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Ady Mar 2014
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.
Maxi Jun 2015
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.
Trevor Gates May 2013
I’ve been expecting you.
I’ve waited an eternity.
Please sit
Thank you
I will now tell you things

I will tell you things I will do
Things I will do to you

Are you curious to know what they are?
You should be.

As I am curious to know
What compelled you to come here?

Everything in your conscious told you to stay away.
Yet, you are here.
Your friends warned you
But, you are here
Your nagging doubts, your conflicting reasoning all point to something else
Alas, you are here

And I can’t seem to understand why.
You know what I am.
I am an unconventional socialite of the most diabolic kind

I feed off the likes of you.
The sweet, tangible nectarine of modern serenity
The soft, lavender of incorruptible virtues
The delicate outer skin of savory delectability

My mouth waters at the very thought of you
I salivate with the very presence of you
I can feel my blood rush
My hands shake with anticipation

Let my touch
Caress you
Warm you
You don’t deny it
Because you long for it
You long for me to trace your lips with my fingertips
To suckle the flesh drops of your ears
To familiarize my hands with your supple body
To show you the darker side of forbidden passion
To welcome you into the bounty of vicious coitus
And depraved, animistic *******
And deep recessive *******
And blood constricted battering
With lines and whips
Leather and
And masters
And tormentors
And wicked shadows lurking in the room
Watching us as we display the ungodly exhibition
Of your forbidden desires

For me to savor the swelling peach of your ***** fruit.

This is for you.

Even as you proclaim your goodness to others
You have a side of your personality that demands unsuppressed copulation.

And why do you need this?
Why do you need me?

I can see it in your eyes.

It was because people in another world told you to hide your womanhood
To despise you sexuality
For it will make you weak
And vulnerable

What was your story behind your frailty?

It could have been the close-minded parents of the old age, who never tried to think for themselves; only allowing others with higher knowledge to justify their old-fashioned morals.
The life you saw through popular culture and mind-altering media.  The problem with pop cultivation is that is follows the wave lengths of susceptible hosts: the average, everyday citizens that “trust” the outside word; that “trust” what is said to them through dystopian and totalitarian subtleties.  
You didn’t know better.
But you could tell it wasn’t right
How is it that a young child can truly know what is right and what is wrong
More so than the misconceived adults?
Because simplicity is key to filtering the complex

Now what does this have to deal with you sexuality
Because unless you do what is only natural for you to do, others will tell you what you should do.

Now, you embrace your emerging fruition.
As my tongue slithers around your sensitive ****
My fingers stretch and penetrate your wanting *****
Is your chance
Overpower the host before you
It is a test

Your daunting task ahead is to overthrow the embellishment of your submission

Are you up to it?

We shall see.

The shadows on the walls are the ones that maimed you
Scolded you
Accosted you
Abused you
Terrified you
Rectified you
Molested you
Suffocated you
Punished you
Insulted you
Silenced you
***** you


Because they are:
Afraid of you
Intimated of you
Worried of you
Scared of you
Enticed by you
Infuriated by you
Aroused by you
Alarmed by you
Entranced by you
And pleasured by you

Could you be all and none of what I said?
You tell me
Whisper it in my ear
Now bite it
Use your teeth and swear it
Tear it and devour it
My creature of the night
My child of ritual
My servant to flesh
My master to skin
My all to this and none to that
The embodiment of lust
The being of now

And the beginning of the end.
Thank you for coming here tonight my dear.  Send my regards to your fans and loved ones: Johnny Depp, Lucifer, Mammon, Hellraiser, Candyman, egg whites, Wool hats, Epson printers, Derek Riggs, Spider-man, Bruce Willis, Lampshade, Black Holes, Taxi drivers, Durex condoms, Hank Azaria, Simon Pegg, Colonel Sanders, Iron Man, Spike Jones, Spike Lee, Spike Speigel, Eva Green and of course his imperial majesty, David Bowie.

Maybe we’ll see each other again.
Keelynmac Jul 2016
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.
Love** lost in dreams
Far away from the soul,
For the beauty of life is
Lost in my mind
Left lonely, in pain
This **** in my spirit
I've been unable to cleanse
Tired friend, fellow traveler
Grasp my hand and
Feel cruel death pervading
In this world, this land
Lies unknown evils
Forbidden to know
Or comprehend good
Underneath the wild, impassioned sky
Of centuries past
Wandering in ageless night
Searching for the end of sorrow
Scouring through the mystery
Of existence and free thought
Here comes the exhilaration of
The cosmic dance of eclectic vibrations
Playing memories of melodies
And deep seated wisdom
Just beyond the cusps of our fingers
Beyond long, satin dreams
Stuck moving with the flow of
My slowly beating heart
As earth ceases to spin
In a moment, my desire calms
I have found my true self
My autonomy will never die
My heart does not weigh me down anymore
Floating in a state of bliss
You are the one person I have left
The beauty who has never gone from my side
Who's jeweled eyes illuminate my being
Like the night skies over the glaring city lights
Who's smile transcends boundaries of this known world
No assembly of words can begin to express
How just your touch eases the minds of beasts
Simple, pure, ecstasy hovers
Over the flickering fires of her passion
Living in angelic state of being
She forces cries of beauty from blind men
Streaming light of wisdom across infinite universe
As I gaze upon the stars of her kindness
Forever embowered by her grace
I need every essence of her bliss
The apprehension of lover's souls
Lost in the innocence of lusting eyes
Things left hidden from the
Enslaved masses who lie
In solemn wait for a taste
Of what it feels like to be free
Uncertainty striking fear into their hearts
As they delve ever deeper
Scouring, searching for what has already found them
Where it has always remained
The children of the wilderness
Hold the forgotten key to eternity
Human nature, this disease of self strife
Has mankind drowning in
An imaginary state of grace
Impure manifestations of
Unknowingly self mutilating prose
The serpent slithers slowly around our being,
Wide eyed and calculated
Innately beasts, unable to quiet ravenous, lustful intentions
We have misplaced our senses
Flowing through the caverns of life blindly
No good intentions remain
Upon finding misconceived treasures
We trade our consciousness for infinitesimal belongings
And blame others for our own failings and insecurities
Unable to forgive ourselves for thieving
Virtues and conscience from future ages
Living in a world, surreal
Where beneath the surface of
Media driven fallacies is saved individuality
Locked and hidden away from the masses
Dreaming fantasies into reality
Embowered by your warm embrace
Seemingly discovered unrivaled pleasure
I hear your heart slowly beating our lives away
For the shed blood of our past lives
Is recycled now, "Alive!," she cried
Awakened in the midst of a dream
Locked somewhere inside myself
My mind scattered in too many worlds to work efficiently
How can I forget why I have made this journey?
Sailing along the sweet breath of angel's choir
No longer shall I fear the unknown
I will no longer be fed the harsh injustices and lies
Of this used up, barren world
Your kiss goes softly
Beyond my lips and into the depths of my soul
Still clutching the vine
Children breast fed insanity through soured milk
Question your own indecision
The disease of latent, lustful desires
Will tear apart your home
Down turned eyes in shame
Declaring war upon the unborn
Who drown in hatred
And the false sense of being loved
Forced to live their lives
Knowing nothing but childhood fantasies
Naivety forces a silent scream for knowledge
Breathe deeply the wonderment of the wilderness
Forcing blind eyes into the morals of mankind
Out of fear of being outcast and exiled
Build your stronghold out of a center of loyalty and honor
Your face inspires silent intrigue
The one true form not ruined,
Not stolen from the enigma of righteousness
By hate and fearful, dastardly instincts
Souls thrashing wildly, chaotic
With no sense of direction
Unfortunately, this kismet cannot be deemed unjust
Deserving to walk hand in hand with death
The curse of falling just short of our desires
Left shaking in the cold, unrelenting world of lust and betrayal
No concept of real and surreal any longer
Shamans have foretold of such disasters
The walls of sanity crumbling before our eyes
Louder beats the heart of your discontent
Finding delight in mankind's incurred demise
Wiping sweat from the brows of beasts
The wandering eye innately searching for new meat
Millions expended in lustful quest
Enticing is the unquenchable thirst of desire
Shall I forever bear your cross of hate?
The last piece of my soul glimmers as it is ravaged by your touch
The last of my affection and love I shall bury
Where no light may shimmer
Guarded with riddles and bewilderment
Never finding a source of betterment
Killing who I once was
In order to erase the pain you cast upon me
The pain that forces grown men to fall upon knees
With black rose, she replied
"I give you my body, but never my heart"
Drowning in a chemical waste of salaciousness
My free will, stolen and hauled away
Pilfering my comprehension of life and love
Whispering sweet deceit unto the minds of our own flesh
Calling upon plastic deities and iconoclastic idols
Forcing weakness into humanity through the misrepresentation of free will
Shivering in the cold seasons of deceit
Watching as forlorn mothers give up unborn children
Their sorrow unites them under heavy skies
Huddled together, alone
Feeling only emptiness and shame
Fear pervading, bounding between broken hearts
Flesh ripped from beating flesh
Doomed to eternal anguish and unrest
Hearts heavy, forced to hold onto such misery
When shall revelation come?
The magnificence of beginning anew
Tired searches through tangled fates
Pretentious beings, undeserving of finding true love
Walking along the periphery of sadness
Unheard, undiscovered point of view
Falsification of our spirituality
Throwing stones at our creator
Yet, punishment still incomprehensible to blinded masochists
Continually directed towards evil by greed
Altruism has become incommunicable
Races ******, faking sorrow for a moment in the spotlight
Consciences left muddied with sin
Sensory perceptions dulled
Forced to sit idly by
While the moon changes the tides of my mind
A single cloud hangs drearily over my sorrows
This demoness from my nightmares
Trickles unknowingly into my reality
No immunity from one's own self demise
Plastic, insincere smiles forecast  
The ambivalent duality of man
We must defend each other from ourselves
Called upon to fight in this never ending battle
False accusations leveling the playing field of life
Flirting with the mystics of forgotten lore
The selfish needs of the human race left behind
Calmly we enter the palace of love
This castle, a fortress built on trust  
A reincarnation of innate, preternatural passion
Don't look upon the horizon for the answers of today
Find knowledge in the sullied, torn pages of history's lament
Waving excitedly, temptation captures our gaze
Awaiting a destiny that will sever supreme consciousness
Uneducated decisions made presiding over the life of another
No being will notice the face of pain in the unborn
Soiled our own goods with haste
Unable to understand the beauty of life
We are all criminals by nature
This wasteland does portend a future of destruction
Promised acquittal of our betrayal by men made of stone
We toss away our dignity in a mask of inebriation
Where does the gray lead the ******?
Psychotropic prescience of our kismet
The smile of the fallen angel looks hauntingly familiar
The permutation of lies through a thin film of comfort
I will be awaiting your arrival
In my final hour of being
Instant gratification has interlocked us with the ******
Fight through the coagulant of chaos and beg for a second chance
The thoughts of unknown genius have reinvented our race
A false sense of virility plagues the minds of the inebriated
My fervent heart beating ever more quickly with your supple touch
My eyes dive and dart away from the injurious visions of jealously
Awaiting my reincarnate reprise of rebirth
Flirtatiously, we whisper tender lies of affection
Her gaze looked deeply towards my inner being
As my emotional barriers fade into oblivion
Her smile holds the secrets of the infinite
Mortal issues seem insignificant as I
Began to brush away hair from her face
A predator tamed by acts of kindness and love
Her soft lips of silk tantalize my senses
I have fallen ill for lack of her touch
This worlds creates untold bewilderment
Of the feeble minds who inhabit it
An aching, lachrymose gaze I wear
Irrevocable damage forced upon the life I could not bear
This piece was created using my own "Words Used" page.  The **bold** words are from the list.  I have set some rules for myself:  I was not allowed to change the order of the words in the list, the words were not allowed to be altered in any way, and each line of the piece required a minimum of one word and a maximum of two words from the list.  Enjoy.
someone May 2015
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.
midnight prague Feb 2011
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
Chase Allen Apr 2015
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.
Dog Years Jul 2018
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
Lain Ender Mar 2012
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?
Its been a while. I've been busy with trying to get licensed in such in such and working a small collection of short stories which are almost ready to be edited.  If all goes well soon they will be available for cheap on Kindle.
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.

Standing aloof.
Leveled indifference,
taciturn blind goof.
Lost chance; misleading poker glance.
Arms twisted, magnificent ache.
Ashes corroding the mechanical brain.

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
An attempt at spoken poetry.
Thus, shifting to a more metaphorical/vague write than the usual rythmic verse.
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.
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
Seriously. I only play music because I love music. If I can live off of it, sweet. If not, I'll find something, but music will still be there.
Dondaycee Dec 2018
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.
Aidan A Apr 2017
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.
I am a bit mad.
Mike Bergeron Sep 2012
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

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.
Firefly Sep 2014
He lay spent,
Beside me,
Under our canopy.....or tent.
I cried and watched the spaces between stars,
Seeing you,
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
Copyrighted September 15 2014
All rights reserved.
talia rose Jun 2014
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.
Poetic T Jan 2017
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.
Divinity void at birth, grace gifted through a parents love, bestowed without warning, maintained without fuel. Security measures drawn, placed on potential porcelain tombs, and entrances unfit for entry. Soft spot guarded with a proficient level of tenacity, insuring life, and the maintenance of its quality.
Speech found, dolled out first in small dosages, replicating familiar terms. Footing discovered, despite quaking legs, still unsure of their design. In combination, a wonder tumbles forth, and empowers its creators with a sense of responsibility, and the need to secure a path in the world for their embodied prosperity.
Understanding drawn on a newly clarified society. Building and grasping onto fictions established to promote grounding and self-sufficiency. Day in, day out, the world expands, never contracts, overcomplicating itself among the generalities of everyday life, and everyday struggles. On the other side comes a curiosity in the form of confusion, demanding a translucent pictograph of intention and purpose.
Class starts with every other date, then expands until it consumes all but weekends, providing young, attentive eyes, with simplified understanding, all while slowly working to whittle away at the delightful fancy once taken up for the sake of fun. Aligned thought found in fellow participants working their way to the front of the feeding line, struggling to maintain the self as different views collide. A decade later, time to move on, and be separated from acquainted normality to draw from a new pen, and learn from a new set of rules.
Social circles established instantaneously, as a coping strategy for life in the wild. Evolutions of ideals and traits occur overnight, percolating to the surface before necessarily ready, as expansive thought draws away from fact, and onto experience, merging itself with a blue print stripped from an old socialites attic. Transgressions worth more than grades, as misconceived youths wander about for momentous occasions, misspelling and speaking in their retelling.
Tempered blues played over megaphones in the high school gymnasium, as latent minded aristocrats, mocking and forging the appearance of Asperger’s, time out the cadence to meet without accord. Catatonic assembly line of carbon based replicas march in a circle, out of tune, winking at policeman, politicians…profits all the like. All this, while Aesop’s fables are shared to the collective of misty-eyed teens, in a speech of many words, but little point…Children, caged, redeemed, and finally reincarnated to match the product line being loaded into trucks, awaiting shelves; the new, meek breed of paper holders who once believed that education carried worth.
Christian Ek Mar 2014
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.
For my L.A poets, keep marching on ;)
Justin Aptaker Jun 2019
the stars are lying
between layers of ether and projected purpose
burdened with grandiose plans to toy with the dust bunnies that blow
everywhere like tumbleweeds
in a western flick just before final showdown
the outcome depends on an angry Matryoshka doll of endless ecosystems

remember that perfect silence fell on our history like a shadow, guillotine-sharp
cutting out any tongue that would retell the fable of Hiroshima
reborn, She was immaculately misconceived as the unwanted child of a firefly
and a street sweeper
while in correlation a pin crashed to the floor of a factory somewhere
in the boondocks of Babylon

i mention this in riddles, not to mislead, but hoping to preserve my own
slimy muscle tucked safely in its bacteria-laden skull, where it burns white and blue
to taste, and somehow amoeba all things sensual into itself
sweet water, salt and iron

for no reason i riddle on alone
as plain discourse will not prove to be any more terrible for me in a day
my tongue, the unstable centerpiece of all things volatile
will prove to be its own undoing, not needing a blade to mute it
its white glow will one day implode to expand in an instant of recklessness
which vaporizes tongue before skull
to at once spray my organic-wet thoughts through every quantum nook of the known universe
and parallel, to finally satisfy my undiscerning palate with the rich, heavy taste
of every decomposing delicacy that truth grows in

the gods are afraid
of what we might become if we could lay hold of their winged heels
or learn to outrun their surest arrows and fastest dogs
if we were to stop dangling mouth-first by their ******* threads
as if our very existence was the carrot

the ascendant, sun of morning reduced to earth
he looks up with such longing, where his trusty dog still sits and stays
not returning his gaze, but having every appearance of doing so
the black paper sky splashed with white ink, folded in half, and unfolded again
we stare on and on
and project all of our unconscious into something meaningless
and create our story

a freudian chuckle rumbles in every thunderclap, while we lie
on riverbeds like cold sofas, pondering our lives and our futures, while we feed
every kind of fish and scavenger--a mock eucharist which moves molecules
as above so below to the universal singularity
in the redundant shape of a figure eight

self-emaciation, a violent circumcision that cleanses like soap
discarding the fat which no machine needs for survival
like Howard Hughes i scrub until every bone is bare and bloodstained
empty, i step into the holy of holies afraid that i must die again
forgetting everything, i begin to slide
Written by Justin Aptaker ca. 2006

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

* always...

عرفان بن يوسف © AH 23/01/1437
'a (freestyle meter) Sonnet'
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.
Wrote this yesterday.
astroaquanaut Oct 2015
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.
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
Eva Rosehill Oct 2014
Misconceived sunlight
Illuminates absent roads;
Streetlamps somber glow.
A haiku.
Liisi Kilpelä Jun 2013
The memory is like
Suckling on pills meant
To be swallowed;

Crystalline microgranules
Brushing across misconceived
Sensory territories,

The taste similar
To baking soda;
                               soapy, sour, sweet—
In a stinging kind of way;

You are the filling agent prematurely
Metabolized, the melting capsule
Tickling on cellular membranes,

Spreading up the roof of
My mouth & beating my uvula
Like a punching bag,

The feel of you impossible to
                                            wash away
with neutralizing liquids.
AzealAngel Feb 2012
Rain is the tears of angels
Shadows fragments of darkness that long to be light
Wind the sighs of God
Ugly misconceived beauty
Light escaped purity from heaven
The moon, the inconsolable lover of the sun
(for she can never be with whom she loves)
And life..
Life’s...a mystery for
"To live as if everything around you were temporary and
perhaps trivial is to fall prey to petulant cynicism
as well as to querulous lovelessness"
and existential loneliness.

{Un}sentimental/shameful; patron-nation{al},
The noble exile is a misconceived notion.
How's the self-imposed exile coping?

Citizens' sickening!
"How droll."
Lines One, Two and Three from Reflections on Exile by Edward Said
Line Nine from Prince John in Robin Hood (1973)
Wade Redfearn Apr 2019
In the reliquary there is the censer, and the book.
In the reliquary in the back, which is the fields and
the little hidden place known only to you,
there is also a plant with plush green leaves, hung
from sagging 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
springing on the breeze is vanishing
and the plant can only be used when it is dry
and 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
and the word search in the children's Sunday amusements.
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 beat against 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 of the sanctuary
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 take its yields
and the stars misconceived
smile at those going North
and are silent in cities.
Jesse Sutherland Aug 2018
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
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
Discouraged, I silently wait-
Anticipate the cultivation
of a new surrogate
slowly weighing down
the corporate weights

Generations have died

We need not new worshipers-
Though we preach and preach
of new ways of life

The articulation of a stealthy
misguided population
Rooted deviously within our realm

Subliminal dis-figuration
is cognitively calloused
Deeply punctured inside
the root of our thickly stems-

This, the way of the world

The capital effect
Leaves one hungry, starving-
and dastardly thirsting for more

A consumerist mind-set
Correlates abruptly
with this generation of
"non-thoughtful thinkers"

Consumption of supply
Regurgitating of demand

Are we senseless-
Or just sensible
in cultivating this disheveled war
on our possessions
possessing the rights of man?

Are we grasping at this
misconceived dream
That we can live long and dream
the dreams we feel we're destined
to achieve?

We are the result of the
reality we create and strive
to be

Don't be a commercial-
Be your own documentary
© 2014 Christina Jackson
Lestatmalfoy Jul 2011
I'm afraid to open this book,
to start this story.
For once I'm unsure of how it all will end.
I grow weary of being mislead
and falling for characters that never make the final page.

Misconceived and thrown aside,
the pages all unfold with no remorse.
Steadily falling away faster and faster
with no one there to make it stop.

He came along with such sweetness
and an interesting line,
but was unobtainable and left the tale much too soon.

I waited, hoping he'd be written back in
and when he was I held my breath.

I'd never imagined someone so endearing and beautiful.
It was almost like his soul shown through the pages,
burning so brightly my eyes would water at every word.

His world quickly became the only place I wanted to be,
I read everyday.
I grew afraid of sharing myself with this character,
he was much too important to lose.
Surely if I left myself unguarded
he'd disappear at the end of the next chapter,
at the end of the page.

I saw the ending coming closer now,
but still not knowing the conclusion.
How would it end?
I grew mad with curiosity.
Impatient and frightened all at once for the same thing.

I knew I loved him but was unaware that I decided his fate.
Could I trust myself to see this to the end,
to finish this book and know
if he was capable of not letting me down.
That maybe he was able to redeem what little faith I had in fiction.
That perhaps it wasn't fiction at all.
Maybe, someone could love me
and it not be a fairy tale.

— The End —