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tabitha Mar 2016
i will have it all some day,
as my "it all"  has nothing
to do with gilded halls &
shiny floors & iron doors
(anymore)
i am now concerned with
Better Things -- like
Love. and Order.

but oh, when i say i will have it,
& that i will have it all, i believe
myself!
more than i've believed
anything or anyone, ever at all.

when i say that; when i say
i  will  have it, &  that i will have it
all,    he   looks  at me  strange...
his eyes light up in bright green flames
like  a  pretty man  would
look  at a  silly,  deranged
little doll.  skeptical.  
annoyed.
as if the world has already graced
my porcelain skin with enough lace for it to be a sin
he has no idea what it's like  
to  be a  doll, at all; our pockets
are much too small and we are expected
to sit on shelves all day long .
he thinks that my all,
the "it all" of a doll,
is the "it all" of all....
a life of beauty and
wallpaper art,
of letting people dress you up
just to tear you apart.
he is.... jaded
by interrupted dreams,
and faded
by Jäger.
i have posed in his hands, to see his smile
i let him know
i want to know how he could move me
finesse me, brush my hair, confess to me.
not to then to lay me down, and forget me.
i am very familiar with the shelves of his soul.

he buttons his sleeves,
and goes on to his lunch affair;
his heart falls out when he jests/deflects.
he lets it lay there.

we are different kinds of hollow
Anne Molony Oct 2017
when I told you I was *****
I was drunk and sad
and you said
that you were so sorry
and held me as  
I cried into your shoulder

you still look at me funny
you're conscious
of your hands
and voice
of whether you
reveal too much
conscious
that you shouldn't treat me
any differently

that our awkward
bus stop talks
and
empty locker-conversations
are palatable
and that the alternative
isn't

but
I wish you'd bring it up
because
I think
it feels
immeasurably worse
to move on
when we've made
such little progress
moving anywhere
that is
Seanathon May 21
No more multitude of messages
Wasted words poured down a cavernous collapsing career of communication
Instead, crashing doors will be all in ears
Reverberating, on the day I leave this place for you
I much HATE miscommunications.
Em MacKenzie Aug 18
You know I saw this from miles away
planted my feet determined to stay,
you’re always searching for an answer,
blatant location: Tropic of Cancer,
I try to give direction but it’s something I can’t say.

So don’t go giving up on me
I try my best to make it all easy,
but you’re determined to house this burden,
even though it’s certain I’m the person,
who’s always around even when you can’t see.

I’ve got the patience of a saint and some,
and gained belief and knowledge from
what dreams may come.

Well we’ve discussed this and more
opened the lines and opened the door.
So divided and undecided,
why try to fight it when we can’t hide it,
you can’t go showing someone truth they’re not ready for.

I’ve got the time to wait in slum,
some would say I’m playing dumb
for what dreams may come.

I’ll keep living under heavy thumb,
trying to convince myself I’m numb
to what dreams may come.
Kelsey Jan 1
We lower our masks over our faces,
Put on our armor,
and get into our places.

You start with a playful jab
But it ****** more than you know.
I raise my weapon in defense,
You take a couple of steps back.
I think the match is done
Until you come swinging
Because you need to know that you've won.

If only you could take your mask off
when we're not sparring;
Maybe then we wouldn't need to fight.
Cindra Carr Jun 2011
Eighteen misses and three survivors
Two broken marriages with one spiteful lost love
Two warring sisters and too many brothers
Numbers don’t always make the lives of another
Crocheted angels and heartfelt hugs
Gone are the days of each of those
Responsible, avoidant, and spoiled
Resentment, confusion, and miscommunication
Ghosts of the past
Harried, busy, and distant
Buy back the time
Patience, hope, and acceptance
Crowding the cast
Three lives play out creating six more
One life still here caught in time
One life locked in with ghosts of the past

cc062611
P E Kaplan Feb 2014
They will meet again,
the sensitive, weary, nervous,
daughter and her mother the same.

