"madeup" poems
my polygamous relationship with you distances me from the monotony of monogamy and makes me feel lonelier than the loneliest mundane monogamist. my mere apologies for my misendeavors, the malnutritious morals of my miseducation propose metal mirrors and castaways controlled by cutting carvers, craving crazy letters and loyalty from lengthy lies and lonely lives. lethargy overtakes and vowels reign, raining drops like rainbows and rocks in rivers, rusting relationships, rusty railroads at intense intersections entwined in everything inside and nothing on the outside anymore except these
muscles. we are back at the beginning.
my mind marvels in the magic of the memories, the madness of the morbidity and the hesitations of your reaction. his, I take, is misunderstood as my misfortune, but it is not a miss, my fortune: it is a fox in feathers colorful like friendships 'fore their forfeited and feigned approval, forced for fear of polygamy tho' it promises the purest pleasure, the most personal independence and precious pearls of princes, princesses, powerful, plight-less
poetry. peace surrenders,
souls surprise themselves, surprise their cells, call for curious catastrophes to take place. colorful and calm they coincide with cooperation that can not contain the context of truth, of teases, of teasers and targets and tonal dualities and we endeavor, we endear you, we dare destroy the darkness of the devil in its disguised diamonds.
words lie at my feet like pebbles of poetry and I promise personal demise, deterioration and ridiculous obsessions- there's madness to be had and fragments to be written and I play with silly alliteration instead!
serious and serene you stare as if my sanity has slowly faded and I sternly helplessly smile shyly. I suppose you are sincerely offering me your blessing before parting, so stumbling slightly I surrender…
if this is the prevailing promise of mere mortality, I'm graciously aware I was worthy of words.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
I tried to draw a cloud.
I really did. with trembling hands that black pen found my wrist
but they were always too squiggly
or too big or small
never just right, the way they must be for you.
I always thought that clouds were a thing of happiness
of joy, and birthday parties and wishes
but
not for you
all the clouds brought was a sick sort of happiness
the kind of happiness that you have when you get a
"i'm sorry" card about the loss of your grandmother
they only brought that idea that they were there becuase
you weren't going to be there, so painfully soon
so I tried with tears, and screams and sobs
to draw a perfect cloud
with a perfect color on the perfect day
it was always wrong though
my hand didn't like the way that you were leaving us
leaving us on a cloudy day for somewhere else
somewhere else from that place we met
where happiness was
darkness was there too, but I hope you always remember the
happiness, wherever you are now
and I hope you know that we miss you
even though I'm not able to take a pen to my skin
and etch your final wish, a cloud,
I still think about it
about how the clouds stole you away from us like a blade tears my jean pocket
but were are you now
they say that you left us
before august 31st, the day you told us
oh how I wish that august 31st was just a madeup day
a day that never showed up on the calendar, because it was
all a lie
perhaps on august 31st
there will be clouds again
clouds drawn on eager hands with eager tears
that still flow after you've gone and
only the clouds remain in your place,
reminding us, that you were here, we didn't make it up
it wasn't a dream.
how do you draw clouds for someone you never really knew anyway?
how do you show that you care when you do
but you don't know it
how painfully it is to draw a cloud on your arm
for someone who will never see it
perhaps you'll see clouds there though?
maybe you'll see the way that my clouds never turned out right
how they twisted and turned and broke into little pieces
how they were too big and too small
how they held too many sobs to even look like real clouds
how the clouds themselves were pain;
which of course, was the problem with your clouds
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
All my life
I've seen girls and woman
Told to hate their own faces
Refusing to go outside
Without a face painted to perfection
Eighth grade -
Girl with blonde hair
Doesn't believe me when I say she's beautiful
When she lets me in
Her house
Wrapped in a blanket
Canvas blank
She nervously lets me stay
Two years after college -
Girl with brown hair
Doesn't believe me when I say she's beautiful
When she asks me how she looks best
And I say "without makeup"
She stares and says
No when do I look most beautiful
She nervously laughs
All my life
I've seen boys and men
Told to hate their own faces
Nose down ninety-five percent of the day
Eyes can't meet others
Freshman year of highschool -
Young boys face spotted with change
Ashamed without confidence
Feeling too small
Too insignificant
Lacking perfection
Ten years later -
A man with short brown hair
Eyes feeling too sunk in
Face not sharp enough
Cheeks hollow
Body twisted made to feel ugly
Almost letting go
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
Its exciting
To run through the light
To escape the forever days
To escape the non stop reality
To release the naive child
Who loves and explores with glimmering eyes
Who chases butterflies that run away from her
Who speaks to dead toys that come alive for her
Who sings a madeup melody for the dead
Who splashes with color the suffocating white walls
Who never looks back
Some love was meant for the young
Some love was meant to remain the same
Darling,
set the child free
let her run with the wind
let her fall and rise again
let her love the wild
let her messy hair untangle her thoughts
let her be
She is a child after all
She is only learning
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 1:21 AM UTC
I ask you just once to take me as i am.
No more allusions to what i could be.
wipe away the madeup face,
The tan you wear,
The pout you share.
Reflection I beg your honesty,
Don't show me angles good or bad,
Show me what it is to be pretty,
To love all i see.
To be all i can be.
Lover I gaze upon lovingly,
Vulnerability clear and not hidden.
Hold my hand and hold my gaze,
Take your cue,
And love me true.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 7:09 PM UTC
I feel sick,
Sick of your
Presence!
I rather pick,
Pick myself up
With my senses
You see me weak
But I am strong
You won't get
What you seek
...Your thinking is
So wrong!
Stop showing
Me, that you care
People with golden
Hearts are so rare
You are not
One of them, liar!
Stop temperamenting
My mood, else you'll
Burn in hell's fire
Of your hopeless,
Madeup stories
Let me live in peace
Without any
anxieties and worries...
©sim
Sep 22, 2017
Sep 22, 2017 at 7:16 AM UTC
You broke my heart
Now you are sorry
Right from the start
You madeup stories
You seem to enjoy
Now that I am broken
Your voicemails annoy
But I will remain unspoken
Request me or beg me
For your ultimate space
Forget it, as you made me see
The fakeness behind your face...
©sim
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 10:37 PM UTC