"meanings" poems
Sometimes I get stuck in this state of Darkness
where my eyes can see
but it's like my head is just pitch black
and I almost wish I couldn't see anything,
like I wish I could just curl myself into a ball so tightly that I disappear from space for a while
sometimes I get stuck in this space
and I feel like my tears and my thoughts
are climbing up my esophagus and clogging my throat
blocking my airway
suffocating me from the inside
maybe I never told you I was depressed because who wants to relive that moment
that choking hazard moment of cotton ***** in my throat
maybe I never told you I was depressed because there are no words I can use to describe it that don't transform themselves into their meanings
that don't take over my mind
crawl through my head like little worms
eating away at my brain
my thoughts
my skin
have you ever thought of a traumatic experience and then felt those events happening again
felt the dark hole of life-threatening-trauma attack your mind
Shiver through your body
like it was a demon you let in through a memory-
through a word
maybe I didn't tell you I was depressed
because I wasn't strong enough
my depression fills me to the brim
fills my head and my chest
my arms and my fingers
I can feel it moving through my body
I can feel it expanding and engulfing everything inside of me
every last vein, nerve, ***** and tissue
how can you expect me to have the energy to fight
how can you expect me to have the energy to pick up the phone
to open my mouth
how can you expect me to have energy-to have the courage to utter the words of how I feel
I feel so worthless
in those moments I feel like there's this black whole inside me and it's consuming everything
it's taking everything but my skin
and it disgusts me
can you imagine the feeling,
having something so utterly repulsive on your skin you had to scrape it off immediately
It felt like you needed to be cleansed
like you needed a shower
take that feeling
now imagine it being under your skin
imagine, every muscle ***** vein nerve every cell in your body underneath your epidermis disgusts you
imagine all you wanted to do was to
GET
IT
OFF
and you can't
no matter how hard you try
you can't scrape it off
you can't claw It off
imagine you're scared of spiders
now imagine you're covered in spiders
and someone's holding down your arms
so you can't get them off
imagine them walking on your skin
in your mouth
crawling on your open eyes
in your ears
you're cringing at your own skin
You can feel them going down your throat
Their disgusting tickle in the pit of your stomach
in every crevice of your body
their tunneling under your skin
and you can't get them off
what are you supposed to do
but cry
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
I clash into my fabric,
Like it's the waters of a bath.
Behold the ripples from my fingers,
Before I walked upon their path.
Pills are skipping stones,
That land at unsteady feet.
I'm falling, or I'm drowning,
Sleeping with torture underneath.
With Carnations at the bedside,
The yellow won't change my hue.
For their inexplicit meanings,
Are wrapped in dripping blue.
And the taps rung through my head,
Were the bath; now forming puddles.
You asked how I had left,
But you didn't notice the bubbles
---------------------------------------------------
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 4:31 AM UTC
No soldiers in the scenery,
No thoughts of people now dead,
As they were fifty years ago,
Young and living in a live air,
Young and walking in the sunshine,
Bending in blue dresses to touch something,
Today the mind is not part of the weather.
Today the air is clear of everything.
It has no knowledge except of nothingness
And it flows over us without meanings,
As if none of us had ever been here before
And are not now: in this shallow spectacle,
This invisible activity, this sense.
18.7k
Originally written on 26/05/2005.
Hum khud ko ek raat, phir yuhi ek baar, bhool gaye.
Aap nahin to aap ka yaad dilaana hi phir bhool gaye.
Ab to yeh bedaad-e-yaad waqt ke saath sehte sehte,
Khud se daad-e-dard ki umeed-e-intizaar bhool gaye.
Kabhi dhoond te the hum bhi ma'anee apni wajood me,
Lekin raat hui to wajood ka ma'ana hi ab bhool gaye.
Chale the hum na jaane kaha apni ehatimaam-e-yaad ko.
Is ehsaas ne humme roka ke hum gham-e-gharaz bhool gaye.
Humare baat karne par karte hain humare jeene ki tasali.
Koi toh samjhaye ke jeete jeete hum jeena bhool gaye.
