"jaggedness" poems - Hello Poetry

I can write for you Or I can write for me I can recieve the instant gratific8tion Or I can release my feels The rawness and jaggedness and ugl8ness of something unrefined that runs too long and lacks or Der If I am to be a collector of confirmation and praise, only one category is permitted: My own. I want to 0ractice not eating the marshmallow.

0

Jul 26, 2018

Jul 26, 2018 at 10:57 PM UTC

Waffles

Marshmellow

I can write for you Or I can write for me I can recieve the instant gratific8tion Or I can release my feels The rawness and jaggedness and ugl8ness of something unrefined that runs too long and lacks or Der If I am to be a collector of confirmation and praise, only one category is permitted: My own. I want to 0ractice not eating the marshmallow.

9

Plain little jewels of the sea Resting easy in my hand, Your velvety roundness Breathes tranquility in me. Funny this should be, For you were born in the fires of this sphere, Ejected rudely with sudden blast Chipped from wholeness, Pressed and wave tossed. Upheaval transformed you from igneous grit To this polished state. You do not sparkle or shine With color bright, But your creamy grain Soothes, beautifies your loud world Where surf and sand collide. Placed in my palm, You help me pause, Remember that time and stormy seas Might just knock the jaggedness off me.

0

Mar 30, 2013

Mar 30, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC

kerry-peterson

Sea Stones

Plain little jewels of the sea Resting easy in my hand, Your velvety roundness Breathes tranquility in me. Funny this should be, For you were born in the fires of this sphere, Ejected rudely with sudden blast Chipped from wholeness, Pressed and wave tossed. Upheaval transformed you from igneous grit To this polished state. You do not sparkle or shine With color bright, But your creamy grain Soothes, beautifies your loud world Where surf and sand collide. Placed in my palm, You help me pause, Remember that time and stormy seas Might just knock the jaggedness off me.

20

You left me with open ended letters and hand written promises. Your words were always too fine, too far and few between. You were a genre of your own kind. An enigma of words, always tattered and smeared. Coffee rings and cigarette ash seem to ruin every last page of a chapter. Things got ****** and I could no longer read you, my eyes unable to pick up what was left to discover between the lines. Hard cover, when I was always paperback, bending in any way you wanted me to. I tried so hard to keep you with me, crumpled up in my front pocket, but the jaggedness of your ripped out edges did nothing but draw blood. I’m so tired of getting papercuts. I’m running out of bandaids.

0

Oct 7, 2018

Oct 7, 2018 at 11:40 AM UTC

tylersmiley

Papercuts

You left me with open ended letters and hand written promises. Your words were always too fine, too far and few between. You were a genre of your own kind. An enigma of words, always tattered and smeared. Coffee rings and cigarette ash seem to ruin every last page of a chapter. Things got ****** and I could no longer read you, my eyes unable to pick up what was left to discover between the lines. Hard cover, when I was always paperback, bending in any way you wanted me to. I tried so hard to keep you with me, crumpled up in my front pocket, but the jaggedness of your ripped out edges did nothing but draw blood. I’m so tired of getting papercuts. I’m running out of bandaids.

20

The body bound Restrained yet open A masterpiece of living parchment Da Vinci's virtu of carnal sin A Maestro playing Each hill and valley Tracing want in cross marked pain Symphonies of tormenting fire Mapped upon willing skin Lines etched Lustful treasures exposed Flowering petals become the focus A crack of whip Drawing outside Societal maps of propriety Margins of mind filled With consuming need Each strike laid With a Falls precision Drawing forth jaggedness Bordering outcrops of greed Unrelenting strikes rained down Igniting pain Replaced with fire Driving the body Until there is no thought, no voice No place to hide, just Incoherent whispers Begging for release Crescendos pop As the epicenter is struck Singled out and singed Again and again The body quakes as Floods roll forth Pleasure engulfing The pain mapped body Muscles pulled taught Rigid in need The Maestro Etches his last mark Allowing his masterpiece Of pleasure to be unleashed

0

Feb 28, 2017

Feb 28, 2017 at 8:12 PM UTC

lora-osborne

Virtu

The body bound Restrained yet open A masterpiece of living parchment Da Vinci's virtu of carnal sin A Maestro playing Each hill and valley Tracing want in cross marked pain Symphonies of tormenting fire Mapped upon willing skin Lines etched Lustful treasures exposed Flowering petals become the focus A crack of whip Drawing outside Societal maps of propriety Margins of mind filled With consuming need Each strike laid With a Falls precision Drawing forth jaggedness Bordering outcrops of greed Unrelenting strikes rained down Igniting pain Replaced with fire Driving the body Until there is no thought, no voice No place to hide, just Incoherent whispers Begging for release Crescendos pop As the epicenter is struck Singled out and singed Again and again The body quakes as Floods roll forth Pleasure engulfing The pain mapped body Muscles pulled taught Rigid in need The Maestro Etches his last mark Allowing his masterpiece Of pleasure to be unleashed

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