusty
just like me....
Hello Poetry!
Feb 2014
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
I'll never forget
my first one.
The tree was
aglow;
branches
blazing
with enormous,
yellow and orange,
halcyon sunflowers.
A glorious heat
pulsated
up my back,
their magnificence
radiating
through all
my senses.
My eyes:
wide,
taking-in
every iota
of this visual
majesty.
Transfixed,
in a state of
awe,
my photographic
memory
came into
play.
Snapshots
of
those giant suns
forever imprinted;
negatives pressed,
into my mind.
A night to remember;
when halcyon sunflowers
danced
on the limbs
of trees and
the branches
of my mind.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
You are the brainteaser for what all the intellectuals have become somnambulist
Still you are inconclusive;
All the linguists have become asinine
Since the language of your eyes are indecipherable
Every single iota of your heart is a nuclear
And all men are in love with nuclear
When they burst, burst in silent
You are the only cloud
that brings rain in the heart
For you all sins seem Romantic
And all catastrophes are Dramatic
All lovers watch, and remain as a sparrow alone upon the house top.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
The leopard and the lion chose to become friends,
For they were all proud of claws on their paws
They each glorified one another for their mighty,
Ability to live on meat of other fauna throughout a year,
They each admired one another for running speed,
They each remained firm and loyal to one rule;
Lions don’t eat leopards neither leopards eat lions.
They felt warmth in their companionship without verve,
Until the time they initiated a certain joint venture;
To hunt an antelope as it was famed to be the sweetest,
Again, there had remained one antelope only in the world,
They dilly and not dallied anyhow about such glittering project,
They both endevoured to set forth by each dawn for a whole year,
Tediously hunting throughout a day, the lion doing a great part,
Setting ambuscades and arduously sleuthing to orient on trail,
The leopard severally fainted in the field due to exhaustion,
On one eve of christmas day, the lion captured the prey,
When the leopard was a sleep shivering in fevers of malaria,
Their prey was a middle aged female antelope with swollen hips.
The leopard was sparked to fire of life by a mysterious fillip,
He boldly requested work, now to help the lion in carrying,
The un-suspecting lion relinquished the carcass to the leopard,
Feat of shrewdness gripped the leopard, he took off
Running away with a lightening speed, the antelope on his mouth,
The lion again began to chase, shouting to the leopard,
To be a gentleman and stop running, for them to share the plunder,
The leopard never listened, he craftily climbed to the apex,
Of the most tall and most slippery tree, he perched at the peak
With the antelope on his muscular mandibles of voracity,
The lion remained at the stem, wailing like a toddler
His family does not climb trees, not even a shrub,
The lion wailed, using all styles of wailing,
Pleading with the leopard to donate even an iota,
Not even a small piece of antelope bone dropped
To drop on the ground for the lion to taste,
Human leopards are not good hunting companions.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analyses' dimensional delineations. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy ******** swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
If your muggy-grubby hands
Even rise to slap me again
I swear I'll chop them off with my axe.
If your fangly-boniony feet
Get within kicking distance of me,
I swear I'll tear your legs from your hips
And then admire my workmanship.
If your mangy-crazy mind
Tries to infiltrate mine
To deposit some lie
That would change the perception
Of me, myself, and i,
I swear I'll grab a spoon
And scrape, scrape, scrape
Out your brain.
If your hoity-toity attitude
Tries to usurp my solitude
To make me someone I'm not
I swear I'll be completely dispassionate
As I wipe your every iota from this
Particulate Universe.
If I so much as hear you breathe,
I swear I will squeeze
Every
Drop
Of
Air
Left in your lungs.
You think this is too violent even for me?
You'd better believe
I've been pushed to the edge
Of all logical reason
By your every act of treason
And I won't hesitate to
Incapacitate,
Excommunicate
Eradicate,
You from my life.
You'd better beware.
I'm angry and all this I'll do.
I swear.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
Follow thy aspiration
Without an iota of consternation
hopes and aspirations
are crushed by desperation
and that's the severe invasion
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
IF MEN WERE GOD
Man are dexterous in cunning ways,
Aiming in jeopardizing just like the serpent
Full with autocracy
And fear not he God.
Man the trickish being ever created.
If men were to be God
The fish would stink, creatures will seek
And many will cease.
If men were to be God
the moon will turn day and the day will turn night
Injustice will become right.
And crises will become plight.
If men were to be God.
The iota of truth dismissed
And the heart of men will be so deep.
For our breath will be sold for
If men were to be God,
Door will be locked for the bold ones
For stagnancy will go on
Were truth struggles and lies goes on.
If men were to be God.
justice will be seek for
injustice will be of favour,
And The poor will labour from.
If men were to be God
War will be regarded as play
rain will be regarded as cain
And the stars shall be denied of the sky.
If men were to be God
Goodness will be be paid with wickedness
Earth will be desolate,tyranny will be seen as the best form of government.
Where a man decide the hope of all without confirmemt.
INKED BY
AKINOLA JOSEPH &OBAWE STEPHEN.
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 9:07 AM UTC
For Emma Ottinger “I put out (my stories) just because”
“just because”
that’s the best excuse you got girl?
cause be-ing
just
is a **** good one
way back in March
wrote a declaration^ to all those just
beginning with an iota of courage and
a good story telling
way of seeing and the
secret sauce-way
to spin my imagination in
my eye sockets
with their well words,
for I am a drinker of
the beaujolais firsts of the new grapes
of young poets
words welling springing from between
the oohs and ahs and the damns -
I wish I had wrote that...
so here’s a hero push - so many kinds of bread to
fill our baskets, please girl may I have some more?
so here’s to you - and the Great Plains that birthed you,
and the breadbasket of four poem/stories you poured out
that were so far from plain, how could you know of seas and sea foam and cobalt and mahogany human body parts?
and the speech patterns of waves that took me decades to learn?
use those “Jacob’s ladders between your fingers,”
“whistle me like a stray dog following,”
for that’s what “the kingpin of my flighty wits”
requires, for this old scribbler is now:
“firmly rooted for a girl who's bold enough
to crack the whip over her head if
ever went to war with myself.
A confidant that won't run,
won't offer half truth when
the whole of it
is all that actually matters.”
so write with that window light on and
wheat fields that can be reenvisioned as the gray-blue sea
from which I crawled out of croaking...
to read you rightly
6/25/18
10:25PM
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC
Life is a sacred journey.
No two are the same.
Respect for divergence
is paramount
to a holistic experience.
Life
is not about
status-quo
or
expectations,
t'is simply what's made thereof
Lyphe
is a sacred opportunity
not to be taken lightly
Our Bodies
are our umbilical vessels
which tether us
as mortals
to "Reality,"
which, in itself,
seems to me to be
a reduction of potentials
from chance
to actuality
such ephemeral eternety;
infinite limitations;
actualized potentials;
possible paths-
these are but some of
the koan-like attributes
which lead me to use
the rather ambiguous
and ambitious
term "sacred."
Truly,
it becomes
whatthefucksoever
One may well will
to create thereof.
Action is Manifestation,
yet Thought begets Action.
Therein lies the sacred gift of Life.
'T'is all too oft taken for granted.
Every living being
(i am convinced)
has an equally vivid depth of experience
and I find it more than somewhat offensive
that humans (with a lowercase H)
feel they are the penultimate organism.
All is One
in that existence, itself,
tethers us all
to everything
and probably even beyond,
and so
to be so
hubristic and arrogant
as to assume a hierarchy
so convieñantly crested by mere
**** Sapiens Sapiens*
seems to me to be
an anthrocentric and narcissistic projection
of that meddlesome ages-old archetype
of the "Ego,"
that is to say "God,"
whatthefuckever that means!
Find it in thyself
to be humble enough
to accept that each and every iota of "Creation"
is, by virtue of association, equally sacred; divine.
Heirarchy, thus, seems to be a manifestation of some desire for order; control; a yearning to alleviate some hypothetical insecurity as a result of being essentially "absolute, infinite" (vis-a-vis the domain of Consciousness) yet contained within a vessel that is mortal, and, thus, ephimeral.
The Ego doth so loathe it's own limitations:
too bad it's far too arrogant to realize that most of the limitations it experiences are illusions, allusions;
charades of an insatiable Consciousness
Hell-bent on experiencing something
it won't redily allow itself to experience!
What a Holy fuckton of
incredulous, ineffable, impalpable, inspirational **** that would be, eh?! (insert interrobang)
I am me (I think...)
as thou art thee;
so why can't that just be good enough?
Could it be?
What obstruction precludes such harmonious divergence?
I reckon 't'is but us;
and very little else, indeed!
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analysis' dimensional delineation. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy swastica swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
Blue streaks shew across the sky.
Manic days and semper fi.
Red dawn smashes out the sea.
Honor is all I claim to be.
Though I love and feel like saintly.
I reek, timorous, spineless and dainty.
But I have no respect for you!
Till we are in court, tried and true
It was the world, the world of defeat.
I planted my flag on a daisy and creek.
On a light dominion of my summerhouse place.
There sit, the lovely Welterman case.
Weltermans family gathered in boon.
Farewell to a daughter, a motherly loon.
I killed her. There. I said it okay?
But don't blame me, she was just in my way.
On a cold summer day, and a hot summer night.
Cicadas bizzled but hardly struck a fright.
Daisy lay sleeping, sweet next to me.
Leaving behind her unfinished dreams
But lo and behold, an undertaker.
Ruinous desire, I decided to take her.
My confession means nothing, my killing, an iota.
So love would not infect Alexander of Macedonia.
Down the throat and across the sea.
Of loquacious gelatinous sanctimony.
I'll cut deep without thinking, I'll slash without aversion.
Ophelia and her love is a tainted **********
I bathed in the blood and cried myself silly.
She only deserved death, that ***** old filly.
No more would Welterman reek of my sin.
To lower a king, to a peasantly Tim.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 2:59 AM UTC
Sometimes all it ******* takes in Life
is having a single iota of Self Control
for One to bypass much grief and strife
circumventing Victim for some other role;
moreover, I feel I must clarify,
One must not lose One's Self to this,
I wish to convey in some Earthly way
Self-Discipline seems akin to Bliss.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
He taught romance at college
She craved an iota of love from him
He dug her on nights of his choice
She echoed a deep pleasured noise
He had soon enough of her
She thought of ways to retain him
He found an admirer from his romance class
She slowly sank into depression
He pretended she didn't exist
She ceased in his nightly need
He tied up in a new romance
She broke her ties with acid.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
To **** myself or not **** myself, that is the question
I face an existential crisis every day
I want to hurt myself
I want to bleed, to wound myself physically because I can't deal with my mental
The questions and thoughts that plague me every day
I wish I could expunge these idiot things that run through my head
The stupid ******* people that cause me grief every day
Those people are the people I live with
The people I love
The people I work with
Every mother ******* person
I wish I could live isolated
But not alone
Live in my own colony of people that understand me as well as I understand myself
I wish I could operate normally
Not over correct for every ******* small iota of every tiny moment in the ******* day
Why do I have to do everything to such an extent?
Why can't I just be happy?
Why can't I just sleep a peaceful slumber instead of tossing and turning for hours before?
I hate myself
But do I really hate myself?
Or the circumstances that I face?
This life I live is not the life I want
I want freedom
The ocean
The sand to catch these unshed tears
The cold to hit my face
And something warm to embrace
I want ***
But do I want it for the carnal pleasure or for the way it makes me forget for a time these turmoiled emotions I deal with every instant of every ************* ******* day?
I want a partner
But I can't trust
I'm so alone
I'm so alone
I'm so alone
******* I'm alone
How do I fix this?
How do I fix me?
I'm so alone.
No one will ever know the inner core of me.
Someone save me
I wish I were dead.
Someone **** me
I wish I knew real life.
Human essence is the dirt of the earth.
We destroy,
We do not conquer.
We forget,
We all still suffer.
******* us all to the figment of our imagination that is hell.
Every ******* one of us deserves it.
Burn us in a firey pit and then crush our bones to make the cement that holds us all unwillingly together.
******* **** me so I don't have to **** myself.
Nothing makes this feeling go away. No one satiates this gnawing numbness I feel.
I am a black hole that devours every good emotion
Nothing to replace it inside this empty space within me
**** me
**** me
**** me
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 2:31 AM UTC
6 sides
Latent enabler
Counterpoint to truth, amorphic
Dada to life
Callous Birth
Islands dripped in collagen
Mystic, effortless life
Tempests laden iota in tune
Riven
Licked flat, obtuse
Crescent stench
Pagan cells
Hazard the thought
Pick the Atlantic cherry
Reach further than comfort
Pushed & consumed
Spirited paste
Jesuit told in spheres
Lament interest, matted quill
Totem, Saxon tribe
Inflections of hearsay
And Swastikas on parade
Guilt of the blacksmith, undecided
The arms of tablets
Ashtrays & tropospheric light
Another page turned
Capsules filled with perfume
Loose skin lost in relics
Temporal lobe
Cautioned indignant
Pardon the prose
Sonnets dissolved in ethanol
Caricatures of the fleeting
Of our cities last broadcast
Absorbed by times gone
Glittered pestilence
Canceling subordinates, powdered Semtex
Soup of the sewer
Lift the butcher above your head
Nazca lines
Suborbital
Silk screen with *****
Horizontal qualm toward revulsion
Incursion
Calm, cued and cubed
Lab coats coated in pharmaceuticals
Base compound, ionic bond
Covalent CNS
Sympathetic vibration
Default to nature
To theorise movement
Agitate intolerance, turbulence
Beautiful thought
Calculate causality
Passenger of licked lips
Token to latex
Croft in ear, to taste
Unlaced tips, rings of halothane
Bliss
Intrigued with obscurity
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
Inspiration from making amazing quotations
The nation's defending its life with its shields
But the swords are all rusted the kingdom's been busted
and the ******* are bathing in gold that they steal
While the people are lying their babies are crying
their rhythm is dying 'cause heartbeats are gone
But they carry it trying to stop themselves crying
as they can't do nothing but watch on and on
As the bankers get richer the poor men get poorer
the ones in the middle are learning to steal
Where before they just borrowed now they got new sorrow
but still they don't know that they ain't down at heel
They think they are poor so they vote in the richest
just hoping the ******* will keep them in funds
While the genuine destitute lie in the street
and the taxes are funding those twats' cummerbunds
There's a baby who's crying not just 'cause she's some brat
who ain't got no ice cream she's dying of cold
Yes it happens in streets prob'ly near where you live
it isn't just something in stories of old
There are people out there in the gorbals and barrios
the projects the banlieues the hoods and the schemes
Where their lives are the ghetto there is no way out
but to hope or to rap or to wing on a dream
They ask why you ain't reading you try but it's killing you
trying to provide for a family of two
When your mother's alone lying slumped on the sofa
and work w-w-working is all you can do
When the **** do you think I'm supposed to be doing
this **** that you say I cannot live without?
If you listened to lyrics from songs you disparage
you might start to feel an iota of doubt
They're intelligent, eloquent, more so than you
with your old boy school accent and ballot box blue
Can you rap, can you rhyme, can you keep it in time
can you tell of the **** that your family's been through?
No you sit in your office and scoff at the people
who spend their whole lives in a world that is real
They don't give a **** if you judge them or not
but they just want to shout at you
FEEL, ****** FEEL
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
They are a part of you, those scars,
No denying that, how can there be?
You are not alone though, never alone,
and there is no shame, not one iota.
Any who judge you, find you lacking,
Are not worthy of your time, nope!
They will never understand; never!
Not advocating the cutting, nah,
Just accepting it that it happens,
Just like it might rain tomorrow.
Accept yourself and learn, love,
Find ways to cope, to push through,
Know that you are all right, yes?
They are a part of you, those scars,
No denying that, how can there be?
©Paul M Chafer 2015
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
brown to hide something magical meaning
of dreams in every place & bind
at the tips w/ silver, & he fell down
upon the minds of the first-fruits
& having pulled away from the cause
of the skin, the battle to say that to the girls,
He became a book, & will not be
comfort; sand marriage confidentiality
I am, however, might not be altogether
to spread the paint force over the board;
Russia partnership gale skin window
Was not wont to solve the threats search
He saw his fingers ask you to park in humans
He speaks with reading; Iowa prom &
drinking glass cops; Now started to eat
a few churches; to write small
she felt the base was broken,
English fool iota of origin eyes high
is no more of the matter of the peak
what is the state, also calf care, the game
is a walk; out of the rat they were filled
with conflict, The same place; Michael;
I was taken out of the running cases,
bandaged food with friends
Devices playing music revolution
Scientific knowledge and secretary general
In the dorm alarming clinical Loren,
painting teaching of ******* *****
Elegant heir; by that which is called the breath,
Of the guys from the board and to form
in the power of the club, however,
who hath been tried faculty, and the feet
of the bath having been crowned,
The words of the Lord;
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 3:42 AM UTC
Thou Messiah preaching Change, art thou true to thy words?
Fighting bribery and corruption yet with cheap sentiments,
Judgeth thou not thy biased - honest actions to be corrupt?
Thou that prophesied an economy of sweet change,
How is it that thou considereth not the masses interest?
Inventor of Change, thy prophesied words art without works;
Even thy supporters yearn in regret for voting thee in.
Is this the change that thou for long prophesied?
I yawn tears for the future of Nigeria and her unborn child.
Thou art trusted to be the man after the peoples heart
And loved by all cause of thy prophesies of change,
But how be it that thou art different from thine own self?
Savior of the people, why art thou adamant to the peoples cry?
Thy poisonous deeds have caused much great pain and suffering,
Why not invest thy ears on the sweat of the poor and helpless?
Did ye deceive the ants and termites that voted thee in to save them?
Remember thou thy words and promises made before being elected.
Thou surrounds thyself with chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions,
Woe betide thee for thy conscience have refused to judge thee.
Art thou not guilty of prophesying false prophesies of change?
Thou that killeth the rosy wealth of the nation's pride,
Why doth thou not consider the sufferings of the poor ants?
I mourn for the bitter death of the nation's sweet economy.
Savior of the people, why art thou so heartless a Messiah?
Howbeit in thy regime, hunger and suffering is the income of ants?
The marketplace has become an ocean of expensive - cheap items,
Cost of petrol waxing hot and higher amidst the harsh economy;
Savior was thy coming to destroy or redeem the helpless ants?
Thou promised hope to educated ants and graduated termites,
Yet not an iota of thy prophesied promises or words art come to pass;
Chancellor of Change, judge it if thou art true to thine own self.
Thou that prophesied promises, howbeit thy words art not fulfilled?
Mind thee the poor ants and termites voted thee in to save them,
Messiah did ye deceive the ants with thy deceptive - genuine lies?
Savior thy heresies has become a poisonous venom to the poor,
Wilt thou not resign seeing thou be not true to thine own words?
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 7:12 PM UTC
Bashed for my age
and my single-dom
I shrugged in carelessness
and slapped a smile on my face
Questioned for my actions
I hugged them and told them
to partake in conversation
that did not happen virtually
but physically
Shunned for my appearance
I loosened my untamed hair
and fixed my piercings
blew them a kiss
Miss-judged for my behavior
I lifted my drink and cheered them
for their ignorance
Ignored for my elation
I patted them on the back
hoping they'd only feel an iota
of what I feel, everyday
Punished for my recklessness
I begged them to see the world
through my eyes and how colorful
it would be
Insulted for my honesty
I opened their eyes
to their insecurities
that to me
are
truly
beautiful
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 8:25 AM UTC
I am a disappointment to my mother.
I don’t call when I’ll be coming home late. My room is wreck. I’m not in school, and I work two dead end jobs at places that don’t matter one iota to anyone in my family.
I curse. I smoke. I drink.
I’m a foul mouthed little child that can’t lose weight and sleeps around and never does what she’s told.
I’m a disappointment to my mother,
Despite the years of good behaviour. The good grades, the chaste life, the driven nature that took me half way around the world just to see if I could do it.
I stand in front of her today, still 6 inches shorter. Still rounder, still brunette. Still foul mouthed and still rebellious.
I still hug her tightly as if she’s all I’ve ever had. As if she is the only stability I’ve ever known. As if all those boyfriends who claimed they’d never leave either of us, as if all of those friends she had that I grew to love, and the pets we abandoned, and the apartments we called home, as if all of those things never mattered, or shaped me to be the distrustful little being I am today.
I still look at her like she’s all I have left. I never talk to her about stuff like that because I know it will only make her mad. Her hormonal short temper and her distrust of my judgement. I know I’m young, Mom, that’s why you should let me make my mistakes now, instead of in ten years when I’m married with children and never got to taste what being wrong in every way felt like.
I’m a disappointment to my mother. I want to have bad times. And hard times. I want to be knocked on my *** by life and barely able to get back up. She doesn’t get it.
She never will. I love her. With all that I am I will always love her but that trust that was once only reserved the only person who never left me, never deserted me and never gave up on me, that trust needs to be placed in me.
I am a disappointment to my mother because I grew up, and now I need to be a disappointment to me.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 7:18 PM UTC
Notice me,
Turn your head and
Look at me.
I want your eyes to
Absorb my figure,
To engulf
My entire being;
I want my presence
On every iota of
Sentient thought
You may possess.
Notice me,
Say the words to
Mesmerize me.
I watch you while
You play your violin
Everyday,
Black-chaired,
Snide,
It ends at 10:55,
Sharp.
I can feel
My heart strings squeak
As resin can't even
Make it sing,
Telling you
Everything neatly,
Metered,
In time.
Notice me,
Open your ears and
Hear me.
I think of you
When nobody
Else is around,
When safety comes
To blanket me in
A shroud made from
My own shame.
I dream of you
When I'm not even here,
Lost in the darkest
Reaches of dreamy
Sleep,
Restless by your image.
I yearn for you
Even when I am spent,
Dried up
And exhausted,
Yet I still bow down
To the throne
Of your thought
And humbly worship
My feelings on fire,
Burnt as an offering
To your gods
Of affection.
All I ask in return
Is for you to
Turn your eyes
And tolerate me.
May 15, 2010
May 15, 2010 at 6:39 PM UTC
A week back, in my garden bloomed, a tiny flower
Neither colorful nor flashy to grab anyone’s attention
The next day one more bud opened of golden hue
Making it more visible, adding an iota to its attraction
Each day to the delicate stalk was added more
Until finally it grew into a large globular cluster
I now stand nonplussed before its splendor
So lovely, it can steal any one’s glance by its luster
When the wind ruffles the leaves of trees
The mother plant in luxuriant foliage stands proud
Bobbing her golden crown in gentle breeze
Safely screened from the gaze of passing crowd
A dandy butterfly has come flitting down
To kiss those regal beauties like a besotted lover
Embarrassed by such a public show of love
The bashful maidens bend their heads so demure
I am the sole witness to this passionate romance
To the love struck dandy’s out right advance!
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 11:52 PM UTC