"maneuvering" poems
It's gravity girl
And you are the earth
Orbiting around your hair
Floating without despair
It's not falling, you see
Maneuvering through
I'm approaching the zone
Landing next to you
It's gravity girl
There's nothing left to do
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 12:27 AM UTC
Enter a digital world and try to survive
A blur at hyper drive
Faster than the speed of sound
A heart burns with a whole new attitude
Maneuvering through each situation
Bruises and scars become cherished trophies
It's an obsession; a competition
Tough times, hard climbs
One more step up the ladder
Sweating as if one was being interrogated
Don't get complicated
Flip the coin and pray it's not a crime
Shackles shake calling out a name
Kiss the wind to escape
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
A race between the Flash and the Man of Steel
This would be a competition for real
Who do you think would move fast?
Who would you think would come in last?
It’s a possibility in what could be
Imagine two Super Marvel’s in a race too see who is truly great
It would also show their sportsmanship in how they both relate
It would be a run to the finish
The winner being triumphed and distinguished
This wouldn’t be a race against crime
That story is another time
Flash moving at the speed of light
The Man of Steel feeling a bit uptight
The Man of Steel would be disqualified if he were to fly in order to win
But the Man of Steel coming from another planet, would that automatically disqualify from then
A canny detail
But the policy remains in order to preserver
It was Flash in the lead
The Man of Steel was maneuvering in proceed
Just around the bend
It was Flash being the champion at the very end
Well the Marvel Hero’s shook hands and are off to fight crime
This will be until the end of time.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
Suited up as I try to maintain
In this ground cracking weather.
Heavy bags on my back
And artillery in my hands.
Goggles dusty
From the blistering sand
That slice my face like razors
With every gust of wind.
The scorching temperature
Is on hell and every breath
I take is so dry that my tongue's stiff.
One canteen, a few packs of food,
And a mission to complete.
My boots are laced,
With my feet feeling like people
Trapped in a burning building.
The further I go the more my body
Feels like it's being cremated.
I must reach my destination....
As helicopters pass through
Dropping explosives the size of a
Small child with the impact of
Several meteors hitting the earth.
Running like a track meet and
Maneuvering like a game of Dodgeball.
Gunfire, bodies, and thick smoke
As I bypass fallen aircrafts.
Approaching my target which
Will be my final destination.
BOOM! I found myself airborne to
Only hit the ground in unconsciousness.
BEEEEP! Is all I hear as I try to get
Up and regain consciousness.
Just a little over a hundred yards to
Go with a blurred vision
Feels like a lifetime.
As I'm reaching my target with
Bullets whistling pass my ears....
It's time. I set up my shot....
I hold my breath
Heart pounding with adrenaline
I'm studying
I'm focused
I'm ready....
POW! As my 50 caliber jerks
Back into my shoulder kicking
The dirt off the ground like a horse
At the Kentucky Derby.
MISSION COMPLETE!
As I'm going home with a bad case
Of paranoia and a Metal of honor...
I still have disastrous flashbacks
And ****** nightmares.
But....Nothing compares to that
STORM in the DESERT.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
fueled by alcohol
swollen emotions,
the age of consent
and mistakenly stuck doors
the mutual understanding that comes with a singular passion
singular desire
just one time
but when the clock chimes
1:45
and curfewed kisses are few
you take my hands and sing
"i want to know you"
my fingers weave along my glowing screen
praying your given digits will be well received
and when my phone buzzes
i sigh
for i had tried to not let doubt cloud my mind
but i did not know you yet
and it rarely happens like this
when the clock chimes
6:00 Am
my rosy cheeks wait in the cold mist
a note on the table excusing my absence
a pale faced taxi driver goes through the required motions
to take me to your warm lips
with two hours of sleep
your makeshift bed is the port in a storm
and your slight frame is the sort that initially misleads
but it is powerful and exceeds expectations
the sweet sharing of bad puns
disney songs
and the unexpected "i love you"
the "you have beautiful eyes"
and the mess that is my hair do
i wake you with a warm hand to the hip
and a quick kiss on the lip
reassures me it was the right thing to do
the twang of ukulele
and its warm wood brush over my breast
its hard form against my warm chest
you sing for me
and the poetry that traverses your lips is magic
though slight
you have no trouble maneuvering through my wide rivers
and hidden valleys
my small forests
you flip me with ease
a playful tease
tracing racing and running
soon warm water runs over our shadowy forms
because though forever may be spent in bed
the real world obligates us to move
to shower
in our travels we find ourselves caught in drizzly public transportation
making our way to the place of your occupation
though we are eating for two
you order three breakfasts
making up for the meal missed
replaced with loving
surrounded by kissing
you drink coffee
a quick pick-me-up
i drink a london fog
to remind me of the sleepy morning
and a quick peck to the lips reminds me of the rest
a test of my willpower
my power to resist taking you then and there
though that may have resulted in your termination
so i resist my considered temptation
i take a slight deviation
for every story must end
every sentence
no matter how much love
we must wait for blood
because every hook up,
every sentence
must end with a period.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
Diminishing to spirals in a blue encircled churn
Giddying to balance in unsteady equilibrium,
Whilst canting to the left on a gyroscopic turn.
Vaulting to the heavens in gymnastical maneuvering,
Launching into ether in fanatical escape,
****** features grimacing through muscular contortion
With abdominal contractions in a pantomime of ****
Yowling to the darkness in a feline form of vocalness
Hissing through the teeth in a serpentine display,
Bellowing the bellicose of bovine innuendo
And bleeding feet in gumboots on a ****** raining day.
Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
With ****** features grimaced on a ****** raining day,
Yowling to the darkness with abdominal contraction
In a bovine innuendo of a serpentine display.
Bellowing the bellicose of bleeding feet in gumboots,
Vaulting to the heavens in fanatical escape,
Giddying to spirals in contracting equilibrium
Just a ****** innuendo of a gyroscopic shake.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
On a ****** raining day.
7 August 2010
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
We were driving my car
out of town a few sunsets ago.
Had just gotten from the shore,
uphill on an 80.
Every headlight
like a good newspaper headline
to your cracking Sportage leather seat—
the steering wheel as heavy
as my breathing.
Fog devours all the windows
and if the engine participates
with the general meltdown
least i can do to help myself
is call a mechanic.
Hey now
stop peeling the last
bit of skin
on your already-bleeding lips;
you’ve gone past the necessary pain
now youre just prolonging the
sight of red.
Even traffic lights
turn green once in a while.
There are no dead ends from sharp curves.
Maneuvering always seemed
like cylinder blocks on your shoulders
But now youre steady;
too steady
unmoving
and it’s scary isn’t it?
To simply be
unable.
An engine
you cannot engineer—
navigation
you cannot decipher.
Cut throat mechanism.
We’ve passed by
too many yellow lights
to forget
we sometimes need
a bit of a slowdown.
And perhaps you’re gonna
have to go through
the kind of adrenaline
that digs your nail
underneath your palm first.
The current
leads the batallion.
Even the strongest
require a running start
before the leap.
Breathe.
Twist the key in the ignition.
Drive.
The fog eventually subsides.
The mechanic eventually arrives.
What i’m trying to say is
my car broke down in the middle
of the road.
A slow descend.
I counter the shaking fist.
At least we didnt crash.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 11:19 AM UTC
A Doll House built the size of a Tractor Trailer Truck
It’s not a real one
But it’s a scale model Doll House being one of a kind among
One can view all the room in diameter
Yet I did say Doll House, but it is actually a Mansion
Having 8 Bathrooms, 10 Guest Rooms, 5 Game Rooms, Two Swimming Pools, Servants Quarters, 20 Bedrooms and a Garage
The Doll House Mansion even has an Elevator
Now with all those rooms, it sounds more like a resort or Hotel
However, the Doll House Mansion is a permanent dwelling
Imagine maneuvering around those rooms and finding your way, one would need a map
Ideas after ideas being a thinking cap
Rooms either to relax or entertain
Yet having that tranquil feeling that will always remain
A rich wealthy trail
But then, the stock market could one day fail
One can only dream of a Doll House Mansion full of expectations and promise
But let’s be really honest
It’s only a scale model Doll House Mansion
One can dream, and picture a flowing stream
Oh that Doll House Mansion, but the question will always remain, how soon can I move in?
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
Upon waking yesterday morn, the temperature was 8 degrees;
cancellation of events and slippery icy roads, disliking winter!
T'was out driving and dealing with the limited visibility; freezing.
Wasn't fun maneuvering usually two lane streets; turned one.
I'm sitting here wide awake and staring at ice crystal windows,
went to bed last night, temperature was frigid sub zero; No joke!
The furnace had a busy night keeping this old drafty house warm.
My cute little budgie who "was" chirping, is now sleeping on perch.
Giving a memory of yesterday brief thought and still find it funny.
Went shopping after losing the debate of exiting a warm vehicle.
Over heard a conversation regarding me, based on the "assumed".
The two ladies(without a doubt) read what's posted on net sites.
Standing in the next aisle, ears slightly alert, hearing my full name.
Should I walk up to say, "hello!" or tell them to mind own business?
Found it amusing and a bit flattering, despite negative words used.
Did they see me enter the store or did they even care that I heard?
If I were indeed the "rumored" witch, I'd melt every inch of snow.
Why did these villagers "presume" I'm holder of necromancer's card?
Defective reasoning of me practicing "voodoo" and casting many spells.
A bit of food for thought; It's one-dimensional and illogical thinking.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
I am one to have my emotions under control.
Seventeen years of maneuvering around other’s
Peculiar mood swings
Taught me how to ignore
The chaos of human sentiment.
And so my features remain stoic since.
I have learned how to channel the anxiety
Manifesting itself in a jittery leg, shortness of breath,
And a discordant mind.
It is possible– Quite easy, actually–
To translate a torrent of worry
Into potential energy.
Three years in a closet
Is time enough to collect many pretty dresses
And forget there is ugliness in the world.
As much as I preach the virtue of honesty,
Lying has become second nature,
If only to keep these shark-infested waters
Calm for one more day.
I ought to be devoid of sentiment by now,
As much of a shell as that detestable Louisa Bounderby.
However, I recently found myself mistaken;
I am not a product of Utilitarianism.
Recently, I’ve been feeling–
Oddly ill.
With a loss of appetite,
A churning stomach herbal tea cannot alleviate,
Difficulty sleeping,
And a racing heartbeat.
These symptoms are purely somatic
And therefore, quite frustrating.
I met a girl last week;
I wonder if I caught it from her.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
Many doctors had failed to heal her;
her wealth was gone; unable to cope,
seemingly having no options left, she…
faced the idea of being bereft of hope.
A difficult issue of continual bleeding,
had bothered this woman for twelve years;
purposely maneuvering through the crowd,
she hoped to meet Christ, and draw near.
“If only, I could physically touch Him,
my personal need can be forever met.”
Summoning the last of her inner strength,
she pressed onward without any regret.
Her health was dramatically worsening
and drastic action was now required;
since Christ was visibly close by,
perhaps healing she urgently desired
would become available to her this day.
Moving boldly with faith towards Him,
silently reaching out for his garment
with her weakened, slender limb…
she briefly caressed the hem of His robe.
And suddenly- her discomfort was gone!
Without warning, virtue leapt out of Him;
and now He wanted a face to gaze upon.
To everyone’s astonishment, He stopped;
then came the simple, unexpected question:
“Who touched me?” He patiently inquired.
Initially, there was apparent confusion,
from not knowing who, He was addressing.
Scared and embarrassed, she fell face down
at His feet, ready to weep and apologize.
“Rise up my daughter, from the dusty ground;
tell me your life’s story of suffering;
since your faith was successfully released,
My strength has cured you of your agony;
return home with my blessings and peace.”
.
.
.
Author Notes
Loosely based on:
Mark 5:24-34
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
encamped on a barren savanna
a formaldehyde trick laid
beneath a palace of red canvas
carcasses of Noah's Ark
left for a menagerie of men
a spectacle of meat and bone
the tides of oddities come crashing
against the shores of spectators
the earth opens its hands to carry
the rails that lead an entourage of
grandeur at the ring master's ordinance
God's children in satin and sequins
Devil's work bared in ink and blood
ladies and gentlemen!
wooden pews for the congregation
occupied by followers seeking refuge
in the sacred acts of manipulation
enchantment for children
necromancy for those who walk
with hearts no longer beating
for the world they once knew
prepare to be amazed!
tight ropes are spun into webs
painted skin become prisms
nature's anomalies turned
into golden mythologies
figments of A Vision
brought to life by an apparition
the most extravagant extravaganza!
and the world burns anew
contemporary tales are told through
a splendor of color and brilliance
in a palace of red canvas
lay the corpses of humanity's finest
a formaldehyde trick
of preservation and deception
come one come all!
an asylum for those consumed
a sanctuary for those comforted
by the art of celebrated illusion
an institution built on maneuvering
the depths of every man's heart
welcome to the circus
sit back and enjoy the show!
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
A mournful air beyond the fog,
Death can meet among the poisonous rubes,
Beyond the trees and past the deformed log.
The Knight in Shining Armor comes to save the day.
Bearing healing potions from afar in pewter tubes,
But he is much too late; the Fool has already faded away.
His tears are many, for the loss of a brother,
They are heavy and murky against the dreamscape.
Now for his revenge, he seeks a strange other.
On his new, and strangely enlightened quest,
He feels transparent ghouls kissing his nape
Little does he know it is the sign of a Witches test.
Maneuvering among the empty placed grave,
He keeps his hopes on a looming tower.
He approaches his becoming of an honest knave.
He must be quick and tighten his saddle,
Because a pursuing evil is a deadly power,
And this Knight in Armor must be ready for battle.
The danger of our Knight is not known to man.
To survive, the he must unlearn his past.
This evil he faces is formulating a plan.
The towers close in as he passes their gates.
A spicy chill, creeps up the Knights spine,
And he finally grasps the terror of what awaits.
Inside his mind, he questions going back.
But dismisses the though as a man on wine.
He secretly knows this creature is on his track.
As he pushes himself onward,
He reminisces on his brother, and his life.
The only defining thought for him is froward.
He takes his final turn around the final corridor,
Quick on his feet and ready with his knife.
At first sight, he though his vision must have been poor.
A woman whose beauty surpassed any he had ever seen,
Stood with her naked eyes set firmly on him.
This was the witch who had killed all he had been.
Unable to take the life of any woman,
The soldier took a last and final look
And plunged the knife into his abdomen.
The beautiful witch had won yet another soul,
She knew why it was his life she took.
Never mind the Fool, the Knight had been her goal.
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 3:20 PM UTC
Hey kid, I woke up buzzing, here
In the future ruins of ancient America.
Staring, after the imperial sunrise,
Listening to Los Angeles on repeat.
Insistent and purple, only
Sediment left in the
Bottles of night.
This third-world way
Causes Third World War
So I'm drinking at a
Tavern on the End.
The bus goes by, and
"Baseball's the worst sport."
Alliteration, allusion,
Colors, characters,
And metaphors.
Sobriety sending me
Searching for smoke.
Rehash, re-up, and "read the ****** thing." My world-view,
Out-maneuvering your
Upbringing.
(The memories I have are white and yellow.
Fogged, not angry, if even confused.
You'd call me, after finishing your nightly readings, to cry about the characters you'd loved, and castigate my inability to care.
Remember when you used "undermined" to describe the adaptation?
You meant that it was "assuming too much.")
"Brenda and Eddie," over here,
"Couldn't go back to the greasers" so they
Wound up at your family's tavern.
"You look like the fat kid,
On whom the popular girl was
Forced to settle."
Dear Man,
Woman's found you out. Or
Are we, justly, doomed to be
More juvenile?
Worn sole, soul-open, "so long,
Kid, I don't know you, but,
I can't help myself from
Destroying you."
(My upbringing: out-maneuvering
Your world-view.)
"You've always been the caretaker, Flagstaff."
The bait's in your brain.
You've simply been
Overlooking the barkeep.
(Dear Diary, could I just die already?
