"masterpeice" poems
No connection
A lost soul with no direction
Living on cheap words and compliments
Might as well be working on a empty stomach
I am ready for a challenge
Something that brings me hope that doesn't silence me so
Can you be there
I asked you why you are never here
You might as well be 15,000 miles in drowning sea
an epitome of what is to have a broken masterpeice
I had you wishing one day, that was long ago
Now you have me digging at a slow pace with a choke hold
I remember like it was yesterday
You remember me drunk on cheap champagne
Is it everything I thought it ever was?
Was it everything you thought it would be?
Its not like anything I ever hoped for
But it's all of everything you could ever want
You wanted half and half
I wanted whole milk
You like to drink it stiff
I like it kind of sweet
You prefer it kind of cold
And I like mine warm
At comfortable pace
But its us that is misplaced....
They say opposites attract.
I'd like to prove them wrong
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 5:43 AM UTC
We where never a masterpiece,
more like a jigsaw piece
missing parts..
But we spent that time not worrying
whether we would
find them.
We knew that every part
would connect,
sooner or later.
And if it didn't,
It just added to the mystery
of what our finished picture
would be.
It takes a life time
to find where we connect,
never let that burden you.
Its all part of the fun.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 11:14 AM UTC
Narrow minded girls see red palms and twisted teeth
They wiggle their fingers through the bars
To touch
To hold
To grace a finger by
You're the exposé they could never quite pin down
They see a tear and call it your river masterpeice
"She's unique"
"Look how she walks with stride pulled underneath winding gravity"
"Its a political statement"
"See the juxtaposition of her eyes and ears"
"I want this over my mantel"
To touch
To hold
To grace a finger by
Narrow minded girls will wrap a frame around your sunken shoulders and call you art
They will pin holes in each palm
Call you an exibit
Exposé
To touch
To hold
To grace a finger by
Were you ever even invited?
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
I left the good ones in the bag that I packed
and left with a long time ago
blinded by expressionism and confessionalism
a portrait hung on my wall for so long
I dream in blue and earthy scents
of that little space between hinder and breath
society placed a big burden upon my chest
it whispers so many funny and true things
dire to my belief of originality
and being specific in the things I do
mind like thin lines overlapping in many different hues
I have grown ill in thought of the ordinary people
you see me as flawed hurt and stupid
and I see you as plain boring and mediorce
eyes trail downwards about my sincere actions
and sometimes I must hold my tongue
being that envious eyes would like to eat a lung
my manner gentle and discreet
Im am nothing near the definition of obsolete
and I accept it as I accept that nothing will ever
with misuse be complete
and in a heartbeat I retreat to that creature
who beside me is petite
as I am
feathers of beauty brush against the
slowly moving winds on my shore
and I go back and wonder why everything
so quickly turns into nothing
descending tons of gore
and then fragility comes back to its place
sits on the front of my hands
like a serence masterpeice
reminding me who I am
and leaves me permanently marked
with a gray smile
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 7:16 PM UTC
I left the good ones in the bag that I packed
and left with a long time ago
blinded by expressionism and confessionalism
a portrait hung on my wall for so long
I dream in blue and earthy scents
of that little space between hinder and breath
society placed a big burden upon my chest
it whispers so many funny and true things
dire to my belief of originality
and being specific in the things I do
mind like thin lines overlapping in many different hues
I have grown ill in thought of the ordinary people
you see me as flawed hurt and stupid
and I see you as plain boring and mediorce
eyes trail downwards about my sincere actions
and sometimes I must hold my tongue
being that envious eyes would like to eat a lung
my manner gentle and discreet
Im am nothing near the definition of obsolete
and I accept it as I accept that nothing will ever
with misuse be complete
and in a heartbeat I retreat to that creature
who beside me is petite
as I am
feathers of beauty brush against the
slowly moving winds on my shore
and I go back and wonder why everything
so quickly turns into nothing
descending tons of gore
and then fragility comes back to its place
sits on the front of my hands
like a serene masterpeice
reminding me who I am
and leaves me permanently marked
smile
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:36 PM UTC
the page echoes back my silence
it has traces and track of whispers
little voices that harbor malice to my intent
little things crawling round in my wants
and as the song disintegrates on her guitar
like my mind slipping into the dark waters of a spike
she announces the motionless perspective
of a Salvador Dali masterpeice
as seen from the inside
her liquid eyes
are in my mouth
as the song desintergrates on her worn guitar
they are blue opulence
but taste like an engine of death
and as that song of our love affair
desintergrates
its dusty fragments clog my pen
blue opulence
is a state of mind
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
I'm just waiting on the catastrophe of my personality to be seen as a beautiful mysterious masterpeice.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
my whole world has come crashing around me-
since you left-like a kindergardener running out of elmers glue,
i cant hold myself together,
you've left me to fix a broken peice of work
(you used to think it was a masterpeice)
the love you confessed seemed so sureal
now i dont think it was so,
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 6:43 PM UTC
I left the good ones in the bag that I packed
and left with a long time ago
blinded by expressionism and confessionalism
a portrait hung on my wall for so long
I dream in blue and earthy scents
of that little space between hinder and breath
society placed a big burden upon my chest
it whispers so many funny and true things
dire to my belief of originality
and being specific in the things I do
mind like thin lines overlapping in many different hues
I have grown ill in thought of the ordinary people
you see me as flawed hurt and stupid
and I see you as plain boring and mediorce
eyes trail downwards about my sincere actions
and sometimes I must hold my tongue
being that envious eyes would like to eat a lung
my manner gentle and discreet
Im am nothing near the definition of obsolete
and I accept it as I accept that nothing will ever
with misuse be complete
and in a heartbeat I retreat to that creature
who beside me is petite
as I am
feathers of beauty brush against the
slowly moving winds on my shore
and I go back and wonder why everything
so quickly turns into nothing
descending tons of gore
and then fragility comes back to its place
sits on the front of my hands
like a serene masterpeice
reminding me who I am
and leaves me permanently marked
smile
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:42 PM UTC
Maybe my whole body is a compacted lump of doubts and expectations, ****** choices, and lonely words at 2am.