------------------------------------
One night, once again, I’ve forgotten myself.
You’re not here so I’ve even forgotten your reminders.
Now after putting up with this injustice of memory, over time
I’ve forgotten to wait for the hope of a justice of sorrow, from myself.
Once I used to search for meanings within my identity
But now when night falls, I’ve forgotten the very meaning of my identity.
I don’t know where I was going to sort out my memories,
But this realisation stopped me that I’ve forgotten the very purpose of my sorrow.
By talking about me, they assure themselves that I am alive.
Somebody explain to them that even though I’m alive, I’ve forgotten how to live.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 7:50 AM UTC
Black and White
Black and White
Black and White
Those seem to be dull colors
Colours suggests something
The color that proliferates
this
entire
website
says something to me
this place
is a mask
and this is not
what
it seems like
A place full of poetry
Poetry can have dark meanings too
This place seems dark.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 2:17 AM UTC
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer
Taking your words to heart?
Truly
Though, understanding them?
I believe i have a skewed view of the true layers hidden beneath the rows upon rows of your starlight garden.
I am but a bird above your garden, admiring the upper beauty shone brightly in the starlight.
I have but the faintest clue about the memories and experiences that root so deeply into your poems,
Nor the meanings behind the words that hold the earth so tenderly.
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer
But as the greatest trees stand tall in their royal crowning, their historic roots support them whole heartedly, with their focus all upon the lifting of the grand finale.
Deeply do your roots reach down into thine heart. And deeply so.
For how can one reach the stars without a strong story below?
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer.
I cannot be so bold as to claim to know what each poem means, for that would be to have lived in your story with each passing breath.
Nay, i can only express the emotions that these words give me in relation to mine own,
curiousity, like flower garden, grown.
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
Negativity is meaningful. It's detrimental and cynical. It deluges inside our heads. Making us feel insecure, unwanted and useless. They will prosper and thrive to reach out and make us feel smaller than them, to get inside of our minds and make us look in the mirror and see what we don't want to see. It eventually assassinates our minds. It dwells on top of the positive thoughts. But YOU need to remember that YOU are worth more than anything in this competitive, sick world.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
Intelligence is not how many pointless math things that you understand
But rather the ability to understand the people around you
Intelligence is not how many words you can spell
But being able to choose the right ones in times of need
Intelligence is not how many stupid history passages you read
But reading things that matter and have meanings; like poems
Intelligence is not leaving to be with the conformists
But being smart enough to rebel against them
Intelligence isn't going to school for years just to throw your life away
Intelligence is being able to live your life how you want to
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
***My words
Convey
Deepest feelings
From the soul
Revived
With every drop
Of ink
Bridged
Is the chasm
Between me
and blank pages
Crossing over
To dwell
Among the lines
Betwixt
Are the meanings***
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
There's an apocalypse coming
And we get to choose which kind
Just listen to the meanings and open your mind
One means revealing
One means demise
Are we gonna keep stealing
Or are we going to open our eyes
We're killing the earth inside and out
Instead of trusting our hearts, we are living in doubt
We can love each other and change the path of the planet
We need to grow our own food, raw and organic
We can't just manufacture everything, process, and can it
Stop the GMOs, pesticides, and factory farming
What it's doing to the planet is absolutely alarming
They create lakes of blood and an earth of toxins
If you read the clock then
You'll see that it's time to change, this isn't how it's supposed to be
We should be living together in a sustainable community
One that helps, nurtures, and loves
One that plants trees and gardens and shrubs
It's time to bring about our utopia of the future
We need to get rid of the lies, the hate, and the torture
Wars, jealousy, and competition have to end
It's time for us to forgive, it's time to transcend
To our new world, our kingdom of heaven
Just read your clock its 11:11
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
I pried out my own skin
wide open
with needles dipped
in cheap india ink; I dabbed
at the black mixed with red
staining my fingers.
Do I do this for the pain,
or to get the poison trickling in
to my skin, to my veins?
A symbol, an alphabet.
Vast meanings that I tried to bestow
upon them hours later
really means nothing at all.
There's the cause and the effect,
which really goes both ways.
The pain for the gain
of the blurred out ink under my skin,
and the gain for the pain
of the sharpness prickling
my ankles, both legs
bare the stain of alcohol tinged
nights.
The skin beneath my eyelids
a darkened haze;
but the tattoo still burns
needle-sharp against it all.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
Closet trapped
Words on the wall
I see the world
End of it all
Crazy place
Everything defined
Meanings are haunted
Darkness confined
Locked and afraid
Windows can't see
Crying my eyes out
Alone let me be
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
The word “identity” has two different meanings:
1. The fact of being who or what a person or thing is.
2. A close similarity or affinity.
I would like to focus on the first meaning.
My identity is based on who I am as a person.
It’s based on the things I do and don’t like.
My identity is based on the clothes I wear.
My identity is based on the way I choose to talk.
My identity is based on my thoughts and opinions.
My identity isn’t based on my Autism or Anxiety.
Some people say they’re identity is their Autism.
And if they’re happy with that, that’s great.
But I was just recently diagnosed with Autism.
And while I have had it my entire life.
I didn’t know anything about it.
I did, however, know that I had anxiety issues.
I’ve had anxiety for a long time, and it’s bad.
I can recognize when an attack is gonna happen.
This isn’t always the case, but a lot of the time, it is.
I know what helps me when I have an anxiety attack.
I have an understanding of what I can and can't handle.
My Autism, on the other hand, is still a mystery to me.
I know that it affects the way I think and learn.
I know it’s the reason for why I am sensitive to temperature.
I know it’s why so had such a hard time in school.
But I refuse to say that my Autism and anxiety identify me as a person.
I have known my personality way long never than both my Autism and anxiety combined.
This isn’t true for everyone, but it is for me.
This is the way I choose to approach my Autism and anxiety.
I’m Autistic, and I’m not ashamed of it.
I have anxiety, and I’m working hard on it.
But I’m not Autism, and I’m not Anxiety.
I’m me.
And I will always stand by this train of thought.
I know that there are times when my interests become my coping skills.
But when I’m not anxious, then they are just my interests.
When I’m having an anxiety attack, then they are the skills I need in order to function.
Right now, this isn’t a coping skill.
My writing this, isn’t a form of therapy.
This is an interest of mine.
I love to write, and was thinking about this, so I decided to speak my mind.
I’m happy to say I’m happy right now.
I don’t feel a bit of stress, and if I do, then one of my interests will be used to help me through it.
Until then, I’m just doing what makes me happy.
And I’m happy that I know myself well to recognize this.
You don’t have to agree with me on anything I just said.
I just ask that you respect that these are my opinions.
I’m an individual who just happens to have Autism and anxiety.
Alright, that’s all I got, I’ve just been in a writing mood over the last few days.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
Thursday evenings spent with you
Each Growing more repetitive than the last
I see that you still recognise my face
But can tell from the dullness in your eyes that you cannot make much sense of it
You feel the memories
But your search for their meanings have long since reached bitter ends
Leaving you Cast aside in the sterile loony bin
Oh, What such a bitter enemy is the clock on the wall
How badly the passing of time can damage us
How our greatest gift can turn so rouge
rotting us away from our core
Turning even the strongest of love
Into a cascade of dust and insanity
How unjust but fearfully true
That our greatest of pains
In the real world would not even be strong enough to cut butter
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
I like my bare feet
right in front of the fan.
It tickles,
the wind;
blowing kisses on my toes.
My toenails are red.
I'd just noticed; I'd forgotten
how I painted them shiny
as I hummed nonsense words.
It's chipping off now,
I'd have to repaint them.
Blue?
Purple?
No, I'll stick to red.
Red has many meanings
but I do not care much for them.
Some things are better left simple -
My toenails are just one of those things.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
How reliant have I become on you my Internet provider.
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 9:49 AM UTC
Life is a puzzle.
Just like you and me.
Each day a note,
Together they make a melody.
Our life a puzzle,
A melody.
Each and everyone,
Another life, another story.
Black, white, crimson, burgundy,
Different shades of colors,
Lights of different intensities,
Life's of different meanings.
Some live for others,
Others for themselves;
Some have no clue,
Some just wish all was true.
Days pass like flipping pages,
A book opened and soon to be closed.
But after the story,
Still no one knows.
No one ever truly knows,
Never one found out the answer;
The real meanings,
Behind these beautiful melodies.
Many lives, satin ribbons,
fluttering Freely in the wind.
So much the same, similar traits,
yet all we see is Difference.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 4:02 AM UTC
You know, I read our conversations so much it feels like you were still here. A sequence of muted meanings that holds my weighted body from falling into something much larger than me. But that something is a square ocean that lay between us reminding me that the waves I send can’t quite reach your shore. I’m just surrounded by a digital sea that makes me wonder how reflections in water could be so fake. But maybe if I had just poured my soul into the current and let it reach you, this artificial light wouldn’t make me feel so ******* alone.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 2:06 AM UTC
Poet : " Hey peeps"
Singer : "sup"
Artist : " Hiii"
Poet : " I was wondering, its quite intriguing how we are all quite similar , yet different as well "
Artist : "How so ?"
Poet : " Well, we all show , some feeling or emotion or portray any message in some sort of form, one way or another "
Singer : "Thats true , I use my voice so that many can hear my lyrics whether cryptic or not "
Poet : True, but you also forgot...
Artist : "Poet does this as well , despite the words on paper for many to read , poet doesn't quite sing in melody , but speaks so that many can hear the words to tell the message "
Poet : " Exactly , thank you Artist "
Artist : " No problem , as for me I neither Sing nor speak , my art paint the words I want to convey in the mind as an image "
Singer : "Yes,Yes, But don't you at times say what your art means , so technically you do speak kinda"
Artist : " Hahaha , ******** yes but I would only say 15-20 per cent of the time , to convey what i'm trying to define "
Poet : " Fair enough but technically poets can do this as well , in fact there is a type of poetry called...
Artist : " Concrete, Yes I know , such a flattering name by the way, hahaha "
Singer : " Hahaha"
Poet : " Anyways! , to add to poetry we need not have to create art , for our message to be visualized "
Singer : " Thats all well and good , however in the rhythmic sway in the melodies of song , I quite literally move people , you could even say the way they dance to my songs to show how it makes them feel , expressing themselves, as well as painting a picture ...."
Poet : "Hahaha damnnn, are you trying to show your the best ?"
Singer : " Just saying facts , not my fault it might come across as me being the best "
Poet : "Do try and remember us Poets do move those who read or listen to our poetry , they can relate. On the words , they think and meditate plus with those lines an image in there mind they do, re-create"
Singer : " Really , you just couldn't help not rhyming ? "
Poet : " Don't hate , appreciate.. "
Singer : " Oh gosh... "
Artist : " Hahaha"
Artist : " Don't forget us Artists , our art , can move people , maybe not as physically as you Singer, but we can cause a sway of thoughts for a painting can have a multitude of meanings"
Artist : " Sometimes it is better not to tell them my definition of the painting, but to see what it means to them and how it makes them feel "
Singer : " Sigh fair enough you got me there... "
Poet : " Its like I said , we are similar in the fact , that we portray something in our own unique act , to wonder and see how the viewer will react , to see the thoughts and feelings in our different dealings... To..."
Singer : " Oh my gosh we get it... No need to rhyme us to oblivion"
Artist : " We all basically show some sort of message just in a different way "
Singer : " See , why couldn't you just say that poet ? "
Poet : " Oh shut up."
Artist ; " Hahaha"
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC
Speechless thoughts on site
Objective strictly unknown
Defining subjects involved
Choose double meanings
Mood swings to decipher
Flourishes seek entry
Results don't matter
Engaging makes us think
Nov 17, 2009
Nov 17, 2009 at 7:53 AM UTC
If you love me... leave me alone
but never leave me alone... my love
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC