"outweigh" poems
Maybe its just me,
but I hardly ever see poems about happiness
Is it because the bad times outweigh the good?
or do they outshine them?
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
I have been doing a lot of work with my feelings lately. I have avoided them for most of my life because, well the bad ones outweigh the good ones.
The rest of them were f@#ked or beaten out of me.
I have always believed that my feelings only led to trouble and pain. A simple feeling stated as a child sent me tumbling down a rabbit hole of horrific pain. An innocent smile was interpreted to be nothing but filthy desire. A frown was nothing but blatant rebellion that had to be dealt with.
My thinking is extremely black and white. Good or bad. Right or wrong. But what I'm learning is that feelings don't fall easily into any of those categories. The classifications that I have used to reason my life into some semblance of order do not work for feelings.
So walking in this grey area is very difficult for me. I cannot make much sense of what I allow myself to feel and if I do, I get stuck. The detachment I have felt to my memories is slowly being bridged by the missing feelings. And that is terrifying.
I have always been able to share, matter of factly, the details I have chosen to disclose. And I'm very afraid that those details were the easy ones; the ones I could disconnect from and push the feelings onto someone else.
Remember those rabbit holes? When I find the feelings associated with that pain it's like falling down that hole bound, gagged, and blindfolded. My logic was my only means of control and I've lost it amongst the feelings. The only way to climb out of that hole?
Literally feel my way out.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
Pain, pain.
Shame, shame.
Why can't we all be friends?
Sorrow, sorrow.
Fear, fear.
Why am I so afraid?
A people hating its own
So much hate, pain, fear.
Why?
Why can't we just be at peace?
You can never truly win.
Your negatives will always outweigh
The positives.
True happiness is nonexistent.
Why? Why?
Why can't we reason together?
Sit and drink tea together?
Why all the schisms and hypocrisy
And hatred? Bias?
Why am I here?
What is my purpose?
What is my existence?
Do I mean anything to anyone?
What?
Why?
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
Hey, past me from so close yet seeming long ago...
A knot from my sweater's bow I regret tying despite how unkempt the ribbons look hanging by my sides because now it's digging into my back
The hair I can't decide if I want out where it's pretty and makes me look less like a generic nerd yet gets in my face and food and life
The jeans I insist upon wearing without a belt even though their slipping down my **** may actually outweigh the pain of loosening the belt
The tennis shoes I'm too attached to give up that emit a constant squeak, squeak, squeaking through the hallways whether it's caused by residual rain from outside or not
The glasses, fond of slipping down my nose at frequent intervals, covered in smudges I rarely notice till they get out of hand
The phone whose screen happened to crack at the most inopportune moment and takes forever to read my finger print
The jacket that should be a highlighter blue but rather presents itself as a canvas of the week's tomato stains
The face covered in acne-
The stomach with fat instead of muscle-
The arms lacking muscle-
The legs with too much hair-
I've always acknowledged that perfection is not possible, yet I have to at least try to strive
I think, as I sit at my desk, fingers typing fragmented sentences, attempting to convey thoughts speeding too fast to grasp
Yet, just a simple poem of reflection brings to light these numerous deficiencies, many of which I COULD fix were it not the invisible fiend upon whom I stamp the label-laziness
These deficiencies, many of which aren't even noticed by those around me, some of whom are better some are worse
But it's not as simple as that, I've known I can't just be "one of the people", I need to find something, some identity, some way out of my seemingly impossible to escape label of "just above average"
In academics, in extracurricular activities, EVERYTHING, I seem to be at a stagnant
I've done bad, I've done "just above average", but never above. What is the point if you get plenty of losses and plenty of "fine" but no victories?
It's something about me though, somehow I believe, subconsciously, I'm impeding myself. I'm holding myself back.
...
Why?
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
Little smile
Written on a sheet of notebook paper
Guitar strings
Plucked by a boy who's midnight hair masks his true personality
Shy kid of 17
No visible emotions just strings
Guitar strings
You look at him with broken promises from past lovers tattooed to your pupils
While the only thing made permanent in his are music notes
And though those are there for you too
The cons outweigh the pros
An open mic night
Who could've guessed that what I was planning on as
"just another open mic"
might have turned into this
But things don't always go as planned
For me they almost never do
And while I usually try to view the glass as as full
More times than not things turn out the opposite way
Leaving me...
Half empty
So think of this poem as your warning
I know more than anyone that sometimes it may seem like my baggage is deemed too heavy to carry
And if it appears to be too much for you
Just do me a favor and let me know before I unpack into your space
Guitar strings caught my attention
Loose threads on the sweater of my unraveling attention span
Take a chance
Take the plunge
Let yourself fall into a new romance
Don't think
Just.. Do.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
I used to know things about people, it was all too easy for me to figure them out.
I used to dread the day when I had found out I've failed, when I couldn't save someone. Strange or depressing as it may seem, I'm glad I haven't had to attend all the funerals I tried to prepare myself for.
I used to know if someone had ever been touched wrongly. Unwillingly. How far past their "no's" were gotten. I can't do that anymore, I don't know how to help anymore.
I used to cry at all the pain, I used to sob myself to sleep. These days I try anything just to feel a single tear on my cheek.
I used to hear things without finding or ever questioning the source. I used to sing out my struggles to the sounds I heard while crying on my backyard's swing set. I still hear it sometimes, but maybe that's just my imagination.
My mom told me I used to see angels. All I can remember was being scared of the footprints on my ceiling. Maybe they were angels, maybe they were demons. Maybe they were just early signs of schizophrenia.
Was all of that just preparation?
Was it all just a coincidence?
Is this real? Is it God's work? Is it fate?
Do I believe in any of that anymore???
Who knew that a conversation over cigarettes with you would leave me so confused.
Is our craziness compatible, like taking a drug together and having the same trip?
Or maybe we're gifted with seeing things for how they really are.
Or maybe its just you.
Maybe I'm lost forever.
I need to walk your path.
I heard sounds in the woods with you
But was it the same music?
Do we share the same insanity?
Tell me if its a blessing or a curse.
Tell me if its worth all the pain.
Tell me if I can handle it... if I won't **** myself first.
Does the light in everything outweigh the darkness?
Tell me what you think about souls now.
Does everything live forever?
Can you still see their light if they're dead?
Tell me what you feel.
Tell me what you know now.
I want your truths.
This has to be real.
My world has been flipped and turned inside out.
But finally, for once, I think everything makes sense.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 3:12 AM UTC
I miss you all so much
Words with such passion, right?
If only you could feel what I feel
(But you do, don't you?)
Then you would know what it is to “miss”
(But you do, don't you?)
Then “so much” would actually mean something
Maybe if I used a rarer word
A word favored by artists and English teachers
Then the feeling would be adequately described
Right?
Correct?
My heart longs, but that does not do it
My heart cries, but that does not do it
My heart burns, but that does not do it
My heart explodes with every pain of desire it has ever held
Repeat with soul
And still, nothing
These words are meaningless before feeling
Why do we move around?
Why create these feelings?
Maybe if
I add some Santa Easter Bunny Jesus Lincoln desire-made belief?
That I will see you all again
And we will share our most intimate moments
Worthy of many exclamation points
!!!!!!!
Until the end of time?
Stay put and never leave
Put down roots in the soil and in hearts
Never go and always let them know
Just how much you care
Never let your ambition or desire outweigh your love
And Be Godammit, Be!
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 3:39 PM UTC
The first burnt burst of roasting beans brings sorrow
All at once memories of yesterday outweigh residual wonderment at tomorrow
The troubles of people who may be countries away slink over individual concerns.
Without being able to help it the world is suddenly covered with shadow
Dark oily patches blocking out early morning sunshine
The reasonable you scoffs, the sensitive you sighs.
The carton of eggs isn't the right combination of
free range organic fed lies, the toast is enriched and bleached
And you're eating it anyway.
Even the soy milk you pour into your coffee
because the right kind of milk isn't cruelty free
Caused deforestation somewhere miles across a sea.
You don't even want to think about the morality of the crispy bacon
And suddenly your morning is a dilemma of humanity.
But **** all you wanted was a simple cup of coffee.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
I know sometimes I sound like a black hole,
and my poems are only of unhappiness,
But i swear there are good days.
It's just that if I were to put the good days and the bad days on a seesaw,
The bad days would outweigh the good ones.
Their weight would keep them planted on the ground while the good days float 3 feet above with a smile on their face and a stupid halo around their head,
No fear of the word "fat" or worrying about taking up too much space,
And sometimes the bad days would get so low, they'd take their feet out from under them and hit absolute rock bottom,
Because what's the point of that support if it won't ever be good enough?
What's the point in living a life where nothing you do is ever good enough?
But the impact of the fall is so forceful that the bad days bounce back, Causing the good days to slam onto the ground while the bad days get just a sliver of what it's like to be in the limelight.
Sometimes the darkness needs to have their moment, even if it's only a millisecond long and they end up breaking their tailbone on the fall back.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I seem to have a lot more bad days than good, but I swear I'm okay.
I find the strength to fight back and push the darkness upwards in attempt to save it from its bad reputation.
Turn it into art.
Offer it some adjectives and shiny words to make it feel better.
Share it proudly with the world to show that not every day is a good day.
That most of the time I am a mess
With a head consumed by a thick, dark, fog
Weighing me down so low that my thoughts are being dragged in the dirt on the playground as kids stomp all over me.
Giving me black and blues that only cause me to become darker.
But I will not let the bad days bring me down.
Instead I will bring the bad days up.
Because even the longest, darkest, tunnels have an opening.
Whether it be a small crack, or a staircase of light,
It is this darkness that gives me a purpose.
It is the darkness that gives me a light.
It is the darkness that gives me a voice.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC
It's the first time we meet.
I can't get a read on that sweet summer smile, or the words that drip like thick robes of gold honey; soft-spoken and seemingly slow motion, a quite complicated question pours viscously from your lips.
You ask me, "What is your name?"
Now honestly, I considered honesty. Truthfully, I prefer anonymity, but it's considered rude to not share some glimpse of identity. Albeit reluctantly, I must decide: Do I introduce myself as "Chelsea"? Or as "A Window-Pane Made of Glass Too Thin"? Well honestly, honesty isn't always the best policy.
It's our first date -
Instead of worrying about which outfit I choose, I worry about the disclaimer I wear on my arms. I worry about the first time your gaze inevitably falls upon the self-inflicted displays of pain that dress my paper-thin skin. I worry, will you see a warning sign that reads "DANGER: Do not touch"? I wonder, will you listen?
Or will you choose to swallow me whole, a bitter pill with a list of flaws longer than the side effects of your favorite antidepressant. Do the benefits outweigh the risks, do you take a trial of me to see if I'll make you feel better or feel worse? Do you pour me down the drain when you find out I'm not good enough?
It's our first kiss -
A moment tainted by guilt that the sweet taste I leave behind on your lips is not saliva, but antifreeze. Drink me down and I'll poison you from the inside-out, and there will come a day that I'll be the taste you'd do anything to erase from your mouth.
It's our first fight -
And then our second, and our third...
The sand is slipping through our hourglass too fast, as we drag our blood-stained feet through a wasteland of eggshells and glass. All that remains is a crimson trail of mistakes, meandering back to the spotless place we started at.
It's the first time we meet, and
You ask me for my name. Silence.
Should I introduce myself as "Chelsea"? Or as "A Window-Pane Made of Glass Too Thin". If I'm being honest with myself, I go with the latter...and you'll walk away to avoid the mess that comes after.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 2:49 AM UTC
I'm wading in gray water, it lures me
I'm waiting for a dream to choke on now
The music crescendos when I scrape knees
But me and the dancer still take our bow
The water kisses my lips then my nose
I'm gone because I never met happy
For the cons will always outweigh the pros
But you never saw me being sappy
"I love you! Be mine!" the water will say
And I gladly submerge myself in it
The whales will come and carry me away
I'll find my Becoming an Undine kit
Suffice it to say I could never dream
Of such a silent, so hidden a scream
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
Turn back, O Hands of heedless Time!
When Life flowed gently day by day,
With no devices to outweigh
The golden melody sublime.
O! to regain those precious years;
A fortune I would swiftly give
If I perchance might gladly live'
Undaunted by these haunting fears.
Turn back! O Hands of cruel years
When Tranquility reigned supreme
And only Rapture wakened tears,
Life surreal flowing as a dream.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
I worry about everything,
I've never been able to just sit,
Just relax,
Unless there's someone there to lie with,
Someone else to stare at the ceiling or sky with,
To talk about songs and dreams.
Sometimes I think it would be nice,
To be able to stop for a second,
And ignore all the confusion,
That swims around my head,
And colours the wind with a false promise,
Of eternal freedom.
But I think of all the things,
That fill my mind,
You outweigh it all,
In every moment of joy and laughter I see you,
And when I'm down,
I know you would make me smile.
The fact is,
I can't escape that fact,
And more importantly,
I don't want to.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
Endearing is the quest
to sing of the morning sun,
when you know only the words to the song
of night.
Absurd is the notion
that you could saunter across the lake...
Just to touch the moon when it is only a mere reflection.
Foolhardy is the assumption,
that your words could matter enough
to outweigh the consensus of most.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC
Your steadfast love
Your steadfast love O Lord never ceases to amaze me
My mind is in a state of awe at the vastness of your love
The vastness of your love could cover mountains at just a
Thought from you
If I were to count the amount of love you have for your children it would outnumber the stars and outweigh the grains of sand.
Just to think that your love existed before we came to be
If all your love was revealed, if all creation declared it if all nature proclaimed it, the oceans would drown in your love for your love is far deeper and your love is wider than the sky, for the sky is but a mere breath in comparison to your love.
Therefore, it is more magnificent than a mountain waterfall and furthermore. it never runs out. Yet it is always contained in your hand and freely poured out.
Hearts shout for joy with even a touch of your love for your love is warmer than a summer day.
Your love is steadfast and is a fortress forever to those who place their trust in you.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 8:08 AM UTC
It's 3am,
or so the clock says
Maybe it's just crazy like me
For a girl's heart
that it wants in
But it's not sure it has the key
Its mind is preoccupied
with other things now
And it can't seem to function quite right
It tries to sleep
as time gets lost
But it simply ticks through the night
So maybe it’s not
as late as it says
And time still needs to be found
Maybe the clock
gave that girl its key
And the clock still needs to be wound
If the clock finds its key
it finds time and love
a function and a purpose
Reunited with her
its heart can tick true,
a shine gleaming from its surface
But sadly, I know
this is all believe
For a clock could have no heart
Which sadly means
the clock is fine
And I'm the one falling apart
Perhaps the clock
can serenade me
And help me rest my eyes
Maybe the clock
can distract my heart
From its desperate beating tries
But in the end I know
the clock’s soft ticks
Can't outweigh thoughts that keep me awake
It's just too much to love
such a precious Jewel
When you'll never have what it takes
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 3:48 AM UTC
Who would wear such a thing?
Who would be so despised?
So pathetic to a jeering crowd?
So utterly cursed?
So utterly shamed?
So utterly broken?
A foolish one, you say?
A liar?
A crazy one?
A sucker for punishment?
A mythological man?
How about this?
A man who would lay down his life for a friend
One who would take the place of others who really deserve what he got instead
One who demonstrates that the works of weakness truly outweigh the brutality of the mighty
One who is willing to connect the Divine to a suffering world
I say that is One who would wear a crown of thorns
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 12:03 PM UTC
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
Cross legged I sit
Swallowing stables to repair my inner self
Am I to be martyred?
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
I'm in a panic, my heart's edging its final fit
Cross legged I sit
With a scissors I cut off my rough edges
Am I to be martyred?
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
In my head I feel this is it
Using a ruler to guide my knife
Blood falls like a liquid hour glass ending my life
I can't be who I have to be
My aspirations far outweigh my ability
My motivation is hindered by my stupidity
I'm sick of the annual near life experience
Depression is the zeitgeist of our generation
Correct me if I'm wrong
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
I try to hot clue my memories
The fondest, I fear, aren't even true
I feel like I'm being eaten alive
I'm a lobster in a *** slowly being boiled
My claws are being torn from me
My very soul being soiled
My heart is still beating
My legs are being ripped from my rife carcass
I cry louder than I ever thought possible
Still breathing I am in gross darkness
My eyes feel like they're going to bleed
My tail is ripped from me
I wish I could plea
But I'm just one
I'm just me
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
But I will share
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
how many protests have you watched now?
how many devolving into riots?
via violent actors, on either side
what was gained, for those we lost?
was it in vain?
did the pay outweigh the cost?
or was our venture defunct?
would civil disobedience had been better sought?
or a more brutal insurrection,
to rival those we've been taught?
just do like they'd wish
and lay down and die
Mar 12, 2021
Mar 12, 2021 at 10:48 PM UTC
taken up residence in all my areas and in these places
there is always a place for her
In my basement
when she rubs and soothes my toes to a numbing comfort
at opposite end her stretch lets my hands do the same to hers
Structure beams stand
and are why my calves and thighs continue to grow stronger
are incentive to be wrapped around her legs
and hers in a grip twist
throughout the curve of my hips to hold crossing
X made when I am wrapped
For entering the front porch
She knocks but not heard
for her tapping inquiries are irrelevant
So it turns, the doorknob turns
unlocking opening this abstract transition in my abdomen
Here is hers to warm her hands
and chest
when chills come over
and Level-Up in connect
with another’s rushes
through bloods chamber controller
In the hearth of my arms
is where she sleeps off stressful days
and absorbs deep breaths
given to her by the nighttime in comfort fire
that keep warm in clutching swarm
The crawl space of my mind is her cozy retreat
Where she writes to and
receives poetry like excessive pounding heartbeats
and sings and reads, is read to and strummed to
in this cave of only good thoughts drape over, outweigh
and extend
root outward
sprout upward
seeds are sewed
for and of future place
take place
This is where she speaks one line
“Millions of days,”
and falling feta paints rapid wetness across raised cheeks
grazing my chin upward, with her fingers
where we pace, follow, and race,
To more moments in place on our backs
in the yard
just to lay and stare ahead
at endless sects of aerospace
As if in bed, in their others head
Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 1:19 PM UTC
O BUT we talked at large before
The sixteen men were shot,
But who can talk of give and take,
What should be and what not
While those dead men are loitering there
To stir the boiling ***
You say that we should still the land
Till Germany's overcome;
But who is there to argue that
Now Pearse is deaf and dumb?
And is their logic to outweigh
MacDonagh's bony thumb?
how could you dream they'd listen
That have an ear alone
For those new comrades they have found,
Lord Edward and Wolfe Tone,
Or meddle with our give and take
That converse bone to bone?
2k
Eureka
My thanks to the man who tasted
cyanide and voiced his last Eureka.
“Almonds”
To the man who saw dragons
to be slayed with pen and sword
in windmills.
To the Danish Prince who said
“What a piece of work is man.”
Well, man’s a piece of work alright.
Did you ever think about how
men wear their ovaries on the outside?
Or how you can always win arguments with yourself
in the shower?
My boyfriend traces the edge
of my chewed nails as he asks
me what I am thinking about.
I’m thinking about the consistency of jellyfish
and how it compares to human brains
and the taste of nectarines, overripened
drawing fruitflies to picnic tables.
Maybe I see colors differently
and will never know that my blues
are only a midnight shadow of what they
could be and if I’ve never truly seen the color red.
And how after nineteen years
I still can’t tell if I’m a good person
or just faking really well.
And if that Chinese Emperor
who strapped rockets to his thrown
to find dragons
ever found any.
Did the chicken getting crushed while crossing
the road get him to the other side.
If I died young, could I motivate people
to be nicer to each other?
When did my grandmother die
and when can I ask my mother without her
crying? There was a little girls skeleton
found next to her donkey in the ancient ruins
of an earthquake. There were several
different species of human alive at the same time
and my favorite color isn’t really blue
And I’m really glad I couldn’t ****
myself when I was 13 because I tasted
my first plum last week. AND FOR THE LOVE
OF GOD
WHAT
AM
I DOING
WITH
MY
LIFE.
My happy moments will always outweigh the bad
And are my ***** uneven because
when I look down—
What are you thinking about?
Almonds. They
taste like cyanide.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
People like you die young, she said
You don't drink, don't
do drugs, eat healthy, rarely
go out, rarely meet new girls
But you keep on writing, boy, you
keep on writing
and that's enough to outweigh
all the above
You'll see
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 5:31 AM UTC