"overridden" poems
I fought against myself to love her,
To love her, I had fought my family,
Maybe she did too, but not as seriously.
I had overridden myself to love her,
To love her, I had ignored the world,
Maybe she did too, but not as seriously.
Perhaps, she too was just another illusion after all.
But NO!
I truly loved her,
Only I loved her truly,
The way I loved is not just an illusion.
She did love me,
But not at all as truly,
The way she loved was a fake illusion.
Perhaps, her love too was just another illusion after all.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 3:07 AM UTC
Taboo! Taboo!
I love you more than I should.
On the alter of Sin, I forfeit my sole to you!
Why is my love for you Taboo?
Love, so strong in spirit.
Love, so true and fresh.
Join together our flesh, with love & spirit.
How can such love be forbidden?
Natural Love, Innocent Love.
Love, that can not be overridden!
Contentment and happiness, can't be obtained,
While longing for you. If only I could.
Love, never fully expressed, never fully contained.
I love you more than I should.
A normal day, It can not be.
Your essences is constantly with me.
Taboo love for you, from me.
More than normal love,
I am in love with you.
I love you more than I should!
Bitter Sweet, Taboo Love.
Must it, will it, always be Taboo!
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 8:26 AM UTC
Disturbed sleep leads me to a
Neurotic daytime, to
Chaotic thoughts
of
****** nightmares, me and a being
Exotic sights, reality disturbed
Hypnotic states
of
Scintillating salacious
Wanton ness, night after night
a heavy weight upon my chest
of
rough hands and
Growls of need
Ruttish, sluttish behaviour
descending into
Lustful need of fulfilment.
This hypnotic state is not as
Wonderful as it sounds
The fear is overridden by
the orgiastic events,
but the knowing of its return
night after night
descends into madness and fear.
How do you escape the unseen ?
How do you stop wanting the feelings it provokes?
How do you stop you? and your stormy need?
Your base desires are feeding this demon
This demon is feeding you.
To break free, the route is simple
Don't be there when he comes.
Go to the river, wash the sin clean,
Sleep in the river's depth.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
She came to the farm a shy stray,
hid in the woodshed for days.
Food and water we left for her
kept her alive. In time though
very nervous, little by little
keeping some distance, upon
the porch she climbed.
After a month she ascended
a chair next to mine, where
in the spring sunshine we two
set side by side. Not touching
or speaking just biding our time.
One day she reached out a paw
placing it on my knee, politely
asking permission to step onto
my lap. Her fear overridden
by the need for companionship.
She prefers to remain mostly
outside, but everyday she comes
to my door and with outreached
front paws she frantically scratches
up and down on the glass begging
to come inside.
I feed her then feeling safe she sleeps
awhile on the back of the couch,
eventually seeking gentle
permission to sit upon my lap,
on a soft blanket kept just for her.
She purrs with contentment while,
taking cat naps now and then, as I
stroke and caress her head and chin,
occasionally opening her sparkling grey
eyes to study my face, as if to be reassured
it's me touching her and that I'm still there.
In her eyes if that is not devoted love
and gratitude I see looking back at me,
I don't know what else it could possibly be.
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
I was my fathers prized possession. The finest piece of pottery He had ever crafted.
He worked on me until His hands were pruned.. Until the smell of clay seemingly became His scent. He molded and molded until I was perfect. In His eyes.
He placed me on the top shelf and marveled at me every day and every night.
But His neighbor was overcome with jealousy... At how I glistened at the top of the mantle. At how I gleamed in the sun in all the right places.
You see, on the top of his shelf, lay nothing but dust.
So surely, I had to be destroyed.
In the thick of the night, he stole me off of the mantle and marveled at my greatness.
He brought me back to his place and stuck me in the darkest of rooms.
So that light would never be able to shine on me again.
He spun me on his fingers, no delicacy in his touch.
He tossed me up and down, mocking my beauty.
Day after day I was plagued with the imminent thought of destruction.
Overridden with depression.
I cried out to my potter, and when the thief heard, he ran into the dark room and bellowed "no one will help you", picked me up, and threw me against the ground.
Pieces of me shattered in every direction, strewn against the floor of the enemies house.
My insides, corrupted with sin from all the time collected in this place were brought forth.
All I could hear was the wicked laugh taunting me, exclaiming "who could love you now"?
Then suddenly a light shone in my face, something I hadn't seen in years.
Every broken piece of me looked up and saw my potters face, with tears rolling down his cheeks.
He began to pick me up in an attempt to put me back together...
Abba!! I cried! Your fingers! They will bleed!
My daughter, he replied, I have one hole in each of my hands!! My love for you has endured much more than a few scratches upon my fingertips!
He continued to piece me back together, not missing a beat, not missing a piece.
He shielded me from the looking eyes of judgement, bearing the stripes on His back for leverage.
Abba!! I cried out again, can't you see all of the sin that filled me?! I am no longer perfect! How can you love me?
I understand your sin, my daughter! in it, my grace is perfected! You are my creation, you are my reason! Upon making you whole again, I will not put back your transgressions!
He finalized the touches, not missing one piece.
He wiped my face, not missing one tear.
He renewed my heart, not missing one beat.
He carried me back home and presented me in His name to his Father.
Took His seat upon His throne and placed me on the mantle, right by His side, letting his glory shine on me.
He smiled and said "welcome home, my daughter, welcome home."
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:11 AM UTC
personification and retreat
I am here like I am here
like I am or have been here
overridden and steadfast
folded like wideswept domains
I broke walls I count splinters I pack light and swing heels I am broken most of the time and I kind of like it
it’s easy to construct
socket set memories
a forest of meaning sprouting up defining swan songs
and their resonant structures
crawl down the valley all sweet and serene
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
perhaps we do not wish to admit,
that the majority of the words we speak,
the conversations overheard, even without intent,
leave us not awash, not suffocating, but
mesmerized in an awful way
squelching tirades of banality,
humdrum housework life's tirades of
meeting basic needs, functionaries of life,
bureaucrats of our domestic affairs,
accountants calculating marginal cures,
overridden by the occasional impulse,
which delights until it too
is humdrum-ed out of existence
a passing blazing ambulance
begs to contradict,
reminders that there are
crevasses on the city streets,
that in minuscule moments,
life becomes twisted making our lethargy,
a course 101 introduction to tragedy
but this is not the norm,
this imbalanced equation,
1X = 99 whys,
to survive,
to justify,
to mediate
between these un-counterbalanced weights,
I write poetry
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
Shadows of shame, exist in darkness,
but are not concealed from my God.
Ungodly behaviors can never be hidden,
from Him, Who is omnipotent, omniscient
and omnipresent; Truth can’t be overridden.
Shadows of shame, are easily dispersed
by Jehovah’s piercing Light of Truth;
when looking to Him for assistance,
one’s face will become radiant with joy
from acting with loyalty and persistence.
Shadows of shame, contradict God’s desire
for us to operate with spiritual transparency.
Begin a new work in us today and everyday;
Consume the darkness of sin within us now,
since You O Lord, are the Light, Truth and Way!
.
.
.
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Psa 34; John 14:6
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
Alcatragedy, aesthetics, and a
Bubbly feeling beneath our feet. Let's
Cruise between channels; there's no need to meet. Re-
Doxx on Galaxy's
Extremeties typeset whatever is
Faked, overridden, and
Glistening in chic.
Hybristophilionic puressure
Infracts upon the fourth wall we seek,
Jicking, ticking, trickling in.
(Kickstarted convection)
Life is beyond a stream...
Minuet attraction
Null, neo, and novelty
0.0
Pulse or minus me.
Quantitative lacerations, fantasy and a fascination
Recreations masking
Softsations
Taint my rose and wildest dreams!
Unphasing
Vermillion reasons to like it.
Wordless, grinding sonar screams; Isle,
Xana, et tu. Rumble a shy oasis in
Yeses, twos, and please
Zzz
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDER
Seconds, minutes, hours and days go by
I have to count every minute and don’t know why
Cleaning, dusting, washing and planning
All must be done or moving on is just not happening
Routines and rituals are a daily task
Why can’t I escape it I have to ask
Things have to de done in a certain way
Or, I am truly afraid things won’t be okay
Checking and rechecking consume my day
It’s difficult to keep my daily rituals at bay
Things I own always have their proper place
Or, I cannot relax in my very own space
Doing things out of order will just not do
Moving things slightly makes me crazy, too
No matter how hard I try to refrain
Actions are overridden by my own brain
I am told this is one of my mechanisms to cope
If I’m not careful, I will be hung by my own rope
I can only take this one day at a time
But, if I continue to work on it, I should be just fine.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:34 AM UTC
watching the pain dry
*you did not mistake -
no word play, not the product
of typo or errant
clenched eyes
labored writ,
the liver is failing,
the interval organs
a joint co-production
contribution,
the words demonized,
but truth cannot be
plausibly denied
all cast members
are rehearsing
preparing the last act,
interrupting with
exceptional,
expectorating refusals,
objections,*
too
*this n'that
*all their "too's"
are double O'd,
double ****** negatives
an overflow
bloodletting,
excessive overwriting
the playwright words,
maudlin can't be spoke in the present
of his
presence
revolutionary overridden by the
actors,
the words too hard,
to speak sob as long as I am
almost stilled but still
in the room
-*wrenching a bemused grin
guiding them & pain to a higher purpose,
admonish them with pleasured pleases
needs saying
as it writ and
carrying the denouement
to a rightful conclusion
as*
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
I woke up
alone
feelings of
cold
and
isolation
surrounded me in a haze
My eyes were open
yet the world was still dark.
It was so dark.
Dark enough to make me forget that
light had ever existed.
How had I gotten to this place?
I had no answer.
Maybe there was no answer.
Perhaps I was always
fated
to land in this location.
Alas,
my eyes land on a flickering in the distance.
A diminutive glow
contrasted by the vast night.
The curiosity of it
commands my legs to go towards it,
while something else,
something nameless,
warns me to stop.
But human nature can not be overridden.
Now,
in perspective,
I see a scene playing out
familiar to the
back-most parts of my brain.
A memory.
Myself as a little girl.
I watch myself draw.
What am I drawing?
I am drawing a butterfly,
every color of the rainbow
can be seen in it’s wings.
They resemble the smile on her face.
Wonder and innocence and ambition.
Life in it’s purest form.
And watching her, my heart warms.
She has everything to live for.
Her eyes filled with brightness
give me hope.
And with no warning at all,
the little girl is gone.
In her place is a girl,
still me,
slightly older now.
Perhaps around 11 years old.
I am still drawing the butterfly.
And it’s still vibrant with color.
And I still have hope.
Even when the shadows
tap on my shoulders,
telling me,
“No. It’s wrong.”
I still have hope.
Only questioning myself
for a fleeting moment.
And while I should be proud,
watching myself turn away
from those monsters,
I feel only a feeling of
blackness
enter the pit of my stomach.
Because I know how this story ends.
And like I foreshadow in my head,
the scene morphs again.
And this time,
the eyes,
the brown ones,
that used to reflect light off of their innocence,
are dead.
And the butterfly is now only two colors.
One is black,
outlining it’s hollow carcass.
The other is red.
The shade of red that didn’t come out of a paint bottle.
And before I can allow
any emotion to enter me,
the scene is gone again,
and replaced.
But this time there is no girl,
only a stone with her name and
a few dates carved into it.
The butterfly is still there though.
It lays in a box 6 feet under.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
Taboo! Taboo!
I love you more than I should.
On the alter of Sin, I forfeit my Soul to you!
Why is my love for you Taboo?
Love, so strong in spirit.
Love, so true for you.
Join together our flesh and spirit.
How can such love be forbidden?
Natural Love, Innocent Love.
Love, that can not be overridden!
Contentment and happiness, can't be obtained,
While longing for you. If only I could.
Love, never fully expressed, never fully contained.
I love you more than I should.
A normal day, It can not be.
Your essences is constantly with me.
Taboo love for you, from me.
More than normal love,
I am in love with you.
I love you more than I should!
Bitter Sweet, Taboo Love.
Will it always be Taboo?
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
As of today
My life is split in two.
There are the calm, uneventful days
Of lazy, relaxed words.
Then there are the days
Where the seven deadly sins, plus a sprinkling of tears
Drown me.
I struggle to keep my head above the surface
To stay alive.
Sometimes I am successful
Others, the evils hold me down until
My heart stops and my lungs are filled with past regrets.
I scream silently.
The world goes dark
All my small truths are overridden by my horrid actions and feelings.
My life is being ****** out by the long since faded lies
The corset strings of existence are ever so tight now.
I am only human.
But that is not enough.
I now live in my own little sea of desperation.
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 10:22 AM UTC
Eyes of dreamer
soul's redeemer
gaze wonders
ploughs wanders
sadness hidden
pain overridden
heart weaves
today's wish
life, a moment...
well of ponder
draws veil
marvel or maunder
mystery rides
smooth or wild
emotions pine
Connection
yonder...
Dreams dance ,
eyes sparkle
diamond aura
shimmer inside
soul yearns
Beautiful guise
tracing deep
walking beside
Love in Light!
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 9:22 AM UTC
And under the stars, the first time we touched, I gave myself to you.
Unknown to what was present, we acted on the binding impulse of energy written from hopeful thoughts and clouded states of mind.
You were the drug and I, your victim; every word evoked seeping like a poison through my skin. You, the smoke to my lungs, addictive and screaming the very meaning of pleasure.
You were the minx, the temptress, my master and obsession. The feelings of guilt overridden by lust and passion, I was unable to hold a single breath.
But my love, my nymphette, how brightly you shone. What are morals when the heart leaps forth?
Reflecting the incandescent light of the moon, I watch the violet veins arise from your skin. You are a woman on this night.
Darling, I can feel your body grow cold. You draw closer with every movement, our pores blooming to retain the warmth.
Our love is imminent, flourishing with every subtle touch and every rhythmic thrust.
We lie gazing at the dark skies once more, you awake but barely conscious, I compelled to hold you.
But my love, I took your soul that night.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 11:25 AM UTC
If you give a man a fish,
He will feed his family for a day,
But if you teach him how to fish
He will feed his family until the day
The fish have all been spirited away
By the massive fleets he can see
On the horizon of his country's sea,
And now his family's nutritional need
That up to now he could feed
Has been overridden by corporate greed.
Then the nations whose fishing fleets
Take away the fish he eats
All become very irate
When he's forced to be a pirate.
Tom Higgins 23/05/2014
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
Why is there a call to identity?
It is so overridden with our desire to belong.
I wander if it is a desire to belong,
or a want of acceptance?
Is it even for want of acceptance,
Or the need and longing for love?
How does one gain singular identity,
through love?
Maybe it is love that completes us,
Fills the holes in our souls.
If love is what gives us our real identity,
Then in perfect love we are made whole.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
I lay in my bed...
My mind wanders about...
Then I begin to imagine it all...
Him laying on me kissing me...
Slowly kissing down my body...
As he reaches my ******* I don't know what to do...
I smile and say his name for the pure joy has overridden my brain....
He continues down my body kissing every speck...
And when he and I are making sweet love....
We say only each others names...
Panting with such passion...
Our glorious moments they have to end...
and when they do...
I find my self lying in my bed alone and I realize it was just a amazing dream....
Apr 25, 2011
Apr 25, 2011 at 2:37 PM UTC
A man walks through wood and brush,
range, and valley.
Delirious and disoriented
He stopped upon a gentle stream
and as the man bent down to drink,
The stream began to speak.
It told him things,
with a voice that moved so soft and swift.
It told him not to walk
any further than his legs could carry him.
The will of the soul you see,
has a funny way of tricking what you think.
Making you believe
that the mind can transcend
the capacities of bone and muscle.
Oh yes, the brain is strong,
but if your body fell fatigued
then surely not the mind
could carry you along.
So spoke the stream.
A voice now deeper
rough like gravel under foot,
said, look, the ground where leaves were shook.
Beware of what they hide,
Beware the hidden roots.
They snag and grab and wish to trap.
Beware the hidden roots.
Trees seem and speak like friend,
but in the dark of night
they wear different faces.
They laugh, they taunt,
they whisper things above your ears.
I hear them say,
Let us keep him here.
The stream spoke this time, softer like the first.
There was caution in the voice,
wary,
of the man’s impending thirst.
It said to him, the thing he cannot forget.
It reminded him of breath.
Reminded him that each one is borrowed,
traded in like gambling chips
upon one’s cosmic completion.
The laws of dirt and sky do not appreciate
a struggle from their kin;
unable to accept his final breath.
You must be like the wave,
momentarily breaking free
and then when beckoned,
returning to its salty sea.
It was then that the voice grew dim,
overridden by the roar of rapids.
The man’s neck was craned towards a placid eddy;
the “friend” to whom he had spoke.
Yet when he raised his head,
his only friend was birch and oak.
Looking down again,
he saw nothing but a muddied puddle.
A chill ran from spine to toe,
The man knew what was next to come.
Looking through the weave of trees,
he saw the setting sun.
His throat, dry and rough,
tightened and began to close.
It was then that the man looked up,
and his fear went with his gaze,
snuffed out like candles’ flame.
The trees began to speak,
but they were not talking amongst themselves.
The trees were addressing him,
whispering…
Remember, the Teachings of the Stream
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
Her world is crashing
Down, down
All around her
She cries out
Time to release
All the pain
All the fear
Nowhere to go
No one to care
Tired of fighting
She ceases struggle
The battle's lost
Lights dim
Thoughts fade
A faint smile rests upon her lips
A rare pleasure...
Overridden by hope lost
And countless tears
Now she may rest
Yes, now you may rest Girl
Peace at last
Your wish come true
Cry no more, don't speak
Sleep, sleep...
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
Still,
Still I find myself surprised at the neglegence of human decency.
How sticky with tar,
Oozing from their insides,
Dark, consuming, disgusting,
Revealing of the soul underneath.
It still gets me,
That people can get that. . . sick
On the inside.
You're sick,
Overridden with this illness,
This apathy and vindictive hatred.
It consumes you.
Soon, very soon,
There will be nothing left of you
But tar and ashes.
It's almost too much to hold in.
I scream out,
"Rest in pieces, you heinous *****
I'm telling you, still,
I find myself surprised at the neglegence of human decency.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 3:22 AM UTC
I had no idea how one email could give me the best week of my life, yet utterly break me further than I already was. The truth that I shared has taken away and given so much. My family has shamed me. All of you, my friends, have lifted me up. I had no idea what type of emotions would come with this sincerity.
I was overridden with anxiety, unable to breathe and violently shaking, as I sent the email. I was unable to sleep that night with mind shattering anxiety, and the giddy relief that came through my best friend's text.
I was so terrified and anxiety ridden that I became physically sick and unable to attend school the next day. But all of your support and love lifted me from this for just a moment during lunch. I, for once in my life, had something that I could hold onto and be sure about; something that told me I did have a future.
But, in a matter of days, I was shown that all good things come with a price. Somehow my mother was informed of this email I sent to all of you. My mother was as hateful as she proves herself to be daily; shaming me, rejecting my privilege to believe in God and calling me an abomination in the Lord’s eyes. She proceeded to kick me out of her home, saying that she didn’t need any more of Satan's work in her life.
Then, as I was at my Dad’s house, she decided to take the right that was never her’s, and share the news to those I did not wish for it to be shared with. Now, my Dad, my friend, Katy, who hates homosexuals and many others know. My mother has ruined and tainted my only escape from my ruthless reality: the people that had no idea of my mental illnesses or sexuality.
This brings me to where I am now. I have lost so much in the past week and gained very little. Even right now, all the security and sureness that I felt on that first day had been swept away by my family and my own beliefs and insecurities. I have lost every uninformed outlet in my life this week. I have questioned if homosexuality is truly against God’s will. I have racked my brain to try to find an answer on if this will make me unworthy, an abomination or a non-believer. I have lapsed from sureness to self hatred hundreds of times. I want to spend my'life for God, but I don’t know if I can because of this.
I am torn between fighting myself with deadly blows of self hatred, to believing God isn’t how my parents say he is. I don’t know whether to believe I can be this way, or if I have to somehow change myself. I just hope I can survive this.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
Rage flexed upon each other
Never once agreed together
Mind and heart seem to sever
Ever since life twas born.
War on scale far so grand
No spot of green o'er the land
More shelling than one may stand
Inside a war between mind and heart.
Tranquility here seldom given
Peace consistently overridden
To reconcile is forbidden
And blood splashes o'er battleground.
Do not make the mind mistaken
It is know for and has taken
Life from it and heart as Lincoln,
Engine of Life may destroy itself.
The heart is stubborn, and is strong
It shall fight and know no wrong
Until the ego brain is gone
Then it shall fuel the body blindly.
Now in love the balance is broken
There no free card nor no token.
Because the love for her is broken
In a splice one may not resect.
The heart in pain is ghastly screaming
And thus the mind is gently scheming
To rescue dreams of loveful dreaming
In a treaty for brand new love.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC