"mistaking" poems
1.
Everything
Started when she was seventeen
You couldn't tell her anything
Say he wasn't everything
Who could tell her?
What to believe
Tell her stop Or not to breath
Because that's what love is its like breathing
Yeah that’s what she believed
She believed she was living
On a wild ride of life
A catalyst to somewhere like paradise
She said send me ' send me away
I will live to love another day
And kiss me, kiss me goodbye
I’m going on a wild ride
And love me, love me tonight
Loves a catalyst to paradise.
2. And everything
Started out like a dream
But now she was waking
Waking up to everything
Life played out like a movie scene
And is this is what life is
When hearts are breaking
When hearts are breaking tearing up everything
Just- like -an- earth quake--- nothings left...
You still can’t take her respect
Tell her love isn't everything
There’s no mistaking that
She might not make it back
She knew when she took that ride
A catalyst to paradise
She said send me ' send me away
I will live to love another day
And kiss me, kiss me goodbye
I’m going on a wild ride
And love me, love me tonight
Your loves a catalyst to paradise.
3. And everything changes
We all have to live life and No body is always right
We live and learn we all take our lessons
With our pride and our blessings
We all take our turn on a wild ride
A catalyst to paradise to find love in someone’s eyes
Say send me ' send me away
I will live to love another day
And kiss me, kiss me goodbye
I’m going on a wild ride
And love me, love me tonight
Your loves a catalyst to paradise.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
I can't unlove because I am
Impatient, selfish.
I love as if I cannot be hurt.
Going on as if nothing is wrong.
I cannot unlove because I know not how.
I spend my nights awake dreaming of how everything should have been.
The speeches I have amongst myself
Lost in complete darkness.
Accepting the sound of my voice as an I told you so.
Seeking a dream that seems so far away.
I can't unlove because I accept disappointment.
The contempt of putting others first without fear.
I truly believe I cannot unlove because I am in love.
Young again in thought running wild, free.
I consider it a perk.
Being the only other person I know how to be.
No longer embarrassed of facing the opposite end of the mirror.
Finding that the most important things bring the most smiles.
I am far from perfect
But I cannot unlove as if I made some sort of mistake.
Purposely mistaking myself as a fool
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 7:23 PM UTC
Airplanes flying in the dead of the night
Looking like blinking lights in the sky
Mistaking them for stars lost in space
Moving to meet with distance
Slowly reaching hoping to find its existence
But all we get is an unrequited chance
Presuming the truth we don’t want to face
It’s not fantasy just a new breed of reality
Now they disappeared to a far off place
And all you see are twinkling stills in the dark
Ignoring the city and its neon signs flashing
You care only for the bliss you wish you had
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 6:42 AM UTC
Cobalt. Gunmetal. Pastel. Powder. Forget-me-not.
Out of all the blues,
She has the eye color with no name
The eye color that is slowly driving me insane.
Who gave her the right?
To have something so beautiful
I see blue everywhere;
In paintings, photographs—even the air
There are no crayons that can capture it
Not even color codes on computers can match her eyes
Her eyes are the space between the rippling depths of the ocean and the shards of reflected sky
They are the eyes that squint a bit as she smirks because she thinks she's sly
No matter how much I glance to the left during lunch
The color escapes my mind and simply becomes a concept
In my thoughts frustration likes to roam
If it weren't for the non-existent green, her eyes would look like sea foam
But here is no green—
Only hundred year old glaciers, rivers, and stormy skies
I don't even know what blue is anymore
As angering as they are, her eyes are still something I adore
I'm tempted to just ask her what color they are,
But that would mean that I don't pay attention
To do so would be like mistaking a stranger for your dad
Everyone will become apprehensive and think that I have gone mad
Her placid gaze tends to bore through my shell
I feel vulnerable— like she can see my dilapidated soul
But I know that she means no harm;
She is amiable and full of charm
Who knew blue could mean so much
And still be convoluted?
Blue washes the shore with the push and pull of the tides
Blue has managed to stain my thoughts and dye my insides
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
I did not bloom for you.
I wasn’t planted with hope of a hand like yours
to pluck what I became.
I was here.
Growing in a quiet grove,
on the edge of the unseen—
roots tangled in silence,
leaves turned to a sun I thought only I could feel.
You came like weather.
Not loud,
but felt.
A shift in the light.
A question in the wind.
I didn’t call to you.
But still,
you found me.
I watched you stumble in—
mouth stained from strange fruits,
eyes glazed from sweetness that lied.
And I knew you were not lost.
You were done.
Done with wandering.
Done with feasting on ache.
Done with mistaking hunger for worth.
You looked at me like I was something
you’d dreamed once and forgotten.
Like tasting me
woke up something ancient in you.
And it did in me, too.
Because I didn’t know I was waiting—
not for you,
but for recognition.
For a mouth that didn’t devour,
but asked.
For hands that didn’t harvest,
but listened.
And when you bit into me,
you didn’t praise.
You closed your eyes
and let silence say it.
That was the moment.
No music.
No miracle.
Just two beings
who didn’t know they were searching
until they stopped.
Now here we are.
Still.
Rooted.
Fed.
Not written in the stars—
but grown in the dirt,
together.
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 2:26 AM UTC
- by Ashley Capps
Ophelia, when she died,
lay in the water like the river’s bride, all pale
and stark and beautiful against the somber rocks,
her hair an endless golden ceremony.
She made the water sing for her; it flowed
over her folded arms.
Not so my father’s sister Karen,
swollen in a day-old tub of water
when they found her,
needle tucked into the fold of her arm,
her last thing: a wing.
So everything went as nameless as the men
who lifted her naked from the tub,
or those who rolled her
into the mouth of the furnace,
which is what you get
when you don’t get a service,
when your mother’s years of grief turn
last to rage: I won’t pay for it.
Leave me out of it.
And even though they finally said
it wasn’t suicide; a mistake—
no one knew what to do
with all of that anger,
or in the end how not to blame her.
Even now, in her unmarked container.
*
People once believed a deeper reason, some dark secret
motivation to the way the lemmings threw themselves
en masse into the sea. Were they weary
of their lives; could they, too, despair?
Or like those second-vessel swine
when Jesus exorcised two babbling men of their demons,
driving the demons through a pack of bewildered hogs—
the way they plunged?
The truth we know now: they leave when food is scarce,
when they’ve grown too many;
believe the roads they follow
lead to new meadows, a place to start over.
I think of Karen, feeding
and feeding her veins, how it is possible
she saw us all suddenly there—miraculous
and festive on some bright and other shore,
like the life she had been swimming toward
all along, trying to get right.
Like those sailors long ago,
that tropical disease, calenture—
when, far from everything they knew,
men grew sometimes delirious
and mistook the waving sea for green fields.
Rejoicing, they leapt overboard,
and so were lost forever,
even though they thought it was real, though
they thought they were going home.
—by Ashley Capps
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
Staring out in the Ocean,mistaking calm waves for a storm.
Waiting for the next wave the world is going to throw at me. I stay ready.
Its all so mysterious, like the rain when its Sunny.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 2:57 AM UTC
I fell for love
For every honey-dripping word
Leaving your sweet lips
Lips red like cherries
Sweet and gentle upon touch
Taking me to the gates of paradise
I fell for your intimacy
For your fingers that run down my chest
For the warmth of your body on my own
My heartbeat jumps and raises
Stunned by a beautiful smile
Pounding against the merits of my chest
I took the bate, I called you my own
Mistaking my worth and significance
As I’m just a toy, next to your beloved
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 7:59 AM UTC
You can tell a lot about
A person by the ones he admires.
Another telling factor is
The people whom he inspires.
Donald Trump, for example,
Praises Putin, a leader who
Has jailed dissenters, squashed human rights,
And done away with opponents, too.
After a questionable referendum,
Which restricts in many ways
Civil rights, the leader of Turkey,
Erdoğan, received Trump's praise.
Duterte of the Philippines--
Authoritarian and leading official--
Has had thousands of people killed
In a manner blatantly extrajudicial.
So that's his way of solving the problem
Of drugs in the Philippines is it?
And guess who wants the blood-thirsty,
Despotic leader to come for a visit?
And then there's the leader of North Korea,
Kim Jong Un. Only a rookie
Would say that the mad, unhinged and murderous
Leader was a "pretty smart cookie."
Trump's had business ties with three
Of the above countries. There's no mistaking.
But does this mean that a Trump Tower
In Pyongyang is in the making?
-by Bob B (5-3-17)
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 9:57 AM UTC
Open your mind to wonder.
Don't close it with belief.
For the spell it puts you under makes it difficult to leave.
The road to self deception, paved with preconceived conception, makes an evolutionary blunder that much harder to believe.
But in the natural ways we suffer and the things we have achieved, I don't think we should be misplaced -- mistaking all things as perceived.
And the self-redeeming peace that lives in uttered pleas for buttered ease -- like praying for forgiveness for the feeling of appease.
Or kneeling-bound to beg facedown for children with a sickness.
(Although prayer doesn't prove to cure disease or wickedness, it seems.)
So if you ever get a chance to wander and start to see the world with wonder, don't let it slip into neglect.
Nor impose upon another what you chose when you were younger.
Don't abuse your self-respect.
Instead, just seek to be free
and find the wonder in-between.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
A crow never stole corn
that the earth didn’t give freely
The man too often takes
too much credit for what
he puts down into the dirt
Wether it is a seed or a body
As if he alone made
life sprout and grow
As if without him
the earth would not be green
the sky would not be blue
As if he himself is
the very GOD he prays to
The man forgets his place
when murdering the crow
for nothing more
than being a crow
Mistaking black beaks
and black feathers
and black eyes
as things that must
always be up to no good
A bird that is no good
for anything but a target
for his hate and fear
As if the crows heart
was meant for nothing other
than to give his bullets
something to bite into
The man becomes something
less and less
every time he murders
another crow
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
We sat in a bar
We got stinking drunk
We left in my car
Were both full of *****
We drove through the night
Both talking some trash
I ran a red light
Head on was the crash
I lay in the street
The blood would not stop
A beer by my feet
Approached by a cop
Body was shaking
Heart dropped when he said
"Ain't no mistaking
Your best friend is dead."
I was arrested
*** put in a cell
Strength was then tested
In suicide hell
Very next morning
Inside a Courtroom
People were mourning
I shared in their gloom
I looked at his Mom
Eyes teary and sad
Her world without charm
I knew she was MADD
"I am so sorry
Through hell I will trudge
I wish it were me
May God be my judge."
I have no defense
I'm going away
Jail's one consequence
I sadly must pay
The price it will cost
It's steep as can be
I carry a Cross
Too heavy for me
I sit in my cell
I see your son's face
In suicide hell
I constantly pace
My heart can't go on
My soul has no *****
My best friend is gone
Because I drove drunk.”
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 5:22 AM UTC
A plastic bottle
Sits discarded at
The foot of a
Recycling bin.
A city bird,
Mistaking it for
Some kind of
Strange fruit, or
Perhaps a meal
Fit for a king
Descends, grasps it
With pincer'd claws,
Then carries it to
Her nest, and sits
For five minutes,
Watching, confused,
As her hatchlings
Gnaw at the label.
In bright red letters:
'Taste The Feeling.'
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
The Unicorn appeared from the Light
radiant, young and full of promise
her magical horn
shone bright in the sun,
mirrored the moon
She appeared from the light
to startled villagers
they could do naught but stare
enthralled by her magic and beauty
The village elder Elder reached out his Hand
overcome by joy, he couldn't resist
blinded by her exquisite beauty,
he couldn't help but reach to her
and reluctantly, the Unicorn moved forward
full of mistrust,
she took a chance...
But, unbeknownst to them
the Hunter was peering at her too –
through his rifle’s telescope!
The deafening boom
fell the Unicorn to the ground
and sent the villagers fleeing in panic
Into the Sacred circle
the Hunter stepped with muddy boots,
with his cruel Knife he cut her horn
then drank from her pure blood
as she lay on the ground
while her horn was a trophy
lost between a hundred others
The villagers tried with all their craft
to heal the Unicorn and restore her Life.
But her scars remained
her blood stayed cold
like marble, her heart hardened.
evermore the villagers lived
with the wounded Unicorn
who was filled with hate towards the Hunters
and ever she kicked
at the village Elder,
mistaking him as the Hunter
Yet, there is always Hope
while the Unicorn grazes
between the thorns and thistles
the Elder still prays and Hopes
that their magical Unicorn would be restored to them
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
Christmas died with Santa Clause
when I reached a certain age.
The magic revealed as scam,
the wonder now an act
maintained for the sake of form.
This descended, in my teens,
into outright distaste -
all the trappings
a failed attempt
to light a lost wonderland;
a decorated tree
incongruous and distasteful
as a chimp in a suit.
Anger waned,
disinterest set in,
and I merely wished to avoid it all.
But through your eyes
a miracle occurs:
Papa Noel, mistaking his season,
makes an Easter of Christmas
by rising triumphant.
A tinsel star becomes a true Polaris
and love,
for anybody's sake,
is everything.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 5:28 AM UTC
Virginity
My virginity was bang, a brain against a glass-tinted window. It was child-locked doors and ax cologne. It was too much muscle and a 13 year old body to weak to tussle.
My virginity was a man who made **** seem like an art, the same systematic way the mortician dissects the cadaver. Striped from a name like i was nothing but a corpse
It was the bruises left for weeks. The ****** teeth marks left upon my once sacred body. It that deep voice with Alcohol on its breath.
Yes. My virginity was a ******* earthquake. It was 7 minutes of the worst kind of hell. 7. Where I stopped believing in heaven. Trust became the law, fear my bible. I watched as my foundations crumble. and I knew that this Earth was no longer safe to walk on. It was the aftershocks running down my spine and me, a vacant building constantly about to tumble
So here I am. 3 years later, standing in his rubble. mistaking a kiss for his fist. It's been panic attacks in grocery stores. It's been 3 years of hating myself more than anyone else possibly could. It's been 3 years of
Self blame
And the shadow of a girl I became
Unworthy is a word that takes up so much space
It was the carrying the scars of my last binge.
The night I convinced myself if it burned going down it must be holy water.
Finally Salvation
drinking so much I couldn't stand.
Drinking so much I could no longer stand myself.
I familiarized myself with the taste of concrete and forgot the smell of old books.
constantly looking for a new hook.
Blowing halos of smoking trying to make death look beautiful.
I found myself in a deep dark hole
Oblivion.. My only goal
Lately, It's been learning my body isn't an apology.
It's been learning that bravery cannot be measured my a lack of fear;
some times it takes a ******* soldier to look your demons in the eye and say.
This is my body.
I am the beautiful owner of busy breath.
I'm that shadow girl with a storm inside
No I am not that bruised soul in the empty bottle.
It's been 3 year of convincing myself that This world, it needs my voice.
It's been learning I am a miraculous dance floor of glittering molecules.
It's been learning that You will never have a greater opportunity to learn to love thy enemy, when your enemy is own holy, holy self.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
Pardon me for looking past
You please
You were a delight
To see
A beautiful sight
To these
Wandering eyes
Your green
ones caught mine
Months went by
You, all the while
Were the isle this
Anxious mind
Rested in
And forgive my
mistaking you
For a harbor
Sailing away
Even farther
And maybe for breaking
Your heart
But from the start I
didn't trust my own
Suddenly
The decision is easy
Not one made in a war
As lovers before
But a knock
On my door
A response
To a little thought
How could I not,
When I hear you, then,
Dearest friend,
Let you in?
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
Maybe you’re mistaken
when you think about what’s out there,
You attribute ev’ry stimulus
to winged things from books,
Mistaking accidental circumstances
for essential causes,
There isn’t really anything
that God conveys with looks.
Perhaps it is hard to face the truth:
we’re just meat bags with will,
Which slowly rot away until
the day when we’re forgotten
Needlessly dissecting
every move and every inner thought,
Attempting to discover
what makes us all so very rotten.
Take a deep breath
And hold it in
Until you feel it all
...Fading away
Slowly toward death
All of us fall
Someday we’ll feel it all
...Fading away
Through my goat mouth, it’s true,
you can hear me bleating,
Like a little lamb who’s lambier
than lamby-lambs can be,
But yes in fact it’s bike tires,
and tin cans that I’m eating,
And I feel my goat heart beating
and... I want to flee.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
Twenty million years you have existed
Ancient are your ways, carried out for days
Even in birth sixteen to eighteen months consisted
You stand alone in bravery of age
Predators won't cross, footing would be lost
Your power is of one to be amazed
Teaching us that solitary timing
Benefits us too, reminding how you
Spend your days so patiently on dining
The earth is your bed and has been always
Suiting you well, this your story to tell
Free from what man has made building hallways
We learn from you to push through and go on
Leading us through, what is infinite truth
Your soul abounding to bestow upon
Grunting and bellowing your presence known
Boundary protected, patrolled, directed
No one will be found threatening your home
Stand up in for what you truly believe
Too many to fight, find rest day and night
Pull those close to you who will not deceive
We are timeworn and primal like fossils
Daring to care and completely aware
Protection of our love is colossal
Be with us when we must move in a way
That makes us feel scared, feelings should be spared
No panic, no anxiety dismay
Wisdom to move past life's ever obstacles
Our size matters not, for with you we've brought
A strength that to beat is impossible
Remind us to pray to all good things endowed
Spirit gives blessing, heart is confessing
Creating what our free will has allowed
Be with us mighty one when mistaking
May we never forget, we too have yet
A legacy like yours in the making
Though we may not understand why we're here
Holy Spirit's hand, reaches and expands
Guidance walks us on the path to adhere
Brilliant light shines, helping us to get past
The hurt and the pain, learning we sustain
Achieving a great wing span long at last
tHE tERRY tREE
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
The word slithers from your mouth
Arsenic tone reverberating
Jumping on my eardrums and misting the fleshy insides of my skull
Dearest one, though unbeknownst to such a good intentioned heart
You are killing me
You lather onto her shame like oil
In your eyes she shines; epitome of all that you are not
Elusive seductress, skin tasting of intrigue
Entombment of that which lives in the blackest parts of you
Your brown eyes flashing ivy, becoming venomous,
Teeth sinking slowly with each syllable
****
Dearest deer eyes, open up
She dwells in your recesses but in my repressions as well
She is the 6 year old child emanating innocence
Closing her eyes to the fact that some parts may only be visible in the presence of Mama and Dr. Mallon
Mistaking foul play for dreams
She is the 13 year old not yet skinned of her baby fat
Caressed like the infant she most certainly is not
Lips glued with guilt and naivety
My dear, dear friend, please
You are killing me
The 16 year old girl whimpering no
Pomegranate lips pressed to the underside of Narcissus' hand
The other digging in between quivering thighs
***** you sigh
They're pathetic really
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
kissing girls:
she makes me feel so alive --
but i miss her funeral anyways
sleeping on my mountain of
burning gold and
empty graves.
leaving leftover tea
out in the car
as it rots and turns to
lukewarm longing.
kissing anyone
i'll never learn
how to
breathe fire.
i'm nocturnal
but my eyes refuse
to adjust to
the dark.
so i whisper poetry into
the silhouettes of
whoever will
have me.
i
cry to myself
cradling my skull
in ***** claws
that rip and tear
at everything
i try to
hold.
sleeping in
an empty bed,
i want to hold her
hand again.
i crawl out from
a ****** of pine trees
belly-deep in the tall-grass
where no one dares to wander
mistaking my echoing cries
a painful roaring sob
that reaches
out for the stars --
they think me furious
but i am only
alone.
Apr 4, 2022
Apr 4, 2022 at 7:44 PM UTC
We, the children of a system that awards you simple papers
That state 'he/she has achieved what we deem quality'
As we are all judged and graded in exactly the same way
Because they promote individuality unless it's intelligence
'We all learn differently, and at different paces'
Is an often preached sermon of our progenitors these days
Yet I know more about synonyms for ancestry and parents
Than how to survive once our papers begin to mean nothing
So here I'd like you to tell me what is considered knowledge
And I'd ask of the older generations to insert customary wisdom
Because more adults have spat quotes to me like gospel
Than tought me what I really need to know and value
I've got a track record spanning back almost two decades
Of being sorry for just being myself at all times
So I think my teachers should be proud of themselves
To know that the things they preach to me really get through
You see, homework and exams mean almost nothing
To those who need to really think on their feet
Because this same system idolizes the memory
Mistaking it for a wealth of rawest knowledge
So I love it when they say school is too easy on kids now
Rewarding losing and not promoting any ambition
Because I've been berated for attaining success at any level
Due to grades that define me not successful enough
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
This hand which moves and rides some voice is not mine.
I have given it over to you, young boy.
This is what makes it fly so, traveling out,
tripping along in dance of shape and sound.
I acknowledge your presence in this fashion.
You tell me by messages,
beaming out the back of your head,
you are the very boy who has waited an eternity
at some upper railing.
You sit and peer through the spaces,
down the twisted stair.
Your hands, they grip the vertical rail.
Silent. Silent. Waiting you.
Let this right hand of mine be your secret voice.
Let this scrawl and scratch be your gravelly tongue—
ick-nicking, ga-chooing, click and stutter.
What language may I shape for our sake?
With you, may I follow, setting trail markers just so.
Will others come mistaking their ways for yours?
My hand is opening and opens wide.
I remember you. I am returning.
Let it be.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC