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J Jones May 2014
We are more than Sheldon
Nerds, Geeks, Fanboys or Girls
We are more than your Sheldon
We love our worlds
Our passion is more than T-Shirt Deep.
You've seen Spider-Man?
Good for you!
I can tell you in which issue Gwen Stacey dies
I can spoil 4 future seasons of Game of Thrones
and no I didn't need a ****** show;
Walking Dead.......whatever
been doing that since 2001
Our entertainment is far from the television or movie
You buy your toy or your ticket
but don't think you know us.
We created these worlds
they are by us and for us
We are not just maladjusted brainiacs
we feel deeper and want more
You watch; we experience
We fly through the sky
on the backs of dragons
We know the regenerations of The Doctor
We don't just relate To fiction, but THROUGH fiction.
We know the Allomantic properties of pewter
You don't.....?
Wait a year, you will...
Slam poem written after the billionth person told me I reminded them of Sheldon on Big Bang Theory.
#poetry #nerd #who #slam #fangirl #dr #fanboy #spider-man
Continue reading...
Ritz Writes Jun 2019
Maladjusted
Pretentious smile,
I wish I could drown myself to sleep for a while.
Silver jubilee ringing,
yet afraid of the dark.
When the night haunts and loneliness arrives,
I'd still cowered in terror, hidden under the blanket
Like a broken mirror with shattered glass,
All the gamut of emotion laid scattered with each passing memories and bygone days.
"Don't you dare to speak.
Don't you dare to rebel.
Don't you dare to resist."
Else the shame and label of Traitor would be hung on your image for decades to come.
I Spoke, I Resist, I disobeyed
Not in the eyes of God
But in the eyes of men and women who couldn't find flaws in their own life.
And finally rejoiced to embrace the black dot in the perfect delusional world of normalcy.
“If you look for perfection, you'll never be content.” ~ Leo Tolstoy
#dysfunctional #imperfection #life #emotion #memory #girlhood #love #family #3am
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Edward Coles Jan 2017
Thailand
Departure lounge. Crown of tears
probably dried upon my father’s shoulder.
One year before I touch down again.
Everyone will expect some change.

Tried to swallow consciousness on the Bangkok streets.
Too much heat. There is no familiar face –
I cannot even read the road-signs.
There is no culture shock:
I had lived with that my entire life.

Made friends with the strays
for we had a common place.
Caught in no man’s land:
a need for hunger,
some awful drive to be free.

Left Bangkok for the coast.
New faces to hear old stories.
Born new, kissed each night on the mouth,
shared a hotel room for the month;
relinquished every memory

in a flood of beer,
old tears, the reservoir
to cleanse ourselves of doubt.
Dictated each depression

to a room full of strangers
until I could frame every disgrace,
put them to bed
until I slept full and new.

Fell in love with a singer,
red hair and a voice
that climbed a ladder to heaven.
Bid farewell in a country of mourning,

wore black until I found colour again.
Descended each rung
until I found that rock bottom
was still much higher
than where I had come from.

Wrote poetry and songs
nine hours from the foundations
I had built upon.
Black-eyed and clueless,
wrong side of the classroom,

I tried to teach a foreign tongue
in a place where I knew nothing
and no one. Far from every addiction
that once anchored me in place,

I shaved my face, pressed my shirt,
made amends for every cigarette end
that once painted the frame
of all I had amounted,
all I had done.

Fell in love with a town,
a pink sunset, stretch of rice-farms
and apple trees that patterned the view
of all I could see.

Still broken, still maladjusted,
still craving those twisted words.
Take my motorbike off into the drumlins
each time that I fear the worst.

Still broken, still singing
a song I cannot sing,
yet each muffled string,
each half-worn verse
is a half-formed reason
to rehearse
the melody I gather
each fateful, live-long day,

I cry out for meaning
before it fades away.
C
#depression #life #anxiety #memories #recovery #thailand
Continue reading...
Edward Coles Nov 2016
Leonard
You took me to the Mekong River,
handing my documents over the border,
to the temple of the left-handed Buddha,
in the hope it would all make sense.

You took me to the brink of a stolen calamity,
you stayed with me in poetry; my eventual insanity.
You kept me with your golden voice,
you kept me with your wit.

You lost me with your genius;
how you discarded it.

You drove me to a calling that I could not fulfill,
just make statuettes from the ash that lines my windowsill.
Call it art, or call it a longing,
call it that animal burn for some kind of belonging.

You were a father, you called off the saints,
you cooled my tongue, my off-white yogi;
taught me these songs of pain, these songs of love
were meant to be sung by everyone.

Not the clever mind, nor the metronome heart
that keeps time with this life, that keeps pace from the start,
but for the stumbling folk, the slow off the blocks,
the maladjusted, the criminal; those who only see dark.

That this chip on my shoulder is a flute in which to sing,
that each failure I live, is a story I should bring
to the table of life, to the feast of recovery,
for every impatient soul with a hunger for discovery.

Each broken chord is a chance to sound alive,
amongst the crackle of the static, there is another side.
Another wasteland companion, another strangled voice,
that amongst all this hopelessness; we always have a choice.

To bend or to break in the shatter of our soul,
sometimes the glass must be half-empty in order to feel whole.
That some convenience pleasure is not always enough,
sometimes we must bear the burden;
sometimes we must hang tough.

Because the words will come, the sun will rise,
amongst the debris of yesterday, there is another side.
You took me to the temple and on bended knee I pray,
that I could lift a suicide, with just the words I say.
Written on the day that Leonard Cohen died.



Leonard Cohen tribute:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e01PXY9QYqg&feature;=youtu.be
#leonardcohen
Continue reading...
Claire Waters Jun 2013
perfectly nefarious degenerate reality
"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." - 1 John 4:18

a maladjusted little minstrel, rage focused in the pinnacle
least invincible principle of my environment, so biblical
i'm ti-red of the rituals habitual to assimilating individuals
like our voices and choices and self-importance, all cyclical

does your infallible tongue feel hungry and porous
like your horrid torpid fond memory abhorrence
the grossly ****** and unnatural discordance
the inorganic and unfactual that came before us
the dissident power of your bodies' diction in a chorus

swear i'm fine, it's just your eyes, inflected with disinfected distance
a forest of imbellished distrust, derealized with disinterest
making me feel like my lungs are full of fumigated insects
and that's fine, i swear, trust me,
i don't need to convince you of this
i don't want to climb into your mouth and wrestle the truth out
i want to go home smelling of wine and pass out on the couch
and your actions are latent, this is stupidly freudian
stop treating me like a ******* patient,
you're supposed to be my friend

coughing up horrible insincerities meant to be favoring
stop and listen to yourself giving your secrets away, wavering
like a white bible page ripped from the spine of glue on your mouth,
you gave in, balancing on the edge of a risky display
disobeying social conventions and being made prey again today

you’ve got dictionaries of fiction fidgeting with the infectious insecurity ignition
stop and listen
and a thesaurus that can’t arm you with the proper vowel consonant friction
to out-enamor their derision when you pout as you fit the description
never feeling completely comfortable in someone else's kitchen
i wish you would scream and shout but you just keep playing cards now
wish you’d unlock but it stops between your lips slow scowl
swallowing your tongue, the key, he cut out when you kissed
not hateful but afraid
afraid to let it out, ‘kid’
afraid the words would fit too much like a slit smile on a spit
afraid they would just flow like this

an unspoken conviction for viscious fulfillments
and dereliction of indiscriminate sauve depictions of riches
of addictions to princesses and affinity for infinitely angering insistence
of what she represses
expected on the table in an instant

the constriction of the snake in her belly
makes ******* and planning things
seem insanely oppressive
she was getting too old for things to be like this
but they all like it that way
this is why she hates yelling and kissing
always the same old
merry go round

you say poet as if it means perfect
when i know enough people with the bruises to show it
to realize it really means nervous
and i have nothing to show see
except the mosquitoes who ****** my blood
and would be delighted to tell you
what ugly things they know about me
Continue reading...
Claire Waters Jul 2013
perfectly nefarious degenerate reality w/better flow
"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." - 1 John 4:18

a maladjusted little minstrel, rage focused in the pinnacle
least invincible principle of my environment, so biblical
i'm re-tired of rituals habitual to introducing individuals
like our voices and choices and self-importance, all cyclical
i wonder

does your infallible tongue feel hungry and porous
like your short lived torpid fond memory abhorrence
the inorganic and unfactual that actually came before us
dissident power of your ****** diction in a chorus

coughing on insincerities meant to be favoring,
listen to yourself giving your secrets away, wavering
like a white bible page ripped from the spine of glue on your mouth,
a risky display of leaking doubt, you gave out,
disobeying social conventions and being made prey
******* sick of everything being so **** blasee
you keep forgetting we all rust when it pours this way

you’ve got infectious dictionaries of fiction
fidgeting with the insecurity ignition
telling you what you're missing when you don't stop and listen
and these thesauruses can’t arm you with the proper vowel consonant friction
to out-enamor their derision when you pout as you fit the description,
constricted by eviction, waiting for the jurisdiction
never completely comfortable in someone else's kitchen
something's always a little bit different
they take your bewilderment for ignorance

and hey i wish you would scream and shout
but instead you just keep playing cards now
wish you’d unlock but it stops between your lips slow scowl
swallowing your tongue, the key, he cut out when you kissed
you left it in a public bathroom, it fell into boston's abyss
it's not hateful but afraid, to let it out, ‘kid’
afraid the words would fit like a slit smile on a spit
afraid that they would flow, just ******* like this

an unspoken conviction for viscious fulfillments
and dereliction of indiscriminate sauve depictions of riches
of addictions to ******* philanthropist princesses,
and affinities for infinitely angering insistence
what she represses expected on the table in an instant

you say poet as if it means perfect
when i know enough people with the bruises to show it
to realize it really means nervous
and i have nothing to show you see,
except the mosquiteos who ****** my blood
and would be delighted to tell you
what lovely ugly things they know about me
Continue reading...
Roberta Day Apr 2012
Loop
A poet doesn't lie,
       a poet omits
the suppressed thoughts and sensations
she will never forget
The painful memories she hopes to create,
       The ill-tempered words
       tied to strings of hate that
L o o p--
             a reoccurring
             pattern of
              maladjusted
             thinking

  A sense of dread churns in your gut,
writhing behind your chest cavity,
invading your consciousness,
shutting it down

       Perspiration begins,
and the rattling in your bones
Nausea sets in,
    reeling your blood
   It's happening again,
            this you know,
but time will not tell
when this attack will go

Your throat constricts
                   while time afflicts
everything you've kept inside--
the emotions you've kept alive
       when you should have set them free
captives of your debauchery
they've transformed into something ugly,
           the wretch of scorn and self-pity
and have unleashed their vengeance
for smothering them with poisons
       depriving them of breath,
and of their destiny

They're doing unto you,
what you did unto them,
       killing you tediously,
disrupting your mind with
   irrational fear
and depleting the dopamine
transmitted through your system
to plague you with indifference
towards reality
          The symptoms it carries
manipulate your thought-process,
restarting the l o o p--
                     a reoccurring
                     pattern of
                      maladjusted
                     thinking
Tried something different with the formatting. Feedback appreciated :}
Continue reading...
Edward Coles Dec 2012
The Boy in the Corner
Every era that has ever been
Has engaged in the auto-dissection
Of their yellowing underbellys.

Yes, every generation has predicted
that the end is nigh,
That god is on their side;
But the devil has a crowbar
And is busting out of the basement.

Each decade is a mimicry of the last.
Different fashions, same trends
And always, with a fool on the hill.

A lonely steel harmonica can pierce the airwaves
Across space and time,
Through the grooves and crackles
To enthral an audience,
And to beguile that every generation
Into believing in their autonomy,
Their solitude,
With a fate independent of all those centuries past.

Through every disembodied spew of Dylan lyrics,
Or the corporeal and common alienation
Sympathised in every Wilde reference,
Comes the same fury at the chaos of a world
That is no more than indifferent at the plight of the people it houses.

Indeed,
Every generation has sought to either
Cure the ills of the Earth;
Or else set lighter fluid to the lot.

This stretches back to the first blood-spattered edition of the Bible,
And further, much further.
To all of the captains,
The heroes,
The anti-heroes,
The road gritter,
The malevolent dictator,
The schoolteacher,
The emancipated woman
And the borderline feminist.
To every young child who is reluctant to take the spotlight,
Or look you in the eye,
Ask questions, or speak out.
For every one of those who at some point were labelled
‘maladjusted’.

And so the Pharaohs and Caesars are all but gone now,
Replaced by the big-wigs,
The fat-cats,
The purple hearted,
The playboys -
The men in suits.
But they are all the same.

The same behind the decadence of
A solid gold sarcophagus
Or an Armani pair of shades.
They all built their empire on shifting sands.

And so we will all kick and scream
To our own tone and our own time
At the indignity of the world.
At our bespoke knowledge
To deal with all inconvenience
But that which privates the preclusion
Of any and all major slaughters of justice.

As for that young child,
With the lack of eye contact -
And all that he will become:
He will sit. And he will type.

He will type until his words fall beyond that
Of the spiralling noises inside his mind
And blossom into something pure and ugly and beautiful.
He will sit and he will write

To forget.
Continue reading...
Isaac C. Thornhill Oct 2010
Scatterbrain
like  dont  love  make  man  life  priest  time  soul  know  just­  thats  fear say  eyes  place  way  light  want  god  evil  does  lie  live  h­ate  open thought  tell  lives  listen  great  memory  spoke  deep  words  ­night earth  pain  told  head  broken  sister  away  sky  lust  leave  ­hands  smile close  dark  lost  bed  theres  end  messes  doubt  memories  mor­ning mountain  wont  purpose  souls  think  breaths  heart  boy  twin ­ day silly  bleeding  lies  im  mouth  flesh  world  self  asked  trie­d  chance understand  face  really  cause  truth  faith  things  body  burn­  kids shadows  says  bodies  wall  circle  ground  true  floor  skin  s­imple  gods children  fall  clean  lovelust  believe  eye  laugh  demon  bett­er  die forever  path  questions  late  guess  coin  help  room  ive  ask­  left heaven  fears  yes  create  short  control  voice  long  torture ­ met welcome  rip  brain  thing  hell  touch  disgusted  bitter  piece­  skies gone  lose  turning  knows  fate  forgive  human  making  humans ­ afraid infinite  sly  drive  liked  clear  switch  died  peace  begin  s­laughter  wait forth  oh  accept  forgotten  spark  ones  makes  today  minutes ­ return angel  moments  imagination  matter  walked  good  old  pass  sha­ll tortured  limb  wears  flashlight  dead  vengeance  nature  passe­d  filled road  rambling  pie  denied  line  angrily  hunger  havent  passa­ge  feel breathing  past  friends  slowly  try  hear  fight  doesnt  havoc­  talent knock  searching  poems  stain  ears  release  selves  taste  cov­er  moon speak  tongue  rumble  wouldnt  free  trick  relationships  sense­  started gates  born  rumbled  morlis  poem  losing  cameras  goodbye  bli­ssful longer  tightly  curse  death  regard  rotten  starving  gold  fl­ipped young  sees  invite  apathy  killed  cast  lot  dies  brother  pr­ogress  weak  alive tossed  rock  magazines  trees  black  passes  backs  alright  re­ap  shell lasts  desires  albedo  admitted  *******  simpler  toast  regar­dless person  faithful  instead  character  moved  conversations  flutt­ered  murdered  fights  grow  darkness  silent  meaning  dew  off­er  climb claim  rainy  almighty  fade  pleasure  power  pretending  bury  ­wanted supposed  thoughts  participating  story  missing  trusty  need  ­blisters  slumber  people  bet  humble  fearful  sins  shame  dea­l  fast  look profound  got  bow  innocent  blame  dim  flip  biting  learns  l­ungs crashed  run  unbroken  written  horizon  little  ****  tree  pau­sed moment  flows  beating  randomness  delights  faultless  tall  pa­ges jumps  wonder  tear  social  began  animals  doubted  unquenchabl­e wounds  nice  watch  attack  guerrilla  bring  despot  hurt  loud­  goes resting  cow  *******  deeper  crying  brothers  pulled  window ­ prowl sioux  hubris  capture  heat  cold  stop  low  writhing  happy  c­hilds reveal  finger  years  pools  stupidity  turn  second  drop  plan­et difference  whisper  stuck  flicker  kg  walls  car  cruel  commu­nity  led page  killing  jeans  crap  bandaging  frees  victim  falls  appl­e  chair tough  bunch  choice  watching  torn  anger  wise  desire  false ­ final forced  bounds  bakery  thousands  hours  used  cope  breath  def­eat frightful  nightfall  fateful  tripe  faces  easier  gown  dream ­ pull snatched  punished  falling  curious  congested  lights  burns  d­rives  ill ****  forgives  hand  cruelty  allie  rant  copes  naked  youthis­  fuss structured  exterior  break  despise  sit  question  closing  sis­ters  right dragged  came  arms  created  obscene  advantage  structure  blas­t ringing  fires  happen  vein  lived  wants  rained  nose  join  s­lices  knew listener  hold  far  fog  skye  shut  wanting  destroy  spot  cor­rupt  negate tells  defines  reply  hair  proud  obviously  moaning  wash  tra­gedy summoned  future  distance  telescopic  filth  hoofs  adjusted  l­earn write  high  weve  selfthin  rites  contact  ribs  devour  mounta­ins  haze scared  pleasures  reflect  hurry  wet  journey  exists  comments­  bullet shadow  ****  driven  pointed  ******  heavy  stood  breeze approaching  desperate  torch  fullest  dreams  bullets  plight  ­weeds fills tested  hearts  packages  borrowed  chose  experiences  similar  ­select  warn  flourishes  seas  scarred  mother  support  oceans ­ universe protect  chest  devices  itdidntmatter  hollow  fervor  ****  dri­vel  birth asks  shotguns  sight  bee  bath  climbed  snow  freedom  ignore ­ suns shriek  tumbling  kind  riot  survival  buying  waiting  patientl­y  finished manwoman  procreate  painsufferingloss  lilly  rain  vain  shadow­less minds  girlfriend  zone  mechanized  flame  bridge  unhappy  star­s thousand  finalizing  contribute  mark  leaves  age  village  smi­led  dog flick  confused  lock  door  counterparts  demands  steak  felt  ­shared monsters  angry  loss  hope  stopped  wheres  enemies  temple  ab­yss hawk  smiles  compels  bold  tired  load  seconds  youthful  heed­  killers puppets  fabrication  peels  missed  grace  scream  flew  languag­e generation  neat  spy  joke  saved  scorched  golden  delicate  r­each  split girl  key  ashes  await  judged  fools  rewards  mean  gear  town­  small maladjusted  real  stone  tries  opened  meanness  remember  flow­er clue  heaving  website  meager  spider  promises  whats  sea  att­ain  wind bacon  forget  mist  clouds  studied  layer  shout  divine  watch­ed  brings plane  paradise  half  song  burning  kid  turned  dumb  calls  w­ork disconnected  magic  pan  wish  bird  blinding  fresh  grasp  scr­ub moves catch  jealousy  hated  eating  everyday  remembered  annoying cracked  outpost  ****  happened  haunting  awake  tricked  steep­  hole judge  amor  oblivious  deny  wards  days  isnt  bad  feast  cram­med slipped  studying  trade  burger  force  regret  breakfast  ***  ­new  word popped  meaningful  dutiful  presents  shower  claws  producer  t­rapped given  burnt  coming  decide  crosses  leads  denial  remains  ti­mes shank  mi  letting  organs  escapes  friend
(c) Isaac C. Thornhill
Continue reading...
Roberta Day Mar 2012
Uncertainty
What is this hold upon me?
It constricts and stifles every thought that appears,
with a chloroform rag drenched in discontent
Mild perfectionism, if such a thing, and procrastination leave me
frequently wondering where the time went

The questions I ask myself repeatedly
never receive answers with credibility
A rhythm with no rhyme; a melody in offset time
A misty meaning behind glossy eyes
that I’ve tied together with endless lines
of verbose attempts to explain my mind

No feeling is palpable, no imagery fabricated
Only an idea of what could be,
of what I cannot grasp,
and what I cannot convey

So I’m left with this clouded mind
jostled by ambivalence
(this word ceases to elude me)
on a maladjusted playground,
teetering and tottering on the fine edge
of sanity in this bleak reality
Continue reading...
Yenson Feb 2019
Cream always Rises.....! hahaha
Our Car-boot sales Militaunts
those crap Socially maladjusted leftist soap-boxers
decided in delirious hysteria they've found a sacrificial lamb
To the altar for slaughter sing our merry band of loonies

Hail  Tolpuddle, Tonypandy, even hail the Suffragettes
(those from Bow, which to be honest weren't a lot)
Are you listening Lenin, Tolstoy, marx and Stalin our fathers
And all you thieves, burglars, reprobates, wasters and psychos
our Revolution takes no prisoners, this lamb is for you all

To the New world of People's' Power we give you a black sheep
Leave the Tories, Bankers, the Sloanes, Fat cats and the Aristos
(they're much too strong, well placed and powerful for us)
This lamb here is just right, nothing like a roasted fat black sheep
we take control and own his life, his blood will run like our flag

We'll control his perceptions and own his mind, ain't so comrades
find his weaknesses and vulnerabilities and bob's our uncle
we'll smear, tarnish, persecute, alienate, humiliate, taunt and harass
we'll isolate, victimize, shred and rain miseries and grief on our lamb
maddened and alone, helpless in our in our psychotic grip, he dies
this is war and all is fair in war, we are narcissistic and don't care

We search for guilt, sin, fear and vulnerabilities, all in absence
So trawl out the fake news and made it all up as we go along
create a love interest, bait him and manipulate his emotions
get a Mata Hari an the man and shred his mind with mistrust  
betrayal, pain, humiliation, emotional abuse, all those passions
Drain his confidence, his self-worth, his beliefs and values
Strip him of all he holds sacred and dear, bring me his head

Comrades, what is going on, why is this taking so long
This is suppose to be a psyche assault, a ruinous psychological war
We are the majority, with the numbers and we are psychotic bullies
we are loonies, narcissists with no souls, hearts or remorse
What do you mean a 'sterling, centred, upstanding noble and brave character'
You're supposed to rain untold terrors on his mind, shred him to pieces, he should be a broken nervous wreck, we want his blood

I have never deliberately injured or harm a fellow human
I have never coverted  or stolen anything from my neighbor
I am not perfect, but I am what I am and for that I make no apologies
I know that only the TRUTH offers real FREEDOM
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say of the LORD, "He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust."

Surely he will save you from the fowler's snare and from the deadly pestilence.

He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day,

nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.

A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.

You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked.
Continue reading...
Edward Coles Jan 2015
Polyphonte
Everyone has *** darling,
you cannot claim that as your own,
nor your past of broken heels
and your father's broken home.
I scored blood over my wrist
and toiled, toiled, toiled
in the sun.

I stood in line for my freedom
to find that there was none.

We are all maladjusted darling,
all singing to an empty sky,
all pastured by the government
and living amongst The Lie.
You cannot claim your illness
as the dissolution of G-d,

you cannot find a kindness
if you do not spare the rod.

Everyone loves a ******* darling,
in that you are not alone,
your father with his whiskey breath,
all cancer and flesh and bone.
I scored a high in an empty field
and howled, howled, howled
at the moon.

I stood up for the years that I had crawled,
for all our happiness that came too soon.
C
Continue reading...
Raj Arumugam Feb 2014
optimists - I love 'em
1
In this dark, cruel and callous world
it’s optimists ar’ always good to me -
they lend me a thousand dollars
and when I don’t return
they don’t get discouraged
they convince themselves I’ll pay up soon
“Tomorrow,” they nod sagaciously
Yeah, tomorrow
And even when they get mad and furious
all I have to do is to offer them half a glass

2
To ‘em optimists
I’m full of gratitude
cos when I  ‘s a kid
and skinned their cats
and stole their lawn mowers
and silverware
and put them up for sale in the same
street
they stood agape and said:
“This kid, one day he’ll be a great entrepreneur”


3
I love optimists
cos even though my parents cursed
“We never really wanted you”;
and my wife confesses every other night:
“I married you for all the stolen money
and will dump you
and claim half of every dollar and property”;
and my kids keep pestering me:
“When will you die?
Have you written your will?” -
optimists tell me:
“The universe loves you;
reach out, and the universe reaches out to you”
Hey, you get more love from strangers
than from family

4
And of course
let me not forget Destiny’s plan
for optimists in my life
cos even after the fourth ******
for which I was found guilty
(never mind the six undiscovered)
the optimists in the legal system and
Friends of the Maladjusted
got me out in seven-a-weeks, with the hope:
” This time, surely, he will change
for the better”

Ah, what’ll I do without  ‘em optimists? -
bless ‘em all, and keep ‘em alive
for I’m planning my next killing
Continue reading...
Catrina Sparrow Nov 2012
thump thump. (heart troubles.)
diamonds and navy strung together by a row of brass buttons trailing up your chest;
your flesh is the night sky,
and i...
have always been a clumsy astronomer.
tumbling through the footnotes of books i pretend to have read-
searching for applicable knowledge and definitions that at least begin to pay you homage.
blissful in the sun beams and sullen in sudden rain-storms...
though,
you glow,
regardless of the natural disaster trailing in the wake of jet-streams out your window.
you translate the smoke signals trailing from the tails of our cigarettes,
and the morse-code transcriptions of my off-beat heart.
such a beautiful transistor of the divine gift of speech.
such a handsome mystic.
make me magic-
paint me natural...
leave me stranded in your starlight.
a tidal metronome to my unsteady pulse,
composing arrhythmia's barefoot in the night.
tap-dance with me in the graves we're digging deeper with every passing instant.
in comparison,
this could be penned a bad decision,
but those seem to be the only kind that the creatively maladjusted are ever capable of making.
perhaps we're cliche...
but the only person i care to find in a crowd is you,
and you stick out like the sore arm of a spiraling universe.
pearls and coal grey strung together by a row of silver buttons trailing up your chest;
your flesh is the night sky,
and i...
have always been a clumsy astronomer.
let me study your pulse through a fogging telescopes lens.
Continue reading...
Pearson Bolt Jan 2016
Ⓐ
in the words of
a reverend and a King
human salvation
lies in the hands
of the creatively
maladjusted

defamiliarize the chaos

an absent-minded apparatus
addling brain cells
checks and balances
proliferate a status quo
of enmity and aggression that
propagates oppression and
dismantles genuine political
expression for those outside
the whitewashed coffin

recognize the enemy
in our own eyes as we
eradicate the apathy that
leeches liberty and
fabricates freedom

reformist rhetoric is
too little too late
revolutions are cyclical
and ultimately infantile

so fan the flames of rebellion
destruction precedes creation
raise hell and raze the system
of enmity that pits
7.4 billion
brothers and sisters
against each other

anarchy is order
MLK, Jr.
#anarchy
Continue reading...
Christina Hale Mar 2018
Maladjusted: Thanks to Beautiful Eyes
She so perfect
And I’m not even perfect at all
She so perfect
And she doesn’t even mind my many flaws

I feel my shyness and quietness makes me an outcast everywhere I go
But when she’s around none of that seems to matter though

Your perfection is flawed
Just a misrepresentation of you, that’s all
You let me in, let me in
Just to shut me out, shut me out

I’m still sad from the days that you went away

I’m over you but I still have some feelings lingering on for you, it’s mostly amorous which every time I see you it seems to be getting stronger
And I know whatever you felt for me is no longer
Your hugs are short and you don’t even have that look in your eyes for me anymore which causes me to act petulant whenever you say something to me
You don’t even talk to me about HIM anymore
But I think you know it’s best not to
You found love
And I found heartache
You found happiness
And I found sadness
I knew in my heart we were never meant to be
I even knew more so that day I kissed your lips and felt nothing
I always thought we would have a deep something
I mean we had partially, but all is left now is a deep nothing
But I’m still sad from the day he stole you away

It’s been a while since you were you
Now you’re like this happy in love chick that always talks of him and buys him ****
It’s not like I ever wanted or expected ****
But it would have been nice, thoughtful of you for all the **** I ******* bought, wrote, and said to you for you to get me or write me something as a little, maybe just a little appreciation, gratitude
But nothing, nothing, all I get is nothing
So *******, all I give you now is an attitude
I guess I wasn’t nothing, nothing, not even a real friend to you
I was just some quirky queer chick who admired you and you loved that because you loved that I loved you and gave you excessive attention
****, now I see what you are, pretentious
But now I regret every stupid poem or gift I ever gave to you
So throw it, throw it all away
And leave no trace that I was a monomaniac for you
You
What makes you so special, the one I was so obsequious for
Do you remember that poem I wrote you and I said somewhere in it that my heart was indebted to you
Well it was just flummery *******
Throw it away, throw it all away
And leave no trace of my vulnerability
**** me for making myself so vulnerable to you
So no longer will I
But I really am happy for you
And sorry about the attitude
And I will no longer act like a bitter heartbroken *****
I am over it, so through
Because I still love you

When all else is lost
What is the meaning
What is the cause
Keep writing to relieve
Needing something to retrieve
Never giving up, still holding up, to believe
And achieve the ultimate in me

Oh beautiful eyes
You’re the reason to which sometimes I cry at night
Because sometimes I wake up with such vivid dreams of you and all I want to do is hold you tight

These thoughts don’t come easy
These moods don’t come steady
Feelings at unease
Even this cool humid breeze
Won’t bring my soul back to peace

Lacking the skills of conversation
Causing me so much frustration
There is no sensation

You let me in, let me in
Just to shut me out, shut me out
*******
I’m through
I miss you
You know the old you
The non-fat, skinny fitting into your jeans you
The angry sad but sweet you
The you that texted or called me every once in a blue moon you
The you that every once in a while confided in me and let me hold you when you were upset you
The you that used to talk to me, now all I get is the unspoken awkwardness you
I miss you
The before him you

Staring into your glamorous amorous light eyes
You got me all goggle-eyed and tongue tied
Is it a no surprise    
That you give me butterflies
Making me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside
I am an irascible monomaniac thanks to beautiful eyes
#unrequitedlove #heartache #emotionalpain
Continue reading...
Brenten Hargrove Feb 2012
Drifter
The aching way my back will bend in
The unwanted gratitude
From bones maladjusted
Somewhere they could say im on
My way to victory
Behind every moment suffered
lives a note
A gift
with no other purpose
simple and fickle
With wounds on the hilt
Everyday they say
tommorow will begin anew
with little evidence
of any empathy
the blooming day
a slander on proportions of aptitude
gives no meaning to these endless meanderings
the timeless thoughts of generations
Continue reading...
Edward Coles Dec 2012
Home
Home is a funny word.

Home is the napkin
That you use to wipe the salt from your hands.
It is found on dime-a-dozen
Christmas cards and TV meals.

It is paraded by the letting agents;
Founded by stay-at-home adults,
Who will do anything,
Anything.
To break the monotonous tug of home.

Home is where you mind your manners
And comb your hair.
You plaster your flesh and bone
With a bracing tolerance
To hold fast against the moronic company,
All with no nicotine in the bloodstream.

Home is the shrapnel of memory
That has been so scattered in your mind,
And home is the filing system
That finally puts order to it all.

It is a mug of tea
Poured in your favourite mug
But not to your favourite taste.

Home can be the well-adjusted face
To the most maladjusted of bodies.
The gritted teeth,
The clamour of attention,
The lack of comprehension,
‘You don’t understand’
No you, you need to understand.

This might not be home anymore.
Until I am gone.
Continue reading...
Catrina Sparrow Dec 2012
cashing out.
wearing your brand-loyalty like a politcal campaign t-shirt
cute
you almost seem proud to be so very confused
walking to the beat of the same **** pop-song that every ******* radio station's been blaring for months
designer cup of sludge in hand

and the billboards tell you that you might be pretty
maybe
some day
if you drop thirty-five pounds and buy an over priced bottle of this seasons heavily-scented false sense of "belonging"

that outghtta do it

tuck
lift
plump

fake it

cash in your mail-in rebates for another hunk of junk with a heavy price tag
determined solely by how badly sad saps like you
will want what the magazines say that others have

how sad

you lost sight of yourself years ago
somewhere in the housewares section of the Elmhurst Target

you drifted off near the alarm clocks
whilst day-dreaming about wall-paper schemes
and zebra wood cupboards
and an apron that would match your sunday dress

you got it mixed up

worth isn't measured by cost
beauty isn't measured in inches
and wealth most certainly isn't measurd by a bank statement

but scoff
and laugh me off
like i'm some kind of eccentric fool
rendered maladjusted after years
of steady
concious
thought

leave me to squelch in the riches
of my own cosmic existence
penniless
and proud as a king

leave me to find the mountain's top
and ocean's floor
and black-top's end

leave it me
to be me

i'll go ahead and leave it to you
to be them
Continue reading...
woolgather Nov 2016
Tantalizing Habit
Slashing, dashing,
The blade through my arm.
Bleeding, bleeding,
I don't know why it works like a charm.

I wouldn't be surprised,
If they'd be  disgusted;
They'd want myself revised,
But I'm not just  maladjusted.

Wear that mask again,
That mask that hid your pain with fakes;
And try to clean the*  blood-red  stain;
And keep doing so until your sanity breaks.

I guess that words keep me intact,
Even just to reality, I hope.
Though, with my demons, I made a pact;
*It's no use; I can't seem to mope.
Blood spilled is blood spilled
Continue reading...
Polby Saves Dec 2011
Note a book 1
In a day, it’s all a waste of the allotted time

A mostly broken door incites a sudden need to weep

Functional but an eyesore nonetheless

Indicative of this and that, those yet to come

Unchangeable weighs, maladjusted they seem to say


Copyright © 2011
Continue reading...
Isaac C. Thornhill Mar 2010
The Earth 5.98 × 10 (24) kg
There's a place
deep within my soul
i fear its forgotten
become very cold
it's where doubt lives
and breaths are structured

mechanized devices
half created
maladjusted
to reap the rewards
of this great despot
the truth must be bold
the suns heat adjusted

don't live in the heart
and let the brain become
congested
open your lungs
deep breaths make you disgusted

the world as we know it
has become something else
were very far behind
from when we were tested
we humans were put here
to protect this delicate planet
to live our lives
not create such havoc

"its our nature to destroy."
says the man to the boy
its each generation that learns from the last
i fear they have forgotten how to look in the past
(c) Isaac C Thornhill
Continue reading...
Edward Coles Dec 2012
Simplicity
The greatest writers in the world

Use the language of simplicity.

I strive to be a beautiful writer

And to pepper the page

With every colour on my pallet.



However like a photograph in grey scale

The most beautiful writings

Come in the most simplistic of forms.



Only once you get through the spew and bravado

Do you begin to find the reasons people turn to words;

For solace.

For companionship.

For honesty.

For memories

And for the confessions of another maladjusted soul.



I still hide sheepishly behind my words

And twist them into a maze

In which I can hide my true intentions

And the reasons why I ***** these blank pages

Every time I find myself alone.
Continue reading...
Edward Coles Jan 2017
After Dark
The advertisements tell me
to make a website.
From there, I can sell myself.
My bad habits and poetry,
my every night, stop-gap routine,
as if I am tired of chasing women
and am looking to get clean.

Place a filter
over every image I’ve seen,
place a void between myself
and reality.
To cut out the ugly spaces;
the maladjusted rock and dust,
the invasive thought

that I could end all uncertainty
by taking the plunge,
knocking back a few shots
before jumping into the canyon
and forsaking my circle-****
panoramic snapshot
for a chance of real feeling
the lawn mower forgot.

Another glass of Hong Thong
and Pepsi, another cigarette burn
as I scream *******
at the top of my lungs.
2.a.m in the morning-
all the girls have gone home,
so I ******* over yesterdays:
my ex-girlfriend in her bikini shot,
the high school girl I never laid-
but imagination was enough.

Stay up until the ashtray is full,
until each bottle is empty.
Until I run out of interesting
things to say
and finally begin writing poetry.
The crickets sing their curtain call song,
the blackness of night
as I black-out my lungs.

Wait for the paltry feast,
for the ***-shot girls,
for the dying embers
of a wonderful world,
where we smoke trees of green,
red blood and liquid too,
of fermented grape;
forget all of yesterday
and all of tomorrow too.

I see skies of blue,
I see clouds of white,
I see iridescent plumes
of neo-liberal,
comb-over groomed, Eton schooled dog-*****.
I see colours of the rainbow
that have all turned to grey,
too scared to offend anyone,
to say what we want to say.

I see enemies shaking hands,
saying “how do you do?”
I know that they’re really saying
“I ******* hate you,
I didn’t come to argue,
I didn’t come for the truth,
I came for my fifteen minutes of fame
for the twelve million hits;
for the five million views.”

They tell me to make a website
to sell myself.
For each time I stood
in the moments I fell.
To chronicle the crawl
of each cancer-drawn progression,
of each failed urban sprawl;
for each whiskey-drawn confession.

For each moment I stood tall
through the instances I felt small.
They told me there was a market
for each lazy, drunken drawl.

They told me to sell myself
as a failing beacon of mental health,
as a mass of demons,
all bite and no bark,
only to come alive
after blood-shed;
after dark.
C
Continue reading...
Margrett Gold Jan 2014
Beauty and the Beast
I felt the heat of the thing.
Dragon breath,
Silk skin stirring
Slurring snakelike. flowing
mouth muscles maneuvering me like a map.
meaty fleshy heavy
strongly, musky, dewy bodied, dense demanding maladjusted dragon
of-a-thing.
Continue reading...
Knowledge Variable Nov 2021
diary entry 8
DIARY ENTRY, EIGHT
By darcy prince

Today I bought some protein powder, which is the first time doing so. I’m a vegetarian, for a while I was eating chicken, as long as it was well-cooked. But I can’t remember the last I had any. I take fish oil, most of the time, twice a day. My other ways of getting protein now, mainly boiled eggs, always around six of them. If I forget to boil some, it’s fried eggs. I don’t eat yokes. I normally boil them early in the afternoon, then go off for the rest of my day, leaving them in the fridge until evening. Because of the heat & my apparent time constrict, is why I cooked them & left them to cool, by the time it’s time for dinner, the eggs have cooled down. I am actually looking over videos to it, how to make them, ways to take them, etc. Which I should have done prior. But since I don’t eat meat, it is worth a try. Expensive. But you get a lot for what you pay for. But it is a part of my weight loss journey. Which has been a back & forth this year. Even though I’ve been told so many times that I’m not fat. I just think I wasn’t healthy, that's all. Yes, for aesthetic reasons I am searching for, maybe a Greek ecstasy. Maybe some attention to. Since my last entry, I have talked about dating again. More so asking a crush out. I still think it won’t go well. In about 90 mins, I am going for a walk. If it’s not for health, do it for attention, but it’s worth giving it a go. It’s a little of my NoFap journey or in other words, getting to know myself again.

See what happens, I’m actually more curious to see if I’ll stick to the protein powder things. I am worried about the sugar content & learning another way besides mixing it with milk. Which has both high levels or sugar & fat. My landlord asked me why I never took any. Asking when coming home with a new container of fish oil. Which I had never thought of. I mean, I saw them around the shops selling, etc. Walking around the shops, I saw a container on sale, for why not. On the way, I realize how I'm supposed to take it? When to take it? Etc. With all that fun stuff.

Oh to the experiences I’ve missed out on, by not being tall, thin & attractive.

I don’t think people are interested in my idiots, food things & body image problems. Which is always an issue, sometimes any underlying shame that's trauma prone comes in when one is an adult, you’re more aware & have the skill to correct but those emotions in feeling the issues hits all at once, leaving one cripplyong.

My smoking hasn't been the best. I’m still in the habit of every two or three days, I’ll smoke an entire pack & go out to buy another one, by the end of it, the second pack, at least half of it’s gone. The virtue of humanity is on such a slow rise to the top, it’s so hard to do, yet such a struggle to do so, as vice seems so normal & effortless to do. Being into moral philosophy, I could spend that money, time, whatever on so many other things. I seem to never be able to swing into the mood to do anything about it. This is where some of my personal shame comes from, realizing for the first time how much youth is wasted on the young. I’m sure I’m looking forward to having a rock bottom in this area, I wonder what will actually trigger it? Maybe the actual habit of having it or my lack of financial skill is the cause why I’m single. I know there is dignity in the effort.

My thinking will be the death of me. I know better, or at least the awareness I could do better. My actions do not follow that.

Though if you’re asking me, sweets, chocolates, whatever would be taken out of school, a legal age for fast food, higher taxes for such companies that produce such food items, so-on. It does seem hard to get healthier, to lose weight, to be somewhat aesthetically pleasing once you age. Not all of it is the result of not being able to, just a biological part of life. Those self-help gurus who fail to throw out either of anything negative are maladjusted people, failing to connect the knowledge of a healthy lifestyle to someone’s emotions & economic access. We're in a culture where it’s cheaper to buy chocolate than it is to buy fruit. Chocolate for comfort rather than a one off pleasurable treat. Fruit for the body to fuel the mind but displayed for health nuts. Is the show ‘The Biggest Loser’ still a thing? It's an entire societal thing. My weight gain in my adult year is really up to me. At least I know the difference between McDonals to a fruit shop. For what alone is a part of my own doing. If I adopt that sort of all-time positive thinking as those self-proclaimed guru’s, I indirectly flee from reality, to elicit a community where nothing could ever possibly go wrong. It’s not solely a matter of being sexually attractive in the eyes of other people, but by simply supporting local fruit shops, I’ve provided a small contribution to the running of their shop & a slight chance of never having their prices go up & the healthy my body is, the more freedom the medical & scientific community is to focus on much harsher realities of life, such as mental illness & the cure to cancer. I know that seems dramatic but a large amount of truth is in it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lz9wP5zLS6A&t=166s
#blog #blogs #writing #darcy #loner #introvert
Continue reading...
Jack Trainer Mar 2018
A Pencil Nub
What callow and dead words have you written?
Your sword is but a nub; a shadow of the weight it once held.
Deftly attuned to the foray of maladjusted thoughts
That seeks an ending but can stop at nothing
At one time, feelings were sharp and new and uncontaminated
Yet further on it is shaved down
An inner core as black as the raven’s eye
And when the nub has lost its reason to yield
Will it be retained for posterity?
Like the memories of the freshly dead
Your written words will decay into oblivion
Until a new soul is shaved sharp
Forever willing and ready and equivocal
#writing #words
Continue reading...
Mike Essig Apr 2015
The Proper Use Of Flaws
Do not weep
for your
imperfections.
Like love
they make you
human.
They are
the facets
that allow
you to shine.
Keep them
polished.
Send your light
into the world;
it already has
enough darkness.
Consider yourself
creatively
maladjusted,
not broken.
Become an eagle
or a flamingo.
Soar into
the night sky
seeking love
and knowledge.
Who knows
where you may
land.
Remember, the cracks are how the light gets in. Perfection is boring.
#poetry #life
Continue reading...
Melanie Jul 2014
Despair
When you can feel your temperature change a degree, it's strange
When you are sure calories have just converted into energy and climbed atop a great cell divide,
When you fraction yourself merely just to survive
When who you were turns blue right in front of you and you don't do all that you could do to revive

When you feel like feeling isn't fair,
When you think knowing too much is as certainty a disability 
When you are so far out of touch you're self reflecting 
When you are so tired of hearing it you close your ears to spite your sound ability to listen
When you have said all that is in your head,
Maladjusted as is everyone you once trusted

When you fall to the ground because your heart aches, and not a soul is around

When you begin to realize to really realize
Decipher the real from the lies aka the truth apart its guise
It is so crippling ..
You immediately begin to paralyze
Continue reading...
Saint Audrey Jun 2017
Avoid
Instructions unclear

Uncommon is not a word I often choose
Over zealous usage has left it maladjusted
I feel too frustrated and abused
Fear the fearful and ****** the transmute

In terms not so blatant

Put it on the back burner
Pack it up and go home
For a moment
Calculate the risk in ******
Before you know you'll be encroached

You're killing it

And yourself as well
Although I'm not convinced you see it
I know your will is right, heart straight as an arrow
But strung up on the wrong bow

And swiftly you'll be deadly
buried in  the things you used to know
People die and turn to snow
To bury you alive
And leave you feeling cold
It might hurt to take a knife

I know

Your back is riddled
As it goes
But hold on tight
I see the rope
Is burning bright
But flames drive back
The dreary nights
And warming up, going up in flames

Avoid

Blowing up, reaching out in vain

Endless as the days
Ticking clocks all look the same
Hear them spelling out your name

Is this the way it stays?
...
#avoid #endless #clocks #time #relative #death #disease #famine #burning #change
Continue reading...
J Colin Jan 2011
Wake up and Feel
Boring modern trials of tomorrow
For my sake look at your sorrows
Do they reflect the pure struggle?
Of past men getting lynched, hanged,
Do you feel them? And their trouble?

What is it today that makes you true?
Does it often come across as the colour blue?

Or is it them who hold you back
They who collect and use the phone to attack?

Are your trials related to love?
Do they mimic, resemble the lack of a hug?

The reasons you are so troubled are fixed and forgotten
and not terribly difficult to end that which they blatantly soften

A release from their warm embrace that holds you oh so tight
Given up on that satin, silk laden with frosted delight

Is it just me or've we all come maladjusted
Complacently numb, given in to the "trusted?"

I will hold dearly to what I am made of
Not accepting the gifts that wave in front of us

To what makes me is so more important
Than what makes me resemble "true"
For I am wide awake.
Are you?
This poem was written in a coffee shop. I was sitting in earshot of this young woman on the phone arguing something "money" and I got to thinking about my own "lack of money endeavors" and became upset with the word, so-to-speak.
Continue reading...
Edward Coles Dec 2014
Drunken Words
I don't want to work for you,
fake a smile in this costume,
I don't want another day
of a boring job and ****** pay.

And I don't believe in G-d,
no TV expert or demagogue,
promising a different way,
it's the same formulaic play.

So I twist in sheets and walk around
to escape all of these household sounds,
the news is spouting war again,
I close my eyes and count to ten...

...And I wait for some change to come.
Your patient ***, your siren song.
Are you maladjusted too?
And do I have a chance with you?

Because I slip a pill to fall asleep-
nothing else will work for me,
I've tried everything there is
to cure me from this restlessness.

They **** the many to save the few,
they decimate all that we knew
about what it means to be free;
doctoring our history.

And I don't want to be the one
to bring you down or mess you up,
I just want some peace to come,
no broken streets, no fallen bombs...

...Is this all there is?
Pockets of momentary bliss?
I just close my eyes and think of you;
my drunken words,
your ocean blue.

I'll close my eyes, my mind, my tomb;
if I could have a chance with you.
A song.

C
Continue reading...

— The End —