They will meet again,
to talk, to listen, to sidestep the usual
misperception, misinterpretation, miscommunication.

They will meet again,
and acknowledge their identical desire to be understood
forgiven, accepted without judgement.

They will meet again,
their tender, hearts, needing a gentle reminder;
knowing they must never, ever, give up on Love.
Hunter Taylor Feb 14
please excuse my miscommunication
I didn't need it growing up
all I needed was the consistent dedication
to escape from where I was

please look past my fragile heart
it grew in place of the stone
I don't care about my emotionless art
by to lose the few hits solid bone

reprieve the foundation I can never find
stability was never my forté
I seek instead for a solid state of mind
or at least that's what I claim

forgive me for my transgressions
they were not meant in vain
I don't live up well to expectations
I only thinly mask their blame
Sjr1000 Aug 2018
Friendships that go the distance
Through lines of continuity
Lasting a lifetime.

Acquaintances come and go
They don't really know
Same team
Same office
Same school
All friendly and warm
But when you part ways
You'll never see them again.

Or there is the reminder
everyone is a hero in their own melodrama,
hurt feelings
falling outs
blocked
miscommunication
blame

Let's let'em pass

Friendships that go the distance
Seen you throughout, inside out
**** and beautiful
Know all the idiosyncrasies
Know what to give for your birthday
Know what your all about
Willing to work it out

Friendships which go the distance
Are friends with benefits
Unconditional accepance.

Acceptance connecting
Both ways.

We can surely say,
It makes it all worthwhile
When you have friendships going the distance.
For my dearest David on his birthday, the friendship which is going the distance.
Allison Mar 25
I’m tired

I’m exhausted

This is what you wanted

But now, I don’t even know where your heart is

How do I know that?

That’s because is not here with me anymore.
You don’t write anymore, but your silence is loud.
Annika J Feb 5
So close
To the fateful day
So close
To what I've strived for
So close
I've told all my friends
So close
Can't afford a mistake
So close
Can't afford miscommunication
So close
Must plan carefully
So close
Musn't lose my chance
So close
Need to stop overthinking
So close
Need to do my research
So close
Don't mess it up
So close
Be careful
So close
And yet so far
In the middle
But so near the end
Just not there
Too far gone
To go back
Or try again


I messed it up, didn't I?
Kai Mar 15
Life is a game of telephone
my messages mingle in my throat
the translation is lost
some where between my lips it twists

when I mean I love you
it comes up meekly as hello
when I mean do you want to get coffee
it comes up as you look nice today

Miscommunication led to friendship
games of telephone go on
I sit at your side through life

when I mean your my everything
it comes you as best friend
when I mean I can't live without you
it comes out as I'll always be here for you

Year on down the road
you're still unreachable right next to me
every conversation
a long game of telephone
Just trying a different style again. Sorry if it's weird. I really need to get these moths pretending to be butterflies out of my stomach. Love seems so unobtainable when everyone I like ends up a friend.
Bella Mar 18
You’ve confused my heart in ways no one has before. But I continue to drown myself in this ever-growing pool of miscommunication. I tell myself that those coffee roast eyes that I love are worth the ache I feel. It will be everlasting. I either suffer from being in love and unloved or swallow the feeling of emptiness.
Graff1980 Dec 2018
It’s a sorry sick visitation
of your life in animation
cause everything you do
is humorous to you.

Colorful sketches
and comedic timing
set up the words
and keep some
for rhyming,
as Instagram,
Twitter, and Facebook
miming
meant to impress
those who
you think are watching.

Social psychology,
human imagination
puts us in a lie
with our horrible
miscommunication.

So, we watch the blue water
burn with all that fire
wait and see
the ocean bleed
because what we desired
was for people to pay attention
to our overgrown ego.
I know all of the pain in the world
I hold it in my hand like gold bullet casings
They melt into my skin like metal rings
Wrapped around my finger bones until I feel the chill
Until nothing else feels real

There are bruises above my knuckles
Where they sit beneath the layers
Black and blue flavored markings
Look like dirt ingrained in skin
Skinless I can be if that is what you’ll savor

If it’s savory, tastes sweet and sugary
Black and blue are just my own two personal flavors
Creations I’ve made from digging nails into backs
Of barrels filled with black moods
And dirt underneath my fingernails

For one night, I can forget them for her
Let the soul inside me breathe clean air
As if I am not bonded to pain in pleasure
Pleasure for them and pain for myself
Like saved plates only ever filled with leftovers

And I have tasted none of them
Tasted none but one but I have more than one ring
And more than one bruise
Because I feel more than one type of pain
Losing is an incision sewed by miscommunication

Implanted in a thought process that has become
So ****** from listening
I listen to you list your wounds from my rings
That become brass knuckles when I touch you
That become how I loved you

And soon your fingers begin to feel broken, too
And snap when they feel me
Last touch against cracked glass
Shattered pieces sing against me
And there is no sound when I scream

Soon I won’t be able to hear you sing anymore
I won’t laugh at the jokes I should
I’ll feel like the dirt underneath your fingernails
The grime I ground against you
Shot at you and beneath you

And hopefully you will hold pain in your hand, too
Hold it in your hand like gold bullet casings
They melt into your skin like metal rings
Wrapped around your finger bones until you feel the chill
Until nothing else feels real

Vowed to be savory,
Black and blue flavored markings taste sweet and sugary
Skinless we can be if that helps to feel the chill
Until nothing else feels real
And together we are bound by the pain I made us feel
L B Sep 12
Have you returned from the harvest?
Have I uncovered your feet
to the night's cold?
As I was told
to lie by them
in the chill?
To hope?

Yet another mistake?

A miscommunication?
An error in our ways?
You are the wrong man?
The wrong time?
Yet again?
Can this be true?

In my old age?

What now
will I do?
I'm not going there
to the dark side of what
frightens you, darling

I am bewildered with
the songs of ghosts

I dream in prophecy
Got the proclivity towards
mastering hands on healing

Not knowing if my father
is dead or alive
I heard him dreaming

He spoke to me from
the clouds like he
was the lord

my lord was a happy
golden color with
the power to leave
these crusted old
familial wounds
of miscommunication
behind...

which has torn us
all asunder

I may have been
forgiven by them
those who once or thrice
had forsaken me

but I say I am a bewildered fool
not going to the dark side
just yet...
Someone's got it, the glancing star is at bliss
You stuck around and it showed in your dancing in the petrichor of sudden starved preaching and feeling
Thy say I shorting my way in the life for winners of the immunity pin
The reality showed me peace, the passersby were eerily in the indolent about immolating themselves in burning risqueness
In your treats with cotton candy and the pulses of the pleasure drops
And the rapacious circus rang the bell of the repeated ensemble
Of raucous laughter, everything has to be political when you make bellicose blondes in the visions of curtains in your room
Clowned in the foolish day, the sun still how to reach me in disease
Pretention is the greatest presentable symptom of miscommunication with self was winding up for a start
I fly like bilingual, and prying into the side of the lull of the power of the fool in the tangled feud, I need a girl for loving my laugh
Pleasantly, certainly yours and of course, I used a little too much force and I resigning fighting my way through this crowd
You probably understand that I embued some love for the faltering remorse
Looking for someone lost in a crowd
Poe said you're black as the cat
Crossing the street
This is no regret
Plausible deniability and the billing is so clear, and the reading is so pompous and overrated and the laces of childish shoes
Get the milk from the next door south
I went with the bullish look in the *****
And the rage in her countenance full of misery
The spilled milk meant that it was a news boom
Went in pilfering all the newspapers under a lone streetlamp for movement of moving tears
Your people are suffering, but, still don't know how to preach
You reap the education of the sold out, and the mending ways and weltering of the piped hot iron
The compost was full of iron and gun powder
The seed germinated slightly tasteless on my mind
And the singing windy signs took away the cotton cotyledon in the breeze
The success is for other people leaving you in the worst of your times
For the next vacation, you can have a good life without my memories
Tumbled by boiling blood
The flesh and blood, stuck to the bones to the lord
The feet of the lotus, and the getting in the mud
I live my life with never thinking about the most eloquent book of poems
Although, I live in the belligerent era of poems of resolve and truly jaded and delinquently dusted and kept on reconciliatory idiot's shelf
You're left on the frescoed streets of wandering like a nomad selling the storm its gain and living in his stride and rabble and babbling in the fall of the era
Of a fallen human, and a fan no more, and the grimace of the stoic solidarity rang in his soul
Hell, felt alive
Better to arrive lost
That's freewill
The blows and I still did not die
In life often of honesty, there are some cutting you
And sometime's a place of a tainted phlegmatic nature
Cashing out his oblong church clergy, and the existential philosophy might be breaking down the altruism of Buddhist and Christians in a bar together
Too bad, none of them drink, but, they grew closer over the agreement that alcohol was meaningless
Unless you hadn't observed the entire human race intoxicated by the beauty of the thirteenth-century poetry brought you in this dust of more words
Then have a lack of people to oppose it at the very last, filibustering the argument of the blowing wind in the gestalt of this
Words are barren, as the winds that blow in dusty forests
Likewise, the specs of time fall through these lifeless particles of mankind
Hindering and calling someone an idiot, and the perfidy of all the hellish doubt
The talk went down on the south of the majority bringing forth talk of real changes
And the predeliction of prepossessing promises of probable chaotic causality,  circumstances are for indemnity from the prisoner's dilemma
We will never have that pelican of possible doubt
Petulant about the food all around
Picking up on those signals
As a simple man, I saw the ligature of the sculpted eyes
Of the niggardly picking up the leniency through the signed autograph
Head in the cloud left my limousine, stepped on the gasoline
And the peach diesels are all across the streetlamps customized for the stolid heaven of riding the roads which are meant for a moniker taking the molly out of your ecstatic pockets
Your drugs are under your eyes, and let's not talk about the brunt psychedelia of this crimson red Andalusian theology that makes half our rain in Spain, like the linguistics of pronounced verbs
We are lacking the grammatical error of our ways
And writing in the wrong notebooks
That cause suicide
Studying is like a debt to society
Penury by the following of snipers looking at you with the simple complicit exchange between a warrior and underdog soldier
Is the perfect affair wasn't it, heavy breathing in life as a boy
We cry when we're born, and the laughter comes when the breath is gone
I ain't talking about dying, it's just freeing your passions
The perishing pretentious old presiding rhyme of reasonable doubt, these are the words of fire (pleasant devotion)
While I heed my time and the poetry you wrote for your own lazy humor and nervous curiosity.
That's why they rhyme, and the possibility, for your time is an era
The zeal was everywhere furthermore
For, the present time I like to stick to meters and I'm imprisoned at my loss for words, and the ice of life lit by contrite tridents of doctrines for this life to full of the determined profession of love, and it just becomes indeterminate of how we are really
That's how we usually described literary Zeitgeist, pockets of crumpets falling
In the presence of mind to have ideas better for other poets with a brimming a half-empty cup of tea
With the ponderers had sipped without looking at it, it's good times for the winning ride, what if you don't take one other with you, really?
On the tray, the road had the natural and peace of the streetlights of the modus operandi of the chanting of "Nyum Myo Hum Renge Kyo"
There was some truth in the protest march that woke me up
But, I realized that person's need and spent my religion on the
for righteous life with kindred spirits here in the preferable deposit of penned writing
The darkness on fighting it with darkness in the dingy library of human knowledge in metal brother with ubiquitous knowledge
The hopeful the epiphany is healed by knee-deep kneidel, and the bread we shared with our mothers was the love is to share
Hopeful, the benediction creates some dream, I like the long poems, and I feel for the science that touches
The flow of the person next to you with the same DNA, and manipulates information like you
That keeps me interested, and the verses come from the person inside and precocious teenager in you was a bit of a cry-baby
That likes talking, that's why like haikus as they speak about the Edo-era Japan, you determined people read about the island beyond the land of doubt and the exploration, and the free-flowing verse is linked seamless thought of philosophy
And the 1600s of the Restoration period had some simplicity in lovely complexes
Antediluvian powerful lord in the wide trees in thee hillside, singing the song for the life time
The vital spontaneity has because is in the underweighted children in the valley
A song for the sowing and germinating lackadaisical surmise
The thing that I must ask of you, is how much you like philosophy and life, and you fall to a poem for my fellow writer, how much respect wondering about your coveted convivial feelings I could gather from a pack of sisterhood pacts
Existentially, I am in a place that is metaphorically alive
The life and the religion and the spotlight breaks when a spoken word has shadows of God's metaphorical musical called ballad, poetry is just an essay on song
Don't write it twice, you're sad and done
It's alright, I'm on the darkness on the side of the road
A painting is complete when it has the shadows of God.
Irate Watcher Jan 10
You say —
it is impossible
to read
people within
your own frame
of reference.

You’re a neuroscientist,
so I should probably believe you,
because you know
more
about how
the brain processes
information.

You say —
communication is the closest thing
we have to reading someone’s thoughts.
You can't infer the type of person someone is
or what they'll do
from their actions alone —
you just need to ask them.

Evolution is a testament
to the power of speech.
It allows us to co-exist peacefully
with other human beings,
warn them of danger,
or tell them where the food is.

But evolution isn't so
intelligent, and I would premise
that communication
is just a workaround
telepathy.

First of all,
humans lie
when they want
for us to read
what is NOT in
their mind.
Rarely will one
get a straightforward answer
to the question: "Are you lying?"
And should you really expect to?

You say,
of course you can tell
when people are overtly lying.
There are biological signs
of deception
and we're hard-wired to detect
them —
the overly detailed stories
prolonged eye contact
calculated breathing,
are all indicators
of fibbing.

Ok, so there is truth-telling and lying,
but like most dichotomies
there are several somethings
in between.
Like when people don't mean
what they say,
but say it anyways — miscommunication.
Or when people genuinely
believe the words they spew
are true, but they are — mistaken.
Or when people
want so badly
for words to be true...
but they
are
just
not — denial.

For example,
someone like you
could tell me over and over again
that you're sorry,
But communicating isn't gonna help
heal the bruises, honey.

I’m so scared
you'll hit her
when you raise your voice.

I don’t know how to talk about it
because when I do,
she suffers the consequences.

I’m so nervous
I’ll have know about it
the entire time
and still have done nothing.

If I say something,
I’m so worried
she'll think I’m overreacting,
and then stop telling me stories.

What is the least about of harm
you can do
before I’m allowed to speak.
Is it a bruise?
Why must I wait
for the inevitable
just to say
I saw it coming all along.

The complete disregard for her as a partner,
your disrespect, the verbal assaults,
are known precursors of domestic violence.

As is my silence.
But I can't seem to
communicate the situation
without making it worse.

I can’t known for certain
why you treat her this way
from my frame of reference,
because the evidence neither supports or denies
my claim, and I am judge-mental if I infer it anyway...

until it is too late.
Because it wasn't a truth or a lie,
just a thing I knew deep in my bones,
but was told I have no
evidence for
from people like you.

People rarely mean what they say.
Why should I trust their displays
over my own judgement.
Yes, sometimes we are trapped in perspective
and then our perspective turns out to be wrong
about people.
But it takes someone strong,
to risk being wrong,
when she is
chastised for it.
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