Maybe that is what I am.
I'm made of Fuck-ups, uncomfortable apologies, and stolen bubble-gum ***** carelessly beaten into a
vaguely human play-doh masterpeice
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
subtle dots of light
whirling through layered darkness -
2-d masterpeice
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
if i had
that one little
moment back
between the passion
and the abandon
if I could hold it tight
under glass
examine it with prods
and slices
i’d finally know
if it was my best
moment
or my
worst
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
why is my ability to paint so numb?
Idle continuum
Pitiful depth
significance exhaled like a breath
i lazily dab and the colors grey
just another day
it becomes easy
to ignore the rainbow inside of me
just a sluggish attempt
not a masterpeice
just a tease
soon i may
express myself, but then again
the only color
I have is grey
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
Okay I might not be perfect but everyone is perfectly incomplete I will fall on my face but I will get back up and try again in life okay NO ONE IS PERFECT WE ARE ALL INCOMPLETE and we have to live with it you might have a voice in your head that is telling you negative things but you need to avoid it and just walk away from it...
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
You say that you love me and it's like heaven and hell,
it's wonderful and crazy,
you want to take me and break me,
burn me and remake me
into the pristine poet of a person I should be,
but no, you don't get to change me,
Because I like me,
my wax body dripping like false abiguity
and displaying myself on a pedestal of my own natural instability.
I like being me,
and if you really loved me you wouldn't want to change me,
you would respect my boundaries,
my body,
my family,
I am a masterpiece.
I don't ask for much, so just maybe some dignity?
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 2:36 PM UTC
the misplaced animal
scanning the beach
paranoid that the party upstairs
is laughing at him
getting a phone call from his mother
that it is time for dinner
but that it not his plan
he is riding the insane wave
of tricky mystery
and his cloak is a smokescreen
riveting masterpeice, complicated boy
young man
learning the way of the journey
and years later
he will return with his girlfriend
and the feeling will be long gone
and he will try to resurrect it
with her
but it falls short
like a sneeze that never comes
and that will be that
the misplaced animal
is caged
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Slits right arm clean open
Wipes left hand in flood of claret
Slaps hand on paper
"Here's a ******* poem,
This is art don't you know?!,
****
What a ******* masterpeice
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC
I’m waiting for that titter tatter of brain matter to come in and let me know whats really going to happen below the belt, I’m waiting for that slash of mystery finish that will reveal whats hiding at the end of the tunnel, I’m waiting to be tossed about, build and ravished and destroyed, smashed into a million pieces and turned into tinker toys, I’m wanting to be broken down by scientific analysts only to be a mistake mystery explanation for string theory. I’m hoping for a mixture of time axis, along the equator, letting the jukebox serenader agree to the next fashion statement. I’m marveling at the mystery of mixed up majestic time tables, who will lead me to exactly where I need to be. I just want the sweet marmalade nectar to fall down my throat and lead me to a dreamless sleep so I may wake up and know exactly where my destination lies, no coffee, complete. I’m yearning for the woods to call on my name and show me the nook where the fallen spirits lay and they will help me, take my hand and show me the horror so I know when to hide and when to come out and be alive. I’m gazing at paintings and marveling at the different colors and letting the textures be examples of how to stroke and at the precise moment when a mirage becomes a masterpeice. I’m noodling with the spaghetti stories and taking my turn to lead it to the guru who will finish it with one hand held up, and a finger gone, understanding the principles of buddhism. I’m throwing knives in the air and letting them fall into the sand then dropping acid and doing a dance between their places, knowing very well that I may land and meet my gruesome death. I am putting my feet up and staring at the ceiling and knowing its distinct features, its bubbles, its textures, and the answers? they are only in the subtle hum of the air conditioner, the ceilings stoic nature, and the space between.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC