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Jacob Oates Jun 2014
I get accused of a lot of things at first glance

"You're simplistic, you're hiding something

You have no convictions, you don't think deeply"

Usually by those who I consider to be on intellectual crutches

If you're gonna come up to talk to me from a religious context

from a spiritual context

from a hierarchical, metaphysical, eat this **** popsicle mindset

Don't expect me to swallow

Don't expect me to talk

You won't like what I have to say

Because really you just want me to agree with you

If you want me to respect your framework

When you have nothing but the claims of quacks

and the feelings you gleaned from your last psychedelic trip

to back you up

While I have to sit back and listen to how I'm close minded

Close minded for wanting some real truth in this universe

unfiltered, raw, verifiable, and in my hand

and that anything other than that is a spray paint over

my true awakening

Then I guess I'll just have to be that *******

to die for these intellectual sins

The Eldest Son of Matt, hater of pretense

Hypocrite to the highest level

Build me up into a figure of idolatry

Just like you do with the rest of your ego cases

Priests, Gurus, Rabbis, Rockstars, Poet sensations

Tell me how wonderful it is to listen to them

Tell me how I should be more in touch with a tree

Tell me how I don't dream

When all my life is but that

Tell me how I'm not deep when you make no attempt to learn

Who I am, and where I have come from

Misinterpret my teachings, and claim me to feel

As if I was the newest son of god

When all I want is for people to get beyond blinders

and love each other, and to get beyond the metaphysical rat race

Tell me that I'm supposed to live and let live

While you jam your beliefs down my throat

and expect me to respect getting philosophically tea bagged

******* to the crucifix

and asking me to repent for my search for truth
Omnis Atrum Aug 2012
i swear tis dreadful my dear
to face ones greatest fear
to have nought and none to hold near
to lose control and let life's wheel steer,
i'll cry out, i swear, in dismay
if for one more fretful day
i hear not the words you say
yet doubt not my intent to stay,
only for your sweet words of peace
that so oft give my soul release
will make these worries cease
and take these fears from me,
they still tell me my dreams are untrue
that my smiles do not come from you
but if, only if, they knew
my desires they would not misconstrue,
so as this day comes to end
my mind to my heart i will send
and i'll see your face my friend
until waking from slumber once again.

with that distant look again overcoming my ability to conceal
all of the things that i try to pretend aren't really real,
trying to find the hope that i once help so close and dear
but i wake up to find myself alone with you no longer here.
i fall to my knees hollow and empty in both arms and soul
smiles have digressed to the bitter glares of old,
i try to capture the tears before they fall from my eyes
so that you cannot see all that i would hide and deny.
i have lost the will that once drove me to strive for more
and this failure has left me in a drunken heap upon the floor,
for that is the only warmth that makes its way into my core
and the fears go away so quickly when i can't remember anymore.
and one more drink i am sure could not hurt at all
until i stumble around lose my feet and start to fall,
i find myself without the strength or will to rise up once again
so i close my eyes and wait for the room's spinning to end.
and in this state i realize that i have not had a drink all night
but the alcohol content of life sometimes is too much to fight,
i am but a lightweight next to the thousand proof bottle of reality
and once again i have drank too much and it has overcome me.

you stand there wide eyed overcome by disbelief
that you find yourself in these situations once again
after your turmoils you will breathe a sigh of relief
and the birth of realization will start to slowly begin

i reach out for something you cannot grasp, believe in something you cannot understand, and long for something you do know know how to feel. it is beyond you. if only i would have known this sooner, i would not have wasted so much time trying to explain it to you.

i count the sleepless nights like some count sheep
it's because of these broken promises that i can't sleep,
this misinterpreted flawed logic that you want to keep
in hopes that eventually into my brain it will seep.

there are some that i gave all to that deserved nothing, when the one that i should have given my everything to is the only one that has really mattered all along. and now she is only in happy memories. the rest of you do not even come close to everything that she is...and i'm tired of trying to find someone who does. she has weighted my scales heavily against all of you, set the standard so high that none of you will ever to be able to tip the scales in your favor, but my soul will never be at rest until i find someone who can.

when you put as much energy into something as you possibly can...you will be selective about where you should direct that energy. and sometimes you find that all of your energy was spent running down a dead-end alley. so you simply walk back to the road and remember to never deviate on that path ever again.

if you feel that you must love, then love with heart, soul, mind, and strength...without all of these your love is incomplete...and destined to fail.

to forget is to lose regret or to misinterpret the goals we set. to gain is to maintain without the possibility of losing it again. to remember is pointless once it is done.

that which you lack none can give you but yourself. there are none that can make you complete or make you feel whole, that is your task. it is not until you have mastered your own mind that you should search for someone to compliment the person that you have become.

your mind is your greatest tool, your thoughts your greatest weapon, your words are everyone else's greatest enemy, and unfortunately being closed minded is your best defense.

vague predictions are rarely untrue. but to see what happens exactly how it happens before it actually happens is a gift and a curse. it gives insight and knowledge beyond the realms of the senses, but if one would share such things with others they would be considered mad.

it is almost surprising how people are so kind and open to people they do not even know. a simple smile, meaningless conversation, or common courtesy shared with a being that has nothing in common with you except that you are both in a state of being referred to as life and are in the same place at the same time. it shows that people really are good at heart. but when you get close to some people they are corrupted by their own emotions, confused by the situation, or scared of what may come. it is not that these people are bad people or bad friends, they have just not yet come to terms with the fact that people can mean well and not expect anything in return. that people can care about them without any logic or reason behind it. when if they would only open their eyes they would see that there are people who would like to do nothing more than celebrate their oddities, their peculiarities, and their differences. the things that make them unique, the things that they would try to hide. there is good in everyone, some just hide it better than others.

in a conversation a friend told me that you can't just drop people out of your life, you can't just burn bridges, and you can't leave people behind so that you can become something greater. and we argued about this for a short while. but by the end of the conversation, after i had explained all of the circumstances and everything else was taken into account, this person looked me in the eyes and assured me that there was nothing else that i could possibly do. the sad thing was...i really didn't believe anything that i was saying, i was just saying it to make me feel better about what i was going to do. are people so eager to agree and fit in that their morals are thrown to the side? i wish i could say no.

i am not telling anyone the secrets of the universe. i am not some great thinker that tells people things that they would have never thought of. i just pay attention and make observations about the things that happen around me on a daily basis. i am not doing anything that most of you could not do. i'm just bored enough and have enough time to actually do it.

when the morning comes and this bliss ends none of the trivial problems that i worry myself with will be gone, the worries that burden my heart will still lay heavy on my being, and there will still be no way for me to do what i wish i could do. but if i can escape it for a few more hours, if i can keep it off of my mind for just a few seconds, then i will feel like i have accomplished something.

i have proven my abilities once again. and they wanted to know how i did what i did so easily, when they knew that they could not do the same even if they knew what i did. but it's really simple, you just have to look straight through people, past all of their fronts and all of the things that they want you to believe, straight through their eyes and into their soul. the body is just a shell to carry around the soul that is within it. once you learn to see through that shell and into the depths of a person's very being, then you will understand how i can do the things that i do.

my body betrays me. when people see me all they see is the shell. this big intimidating guy that seems to stand behind a clear wall of stone, untouchable. but if you only knew what is beyond the surface then you would see why this has all become so difficult for me.

it is better to say nothing when you mean everything than to say everything when you mean nothing.

is a person considered a success or a failure when they can have anything that anyone else in the world could ever want, but they cannot find the only thing that means more than the world to them?

if i could only open your eyes. enlighten your soul. so that you could see the things that i see. feel the things that i feel. then you would see that i am not the one whose thoughts are off target. but truth cannot be taught or learned. it can only be known by those that have found it on their own.

what i have done was no easy feat. it has troubled me greatly but i know that it was the right thing to do. not for myself, but for all concerned. and i now have happiness back in my grasp. i just have to tighten my clinch and pull it closer to my heart. because a person can cry until they drown in their own tears and no one will ever notice, and it will not make them feel better nor will it fix any of the problems. but once they take control of a situation and dispose of the cause of it then the changes themselves will make a world of difference.

i would say i love you more often, but it is often mistaken as a passinng sentiment. because most people do not truly understand what love is. but just as it would make no sense to give a painting to a blind person, or to play a song to those who could not hear it; it is just as senseless to give love to those who do not know how to feel it.

i almost feel as if i should apologize at my inability to show mercy to the ignorant, but i cannot convince myself that they deserve even that much.

sometimes i wonder what it is like to be one of those people that life just leaves behind. the ones that can't keep up. the ones that have gone as far as their potential can carry them. the ones that no amount of power or influence can push them any further. and then i smile, because i know that i will only ever wonder about this.

only fools declare that beauty is only skin deep. because beauty never truly begins until you get past the surface. to the very depths of a person's being. but it is kind of hypocritical for me to say this, because my standards are so high that they get mistaken for me being shallow all the time.

was it hope or the cause that was lost?

the world will never be short of actresses. pulling you into the story, stirring your emotions with their always interesting dialog, and making it so interesting that you can't look away for a single moment. and then one day you wake up and realize that it is not a play at all, it is your life.

i pray that one day that i find the one person that makes everything that's happened so far worth while. i pray that one day i will find love. that one day i will find the one that deserves everything that i want to give someone. one day...very far away. because right now i do not even want to entertain the idea. i'm so sick of love. sick of seeing it. sick of believing in it. sick of it evading me on every corner. so at this point in my life i would just like to say "******* love", i'm better off without you anyways.

all of our fates are the same. death is inevitable. but is a great person one that ignores their fate and enjoys life for what it is, or one that lives day by day evading their fate for as long as possible?

there are questions that we all have in life. and sometimes the answers that we find to those questions do not give us the results that we expected. but i would like to say that the answers that we find are never incorrect, but some of the questions that we try to answer are trick questions and should be thrown out.

never accept what anyone else declares as reality. the only person that you can truly trust in this world is yourself. people try to make this world into something that makes them happy. and as much as this may seem absurd, you should try it for yourself. happiness is nothing but a perception of circumstances. so either change your circumstances or change your perception and you will be the happiest person in the world.

the person that i thought i cared about the most. the one that i could have given the world to. the one that i thought i meant something to. the one that i thought could do no wrong. what foolish thoughts i think. and then i did something that hurt me more than i thought it would, but it hurt less that to keep the foolish thoughts going. to pretend that i didn't feel something that i did. sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is what they really want you to do, so you let them go. and in doing so i lost a dear friend, someone that i did not realize i would miss so much. but i know that i cannot and should not try to undo it now. because some people you just can't help but fall for. and there is nothing you can do for someone that does not want your help.

i am nothing. yet, i am everything. you mean nothing, yet you mean everything. hope is nothing, yet it is all that we have. love is nothing, yet it is all that we look for. it is the things that are intangible that mean the most, yet from the outside they seem so insignificant. so meaningless.

am i nothing but a beast? my soul longs to break free but my mind restrains it. i long for freedom yet my body restrains me. lacking these restraints i truly would be nothing but a beast. but sometimes i think that the beasts are better off than i, because they follow what they know they have to do without any kind of thought or restraint.

if i had the opportunity to apologize a million times i don't think i could bring myself to do it. even knowing that you deserve it. because i have deceived myslef into thinking that i was right. and i know no other way to escape what i know is sure to come when this catches up to me.

some things you do not realize until just before death. you don't realize how much everyone that is close to you means. how much everything you think is important isn't worth anything. that the only things that really matter are what you believe, the people you love, and happiness. so, if i can realize that much now, before death pays me too much attention, then i think that my life could be the way it was meant to be instead of what it has become.

she is everything that no one can understand. could i really be the only one? the only one that sees everything that she is, the beautiful person that she is. people are sick. they call something that is beautiful wrong, just because they do not understand it. they run from something and do not realize what it is that they are losing. i would give anything to be in his shoes, i would do anything to be able to take away her pain. i would cry her tears for her if it would make her happy. but this sounds like insanity. this world knows nothing of sacrifice unless they are sacrificing someone else so that they can get what they want.

breath in. sigh. relax. release. burdens weighing heavy. soul is a stone. pulling me deeper and deeper into the abyss. the heat is spreading. from my heart out to my fingertips. circulating. it burns. all is numb. the fire of my heart and cold of my soul have nullified each other. a void is created. to erase the memories. to forget the pain. the sorrow. the loneliness. and then i am happy. because i can't remember you. because i forget me. everything fades away. meditation is bliss.

sometimes these rhymes are contrived because of lust for the ones i despise. why would someone be so attracted to the things that leave them so distracted? but the melody plays on and i know that nothing could be wrong because your singing all the words to my song. and your singing voice is so beautiful. or is it the tone and the words behind it?

integrate corruption into perfection because of a lack of reason not to. why not just leave it as it was before it was what you wanted it to be? you draw my curiosity. like a disaster. i know it's horrible but i just can't look away.

Though i can't hear her coming i know she's on her way
though she never stays for long i love her while she stays,
no one can be quite like her as hard as they should try
and when she offers herself to me i never can deny.
She creeps in from outside to hold me while i sleep
and never will she whisper the secrets that we keep,
though many fools dislike her, i'll keep her as my friend
and fall fast asleep with Silence in my arms again.


let the cold winds blow the silence away
let the rain drops fall and accumulate,
let the sun subside beneath the horizon line
Lavina Akari Aug 2015
do not be seduced by those with a reputation of a heartbreaker

do not allow them to strum on your heartstrings
because you are not someone's instrument.
do not misinterpret their charms as care or love for you

do not allow them to throw beautiful words down your throat at night
because you will wake up in the morning choking on them
and they will be nowhere to be found.
how can you call for help if you can't breathe?
Samuel Lombardo Oct 2014
Mr. Hermit usually is not
on the same page as me;
in fact, he is always
misunderstanding me, causing
grudges and attitudes
that are not at all
relevant
to me.

Yet,
as he writes
he has much to say
about very little reasoning.
I can only imagine, what judgment
has to say about the transcendental spirits.

Yeah, Mr. Hermit is going off a tangent with no where else
to turn, and Judgment seems to seek you out, as long as
the High Priestess does not trump you out
of the card game, my guess is that
Mr. Hermit can only depend
on the Lovers to make
a point in life
readily
for
me.

Does
this interpret
your cause for the life
lessons on love, for which transcends
from the Heavenly afloat of salvation that
missing the main point in your life:
Why Do You Misinterpret Me?
Can it be that you never
knew me until
you placed me
in the
box?
#Love #TranscendentalLove #Misunderstanding #Corrupt #SweetnFire #HermitnHer #Alone #Spirit #Death #Soul #Angels #Destiny #Legacy #Hope #Healing
Joshua Haines Jul 2014
Dear Talia,

I don't want to be a tortured artist.
I don't want to be depressed and I don't want to be anxious.
Competitive sadness and disorders treated like accessories disgust me.

The world glamorizes mental illness, and I don't understand why. There is nothing romantic about being mentally ill just like how there's nothing glamorous about a broken wrist or a torn medial collateral ligament. There's nothing romantic about constantly being afraid that the world will fold in itself and **** you with it. There's nothing romantic about feeling like you could break down and cry at any moment.

This is the first piece I've written while being medicated.

I want it to be Christmas already.

The world dreams itself a halo, but can only attain horns. The halo is an illusion and the horns are an idea.

I'm due to take another Lorazepam. Would I look cool to the kids who idolize dysfunction and misinterpret pain as style, if I were to take one of these, with water and a distant glance, in front of them? Geez, to have their approval would to have everything and nothing at all.

I'm not sure why I've written as much about this as I have.

You.

It is 2:48 am and all I can think about, in this moment, is you.

I can't wait to spend Christmas with you. I can't wait to wear bad Christmas sweaters, and be the couple everyone hates, as we sing Christmas carols and spread holiday cheer.

I wrote this poem a few minutes ago. Sometime around 2:30 am. I'm not sure. I'm exhausted:

I sat on the edge of my bed, and on the edge of my life,
medicated to the point of pointlessness. Soft.
It was the nineteenth, not the twentieth,
and I wished I saw the fireworks with her fifteen days earlier.

My gasps tore the shingles off of the house.
And they hung suspended above the hole in the roof.
And God stared down into my room, as the shingles swirled skyward.
"I see you," I said, "but I don't believe in you."

I left home and ran until I was a dream that had passed itself.


I hope that was okay.

I love you.


Yours,

Joshua Haines
Night Owl Mar 2010
Ballerina stance leaner
porcelain poised demeanor
lined up for a chance at that old 500 gram repeater.
Yeah, a little firecracker,
a little fire eater.
Twiggy figure, ****** fire dome where her little wires teeter.
Excellent muse material
my ***** optics viewed ethereal
Beauty, and she knew it.
Arrogance.
Noted, duly.
Pittsburgh's resident fire ant, with a grace to match her face
And a whole crew of troglodytes racing to get a taste
So thanks Angela Chase;
I prefer the fantasy too.
And thanks to you my chickens won't be sleeping easy in their coup.
Loop Jabberwocky with Calligraphy
and dabbled in polygamy. purpose:
****** cyst bubbles to the surface.
Misinterpret the tongue touching and hand clutching,
you were baby girlie thumb-*******
But thought more than twice about it when it came to dumb-*******.
Pretty face: check
Depression: not yet
Appreciating phonemes, but still a nervous wreck
false carrot tops to bed, awkward with the ***** work.
Near waif redhead. Pittsburgh Boys. the city lurks
It's been a minute since the girl scouts got at me, I bought it.
Hop in the DeLorean tell Lauren that I'm off it.
These are the lyrics to a hip hop song I'm currently working hence the rhyme scheme. I posted a draft of it previously but I have now updated it with the final poem.
Andres Martinez Jul 2018
Let's talk about the things we normally wouldnt
And let's act upon those thoughts that we probably shouldn't
If I had it my way..well actually I couldn't
I'd rather not
I'm afraid things might not work
And  the thought of possibly ruining another good thing
I guess it might be worth it
But are the signs there or do I just misinterpret
maybe a silver toungued devil but never a serpent
feel free to run around the grass
it's been well kept
Remember that feeling because when you get back to your side it might feel dead
just want to show you the finer things nothing big
nothing fancy
no designer mink
just a simple talk
A laugh
Not even a drink
Drunk words speak sober thoughts
might spill things well that I rather not.
Luna Elora Dec 2014
Please don't misinterpret what I have to say
But you're a killer.
What I mean is- You've killed me.
Though I may walk, talk,and breathe
I do not smile. I do not laugh. I cry.
Baby, let's not lie. I'm not alive.
You've murdered my soul
Slaughtered my emotions
And left only grief.
Which hangs above my head like a storm cloud
Waiting to rain on my parade every day.
And you're the cause.
I hate you


You've made me smile. You've made me laugh. Then you took it all away.
I hate your guts

He no longer dances with pride. She wallows and sobs all night and day.


Her heart no longer beats.

He no longer cares.
burned up Nov 2014
I misinterpret the little things you do
because I want so badly to believe
that you feel the same way that I do
So I magnify every tiny detail,
every act of kindness
to be an act of love
or longing
because that's what I feel
So every smile you send my way
every time you ask me to lunch with a group of friends
every goodbye hug
means so much to me
but is probably pointless to you

I misinterpret the little things you do
because I've never been in love
I don't know what it's like
to care for someone
and have them care for you
but I think
maybe I could be in love with you
So every brush of your arm
every hand you give to help me up
makes me sink deeper into longing
but is probably pointless to you

I misinterpret the little things you do
because my ego is simultaneously so inflated
and so small
I can't decide if what I'm thinking
is how you actually feel
or my feelings
reflected onto you
Each shared laugh
each fleeting glance
Is so confusing
I turn in circles trying to figure out what's right,
what's really going on in your head
And nothing has ever been
so meaningful to me
but I know
it's probably pointless to you
Nigel Obiya Oct 2010
Behind every jest
There's a truth
Behind every truth
There's a real rapper spitting it in the booth
Behind that
There's an inspired heart
Probably edged on by experiences, lessons, frustrations and hurt
Before this
He was concieved.... then born
This also was preceeded by him being dirt
According to religion, he is God's creation
He views himself as His "greatest" creation
With the ability to school a whole nation
Blessed enough to be down to earth
Enough to know his worth
His place, his role in all of this
So he has cut down on certain things... yes, even cannabis
He didn't say "quit"... don't misinterpret
And this is my verse in
I've been referring to myself in the third person.
BiZZiLL da' WORDSMITH>
Rhianecdote Jan 2015
Spotted you from that afro hair as I waited for you at the bottom of the stairs thinking we'd have a good chill today cause you avoided me yesterday but from the look on your face, that staring into space I knew what was coming, even thought about making a joke about it as we shuffled our way to the park, but this was no game, no pack of cards, hands in your pocket waiting to sit on this bench.

" I don't feel like I'm in a Relationship"
Took the words right out of my mouth so there was no need for me to speak, even in the silence my heart beat weak, till it was broken by this guy sat next to us acting commentator and referee, giving name to these strangers as they played a basketball match behind you and me. You took note and stared up, half laughed and smiled at me and I did too cause it was funny. A moment back to being care free, when we were at our best, making jokes and being silly. Return to silence pulled us from the reverie as you averted eyes again, thinking this wasn't a time for jokes but seriously I wish we were waiting to play in that match instead of sitting on this bench about to become unattached.

This too was a no contact sport , me on one side you on the other as we wrestled with what to say to each other. Eye contact replaced with sigh contact as you fought your thoughts that longed to form words out of fear you couldn't retract or take them back once spoken.

But I needed to know! So you see those hench guys playing basketball? I'd get them to come pin you down until you told me, thump you as you dump me, threats empty. But in the end you told me
" I still don't know If this is the right thing to, I don't wanna confuse you"
But it was too late for that. It could be so frustrating, indecision was your play thing, used to be endearing now you choose to be decisive end nearing.
"You're amazing" a statement that just added to the labyrinth as I realised this was inescapable I would have ran away if I was able, but I remained stable.
"Don't feel you have to spare my feelings" And I really meant it, but i also knew without hesitation you always would. Said you wished you'd met me later, funny thing time. When we met you said you'd wish you'd met me sooner but better late than never. On my birthday said my 22 years had led us to this cross roads together, but now we cross paths like we never met,  some days I wonder if we ever did.

Even though a big part of me was breaking inside, it's sad that even now I don't know if it was heart or pride as I stayed sitting by your side. Swore I could see the ghosts of us walking past the park, Sat there and zoned out recalling the first day we walked this way in the dark. You'd stayed late after college with my friends and me. Remember feeling happy that you got on with them so effortlessly, each of you teasing me. Think you stayed just to see me. Stole your hat and ran down this street, gave it to my friend to hide, had a mini water fight, got to the station and gave you a hug that I didn't think would end when we said goodbye; but not this time.

Delayed the walk away because I knew it would be the last time we'd freeze time and see each other; said this aloud ,asked if there was somebody else cause that's what all girls do right?  Stared me straight in the eye and said
"There's nobody. Are you asking cause everyone asks that?"
"No, I asked for me" said somewhat aggressively the most honest I'd been with you for weeks. Shook your head and looked down despairingly "I made you think there were other girls, I can't believe..."

I don't know if they were tears forming in your eyes or why they were there, I only ever thought I saw you cry once, heard the sobs in your bathroom and when you came out I didn't know how to comfort you just like now, said this out loud. Cause there were no tears to be found in my eyes, not yet anyway, cut off by pride. But as I got up and walked away, half hoping for that cliche "come back I've made a mistake!"
These eyes gave way to sobs I wish you'd seen so you would know that I wasn't cold or mean , that this had meant something to me beyond words...

There was a time yours meant a lot to me, but now they run over and over in my mind on repeat, haunting me. like a hit and run driver, tax disk empty. Is that what all those deep words filling up my glass were? Empty. Cruel how words last centuries.

We used to speak a lot, everyday. I wish I could say it was my receptions fault, look into the air and blame sky and satellites that I couldn't lay in bed and wish you goodnight but that's a lie. Truth is we'd drifted and I don't know if any form of communication could have fixed it.

Cause that girl you told me you think you should stop speaking to well you never did, saw her photo pop up on your messages, though I wasn't looking for it. The day I came to ask you if you were happy in this relationship. Do you know how hard that was for me? Potentially putting us in jeopardy by getting too deep. Held my hand as you ran through all possibility such was your constant diplomacy as reassurance was steadily being replaced with insecurity. But I guess jealous is what jealous sees...green. With all that constant unease this Gut couldnt be interrupted, cause I knew that this was coming for weeks. But I guess jealous is what jealous did...nothing. Brushed it under the carpet, until it took me apart bit by bit, left a bitter taste in my mouth that's why I spit.

Like that day i made a joke about faking it relentlessly tore into you till you saw right through it, said it didn't sound like a joke any more and if that's how I was gonna be you didn't wanna see me
"cause that's stress"
"do you think I'm stress?"
" not usually"
That really got to me. That made me angry that you had the cheek to say that to me, when all I wanted to do was see you that week. Cause we didn't speak like we used to, message you one day be lucky to get a reply in the next two, you know by the end I didn't even feel that I could ring you. Such was my complex about being clingy, exasperated by your distance and that gutsy unease but mainly because I'd replaced honesty with words spoken passive aggressively, turned into that girl I never wanted to be.

But it stemmed from care. I didn't think you could handle it without care. Remember how I used to trace lines across your back and brush your hair?  I didn't wanna upset you, so instead I upset me kept it inside until it did seep out, cause I didn't trust you and you could see I wasn't happy. Even now it cuts me deep to think you might have lied to me. But don't think that I don't see it stemmed from care. I don't think you thought I could handle it without care. Remember how you used to hold me in your arms and stroke my hair? Cause I do. That's what makes it hard to accept that that something was no longer there. Missing in action, loving look replaced with a blank stare. And now I'm left to fill in the spaces.

Did our relationship remind you of another? Make you miss somebody else? Did it not live up to your ideals? Got you caught up in a moment and then you couldn't back track cause you felt trapped by the kinda girl I am, the one that's down for you, the one that was down so now finds it hard to get back up.
"I love your company"
I think I made you happy briefly but now I wonder why you were with me? For comfort, a rebound, a *** thing? I don't know if the attraction was just distraction or the real thing. Was it cause you were lonely, escapism "a moment of imperturbability" when you caught a glimpse of me sleeping? Cause I didn't know what you wanted, and neither did you but it turned out to be that it wasn't me.

And that's why breaking up was the right thing to do. I wasn't ready either. You know I started getting paranoid about things that never used to bother me, like how I didn't have that black gyal *****. And slowly about other girls as I wondered if they were part of an ego trip, or the next best thing, thought about how we first got talking, how we were getting close and I wasn't aware you was with someone till you were having problems. Was you now having the same conversation about me with someone ?

I just think of all those conversations about our end and all the dodgy moments where it seemed you didn't want it to be known we were together, almost play pretend
"didn't know you were doing a thing?!"
"ahh its just a fling"
Those sly digs at me that I stopped finding  funny and started taking personally cause they sounded more like truths than jokes to me. Pushing me away indirectly but deliberately, your arm not resting on me when we last watched a movie, calling me by my first name instead of "***" All indications that we were done. All indications so I feel dumb. All those alarm bells, those preparations back to "friend" marking our end. But in the end all of that is just part of the bigger pic as you got to know me better than most and ended it, preferred me as a stranger so estranged is where I sit. Bench Warmer the perfect fit. Was I bench warmer till you found your perfect fit?

But maybe I don't give you enough credit, maybe in upset I misinterpret a lot of it. I don't know and though it kills me to say it I think we both liked the idea of a relationship but in the end our actuality stopped living up to it. But the promise we held in some of the moments we shared are hard to forget.

Late night gallavants, me backing out of pranks, singing in the street, you attempting to teach me how to cook and eat healthily, making first date brownies, chin ups in the car park, quoting me back word for word on something I'd said, it showed you listened, you could be so sweet and considerate, watching all those movies, the deep conversations, you looking after me when I was sick, snuggling up to you, biting your lip, taking your dog for a walk, that cute face he'd pull so we'd fuss over him, (I swear I love that dog) all the playfighting, me showing off and falling in a water fountain, all the banter and laughing, stealing a Boris bike and riding through the city streets at night I swear a lot of those were the best days of my life.

What was to follow, not so much.
You know when we ended I found myself in a counsellors room again, cause I never really did well with ends. It's why ellipsis is my favourite punctuation mark, I remember when you used to say
"I see through those dots"
Well I hope I do and this doesn't hold up indefinitely, now I actually hope for an ending, ironically.

Last thing I said to you was sorry an unwritten apology in a hug. Ask me why I did it I shrug. Cause I'm not sure what I was apologising for in that moment. I was a bit tipsy, at our friends get together when I shouldn't be , had only been a few weeks since our bench press talk but surely Someone who cared woulda made sure that I got back alright, but you didn't that night. I suppose I had just told you that I didn't want any contact with you and I needed space. Maybe you didn't feel it was your place. Maybe the message I sent to our mutual friend got through , you saw it and you didnt feel you needed too. See how I still explain things away for you? Like when you never came to my friends BBQ, left me alone in a group of couples asking after you. And a lot of the times after I have these thoughts about you I feel guilty, cause they don't match up with the person I see you to be, hence my apology.

I'm sorry if my sense of humour proved too crude for you at times , how I'd misjudge it and get too loud in a crowd, calling you a ***** in front of your boys for not asking me out. Telling people about us, not gaining your trust, losing my innocence to you too soon smothering our spark in lust. Sorry for how I'd stay in silence when I wanted to shout, stopped giving you an open account of how i was feeling so you couldn't figure me out. For not having the strength to remain your friend, nor the courage to bring the end to us sooner, for catching you unaware at this shindig now. Sorry I didn't live up to your first love or help heal your heartbreak and that I couldn't be that happy girl you first met at lunch break all the time, the insecurity that constantly chimed. That I proved too much for you.
Not accepting that you wasn't feelin it sooner and that you felt trapped.
I'm sorry that I couldn't be there for you like I wanted to and now I'm jealous that somebody else is the one to look after you.
That I didn't show the qualities that meant that you would let me in, joking I was a lesbian. Sorry I expected too much, you were young just turned 19, sorry if that sounds patronising. I'm sorry if you're ever feeling alone or down, if you felt I didn't understand. But most of all I'm sorry that I compromised my honesty, honestly for that I'm truly sorry.

And as I'm being honest I might as well say the 4th of May was our anniversary when I said I wouldn't remember I lied. Just like on that day when I said we'll just see how it goes, I lied. Of course I hoped it'd go steady, but in the end you were just a Boy on a bench I walked away from cause he wasn't ready...
you were just a Boy on a bench I walked away from cause he couldn't love me.

But in truth you weren't just a Boy on a bench at all.
**You were my best friend.
Dang! It's a long one, in the words of my year 7 English teacher Mr Winter's " I didn't ask for your life story!" Well I guess this is sorta. If this seems all over the place it's because it is. Its been an ever evolving piece in my search for peace over the past few months since my first break up. It's proven to be quite cathartic to be honest.
There's many story's of us depending on the day and this serves to include them all. Truth is in my search for understanding and acceptance many emotions have been felt. And I've come to realise that the pair aren't mutually exclusive.
Andrew T Hannah Jun 2013
It is painful perhaps to be awakened from a vision as to be born and by my body's action teach my mind the pain of being alive. Also because all creation is simpler than what some philosopher thinks. Descartes looks more outré than the painted wizard. Curse the dark hour that gave me birth. Never to have lived is best. I am alive only by accident. I alone awake at dawn. The gods have invented a terrible torture for us. I have suffered to have a soul still not yet pure enough. I'd give up years, yes, years of my own life for such. Everyone's life is the same life, if you live long enough. But better to die than live a mechanical life that is a repetition of a repetition. It is life inside life inside itself. When clocks and mirrors are reversed to show ourselves as only we could ever know.
      If man is born so soon, if life is so brief like some sleep I feared I'd never wake from. We have so little time on earth that anyone does not ever make anything better. The same or less ambition only makes the ambitious greater. There is not time enough on earth for all I'd like to do. How strange it seems, with so much gone of life and love, to still live on! Where is the life we  have lost in living? It takes life to love life. I and this love are one. It is death, which our flesh dreads, is the very death of every night, which we call sleep. My eyes, with the weight of death heavy upon them. For the death of beauty is beauty. Inspiration comes from living the death. It is not easy to die, oh, it is not easy to die the death. I do think brave death outweighs a troubled life. To return to the celestial sphere where everyone goes. When all flesh had peace, and the efreet offers a brilliant void where our mind could be perfectly clear and all our limitations destroyed. The obsolete, epic scale. In death I believe I shall be as the flowers have been. We are like family who see each other only at funerals. The wax and honey of a mausoleum – the round dome is proof its maker is alive. O death, I cover you over with roses and lilies so that I may carry earned riches beyond death like the Egyptians.
      Follow me with gilded shadows to my secret room where I read each poem entire. The poems you would have written had your life been good. I could have said more than I could ever have written in poems. Perfection, of a kind, was what I was after, and the poetry I invented was easy to experience. Experience is what you do not want to experience. All poetry is difficult to read but easy to misinterpret. The mysterious composition of poetry. No man has dared to write these words yet, but I do know, how the souls of all great men at times pass through us and our blood is mixed with their blood.
      Some of you have written poems, usually short ones, and some kept diaries, seldom published til after death, but most make no memorable impact except on your closest friends and pets. The black young cat jumped onto my lap as I write. I have suffered the total isolation of the ***. I write for those who cannot write. We need not write the books men read to be poets. The flame in which I write burns in the dark alone. So for ten more verses I keep the light on. So much to be done before tomorrow. Let us be more productive like the gnomes. One drop of oil burning, to light up seven days of writing. Save me from damnation! The profession of writing where one needs one's brains all the time. I hate my verses, every line, every word, oh pale and frail pencil I did try. Must I persist in my errors. Words have no value for words that are not true. Truth shall grow great eclipsing other truths. But now all these heavy books, are no use to me anymore, for where I go words carry no weight. I am ready to swear never to write another word, away from books, away from art. Words were but wasted breath. The art of novel writing is dead. I know that you will pay the price of authorship and make the allowances an author has to do. To know in words that which we have always known in thought. Better than most mortal flower, yours are the poems I do not write. We who move every man at a deeper level than Mozart.
      We read the Bible for its prose. Shall heaven so soon be the prize we obtain? How far is it to heaven? Since Heaven and He are one. In the sun that is young once only. Death comes but once. There is no other life, only one. Once is never the beginning of enough, is it? I do not pretend to know the reason anymore than it is. Oh, pity the dead that are dead. Who cannot take the longest journey. Who moan and weep against the huge adamant walls of life's exclusive city. A man like Houdini escaped death through his immortality. A shadowy durability for which we were not meant to live. A covenant of swords without the word. No doctor ever does the work of the carpenter if our nerve and ideologies die first.
      A dream has power to poison sleep. I dream of a duel between myself and old masters. The underground road are, as the dead prefer them, always dark and lonely. This is the sort of tableau of my doom. The death of the poet piqued the interests of his peers. It was then that he became what he admired. And from death he won the fame he would be known for. O the bullet can never **** the soul. O downpour of rain! O sad anthem, when will you end? This is the flesh we are but never to believe. The flesh that dies but in death we pity. Without me Adam would have fallen with Lucifer in his grand city, he would never have been able to cry, “O Felix Culpa.” And whoever walks a mile full of false sentiment, walks to the funeral of the whole human race. Was that why Macbeth murdered sleep? How O how could the scorpion sting itself to death!
      Awaken the leviathan of the heavy mind. What is death? A life disintegrating into smaller simpler ones. But in total emptiness, the sure extinction that we travel to shall one day be lost to us. Not here, not there, not anywhere, and soon nothing more terrible, nothing more true. I floated with the whole human family, those who are living, those who have died, and those who are not yet born. We passed into the chamber of the sleeper. We, who have died beyond the clock. Slowly the silence of the multitudes passed. Every artist must die when they sleep and sleep when they rise to face the living. Such, is the dream; you do not sleep, you only dream of your thirst for sleep. May you in your troubles not be ashamed of any suffering as ****** as it maybe, nor hear them like a hero in the grandest way.
      Let us hear poets recite their poems and tragedies to crowds of listeners. We, poets, thanks to a tongue deprived of so many inflexions, can very easily turn nouns, if we wish, into verbs. Those who say in verse what others say in prose. Because in dying is a drama. There is no quiet drama. As quiet and chaste as a poet's own life. It is the dead who need no moon to dream by. Death, in the dark, in the deep, in the dream, forever.
Mike Fashé Mar 2013
The alabaster beauty
Covered in dark ink
Around the white sky
Two beautiful brown spheres
Decorated with two streams
Of a blushed river
That spoke about life, knowledge, and the unknown
Curiosity for adventure
The path of duality
    Of a reality
That seems to bring peace to the mind,
But an ocean of emotions
Hard to find clarity within the heart
It’s that graceful stare
The has me falsely asleep
From the lovely music of the harp
To every pain that felt so sharp
My days were discarded
Every creature passed by me
I refused to give attention
Because I was taken
Into another word that lingered me to stay longer
As I was inebriated by blue drinks
And that gorgeous smell of hypnotic fragrances
That heavily seduced me for my loyalty
And my devotion to make sure you felt like royalty
It was worth every
Born child that rose
Young from the early sky
And died an old man to say goodbye
From the ashes
To return as another child to repeat the cycle  
Watched from the heavens
By the arch angel Michael  
  At first sight
Your grimly desire for destruction
Worried me, but somehow interest me
It was during a time of transitioning
That I needed another soul to not feel alone
I guess you can say certain things come in certain disguises
Never misinterpret a gift from divine
Always ask wisely
Always be kind and never take things for granted
Truly a gift
Of love and pain
Truly a privilege to have known and cared for
Truly worth feeling pain
With someone worth being lost in the rain of the final days of life
This crimson stone is rooted from the dirt of a sorrow mind
That needs to be free
To enjoy passion with one who is not a soul
To have hand by hand
To feel love and pain again
To serenade during the lovely full moon
To be side by side during the hour of the sun
I wish things could have gone differently
Actually have a night with you
To explore the cosmos of our mind
And find the true Eden that lies through our eyes
Life feels like a decaying painting
That’s slowly fading away every century
Waiting to be discovered again
To have color and meaning again
You were truly the first, but never the last
To my final words of this chapter,
Blossom for love be a day
As the passion sails away
Thus a story of forbidden love
Exotic colors turned gray…
Beloved, truly a life gift
Sadly, our eyes will soon shift
What was it that drawn us together?
Was it the dreams?
Truly had me floating away like feathers
The portrait that played the lovely cello
Across the forest
Mislead for a land that is sorrow
I will love you again
In a different land of dreams
To have you day & night
Until I die tomorrow
For now, I must forget your name…
It will never be the same
I hope you reads this one day. I wonder if you're thinking of me during the night as I think of you
How often it is to fall in love
With someone who hurts you
It's easy to say, just leave them
It will hurt less I assure you
They say nice guys finish last
And girls fall for bad boys
What happens when you fall in love
With someone you couldn't avoid?
When friendship is what led you
To a love that runs too deep
Enough to confuse your heart
And give you the inability to sleep
When you fall for the nice guy
Don't misinterpret his words
He won't lie or mistreat you
And that is why it hurts
His kind actions will displease you
His kind words will give you hope
His kindness is what you love and hate
He makes it harder for you to cope
When he breaks your heart with hugs
When he stabs it with kind gestures
When you cannot leave or it will hurt him
And the last thing you want, is his discomfort
There comes a point when being with him
Is like a slow suffocating suicide
A reverse abusive relationship
One too difficult to leave behind
Megan H Jul 2014
"You don't look like you write poetry.."
Well, why not?
Is it because I am an athlete?
Is it because you misinterpret my personality?
Is it so hard to believe,
I can put my thoughts down
In a way I feel better?
Tell me,
Tell me please.
What does a poet look like?
Do all of them look the same?
Act the same?
Messy hair and beanies.
Scarves and hot tea.
Hipsters.
Suicidal or lovestruck.
Black or white.
The "artsy" types.
Typical stereotypical ideas of poets.
But we are not the same.
We are all different,
Except for one thing,
We all understand each other.
So please never judge me again,
Just because you don't understand
Our world.
Don't assume things about others. You may be surprised.
Claudia Lewis May 2013
A fire ignites
Inside my very ******* self

Pain unjulates
From each nucleus
Of every single living cell
Out through my tattered bones,
To my skin
That burns to the touch

My sinews
Feel severed
The pressure from each step
Shoots electricity up through my spine
The release of each step
Throbs with each heartbeat
I can feel my blood
Rush through my veins
And even that
Steals my breath

My tread
Breaks tempo
With a limp
I drag my throbbing feet
Weighted by exhaustion
And hours of constant
Vibrating hurt

The doctors say it's in the neurons
Of my brain.
They misinterpret
Touch as pain

So I live in constant
Chaos
Wondering if there will ever be a day
Where my cells will silence
And I will find some relief
Ok this is just word ***** for now
She Writes Jun 2018
Do not misinterpret my silence
As an absence of fortitude
I choose to raise my pen
Instead of my voice
Your spoken words
Will fade with time
My words will remain
Ink stained imprints on your mind
Long after I’m forgotten
Äŧül Nov 2016
When it was all so true,
I felt so new and so did you,
Why did you quit then?

At a time when I loved you,
Even you used to love me,
Why did you get lost then?

My track record was loyal,
Not once did I cheat you,
Why did you cheat me then?

When you needed me,
I was not much far,
Why did you consider me incapable then?

At the beginning of your youth,
Very cute you were,
Why did you start putting makeup then?

My requirement was not beauty,
Not a shallow person am I,
Why did you misinterpret me then?

All I had was love & faithfulness,
You should have given me both or either,
Why then should I feel so cheated?
HP Poem #1235
©Atul Kaushal
Annelyra Feb 2012
Today, I lost my words.

Words, having been my eternal playmate
(until now)
deserted me, and fled,
unexpectedly.

At first I thought I was
broken,
beyond repair,
so my widened eyes gained
a filmy hot layer
of liquid pain.

Then, I realised,
as the heat from my eyes
met a layer of ice,
that I wasn't deserted at all.

My words were just frozen
into barbarous icicles, with
dangerous ends,
that I could snap off and
hurl fatally at you
if I wanted to.

Don't misinterpret my silence
as weakness
if you push me to the point
where I say nothing more.

This is power beyond
what you can comprehend;
I could shatter your soul
with antarctic spears
(if I wanted to),
but choose not to
become the Judas to my Jesus,
*for something as little as you.
For a friend.
Tori Jurdanus Apr 2012
A mocking bird is a creature that mimics the sounds that its surroundings want to hear.
And you never did stop singing.
Every word that came out of my mouth reminded you of a song
And when you'd sing to me, everything would feel alright.
You became the soundtrack to my life.
You were the melody I  couldn't get off my mind and
We were the Love Story even Taylor Swift couldn't write.

We were like Bonnie and Clyde.
We lived by our own rules like partners in crime.

We had our own world.
Our own language.
Our own customes that nobody really understood
But we didn't give a flying **** 'cause we,
were sitting in the stars,

Like, on Pandora,
Only this little planet of ours
Took 167 months less to make.

I  hate how you still bring up those old traditions because now,
They only come under certain conditions.

Like, you used to kiss my palms to give me something to hold onto
But now,
They only come when you find yourself ashamed of the scares and the scars that you gave to me.
Only to turn the tables on me and act like I pressed self-inflicted wounds to your lips
And made you taste it.

That's all you.
So, don't go looking at me like I'm poison running through your veins.
Not when I remember a time when I was your fix.
You needed me.
You put that needle to your own arm, baby.

No relapse for us.
I went to rehab to get that song off my brain.
And I don't need your painkillers replacing me in your bloodstream,
Headed for what's left of your heart.

But all that strain is gonna tear the muscle tissue there apart, you know.

And all that numbness still won't explain why I thank you, though.

'Cause I didn't know how deep I could feel until you filled me
With a sea of my own tears.
I didn't know I could come so close to death
And feel that rush between each breath.
And I'm gonna use that gush of air to sing sonnets like a prayer to a God I don't believe in,
In hopes she won't see the playground bully
I see in you.

You switch sides like a game
Of Red Rover.
And when you sing, you change everything on me.
Tell me, how am I supposed to keep up?

How am I supposed to keep my chin up when you tell me to look down?
'Cause I know tomorrow,
You'll be coming around thinking it's okay
To be my best friend.

And still,
In a couple hours,
You'll be listening to our song again.

You don't need to say you still love me.
I can hear it as you purposely misinterpret the words that used to sound so lovely.

But if I'm wrong,
Explain how our song meant nothing.
Our words? Meant nothing.
Our dance? Meant nothing.
That our world meant nothing to you.

Tell me you didn't feel,
Something.

You were a melody I couldn't forget.
But now?
I regret ever learning the tune.

And I hear you singing louder than ever,
To remind me that you're fine. Well,
That's all fine and dandy.
But who told you I was prepared
For a love song
Turned tradgedy?

I'll admit it.
You got me.
I believed every word, but
You never kept a single promise to me,
Mocking Bird.
Second try at a written down piece of Spoken Word...
lina S Dec 2016
I have nothing but stories to tell
My thoughts to misspell
Misinterpret this feeling
This crave that I'm needing

Fill this space that I'm keeping
All to myself I live my life
All to myself I live my life

Living life on the edge
That's what the party manic said
Make it rain till you're dead
That's what the crazy manic said

When it's all done and did
Will u be happy with what u did
I got nothing but stories
All my life is a story
Writing out my story
Living life like a story
Help me write this story
Stop saying you're sorry
And help me out not you're laury

**** if I knew how not to worry
I'd take it down with no chase
Make this space a haze
Travel through my thought
Like I'm riding a jeep through an earth quake
Let all hang loose
Man do I need this *****

I live with myself with this space
I have no one to trust in and replace
The space is all for me
Me myself and this space

Tell me all your stories
Tell me all your stories
Tell me all your stories
Fiilll me up with your story
And don't tell me you're sorry
I have nothing but me myself and this space
I trust no one to replace
Me myself and this space
I love no one to replace
Me myself and this space
Sarah Michelle Mar 2016
After what feels like
a plethora of years
I've fallen in a hole
that may be love, but I'm not really sure about it
because once in a while
after a plethora of days
or hours
I am pulled apart by emotion.

No, not emotion--
the repercussions
thereof

The repercussions,
the repercussions of those repercussions,
and the repercussions of those--
A plethora of consequences

Have you ever been so stressed out
that you actually vomited?
Me... neither?
Instead I sway
from side-to-side
like a swing pushed
in the wrong direction
and as the sky turns
I make corrections
only hoping my wisdom is
"grammatically",
structurally sound--
unlike a skyscraper
pushed in the wrong direction--
As my eyes begin to burn
I wish the sky
would just stay dark
and that morning would never come
so I wouldn't have to meet
my daily migraine
nor the time of day
when I have to stop
wait
listen
learn
work
negotiate, speak, drum, impress,
produce, create, multiply
add and subtract
all in one sitting
all in one hour
every **** hour

Nor the time of day

when I start

to think

about

you.

That's when my mind
finds my heart.

They don't speak--
They just listen to one another
smiling sweet as Tupelo honey
I can almost imagine it
through the blood rushing
in my ears when I close them--
But it just feels
like a fist fight in my chest,
and the rage of it burns in my throat
and the spectators cheer them on
which resonates in my hands
which are then unable to write
which is a sad fact
that keeps my eyes from shutting at night,
at least not as soon as I want them to--

You don't have to tell me I'm crazy--

It screams at the back of my head when
you stare at me like that
thinking a plethora of
things that I can't keep in
a jar so that I can spread it
on my toast in the morning--
Saying a plethora
of things I misinterpret
to silence this
plethora of thoughts
that fall from my eyes
without ever reaching the ground
and the plethora
of grass-roots
who wouldn't know how to drink them
if they did
The plethora of times
I passed opportunities
without saying a word,
disguised them as reasons
not to say a plethora of phrases
in reply--
The plethora of plethoras
that communicate through an alphabet
of more than twenty-six letters
so that, in the middle of the night--
when I don't know what to dream about
and therefore must think instead--
it can irritate me
in more words than belong
in a dictionary.

But sometimes there's just one word
and the word that haunts me tonight is:

Plethora...
Plethora...
Plethora...
That's the flat sound of Pl-,
a soft, tender eth-
and the gasp of an -a
Plethora--
Plethora--
A hundred things yet to be said
Plethora--
So many crises
so much time
Plethora--
Not quite enough to make you mine
Plethora--
Plethora--
Plethora--

Plethora...


Ple­thora...




Plethora...




Plethora...







*Plethora...­
Probably the longest poem I've ever written, and the first good one in a while. About that special someone--we both wish I would open up to him.
My one and only precious stone,
You glitter to show me
Which path to take when
I come to a crossroad,

My better companion
With best ideas,
You are priceless,
Yes, I am speechless,

I cherish your worth and
Committed to your camp
Of love to anyone that behold,
For some will not understand,

Some will misinterpret it,
Some will be confuse,
You are priceless,
Yes, I am speechless,

I thank Tweaduampon
For giving you to me,
And thank you for being
My reliable true friend,

For a friend of your kind,
Every day comes with new love
You are priceless,
In fact, I am speechless.

© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com
Moments Before Jul 2018
They love the metal
More than the laughter
Blue fades from the sky
Red lifelines run high
Holding on to white bars
Gun spirits won't die
Bloodstains on a field of stars
Tears roll from my eyes
They love the powder
The smell of smokes curl
Mom's love their children
Reading that last text from their
Baby girl "don't cry"
They love the
'Click
The status and valor
Dad loved his son to death
And buried him next to grandma
They love the power
Full action
Machine God-given Sputter
Reporters console the grieving families
One after another
They love the Second Amendment
Closer than marriage
On a scroll that they worship
Rebrand and misinterpret
Some sad excuse nationalists
They think they are a patriots
Blue red and white
Sister lost her closest friend
To America's discharge
Guns for the fight
Against the innocent
We have lost the will
We have hit rock bottom
Brother dear brother
Stars fall from the half flags
How many dead?
Seems Gun spirits won't die!
Cause they love their
Hot Metal...
As much as cold bodies.
Those that feel the pull and feel the responsibility to their fellow human beings aside from our country will rise to the occasion. Laugh in the face of ignorance. No more tiptoeing and pandering to apologists. Everyone has an idea of how others should live. We need to draw the line at pain.
Britt Nichole Dec 2017
I sometimes wonder about how your chest feels when you pull away from me in moments I reach out to touch you
Mine aches
There are parts of me that have learned to attach themselves to people they can hide away in
My burrowing burdens
I always misinterpret this for love
It inevitably ruins me in the end
I am not one for leaving when it gets hard
You are
You are reminders of what I could have
Something I left behind in a moment of unwelcome honesty
I want to be vulnerable
There is such bravery in being truthfully raw
I am not brave but I am trying to be
I feel small when I am bare
Naked to you
Insignificantly present
The smell of a memory wakes me up every morning
I scrub it off of me and pretend I do not remember
I recall everything
I have you momentarily
Filled up
Still starved because I am not fulfilled
I whisper into you sometimes
You cannot hear the I love you in my tone
I put it there purposefully
Quiet enough to keep my heart safe
I am not yet capable of the words but will still attempt to say them
Am I as soft as I am intolerable?
Do not answer me
I just want to be held
What is it
within the realm of
my Self
that has the nerve
to question the divinity
of this current, fleeting moment?

Is it not the vessel of Life, itself,
that is used to navigate
these, the occluded
Seas of Death?

Could it not be
that a Mind and Body
are the very salvation
over which we so toil?

Would it not be an act of pure mercy
to have the capacity to look around
and to think, and create
while, all the time,
being pulled under
by the inevitable tide of change
we, in English, chose to call
"Death?"

That, in itself,
should inspire me to carry on
and to turn an eye
up from the ground, back from the past;
to within my self; this current moment;
and on, upward:
to the skies and, likewise,
the future.

What is it about my Mind
that so enjoys, or perhaps requires
some selfish sense of 'overlooking'
for the sake of ephemeral comfort?

Alas,
I know what word I would use,
but I dare yet not to use it;
for, t'is that a word, itself,
isn't the concept, itself;
and it's use would be to misdirect
from the nature of the experience,
and to mistranslate what I feel.

I realize the necessity
for names; for words:
we use them to facilitate communication.
I also understand their limit:
there is a great realm
beyond the transparent restraints
of our Languages.

I would identify the culprit
as either "Ego," or "Id."
But, better yet, I would argue
"both and neither."

Freud had some great ideas,
but I tend towards Jung-

I could sooner call it the Shadow,
or at least one aspect of it.

The Shadow is semi-subconscious.
It is an amalgam of fears and repression.
It can only hold so much pressure
before it erupts.
So,
I implore you
to study your Shadow.

It has great potential for change.
Failing to utilize it
is to be utilized by it.
Make it work for you
or you will work for it.
Use your Shadow
to your advantage,
or it will use you
to that of it's own.

Pick apart your Self;
put it back together.
Sometimes that's easier said than done,
but, with a proper mindset,
it'll come and leave
before you even know it.
It happens all the time.

Refuse the shackles
of thy Shadow;
break the chains
and share with the world
the fleeting feeling
of self-liberation.

That is,
if someone doesn't misinterpret what you've said;
looking through the Shadow,
everything looks darker.

Realize where you're going.
Realize what you're doing.

Heed what you feed,
external or internal.

Seek Balance.
Explore Ideas.
Gain Understanding
no matter how slow:
at all
is far better
than so many.

No one may escape these Seas;
but you can start some ripples
that will propagate ad infinitum.

Ask. Practice. Learn. Grow.
Mostly improvised.
Stream-of-consciousness-esque.

Call it following a whim~

Spoken Recording:
https://soundcloud.com/apexparadigm/fleeting-seas-of-death
Taylor Aldous Dec 2013
I've been avoiding you on purpose
Because I dread you will know what I do
I have too many secrets
But I'm terrified of disappointing you
As you know I am Bipolar
This is hard for me to say
People misinterpret what it means
I fear rejection every day  
And when I'm manic, oh baby, I'm high
I have no limitations
**** the sky
When I'm depressed I weep and I scream
I don't do anything but think about my dream

What if I told you that I love the topic of ***?
That I crave a fellow soul who loves it just as much as me
What if I told you I ****** your ex?
A side of me you never thought you would never see
How would you feel if I told you I've never been in love?
Would you think its a lie?
Or the fact that every time I wake up I think of 1,000 Ways To Die
I write on the daily
But the words struggle to flow
Trying to figure out where every phrase and metaphor can go
Everything I've been doing lately feels like a fight
Have I told you about my scars?
Gosh, I'm such a delight
Do you know about the abuse?
Would you have helped me if you were there?
Or would you lie to me like that ***** who said I'd get in so much trouble
Do you really care?
Are friends really forever?
Are you even there?
I've been having such bad writer's block. I'm in need of something refreshing to write about. I have this dream, a dream that makes my heart flutter, but there are so many obstacles and they are consuming my mind..
Lee May 2013
"Sometimes I wonder if anything is actually real at all... or if it's just me"
" I mean... I doubt anything is real, and even if it is... I don't think any of it has any purpose."
"Ya? Like its all in our imagination... just a big ****** joke."
" Even if it...the world - reality; does exist; in a physical, permanent, sense, It's still all a matter of perspective on why it - or what it - (it being reality) is to you. It changes from person to person, and if you don't like it: you can change it. Which makes it seem even more like... it isn't real..."
"I just wish there was a purpose... I wish I could find a reason for my life."
"No one ever will, I don't think it's possible. The wish for reason, for a light at the end of the tunnel, is the ultimate weakness of man... but it's also the ultimate strength: it's all gratuitous - it's progress - sadness. The search for purpose is a lesson in futility... taught by hope."
" I think... I think I'm just... just tired"
"It is late"
"No, no not like that, not like physically, like of the way things are going, I'm just ******* tired of life."
"I am too... I think everyone is on some level. At least till you reach denial... or acceptance... or the ability to be oblivious - Life is a week of insomnia in an eternity of dreamless sleep - In the end none if it matters. I think if there is a purpose me and you will never be able to find it, we're only humans: we get tired, we get confused, scared, we misinterpret signs, we're filled with error. If we did find a purpose it'd be filtered through our perception, applicable to no one el-"
"You just passed the only store."
"... Sorry... I was too busy paying attention to you."
"Its ok, I didn't need it anyways. It was just an impulse thing."
"Impulses should be acted on though. You don't have much time for procrastinating, and you have to do it now because you never know when your numbers punched."
"...True..."
I pull up slow to the front of your house
we say goodbye
and god do I want to reach out and grab you
want to hold you - and not let go
lie
and tell you I know the reason
a reason
any reason.
Its an urge that spreads energy through my limbs from a pit in the bottom of my stomach
like it's going to shake me or tear me apart.
I want to kiss you,
but I just drive away slow
and contemplate how utterly useless everything really is.
Based on a real conversation I had with a friend one night.
I look down at you, perched on my self righteous steeple.
Nothing but roaches falling over themselves to avoid being alone.
Simple minds so insecure, mistaking open mindedness for indecision.
Are you really worth the time you take?

From here I see your dependency.
Your weakness and already strained foundations.
My name is Ramon.
I'm a demon.

Around me, amongst a cataclysmic empire trying to destroy itself.
I sleep ready. Waiting for the time when I can ****.
It's my drug. Violence, disdain and manipulation are my medicine.
I'll be the poison that saves you.

This world is such a beautiful place.
I laugh and every pain I feel cowers in fear.
Heartfelt memories tear and rip in the abyss of my mind.
Feel yourself die.

Misunderstand and misinterpret me.
You will not change the fact.
I'm the villain.
You are my toys.
mûre Aug 2012
Therapy is a hospital gown
one that doesn't quite close
leaving your *** rather
perpetually exposed
and your extremities
pink and cold.

These turn of the century revelations
oh- don't misinterpret me
they're grand, they really are,
early childhood trauma
chronic necessity for control
attachment issues, oh yes?

One week, I'd like to buy seven consecutive days
Where all the ships are turned back to the Caspian
With their dead-weight cargo of clean-cut
shining golden bars
To add to the mortar
of muddled ******-upness.

"Looks like we made some breakthroughs today!"

Don't break eye contact.  Bare teeth. Upturn pink lips. Happy Face!

*"Breakthrough. Yes. Great. I feel great!"
Mikaila Apr 2014
You know what? I need to tell you something. I'm ****** up. Yeah. I didn't know I was still so bad. I fooled myself into thinking I had control, when, once again, I really had none. And I trusted you when you held me, and then when you pulled away it hurt, even though I knew it was coming. Hell, the whole thing happened BECAUSE I knew it was coming. The relationship, the love, the breakup, and the fallout happened in one night, and I wasn't behind the wheel anymore by the end.
But that's not what I need to tell you.
I need to tell you that even when I was in your arms, crying, I still didn't know if I wanted to be with you. I'm so used to wanting you, it's a natural setting. But I remember it distinctly (and I sort of hate how distinctly I remember that night, because the good parts hurt to know they're over and the bad parts are embarrassing as **** and bring up questions and issues I don't want to deal with, like will I ever be able to be close to someone I love without being sick with fear? And why the **** does that even happen anyhow? And why did it have to be you who saw me fall apart, again?) But... I remember thinking, "Do I want to be with her?"
I remember wondering if I loved you as much as I love her.
And it's not that I thought "No, I don't."
It's just that... I didn't know the answer. I truly did not.
I think you need to know about this girl.
She is the girl who, 3 days into knowing her, I took her face in my hands and looked her straight in the eye and said, "I am going to FALL in love with you." and she smiled.
She's the girl who kept coming back to me even though I'm crazy, and I told her all about it, and wrote her poetry far too soon, and cried in front of her, and she had a boyfriend, and she never expected me.
She's the girl who picked me flowers at 3 am from the trees by the Sociology building and couldn't keep the grin off her face when she saw me catch my breath just looking at her. We broke in, and we pushed each other down the hallways in wheeley chairs in the dark, and she kissed me on the little bridge by the lake because we couldn't keep our eyes off each other.
Everything I do that makes you squirm, because you don't want anyone to love you that much, that's the stuff that makes her grin even when she doesn't want to. Even when she thinks it's a terrible idea to be out in the middle of the night with a girl she barely knows, holding hands where somebody might see.
She is the girl I was sure would **** me over, who hasn't yet.
And that doesn't mean she won't. I know that. But...
When I met her, I told myself it wouldn't be like it was with you. I wouldn't love someone who hated all the little things I thought about them.
So I just said them.
All.
From the moment we met, if I thought she was beautiful, I let myself whisper it to her like a prayer. I've traced her face with my fingertips. I've handed her every poem I ever wrote about her. I've woken up in the middle of the night beside her, and told her with just my eyes that I was terrified she would be gone if I closed them, and she said, "It's okay, come here." and held me until we fell asleep again. And the next day, she didn't hate my weakness for her.
She knows that if she walks away from me, I stand and watch her go until I can't see her anymore, and even then, stand a minute more just hoping I'll glimpse her again.
Every time I walk over that bridge where she kissed me, I throw a penny off and wish for her.
Every time I see a flower growing and I'm going in that direction, I pick it and I leave it there for her, because I like giving her flowers, even if she never sees them.
Every single night that I walk outside, I look up, and find the first star I see and say her name under my breath. I do it so often that I do it in my dreams without intending to.
I wear that bandanna because I wore it on Halloween, when I was a gypsy and she kissed me on the 4th floor at 4:30 in the morning, and I was brave enough to ask her if she was ******* with me, and she was brave enough to tell me she wasn't, and I was crazy enough to force her to meet my eyes and say, "I am in love with you." and she was crazy enough to smile at me and kiss me, instead of running away.
That was the night that, after she went into her room, I sank to my knees in the hall and cried, and I thought to myself, "Come back, I'm still here. Know I need you." and *******... the door opened, and she walked out and saw me wiping tears away and held me,
And I looked up at her like she was god and I kissed her fingertips and asked her how she knew, and she said she just did.
That's this girl.
And yeah, it's unlikely this will end well. Look at me, and my life, and my emotions, and the **** I've been through, and what a ******* disaster you and I can be if we are both stupid at the same time.
But the thing is... I'd rather be me than you. I'd rather have these experiences. It hurts, and sometimes it ***** so much I wonder what the hell is wrong with me, but loving someone the way I can is worth it. And someday, if I am brave and stupid and strong enough to keep opening my heart after people mutilate it, I will find someone who loves every single thing about me that *****. I believe that.
It might not be her. And if it's you... it's not the you you are right now. But it will be someone.
And if someday you find that you love me, and you are ready to try and give me what I need instead of giving me what you think I'm demanding and then taking it back, and I've found someone like this girl, or someone even greater than her.... Then I'm really sorry.
I'd rather be me than you. I'd rather risk everything, every ******* time, for that tiny chance that my love will work out, than spend my life being practical, and recoiling from the people who give more to me than I think I deserve.
**** deserving. **** plans. **** fear.
Even as I am consumed by it I can say that: **** fear.
That's what being brave is.
I know that people I love can have that effect on me, and here I am, trying to find them anyway.
What's anyone's excuse? Fear? **** that.
Life is so short.
I want to love someone so much that I love the stars.
That I love every flower I see growing.
That I love every lucky penny and little footbridge and time the sun reaches through the clouds.
I want to love someone so much that the happiness they give me scares me.
That I feel home. Everything else is a waste of time, time I don't have.
Somewhere somebody will take me as I am, and she might not understand fully, but she will be tolerant. She WILL understand that I am easy to misinterpret, and easy to push away, and hard to help. She'll get that whatever she gives me, she better MEAN it, FOREVER, because it is worse to give me something I need and take it away than to just leave me without anything at all. And she'll stay when we fight. And she'll stay when we don't. And she'll smile when her beauty takes my breath away, not because she necessarily agrees with me, but because she feels lucky that anyone could see her in such a beautiful way and still accept her flaws.
Someday I am going to BE happy. And it'll take work, and it'll take me getting hurt by a lot of people, and it'll take me wanting to give up and never quite being able to, but it will happen. Because I can't give up.
This girl I fell for who's not you, who I miss, who I dream about, who I hope will love me... she's a symbol. She is the knowledge that there are people out there that I can love who will want to BE loved.
And maybe this all goes to hell, who knows?
But it's different. It's new.
And I am sick to death of the old dance, of being misunderstood and pushed away and blamed because I'm always willing to apologize.
I did that to her once. I said I was sorry for being too intense.
She said she didn't want me apologizing for who I was, that I didn't need to throw myself at her feet, and I told her I'd never known anything else.
I am afraid of her, just like I'm afraid of you. But the thing is...
I need to try for this. I need to try everything I can to find someone I love who will have me. She's given me so much, just by tolerating me in a whole new way.
Because when I met her I was shocked. Every time I'd do or say something and think, "This is it. She's gonna think I'm crazy. She's gonna RUN away right now." she'd surprise me.
Every time.
And every time she'd say something ominous and I'd be sure she was trying to get away from me and freak out, she'd surprise me then too, by saying things that were actually constructive, that didn't imply she wanted out, that honestly weren't hurtful because they were nothing compared to stuff I'd heard from other people I loved.
If there's a chance this could work, I am taking it.
I have the flowers she picked for me stuck in the dreamcatcher above my bed.
I have this flyer... See, one night at 3 am, she showed up at my door in her blue sports bra with her hair trying to reach its way out of a messy bun. I love her hair. It never stays where she puts it. And when I opened the door she blushed and stuttered and handed me a pink flyer and ran off down the hall before I could soak up her presence. And I closed the door grinning. It was a poetry slam flyer, and at the top she'd written, "Mikaila, do this. -TM". As if I wouldn't know who it was. As if she had been standing out there, just gonna slip it under the door and walk away, but had knocked instead last-minute. I love her handwriting. It looks like it'd be hers. I kept the flyer, long after the date for it passed. I have it, and when I miss her I sleep holding it. I'm pretty sure she actually knows I do that and still talks to me. If that's not extraordinary, I don't know what is.
The night I met her, she kept tripping over her words, apologizing, as if there was something she could say that would make me like her less, or something. I think I've spent more time looking into her eyes in the few months I've known her than I have looking into yours in two years, because you and I, our whole time together was so full of hiding, and she and I have never hidden. Hell, half of our conversations are through looks. When we met we didn't break eye contact for two hours, I swear.
When I think of her I smile like hell, and it doesn't hurt, it just feels... it feels like wondering if you made the school play you've been rehearsing an audition for all summer.
Like not knowing if the college you wanted to go to will accept you- If it doesn't happen, it'll hurt so much, oh... but if it does. If it does your world will be JOY.
And that's enough. The hope is more than the fear. It's stronger.
And maybe it'll do its damage, maybe life has a whole new torture laid out for me.
But I'm doing this.
And if I lose her, I will not lose my faith in love. I will not punish myself for it.
I will open my heart and say, "Somebody come in." and somebody will. Over and over until someday, someone will decide they like it there, and stay.
And if it's you, I will be ecstatic. Shocked, but ecstatic.
And if it's her, I will make her tea every morning and hold her hands when she has nightmares, and listen to her rambling stories, and learn the planes of her body the way I know the curve of her face because I still see it in my dreams even though I haven't seen her in 3 months.
And if it is neither of you, it will be someone.
Someone wonderful.
And she will be lucky, and she will have someone to love every flaw she ever hated in herself, and she will be forgiven for every sin she never spoke, and she will be supported through every loss and every heartbreak, and she will be given wings instead of shackles. And she
Will
Know
The
Difference.
Sometimes, when you love me, you say that my life will be more extraordinary than yours. And maybe you are right. But if you are right, it will only be because I am willing to do this to myself. FOR myself. I am willing to take these chances. And maybe you are too, who knows. Who am I to assume?
All I know is that I have taken chances with you, many more than you have taken with me. And that's why you have the power. And I don't mind. And I'll keep taking them. Because there are very few people on earth who I think could make me happy for the rest of my life, and you are one of them.
But you are not the only one.
And if you never want me for real, somebody will.
Somebody wonderful.
And that's why I'm still here. And that's why I won't ever be able to quit, no matter how bad things get. Somebody wonderful is waiting for me. You, or her, or somebody else.
Somebody wonderful.
This is more of a letter than a poem, but... I can't send it yet.
wesley mcmillon May 2015
I'm too ****** up to walk straight.
I'm ******* faded,
But anytime I can't hear you in ignoring you.
Keep staring at the image of the ****** person I am that you painted.
Next time I'm ****** up I'll make sure I'm alone so then I won't have to worry about making sure you don't misinterpret my drunken actions.
All you do is look for reasons to decide how I feel. I don't know how I can trust that you see anything else.
I won't divide my attention anymore.
Laurie Fisher Oct 2011
You have to take criticism as is.
You can't throw a fit each and every time you get a dose.
If you can't handle it now.
You never will.
You should get congratulated for achievements.
But they're not all for simple achievements.

So your seventeen, and quitting smoking-
                Should you have been in the first place?
So your not pregnant-
                Should it have been a concern?
So you survived your over dose-
                Should you have popped those pills?

Actions have consequences.
Criticism lies beneath the soul.
If you can criticize, you can handle criticism in its glory.
Societies standards will always get you.
Don't misinterpret my words.
No need to be perfect.
Karma will corner you.
You turn to make a break
But this time you cannot fake and squirm your way out.
Set your standards higher.
If its recognition that your searching for.
You'll be searching until the end of days.
You want a clap?
Pat your self on the back.
Its your achievement.

Paranoia:
        Own it
Standards:
        Keep them
Mind:
        Open it
Ignorance:
        Destroy it

You have to control yourself.
Destroy the rage inside.
You've got a jet black mind and its bringing you down.
Down below the surface- becoming societies Barbie.
Put a smile on your face.
A frown in your jaw.
Hold it in until you can spill it all out.
Until life's grip has you ready to crawl.

So you had an abortion and your parents didn't find out...
            Are you proud?
So last night you got some action...
            Does it fill a void?
So now you sued you ex for all he's worth...
            Can you sleep at night?
So you slit that flesh again...
            Did it give a sense of relaxation?

Hold your paranoia.
In the end it will save you.
Cherish your paranoia.

I understand its difficult to over come life's addictions.
Its no joy ride.

I'm happy with what I do, with what I don't.
With who I am and how I've grown.
I am independent, I am strong, I am quiet, and I am loud.

I'm not knocking your priorities.
What you choose, don't complain.
Even if it causes you to lose or any kind of pain.
Don't act proud that you can stop.
An addiction is an addiction.
I'll believe it when I see it.
Don't snap when I give you an reality check.
Its not your first.
It won't be your last.

I'm not telling.
I'm only speaking the words of my brain.
Crazy, insane... but, it's what I feel and its something I had to explain.
Chris Ott Jun 2010
My writing is best at night.

Everyone else is comfortable and safe in bed.
I delve into the chaos and madness in my psyche.
I reach deep into my soul to find what treasures lie there.
I find a way to express it through words.

I hope to share these treasures with others.
Others who would not judge or misinterpret my soul.
Others who would instead critique my expression and techniques.
Named after a Manchester Orchestra lyric.
Leslie Jade Jul 2016
If ever I die, tell them to put a smile on my face
I want to see how I would look like if I had felt bliss
Let them see the girl they wanted to see
Not the one who’s been hiding all her life

If ever I die, let them all visit me
The ones who have forgotten me, damaged me
I’m giving them the privilege to gaze at me one last time
& think all the possible things that are haunted memories

If ever I die, do not dare shed a single tear
For all you have given me is a mournful life
The blame was always on me
& all I did infront of you, you always misinterpret

If ever I die, let me wear a pure white dress
So that at least as I lay,
People would think I had a happy journey
& forget a disgrace child like me

— The End —