"overstayed" poems
my sadness feels like
i'm swallowing sea water -
every gulp down my throat is a step closer to
dehydration
sinking to the bottom
no flotation
lacking foundation
my sadness feels like
vomiting frustrations
stagnation -
my sadness feels like stagnation.
sensations of vibrations
surround me but do not reach
my hands
or any part of me for that matter.
I see it -
i know its there
the energy is flowing in the air
a devious glare - i swear
i stare
and stay aware that this
illness
does more than impair - it's unfair , really.
My sadness feels like everything around me is dead -
i know its really in my head but
i look at the evening sky and see not
yellows and reds but
grays instead -
i used to imbed the colors into my
brain but lately its been filled with
tar - seeping into unhealed scars
its making a home here -
till i disappear
its not just me it's "we're" that's here -
its overstayed its welcome.
My sadness feels like a man putting his feet on my
coffee table.
My sadness feels like an empty chest -
one that rots with dust and
human rust it
echoes and howls when opened -
like its terrified of its urge to leave.
My sadness feels like a parasite that *****
until it falls but
it doesn't fall -
only crawls
through the hollow parts of me
and creates substance.
My sadness feels like accepting to drown.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
I spend too much time searching for home in people
I compare too many of them to the likes of it
I find new ones often and always
And I have made routine in my arrival
I set down my things, make myself comfortable
Find a spot next to the fireplace, directly in the presence of warmth
I curl between blankets and couches
I get to know the surroundings
I notice parts that most tenants would neglect to
Details are my specialty; I note each down with a sense of clarity
I create a photo album in my head for every part I should not remember
But I do, almost effortlessly
All of my senses take notes in permanent ink
I keep track of scent, sound, taste, touch, images
I engrain them into muscle memory
I begin to forget that this place I have settled in,
Isn’t mine to get used to
And when I have overstayed my welcome,
I am asked to go
I pack up, leaving most of me behind in the hurry
Once again I am forced to move and start over
I always do.
I look for home in too many people who’s hearts aren’t available for lease,
Bodies that are merely curtains hiding wreckage
I knock on locked doors hoping for an invitation inside
And the ones that are open are usually not prepared for company
I move in eagerly to creaky floorboards and leaking roofs
I pretend that there is nothing wrong with the structure
And when the house caves in I claim I didn’t know better
I willingly stand under shelter that doesn’t have the strength to hold even itself up
Then complain about the lack of protection when the rain comes
Natural disasters are as unpredictable as I am eager for constancy
But it is no fault but my own when I build upon fault lines
I know the weather forecast and still continue to create
I have become skilled at making something out of nothing
And nothing, I’ve learned, can only stretch for so long.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
I really have a soft spot for winter weather
It’s sweater time
It’s scarf time
It’s cuddle time…or a-little-more-than-cuddling time
And it’s sweaters and scarves indoors time because people seem determined to hide the aftermath of mouths that have overstayed their welcome
In the corners of shoulders and collarbones
Tracing tracheas to chests and lingering just out of reach of lips
And because I’ve been taught to hide these marks, I do
But if I could, I would accessorize with necklaces of purple and blue
Passionate hues that grow from teeth and tongues
Can you paint with all the colors of the
Winding veins that spindle into spirals around blood and bones and vitals
Can you decorate the blank canvas of my neck
With Rorschach tests that I’ll spend the next few days
Analyzing and decoding
Finding new shapes just for fun
And then we’ll start again with stripes and spots and splotches
Remembering that the fireworks we call cliché are interchangeable with capillaries
Bursting under layers of skin
To later be concealed under layers of cloth
And people will blush when the consistency in their color is questioned
And they’ll tug their collars higher
But I’ll always have a love for the fact that these are bruises that come from beauty
That these bodies end up damaged in the most gentle of ways
And please don’t put a negative spin on damage
Because I know of people that will spend all kinds of money for outfits that look like they’ve been through hell and back
Because distress is a style and the aesthetic is stunning
And even though people joke as they will
I’m secretly proud to wear a badge of black and blue
On the corner of my collar claiming
You Were Here
And I’ll pin one to your neckline
Signed and dated
I Was Here
And the blood that we’ve drawn to the insides of each other’s skin
Only mirrors the blush that appears on my face when I smile and think
I really am lucky to have you
And it’s sweater weather outside so these bruises will stay confined
Under the snowy scarves we’re told to keep
But I’ll admire this art as it fades through the week
Tracing over physical proof of nights that fall into the past
And scrutinizing the speed at which they do
Adoring the marks that no one else seems to
Because aftermaths confirm realities
And I could never disdain the colors that tell the world who we are to each other
And how we stay warm in the winter
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
I want to ruin you
not in the
"Yeah bro I got that girl in my bed and we ****** until she couldn't breathe and yeah I guess it was iight for me"
no
I want to ruin you in the Ernest Hemingway
way
I want your favorite song to be so haunted by our memories that it causes you to call me when the first note is played
I want to be the cloud on your sunshine of a day
when I'm not around
I want to be the guest that's overstayed
the one the housekeeper can't turn away
because they've grown fond of the smiles they greet each other with when they pass in the halls
I want to be the chocolate left on your pillow
The dust that you don't remove from your window
I want to be your favorite thimble
that you when you're sewing up my patchy sweats that I can't bear the throw away because I like the way they cling to my hips
I want to cling to yours lips
I want to be your favorite sweater that you wear to sleep at night
I want to hold your head like a pillow
I want to catch your dreams with thread woven through my fingertips and I'll even tie on some feathers
and you'll say I was create by the ancient cherokee tribe
I want to be the contact that protects those beautiful eyes
I want to kayak down the waterfalls they produce when you find out bad news
Yes
I want to ruin you
But I want you to ruin me, too.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
Is it true?
Does my name
Drift in the wind?
Over the mountains
And across the sea?
Does it fade
From your mind?
Like a visitor who
Has overstayed
Their time?
Do the memories
Recede to the back
Of your mind?
Like the sun leaving
the day behind?
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 2:43 AM UTC
It's not you, It's me.
No - you know what, it IS you.
You can't keep coming around like this.
It was okay at first, but we had our fun,
had a couple snowball fights, and hot coco nights
but you and I both know it's run it's course.
We're over.
In fact, honestly, you overstayed your welcome this time.
What do I mean?
I mean, you're cold, you're bitter, your relentless and pushy.
I couldn't take it anymore.
And when you coming back like this every other week, honestly,
It makes me consider moving.
You're like a stalker.
Oh her? Yeah, that's my new season.
She's nice, warm, and beautiful.
But she's shy,
she's not going to come back out until you leave.
So, you should go.
Look maybe we can try this again
In a year or so - maybe.
Just give me some time.
I don't miss you yet.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
Whitecaps coffee-white, a bay frosty.
Sails, 99% white,
Always, gotta be one, black or blue,
Freaking tradition-breaker
White man with white baby,
In a white onesie,
Astride his daddy's tummy,
Dad, he ain't dressed warm enough.
All these observations recorded,
Taxed and paid for, with dandy words
Floating by the nook, overlooking
The whitish sandy beach mapped
As Silver Beach,
Where I pray.
Whither white led?
A summary of twenty writes
In four labored days,
A poetry *****
To say anything else,
Too little, too more.
Overstayed my welcome,
But a white cleansing accomplished,
With look-backs submitted, got some debts paid,
Bills marked overdue, resolved.
The children unblemished,
To new schools and new troubles,
I can only inky-dinky-rinky worry.
This fall is the season of produce or die.
Of these things I don't joke.
If I get pasteurized, won't be a good thing.
This my style after all.
Simplest, to the point where
Poetry is a luxury,
I can't always afford.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
and floating feels like an understatement now, as water levels drop instead of rise and the clouds are closer than ever. i spend every night wishing on stars that soon we will be standing on those clouds, the moon our next stop. i guess you never really anticipate the heaviness that can be presented to you so suddenly and i am floating on rain clouds back down to earth. somewhere on my journey down a familiar light stops me like an old friend and i stay, hovering above the lake i so often wished to be apart of. the darkness that surrounds me chuckles in time with the pounding in my chest, the kind of alarm that rings only at 3am. those dreams of thunderstorms have overstayed their welcome and i am the one doing the evicting this time.
but this is not the end. suspended by newly sewn strings i see a countdown forming above the glowing city, a reminder that nothing has ever stopped us before. we conquered the funeral and flowers grow from my fading graves. we've climbed hills that feel like
mountains to sit on the moon. we are still roughly 581 days away from the beginning and i have come to accept that maybe the stars were never spelling out "closed" but rather "not open yet". the grey mass that fills the air is the last curtain before the grand opening.
and that glowing city is as clear as ever and for the first time ever the end credits are rolling backwards.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
Someone once told me
that butterflies only live for a year
so could you tell the ones you left in my stomach
that they've overstayed their welcome?
After you left, I catch myself running my fingers
over the things you touched the most.
I just want to feel the warmth of your fingertips.
I just want to know if the sound of my heartbeat
still sounds like windchimes to you.
—J.N
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
*i did not really expect you to say anything when i told you i loved you
but my heart still sank when the silence between us overstayed its welcome*
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 1:55 AM UTC
it hasn't even been a day
since I got out of the cave
and I can already see my demons
emerging from their hiding places
hello anxiety,
no I did not miss you
I see you there, razor blade
you can't hide from me
****** you sly devil
how did you get out of your bottle?
Since you all are here,
why don't you take a seat
and I'll brew us a *** of tea
For I have some bad news for you
and some good news for me
You have overstayed your welcome
I am cordially asking you to leave
and to never, ever return.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 12:57 AM UTC
FEARLESS (a boxer's story)
from the precipice-I have stood to claim my right; I am fearless
over the years, fight has taken it's toll, I am a boxer-with cuts to my skin
I got muscles fully breached-still fighting is all I have ever known
I am a closer-I need one more chance to reclaim; not ready to go yet
I am a boxer- just once more-gotta beat the hype-to punish-take no prisoners
letting my punches hit their mark, taken one back to the jaw-leaving it's mark
still I will not be denied-I am one and the same; a gladiator-entering the ring
I am fearless-made peerless-as a diamond- sharp as a blade-just one more time
or has the years taken its toll- have I overstayed my welcome; need one chance to prove
to make a come back; I crave the respect-I deserve as much- I know, warriors don't give up
it's never too late- got fame on my brain-chances delayed-I am ready to climb that ladder
touch those heights-once again feel the heavens- fall down to my knees-I'll get back up
ready to fight- I am fearless- I believe in me- as the applause-rises up- I am calm
letting the voices-refresh like holy water, I hear them call to me-soothing like a salve
take my pain away -ready to fight anew- I will no longer be denied-ready to shake failure
to cement my name-be the greatest- fight for fame- remember my name-for glory given
to fight for salavtion- stake my claim- fight to stay alive- prove my point-leave no doubt
I am fearless- a boxer's story- fighting for glory and my redemption
By Michael Perry
Jan 1, 2020
Jan 1, 2020 at 12:51 PM UTC
you are the echo in places after everyone's sound has gone.
you are the reluctant resonance in air between breaths.
you are the leaving that's overstayed its welcome.
you are the racket in deprivation of company.
you are the uproar after music has ceased.
you are the chord eternally reappearing.
you are reverberations of want, of lack.
you are sweet tinnitus in every hush.
you are every absent reoccurrence.
you are epitomes of entirety.
your gale still lingers.
but you do not.
you do not.
you do.
not.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
My face must've grew today
As my mask did not want to fit.
'So nice' they say she is
But they don't really know ****
They tell you you're one way
But you feel another
Constantly lying
For the benefit of others.
The biggest of smiles
Everyone using teeth for their mirror
What do I want?
It's always unclear.
Those wars we fought,
No one came out alive
But my card read medic
Somehow I chose to survive.
Everyone had half a mouth.
I had only half of one too
It's hard to pick sides when blinded like that
Or hard when both sides want you.
They only needed a moment though
Her niceness was overstayed.
The others all stared with swords in their sides
Feeling as though they had been betrayed.
How can you be such a pinball?
Such a spineless, cowardice tool?
What makes you think you're alliances to all?
What the hell are you trying to prove?
I was just wearing that mask I had once.
It was more like a helmet I guess.
I don't have a civil duty to any
I'm just trying to stay abreast.
But no one can trust a man who has no enemies.
For he stands for nothing at all.
I was dead all along in the trenches,
For the mask/helmet I had was too small.
Everyone will tell you your strengths
When it's something which they desire.
It's disgusting at best but I never act up
I know you can't fight fire with fire.
So let all the others wave the white flag
See if they can lay down their weapons.
I'm at war with myself but you all are too
One day again, we'll be friends.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
moving between stations
with newfound aesthetic in every window
strangers take seats and lock themselves
in their headphones
tickets are checked in the mundane gloom
of Mondays
beautiful faces stare into the seats before them
exposing their gaze as hushed uncertainty
silent in the prospect of arrival
when overhead lights flicker
darkness is delayed by illuminating smartphones
providing soft-spoken information
of news headlines and Snapchat stories
hands slightly quiver as Penn Station
takes collective precedence
cups of slightly cold coffee
rise with unflinching confidence
pages of poetic conscience
lower their standards
and admit they've overstayed
their welcome
taking shelter in backpacks
strangers disperse into confinements
of populated territory
their energy birthed in the helpless framework
of time clenching its withered fist
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
Blubber
Sometimes I get tired
Of all the blubber
The grinding of systems
The metal to the rubber
The pushing of points
The singing to the choir
Pickaxe in place of featherc
Look there's a bird upon the wire
Maybe potions going dry
No thank you please
And fingers going all stiff
While here awaits the feast
And vases laying all smashed
Words sitting there all torn
Lets gather the broken scraps
Rearrange them and be reborn
Maybe it's me and only me
Closing an old and tattered page
Maybe I've overstayed my welcome
On an old and creaky stage
Ah the sticks an stones are smiling now
The crows I think they've left
But the cinders upon ash
Still burn bright upon this hearth
Out into the clearing
See it twinkling up ahead
An inkling of some something
Some of us have thought of and said
Merlin's done it agian
Con-Ed's shut down
Tesla's come into power
And White Bear gets his crown
Oh
And
George Carlin is pope
Shakespeare is president
They both know the ropes
And you what ya think?
Wink, wink
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 6:14 AM UTC
My night, under opaque wraps, collects my candid questions —
unkept before the walls crept back up on me and
crammed my thorough thoughts
into sufficient suffocation and disallowed my dislocation
from total cerebral closure —
and covers cognative wonders with a dense fence-like stone cure.
The clean-cut cold sheets, tucked beneath the bed springs
spring my curiosity through layer after layer
of teeming tides of blockades and prohibition
but someone sits at the edge of the road, just before crack
drops to cliff and he catches my despair, tangled in the rye, and
before my in-experience allows me to cry,
he hurls my candid questions back my way and continues
my disallowance of detaching myself from purity.
But despite his baseball mitts, he can’t catch my verbal fits
so I scream, “My wants can’t be blocked forever and Holden,
I’m holding onto my life for the sake of avoiding strife with you but
celibacy of the mind can only lead to our true demise.”
He looks me in the eyes, scared he’d been outdone,
so he tries to run but the cliff leaves him hanging and
I reach for his undemanding hand that swats my offer
with a backwards hat.
But his fear subsides in his recollection of his misinterpretation of
a silly old poem that led him to believe he could catch our innocence.
So wear your hat straight, Holden, ‘cause in the rye,
you’re not the groundskeeper, but keep your ground and
catch yourself before you fall off the cliff and lose yourself
in your selfless tantrums and your disregard for your need for wondering.
Let me break through my caul, ‘cause it’s burning of decay and
I’ve overstayed my welcome in this amniotic gate, devoid of vitality,
and I like my life in my own hands, so I’ll tell you now:
I’m holdin’ on, Holden. Get a grip and hold on, yourself.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
Up all night, bleeding the hate from my body in forms formed in my imagined imaginary worlds of discord served up on a page. For the moment, now I am free from the chains and from all that remains of my dick-hurt plastic love growing pains.
As words, verse, and liquor traverse, seep out of my pores, and my eyes become sore with the filth of **** ****** I write until nothing makes sense, until I am no longer upset, until my mind ceases to fret on past woes, split seams, and broken playground dreams.
It is within this hour, I remember to breathe. To take a look at my life and to take a look at me and remember to smile, to know that life goes on, we all hurt, but I plan to stick around and stay for awhile. The pity party packs up it's package of filth and its pained remains. The dark side of me spoke and he shook, and he opened a vein. The dark side of me overstayed his visit, tired and sick and weak from the the fray, he decays. For now, the dark side of me is fired today, and sinks back into the depths of grey from whence he came.
A per diem employee of the heart, the 'dark side of me' part, but when the heavy **** begins to start, and it all falls apart, the snakes come out to play and to **** So when your eyes start to leak, and life's feet change its beat and begins to defeat, he'll come back around when my soul is bound, he'll bang out his sounds and you'll keep him around to absorb the hate and the **** to hide it from the bright side with caution tape and help you remake.
In the end, he's a necessary evil, all pieces in harmony share your loves, your hates, your wishes, your breaks, your woo hoo's and your boo boo's. All pieces in harmony protect you, keep you sane and keep you tame, keep you in your own shoes to do what you have to, and he'll take the blame.
This is life, and for now I am alone. I once loved more than I thought I could, and with such a high, on rainbows I stood. It was too high, it was too steep, the snakes came in took it away. I fell so far, I fell so low, I fell until broke, then I fell some more. Would I do it all over again knowing the same outcome? Without hesitation. This is all.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 4:23 AM UTC
I cried these dirges brashly,
After these long nights
While my skin cracks;
Irrigating it with my dry tears
By the desperate harmattan;
My cries are a rustling of leaves under a sun
That never fades- washing my face in strict rays
Its attendance is long overstayed;
Resting on my absent mind
I sit outside in the world’s
Quick-witted; criticizing eyes
Weeping proudly without a rush of blinking tears;
This everyday world isn’t my beloved home to own-
A shelter neglecting to cover my nakedness
I sit outside in the world’s
Quick-witted; criticizing eyes
With a tiny cloth left damp, sodden and weary
By the stretched tears flowing down my bare *******
The world quickly suckles on my grief –
Biting, pulling, and scarring them by their buds
calling it all fair by its, “Budding remarks”
With the goalmouth of getting itself full up;
Never nursing the agony.
Oh, how my heart hurts!
Jul 4, 2024
Jul 4, 2024 at 2:22 PM UTC
Like quietus stained as my passion,
I have stayed too long.
...
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 10:34 AM UTC
I did my best and you barely saw me
I did my worst and you disappeared
I noticed your best and worst
You noticed the random in betweens
With unspoken words being your specialty
That deceived me into staying
And I see where I overstayed but comfort drove me in again and again
Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 11:52 AM UTC
The bass was here.
I remember
late nights,
phone pressed against my cheek.
Your whispers lit my soul and I awoke.
I saw myself in your smile,
heard my voice in your heartbeat—
but found the strength on my own.
I needed to believe you.
You liked being needed.
But here I am,
digging up flowers
amidst headstones— I couldn’t let this rest.
But there you are,
a wandering tourist just looking for a home.
And I, a speed bump.
You tripped—
while trying to catch the Sun.
I’m sorry my attractions weren’t worth capturing.
You were too scared to use the camera slung around your neck—
what if you dropped it?
Well, it broke anyway.
I gave you too long to be honest & overstayed my welcome.
The bass was here.
We live in different worlds, but found each other in our past.
You liked Woodrow Wilson,
I should have known it wouldn’t work out.
I found myself in poetry
you taught me that.
Couldn’t you see I was new at this?
You didn’t want to repeat history—
you never gave me a chance.
Time tables turned— turn tables over time.
You twisted your essence to fit my definition—
you
loved
how
this
felt.
To finally be on the other side.
The bass was here.
Your lies became the music I danced to, alone in my room
I loved how we sounded together.
But I never listened to the lyrics
space,
time,
less.
The bass was here.
I didn’t mean to make you leave.
The base was here.
You
were
here.
Word is bond, but your words
left me bonded. Blinded.
Like my horoscope— I used to believe in you.
[Hi(s]tory) changed when the planets aligned and she became
i
l
l
u
m
i
n
a
t
e
d.
His home.
History still repeats for me.
Distance played a part in this equation—
you never let yourself get close.
But you got close enough to save me.
The bass was is here.
It just sounds different now.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
You have overstayed your welcome,
Oh entity of past lives not lived.
Your stench of decay still lingers
And seeps from my fingers.
Abandon me old skin,
You have become nothing but the skeleton of past sins
Haunting me when I am most vulnerable.
I’ve befriended an enemy and
In turn, I have become intolerable.
Yes, I have been the oppressor.
I’ve whispered, I’ve swayed, I’ve lusted, I’ve preyed,
And although I have one foot out of the door,
Old friends whisper to me,
“Come on, how much can it really hurt
If you did it once more?”
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 9:59 PM UTC
Pain within my every word
Mental instability
Never very kind or patient
Definitely not conducive to tranquility
Oh to be free all I long for
World exterminated of hate
Something I've dreamt about often
Life has refused to cooperate
Relaxation an overstayed houseguest
Won't take my subtle hints to leave
Some think I enjoy lazy demeanor
Desperately wish goals I could acheive
I'm not worthless degenerate
Just process events differently than most
A am a lost soul fighting depression
Inside haunted by a nameless ghost
With zero way to discover a road to bliss
Words I scribble my comfort when dark
Everything is a fleeting experience
Perception altered by every harmful remark
Is swallowing truth so hard
That it sticks in back of my throat?
If it is I'll forcefully choke it down
Weight why it's difficult to float
Nov 19, 2024
Nov 19, 2024 at 6:58 AM UTC