"overplayed" poems
You were, but a music freak
And I
Just another song
Removed from playlist
After being overplayed
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
Papa repeats bad jokes
like a broken record, an overplayed
and under paid radio station
that forgot how many times
we've heard the same
song.
Out to eat at a fine dining
Mexican restaurant, Papa orders
a hot dog. The waiter
doesn't get it. The joke, nor the
hot dog.
Who would guess so many
bad one-liners and puns lie behind
your dark leather skin and
tired jaw? The waiter cannot tell
that buried underneath pages of wrinkles and
stoic smiles, Papa
is only joking.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 4:48 PM UTC
She wore bright glossy
Humbug tights.
Aw ****
the way she smoked
her Marlboro Lights
was pornographic.
She flicked her smoke rings
at the traffic
and was blown to bits by
cheap hairspray.
(Considering my love of Jean Genet,
I told her ‘you make sense this way.’
She smiled and clicked
a ****** heel.
‘Holy **** How real you feel!’
Not that I have points of reference.)
Stop confusing my ******* preference
with La-La-Lola Soho Kink.
Your lips are painted ***** pink
and you wrap them round
your glass and down
your Lambrini-Girls Pre-Party
drink.
(I want you against my kitchen sink!)
And naked -
How you overplayed it!
I think you were a bit
afraid
of both your halves,
your masquerade,
your matching scars.
(What did mermaids do to
all their sailors
struck by stars?)
You’re a crazy fusion,
Top-heavy wonder.
You’re a woman, my dear -
and you pulled me under.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:32 AM UTC
You are the smell of the decaying leaves;
The leaves I long for when life is in bloom.
You are the soft thud of the door
As I slip out, unnoticed.
You are the breath I take, emerging from the frigid ocean,
And the light I illuminate upon my arrival home on the blackest of nights.
You are not, however the electricity,
Or lack thereof when the power surges in the midst of an essay.
You may be pleased to know that you are not that song
Overplayed on the radio that never fails to irk me.
You are also not the piu right before the mezzo forte,
For that is me. I am the piu preceding the mezzo forte.
I am the spare tire on the underside of your car,
And I am also the F sharp to the B natural, a few cents flat.
It may not surprise you that I am the negative sign you forgot to distribute,
And the feeling of snow seeping in through your boots.
You are not the feeling of snow seeping in a pair of boots.
You would like to know that you are the smell of a sharpie,
Uncapped for the first time, and you are the excitement of using it first.
You are even the taste of catching the first snowflake of the winter,
And eating the first s’more of the summer.
You are the chap stick, found in the pocket of the pants in the hamper,
Or perhaps even the twenty dollar bill in the other.
But I am the learner’s permit that went through the wash.
I am also the candle whose wick is drowned in its own wax.
I am not, however the smell of the decaying leaves.
You are the smell of the decaying leaves.
You will now and forever be the smell of the decaying leaves;
The leaves I long for when life is in bloom.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
"The best memories are like overplayed mixtapes: they lose clarity and detail over time, yet they seem to sound better the older they get."
We listen to the fourth round of Trois Gymnopedies
on our break from the second round of **********
Our limbs entwined, in part because we like it
partly because we're stuck together by sweat and--
The air is thick with scents foul and fragrant
as furniture music fills the gaps in between
Every breath stalls to anticipate the notes
fingers twitch slightly on the downbeat
Ten minutes ago, we made our own music
Ten minutes ago, we were in perfect harmony
She stares at the ceiling as I stare on her lips
I watch her mumble the lyrics Satie never wrote:
*A pack of cigarettes,
a pack of cigarettes
Could you please buy from the store?*
We're taken over by uncontrollable laughter
as uncontrollable as the trembling when we came
She shifts to her side, and my arms are freed
I stand and pick my jeans from the floor
I take my time buttoning up my shirt,
soaking in the view before I run the errand
She lies naked still, as I put a jacket on
I leave on the fifth round of the Gymnopedie
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
in my mind, it was always
a perfect ten
below zero, just cold enough
for me to shiver
and for your nose to turn a rosy pink
and for me to hide a dark thought
behind warm words, excused
by the curtain of soft snow
falling around us
i guess i overplayed this scene
i guess i cut and stripped it
set music to our footsteps
and played it up, all romantic angles
and close-up frames
hovering too long
over your awkward, shifting smile
i guess it wasn't really musical
no artsy, black-and-white short film
not even worth the imagery
that i gave it in each long piece of poetry
just worth enough
for me to hum along
when i hear the song
that i put to the scene, hoping
you'd recognize the tune
here in the cutting-room of my heart
i gave up
sat down on the floor, scattered images
floating down
and i grabbed my scissors
cutting each one into a snowflake
before it hit the ground
trying to recreate that scene
the way i remembered it
and in the darkness, i could ignore
the desperate feeling
of an imagination run too wild
i guess i overplayed this tune
but sometimes
when the words don't come easily
to my real-time writing, i am forced
to look backwards in time and space
across mountains of disgraced, forgotten things
back to a time
when all i could write about was you
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:31 AM UTC
If my heart could fly,
I’d break it’s wings,
Flee any hurt,
specifically the ones caused by me.
I’d use it so much, it’d begin to destruct,
familiar irony of my existence, and in place for its absence,
I’ll leave behind a fragile piece of mine essence
If my heart could fly, I’d never let myself belong to another
not again…
not again will I trust,
I will never trust that you wanted me here,
our love unconditional, a mere fantasy, over-looped and overplayed,
my welcome,over-stayed.
your world was never supposed to be a hotel staff, that hosted my stay
you made it very clear, my ticket of reckon is uninspired
letting me know it’s time,
time that i left your humble empire.
I never expected your love for me would spoil,
a car neglected, i never changed the oil, fixed the flat on the tire,
so on this love i’ll fly and retire.
never again will I trust. I’ll flap my wings and leave the next, so quick like i taught myself
that’s right steady and fast, never looking back, foot on gas.
anything in my grips seems to fly anyway, it never lasts.
I’d break it’s wings before it left me, and keep it in my arsenal,
for days my propellers lose fuel,
If my heart could fly , I’d give a better reputation to the foolish mule.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 11:21 PM UTC
An entire sequence of fantasy,
played out in the course of four hours.
Like all good dreams,
an abrupt awakening,
rude and cold,
gasping for breath,
attempts to make sense of what is essentially nothing
but means so much more
Video montages,
played over and over in the mind.
Tired, and overplayed,
still powerful and overwhelming
something out of a fairytale:
the way the light plays off his face,
the evening sun shining on the branches,
grass swaying to make way of a ball,
nervous giggles accompanying nervous cries of birds,
anticipating the moment we may beautifully collide-
reality surrounded by a haven of immortality and happiness of the purest type
Unforgettable.
Problematically so.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
I am stuck in a sticky state.
I’m a piece of gum,
thoroughly chewed.
By now, quite overused,
I've lost all taste.
My life has become an endless blur,
every day the same,
like an old song on repeat.
Overplayed,
I’m sick of it,
and have been for quite some time now.
I need change,
desperately,
achingly,
need it.
I can’t live like this anymore,
can’t live every day on repeat,
never changing my pattern,
never changing beat.
Nothing anymore makes me happy,
no food tastes as sweet
as it did before,
when my life was filled with open doors,
with opportunities,
change,
chances to rearrange,
to take on new adventures
every day.
But now, every day is a struggle,
always the same.
My depression has taken charge,
taken over what little control
I had left in my life.
It is my captor, and I its hostage,
locked up in its grasp, its chains,
until further notice.
I pray for the day
that it sets me free,
which is hopefully soon,
but probably never.
I’ll die before it lets me go,
yet I sometimes feel like death
would be better than feeling this low;
it would be release,
release from my endless days on repeat,
for which life just can’t seem to cease.
But for now I am stuck.
I am the gum you've been gnawing on for hours,
and you want so badly to spit me out,
but now just isn't the right time.
So you keep
chew
chew
chewing
that tasteless gum of mine,
wishing you could trade it out
for a piece with real flavor.
All I wish for
is a life with real meaning,
so that finally, again,
I can start feeling.
Until then,
I am numb,
much overchewed,
tired and used,
and feeling abused
by my own mind,
this cruel, cruel depression
that’s running my life,
and now I’m running out of time.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
clutching my crumbling holy relic,
that trace of her final kiss
still threading heat through quivered lips,
rise to find shelter,
move it safe from noise and haze
stumbling through shadows,
like uneven, forgotten lumber
patching gut shot with used bandages
the faded, drunken hymns of heart flung sadness
hang along Cahuenga Avenue, old and overplayed
wilted spider silk across a concrete violin
each parking meter my next crutch,
arguing with stoic streetlights,
giving their cold flicker that same
blood stained sermon,
self same pity, worn and overused
I warned, I was wounded, the cut never sealed
Never bled, just trailed smoke.
it whistled in the wind some nights,
she knew, it was permission to leave
reading the eviction note
on a house that never had walls,
from edge of a coin- I’ll scratch out her name,
from a nightman’s club- the darkness can fall,
from the tear of my eye- she’ll melt away,
from the skin of my teeth- I’ll feel the dawn crack
and learn, again,
to crawl
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 2:26 AM UTC
Will I ever be able to move forward?
Space grows more and more,
How can I accept that things
Cannot be as happy as before?
I adore the familiar memories
With greater depth than what's in front of me,
I cannot stop being in love with you
Though being around you stopped being easy.
When we are smiling life is simple,
We buzz with passion and energy,
When things become rough we start shedding blood
From wounds no other person can see.
We are in this hopeless place,
Light is fading with our contentment
We cannot conceal true feelings any longer,
Faces have betrayed inner resentment.
The battle has left our hearts scarred,
Constant war neither can win,
Always felt like I had no choice,
Our house a combat zone I'm fighting in.
Concrete beneath us cracking,
Inching us towards despair,
As words left unspoken crackle
Like fireworks in tense air.
Shield myself the best I can,
Buried under plans lost,
Thick oxygen too toxic to breathe,
My lungs seep red, I cough.
Forty ropes keeping me back,
I lack the tools to cut,
Blade of bravery long since broken,
That's the reason I stay in my rut.
I'm tired yet I incur no change,
I obey this overplayed routine,
Turn on the faucet, I cannot do it myself,
So I can wash my hands of you and be clean.
Hard to leave you behind completely,
You make it impossible to take the first step,
My veins flow with love only for you,
I will go far from here but never forget.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 7:31 PM UTC
They all ask me what I want to be after uni
It's no longer when I grow up, though how
Any can consider me so is beyond me
When I still jump onto the low fences like a cat
And traverse them in my absurd boots with barely a bow
When no one is looking, and everyone is watching, what
A fool and a spectacle I make of myself, I care little for
Until I come home, and realise I may have overplayed the clown -
But what was I made for, if not to hang upside down,
And call the world right side up that way? I implore and ignore
You, and you can heed me, or try to read me,
But you'll always need me.
Jun 12, 2022
Jun 12, 2022 at 5:57 PM UTC
I've sang every song..
I've written all my poems,
I painted with every colour,
And loved with every bone..
But just like that song..
I overplayed all our memories
And over-analysed the way
You'd look in my eyes,
You didn't mean nothing by it..
Oh but you now, won't answer my calls
And now you, don't follow my thoughts
Yet somehow you are still there,
And darling I, will still be here
If you fall..
Yeah honey I'd still be here
Even if the spark's no longer there,
I loved with every bone..
Loved with every poem,
I still love you
With my all.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
Im.always waiting for the relapse like a spent sunset and far to overplayed song .
Whispers of what was and never will be .
Im not here now simply try again later for the side of the man you care to see.
Poems are simply pages filled and my stories are far more than cliffnotes to your day.
Play me out sweetheart another fix like all the rest .
Lets create the essence of the obscene let me erase it for my ego just the same.
It's always the elephant in the room i know it all to well for I lived it just the same.
Did it break you as once it did I?
Do we breathe to simply keep living like zombies no answer or direction does apply.
We left it behind to haunt us still .
Guess nothing stays burried forever .
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
Unlike some,
I do not want to be a masterpiece
on an artist's wall
I do not want to be the overplayed
song on the top 10 charts
Don't get me wrong
it's lovely to be the only
flower in a green field
I want to be the used
paintbrush the young artist
quietly learns to keep forever
I want to be the only pencil
the writer takes life notes with
I do not want to be a favorite
book, sitting on the top
of your shelf.
I do not want to be an abandoned
word you left unsaid,
I want to be the analog camera
you use when the world is
flickering in fuzzy city lights
I want to be the poet's
stanzas in prose
I want to be the failed
color shade of mistake
on an artist's art work
I want you to learn that when
the tides roll in,
when the sand dusts oxygen
in thin air.
the shreds of my heart
will curl like burning photographs
I am the napkin you use
when there is no paper
or phone or notebook
to write down every inch
of your feeling.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:33 PM UTC
Why will this not break?
Why will this not fade into
awry little women muttering apologies?
Why will this not heal,
soften, dampen like the eyes of an innocent
This vex, this folly, a mistake to be erased
Instead it's morphing into a wrinkled excuse,
an overplayed scar
Stubborn, unsatisfied with only bothering me in dreams,
it swims around my consience
But isn't it my privilage to awaken from nightmares?
Don't I have the right to forget?
Pain is not weakness leaving the body,
but the slow dying of a will
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 1:24 PM UTC
sorry if our love feels like crisp new sheets,uncomfortable to touch,
unlike the ones you prefer to lay on
sorry if this love tastes too sweet,too cold like coffee left for hours on the counter along with a pile of ***** dishes,leftover promises,all the crumpled packs and labels
sorry if it became too convenient– reaching-for-comfort-food-in-the-cupboard-convenient, sorry if it became too easy, too frequent, too plain as consuming frozen dinner rolls and msg-soaked noodles,sorry if it became boring like tv shows reruns on Sunday nights,sorry if it became too much of a routine rather than an adventure
sorry if this love sounds like a scratched indie record that's been overplayed,
sorry if the lyrics no longer speak to your heart as they should,sorry if it sounded better when somebody else played it for you
sorry if this love is a poem with no form,no rhyme
sorry if someone wrote it better,sorry if I'm just another boring book in the shelf,sorry if someone else had offered a far more interesting story
sorry if it became too much of a task,sorry if I became unwanted homework when the monitor and console were all you wanted to hold,
sorry if I had been reduced into one word reminders and ticking time bombs in your head,
sorry if I allowed myself to be divided into the least I could ever be
sorry if it seems like trying too much when I know very well I will always be less
sorry it had to start with an apology,
sorry it had to end with more pleas and sorry's
-W.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 4:17 AM UTC
Contrary to popular belief, I am not always a happy person. I am not made of summer sunshine and daffodils and constantly feeling limitless. I am not a cartoon character on the screen of a static television that can only ever showcase one emotion, laughing away humble hours and only ever blushing out of joy. There are days when my skin is the last place I want to live in, my heartbeat just like an overplayed song on the radio. There are days that I burn, when staying buried under my sheets feels infinitely more worth it than getting out at all. Days when I let my fear of failure grab me by the throat with no intention of letting go, ones I wish would end before they even have the chance to begin.
I am human. Real. I make mistakes that stretch like wildfire and burn everything comfortable to me. I am a victim of comparison, of self-inflicted hurt, of seemingly endless defeat. There were eras where I measured my importance on the size of my waist, the amount of attention received from others, by false love. I once thought that I could find acceptance in what others had to say about my existence, that I would only find joy in being fearless.
Math scares me. Finding spiders in my sink terrifies me. Public speaking tosses my stomach like ***** laundry. My fear of abandonment holds me hostage, prevents me from tasting vulnerability. I am even afraid of myself on the days it is hard to keep inhaling and exhaling, inhaling and exhaling. I am very much afraid. I am alive because of it.
Fear is captivating, not always negatively. It allows us to understand what really matters based on a collection of what we are afraid of losing.
And yes, the same life I was eager to lose back a few forevers ago has morphed into one I never want to lose. I love this. I am loved, and I am holding on tight to the carousel of reality. I will hold my breath even if I fear running out of air, because I'd rather be breathless and experienced than falsely believe that there are no more horizons left to reach.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
it’s weird to think you’ll never be
more than a bittersweet memory
overplayed, exhausted, incomplete
of all the things we did defeat
clearly infidelity was not one
it’s strange to feel that i’ll never be
more than a nightmarish past
for you, for all of you
what was once sweet ripe abundant fruit
now rots at the heel of cupid’s boot
what is lost was once my blinded world
now drifts in my head when i lay in bed
vibrant images in the back of my eyes
heart strings play a longing melody
unaware that it itself, is out of tune
and only you can tweak the pitch
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 1:39 AM UTC
I've forgotten how to gasp
For the beauty I saw
It seemed so long ago
When I saw beauty like yours
Your dimpled smile
Plays across my mind
Like a song overplayed
On the mainstream radio
I muffle my screams of joy into my pillow
Because my god, oh my
A beauty like yours
Lingered in my mind for hours
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Don’t you ******* cry, don’t you dare ******* LOOK at me like that
Like the scared little love sick boy I know you are
Don’t you dare tell me I’m beautiful, STOP I don’t wanna hear it
Don’t explain yourself, for the love of GOD DON’T tell me how it happened
How thoughts became actions or somehow accidents even though it seems very on purpose to me
Those accidents or actions quickly became regrets mistakes you couldn’t scrub off with any amount of Head and Shoulders
No amount of silver tongued talking is gonna wipe this from my memory
So don’t you ******* cry you did this to yourself
But you didn’t make me like you, I did that on my own
I’m so mad at myself, the ignorant student repeating past mistakes like an overplayed song.
I thought I was playing it too cool, I thought I was keeping my distance
Keeping that vital separation that barrier between your heart and my own
Observing you with the detached interest of a 5 year old watching ants
Occasionally squishing them with a ***** thumb just to prove that he can
When did I start forgetting where I ended and you began?
Don’t ******* tell me you love me, you don’t understand
You say words much bigger than the feelings you are trying to express
Just keep being an ******* keep ******* other girls
Keep saying what you do and start doing what you say
Instead of using that silver tongue to kiss smiles on to my face.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
I believe in broken love and love lost,
Which may seem like two separate things;
However, they are in unison.
Love has grown to become so cliche and overplayed;
But in it's most pure form is spectacular and divine Until taken advantage of.
Love can come young,
but it is rarely understood, ever.
When love is misinterpreted,
There is chance for it to become broken.
Then, after the love breaks,
It leaks out until lost
In a deep ocean of emotions and thoughts.
Three years ago,
My first serious relationship had started.
I was completely clueless to what had started happening.
I knew I had felt different.
I began developing a sense of "we" instead of "me".
I had never been so happy, intrigued, or fascinated.
All this by another mortal human being.
After a few months,
I realized I had finally started experiencing what seemed to be true love;
And as time progressed,
I lost myself
For what I thought was the relationship itself.
I attempted to regain independence,
But one thing lead to another
And hate began overpowering the love and affection.
Though I never left,
I found another lover.
Well, I guess one could say another found me. Misconstruing love and lust,
I drifted into a world of sin and slickness.
My needs were finally being catered to
As I indulged in the best of both worlds.
I felt as if I finally deserved this.
I had been faithful for two years,
So shouldn't I get some free time?
After all, I stayed after they cheated.
They can do the same,
Especially since I won't keep this up for long.
I thought this was acceptable in my own eyes,
Yet I ignored the agonizing conviction that laid within my heart of being wrong.
One night, things had come to a ******
Between the new lover and I.
In the moment,
Boundaries of existence were broken.
However, afterwards I realized I had soiled the upmost precious thing I had ever possessed,
And that would be true love.
How could I have done this for pleasure?
Within a week, guilt had overtaken me.
I had to either come clean or leave.
I knew I would hurt her if I had told the truth
More than if I left.
I said that we were no longer meant to be
Because our love had been broken with fighting and deceit.
She cried for a week,
Begging me to come back.
I realized I had done something so horrid.
I could never take it back.
I left someone good for someone great.
So, why did I feel so bad?
Now, I am without either
Because of the guilt trip I went through.
I had broken a love.
And now, love was lost in the sea of emotions,
Sinking to the infinite depths of darkness
To never be found again.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 5:00 PM UTC
I’ll play this song
for old times sake
you’ll sing along
again
for old times sake
missive melodies
that never change
our dissonant notes
well overplayed
we’ve become actors
stuck in someone else’s play
how’d we ever let life get this way
what was once a rainbow
is now only shades of grey
the rhythm is lost
in the tip-tap of your toes
shuffling endlessly
as if trying to escape
run off with your feet
only to be left in the street
struggling to beat the light
that’s already changed the scene
adding a red glow
that makes you look better anyway
Can we keep the topic on dancing?
as it emotes such a clean wholesome feeling
that one can really lean on
in troubles times, five four
rounded out to seven eight
Hurry **** you!
We’re already late
such an important recital
giving in to improvisation
as we are stripped of
rank and title
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
To love and be loved- that is the greatest gift.
But do you ever realize that love is not limited to being an abstract power held between two emotional beings.
Love exists all around us and we choose to put emphasis on it with humans.
Love exists in the flowers you planted that are finally peaking their heads out for a new beginning.
The love you gave to it will soon be returned as it will flourish in front of your own eyes.
Love exists in the furry creature that licks itself to sleep at your feet.
The love you provided it in food and water and affection will soon be returned to you when it keeps your feet warm the whole night through.
Love exists in the little boys eyes at the grocery store as he eyes up his favorite candy bar.
The love you gave by purchasing it for him will soon be returned as you watch him bite into the luxurious chocolate square and remember how candy bars were a lot cheaper in your day.
Love exists in your favorite songs on cold winter days, where the only way to warm up in your car faster is by distracting yourself by shouting the lyrics a little offbeat.
The love you gave for this song will soon be returned to you as you hear it years down the road and get a warm nostalgic winter day feeling.
Love exists in the outfit you're wearing, with your cute little sunflower skirt, your black tights with a slight run, and your oversized sweater that matches your boots.
The love you put into this outfit will soon be returned to you when you feel like a goddess walking down the cereal aisle in search of your favorite berry blend cereal.
Love exists all around you in forms unrecognized by most of us.
The life you are living is full of love, and the more love you put out the more love you receive.
Do not be shy with your heart, fall in love with those favorite boots you have, fall in love with that catchy overplayed radio song, fall in love with the slim piece of light that peeks through where your blinds are broken.
Fall in love with yourself, and fall in love with your life.
You are an artist and the whole world is your own blank canvas darling.
What colors will you fall in love with first?
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 12:01 AM UTC