"irritation" poems
I should not have blamed only my father, but,
he was the first to introduce me to
raw and stupid hatred.
he was really best at it: anything and everything made him
mad-things of the slightest consequence brought his hatred quickly
to the surface
and I seemed to be the main source of his
irritation.
I did not fear him
but his rages made me ill at heart
for he was most of my world then
and it was a world of horror but I should not have blamed only
my father
for when I left that... home... I found his counterparts
everywhere: my father was only a small part of the
whole, though he was the best at hatred
I was ever to meet.
but others were very good at it too: some of the
foremen, some of the street bums, some of the women
I was to live with,
most of the women, were gifted at
hating-blaming my voice, my actions, my presence
blaming me
for what they, in retrospect, had failed
at.
I was simply the target of their discontent
and in some real sense
they blamed me
for not being able to rouse them
out of a failed past; what they didn't consider was
that I had my troubles too-most of them caused by
simply living with them.
I am a dolt of a man, easily made happy or even
stupidly happy almost without cause
and left alone I am mostly content.
but I've lived so often and so long with this hatred
that
my only freedom, my only peace is when I am away from
them, when I am anywhere else, no matter where-
some fat old waitress bringing me a cup of coffee
is in comparison
like a fresh wild wind blowing.
17.2k
** “Except for needs I can pack everything I have
into my old black sea-bag.” * **
"I wish I had written that line,
I said loud enough for him to hear."
He shuffled around in his stool
and raised his cup to get
hit with a refill.
Frustration wiggle I call it,
you know like when your dad
couldn’t let you struggle with a puzzle.
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
announced his irritation
"Where have you been,
swimming shallow side?"
"I stated swatting away needs
like mosquitoes on sweat
when I was seven."
He peered past his coffee,
furrowed his brow
and rubbed his tongue
over his lower lip.
"Whiskey Tango Foxtrot,
why do you keep saying that, I asked"
"Guess you’ve never been in the military.
College man I reckin,
fancy degrees
and you don't know Alpha Zulu?"
* From Alpha Zulu by Gary Lilley
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
*Contemplate a teardrop,
and this is what I see.
A drop of moisture
from an irritation?
Some agree.
What is a teardrop made of,
just some water from a gland?
But brush it off and contemplate
the moisture on your hand.
It's also made of sorrow
or from pain that you may feel
A treasure of emotion
on your cheek
that might congeal
"Tears of happiness" are made
of joy or great suprise
That fall like rain in summer
from a pair of smiling eyes.
They course down cheeks in rivers
or collect on lashes there.
They form in silent puddles
when emotions are laid bare.
Tears are gems as precious
as a diamond that is mined
So do not take them lightly
if their origins you can't find.
They're made of things like music
that can make the heart take wing
Or how the soul can elevate
to hear an angel sing.*
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
I reside in you but come out rarely
Like a virus, I appear
Expelling symptoms,
at times severe
I wait until you feel no control...
I elude to the fact that nothing's going right
I cause and irritation that puts up a fight
I will make you feel nothing's alright
Scream, scream
You cannot run from me
You will never be free, as long as you have responsibilities
I'm there...
Daily life begins to take a toll,
and your mood swings are really getting old
But alas you have to do what you're told
The frustration!
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
Pacing rapidly, doors slamming in the background.
I can't find iPod...no - irritation is building up inside of me - it's about to erupt. Where is my iPod??
In a violent flash of outrage, I smash my earphone against the desk.
Dropping down to the chair, and gazing out of the window, I'm suddenly thinking who is this hot-tempered person?
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
Everyday,
I stare at my face in the mirror,
Wondering, wondering, wondering,
Why do I have acne?
I eat the slice of double cheese pizza that's cooling in my hand,
Putting it down, I touch the underdeveloped pimples on my face,
Popping each one out of irritation,
I finish by drinking two can of coco cola after.
**Oh, what a healthy life style I'm living!**
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 2:43 AM UTC
Now, I won't try to analyze or criticize what was going on inside your head,
I won't even try to investigate or insinuate about the time taken,
leaving me waiting hoping for a reply but I was mistaken,
heartbroken left alone thinking my love tainted, no I won't try and figure what triggered you to leave,
or why I still want to believe,
there's something out there that can bring me an ounce of relief from the grief,
I just stopped Thinking with my mind my heart was just taking over,
I was turned around going in circles,
my whole world turned dark like all those sad songs you listen to on the radio to release your frustration,
but you seem to not care I haven't even spoken and you're already reaching to change the station, was it exasperation or desperation,
procrastination or your exoneration of obligation, vindication,
or was what I thought as love just another irritation,
I ask and ask but am met with silence instead,
no I won't ask what's going on inside your head, its plain to see no need for anymore concentration, I was merely mistaken.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
*concerning the pop. narrative -
i'm a wordsmith after all -
someone gives me the raw materials
of islam and (a rainbow) of affixing -phobia
and i can't seem to hammer
the **** thing into shape...
it's, foremostly: a pseudo-phobia.
a misnomer of the phobia compound.*
for a people who have an "irrational" fear
of islam, it seems strange that the same
people gave birth to some form of rationality -
let's just call it islamophobia
not an irrational fear - but rather:
and irritation -
the irritable fear of being suddenly forced
into the extremities of living the daily life -
when something unexpected happens -
mind you, the people who have been forced
into these situations: stop their want
for adrenaline in a base jump, from an aeroplane,
or bungee jump off a bridge.
islamophobia is not a "phobia" as such,
it's not irrational - it's just irritating -
but then again you don't actually believe
a spider to be a irrational creature (arachnophobia),
you don't believe an open space with lots of people
(agoraphobia)
to be an irrational circumstance -
you're facing yourself being irrational in
both circumstances -
since the phobia hides an actual rationale -
islam?
that's much harder - since you're
being "irrational" while someone is actually
being "rational" -
when in fact there's no escaping
that contra of you being "rational"
and the muslim being "irrational" -
not one side is either rational or irrational:
the spider and the open space filled
with people already stated:
you're being irrational;
the fear of spiders is irrational -
but there is no rationality from the perspective
of the spider: what does a spider
know about rationality? jackshit!
there is no such thing as islamophobia:
because you're not being irrational about
what has its own rationality -
its own monologue and intra-dialogue...
whoever coined this stupid word
is as dumb as their rationality allows them
to make enough people use it;
it's only an irrational fear: if there is no
rationale behind it;
point being: there's rationale behind islam,
ergo there is no such thing as
islamophobia.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
You say **** this" when about to quit, and **** it" when frustrated. You say **** you" whether joke or vile and **** me" when penetrated.
You put your middle finger up as a clear indication. An indication that shows via signals your current irritation.
You say **** off" meaning go away and **** yourself" means to make this clearer. ****** means persn and **** partner" a non-serious lover.
Well I say **** life, **** death, **** puerty, **** **** **** all the things that try to force me to change myself.
**** love, **** hate, **** destiny, **** fate. these things are just emtional, a way of god giving you a slap in the face.
**** dads, **** moms, **** terrorists, **** bombs. Such elements are born to teach and keep straight, yet some cause hate.
**** for pleasure, **** pain, **** loss, hell, **** gain. And from that moment, you'll fing out all the things cleared from your brain.
No, we don't hate these things, we just sometimes don't find pleasure. You'd have a ****** up" relationship when you refuse to be together.
All these things were easy to say, digging for words sometimes'll get you stuck. Which is why I believe there's no better created word than a summary word like ****
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 9:31 PM UTC
"You can join our group," he says,
"But only if you look everyone in the eyes."
I freeze.
Surely he is aware by now that the words
Autism Spectrum Disorder
In my chart were not placed there for fun?
Surely he is aware by now that finger twitching, body rocking,
gaze avoiding
Are not for my frivolous pleasure?
Surely he is aware by now the absurdity of what he asks?
I am autistic.
Burning irritation of the eyes and panic aside,
Staring creepily into another human's eyeballs
Would render group a waste of time, no possibility to listen.
He knows this.
It is his prejudice that keeps him rooted to the spot.
I can feel the weight of his expectations boring into my forehead.
Explaining what it is to ask this of me,
I remind him that drawing this line would be excluding me because
Of my autism.
I tell him he would be losing a valuable participant,
A deep thinker, a creator, an avid listener.
I tell him he would be discriminating,
That I am protected by law.
Oh, no.
He budges not,
For he does not dislike autistic humans
So long as they act like they are Neurotypical,
So long as I pretend to be
Someone I am not.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 12:22 AM UTC
1. My mind is a 20/20 vision pair of eyes.
I can see the specks
and seeds of irritation before they grow.
Plants,
They were never really good for these eyes.
2. Let's go to the moon.
And I assure you,
While you sink your feet in moon dust
And swim in empty craters,
While I worry about how dark it is out here,
I get to enjoy the simultaneous twinkle of the stars.
3. And because I'm paying too much attention,
I might even get to see one fly.
4. You're thinking about how delicious this lunch is.
I'm counting calories.
5. So,
what's for dinner?
6. Hey, if she is
Indeed
Stabbing my back
With word weapons,
My 561-letter comeback speech
Is always ready
in the front pocket
Of my school bag.
7. Its always just a headache,
Never brain cancer.
8. I love the newly opened eyelids,
In the mornings,
My first breath is a sigh of relief,
Yes.
I didn't die in my sleep.
9. She's got a great body.
Her bones read,
No food and a ton of gym time,
I'm sure it's to make you smile.
And I hate to brag,
But I'm mentally fit.
I get to exercise
Analyzing every single detail
Of the twinkle in your eye
Of the flick of your lips
Of the depth of that frown
When you said
you were leaving.
10. I think I've figured out why.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
Our eyes meet unexpected. In confusion and mistrust you look away. As your eyes turn back down you hit your hand in your papers. A sigh of irritation finds it way out of your mouth. I've got nothing left to say, so I turn around and leave. That moment is where I realize that everything is said and done.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
i am allergic to washing up liquid
and lovers who taste of day old liquor
unfortunately
neither have a warning
‘may cause irritation’
weary desperation
to scrub clean
every thought of us remaining
my hands are sore from rubbing
my eyes are bloodshot too
crying
sharp hot tears of
glistening glass, cutting at my cheek
every shattered word you said
a piercing pool of lies
next time
will be different
raised voices as high as the expectations
sober me from you
i’ll go cold ’til i no longer feel you rushing my system
addictive coffee skinned boy
drunk on the idea of forgetting you
maybe this relationship be a blur like the night before
that's how I would liken it
maybe we'd be happier surviving on the memories alone
drink me down
throw away the bottle
i can only imagine how your head feels from the hangover
well that's how my heart feels
over
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 4:37 PM UTC
Do you remember that time of innocence?
When the horrors of the world were invisible,
and you were so much more than invincible?
Do you remember when you didn't doubt for a second that you were amazing?
When you wore those "crazy" things,
And sung at the top of your lungs, unashamed?
Do you remember when you raced outside at every opportunity?
When catching fireflies were the only thing you could think about in the summer,
Other than swimming in the open sea?
Do you remember when laughing came so easily?
When you didn't catch the naughty things in kids tv programs,
And when you had a million perfect life plans?
Do you remember when you woke up early, because you couldn't wait for the day?
When you spoke so fast, because there wasn't enough time,
And when you created a trillion random things, because you wanted to?
Do you remember dancing, or bobbing your head to some random tune in your head?
When you ran out into the rain, without shame,
And screamed until your lungs ached?
Do you remember when you learned everything, and wanted to still know more?
When you were so proud of getting one thing right,
And not caring if you weren't perfect?
Do you remember watching your older siblings, or grown-ups do things, that made you say "I can't wait until I grow up!"?
When you loved yourself, without a doubt,
And had the power to do anything, or be anyone?
I do.
And I wish I could have all of that innocence, and freedom back.
I wish that openness, and self-love had transferred into my more mature life.
I wish that nonchalant way of doing everything had stayed.
I wish that careless way of dancing and singing had tagged along.
I wish that I had stayed carefree for longer, instead of quickly becoming cynical, and depressed.
I wish that I had never pushed to be a part of the grown-up conversations.
I wish that I had never rushed into intimacy.
I wish that I had held onto my wildest dreams.
Because, now,
I regret every time I said
"I can't wait until I grow up!",
Because each time I said those words aloud,
Its pushed me further away from my imagination and wilderness faster, and harsher.
Because each time I said those words, and every single adult around me said that I should hold on to my childhood,
I replied with anger and irritation, not knowing the hell that I was rushing into.
I want to go back,
Don't you?
