"namelessly" poems
What's in a name?
Let me tell you a story,
Of how my life changed,
And how my name changed,
Every time it appeared on the newspaper.
Replaced by a pseudonym,
Something to do with courage,
I was namelessly admired, slandered, and debated over,
Media’s Exclusive Coverage!
The newspaper headline read in big block letters:
“14 YEAR OLD GIRL SAVES SIX KINDERGARTNERS”,
That made me smile.
Just maybe I thought we had come that extra mile.
But no for I noticed,
My name was changed,
And the Printing Department was not at fault.
That’s just how my country dealt with ****** assault.
I never asked them to hide my name,
They had presumed, of course, that I was ashamed,
Of saving lives. It took me a minute to remember,
I had called Jyoti Nirbhaya for years.
I wanted them to know who I was,
Hiding I thought was for criminals,
Until I realized that I WAS one when,
On returning from the hospital I saw,
Pain in my mother’s,
Anger in my father’s,
And disgust in my relatives’ eyes.
No idea why a part of me had come expecting pride.
In school my “friends” guiltily refrained from talking to me,
Neither were my teachers too happy to see,
That I had returned to the same school,
Bringing with me my painful story,
Which I had mistaken as one of glory.
And when I went to receive the “Bravery Award”,
Only the trophy didn’t read compensation award.
They looked at me with too kind eyes calling me a “hero”
Their smiles told me they meant violated.
As I received the award,
I saw they were trying really hard,
To not let it show,
That they wanted me to know,
The difference between:
Bullet marks on the chest to bite marks on the breast,
Blue around the eyes to blue around the thighs,
Scratches on the fists to cuts on the wrists,
Loud screams in the cold to muffled screams against the cold,
The red of the torn ligament to the red of the torn *****
The difference between a soldier’s and a victim’s blood.
And suddenly I felt as if I was,
The rescued,
Not the rescuer,
The maimed,
Not the fighter,
The oppressed,
Not the rebel,
The hostage,
Not the warrior,
I thought myself to be.
What’s in a name?
Apparently, a lot.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
i loved making you laugh
your clouded eyes like a thousand skies
sewn together, seamlessly
& im floating through them, aimlessly
lost inside them, namelessly
my anonymous exploration
of your pupils' dilation
i wonder how wide eye can make them...
playing with the petty words
your eyelid's optic prisoner
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC
no matter when I go to sleep
no matter when I go to sleep,
my next door neighbors
wake me up,
arguing.
History and the Future,
the oddest couple,
always in opposition,
in a world of mutual armament.
these unilateral siamese twins,
every dialectic ends the same:
one says I'll **** you,
then, they both start laughing.
(Eléa's #1 fav)
9/15/17 4:35am
<•>
mark me as safe
though the namelessly hurricane is never ending,
the roof, a sacrifice in the wind's temple,
letting millions of naked eyes be persecution witnesses,
marking me as safe, but not saved,
surviving, the destruction, a beautiful curse,
this violent universe.
9/15/17
4:30am
(gifted to Joel & Kelly Rose))
<•>
address me with no assumptions
for we will provide the facts,
with liberty and justice,
we will fill in the redacted parts
in the bill of particulars,
of the indictments signed namelessly,
only as the
The State's Attorney,
woo hoo,
We Who Always Win,
Cause We Make the Rules
9/8/17 9:31am
<•>
21801BB705 VDAB7
given this, the key,
the rulers announced thanks,
but not in anyway a necessite,
we will just smash the locks
and burn your personal history down,
until now it has JUST been whiteout corrected,
you're welcome!
9/14/17
6:37am
(gifted to Evan Crow)
<•>
don't major in the minors
don't major in the minors,
classicism is a double entendre,
you don't understand,
but you will,
when you study headless statues
in a museum
come back to life,
do not act surprised.
progress is not an iPhone,
it's taking a long bathroom break
in the mind.
(Graces's fav)
9/10/17. 5:37am
<•>
All the old battles are new again
All the old battles are new again.
every old poem is but a pretense, a new work refreshed.
cutting edges dull knives, easily resharpened by new use,
fresh excuses.
stale words that stick humans, come to life,
as any and all of your favo-rite
army of (fill in the blank)
___ism's,
marching in the name of good riddance
of the disloyal opposition.
nothing new under the sun,
history books predict the future.
(Eléa's #2 fav)
9/15/17 3:55am
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 11:38 AM UTC
I wish we named every rainstorm.
Hurricanes get everything, but
It's easy to have everything when
All you do is take.
I used to think that falling
Asleep was the same feeling as
Earthquakes shaking the grounds.
Don't get stuck in the chasm.
Washed up memories, shoe box
Chachkis, left untouched through the
Eye of the storm. Who knew these
Relics would follow you here.
Crying as the pouring rain stops
Is impossible.
All of the tears have been taken.
But rippling water is overrated.
Have you ever seen sand slide through
The Sahara Desert.
I've been there. I've seen it.
I watched as each minuscule grain slid
Down the valley ridges built from years
Of wind storms making piles.
Piles idiosyncratically stretched across its reddened face,
Maybe modeled by the smoldering surface of mars.
Lay down and let it wash across your leathered skin.
Sensations spreading, each nerve on every centimeter of you
Lighting up, marquee, competing with the hot desert suns.
A million dandelion spores dancing ballet.
Tip top, tip toes to a tarantella timing.
Buried under dunes, only too soon to
Uncover you once again.
You wouldn't believe how something
Solid can so namelessly float across the land.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 3:21 AM UTC
like clock work i pace this spinning ground,
summoning up these imaginary fallacies-
figuring out this forever changing world,
as i spin round and round-
clock wise, i think i've got it
counter that thought- i think i've lost it,
losing all grip on life-reality,
irresponsibly wandering through this lost life,
searching for meaning in these sandwich bags,
filled to the seal, with these evil prescriptions-
relax, everything is copacetic
i whisper into the empty bag;
in complete agreement with my two sides,
unanimously deciding against all odds-
to end this unrealistic dependency;
reliance on this rare but prominent object,
would be a complete and utter disaster;
among both sides they would bicker,
until they recreate that clock in my head;
spinning out of self control
i will patrol this empty room.
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 11:29 AM UTC
I doubt the words on the page, correctly portrays, the images of the hand that wrote them.
Silent lips
Deaf ears, and
Blind eyes are
The merit of the creator as
He namelessly transmits his
Inner thoughts to his outer audience
My pen does not move for your applause
It moves for your focus
The thought pattern in this movement
Is more, and less, of my faceless existence
I can listen to what you want me to hear
But that doesn't mean that I am there, for that reason
I am a giver of many words and
A taker of many woes
I promise I could never fit a profile
The words I write are chameleon
They change to what you believe they say
The body I possess is chameleon
It changes to fit whatever pleasures you extract
No matter the length of time you stare
No matter how close you get
You will never find me.
XIN
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
“Like a drowned man, a fool and a mad man:
one draught above heat makes him a fool;
the second mads him; and a third drowns him.”
— Feste, Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
Pulling into Colbert on a mid-week afternoon,
I stride through drifts of passengers falling
from each carriage.
Inside, they deck the station out
in wait like chess figures. I leave as soon as I arrive.
Blessed with rain again,
pestering the roof tiles, great sweeps
of grey water
dash each street. Across,
a building's squared face, chipped bottle green.
Namelessly familiar,
my hermitage.
I enter half-drowned.
I place myself on mark at the bar,
flanked by fellow veterans. To my left, a lowered head,
the dark hide of a colt
retired early from his race.
Right,
a creased face and suit I dimly recognise.
Before my eyes adjust, I limply
raise my hand —
few fingers outstretched, Christlike. A head bows
in response. He moves
to draw a black slick glass;
a tarred trickle, foam-topped like stormed wave.
The first.
A swash against my lip, my mouth
a vacant cove.
Bitter, it gathers in the pit of my tongue
— my pleasure,
I swallow half in one surge.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
Saturday took me down--
its same new name,
along side streets that
pressured their points of
drop dead quietude.
the lingering frictous of streets
that butcher stillness--now hanging
on the words of birds.
breaking sounds against the
hard noses of houses, marred familiar
to the row.
a neighborhood's mazey trace--
of the sun's continual origin.
the bleaching wash of bodies
breaking out of winter, a stride
looser than yesterday.
as a bike riding a man so full of
consideration--he could burst namelessly.
just for This Saturday.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 9:20 PM UTC
Wuthering secrets of long past times
Forgotten romances of heartened crimes.
Christening crinkles twilling frosted echoes atop damped dervishes of your fragile mind.
Shelling out are withering bones of decaying, eternal, mindless vines.
Encasing slithery crevices eradicating dusted wintered shadowed lines.
Binding the sainted ****** where upon the shore of gloried day breaks of the lost door.
Listen to the howls of the wind--
as all of creation stirs about & about
Never the less, simply this.
To again, never to.
Driven off the cliff of insanities thrills unto the shivers of the unrested, splintered and torn.
Forevermore, oh how dreadful!
Namelessly unplaced, vacantly ashamed! Lonely and untamed, gratefully kept at bay!
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC
my heart beats namelessly
numb
it pumps my blue blood
through my neverending veins
(or so it thinks)
you give me a feeling
i haven't felt in a long time
one i yearn for
one i strive to remember
i cannot forget the look on your face
though i have not seen that one just yet
i long for the days of innocence,
had we just a few?
your lips
colder than the ice cube
melting under the bar
after the sprawl a few minutes ago
what am i even saying
you are heartless
and i do not want a thing
i want someone to love me.
not anyone,
just you
tears keep falling
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 11:17 AM UTC
There’s a knocking that I hear each morning,
a knock both a visitor and warning,
mistakes that invite themselves to my door,
mistakes that are not welcome anymore.
It’s not fear that makes me keep them outside,
nor the fatigue of further wounded pride.
I’ve learned enough what lies beyond my door.
It’s those mistakes I don’t need anymore.
Although I still don’t live life blamelessly,
I prefer to make mistakes namelessly.
Don’t package them and send them to my door
with my name on the label anymore.
It’s not that I should err and let it slide,
but I’ll never be perfect, though I’ve tried.
I know the sin that coucheth at my door.
I don’t need to bear their mark anymore.
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 12:38 PM UTC
The rest of me , I lay down my weapons so this could be . I fall straight down to one knee. And cry endlessly. Grey lit skies above , when you look away disowning love. Take the time to beat , and see whats in my mind , mind boggling . Destroying every last string holding me,can't you see. I'm falling apart , as my world comes deadly. Silent screams , crackling bolts of lightning strike facelessly, namelessly . Open heartedness, forgiven .lost for the time I was driven . Believe in . Every aspect of my life , thrown out my window and forgotten. But me , I'll never be the same again . Ever again .
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 4:42 AM UTC
Staring blankly at the pavement.
No longer caring to dodge the puddles as he meandered along the uneven,cracked greyness of the town.
Half wishing he had brought a jacket.
The people walked around him namelessly.
The only face he had wanted to see had made him pray for blindness.
But infatuation had beat him to it.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
namelessly, I am a lighter.
used to ignite, and then ignored.
namelessly, I am a writer.
picking up a pen whenever I’m bored.
namelessly, I am a heater.
warming those around me in their darkest hour.
namelessly, I don’t work well either:
and sooner or later I’ll run out of power.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 8:02 PM UTC