The Price is Life, and purgatory's a game show.
Anger, the color of your mother.
Skin, the shade of yard-work.
Staring at road maps of Virginia, stoic.
Trying to divine the diners we'd die in.)
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 3:41 AM UTC
Multiples Personalities
I’ll defeat you, I said
I have study your every moves
You clustered my inside, like the garbage bin
Gasping for air, I struggle
It snow. I wore a tee shirt
No boots though. I took the train
Trouble follows me
Outrageous! I screamed
Split personalities; Alters assembled
At court street, Nevins and Applebee
Each taking turns maneuvering in the cold breeze
I fought with all my might. I headed to the voodoo priest
Gibberish sounds he offered.
However, not for too long
With some great effort
Conquering we fought the beasts
Depression you lose; we won.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
Block - unblock - block
Heart opened, heart shattered, heart locked.
Mind screaming, silent dreaming
Mind hushed, dreams rush.
It seems like you are playing musical chairs,
I am free of you, but when the music stops.
When the world grows silent,
You sit in my mind again.
Unblock and stare at the words proclaiming "online"
Curiosity crawling up my spine.
Wondering if you ever opened our chat and stared as well.
Block - unblock - block
Heart opened, heart shattered, heart locked.
Mind screaming, silent dreaming
Mind hushed, dreams rush.
Every time I see you
I feel we can start afresh, anew.
You smile, I smile.
We try to remain in denial.
We go on as just friends
We finally make amends
We pretend nothing happened.
Then something happens
My heart flutters,
But nothing can come of it,
So it shatters
I locked it again, but you are a skilled lockpick.
unblock - block - unblock
Heart opened, heart shattered, heart locked.
Mind screaming, silent dreaming
Mind hushed, dreams rush.
I wait for your message to arrive,
You're no longer blocked, you're alive.
But it never comes,
I become numb.
My dreams are black,
Because if I sleep too deep,
I might miss your message back.
The memories creep.
I can see them sneaking over the fence,
Maneuvering through every defense,
Until it stands like a shadow learing over my bed.
A demon stuck in my head.
Block - unblock - block
Heart opened, heart shattered, heart locked.
Mind screaming, silent dreaming
Mind hushed, dreams rush.
I am almost over you.
I have almost made it through
This tormented affair
This maze of dispair.
The memory of you no longer walks with me down the street,
I don't see you in the places we used to meet.
Your face doesn't burn in the back of my head,
But now you have crawled into my dreams instead.
My mind is working through the last bit,
But I am so exhausted.
So tired of fighting guilt and shame,
So tired of breaking all over again
Whenever I hear your name...
Block - delete number
Heart broken, heart shattered, but heart finally locked.
Mind screaming, but screaming a different song.
All of the dreams are finally gone.
It is over.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 9:16 AM UTC
My brain is your atomic nuclear warfare paintings
All the while you face-lift X-box babies
Needle-thread we're dead babe don't you make a man crave
For things he can't quite understand but doesn't want to hit the hand.
Severance is fiction in the hands of friction,
****** deviance and erratic disobedience,
Covers the covers like a silk-screen layout
Jack it up and crack it up to be ****** up takeout.
Oh yeah? Well over we're starving ripping pieces off the mountains
Dentistry mythology, who needs a medical degree?
The label on the box said the tape was all in my head
But I don't hear a ******* sound except the fire all around
Grass is misleading and graffiti complaining
The AK is God here and through towns we're raiding
You think you got it so bad this is all the life we ever had
And don't you ever stop by cause our values are just alibis.
Okay, enough! This is all a double feature burger for here or to go
This is all a Catholic preacher in a Red Cross rodeo
Life is an airplane flying overhead carrying passengers with nothing in their heads
And turning all the lights out and pulling all the blinds down so they can't see the truth.
Disguise misguide and everything in between
Have you seen the ***** film with Jenna Haze and Jimmy Dean?
Garden salad, Diet Coke, check now and choke
Give us our bombs so we can run and go and rig the new VOTES.
Let me run it by the city council one more time
We're seeing flying cars and houses of cards and stumbling and tumbling
And rumbling and rumoring the hilarious splinter consumering
Maneuvering, assuming bottles fly with seagull eyes
The trees burn here like candy canes and run in the grass like membranes
Toxic fumes and entrails for reasoning and cold shame
Shudder at the thought of a shutter in a hot fuzz tee shirt worn by the slick insane
Generating heaterpuppy psychologic fragile now, undertow, the fifth row in the theater at the Apollo.
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
I woke up from a bad dream trembling under the strength of deformed uncertainty. On this quiet, sweet night I dreamed that my mask is melting. Nakedness beneath terribly surprised me, I felt bare while disgustingly beautiful pink skin stuck out from beneath magnificently repulsive layer of white chalk which ran down my face in the beans. In single moment thousands fluorescent drops of days passed before my blue eyes and thousands of miles of pictures mixed as psychedelic assemblage. I was hoping that I would for ever float on silk of big circus tent, the place between sleep and wake and that I will never be touched by reality pedestrians or nightmare riders. Returned from a long journey dedicated to the cult of friendship riding on a brass beast sentenced to a breakdown. Return is a successful escape from the curious conductors who wear chains and key, maneuvering between spacecrafts driven by hesitative captains, sliding in between hot geysers of alcoholic delirium on the crystal surface of Arctic ice. Sweet and bitter is the view over always the same icy peaks that cast always different shadows, while the foamy rugged hillsides are blurred with the haze of responsibility, sunny with the light of honesty, depending on the morning. I rub my eyes while my mask, of which I am very grateful, still persistently covers the lines of my face and I wonder whether kilometers traveled last night were part of a dream or reality?
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 12:04 PM UTC
Magnificent blue tent is spread over my head. I look at it without a word while the audience throws unleashed cries of encouragement. "Go, go! The net is under!" . Hands holding a long pole. Providing a first step towards a string of fate, felt my face turn white as a mask on it. The sudden touch of metal wire under my feet breaks the breath from my lungs. One blink and everything disappears, my steps are steps of fate that slowly sneaks maneuvering between two abysses. My hands have grown together with rod and turned into a solid dragon wings. Through spread nostrils I am breathing in sweet smell of victory, and exhale fire of disappointments and saliva of defeat. The audience is still unleashed: "Fly, don’t you see you have wings? Fly!". I move slowly, like a white panther whose fur is embellished with blue diamonds. I walk slowly, coping with every step, feeling soothing palpitations, it was just a short-term earthquake which shook my knees, elbows and fingers. The epicenter was reported somewhere in the abdomen, waves of heat and uncertainties have slowly spread to my limbs, passing with from my skin through electrified air to the audience. The earthquake, which I've already forgotten strongly encompassed thousands of rosy faces and bright eyes squeezing out of them delighted "Ooooh," while I slowly crossed my way through streets covered with traps. Heavy load on my back, large stones of tedious requests, cramp biting my shoulders, neck and bending my spine, as if all this is gone in an instant, while I safely walk under Dragon armor down the sunny street of bravery. I arrived at the other end of the wire ordeal and with the final step I realize that there is no place for fear, nervousness, that I'm not an amateur in a professional competition, Harlequin has survived another day. Tomorrow when the load again rises to the scale of the iceberg, when again I become stray ignorant in acrobatics exam, tomorrow, if it ever comes, I'll think about it. Perhaps there is sun and melts the icebergs, might come truck and drive my loads away, I may again grow wings to bring me over the abyss.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
I feel her eyes upon me
Digging into my soul
I can't run from this pain
Simply losing control
For she's force-fed
These demons
There's a loss in my hair
From the stress that's upon me
As if she's always been there
But that's not true
No it can't be
I'm losing my mind
For she's claimed you
Publicly
I'm wishing I was blind
So I can't see
These tricks on me
She's messing with my head
Manipulative
Like a puppet
Maneuvering my limbs with a thread
And I hate it
I shun it
Lock it up tight in a box
But it calls me
It haunts me
Am I not enough?
For you've told me
You've shown me
How I was your world
But can that be the truth now?
Was there always another girl?
Alysia Marie 2018 ©
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 6:54 PM UTC
The lamp is now representing itself in the absence of being semi-peaceful. While having the inner-struggle in just simply trying it's best to get by....
After this very truest representation had sold itself to the highest bidder (being its own inner weakness giving into the symptom, that is "giving up"), without so much as a single plausible (enough) explanation...
Things don't become tolerated (very well), anymore.
After all, it's up to the standards of one's own grief to now simplify the very behavior (in their own sequence, after sequence, after even more sequences that have sheer luck tied to them without hesitation for utter pleasurable shame for the results that clutter the very cog in the wheel) that gives freedom in the disguise for wonder. Wonder...that isn't including its own freedom, as that's just another common (filled) sense illusion, now.
It's the very scenario that agrees that it hast to become free...in order to see its own self for what it had become....
Meaningfully speaking, everything up to this very point in time...comes with an arresting degree for silencing the inner willpower of an inner voice that can't (safely, very well) reach for the outside world (and even remotely reach out into the outside world, like...AT ALL...)! And simply express (for the life of itself), its own symptom. Not only a symptom (or two...) But more the very part as to how, or why, or what essentially became of itself...when it started feeling this particular (and more peculiar way...), where it doesn't know how to handle itself, anymore (in that very dire moment for shameful results). Especially the guilt trip that it starts to feel (all the sudden), when it begins feebling itself over such hesitating tip-toeing maneuvering. But what comes (next, anyhow) with so much as a single surprise...is that there's always a certain something, (or certain someone) truly waiting for you on the other side of a spectrum (where you have yet to truly notice in ALL such forming varieties upon the certain specified number of emotions bleeding itself DRY for the appreciation of finding a solution too it's current problem....)
Once you understand this...or more like correcting the wrongs (that had up to this very moment in time, had made you this spiraling short-circuited piece of machinery, or justful faulty technological prowess...) Gives you the very nurturing desire to bid farewell to your own inner strength. Just so you can now have the very pleasure of now purging past this unknown barrier on the other side of this spectrum that has this very certain (someone) waiting for you...that will then of course, give you that single, (when you least expect it...) RESTART! That had been in an orderly fashion ever since the very beginning (when you first started first experiencing this symptom in the first place). A trapped scenario full of crippling sequences of events!
Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 5:49 PM UTC
It's impulse to want to touch your face when I see you
Hoping that your arms wrap around me as tightly as I long to hold you
It's impulse for me to smile whenever I see yours
Hoping that you will one day recite those words that I have been longing to tell you
My feelings are intertwining with instinct
Something that is hard for me to distinct
Are emotions taking me over, not letting go?
Or is destiny maneuvering my reactions that are meant to be so
I can't help the way your words become my obsession
It seems that the sense of reality is no longer in my possession
I can't help but tremble every time our eyes meet
It seems like in this battle you have won and caused my defeat
It's impulse to want to hold your hand forever and a day
Hoping that you'll realize what I've known, we are to be together someday
It's impulse for me to want to love, for I can't imagine me without it
Hoping that everything I feel has a purpose and a meaning leading to you
I'm fighting myself for the words I want to speak
I'm holding myself up for in your sight I become weak
I'm hesitating to ask if what you feel for me is the same
I'm wondering if the answer will make me lose control like the sound of your name
Impulse has left me soaring so deeply into your eyes
Gazing hopelessly in the endless darkness that is the sky
I need to know if what I feel is a decision of the heart
Need to make sure that my mind is telling me the same
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
*
***In the life,
the karmic plans we unfold
uncover the stories untold
lead the path of life imposed
and
Also in the process of unfolding,
uncovering and
maneuvering......
unknowingly
our thoughts, words and actions
pen new stories.....
shaped into our destiny...
turned into the karmic plans for next births..
and this goes on...***
*
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 8:25 AM UTC
Driving my Ferrari,
I wrote this ditty
at over a hundred miles per hour.
Feeling the power of your
hot **** words,
I shifted into turbo overdrive
while slamming letters
on my cell phone,
maneuvering between
the slower traffic.
With an effect like that,
I know you are hotter
than the surface of the sun
& I'm intoxicated
with only half
of a pretty picture.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC