"misconceived" poems
I tend to,
Give my all without expectations of receiving something of equal worth
So I end up in bed accompanied by my emptiness
Feeling worth less than the word less
Because I wear my emotions on my face and I can’t seem to separate the
Pain from the passion.
I guess it’s my fault that this happened.
I guess it’s my fault, and since I’m not one to make allegations
I have no patience
I end up accepting less than I deserve, and I’ve always heard
That I can be whatever I want to be, and it’s up to me to turn my daydreams
Into realities, but in reality, the concept of reality is all new to me
I have a problem. I tend to,
Give my all without expectations to, receive something of equal worth
What am I worth?
I’m not sure but my…soul contains the universe
And beauty is in the hush of the trees
Misconceived mix match of half-baked beliefs
But I’m not one to make allegations, I have no patience
Recycled existence of inspiration
I’ve always heard…never judge a book by its cover
So if I’m judged for doing me
That’s another brand new cavity across the meaning of the word humanity
That’s another false rumor spread
Another he said she said text read
Another person’s confidence dead.
But I can solve the California water crisis with the tears that I have not shed.
I wear my emotions on my face, but do not be confused by the lack of emotion that I show.
See, whenever you’re invited to a funeral, we all know that you’re supposed to go, but we do not cry for the ones we do not know
What are you worth?
You are a slave to your mind and can’t see what is, for what it is for.
Helloo, this is the 21st century and we don’t need chains to make slaves out of people anymore.
If you’re lost, insecure, and feeling worthless, give yourself a worth test.
They’ll call you dramatic, but I’ll call you my living protest.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
you created us, humans, one after the other trying to perfect the creation you defined as imperfect. you thought of this as a way to show us that your power holds no limitations. flawed species; and alone, we have created a civilization. we live to create a more damaged environment for us to die in.
and i was destructive. an emptiness so vast took hold of my being and no one i encountered could rid me of it. no one could make me feel.
until i knew of her existence, or lack there of. and now every atom in my fragile body lusts over every cell her celestial figure withholds. i unconcsiously cannot stop wanting her, because my heart pumps desire into my system rather than blood and no ***** that makes me up can function without her.
i've always felt dead inside..i've always felt that my days were of no purpose, until i met her, and i could ask for no bigger purpose than to love her.
she awakened my soul; the soul that was burried so deep in that i misconceived dislocation with it's nonexistence.
i never was interested in astronomy but i've always loved the idea of everything that exists beyond this earth. i speak of her beauty, and god, i can't help but compare her to the galaxies. i know the stars don't hear me, but that doesn't limit me. sometimes i wonder if they do because everytime her name rolls off my tounge, i can see them flicker. i think it's because they're in awe. they never saw someone feel so much for someone else before, and they never heard of someone as beautiful as her; not in centuries past and definitely not for centuries to come. her eyes hold universes within them and i want to study her instead. i'm fascinated with every detail there's to her. i never held interest in anyone before her and no one after her could measure up. she's everything everyone wants to be, but nothing anyone can be; because she's the perfect you were aiming for. isn't she?
she taught my lungs how to breathe.
"and i'm so glad i held onto my life long enough for her to be in it. -@whorefrost" and although the weight of this life is heavy on my chest, it's worth it. loving her is worth it.
i've been asked to describe art, and every thought in my head screamed her name louder than the other wanting to be heard. but she's more than just art, she's reason.
she's my reason.
i see her, and i believe.
i believe in you.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
what will you think?
when you see the real me
will you feel ashamed because you
misconceived? our lion hearts and our unity
as gears in the web of your destruction
we stand together as an ocean in peace
with tides that have change to speak
and won't take no as an option.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 9:17 PM UTC
Tell me wistful wisteria,
Why do you shed those regal tears?
Is it for a fallen child,
A bud of love so dear?
Can you tell me violet crier,
Why flows your petaled pain?
Did you lose a lover?
Does it hurt to speak their name?
Or wisteria, darling tear stained one.
Is this glumness misconceived?
Does happiness reprieve just hold you,
and bring you to your wavering knees?
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
There is no haunted house scarier than the place I speak of.
No creepy woods late at night compares.
The scariest place a human can be, a place no one is safe from.
To be alone with your thoughts can be the most devastating place anyone could be.
You are trapped with only thoughts and feelings and nothing can save you but yourself.
Some people are easily able to evade the thoughts and move on to other things, but some of us aren't that lucky.
For those of us who are trapped inside the tunnels of our minds we constantly are interrupted by overwhelming thoughts and nothing can stop them.
It's easy for people on the outside to think we can just turn off these bad thoughts but for us trapped there is no escaping this horrifying place. It's a constant battle of worry and misconceived ideas that we aren't good enough, that everything we do isn't enough for someone.
But never give up the internal battle with the demons that hide in your tunnel. You are good enough.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
So tired, she thought it best
to wear her heart on her sleeves
and get things off her chest
Ignored a notion misconceived
that living like an open book
would only make her more naive
She said...
If they simply take another look
they'll see a clear transparency
and maybe, just maybe, let me off the hook
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 11:22 AM UTC
She hopes, silently, that he will chase her,
catch her in his embrace and smother her
with feverish kisses.
He wants to glance back, towards the stinging
sun, towards the opposite direction she has stayed in
and beacon her with words of licorice.
She wishes to let her voice drown the antagonistic
opposition to their current disposition and listen
attentively to reciprocated admissions.
But they cannot, will not, because
this is not a fairy tale, this is not a fantasy, this
is the sad reality of both decisions.
And so torn apart between letting go or
catching to,
they walk away towards opposite directions.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
Shipwrecked heart
Sea of betrayals
Misconceived idioms,
Blindly enslaved.
Was it really worth it anyway?
Fighting with hope; a lost battle.
Fallible carcasses on a wooden platter.
Poisonous Ivy in my veins;
silent heartbeat bursting into flames.
Time is a thief,
buried beneath the sea.
Was it really worth the wait?
Fighting for love; a lost cause.
Permeable holes in an empty cup.
Troubling nature, impatient thoughts.
Infected,
Standing aloof.
Leveled indifference,
taciturn blind goof.
Lost chance; misleading poker glance.
Arms twisted, magnificent ache.
Ashes corroding the mechanical brain.
Bloodbath,
besieged wound.
Abrasive torture,
revealing the truth.
Cursed fortune; insensitive to pain.
Piercing a bullet through the soul,
expressed disdain.
Adamant rapture
with no return.
Imprisoned belief
with no more fire to burn.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
No delusions of grandeur
No misconceived notions
But there's a thing that beats in my chest
Like the winds against the ocean
I don't crave glory, fortune or fame
I don't even care if you remember my name
I want to be there
On a brightly lit stage
Me and my guitar
Making art
Turn the page
Not in it for the women
(I'm happily spoken for)
I don't do drugs
(They're stupid, and make you poor)
I don't want to get rich
(Money corrupts)
I just love rock
(Stand back. Watch me erupt)
It's all about the music
And what it does for you
I don't write for me
That's for other musicians to do
So if you ever hear me playing
And it stirs something in your heart
I'm doing something right
I'm just doing my part
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
This is not my home,
Blame narcissism; what I bring to the table is balance and I’m not alluding to table salt,
Credited Shiva when fables taught;
So why am I alone?
To the left are the people I left,
I can even summarize as past,
Their decisions were based off right removing rights,
This is an act of freedom;
Feeling obligated to honor a name,
The illusion is last,
As of right now,
I exist in between,
It’s during the experience, that I wonder…
Sooo, why am I alone?
When I lay eyes on a female, I want her to feel disrespected,
It’s important that a female is aware of her insecurities,
It’s important that she sees the disconnection, impurities, her own reflection,
Buddy want his hotdog wet; thought ejects*,
Natural selection,
Buddy want the Top Dog vest,
I’m baffled, I only guide a confession,
I’m eliciting the potential,
Pushing a resurrection,
Sharing; passing lessons,
Sparking questions,
My love you’re in the box, I want you to be free; Change of perception,
They fed you food for regressions and impressions,
Polarity rings; I’m attracted to the curves, the body’s expression,
That musty smell of oppression/depression,
How could you blame me for wanting to interfere,
I hate MEN; I’m calling progressive…
FLO here,
For lovers only,
Love is what I’ve been giving since birth, and I don’t expect a return,
People show hate; universe translation (twenty years later),
“Tough love”; discerned,
I laugh daily, that is the outcome of pain,
Me wearing colors was the outcome of being plain,
I made a choice; no longer was the same,
I can honestly relate to Jane,
Feminism is misconceived these days; point was a healthy balance of both carries no shame,
It’s unknown, separate from the game,
Adiyogi Shiva; Transcendental if omming the name…
I always wonder if I’m narcissistic; I love people unconditionally, there’s no reason why I should ever feel alone.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
It feels more times than not
My character is misconceived
Wherein my affinity for emotion is
Either ill received, or begs condescension
Such vindictive decrees for
Souls just as flawed as me
The difference is
Mine are the only flaws that I can see.
Void of emotion?
I prefer to think that I can
Differentiate between
A fleeting feel
And what is real -
What of the lack of social devotion?
I am only at my best
Around those who create from the heart
I discard the rest, because
I am the company I keep,
And I've kept from the start.
Over the top flattery?
I beg to differ.
You mistake the way I speak and the things I do
For my romantic battery
The thought of which makes me quiver -
It says a little something about you, too.
You fail to see
That I can so naturally
Draw emotion from the smallest of things
Do you think it is through arrogance that I sing?
A highly internalized being, who only creates things
To feed an insatiable egotistical craving?
Clearly the life that you lead
Is just lacking fantasy, or a sense of meaning...
I have met people who are metaphorical gateways,
No, actual ley lines of human creativity.
I wonder if their work would
Make you question your brand
Of Humanity.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 10:44 PM UTC
There’s a tremor
That ripples through
This pocket of air,
The electric aura
That surrounds my hair,
The sounds are melodic,
Like the cries of scared
Spirits, calling Mladic
To make an appearance
In the lake of fire
He sent them to swim in,
But missing the point,
Missing the part of life
With a purpose,
Wishing to rise back up
To the surface
And start the slide all over again,
Start the decline down to
A black abyss where
Doors exist
Just too keep you in,
Where laws are ********
And the good guy never wins,
And I’m pretty sure
He never did,
I’ve never seen the good guy win,
Cuz if the good guy could Catch a break,
There’d be no lie to trap us in,
But either way there’s no way to escape,
Cuz the good guy never wins
And the good girl always gets *****
So I’ll keep holding my sanity loosely,
And keep taking heed to her song,
That “every secret is juicy,
Whether it’s Ricky cheating on Lucy,
Or the world controlled by
Ancient snakes,
Either way you don’t get to say
How high the stakes of truth be,”
You don’t get paid
For being truthful,
It’s ruthless action
That’s truly
Beautiful,
Or maybe her face is too,
The one I saw peering in
Through a snow-rimmed window,
Buried in a fur-lined hood
With cheeks red with the
Sea of blood
Shifting just under
Paper skin,
The storm spawned
By the walk
Sending waves of colour
And life and vivacity
And ****** perfection
Crashing into
The softest cheeks
To ever brush mine,
The very ones I’ve wished to destroy
As the breath quickened,
The tempo rose,
And the sweat poured
Onto summer sheets
In a bed to small
And weak
To hold the tremendous weight
Of love deferred
And reignited
By a shared passion
For hurting and getting hurt.
The face in the window
Was flushed with heat,
Yet colder than the parents
That sent her out into the night,
Hoping she wouldn’t find something to eat,
And isn’t it funny how she still
found me?
Ready and willing
To be ripped apart
And devoured
For the deflowering
Of a misconceived heart.
I opened the door and let her in
So I could begin being born again.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
I know that I will at times struggle for words…or even use too many to say too little. Expect this. It is part of me. I will try to connect myself to the world, to circumstance, to people, with words. I attempt to stitch my fingertips to what I touch, see, and feel, with what I say. I attack with words. I defend with words. I seek, run, build and dismantle with words. There is sometimes in me a necessity for silence. But it does not come often enough. Why? It is because I fear it. I fear what silence means, because words are tangible, hey can be defined, put in boxes, made to be straight or curved, applied in context, and analyzed even for meaning separate of context. But silence? Silence can mean so many things. There are clues with softer edges that require much more foreknowledge to obtain. Silence can be shaped by emotion into something in the mind of the beholder that it is not to the one who sits quiet. Words too can be misconceived, but with words, things are definable and misconception is almost always evident to one or the other. With silence, misconception is often left in ignorance. Both the silent and the listener are unaware of the other’s thoughts and intentions with silence. Silence is at least as powerful a tool as words. They may both change the courses of lives. There is a time for silence and for speaking. But it is my mind which fails to know when silence is more necessary, because my mind almost by nature uses words to explain or ascribe meaning to almost everything and anything I experience. See how long this single entry is? To explain words and their role and importance to me I am using words, because in my emotions, words are bridges, and silences are those bridges burning. I am using words, but I will learn to use silence.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 4:31 PM UTC
Corrupted human beings saunter our streets
Consisting of nothing but absurd hostility
Consumed with bias and a mind confined
It seems to be
That you misconceived
The purpose of this viability.
Hate, steal, **** fight
Living a life of polluted spite.
Nothing but blemishes in society
Simply blind to the basic factors of psychiatry.
The human mind was composed to connect
Composed to detect
Love, companionship, intellect.
We clench the power to do so much more,
Relax your fist and allow your speculations to pour.
Inessential anger increases inside
what used to be a selfless kind.
A kind who shared, one who cared.
Who built companions up and helped them grow.
Now there's egotistical maniacs, count them by the rows.
They see others as files, humans they dispose.
Follow the leader, that's a game they like to play.
Think for yourself, our brains weren't made to think this way.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
He lay spent,
Beside me,
Under our canopy.....or tent.
I cried and watched the spaces between stars,
Seeing you,
Beautiful,
Coveted flowers of war.
Regret was like a most fearful murrain,
Troths as deadly as poison taking root,
Where it hurts most,
The misery of the brain.
The pity, and beauty, and power of my death,
Lay as a teasing indecision,
An untouched mystery, whispering, almost out of breath.
The firefly light flickered,
If he was awake,
I’d have bet a wish he’d have bickered.
An old shadow appeared on the wall,
As familiar as sleep,
The forbidden memories I keep.
Your shadow, determined to haunt,
Came to our bed,
banishing the warmth.
My tears choked me, blue and unyielding,
You, now a misconceived pain in my heart,
Stabbed at his neck, with a silver dagger you were wielding.
-Firefly
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
Observant misconstrued glances weaving conclusions
of what is above your paygrade of perceptiveness.
imperfections of what you glance upon.
A child in the confinement of misunderstanding,
Only the turbulence of reality like ocean waves.
Solitude of emotions then surges of confusion crash.
Lost in the tall trees of emotions as the leafs of
disorientation venture to cloud a mind of needed calm.
The conciseness needs the rhyme of routine to balance.
Heed this thought those of ill-conceived notions that
when this little miracle has a moment of uncontained
emotion, it is not for your misconceived wordings.
"My little one mummy is here, daddy too,
"Hear our voices like a calm ocean over you,
A mother embraces the worries of your thoughts,
easing the confusion of the world away..
Others may stare in ignorant stances.
*"But nothing is wrong with you, you're our baby
cuddling the confusion of your surroundings away.*
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 7:09 PM UTC
Two a.m, the taste of alcohol lingers in my mouth.
L.A. at night is a walk unsecure, as wolves come out into the cold.
These green neon eyes of predators approach.
Nightfall creates a ghost town. Darkness, a companion of loneliness.
The city is its own wilderness, I watch my step or risk losing my identity. Desperate to escape but poverty is a frustrating trap that can make one break. I can only imagine the life of abandoned corpses, sleeping next to churches, after constant battles of defeat.
Here come the police sirens, protecting the elites, the security force of oppression and brutality.
Where does love fit in this city? It is like love has been removed to save a few dollars and polluted fog put in its place.
I get why people would give anything to hold onto someone at the end of the day.
A city advertised for dreamers but the nightmare of those that do not make it to the spotlight.
I continue to fight despite no handouts.
My memories shaped by experiences in these streets.
Reminding me of what I am made of.
I will walk in this misconceived city, still breathing, persevering, until I have reached my destination.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
I hold my pots and pans
my spices and fruits
lay in the kitchen like a dead spirit
hold up my most prized dish
and concur your presence with my
deep curve and my curious woman
is that what I was made for
I ask you silently with desperate eyes
hearing my mothers whispers
be tidy and clean, and gentle in your walk
you are girl they say
you are a girl
and one day if done right
you shall grow up to flourish into an endless woman
a woman of stature and grace
but I cried when I was young and I was told that it was not okay
and here I am left to blame for the fact that my skin is not smooth
It is not that I have scars everywhere
I myself am a wound
I myself am a scar
keeps your hands closed, fingers beautifully hidden beneath
your delicate pale palms
and some day my child they said
the right person will hold them
but my hands have ran over many shades of skin
I have touched much pain
my hands
my hands
touched life
and we all know where those places can be
bright and glorious
dark and terrifying
and sometimes I believe them
maybe if I would have hid my hands
maybe if I would have kept that noble innocence
I would have lived longer
perhaps had the right person hold them
my mother told me, my beautiful daughter
still young and naive
pure and childlike
when you walk bow that gentle neck of yours
don't let your newborn eyes become harshly polluted
I remember those words now when I cry
and these tears are not pure, they are not salty and white
but drops of debris and dirt
as bitter as gall
keep your body a temple sacred and known only to you
the deepest curiosity lies in the mystery engraved in the
comely body of a woman who keeps herself a mystery
standing beautiful like a blue rose between red ones
in solitude
gracefully content
and me, now
If I was a flower would be immersed in a euphoria of colors
drenched in the mixing of my body with others
scared by their skin
loved by their hands
and possessed in touch by touch
where do I go
mother, how do I ease myself of these monstrosities
how do I learn how to hold myself again without feeling guilty
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 8:42 AM UTC
*
i am not a scholar no man of knowledge
i am just that stutterin' guy on the ledge
rules i do not care 'bout nor do i sorrow
they won't apply on me for i do not know
my days do not differ not from any night
it is 'cause i do not narrow down my sight
i might be the craziest wicked 'ol wizard
upon the earth to have ever been visored
as my lawful play prevails all who leaves
tho by letters alone words will be shown
some may have tricks upon their sleeves
so whatever misconceived or outgrown
no matter what or who anyone believes
that thing i practice will be magic alone
*..love always...
عرفان بن يوسف © AH 23/01/1437**
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
Your misconceived notions,
Are merely reflections
Of a false
Outdated philosophy.
One that has been around
Since long before
Being tan was beautiful.
From a time when
The common man
Was ignorant.
He lacked the knowledge
That we now possess.
He had no Newton,
No electricity
No Information Age.
He believed it
Because he knew
No better than what
He was told to know.
Afraid of everything
No understanding
He was a blind man
Because he was blindfolded
By promises and threats
Of eternity.
Blindfolded by the elite,
Who used it
As a tool for ruling.
Now, even those that
We perceive to be elite
Are blindfolded.
But you do not
Have to be blind.
You exist in
The Information Age.
You can cut it off
And see!
For the very first time.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
In vacant masks
We hide the veins
Where the sickly blood
Flows within us
Like a raging, hidden
Flame divided
Beneath a blanket
Of expectations
Of lacerations
Of blocked
Shocked
Methods of filth
Where we can act
As though we are better
When someone leaves
Or mistreats
Or walks away
Or makes them pay
We sit with our hands
Together like some morbid
Altar boy drunk on
Some misconceived
Notion that we are
Better.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
In the reliquary there is the censer, and the book.
In the reliquary, which is the fields and
the little hidden place known only to you,
there is also a plant with plush green leaves, hung
from rotted twine, going yellow and ancient
in the native light. The word is a rebuke and the
plant is the rebuke of the word,
and the water that kept the plant
green and lovely is vanishing
and the plant can only be used when
it is rid of it.
Buy them by the carton and smoke them
so when he sticks his fat head out of Heaven
we can catch his beard on fire.
Draw his fat head as if it is magnificent:
draw it next to the lamb reposed
and the crossword in the children's Sunday pamphlet.
Remain quiet. Read instead about
the flight of the Jews and their wanderings.
There is smoke in Exodus. There is smoke in Leviticus.
There is smoke in every cell of your body
and if you are burned you will rise.
Remain quiet. The silence is a wall
you can crush with a fist until you recognize yourself in it;
a sanctuary is any four walls that contain peace;
white panels hide the baptismal and are the only way out:
we recognize our end in the quiet, warm water.
It gets in your ears like water does. When
the saints speak or the doves cluck you can only hear
choking, like a storm drain ******* at leaves. What color
is the water that is not the River Jordan: clear unto the tile.
What color are his eyes that are not
the River Jordan? What color are his eyes when
he looks at you bowing and scraping
in the closet with the believer in a spaghetti strap top
she cannot wear to school? What color?
The hand on the bell is profane so the sound of the bell is profane;
better to hold what is already ruined and ruin it further
says the land that was given
to the men who **** it,
and the stars misconceived
smile at those going North
and are silent in cities.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 8:00 PM UTC
asteroids were beautifully created to ebb to the misconceived vastness of the galaxy yet they are still known to be perilous. to lessen damages and fatalities, scientists eagerly observe when an asteroid is going towards our vicinity.
and you, i never expected that you’d be an asteroid to my life. you may be a planetesimal, but i’ve always revolved around your presence like you’re the center of my whole life. you approached me, and i accepted you, never knowing that you’d rescind my existence for a while. thanks for leaving me like i’m just an insignificant piece of wreckage, i needed to know your encapsulating spectra, anyway.
you destroyed me, yes. but you destroyed me gorgeously.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
Look at me, why dont you look at you
only seeing what you want to
your quick to judge all who bavely
trudge through the darkness of your
sleeping sticky sludge
peoples perception is a disception
of it being slightly misconceived since
conception.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 1:37 PM UTC
Misconceived sunlight
Illuminates absent roads;
Streetlamps somber glow.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC