"mediocre" poems
The first time I saw you it was in math class.
I didn't notice anything about you at first I just memorized the back of how your head was.
After all, I had an hour to ****
The second time I saw you were in English class.
You sat next to me but not by choice.
But I was happy about it.
It took me about four to five weeks to talk to you,
and I wasn't even the one to speak first.
You introduced yourself and then we worked together on an assignment.
It's been two weeks and I haven't said another word and I probably won't out of random.
My anxiety swallows me whole
and I'm sorry I can't even say hello.
But I have had time to notice you.
And let me just say
I'm in love with your taste in music
I'm in love with the way you hold your books
thinking that if you change the sound of your voice when the diagonal changes,
or if you struggle reading words you've never seen before and sit there for a few seconds trying to piece together what they mean.
I love how you can play the mandolin, you should show me sometime.
As I think about these things I also pick up how you would never even think of me.
I mean really,
you probably want some girl that's outgoing and can strum a guitar solo at midnight with you.
You probably want someone with long hair you can intertwine your fingers in,
or someone you can spend an afternoon together after church with.
I can't move mountains
and I can't even speak without looking like a fool,
but even if nothing will ever happen
It would be just as quite exciting being friends with you.
We could trade books and make each other mixtapes.
It hasn't even been a month yet and I'm already writing mediocre poetry about you.
I'm sorry about that by the way.
I'm not asking for a relationship but a friendship with someone like you would feel just the same.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
I am worth more than my *******
My body is worth more than your ***** desires
If you lust after me then prove your desires through a song, written words or simple communication
Do not send me your less than mediocre ungroomed extremitie in a snap
With the word ******* written on it
Take you and your salivating mouth elsewhere
If all you see me for is my *******
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
I wanted to write a poem about flowers, so that's what I did.
It was short, expressed how I feel, and cut like glass.
I showed my father "Flowers" and he thought it was mediocre.
And I said, "No, "Mediocre" is the poem where I talk about dying,
and I'm trying to stay alive, so I wrote about flowers."
Flowers strangling soil plots with their roots, with their existence.
And to hurt something you love with your existence is a terrible feeling.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
Superhuman in this skin
Red-lipped smile sweetly
(but beware teeth beneath)
I'm Sweet Siren Song
And I won't be long left
within this mediocre maniverse
Pretty porn-portrait perfect
(But there's no staples lacerating this muffin top)
Withstand this cosmetic culture curse
Bedspread silky sodden sheets
Writhing within nightmare glare
silicon butterfly spiked beauty ages anyway
Go away,
I'm finished.
I MEAN IT!
Fucknuts
(I guess Fucknuts isn't an advertiseable commodity. What's with the cheap advertising links in my poetry!)
bedspread.
****
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
Not an enigmatic smile
Like the constipated, condescending smirk
Adorning, and inexplicably adored, on the Mona Lisa's smug face;
But a smile to justify God's existence;
A smile that, when dazzlingly bestowed
Upon one fortunate soul, caught rabbit-like in its
Wondrous radiance, infinitesimally, and cumulatively,
Increases the World's joy. Where every living thing -
Whatever exists on the planet, imperceptibly hums
To a new, more celestial pitch -
An effervescent vibration celebrating Life's mysteries:
A reason for existence.
It's a smile to make an Alchemist cry -
Turning a leaden heart to gold in an instant.
It's a smile to make a mediocre poet struggle
To articulate an adequate description
Using all the hyperbole, simile and metaphor at his limited disposal.
Inestimably more brilliant, and more valuable,
Than the most flawless diamond ever found -
And, perhaps, just as rare.
Thankfully, a renewable resource,
Enabled to enlighten and heat
The recesses of any beneficiary's
Heart and invigorate their soul.
Helen may have caused a thousand ships to sail,
Destroying a nation as a consequence;
And Cleopatra nearly caused the collapse of an Empire;
But Tao's smile, unleashed in all its glory
Could melt the Antarctic ice-sheet -
Drowning us all in its magnificence.
Mayan's have a myth that states such a smile
Only comes around once every twelve thousand years,
In the Great Galactic turning.
Einstein's General Theory of Relativity
Is often mistakenly considered to concern gravity,
But is, in fact, concerned with one's relative position
To Tao's smile - an inescapable vortex of pleasure.
No music conceived of the fabled Celestial Spheres
Compares to the silent, ethereal harmonies tattooing my heart
Whenever, beacon-like, that smile flashes fleetingly in my direction.
And Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle has not a Quantum core,
But revolves around the statistical uncertainty of being blessed
With the ephemeral thrill of a benign grim.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
I truly believe that one of the reasons that the US is despised and condemned world wide is because of such views on such characteristics as: honesty, integrity, independence(this includes not thinking in a collective mindset which we do as a culture, everything is apple or windows, pepsi or cola, republican or democrat, people need to think for themselves stop claiming and just be), persistence, determination, morale, empathy, tradition/heritage, learning, chivalry, discernment, and humility.
Instead of utilizing and perfecting these people of this nation and similar one's have become: prideful, dependent, drive-less, imprudent/unwise, insulting, ignorant(willfully so), objective, biased, crude, mediocre, and surface oriented.
In turn we have neglected the responsibilities we have of ourselves. This has resulted in physical, mental, and spiritual capacity regression on a mass scale. Most people have no idea what they are consuming in their daily dietary intake(I mean really know what all the ingredients are and what they do whether positive or negative). Most citizens have also become, literally and according to the United Nations Education Scientific and Cultural Organization, mentally incapable and completely inane as compared to even 15yrs ago. We have forgotten how to have a community to the point that neighbors don't know each other anymore. We have exchanged the truly important things in life like knowledge and wisdom for wealth and appearance. We have completely forgotten how to survive without the aid of water treatment, electricity, and useless objects. One of the worst of all things we have stopped doing, is being involved with our government; instead, we have put our trust in them without oversight, and this is why we have been losing our liberties. I believe, just like Benjamin Franklin stated, that any individual who sacrifices even one liberty for safety/security... deserves to have all of their liberties eradicated.
In conclusion, it is time to return our societies to ourselves. We need to relearn the truly important things in life and start living with ourselves, each other, and nature as we must to thrive. It is on us as a people to repair what generations before us, and our generations are doing; lest, I am afraid, our children and grandchildren will inherit the same ideals and expand upon them until we regress to the point that insolence, ignorance, and imprudence is the common norm... we have already begun to accept these. Open your eyes to the truth, at first it will be painful and difficult, but than you will be set free. WE THE PEOPLE ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR OUR FUTURES AND CHILDREN'S FUTURES.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:18 AM UTC
I could tell you the exact day I became complacent
I can recall the way he parted his hair and the way he touched a steering wheel and the color of his eyes
And how he cared enough about me to make sure I didn't drink and drive
But not enough to stop mixing my drinks all night
And since I can't stand up for myself, he watched as I fell apart
I am a marionette with a broken string but **** he's a master in the art
Constantly moving me; bending my frame and pulling my wires
And keeping me onstage whenever he desires
But it's hard for me to play my part and keep up with my lines
When I come home smelling like a different cologne each night
When I am just an empty canister they keep bringing to their lips
Begging and pleading me to offer them something with purpose
But it's always the same story:
They fabricate me
I break and I bleed under their idea of self discovery
And my selfish idea of recovery
Out of every sweet name or ***** word they've ever called me
I think I've found that "Lonely" is my favorite thing to be
I haven't lit a cigarette in weeks, but tonight I'll light three;
One for him, one for me, and one for the person I swore I would never be
Listen;
My biggest flaw is that when I settled for feeling comfortable,
When I settled for what he told me I was
I never even bothered learning self-love
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 2:05 AM UTC
Mother's Milk,
-feel no Whistles or Bells?
A river my poor state of mind,
feelings' worded
mediocre,
Meiotic
but I am home.
I wish to feel a bit more?
To expiate this Trollop!
Gibbeted?
-or boiled
I stew...
And finally,
yes finally...
...shall I **** the little Gnome?
*I SHALL **** THE LITTLE GNOME.*
Mendacious
not
Alone.
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 4:02 AM UTC
So many plans,
Such mediocre deadlines,
So little time.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
I remember the first time
I felt panic, I
Had been raised in a beautifully-constructed world of my mother’s making where I could
Take my time and step from subject to subject like hopscotch or skipping rope because I wanted to know it all
Drinking it all in, soaking in knowledge like a bath
Learning everything there was to learn
Leaving no stone unturned
No one told me I couldn’t
Swirl my fingertips in acrylics, read books on horses having *** at age seven because I wanted to be a veterinarian, hit the soprano notes though I was an alto, crush dandelions into healing potions, create a world on a stage with crying child actors, nick cardboard boxes and clocks because I knew I could move time backwards
Then I grew up and
The grown-up world was not so forgiving
Examinations, papers, time clocks, meetings, expectations I could not meet with the excellence my soul craved
I can’t breathe
Fear had a choke-hold on my throat
My mouth would dry, then wet as my stomach swirled and groaned with nausea
My hands turned into ice picks
My heart screamed like a jackhammer in concrete
Every possible worst-case, best-case, win-win, lose-lose, lose-win scenario would rush and overthrow my amygdala like a union mob besieging an abusive factory that never closes, never lets them rest
I didn’t realize it was because the only way to do it all and be it all and hit every deadline and finish every task was to sacrifice perfection, to become average, mediocre
Assimilate
And I learned the truth
That that was all the world expected of me anyway
You see there is no patience for anything else in the real world
I can’t breathe
I have no emotion, only thought processes
Paralyzing, debilitating clash between suppressed desires to take my time, create, innovate, learn and the overwhelming need to
Focus, decide, move faster, work harder, be on time, be better, please everyone, be everything
Be nothing
To where the only choice is let go of that part of yourself or go insane
So I shed my skin like it was a sin I was leaving behind
Just to survive
Without the headaches, the heartbreak, ripping my hair out over stupid little mistakes
It’s taken this long to find it in my closet again
To not be afraid
Of the soul it takes to
Perfect
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
He's broken, he's in pieces, he's trapped, in a black hole
He's crying, he's heartbroken, he's dying of loneliness
He's confused, his mind is overloaded, his todger is dropping off
He's this and that and that and this
projecting your ******* fears and insecurities on him
Hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha
You know what....He's NOT....he's laughing at you
He's happy that you now realize there are still men out there
who transcend your ******* stereotyping and imbecilic assumptions .
He's still laughing because he now sees for ******* real
how immature and mentally underdeveloped a lot of you are
and how so petty, mediocre and easy to manipulate you are
Not to mention how weak, spineless and unable to handle pressure
so many of you are.
He laughing because you just act without fully thinking
You are a shallow lot, cowardly, infantile and narrow minded
You lack sound reasoning capacity and a lot of you are neurotic
He's laughing because most believe anything they are told
Unquestioning drones like a Labrador thrown a stick
Go fetch, off he runs, retrieve stick, pat on the head, good boy
Just simple minded followers.
He laughing because he's attained all he wanted
Got a good education, good self understanding, good morality
sensitivity, compassion, empathy, confidence and honesty
A well drilled man, adaptable, flexible, courageous and brave
A MODERN DAY SPARTAN.
He's laughing because you can't ******* take that away
He's laughing because he's shown you how a proper man is
He's laughing because he's invalidated your stereotypical
assumptions, your prejudices, your bigotry and your ignorance
He's laughing because you have confirmed your inferiority
exposed your fears and inadequacies and make others see how
damaged and vindictive you are
He's laughing because out of all only one woman has shown
magnanimity and she didn't belong to the class of the mediocres
Which proves the point that mediocrity goes hand in hand
with ignorance, fear and lack of Dignity and Integrity.
And he's laughing because he's got chutzpah
a big package
and a hell of "tener cojones"
hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha
[email protected] Sept 2018,Allrightsreserved.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 9:54 AM UTC
who am i?
what am i?
is my identity determined by my actions?
so that makes me a girl who'd rather write than live
and takes in life about as well as a siv
but is that all i am?
because that excludes the laughter
the offkey singing
the mediocre horn playing
and my lack of praying
or is the only me who matters
the one who is seen
through a million other eyeballs?
she says i'm a talent, a bottomless pit
a good friend, one you'd want
a girl obsessed with times new roman font
someone who's all the best parts of salty and sweet
but tell me, if that's the truth
then how come my phone isn't blowing up with calls?
am i little else than the me in the mirror?
two little tired chocolate truffles
unruly dark hair
skin that doesn't know what to be
all contained underneath a makeup mask
it's difficult to put a label on a person
while also taking time to imagine them complexly
to call me just one name ignores the best and the worst
the person in love with language
also uses it as a weapon to attack
the girl with a chip on her shoulder
never wants to look back
inside of me is a multitude of ladies
pretty preppy ladies
singing show girls
nifty nerd chicks
to choose one and ignore the rest would be a sham
so maybe i don't know who i am
and maybe that's okay
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 7:25 PM UTC
She has a way of tormenting you
In every direction you try take
She gives you a curfew
Hoping, probing, that you, too, slip through the cracks.
I wanted to be a astronaut
To explore the universe
To find my destiny
Through the black hole
And out
Spaghettified or not
When my now cuffed-mind
Soared the air
With wings dispersed in the wind
Still when she didn't care
And thought I was harmless
She tried shooting me down
And got one through a wing
Now I think I want to be an accountant
Mediocre and sane
But who wants to have sanity
When you can be in it?
So I crashed into Hyperion
And as high as I am
She still sends her vicious winds
To try and cut me down
But her torment crafts precious stones
So in the interim
I'll hold on
Hoping that I can un-cuff my mind
Keeping a birds-eye view
Like a leopard waiting for its ****
So that one day
I can glide the universe
Wings distributed out wide
Skillful and experienced
So she can never shoot me down
Now
Perched on Hyperion
Patient and vigilant
I wait
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
I should waste more time revising. I feel as though it may benefit me; may I extrapolate the fact I stated waste more time, not spend. I could use that time practicing songs on my bass or beating Mario’s *** on the GameCube. I feel mediocre but that’s okay because I AM mediocre; and a sell-out. I should make that point clear. I smoke; not like a chimney, it depends on if I feel like combusting into a cloud of tobacco ash. I would happily crementate my being. I would happily get hit by a car and become the road **** I would happily fall from a concrete building into a six foot deep cavern. Passive suicidal thoughts at eight in the mourning; just like coffee but it doesn’t make you need to **** Just those bitter moments you need to get your day started on the wrong side of the bed.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
at this point
means:
river deer
like you’ve never seen.
a soup bowl; empty, aglow.
another’s head
in my hands.
coordination.
energy.
receiving the word
a day late
that energy
has arrived.
marriage, or a single
parent
torn.
perfectly mediocre terror.
a love of statues.
love of placards.
showing my son
the man I’ve chosen
to remember him by.
art not reflective of, or art
sideshow.
knowing the kids of others.
knowing just how many gifts
god had.
that the word overcome
has always been
past tense.
weight gain. weight loss.
detecting
no difference
in weight.
telescope, or the long
thin hat
of god.
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 3:28 AM UTC
•i
was
once
whole
•full and
complete•
grand desi-
gns adorned
upon my very
soul•always...
would land on
my feet•my wo-
rds now partially
broken•resembli-
ng that of an ail-
ing crescent• i...
am still here, i...
watch and i lis-
ten• scouring
for mediocre
remnants
that still
remain
abs
en
t•
.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
Oh, my dearest Egooooo!
When you can’t squeeze through the door,
so immense and entitled,
I tell myself,
“That’s enough!”
No more confetti and fireworks!
Haunting me over a lost chance.
The Magnificence of Doubt—
what if I were…
Soundless compliments
only to be pinched and ignored later.
From now on,
I celebrate my mediocre greatness
with a crown of fool’s gold on my head…
yet throne-less.
Some falls, invisible success,
and unfulfilled hopes,
which, surprisingly,
made me stronger.
Oh, the Irony of fate!
All these sleepless nights
for this Wisdom?!
Mar 2, 2025
Mar 2, 2025 at 7:35 PM UTC
My lips can no longer hold back.
The muted tones cannot bring out the infinity that hides
discretely
points
to an exit sign.
Certainty waves goodbye. My only function now is to collapse it.
To put the past behind.
The barred doors allow the bottleneck to tighten for a few hours,
but memory has a way of sounding the alarm in the morning
when the early birds rise,
armed with ancient lessons
that remind me they're the ones who are eating well.
I want to come up from the dirt and drink from the well.
My low-life self can no longer heed the worm's advice:
"Sleep all day and you won't get eaten."
Out.
Out with your tepid voice and halfway disposition.
Out with your elevated mind, your profound commitment to the mediocre task
of enlightening the little people.
The empire you fabricate may stay stitched for a while.
But the clothes of emperors always burst at the seams.
A workaholic, addicted to the common
you're winning your converts with tired dreams, vicarious imaginings of those finer roads, well tread by shoes that are not your own.
You don't believe in the masses. Fine. But get the **** off
your throne.
Reciting badly drawn poems at four in the morning
(it could have been worse e.g. I could have wrote "mourning")
looking to insight myself,
not into a passionate frenzy
like Bacchae drunk on the moonlight.
No -- I want piercing red. That's what I want to be.
Want to show the heavens how I use the precious wine.
Sip it.
Out the undulations go.
Sweating out the great myth that time forgets when it flows.
My pagan-witch ego has put me on the hunt for blood tonight,
and the full moon is giving rise to ****** undulations,
washing up teeny-book explanations
of loves once lost.
But I'm far from my being,
and from the infinite ocean.
And the only sound I can hear right now is my one hand clapping at the curtain call,
retiring my broom,
bowing goodbye.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
Even when he walked through that door for the first time
The thought of engaging with him in any sort was a crime
Ultimately my first thought was
Now I understand why we never crossed paths
An aggressive, secluded, sexist male entity
However, preoccupied by my own judgement, he thought me to be pretty
And all of a sudden, that grotesque mortal molded into a handsome beast
Nurturing, loving, controversial but attentive the least
Gracefully and gradually I fell for his mediocre personality, Him
Oblivious and blinded by his own ****** of happiness, I, -
hypnotized by the fairy tale, did not see the photons of our love go dim.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 3:51 AM UTC
when it's late at night i want you; i crave you
and your beautiful smile and the way you joke
and how when you laugh your whole body moves
with it.
i crave those moments when you're most vulnerable
and sincere, the moments when it's so early in the
morning you can no longer pick out the ugly
thoughts from the pretty ones; the moment
when everything just gets thrown down onto
the screen like a huge pile of confusion and thoughts.
i crave those moments when you look at me for
a split second and seem to care about me more than
just as that person always there for you. the moments
when you look at me and seem to want me too, under
all the confusion and pain.
i crave those moments when you two are away, and
i don't have to be reminded that the moments we have are
mediocre in comparison. completely and utterly mediocre.
i crave those moments when i can go to sleep and enter my
own reality, where i can just forget it all and not have to pretend
any longer about anything.
i crave those moments when your eyes form gentle creases
on the side of your face when you finally are not smiling to
please, but because you are actually happy.
i crave those moments when i write and i am not forced
to cry; those moments when i can write about 1am and
almost 1am and talking to you and being happy, those
moments when i have hopes for the future.
but i also crave those moments when i cannot crave anymore,
because the pain seems to be too much for me to handle
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
It’s so easy to feel so small
I’m on a bus, the last one that runs on a Wednesday night,
Sketching a tired face
Bags under the eyes, made of black ink
I’m eavesdropping on a conversation,
(Does it count as eavesdropping when
There are only two people speaking in an otherwise
Silent bus?)
My heart’s been having an existential crisis,
And my stomach and chest
Empty
Yet heavy
Someone’s hands are holding my insides
And squeezing them in a fist
It is exhausting
It is lonely
In my right ear is this beautiful song
Violin and cello and
A raw passion that reminds me
That it’s okay
To be human, and to be scared shitless
I’m still listening, partly
But not really
It’s late
I want to sleep
Busses are full of zombies-
Phone, earphone, unsmiling zombies
And despite the
Tired sketch on my lap
I’m one, too
The conversation slows
I smile
I turn and I recognize the face in front of me
I’m told that this person, vaguely familiar face, whose conversation
I’ve been eavesdropping on remembers one of my poems
About stars
And the line is on his wall
A line from a poem that I wrote
About stars
Is on someone’s wall
Even better than when Chad Oliver told me I was
Quite attractive junior year of high school,
And I remember writing that poem
And I feel a little less useless
I want to cry
My body hasn’t known what to do with itself lately
You see I exhausted myself in love
And now that it’s gone
I feel useless
My heart pulls towards mediocre sketches
First sips of coffee in the morning,
Listening to the violin
It doesn’t know what else to feel for
It’s been left in this dark room
Grasping for a table,
**** even a stepstool,
Heartbreak is exhausting
Because it’s not just the heart
And it doesn’t really break
It just has to re-learn how to feel
But I get off the bus
And the night is warm,
The moon is
Beautiful,
This white-hot luminescence
Burning through the silhouettes of trees,
So bright the sky is still blue 6 hours after sundown.
I open my palms up to her
I see the stars
I open my palms up to them
They guide me home
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
A ***** couch rests in the living room,
Like an old green stump.
Worn from too many soap operas and football games
The pillows droop like tired eyelids.
The smell of exhaustion and grime clings to the well-worn skin
That itches if you get too close.
Dog hair is sprinkled across the cushions
Along with mysterious stains and crusty popcorn between seats.
It gobbles up change, remotes and secrets.
Far from a fairy-tale throne
It has as much romance as a sock.
But since the bedroom was off-limits,
It would have to do.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC