"metaphorically" poems
Trying my best
To progress
There is only do
Or do not
Yoda thought
So most of the time
We fought
I’ve got anger
Issues
Many birthdays
I’ve wished you
In all my hearts pain
I miss you
You’re not quite
Who I knew
We used to
Chill with brew
Remember the time
We flew?
We argued then too
Across the country
And it’s all we could do
Here I go again
Trying to scrape this
**** off my shoe
My heat is turning
For flight I’m yearning
The sun is hot
My wings are burning
I’ve got warrior feet
At the road ahead
I’ll be turning
Run or fly
I’ll chase the sky
Metaphorically
Astrophysically
My physical being
seems to limit me
This fool in my bed won’t
Give me matrimony
If this was Salem
I’d burn at the stake
No matter what era
You take pride
In the hearts you break
The years you take
The lies you make
The least you can do
Is own your ****
2 woman gone mad
there’s a pattern here
You’ve got to admit
Wait where did the charm go
Where’s that wit?
Even Letty said
She couldn’t trust your *** for ****
Apparently you ****** her sister
And ****** some old lady’s ****
Even when he’s got it made
Angel turned demon throws his shade
Should you call you the devil
From hell you came
I’ve stooped to your level
And only I’m to blame
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 1:54 PM UTC
They still exist;
Both literally and metaphorically.
Little girls *** trafficked,
Boys slave in sweat shops,
Buissnessman works a 60 hour week.
Everyone's got their own chains.
Some we put on freely,
Some are ****** upon us,
like maturity on an orphaned child
--Some are cut into our wrists.
With every lie,
With every curse,
With every slander,
Pain built up creates inside
these fine little links;
Alone they are weak, but together
UNBREAKABLE
27 million slaves in the world
But that's just an estimate.
When we look inwards
We see so. many. more.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC
Eye closed, all alone.
Staring at my phone,
Wondering if it's you calling, ready to bone.
Wondering what it would be like for you to make me moan.
Hopefully dreams became reality, and your hitting it every week
You penetrate right through me, metaphorically and literally...
your words and your touching
******** me mentally
******* soaked, clinging to my body
I'm fumbling my words, I don't know what to say
You consume my thoughts, in every which way
Just thinking of you in me, it's somewhat hypnotic
The way you walk, the way you speak, so ******
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 12:06 AM UTC
The puppy sat by the door.
Near dying to go out.
Crying an abysmal wail
As if a naughty child.
Pawed and clawed the kitchen door.
No-one heard the honey pup.
Everyone was out.
Owner running late for work.
Neglected to let her run.
However could she forget.
It got to six a clock at night.
No-body came.
The tension built up.
Fluid build up.
Exploded sweet pup.
(metaphorically of course)
Owner came home.
Just couldn't be cross.
Cleaned up the muddle-some puddle.
Gave her puppy a hug.
Smiled to herself.
Said to puppy how sorry she was.
Cautionary tale acquired from here.
No matter how ever late you ever may be.
Put your cute puppy out to ***
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 9:36 AM UTC
If not for hellopoetry
I would have given up
The writing was starting to take its toll
Left me emotionally exhausted
I was forced to take a break
For all my energy it had drained
Sleepless nights, endless lines
Trying to switch off my brain
Left me depressed
When sentences formed
A story I'd tell
About my life in hell
Sometimes dramatised to a new level
Sometimes I have seen myself become the devil
All my emotions that stain the page
The blood, sweat and tears
Written into each line
Left me losing moments in time
And for this writing became a crime
Didn't feel like I was utilising my mind
Until recently I realised this was the only legacy
I would leave behind
I've seen this art in a whole new light
Through words on a page, I've shown my fight
I've shown all my emotions, I have been totally open
Gave my all in every line
Sprinkled in a flavour of rhyme
If not for hellopoetry all I'd have is blank pages
A mind full of lines, forgotten in time
Took some time to unwind
And that is when I realised
These writings and I are bound for life
I've learned to embrace this now
Finally proud of all my works,
how has it taken me this long
To fall in love with this art
If not for hellopoetry
An appreciation I would never have tasted
And this whole community I've embraced it
Don't care if you love or hate it
It's made me make some changes
If not for hellopoetry
There are talents I may never have uncovered
Some of us are still so young,
Still, more room left to improve
The elder ones raising us up
Understanding a whole new love for this art
I once said These lyrics were written in blood
Straight from the arteries from my heart
That metaphorically speaking
I spread all I am, all across the page
Bled the led with what I felt
So much heart into every verse
All this time it was never a curse
It was something special I've been gifted
To get all these thoughts out of my system
If not for hellopoetry
I wouldn't be here...caught within this poetic atmosphere
©2018 Written By Benji James
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 2:18 AM UTC
So the clever artist manages to push all her friends away,
And the clever artist decides to distract herself from her plight.
The clever artist goes outside to paint
In the rain.
In the middle of the night.
The clever artist crafts damaged brushstrokes.
And the very clever artist watches them wash away.
The clever artist sends herself mostly blind
As she watches her foggy breath over a flashlight.
The clever artist thinks about the silence that blares,
Despite the music coming from everywhere.
And oh the clever artist!--
Dropped her brush in the dirt.
But she still managed to disguise her hurt..
The artist cleverly insulted the paintbrush in hand;
Clever words, metaphorically meant.
It was then the clever artist ran inside
Her hair dripping from the rain, tangled and wild.
The stupid artist sits down before a page,
Taking her favourite seat.
And writes the worst excuse of a poem ever made.
Becoming the least worthy poet you'll ever meet
The stupid artist can't write,
Nor paint for ****
And of her friendship skills?
Well, **** it.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
Eye closed, all alone.
Staring at my phone,
Wondering if it's you calling, ready to bone.
Wondering what it would be like for you to make me moan.
Hopefully dreams became reality, and your hitting it every week
You penetrate right through me, metaphorically and literally...
your words and your touching
******** me mentally
******* soaked, clinging to my body
I'm fumbling my words, I don't know what to say
You consume my thoughts, in every which way
Just thinking of you in me, it's somewhat hypnotic
The way you speak, the way you sext, so methodic
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 11:47 PM UTC
She committed suicide in her poetry...
She
Wrote
About
Slit
Wrist,
And
Broken
Lips
She committed suicide in her poetry...
She
Fell
In
Love
With
A
Simile,
Metaphorically
She committed suicide in her poetry...
I
Mean
She
Actually
Wrote,
That
She
Was
Going
To
Hang
Herself
From
A
Rope
She committed suicide in her poetry...
She
Wanted
To
Be
Freed,
So
She
Chose
To
Let
Her
Pen
Bleed
She committed suicide in her poetry...
She
Had
Only
One
Life
To
Turn
In,
But
She
Gave
It
Up
Again
And
Again
She committed suicide in her poetry...
When
She
Felt
Least
In
The
World,
And
Felt
It
Should
No
Longer
Twirl
She committed suicide in her poetry...
When
She
Got
Tired
Of
Stressing,
After
Tears
Would
No
Longer
Fall,
After
So
Many
Failed
Lessons,
When
She
Felt
Neglected
Of
Blessings
She committed suicide in her poetry...
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 8:01 PM UTC
Your method of parenting does not work.
You can't deprive a plant of light
and expect it to grow.
So why do you deprive me of happiness
and expect me to not drown
in sadness?
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC
*chaste pecks from the super-sonic youth
numb lips flutter to the hollowed cheeks of normality
no longer the hand-prints on the guide book to hostility
a pamphlet of rudimentary teachings;
the principles of tolerance and rebellion and acceptance of human beings
a concoction of suppressed psychotic behavior, quick wit, and center of satirical tease
constantly moving with heavy footsteps and heavier hearts
their minds and bodies plagued with actions from a deserted youth
soul lusting over the naivety of people before self-actualization; how crude
do they call it an existential crisis or the daily life of a agoraphobic nobody
shouts from the depths of caged fears that scrape the oblivious flesh in their brain; a bit gaudy
mother, sister, brother, father how your words crush the knots of comfort that line my internal organs
bleeding from the pores of my screams; streams of moon-beams shooting out my eyes; oh, not again!
stomping our metaphorically spiked toenails against the idealism of pop culture
oh, my, how adolescence is the worst kind of torture
cherry slushies lined with cigarettes to create a whirl-pool of nostalgia
recreational drugs and ironic situations to ease our instinctual sense of proverbial nausea
loud-mouthed demons spawned out of clothes-hangers and emotional turmoil
show up in our nightmares that we nick-name ‘a good place to contemplate suicide’
repeated imagery stacked like flap-jacks in the mouths of blissed-out sociopaths
too self-indulgent to include us in to their personal stories so we can observe, record, and assess
i don’t perceive doctors to be particularly and predominantly just and true
but i one time met a doctor who told me ‘being a teenager is perhaps the hardest thing you could ever do’*
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
I love words and
I love metaphors.
I love the muse that inspires the words
and how flawlessly these words form metaphors.
I love deciding how people perceive me.
Even I am beautiful when painted metaphorically.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
Like a drug taken for a quarter century, this writing doesn't help like it use to...
See,
I'm starting to feel like it's working against me
Holding me here in pain and misery
Cleverly disguised as creativity
I use to lie and say it was a way to get rid of all this negativity
But I've spilled so much blood and tears onto stationary
...and not even purely metaphorically...
I should be completely empty
Hell, I think I might be
I think it's moved onto draining my energy
Can I still call this writing therapy?
Is it healthy or does it keep me from a new me?
Holding tightly but in spite of me
Hiding a different side of a complex personality
A new level of maturity
Is it actually helping any?
Today it's hard to say, but maybe
Unfortunately, it's something I'm good at, a skill I enjoy and I don't have many
So I've begun to notice I look at it differently
It was suppose to help me let go of the painful unpleasantry held in many a memory
But it woke a part of my ego that I didn't know would grip so tightly
It might have been a mistake to rely on it so heavily
It's no longer moving along the story
No cautionary tales to learn from because they never become history
It becomes a bookmark that I don't use properly
I never move it to the page I left off on and now, I must admit openly, I'm doing it purposely
I keep the worst of me right next to me, close as a frienemy
All because I notice I DON'T write when I'm happy
And I like to write so I dance around emotions strategically
I don't know if it's anything worth saying but writing is calling and drawing me in closely
A ghostly presence that when I look closely I see my identity
It hasn't always been but is now a big part of me
But does it want all of me?
Can't say either way with any certainty
No AH-HA moment, no clarity, only a death grip on disparity
So I recklessly walk the line of happy and tragedy
Like a DUI test on the side of the freeway, drunken pageantry
Eyes closed usually
No thought of mine or anyone else's safety
Dangerously close to calamity
And I just worry
©2024
Jan 3, 2024
Jan 3, 2024 at 6:32 PM UTC
To relate,
to imagine something similar
to what is being shown,
to imagine what it might be like.
A metaphorical meaning is like
being a shadow
that tries to relate to a star.
A poem with metaphorical meaning
is written with more effort, research, and a deeper understanding
of language.
I have written more metaphorical
poems than average poetry.
I work harder on metaphorical
meaning than I would with basic techniques. I love a challenge
so that's why you see more metaphorical poems
written by me.
I have researched many languages
and meanings to words,
my techniques for writing
reflect my efforts.
I am a writer who writes with imagery and metaphor so often that
I am known to be an eccentric writer.
It's an exotic way of expression.
It helps my readers
to relate to what I am thinking.
Also, it is how my brain sees
the world.
I was not born with language
like most people are,
I am an autistic person.
I don't have a natural language
in my mind, I have learned how
to express myself through writing because of my handicap.
I am not perfect but
I try to improve myself
by learning and practice.
I am still learning not to criticize myself too much. I am never a good judge so I try not to think about it
too much. I analyze everything so
I think it's good for me to try
not to analyze my writing
as often as possible.
I end up changing my work
until it turns into something completely different than
it started out if I do.
I want people to see the effort
and time I give my poetry,
so I do my best to show it.
I am always happy to do
something new and challenging.
My grammar and spelling
has improved because
I am willing to take feedback.
I love it when people are honest
and tell me if I made a mistake because I can learn from
the mistake.
To grow and develop you need
a plan and a place to go
when you need space.
I have learned this and
I believe that is what helps me
to improve.
Metaphorically speaking,
I am like a leaf I change with the seasons and I am willing to grow
within a tight space.
I love being with other
leafs like myself.
That's why I join communities
like this one.
Thank you, Hello Poetry.
© 2018 By Amanda Shelton
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
At the basic stage of learning a language comes pairs of most commonly used antonyms,
words meaning opposites of each other like the earth and the sky,
far away and close by,
love and hate,
metaphorically speaking even you and me.
Except, sky begins right where earth stops,
so if you really think about it only the soles of our feet are truly grounded,
while our heads have always been in the clouds.
Distance is subjective, so depending on how fast a ride is or the resolution of a lens,
sunsets and full moons are that much closer than a lover's touch.
Love and hate are not two sides of the same coin,
or the extreme ends of the same spectrum,
but rather the same side of the same coin,
exuded by the same people at the same people for the same reasons,
interdependent,
coexisting,
one defining the other.
Well, I suppose that leaves you and me.
As in it literally leaves you and me out,
metaphorically speaking,
figuratively speaking,
theoretically speaking,
you and I aren't antonyms after all because,
as it appears we do not define each other or anything in between.
Like the ocean and a bumblebee.
Here I am calm and blissful with sunlight bouncing off of every wave,
dramatic and roaring, heightened with emotions soaring,
bearing an infinity of life, continuously giving, nurturing and upholding,
but all you want is honey;
metaphorically speaking.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
I’m not quite sure, yet everything I do
appears to me as being viciously half-assed
yet sincere.
I write this mid-winter [I guess?] on the RTA
with twenty dollars on me and I don’t want to know
in the bank, with cold feet, both literally and metaphorically.
The future looks decent from a distance in bar light.
As I feign some resemblance of being classy and
collect more sodium on my footwear,
I ponder the passing of an officer who flashed a light
to look at me in the dark on my way from home.
It makes me glad I speak English, where there
are such hard, sharp and unsympathetic undertones
to phrases like, **** off”.
It’s dark on the way through Cleveland.
Try to stay warm.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
When I took my first hit of you
I never knew it’d be like this
that giddy head buzz
while it kills me from the inside
not around and I feel deprived
you’re killing me slowly
but I’ll disregard this
because I need a vice right now
so you can be the cancer in my lungs
the reason I can’t breathe
you’ll be in everything that hurts
pulling me down into an ocean of smoke
my blackened lungs will fill with you
but metaphorically I’ve already drowned
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
I know you are my cigarettes
Because you're so addictive
Because you **** me from inside
Because you make me feel giddy
Because when you leave all I feel is deprived
Because I need you more than ever,
Because I realize you're killing me somehow
But I completely disregard all this
Because I just need a vice right now
But you're the cancer in my lungs
And the reason I can't breathe
You're in everything that hurts
you're slowly killing me
Slowly like an anchor
You pull me to the ground
My lungs you've already blackened fill with you But metaphorically i've already drowned
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
Watching her sit with her crossed legs
And her gaze upwards
Like the world is too petty
For her eyes to surrender.
She was magnificent, yes
But her looks feigned a lie
Her eyes could **** with intense fire
Her scent was amicable
For her preying hands
And if a being so unfortunate
Crosses her path
Or meets her eyes
She springs like a cheetah
And rips them apart,
Metaphorically, of course.
.......
My eyes wander off
.......
His frenzied looks
And unshaved face
Ruffled up clothes
Looks like he has had his worst day
Wonder what's got him so worked up
Must be a hangover
Must have had a drink too much
Last night
Yes, I can see a wife
Beaten up in an alcohol-fueled mania.
But those petunias in his hands
Beautiful
What a contrast to the man himself
A mistress?
Or an attempt to gain forgiveness
From his wife?
.......
Sipping the best local tea
Sit back
And let my mind have its spree
.......
Pick pocket
Such an adorable face
Blue-eyed, her tiny hands
Slipping in and out
Procuring knick knacks and wallets.
Life was never fair
Mother's sick and in a tarpaulin roofed
Shack off the main street.
Dad's a drunk
And she's had enough with that nonsense.
Her timed precision and skilled fingers
Workings its way for a loaf and
The extra change for her mother
Curled up like a ball
In pain.
.....
Change for the tea
And morning paper.
Picking up a stride
Take a left from the plaza
Into a throng of living bodies,
And to be one among
The many lives
Toiling,
Living,
Breathing.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
is it real, to be lying in the yellow meadows
beneath the willow trees
in our own worlds
colliding
metaphorically
is it too good to be true?
in this cosmos
to be dreaming about a willow tree
in a yellow meadow
a simple thought
a pen in my hand
a thought in my head
i wonder what ill dream up next
~the poetry enigma
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 10:13 AM UTC
Metaphorically, you are a sly simile,
Stealing my heart
Like the smooth criminal
You often pretend to be.
I am the ineffable euphony of
Melodious sing-song
Slip-falling through the space
Between tone-deaf ears.
Such handsome hyperbole
You have turned out to be.
Pompous, peacock-ing Adonis
Lending love that's just platonic.
Alliterative rhythmic rhyme
Ticks the tumultuous internal time.
Fleeting fiend, you soon will find
Lust in lieu of love is a loathsome, lonely life.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 8:31 PM UTC
You will never understand the contribution you have made to my life,
You are the friend that really came through for me when I found myself in strife.
No-one else could see past the mistake I had made,
They chose to ignore how I felt and fixated on my darkest shade
I have always looked up to you, you have always inspired me
You've always been the one I've looked at when deciding who I'd like to be
Please don't throw your life away,
I really count on you
I know that being here for me is something you can do
I love you, I appreciate you.
- Brianna Carter
You look up to me,
Quite literally,
But in this case you mean metaphorically
Yet similarly,
I looked up to you,
Size doesn't matter just a point of view
You are a better person than I,
As pure and beautiful as the stars and the sky
In harmony, elements defy,
The birds and the planes that roar or sigh
No matter what happens, you always come though
Shrug it off, move on, it's just what you do,
This is why I wish I were like you
Yet despite all this you look up to me?
I am blind, can't really see clearly,
But even I can tell you are a rarity
A treasure, and thus better than me
-Conor Blatchford
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
You know how superman is bullet-proof but his one weakness is kryptonite.
Nothing in this world could destroy him except this shiny green rock.
In my head I'm metaphorically bullet proof, I don't break.
Head held high, Heart cold to the core.
I'm scared that one day I'll wake up and realize I'm surrounded by this stupid shiny green rock which is in disguise as your love.
Your love, slowly and patiently, leaving me in ruins.
And I'm getting weaker and weaker everyday, aching for the warmth of your skin.
You know how superman is bulletproof but his one weakness is kryptonite, well I have you as my kryptonite.
With just one look, you leave me breathless, on my knees, begging for more.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC