"moodiness" poems
Blue is a prevalent color
you can find it almost anywhere
at any and every turn
you can spot the color blue almost
immediately, within 3ft feet of you.
Is this the product of mans moodiness?
Are we that trapped and burdened with strife
that we paint the color blue incessantly,
unconsciously?
Or is it the appeal?
Are we that attracted to our own madness?
To the point we wear it on our heads
on our arms and on our legs.
Screaming with sirens of societies ennui .
The mind of many meld with angst and warfare
in self,
bombs away with blues.
Does the blues find man or does man find,
the blues?
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 9:30 PM UTC
Dreams dance under the glare of the sun’s moodiness
Blood vanishes from the veins of once dead men
Medals of tarnish float along a river of bedridden nightmares
Soft drinks pierce the heart ache of an ancient lover
Coffee mugs litter the world’s tainted breath
Cake mix splatters the wall of any old soul’s happy day
Laundry baskets of forbidden desires clutter my mind
Australian needs rise up and revolt against the will
Steadfast now, the winds have changed and blow upon
new dreams from the shorelines of an imagination.
Hindrances break even with the mob, blowing jobs in the faces
of masked gods under none.
From what does the truth set you free?
And what sets you free from love?
Cerulean dreams dart like angels to the ball
Woe to the marching band stuck at the disco
Tripping on bumps in the sidewalks as if the flaws
were meant to convey the illusion of perfection.
Bumping into dreams while on day trips to a place legendary
among the star screamers of yesterday.
Played with market chiefs in the fishy dreams of villains
Heroes rise from the ashes of who they wish they could really be
Hunger penetrates the enigma in which livestock consume the diet
of better days and healthier people.
Strangers.
Blanket thieves.
Snuggling with the poverty of heart stricken saps who ****
the life out of the tear duct orifice between theses beautiful lashes of grace.
Come with me,
let’s escape to a world of ours.
My imagination has room for
Two.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC
I kept my thoughts
always to me--
no,
no,
I didn't need nobody else.
I never needed nobody else.
I kept my thoughts
locked by key--
yes,
yes,
I could've kept it in myself.
I always kept it in myself.
They don't ever
need to know,
there's no reason;
and maybe my
moodiness is just the
season.
But we never keep on fighting
when everything just
throws us back down--
and it gets so rough
when one has to keep biting
just to keep you around.
I'll never say these words
outside of my head,
they'll never be caught
and spilled above your bed.
I kept my thoughts
always to me--
no,
no,
no, no, no, no,
no, there ain't no key.
Your heart is in your head
but your head is torn apart,
and maybe sadness is
really art.
I mean you see me
struttin down that street,
smoky,
smoky,
smoky me
with a body that
looks so beat.
And maybe I'm tired
and maybe I'm trapped,
but that don't mean
you can be up in me.
You can never
be inside me,
I will always
try to hide the key.
If unlocked
I will be
a firecracker
rising up in the night,
going up,
up,
up and away,
burning brilliantly on my
chariot of smoke,
sparks,
and stars.
I'm sorry,
I have to keep my thoughts
always to me--
no,
no,
no--
not yet ready to fall.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC
I’m feeling, some kinda way
Not sad exactly
Not happy either
I’m in that place
Where moodiness
Seems to reign supreme
And wanting to cry
Omnipresent
Is it the season
When feeling overwhelmed
Is the norm
And daydreaming for me
Is kinda like ****
I’m addicted to those
Visions in my head
Where perfection lies
He always loves me
My house is clean
And everything is everything
Today I am happiest in my head
As I lay on my pillow in my rarely
Made bed
I think of things you said
That make me smile
Even when I'm awake
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
The moon hangs low tonight,
Heavy with melancholy romance
And hazy lusting.
My blood lists to and fro,
Dancing a tidal waltz with
That distant face.
I think of all the times
I've made love
While this same moon
Peeked in through the window,
Illuminating bright eyes
And milky skin;
How many times
I've wept in the witching hour
With the ghosts of grandmothers
While this moon watches,
Waiting for me to come out to play.
I grow sick of the moon.
It's evident moodiness,
Bright and full one night,
Dissolved to black the next.
Consistency is key here.
I desire no more.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 12:21 AM UTC
I used to laugh in my sleep, the giggles would resonate like church bells during a funeral, hopeful despite the dreariness. I slept so that I could hear myself laugh again.
This went on for weeks, then one day the laughing halted altogether. No more symphonies of hazy laughter and crinkled eyes. Why did something so altering and harmless have to end?
It was a lesson, never become dependent on other people for your happiness. They can give but they can also take.
I found my laughter again in the unsteadiness of the ocean, the moodiness of the current. How the rip tide could carry you away but only if you let it. The sun tasted like serenity and that was where I found my purity.
I found my laughter again in the words that appeared in the steam of my tea. Cinnamon was the flavor I drank when I knew you but I’ve moved onto blueberry now. They whisper look at this, look at her, look at the world. I drink up their simmering advice.
I found my laughter again in the patience of clouds. How they absorb everything for a little bit, let it all out for a day and then move on. I try not to lock all my worries up inside myself anymore, but when I do I always make sure I have an umbrella handy.
I thought I found my laughter in you but turns out you were only a hiccup that interrupted it.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
Thank you for all the times that you:
provided snacks
lent me a blanket
talked me out of climbing that thing
were a shoulder to cry on
gently reminded me we had somewhere to be
told me to let go
forgot how much money i owed you
lent me your notes
put up with my moodiness
and my ungratefulness and my thoughtlessness
were just there
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 7:34 PM UTC
Blue is a prevalent color
you can find it almost anywhere
at any and every turn
you can spot the color blue almost
immediately, within 3ft feet of you.
Is this the product of mans moodiness?
Are we that trapped and burdened with strife
that we paint the color blue incessantly,
unconsciously?
Or is the appeal?
Are we that attracted to our own madness?
To the point we where it on our heads
on our arms and on our legs.
Screaming with sirens of societies ennui .
The mind of many meld with angst and warfare
in self,
bombs away with blues.
Does the blues find man or does man find,
the blues?
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 1:02 AM UTC
still down but uplifted
fortified by friends, family
and friends of family
touching my heart with their prayers
with hands clasped
or palms up in supplication
or fingers tapping keyboards
spoken or unspoken
your words to God's ears
my frustrations alleviated
through your kind thoughtfulness
my spirit roused by your intentions
as I lay in bed this morning
moved by your kindness
I lifted my hands in praise and thanks
they tingled with grace and vibes
a manifestation of your love
good feelings overcame my moodiness
my mind reset on healing's path
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
Did you tare up that note? I will never know if you did but I know that I did.
As I re-read my poem The Note I noticed that I still feel the same. I still feel unwanted, ugly, stuipd, fat. And I see that I have started cutting again.
The Aftermath is hard. Your parents now turn into siblings, your siblings now turn into family, and your family turns into the internet.
"I can't do this anymore!" You keep thinking everytime you look at the aftermath. The aftermath of tarring up that note.
Everyone now knows that you are Depressed, restless, and have lot of Moodiness. Everyone sees you struggling and they want to help.
Truth is they don't know how to help. They don't understand what's next after the aftermath.
Your family starts talking in private. You listen threw your bedroom door and here things you and I should never have to hear.
Have you heard what I have heard?
Are we really all in this together? Or do we just hear that, read that, and think that. But then nothing happens.
I am here right now to tell you that the aftermath ***** Your mother threatens to drag you to the hospital into the Mental Ward.
You get told that your being insane. That your acting insane. So you look to people online. They comfort you and tell you to use a rubberband to help with the self harm.
Welp guess what your mother takes that from you too. You see, the You's, I's, and We's turn out to be just another word on your screen.
But it's true we can all do this. We can beat depression. I will never know what you chose. I don't know what I have chose. All I know if that even thou I wanna write another Note. A note no one should read nor write. I don't.
We can make it past the Aftermath. Just hold on a little longer. Yea,
The Aftermath *****
Oh well.. You can do it. I can do it. We can do it.
[Author] - I never thought that I would make another poem to go along with this one so I hope you enjoyed. All of this infromation from this poem and the first one is true in my mind. I hope you choose life. I know I have....At least for now.
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 9:08 PM UTC
1) I would die without music. I mean really die. The melancholy moodiness of the melodies and the angsty alluring allusions to love... they get me every time.
2) I love the smell of roses; the idea of a natural perfume is beautiful. The way that it was only ever touched by the fingers of Mother Nature is a foreign concept to our man-made world.
3) I don't believe he emanated sunshine, but more, he released a kind of comfortable sadness that I grew to be quite fond of, the kind of sadness that will keep you company on a rainy Sunday.
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
You sit on the grass
in front of the science lab
waiting for the photographer
to take the school photo.
You sit awkwardly
pulling your grey skirt
over your knees
watching the man
fiddle with his camera.
Behind you
other kids mutter
and fidget.
You think of Benny
and taking home
lunch time
of your mother's moodiness
and her moans and groans
and how just once
when she turned her back
you managed to get
just a quick kiss
on Benny's cheek.
Sit still now
the photographer says.
You sit as still
as you can
staring at the camera
hoping he gets on with it
gets on with the photo taking.
Briggs sit still
a teacher says
you wonder what Briggs
is doing behind your back
the big lump.
The man goes behind
his camera
his legs slightly parted.
You wish your mother
had been out at lunch time
then you could
have gone upstairs
but no.
Ready!
The man behind
the camera says
and everyone stares.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 2:54 AM UTC
The moody boy in me died but the broody boy lives on
cos he thinkin bout the way you think the moody boy be gone
And he gone for sure but broody boy he think you don’t want him
so he brooding on the moodiness he think you got him in
Broody wants you to feel loved like maybe moody couldn’t do
and he wants you to know the love he got for you is love that’s true
He wants you to know that at very least if you feel so all alone
then brood on him a moment cos he got you listed as his home
Yeah broody boy alive and well and he think you mighty fine
like a gal that’s worth excavating for to build cellars for her wine
If there ain’t nothing else left in this world for you to take and hold dear
Just know this broody boy loves you so and he’ll whisper in your ear:
“We burn long and bright and through the night to the other side of the day
The eternal Yule log we light to fight and keep them bad spirits at bay
And it’s you and me, we the earth and sea, we the flames and wood below
We here to stay and ain’t going away cos it’s those bad spirits have to go”
Maybe he’s broody and maybe still moody but put a cap on his *** and see
That the boy inside loves that girl in you and he’ll love eternally
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 5:42 AM UTC
I brought you joy.
I brought you happiness.
More than anything, anything at all that I'm aware of doing.
I brought you love.
Yes, these are the things that I brought to you.
That smile upon your face was there.
I just made it brighter.
The love, the love that you control.
Share more caring than before.
I brought you sunlight.
Where moodiness once was?
I enhances your days.
More and more each day.
These are the things I brought to you.
Your bright eyes are the window to your soul.
It shows me that I shown you all of what you've been missing?
And if I never get any credit.
Your voice gives me my reaction that I have brought you satisfaction.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
(I) I'm sorry for what
Was said in the winter's cold;
I'm stuck in this rut
And all is barren and old.
I cannot wait for the light.
(II) Robins hunt for lunch,
Hummingbirds feast on honey-
Suckle by the bunch
Lilies soaking in sunny
Rays. Life is in its full bloom.
(III) Beach waves and freckles,
Days spent worshipping the sun.
Skin kissed and speckled,
Outside until the day is done.
Summer, a delicacy.
(IV) Shades of orange and red
Bleed over the other hue.
Sign of what's ahead:
Impending mirage of blue,
Disguised as the falling leaves.
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 10:03 PM UTC