"misprinted" poems
**I am but a skeleton,
A misprinted society element.**
I lived to the hum of my own melody,
A disapproved version of achieving ecstasy.
Those around me didn't like that very much,
Made me feel crazy, distant, and such.
Then, one day, I came to find,
I was one of few with such an open mind.
Pressured with conformity, I remained organic,
Such a rebellion filled them with panic.
So here I lie, a pile of bones
They ripped me to shreds, no trace with their ghost.
No one realized, for they were confined,
Stressing to stay structured, to keep their design.
But in the near future, they all will see,
The one they cold-heartedly killed is with whom they now agree.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
Damp eyes never meant us well
They're such an inconvenience
And passersby
won't fall in line
Step aside nor
slow their stride
But we'll ignore their careless eyes
Don't want to inconvenience
Cross streets, mean streets, it's
the blind leading the blind
And maybe we're wasting our time
'Cause the map in our hands
spells out misprinted boundaries and
Who can read smeared ink
Run off the page into unknown
territories dripping purple as the bruises
beneath our fingertips
If we hold on any tighter
Our travels will be
Etched into the other's skin
A directory of streets wandered by
the two of us just
a walk down route mother, please and
Round to relapse avenue
To sip champagne
in the light of
dreams forgotten
*but darling the lines in my palms
have always led back to you*
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
I was in love with the wall
I spoke French to it.
"Je t'aime." I'd say
In my loveliest French accent.
"Je vais aimer jusqu'à mon mort."
But then I figured those
We're some pretty powerful
Promises to make to a wall.
I loved it so much and I didn't
Want to hurt it. I knocked it
Down and rebuilt.
Now I sit here alone writing
Boolean clauses to ease my
Suffering.
3>1; true
3=1; false
7<4; false
23>100000; true
23 was her favorite number.
The misprinted sweethearts
are always the best.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 11:52 PM UTC
Where our fears,
try to become our God...
Where our life is guided,
by misprinted lies...
Where truth and honesty,
is far and few between....
Where trust in one,
is a hard thing to accept....
Where words are spoken
with numb feelings....
Where distractions,
take us from our path....
Where manipulation,
is part of everyday life....
Where people hold on to,
resentment and anger.....
Where the word commitment,
is losing it's meaning.....
Where known flaws,
are our biggest enemy in life....
Where is the direction of society?
Where are the morals in life?
Where are the real inspirational figures?
Are we taught correctly and then change?
Are not taught and just adapt to our surroundings?
Where and when does life really change?
How does one change their ways?
How does one change their thoughts?
How does one change hurt,
and hurtful ways?
Why does one compromise their life?
One can only try to change...
The one thing that I have learned
is to stay faithful to our creator.....
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
You lead a life which happens to be fallacious
You live inside your head and happen to never travel far from it
In fact, you praise the open road
and travel, still you sit relapsing on
obscure memories that only ever bring you to the borders of insanity
No one could have dreamed this up but yourself
The world continues to rival and thrive
and wallow and rise from malign characters and sensibilities
Or that so you think
All you ever happen to do is not much but
Drive your self dry in misprinted thoughts and distract yourself from the evidential truth
Post-parched, you continue to further down a path which is only going to crackdown upon your world of disinfected affairs
Soon, will the sooted streets that chafed your unworn boots collude
And all that was ever known, even if it was but the faintest of an understanding as to how this time in space truly functions, Will soon perish in sanctuary
Soon will contemporaries all alike
Recede with tides anew
Soon will it onset the primitivism
Locked behind plywood doors
Soon will you know unfortunate
Tribulations beyond recovery
Soon will you be segregated from
Yourself, indeed
Indefinite suspension will bestow
a harrowing animation that will find
Itself repeating until you finally cross the
aforementioned border without any luck
Of returning home to the sheer bliss that
Was only good to you in youth
Fair enough in the last years adolescence
But unforgiving come the dawn of manhood
And soon on
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 6:56 AM UTC
Flawed
can
at
a factory
behind
a
farm.
Misprinted
stamp
at
a small
post office in a calm
village.
Don't
call
us
unique.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 6:35 AM UTC
We chase misprinted lies
We face the path of time
And yet I fight
This battle all alone
No one to cry to
No place to call home
My gift of self is *****
My privacy is raked
And yet I find
Repenting in my head
If I can't be my own
I'd feel better dead
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
We chase this Paradise
We chase misprinted lies
I wait till the tears fall
And yet I fight
And yet I cry
When I hear that call
This house is not a home
I'm torn apart and all alone
Sometimes I repeat it in my head
Other times I wonder
I wonder
if I should be dead.
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 11:55 PM UTC
Written this morning, I had an inkling that the title sounded familiar, so I looked it up (bless the computer) and lo! there is was - a poem, not at all the same, written in 1998, twenty years ago, even published under the misprinted title Pushed Around by Fat. Anyway, here they are: Pushed Around By Fate#1 &
#2.
Pushed Around By Fate #2*
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 1:55 PM UTC