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
you love him
you love his smooth hands and his rough cheek
you love your hands in his denim shirt
and the cinematography of you together
everything else is an afterthought
the knife in his eyes that is not always pointed at you
but when it is
you kiss the fist that rattles plates
the lips that wrap around clenched teeth
melt him
fail to understand his poison tipped arrows
that are aimed at the mother who threw bottles
if he could only pick one more fight it'd be with his father
you kiss him when he knocks his brother's teeth out
he leaves in the morning for coffee and comes back a day later
welcome him with open arms and abundant questions
he will be a tower of irritation and concrete
he will point fingers that will curl into fists
but they are not fists for you
they are for the devils that dance within him
and behind his wild eyes
and in his childhood home
you will not be fooled
he loves you
you know by every sweetheart and the lips on your forehead and the way he smells in between the sheets each night
he leaves
he comes back
purple flowers that bloom around his eyes are the bouquets he brings home for you
the front porch sags when he puts his hands in his pockets
his face buried in your chest
on nights when the lamp swings a little too low
and his body is wracked with sobbing and shoulders shaking
he mourns the gentle temper he never had
he mourns what he would be like without you
he mourns what you would be like without him
this is how he loves you
your hands in his hair easing soothing shh shh
you are the mother who left
you are better than every last ex-girlfriend
for reasons he will be happy to name
this is how you love him
you came because you are drawn to the shipwrecks
but you stayed in the water for him
ancient child
furious soul
you salt his wounds
and then you clean them
this is how you love him
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
Running on empty,
Lost luck and fumes,
Choking out victims, with a distinct perfume.
Rub the glass between your palms,
And let it bleed out the toxins.
Litter the house with crude memories,
Like oil churning, polluting possibilities.
Ripping wings from flies,
And the legs from a spider.
One by one, shooting cans like army men.
Bleeding out to start again.
Snarky saints believing they're saved,
Crying blood and burning sage,
To rid themselves of the rage.
Thinking they'll see the graffitied golden gates,
When all they're doing is shoveling their own graves.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
It was one of those unfair things
like scabies or head-lice.
Although it can happen to anybody regardless of precautions
by the time you realize it has happened to you
It is too late.
Despite having no reason to be ashamed or embarrassed,
She was
...and felt awkward too.
Similarly, she wanted to hide herself away from the world until she was cured and rid of the irritation.
Being jilted ******
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC
I’m nervous, simply waiting for you to snap me
like a twig.
I’ve bundled my feelings, my loves and hates,
all those outspoken words
and all those silenced words,
into a little gift-wrapped, topped-with-a-bow
gift
for you.
You will accept it.
It is what comes after, when it reaches your nimble hands,
that frightens me.
You weave your skill so well,
like knitted discord inside, I can feel
when I reach in to see if I’m all still there.
Under many dark moons,
you leave your shadow to keep me company.
It walks beside me, keeping my head whirring on into the
small hours of the darkened dawn when
I see it
at the foot of my bed
watching me sleep.
You told it to crawl into all the tight spaces
inside me,
with me.
It reminds me of you, endlessly, always,
breathing your name as I surrender to closing my eyes,
vulnerable lying before your peering shadow,
it could stop me breathing in a heartbeat.
Only you, sweet devil, can keep me falling so hard
so fast,
shedding myself trailing from your bed to mine.
I linger in the smell of you wrapped around my clothes,
taken off in a hurry as your words,
sizzling spitfire,
hand-made cuts and invisible haemorrhage
shatter me to pieces
easy enough for you to pick and keep in
your bed until you are finally finished
with me.
All I feel is the burden of myself,
when I really have no burden to hold.
I’m a phone running out of battery when you need it most.
Filled with a frenzied panic, a slap of frustration passes your face
to use against me all that bottled irritation.
If I don’t touch you back you will
wield it against me,
blame for insensitivity, a slowly seeping coldness
I can fight off under your roaming form
in a shady light of fear.
Your emotional abuse is a character.
It has a body, limbs and hollow face and it can bruise me
with a single touch.
I never leave my body open with you.
And to what end do I let you paint me with your manipulations,
your scheming tactics
your irrevocable evidence I’m worth nothing more for you;
like a girl’s doll known to be too pretty,
putting sticky residue inside their goals at night.
So use me with your infamous fingers.
I dare you, do it.
Again.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 2:22 AM UTC
It made his gut churn with the familiar sensation.
Guilt.
Quilted with humiliation.
A rope knotted in irritation.
Hitch after stitch,
trepidation grew,
until he could feel it in his toes...
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
*I see, your words are quite clear.
You speak the truth, and I shouldn't disagree.
I'm oblivious to these facts of yours, they're also proven too.
I can understand it's completely unbiased, and definitely not make believe.*
"But...." The word of choice, for all the biased, make believe, oblivious, disapproving, contradicted, crystal clear, pain in the **** perfectionist know it all.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
**What a day!
Oh what a tiresome day!
A guesome hurdle
A dire way,
As afternoon embraced,
The lights all fade,
So does the sparkle in her
little eyes..**
*oh how pretty she were
How her tiny feet ran all over the place,
Made me smile
A little gay,
Her nose so tiny,
it fit in as my thumb,
Her tongue so pink
Even strawberries
Looked shy..*
But oh! Her jibber jabbering,
Her questions,
Her answers!
Her shouting,
Her cry!
What a sly thing she was,
You know?
she hid behind sofas,
Scared me to death,
**So I thought of giving her
a taste of lifelessness.**.
*but, she,
she,
Was my princess,
My beauty in petals,
Her funny giggling,
Made everyone laugh!
Oh such a cherry
Skin like honey,
Her hair amber,
Like wings of burterflies
Flying across the sun..*
Oh! But she ****** the life
out of me,
Everyone praised her,
But me,
they said what a lovely
Little thing she is!
The irritation!
The moral dissatisfaction!
She made me look old!
and ragged,and torn,
Frustration!
*but how could I cut her
Feeble hands?
Hold her so tight,
That she couldn't breath,
how could I?
How?
after all I was her mommy,
The most beautiful
She considered..
How could I not think about her once?
I gave her life and in
3years I took it back!?
Forgive me lord
For I have sinned,
no how can you forgive someone
So heartless,
so mean,
Such a hippocrit!
such a ***** person?*
But who cares?
when I have my life back,
**To start anew,
Never look back,**
Yes I hit her,
Hard and numb,
Made her blood,
Come till my feet,
but she was the one who wanted forgiveness,
yes she,
So I gave her
What she wanted,
freedom was my forgiveness,
Stains of her,
still stick to my life story,
but I don't care..
*you,fair little fragile thing,
You made me do that to you,
Had you not come,
I never would have been,
An inhuman,
A mother,
A disastrous
Murderer..*
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 9:45 AM UTC
is this tingling feeling in my stomach
love
or just my IBS playing up?
Mar 31, 2011
Mar 31, 2011 at 2:35 PM UTC
O my sacred,
Shower me with your greatness.
Bring it up to my neck,
And drown me in the lake bed.
O how secret, and so delicate,
Fear in trust involved.
It's not a secret anyways,
If nothing's getting solved.
I love, I trust, I need you,
In fear I live all time.
My words in hope to mean them,
So that you'll say "You're mine"
O my sacred,
Take myself and make it yours.
This day is nothing to you,
Your love fills my empty lake bed.
A love, that's secrets tale,
One month, forever it lasted.
The tale of two, of many,
At each other, love was blasted.
No one way to say it right,
Four ways to say I Love You.
Just take me as I am,
And know that I'm thinking of you.
O my sacred,
Unto you I do trust.
No lake bed full of:
doubt, anger, mistrust, jealousy, regret, pain, hurt, love, hate, lust, health, disease, space, time, pity, indulgence, sorrow, mourning, evil, distress, affliction, trouble, breaks, insignificance, remorse, agony, peril, skeptics, insecurities, uncertainty, question, suspicion, difficulty, dilemma, depression, belief, worry, conviction, cruelty, discredit, hesitation, unhappiness, calamity, travesty, grief, hardship, loss, suffering, weeping, sadness, heartache, lament, excruciation, torture, soreness, discomfort, penalty, torment, torture, harm, malicion, malevolence, prejudice ,detriment, disservice, misfortune, abuse, effort, labor, endeavor, strength, power, energy, operation, mistreat, undermining, blemish, flaw, disservance, misery, injury, exertion, struggle, trial, madness, wrath, rampage, harassment, irritation, exasperation, rage, tantrum, infuriation, mischief, inequality, alienation, aggravation, annoyance, contagion, trauma, damage, insults, violation, wrong, flesh, or ****
...ANYTHING between us,
Vanquished because I must!
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 9:52 PM UTC
*We used to be bestfriends.
We used to write to eachother who'd we be if we could have chosen ourselves.
We used to hangout everyday,
the anxiety instantly dripping away.
Because we just didn't care.
We used to talk about all our problems and ways we can fix eachother.
We used to ditch class to talk humbly.
We'd take pictures and have irritation when someone would steal our spot.
Even in the large,
rough grounded place.
We sat leg to leg.
Shoulder to shoulder.
We used to listent to music and fight the urge to scream.
We used to be so close.
Your the Beauty and I'm the Beast.*
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC