"overdue" poems
i’ve given up on days that begin in late afternoon,
skipped breakfast and lunch,
days that fade slowly and end with
****** cut-out holes in eyelids because
the second i close them and it all goes black,
every moment with you comes back
played on fast-forward, the memories moving so quickly
that both our faces are blurred
and it feels like everything i’ve ever felt for you
is overflowing the tub, filling the washroom with
suds that take forever to melt
i’ve given up on those days.
i’ve traded them for ones that begin with
sunrises instead of sunsets,
days that are spent falling forward
instead of trying to chase the past, and i don’t
look back and see something broken, or
something that was better off left unopened
i look back and see our bodies so close together
that you can’t tell where yours begins and mine ends,
i see my heart that grew twenty-three times its size,
i see you and me wrapped up in something that
i didn’t know existed outside of blurry 35 mm
and overdue and falling-apart library books
that sit on the nightstands of middle-aged women
who are bored with their lives
and i’m just so happy i got to love you at all.
but i’ve folded up all the days spent with you
and taped them in the messy pages of my journal
and now i’m running into the sun,
running away from every lie that’s trying to
wedge its way in between my ribs,
running in the opposite direction of words like "regret"
and any feeling that insists that none of it was worth it
because all of it was worth it.
every moment we were together pumps
through my veins, and it will always be there;
it will be there when we’ve both graduated,
when you move out west,
when you kiss your family goodnight,
when you sit in your backyard with tears
in your eyes because you’ve lived a life
you are proud of
it will be there when i finally make it to new york city,
when i kiss someone who isn’t you,
when i find the answers you inspired me to search for,
when i sit on my rooftop with tears on my cheeks
because i’ve lived a life fuller than i could’ve ever imagined
and you and i will live these lives apart,
we’ll move on and forget what it felt like
to wake up beside one another;
we’ll find what we’re looking for elsewhere
and we’ll understand why this all had to happen the way that it did
but what we had will always exist somewhere,
in rotting apples and old mail and unplayed mix CDs,
in mosaics that line the city streets, in sirens and
red and white flashing lights that shine through
your window while you are asleep
you and i were magic,
we always will be.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
In The Prison Of Winter, No Rise, No Set
orbit nearly closed,
the radio announcer gleefully
chirruping, the twittering fool,
"only ** graves to X off till
spring"
the weight of the prior
the wait of the more
no matter how little
yet to come
too much insufferable
having suffered
multiple life sentences
you snit **** u don't know better,
ha, they don't even run
concurrently
there are no sunsets
in the girding grays
of harsher enough and words that fail me,
are the winners in the
winter of the ****
tests and hunts,
I have successfully
failed
of course I'm wrong you
petulant hobgoblin wringing
nyet from me you'll get no concession,
**** science,
there are no sunsets in the winter
and the sunrises,
short unsweetened,
light-less, less of less,
frigid glaring revealers
of dead trees
and deader
men
maybe in the Rockies,
perhaps the Alps,
wonderlands photoshopped,
pretty lies on the Internet BS posted
where I live,
wear the wear the weary
neath the sweat stink of layers of
unbundled choking hands,
winter's damage
assessed and assessment is
never overdue, payable in
immediacy
heating bills I can't pay,
a job that said no more of you,
unpretty please,
a woman who sorcerer-scarced herself
right freaking black magic quick,
trust me I have certified verified,
me and Nixon,
X's on the kitchen calendar,
there is daylight, there is mighty night,
almighty in long and colorless
and nothing in between,
but the smog stained slush of
smothered life
but definitely
no sunrises and no sunsets
watched all day from the
imprisoning kitchen window
which doubles
as a **** you
mirror
there are no, not any,
you know what,
cannot even say them,
the pipe dreams of better yet,
pipes that have beaten down
me and my
disassociated senses,
signed sealed and now delivered,
from the formerly known as
The Summer Man
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 9:39 AM UTC
Sunday will come
Just a few days from now
An eternity to wait
To say what is long overdue
Sunday will come
And we will confess ourselves
Fear will hold us
Hope will push us closer
And on Sunday
When we both shake in emotion
My hand in yours
We will find a way to work through
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
I feel invisible
Yet you claim(ed) I am the air you breathe
And perhaps like air I am always present,
But presently forgotten
The heaviness of your hush is crushing me with empty blows
This silence leads me to wander down a path cloaked in a heavy mist
That whispers harsh truths such as:
Our hopeless, fictitious, drawn out infatuation is like
A library book that was checked out last March
You underlined and doggie-paged the first few chapters
And then left it on your shelf to collect dust all of April and May
I foolishly kept begging you to finish the book
Read the last sentence
Take time to skim over the epilogue
Please
Find your way to the back cover
I foolishly ignored your “I can’t”s
And now it’s late August and our love is long overdue,
In the opposite sense of what the phrase typically means
I write with angry lead because
I am too stubborn to admit I just filled a trash bin with tissues
And that the cuffed sleeves of my flannel
Are damp like grass’s morning dew
I have so much more to say,
Although I cannot find the words
To say anything more than
You should’ve written.
Because two weeks of nothing
Was enough for me to realize that you are just a passing breeze
Seldom present, presently becoming something of the past.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs
Incarcerating women's wombs
Justifying men's genes
Foreigners appropriating
Women's and men's sexualities
Losing the power to be
When changing our roles' long overdue
Gendering our words and attitudes
Man, who taught you to be a chauvinist!
Woman, who taught you to be a *********
Don't put your god in gendered bigotry
Do man's emotions feminize him?
When will women freely carry torches!
What gender do you assign this voice?
What gender do you assign this words?
Will the masses even understand these choices?
Don't worry, my sexuality won't infect you
Criminalizing sexuality
Placing it front and center, implying that's all I am
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs
Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Because men and women of society
Full of stride, take pride, in their gendered hyde
Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Ignored hoods, barrios, countrysides, ghettos, projects
Devouring women's and men's bodies
Younger and younger people falling to HIV/AIDS and STDS
Vaginas receiving the violence, wombs bringing misery
LGBT youth ****** into fire
Lost males (in mental chains) ****** to assert their manhoods
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Full of dangerous chemicals, being sprayed onto
The landscapes between thighs
Attempting to legislate our stories, without warrant
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
Id love a big fat ****
Or a wrinkled up old bag
An ugly looking hag
Who wants a ******* ****
If I had a big fat ***** with a big fat bucket
I'd lay between her fleshy thighs, and definitely **** it
My thrusting **** inside her **** is where I'd like to tuck it
Spunking up would be sublime, when I lick and **** it
When your about to **** the fat, it takes a certain knack
Stuffed up fishy **** ***** or **** ******* round the back
A nice piece of chunky **** with a big long sweaty crack
Fatty *** holes make you hard ,my **** would not be slack
I would ride a big large Gal, just like a waterbed
Bathroom ******* would be fun, as well as in the shed
Spunking up between her legs, cream cheese would then be spread
When both holes are full of *** she can **** my **** instead
And after I have finished, with all of those fat *******
Something different I would want, maybe some old wrinkled witches
All wearing apple gatherers, and big large ******* britches
Older ***** long overdue, scratching long lost itches
A lot of fun I could have, in an old folks place
Disrobed willing grannies ***** stuffed right in my face
At least eight bits of gristle ****** a display of my disgrace
With each granny ****** in turn, if they can stand the pace
As I lift their skirts up their knickers I would sniff
I'm hoping that old fannies good, and they don't smell or whiff
The smell of old used granny **** is probably just a myth
But I won't let it bother me, as long as I get stiff
I wouldn't even care, if they wore crap NHS glasses
As long as I could **** and *** inside there wrinkled arses
I would **** them old ****** , all from different classes
Some of them in wheelchairs and some with heart bypasses.
It's irrelevant how fat you are, I really do not mind
As long as you are willing, and your pussy's wet and kind
And if you like it up the **** then I'm that way inclined
******* ***** is quite fine, so is ******** from behind
So come on girls fat or old, all slags are a possibility
Your sexuality can flood out, there's no need for negativity
I'm willing to **** who comes along, to the best of my ability
Just make sure that I stay stiff, and maintain my agility
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 5:44 AM UTC
An ecosystem found upon
An outer crust of dust
Inside abode without a lawn
With tenant taming rust.
Sitting stagnant, songs of stellar
Sing sublime lines
Through minds that remain in cellar,
Never seeing the pines.
Many stagnant years have passed,
Detectives overdue,
The body brought them all aghast,
The stench, the dust, and view.
An ecosystem found upon
An outer crust of dust
Inside abode without a lawn
With tenant taming rust.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC
Recovery is a long and painful process.
Its a lengthy, twisting, one way road.
It is not fair, life never is.
You need to accept that that is just the way it goes.
Broken hearts, they will never shatter even.
We were so close until the day she said she was leaving.
It was so easy for her to let us go.
She left me here alone and why I still don't know.
She thought I would be broken, as soon as she was gone.
Now it's time for me to prove that she had thought wrong.
Yes I cared about her; she had said she cared about me.
Those were empty words, burdened with all the lies that I now see.
It was far too perfect that I should have known it could never be true.
It hurts even after so much time; my recovery is beyond overdue.
I was blindsided; she always knew exactly the right words to say.
She made my heart race and I had never considered the chance that she would just walk away.
I wish I had known what she had planned to do.
Because she only proved why trusting people is not what I should do.
Now there are no more lies and I’m no longer waiting.
No more time of mine is she taking.
I am so done; I wasted so much of my time.
All on a girl who couldn’t even consider mine.
My heart still stands, as if it was never broken.
It is as strong as her lies, so easily spoken.
But the time I had with her I will never regret.
She taught me a few lessons that I will not soon forget.
The first thing I learned is to not trust someone with your heart,
Because in the end, it will likely end up ripped apart.
Then there’s lesson two, and this comes from a different part;
Do not be with someone if you already know you’re going to break their heart.
I’m done lying to myself and not completely accepting me.
It only took a broken heart and then the recovery.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 9:52 AM UTC
stripped naked in the figurative sense, I see a girl that is far overdue for a dose of joy. so much emptiness in her eyes, blood flow has become invisible. beauty. oh so much beauty in the way she cares absolutely too much for those that are unaware of her favorite color nevertheless asks how she feels every blue moon. perfectionist could quite possibly be her middle name by the way her heart beats in sync with the spontaneous moods that show their appearance every two days or so. anxiety equals a rapid beat. "if you feel worried then you must act on it" seems to be her philosophy because when she's sad and shaky the heart must go slow.
for,
she.
is.
slow.
when the depression hits and vulnerability only shows its face behind closed doors im sure she would say that she feels as though she's suffocating. suffocating in the figurative sense, where everyone is there watching her but no one can differentiate heavy breathing in basketball practice from a ******** asthma attack.
idiots.
so numb. she's so numb in the figurative sense. you ask her how she is and each time it's an automated "good" as if practiced hundreds of times before a theatre performance. an actress. she's an actress in the literal sense. planting a smile from ear to ear even when it's an obvious gloomy day for everyone else. she puts on a show of happiness that could very much earn her an oscar, if only she were literally in the entertainment business. I can see her falling in the way her back hunches just 10 degrees lower than it had a year ago. I would recommend a doctors appointment but im hoping she learns to fix it on her own. I'm hoping it begins to appear in someone around her that maybe she isn't as okay as she seems. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't just have bad days and doesn't just spare her low moods in spite of upsetting those around her. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't see herself as beautiful. this beautiful perfectionist is so far from perfect.
maybe if someone looked a little deeper in the literal and figurative sense, they would choose to ask, after her automated response of "good", "are you really?"
-mxy
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
My fingers tangle and trip
over sloppy knitting
like a deer
learning to walk on crooked
pencil legs.
Like a song I don't quite
know the words to.
I move unsteadily,
uncertain, with short shaky breaths.
Remember when I taught my lungs
to breathe again in August?
After so many mistakes that
I didn't know how to
reconcile.
I wanted to die out back
of a hotel in Montana, dramatic
in the weeds and grasshoppers.
Needles fighting, I
spread a mess of mustard yarn
across my fingers like
I need a napkin.
Has anything changed?
Dropped stitches, weary knots leaving
gaping holes.
I think of how I ran away
from it all.
There are days I still look back.
But I look straight into the sky
as if demanding an explanation from
God himself.
I have to shade my eyes
sometimes,
seeing blinding brilliance
in the sun now.
I can't live any longer only
by the light it sheds
everywhere else.
No, in births of light and bursts
of truth and slow, overdue breaths
is a song I'm finally learning
the words to.
You will not defeat me.
I rip out my knots
and begin again.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 12:07 PM UTC
Do you wanna build a snowman?
Come on, let's go and play.
I never see you anymore,
come out the door,
it's like you've gone away.
We used to be best buddies.
But now we're not.
I wish you would tell me why!
Do you wanna build a snowman?
It doesn't have to be a snowman.
8 year old Elsa: Go away, Anna.
5 year old Anna: Okay, bye.
8 year old Anna: (knocks) Do you wanna build a snowman?
Or ride our bikes around the halls?
I think some company is overdue.
I've started talking to,
the pictures on the walls! (Hang in there, Joan!)
It gets a little lonely.
All these empty rooms,
just watching the hours tick by (tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock)
15 yr old Anna: (Knocks) Elsa?
Please, I know you're in there.
People are asking where you've been.
They say, "Have courage."
And I'm trying to,
I'm right out here for you.
Just let me in.
We only have each other.
It's just you and me.
What are we gonna do?
Do you wanna build a snowman?
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
You bought the house with lavender
seeded in the front porch.
The scent flutters between the doorsill
and through the letterbox
like bills overdue and invoices outstanding. A postal aroma,
envelope glue smells like flowers to me.
I was never granted the privilege of rearranging flowers
You said, there was more to life than flora,
these emerald, sap dripping, saturated stems
Swelling petals fascinated under my untried eyes,
You said I must not even graze the things.
I longed for a taste of the forbidden flora.
Did buds taste like honey? Were they sour like you told me?
Would they poison these supple
and innocent lips, turn them pink to grey?
Could tastebuds kiss the perennial vines,
the posies, the spray of efflorescence
A taste of simple sweetness -
I remember when you ripped the front-porch-lavender.
The roots could not resist your claws.
You sweat to mutilate strained flowers,
You always work harder. Verdure spoiled.
Ravaged, ruptured, tanked soil.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
'Twas the night before Thanksgiving
And all through the forest
All the turkeys were gathered
From the richest to poorest
For a meeting was called
To plan their revenge
For all of their loved ones
Who were ever cooked or singed
Now this turkey rebellion
Was long overdue
How would they get even?
And what would they do?
I was there that night
When their meeting adjourned
Keep reading this poem
To see what I learned
This meeting went on
For what seemed like an hour
'Til a gobbler stepped forth
In their circle of power
Now all the turkeys agreed
To this gobbler's idea
They'd all eat some exlax
And give them diarrhea
No matter how they cooked it
Bake it or boil it
The humans would spend
All day on the toilet
So, remember this Thanksgiving
As you try to relax
Have plenty of TP
For those sudden attacks
Nov 10, 2010
Nov 10, 2010 at 10:17 AM UTC
“You are the leaders of tomorrow”
They told us over and over
Right from the tender age of three
Through childhood and adolescence.
We have outgrown our youth
We are now mature men
We have come of age to lead
Just as promised decades ago.
At a recent gathering
Our leaders of yesterday
Stricken with age and power
And long overdue for retirement
Addressed us, saying,
“Bla bla bla, bla bla, bla bla bla…”
“You are the leaders of tomorrow”
That last statement jolted me awake
From his uninspiring, boring speech.
Then it dawned on me
We are a sleeping generation
We have long been waiting- sleeping!
When we should be leading
*Our greedy, power-drunk leaders,
Will die in active service!
They will NOT hand over to us!
Not if we sit and wait for them*.
I had a revelation that the “tomorrow”,
We were promised “yesterday”
Is fast becoming yesterday, today!
And while the Nigerian youth sleeps
His chance is being usurped by his fathers
Yesterday we heard this promise
Today we hear the same promise
But come tomorrow, we will be too old to lead
And our children’s turn, it will be.
We have been scammed of our future
By the very ones we entrusted them with
And like turns in a game of scrabble,
We have missed ours- forever!
Our leaders are old men
Who have no faith in youths
And come tomorrow, our children,
Will have graves to look up to
Because we would have no experience
From which to advise them…
And like an unwanted track on a CD
Our generation would have been skipped
By the geriatric push of a ⇒ button!
© Raphael Uzor
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
Karma is a *****
You heard the saying so many times.
What goes around comes around.
The golden rule.
Whatever.
Karma is a *****
But not to the people who deserve it.
The people who were the nice ones,
Who have been suffocated;
Their payment is long overdue.
I know a lot of people, including myself,
That have struggled to be kind for so long.
They have completely possessed the person
They once were.
Lately I've been a *****
Please forgive me.
Ive tried for so long.
And I can not deal with this anymore.
I feel the need to rebel.
Because it is something to do.
You would do it to.
And most likely have
If you have been as caged in
As I was.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
The boy haden't bathed in over a month
His **** crack was itching and burning
His underpants were soaked in slimy, wet muck
And his toes a thick jam were churning
His armpits stank worse than a fat pigs raw ***
His breath smelled like rancid fish
His hair was so oily, matted to his head
His own mother wouldn't give him a kiss
"Enough!" he cried as a passing fly died
When he raised his arm to exclaim.
"I must bathe right away! I am long overdue!"
"I sure hope the washcloths are brave."
"To the bathroom man!" He shouted as he ran
And his underpants sloppily squished
"I will remove this filth and brush my green teeth"
"And my mother I will kiss!"
"The closet's ahead!" He said as he sped.
And he stopped there to get some stuff.
Some soap, some shampoo and a towel or two.
But he knew that it wasn't enough.
Look though he might, to his horror and fright,
Not a single washcloth could he find.
Then panic set in 'cause the stink of his skin
Was driving him out of his mind.
He looked yet again but to his chagrin
The washcloth shelf was bare.
The washcloths had run off
For they would not wash
So filthy a boy on a dare
"Oh what will I do!" "Boo-hoo, boo-hoo!"
The boy cried as flies swarmed his head.
"I'd **** myself but I already smell"
"Far worse than anything dead!"
Then one washcloth came back
Holding it's nose and a sack
Of bath salts that smelled like dill.
It said to the boy "Go pickle yourself!"
"And give me a nausea pill!"
So the boy rejoiced and filled the tub
With water, hot as he could stand.
And using the bath salts, he jumped right in
And the pickling began.
He lathered the washcloth with water and soap
And scrubbed with all of his might.
Away he washed all of the filth
'Til none was left in sight.
He washed his hair and brushed his teeth
And dried and dressed himself well.
And the washcloth exclaimed as it hung on the tub
"Holy crap! that was pure hell!"
So the boy now clean ran to be seen
By his mother he loved so much.
And she gave him a kiss and said "This is pure bliss!"
"I can kiss you and keep down my lunch!"
The moral I'll tell you and true I will be
So no one will say that I lied.
Don't wait a whole month to take a bath
Or you washcloths may run and hide.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:53 AM UTC
~for Maya, the Persian Canadian farmer in the dell~
your poetic riddling questions without hesitation re
my claim conceptual
refuting with factoids actuarial experiential derived,
that cows need milkshake making daily by sunrise
nonsense
so you wake me up groggy on a Miami Saturday 6:00am
with a reciprocal poetic to a dashed off to contra my
code of conduct poem-mine;
and all that stumbles through my almost reset rested,
main stem cortex is an a ancient hebrew homily:
on Sabbath Saturday, even the cows sleep late
ok;
just tween us rare passes the day that a glancing phrase doesn’t register a stabbing whine “of me, of mine do sing” and your point counterpoint incision demands inspiration instant re-mission
around 10am when the amiable barn aminals sipping cuppa #3,
and the chicken children want a weekend brunch xtra feeding
are done, in the yard, put out to
pack n' peck n’ play
so that’s an intro to this work
that jumps the line of a
hundreds of other’s poems promised and overdue:
insight inside your crafted wake up slam slap was
pretty **** near the makers mark bourbon of this distillers
bourbon barrels bulbous poem’s bibliothèque that
has an impatient waiting list
of poems waiting anointing
each a personage~poem of that day it was birthed inscribed
this particular one for you,
~
my complexity non-Napoleonic
just humanoid each, here are my leaders from and
into a veining so lovely colored
each poem a waving wheat stalk
before these old tired eyes close to closing hear once more
“of me, of mine do sing”
so I follow all of you by dimming yellow light,
for this is the soil of nutriment rich from where my
words grow taller and the yellow infusion feeds my wheats,
the amber, the red hard and soft, the whites, the durums,
and mon préféré, prairie spring white,
which is my secret nickname for a duality woman,
poet and farmer,
posing riddles
that deserve answers*
maybe
—-
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2503650/little-ole-me-a-riddle-of-sorts/
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
I’m sorry
This is overdue
I’m sorry
I did that to you
I’m sorry
We stayed together after I told you
I’m sorry
That note was ever needed to be wrote
I’m sorry
It was because of me
I’m sorry
The gun didn’t have bullets
I’m sorry
The window in ur room wasn’t high enough
I’m sorry
There wasnt A rope
I’m sorry
That note was left for me to find
I’m sorry
It didn’t work
Im sorry
You felt obligated to get me back
I’m sorry
My best friend volunteered
I’m sorry
You did it more times to hurt me
I’m sorry
I pushed you to putting the bruises on ur heart into my wrist
I’m sorry
I embarrassed you
I’m sorry
You made me look down the fall before I jumped
I’m sorry
I didn’t do it cause of you
I’m sorry
I wish I still could
I’m sorry
It’s been two years and my life is still all cause of you
I’m sorry
All of this is my fault
I’m sorry.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
Over time they will look back on you,
The one who rose with morning drew
Cared for everything, and have so few,
Lastly, they will take up on your cue,
When your words become the last adieu,
And people you encouraged start life anew.
Lately, they will think back on you,
The hardworking and patient mule,
For you our thanks overdue,
For your sacrifices, we never knew.
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 9:30 PM UTC
As the stars shine in the dark night sky, my heart shines upon your soul.
The flame encases them, flowing through them, around them
Descending upon the earth they separate
Journeying to find each other again
I will never stop seeing you for what you are.
Her eyes are a fiery world of emotion, volcanic
The depth is endless, shaken from the reality of this world
Soft gentle skin, smooth, unseen perfection
Her mind an endless ocean of thought
She breathes, searching, for the flame that burns within
His mind battered from the constant misunderstanding
The past is over and his new beginning is overdue
Searching for the taste of all that he knows, Searching for the flame that burns within
The universe sets it’s plan in motion
It’s an inevitable fate
Two souls searching, working toward this certain conclusion.
The flame is cast, frequency’s align
Ascending far above the earth
The flames merge once again, bound by destiny
And again the flame encases them, following them into eternity
Forever searching for the merging of the twin flame.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
You say one thing but don't follow through
Leaving me alone left to ponder and ask why
Did I do or say something that hurt you
I understand you are busy but I know you have time
My mind wonders is this fate
Is destiny revealing that this relationship is way overdue
Maybe we just need to escape for our own sake
See some place new where we both can share the view
Please I don't want this to be goodbye
We can run faraway and start with a fresh new slate
But for now I wait as you seem to be preoccupied in another lie
****** just look me in the eye and tell me it straight
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
A misunderstood mind,
A heartache of mine,
My main frame covered in dust.
A good clean long overdue,
Awakening when I find you,
Helping me to vanish the rust.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 5:57 AM UTC
Karma is a *****
You heard the saying so many times.
What goes around comes around.
The golden rule.
Whatever.
Karma is a *****
But not to the people who deserve it.
The people who were the nice ones,
Who have been suffocated;
Their payment is long overdue.
I know a lot of people, including myself,
That have struggled to be kind for so long.
They have completely possessed the person
They once were.
Lately I've been a *****
Please forgive me.
Ive tried for so long.
And I can not deal with this anymore.
I feel the need to rebel.
Because it is something to do.
You would do it to.
And most likely have
If you have been as caged in
As I was.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
I’ve never needed more words
than the ones I already have.
I am a lost library book.
I have become overdue, forgotten
and I once gave you a good time.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 1:00 AM UTC
Hi, I'm an insecure poet
Just like I don't like myself
I don't like my poetry
I don't know but sometimes
My poems aren't just it
They are unclear and weird
Like my personality is
They're short and stout
Just like I look physically
They sometimes rhyme too much
Like I overdue too much
Sometimes the free verses
Seem like the amateur I am
And everything's clichéd
Like my creativity got ******
They're hairy and dark
And ugly and scarred
But most of the time
They're just all over
All over excellence
Just like my neighbour
Is all over men
And I try too hard
I get all over it
But when I let go
No matter that I'm fat
The breeze carries me forth
No matter that I'm dark
I shine
And my creativity
Crawls out of crevices
To create poetry
That warms the soul
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 11:17 AM UTC