"muffle" poems
These hands that have held you as a wild child in a dream are the same hands that throb to choke you and muffle your screams.
These hands which guided and guarded you down those stretches of hospital halls are now the hands that push you down to fall.
These hands once caressed the jagged, pink, scar where your heart used to lay become the hands that wish to tear it away.
These hand that made sure you fell asleep through all that pain now are the hands that would cut themselves to beat out your brain.
These hands that used to pray for you like a ***** ready to be ****** are clinched in two fist now ready to make the first throw.
These hands that ached for you, fed you, and tried so ******* hard are just the hands of memories now deep tissue scars.
... These hands.. Would have killed anyone, in dirt and cold blood.. Are now the only hands holding back the rage of my flood.
.. These hands, they still work for you. Even if you're no longer here with me..... These hands, they're still here, waiting... One day.. You'll see.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
This world was built on a foundation of perfection
No weight lies upon our shoulders
Each person needs no other to survive
No others need to be added to this perfect world
For perfection is perfect
But the storm rips us apart
I huddle by myself
Covering my eyes to make it not true
The pieces of the world cut through the air
Not just the air, but my flesh, my soul
The others cower alone as well
We all hide our sobs
And muffle our cries of pain
For Perfection is not weak
The storm moves on
And the world is now dull gray
The wounded tend to themselves
And the children cry alone
We do not reach for the pieces we have lost
But instead begin to build a new world
For Perfection knows no past
This new world is perfect
Each person takes care of only their needs
Nothing can be added or lost to make it less perfect
But the perfection weighs upon my shoulders
And slices into me like glass
It hurts so much I cry
But no help is given when I reach out
For Perfection does not care
Doors close
Windows slam shut
The people scatter as they hear my rage
They do not want to talk of or hear about the terrible past
The future is what matters, they say
For Perfection does not know pain
But I find another who shows pain
The other and I, we search for the pieces of the lost world
The other and I, we lay them out
But the pieces do not fit
What has been ripped apart cannot be fixed
For Perfection is not in the pieces
The other and I, we show the pieces
To the citizens of the new perfect world
The past stands before them
Some faces are masked
Some are in tears
Worse are the cries of anguish
But each person does not acknowledge any other's pain
For Perfection is self-sufficient
The other and I now realize what Perfection is
It is covering what's inside
And pretending emotions do not exist
It is showing your faults to no one
And not caring for another
It is thinking only of the pain you are in
And being swallowed by your own misery
So much that you forget that you can heal another's pain
Just as they can heal your own
For Perfection is a mask for those too selfish and weak to show the pain inside
For Perfection is forgetting there are others like yourself
For Perfections is not knowing
That Perfection is not real
The other and I, we stop putting together the pieces
The other and I, we leave that perfect world
The other and I, we begin to make a new world
Full of imperfections
The other and I, we do not hide our pain
We show it to our imperfect world
And because it is shown
It drifts towards the heavens
And because the other and I, we show our imperfection
The imperfections fill our world
And the other and I, we begin to mend
For imperfection is healing
They all begin to see
The happiness that is brought to the other and I
The other and I, we teach them
How to show their pain
To display their imperfections
To heal the wounds inside
For imperfection makes our world beautiful
When new pain is found
We display it to the world
We help others as they help us
We are dependent on each other
Losing a person fills us with sorrow
A person being added fills us with joy
For imperfection connects us all
To say our world is perfect is far from true
Perfection and imperfection should never be compared
Pain is in our world, but there is also happiness
Loss, but also gain
Every pain we feel is matched with joy for something else
For imperfection means to have emotion
For imperfection means to live
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 12:45 PM UTC
Then a lawyer said, "But what of our Laws, master?"
And he answered:
You delight in laying down laws,
Yet you delight more in breaking them.
Like children playing by the ocean who build sand-towers with
constancy and then destroy them with laughter.
But while you build your sand-towers the ocean brings more sand to the shore,
And when you destroy them, the ocean laughs with you.
Verily the ocean laughs always with the innocent.
But what of those to whom life is not an ocean, and man-made laws are
not sand-towers,
But to whom life is a rock, and the law a chisel with which they
would carve it in their own likeness?
What of the ******* who hates dancers?
What of the ox who loves his yoke and deems the elk and deer of the
forest stray and vagrant things?
What of the old serpent who cannot shed his skin, and calls all
others naked and shameless?
And of him who comes early to the wedding-feast, and when over-fed
and tired goes his way saying that all feasts are violation and all
feasters law-breakers?
What shall I say of these save that they too stand in the sunlight,
but with their backs to the sun?
They see only their shadows, and their shadows are their laws.
And what is the sun to them but a caster of shadows?
And what is it to acknowledge the laws but to stoop down and trace
their shadows upon the earth?
But you who walk facing the sun, what images drawn on the earth can hold you?
You who travel with the wind, what weathervane shall direct your course?
What man's law shall bind you if you break your yoke but upon no
man's prison door?
What laws shall you fear if you dance but stumble against no man's
iron chains?
And who is he that shall bring you to judgment if you tear off your
garment yet leave it in no man's path?
People of Orphalese, you can muffle the drum, and you can loosen the
strings of the lyre, but who shall command the skylark not to sing?
7.1k
you are a
devil hiding in the details
i would rather not explore.
waiting behind every corner,
an omen I try to ignore.
you hold me by my throat
every single night in my sleep.
kissing, shoving your split tongue
down my throat to muffle my screams.
a kind of haunting no one else knows.
a nightmare like sequence,
some kind of hellish dream.
I wake up to find you
sleeping peacefully beside me.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
Three little deer in the headlights, on
a nice midnight stroll, grazing
the neighbors grasses while I
wait patiently in the mini-van
for you to come find me.
He stumbles drunk, I can smell the
liquor before it reaches my automatic window
rolling down to let some fresh air through
these anxious, aching bones.
The night passes, not with ease
or grace, but with melancholy as
I look upon a ghost of my past, lying
quiet on the khaki tiled bathroom
floor, help
There's yelling and screaming, and I cry
myself to sleep for hours, while his once
happy, now dull eyes sit and watch
quietly, while tears stain my broken
smile, broken heart.
I muffle the sounds of my weeps with
the cotton blanket covering me, and
although thoughts swim through
my skull, there is nothing to say.
The silence echoes, though,
not out loud, but inside, and I
can feel the numbness taking over
once again. And it scares me, not
because I've lost you, but
because I've lost myself.
© A. Leigh
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
You are only lovely when I allow it:
When I let you out to trace the times
Your perfect puzzle-piece body
Sat home with mine;
Quiet hands on your chest
And on your stomach,
Breathing closer;
Holding tighter to muffle
The 'nails in skin'
Sort of **** that was
Held at a distance
You are only lovely when I allow it:
When I let you out to suffer the nights
You were left alone with my mood
You are only lovely when I allow it:
When I let you out to worry
As you hold together -
I sink into my crawl space
Pushing the rubble to the top
You are only lovely when I allow it:
When I let you out to relive and to relove
The way I should have
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 7:47 PM UTC
You know that poem about your lips?
And the one about your soft caress?
Those doesn't apply to tonight
My thoughts are not slow, not gentle
The softness of your touch
Throw that out the window
I want it to be rough
Forget the foreplay
Lets just start the play
Tonight, I'll let you pick
Want the handcuffs, without the key
Or do you want the stiffness in a whip?
Forget the bed, take it to the floor
Give you a spank, and those headlights,
I'll get a grip untill they're sore.
If you must have a good kiss
Then I must ask you, girl
Which lips should I give this kiss?
Is it the control you crave?
Well then, cowgirl, load the gun
Grab the bearings and give them a roll
Tonight, let's let it out and have some fun
We can go on a mission, happy trails
Take it to the couch or even the table
Leave welted streaks with your nails
Turn up the radio to drown the moans
Back up and head down, we can mimic the dogs
Pillow, headfirst to muffle the groans
To the edge of the bed, make it wet
I don't want it easy, darling
All I really want is to get
That shirt off your chest
Those jeans off your ***
Those curves are the best
Lets not let this opportunity pass
I don't want it easy, baby
My thoughts are not gentle, not slow
So come on woman, lets go!
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 7:41 PM UTC
The professor said
"Family therapy is like a Pie Graph
Everyone in the family contributes their own piece of pie.
When people leave
there's a chunk of pie missing
and the other members of the family
have to take on some of those roles to fill the pie."
Here's my theory:
Everyone in the family has their own whole pie.
Categorizes each housemate as a piece of it.
how they view them in their family.
how they relate to them,
Imagine a home
Mom and her four daughters.
Step dad, his daughter and son.
imagine three bedrooms.
The adults taking up one of them.
let's look at the Mother,
Her four daughters
all with different fathers
she knows how to raise children.
The daughters all know how to
Be
Children, be
Sisters, be
older or younger than each other.
The step-father knows how to have
A Wife,
One Daughter,
A Son.
Well Step-brother leaves the house.
Susie has a child at fifteen.
what does
her pie look like now?
She used to have a boyfriend,
four sisters,
a mother, father.
Now lost a brother
gained a baby.
She only knows how to be a child.
let's look at the mother.
She hasn't learned: Grandchild
but she knows how to raise a baby.
lets look at the step-father, lost his son, gained four daughters,
what's another one?
The sisters, lost their brother, a role model.
Exchanged for this this new baby.
another sister?
everyone's pie is empty in some parts.
judging by some other
dead white guys theory
when who you are doesn't line up
with who you see yourself as,
that's when people develop
Mental illness
Well I wouldn't call it ill, but let's count the bruises.
That baby is going to grow up as her mother's sister.
Suzie is going to seek the comfort of men.
Her sisters are going to constantly fight between calling themselves auntie
and Big Sis.
like tossing themselves on either side of the barbed wire fence is cause for death.
The farther we go back in each family member's backstory
the more slivers of pie we find
Georgia has autism,
Carley diagnosed depression,
Rosie an abusive relationship of 10 years.
Clover is quiet.
The Brother, schizophrenic, autistic, bipolar.
Any number of names they can slap on him.
He doesn't live there anyhow.
isn't human.
Muffle the sister that says she miss him.
hit her, cut her, lock her up.
This was a case study.
I lived with this family for four years.
unintentionally filled up parts of their pie.
I was Son.
Older brother.
Boyfriend.
Father.
When I stopped being a fly on the wall
Stopped seeing how their story was developing.
I didn't have any pie left.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
1715
Consulting summer’s clock,
But half the hours remain.
I ascertain it with a shock—
I shall not look again.
The second half of joy
Is shorter than the first.
The truth I do not dare to know
I muffle with a jest.
3.5k
she’s lying in bed
hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds of her soul
the sounds of her soul sobbing
her heart is cracking with every little sob
every moment she remembers everything that happened
the pain increases
the tears roll down her rosy cheeks
her heart is so broken yet she loves so lovingly
like no one ever before
like she was never hurt before
but she lies in bed, knowing she’s a waste of space
a breathing dead walking this earth
she hates herself for doing what she did
and she can never hate another more than she hates herself
for her unknowing soul and broken heart are withered
exhausted.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
*As I listen to the relaxing sound I wish you where here, in my bed keeping ourselves warm.
Letting the tropical storm raindrops falling onto the tin roof muffle your moans as I taste every bit of you. I would let you scream and release every ounce of delicious nectar flowing from the rivers between your thighs.
It's a rare delicacy that many dream they could have, my only hope is to be patient and let our will make our desire the truth that will bring us together to satiate our need.*
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 5:34 AM UTC
They put us in glass boxes
And empty rooms with glass ceilings
We conform to make our ends, and we learn to muffle our feelings
Their inventions age into Standards, and they sell us their finest wine for a fee
No prison for this Queen
'Cause I like my ******* free...
They applaud our independance at first
Then tell us we are now too proud
Our voices once unheard are now suddenly too loud
Make sure you please the people
No heels too high, and no skirt above the knee
I wear no bra to imprison my womanhood
'Cause I like my ******* free...
Jiggle jiggle with hard ******* let them bounce naturally
I am every bit of my roots- I'm ***** happily
I'm not ashamed of their smallness
Despite their size, they stand as firm and tall as mountain peaks
They're embarassed or jealous of my freedom
'Cause I like my ******* free...
Big or small, short or tall, even if one is size 'A' and the other 'B'
They are our imperfect perfections
They belong to you, they belong to me
Our country has learned to dictate through mandate
While they ********** themselves to higher power
I'm not ashamed of my nakedness and I look in the mirror after my shower
So if you think I need a bra
Then I will tell you you need to be imprisoned
My mind is mine, as is my body and they will never take my vision
They try to smother what they don't understand
I'm just evolving into the best Me
I know who and what I am...
...And I just happen to like my ******* to be free.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 1:28 PM UTC
This is the time lean woods shall spend
A steeped-up twilight, and the pale evening drink,
And the perilous roe, the leaper to the west brink,
Trembling and bright to the caverned cloud descend.
Now shall you see pent oak gone gusty and frantic,
Stooped with dry weeping, ruinously unloosing
The sparse disheveled leaf, or reared and tossing
A dreary scarecrow bough in funeral antic.
Then, tatter you and rend,
Oak heart, to your profession mourning; not obscure
The outcome, not crepuscular; on the deep floor
Sable and gold match lustres and contend.
And rags of shrouding will not muffle the slain.
This is the immortal extinction, the priceless wound
Not to be staunched. The live gold leaks beyond,
And matter’s sanctified, dipped in a gold stain.
3.3k
I wake up
There is moisture on my cheek
A sound so broken
Startled me awake
I see
I made it
That sound is me
I was reaching
My hand in the place
Where your head would rest
The tear drop falls
I hear a keening
It's me
I've lost my meaning
It has been so **** long
I've recovered
Over and over
But like an addict
I relapse
I muffle the sound
Don't want the neighbors to know how messed up I am
There are two pillows
One between my legs
Where our legs should be intertwined
Where I can hold it to my chest
I hold it close and it silences my sobs
Unlike you
It will not abandon me
The other is beneath my head
It used to be
A platform
Where we could look at each other
Now it's empty
Listening to the gut wrenching cries
And catching the tears
I still cry
For you
For the closeness I miss
For the comfort I have only ever felt
With You
I whimper in my dreams
My partner shut me out
I don't sleep
You were everything
But now you scarcely even speak
You're leaving me again
And this time
I can't be strong
I can't bear it
You are my sunshine
Through the fog of depression
You are the warmth
In my frozen heart
You make me happy
And then you break me
Please this time
For me
Either stay
Forgive me
Or
Let me break my promise
Because I've tried
And I can't do this
Not with you not filling
Any capacity in my life
In some way I need you
A broken way
Like the young girl who got lost in the thunderstorm
Like I was when you first knew me
Trust me
Confide in me
Let me be your comfortable
As you have always been mine
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
Love will be my guiding light
Revealed to me on the darkest of nights
Ever a reminder of brighter times.
All the hurt and all the pain,
will eventually fade away.
My wounds may never heal
but I will not let them stray
I will not let them wallow away
Forever I'll remember, all of those days
I spent bruised and scarred.
Torn and tattered, but not once
did I shatter! not once did I break!'
Everything in me, made of stone.
You cannot break, the unbreakable.
You cannot muffle this flame within'
Try as you might, but you will never win.
The strong, they'll prevail in the end.
© 2013 Christina Jackson
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
I have been so tired lately, and even more so lonely
I try to muffle the screams of my loneliness with a soft bed, warm blankets and a pillow to hold onto
Nothing feels alright without you, and hardly anything feels alright with you
We can be described as two people talking at the same time in a conversation, but instead of laughing about it we become sad and bitter with ourselves and with the other
I wish things weren't this way.
I am tired with an angry sadness and you are tired with a guilty blame-fullness that resides deep in both of us
I love you so much
But I am so tired
I want to wrap myself around you and dissolve into you, warming your skin and holding your heart
I don't want things to be like this
I want both of us to be happy with each other
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
I spent Thanksgiving
this year
not in the blue-collar comfort
of my aunt’s house,
nestled somewhere
within a well-buried suburb
of a quaint, but un-noteworthy neighborhood
with walls decorated with Budweiser signs
juxtaposed against portraits of the ****** Mary,
where a football announcer’s voice plays like
conservative talk radio
in the background.
Instead, to save the labor
of my weary immigrant grandmother,
we dressed in Sunday best
and drove ourselves in
three well-packed mini vans
to some elegant hotel restaurant,
ideal for people-watching
from the gaudy, art-deco staircase
while pretending to be in the Great Gatsby.
It didn’t feel natural, though,
that beside a modest turkey breast
with cranberry dressing, sat a beautiful
cut of prime rib, carefully ladled
with truffle au juis–
nor beside a humble dollop
of mashed potatoes and gravy,
should there be salmon to die for,
and berries slathered with brie.
The food I nibbled
with bites of nervous guilt,
as the impeccably dressed waiter
exhaustedly refilled our water glasses,
nodding his head reflexively
to my mouse squeaks of “thank you’s”
What monsters are we,
letting these people work on Thanksgiving Day?
Grandma said, calmly, that some people
are just happy to be paid,
recounting
her impoverished childhood
in war-torn Germany—
that to simply muffle
the aggressive rumbling
of a days-empty stomach,
she and her brother
would ****** a handful of
potatoes from a government farm,
not many, but just enough
as she grimaced
at the ever-so-slight mealiness
of her rosemary-infused pork chop—
the woman who couldn’t afford ham
until she became a citizen.
We nodded quietly and
swallowed our privileged guilt,
washed down with
politely cut bites
of perfectly cooked salmon.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
I have a rubber band ball snapping apart in the inside of my heart
And in my mouth, hitting clinched teeth
Being full of screams
Their vibrations tumble down
And I can feel each and every sound
They pull on my veins
And play them like guitar strings
They tingle the scars
Each one lighting up like stars
They ring like church bells
The sound unavoidable
They sing a lullaby
‘Scream and cry, scream and cry
Don’t you want to die
It’s not easy to say goodbye
Isn’t that why you lie?
Break the ties
Muffle your cries
Turn all of your screams to sighs
The anxiety will be over
It’s just a lullaby'
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 3:18 PM UTC
Muffle echoing screams
Brush hot tears from heavy brown lashes
Falling from violent dreams
Kiss trembling lips lightly
When the monster comes
Till blackness permeated with pain
Flees from the rising sun
Caress oh so tenderly
The hesitant outstretched hand
Gaze upon the shattered being
The artwork of man
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M Darby
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 12:54 PM UTC
Blue Silk
You told me
That you loved in so many
Languages
"hassen, detester, viha, ura"
Since when did you decide to
be honest?
Blue Silk
You used to say I was
Only worth
Every time I laid still
I used to pretend I could
See the stars on
Your ceiling
Blue Silk
The only way
You'd know I'd been
Lying would be to swim
Through my tears
You kiss me to muffle my
Sobs.
Blue Silk
A young girl
Covered in
Bruises runs
Down the road
Slipping over her
Tears; opens her
Mouth to call for help
And blood spills out.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
Pleasure
quantified
Propensity
Profit
Polyamorous
The boardwalk you dragged me on to
The time that we shared outside of the party
The rat poison made you walk funny
The planks that splattered your brain matter on the ferris wheel
Sooner or later you will realize that "the ride is not stopping;
You are going to die"
The hole in the beach
That took you down
Do not worry
Made sure it was deep enough
To muffle any sound
That will be produced
After you are buried
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
I didn't think anything of the ringing in my ears until you told me that silence shouldn't be so loud
You had that same problem.
Too many concerts that were far too loud
Too many nights driving with the windows down
Blasting our favorite songs and screaming our hearts out
I wouldn't take a single second back given the chance
And I'd hope for the same of you.
I think of you whenever it rains because you loved it so much
As did I.
I think of sitting in your car while the raindrops on the window shone onto my thigh
That's when I learned to find beauty in the smallest of things
Like the way your laugh was rough and sweet
And how your eyes glimmered when they met mine.
The other day there was a firefly outside of my bedroom window
I had been crying over the empty feeling that tends to settle in my chest when I am alone
And when I saw its tiny flickering on my windowsill
I managed a smile.
Because I thought of the day we met
And how the cranberry bog hosted as many as I had ever seen in one place
You walked behind as I chased them in my bright yellow shoes
And you held me as I sobbed over their tiny significance.
When I can feel past unwelcome hands on my skin and in my bones
I think of the night you saw me scared shitless, sobbing next to you in bed
I covered my mouth to muffle the sound of my fear as hot tears fell onto my cheeks.
You held my shaking palm in your own
And then held me in your arms, which I have grown accustomed to call my home.
If I had one wish, it would be to posses the ability to evoke the feeling of your arms around me at will.
When you'd ask if I have ever been in love I'd find myself lost
Because in all of the past relationships I've taken part in
I have never felt nearly as happy and alive as I did when you were by my side.
So I guess, though current,
The answer to your question
Is yes.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
Words of the forgotten voice.
The soft spoken voice that can no longer be heard by the ears of her beloved.
Her once loud spoken voice turned into nothing but a whisper of a faded memory.
The muffle tears of this forgotten girl plays a gentle soothing lullaby in Death's ears.
As he attentively listens to her angelic cries, she begins her ****** story.
Story of pain, heartache, and suffering is slowly etched across her thinning body.
Her hieroglyphics only visible to the cold longing eyes of Death.
She waits for his daunting kiss to penetrate her broken vessel and reach her impure soul.
"Please." The last word her meek voice will ever say.
My voice. My thoughts. Belong to Death.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
They can **** our voice,
but they'll never muffle our screams.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC