"painfulness" poems
There are days
when my soul feels
stretched out
like a ribbon
emotions
hang
ing
from a thread
on the line,
like laundry, for
all to see, on pegs
vulnerable
in storms
letting wind caress
and sometimes whip them
round in beaten time
like a tempest
They tend to
get bruised, secretly
battered internally
as the surface of me smiles
and marches on
Vocal chords tightening
as the larynx longs
in primal urge
to take out the words
in one long
graceful arc
of purge
On these days I
need to sit
in the cloudforms
of my mind's eye
and let myself feel
what I cannot show:
the daily coldness gnawing
at my innards
blow by icy blow
In these hours
I must let the tears
well up and run down
until the sting of salt
penetrates the glacier
let the significance of
unspoken words
rise up from
the deep dermis layers
into my throat, my tonsils
up to the palate and tongue
out through my lips
to the heavens,
releasing the unsung
those words caught within
the walls of my neck -
they almost make me choke
exhaust contamination
from heavy, unseen smoke
It billows up and out
and soon, like
hard-worked magic
this morse code is busted
because I am sick of feeling tragic
I command clear
communication
to filter through
the spasms of fog
in drops of dew
I command my words to be heard
in tiny spikes of sun
And all the while
in clear spirals,
a prayer commences to
be spun:
for the harsh
and bitter
be flushed out
in unabated, icy rush
for my soul to rise up
for the cleansing
in aching spirit blush
for the painfulness
of silence
to be ground out
upon the floor
for the shadows of
the violence
to be obliterated
to the
core
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 8:14 AM UTC
On a night no different than
The others that abound
I spotted six unsavory men
Together, hanging around
I told meself, "Now looks at them
They seem a likely lot
What may have stole me puddin packs
Right out me secret ***
I thoughts a bit then took a chance
I walked into their midst
I told about the puddin stole
And ask 'em if they didst
They laughed a bunch and thought me for jestin'
But 'twasn't I what told them jokes
And when they saw I was being earnest
They gave me slaps and pokes
I thought I saw a blinkin light
Above me twisted head
But twas only lights of painfulness
Like parts of me was dead
I never found me puddin packs
And it truly made me sad
Cos I was to make puddin cake
For me child what wasn't bad
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
The moment of weakness
That brings you to your knees
The moment of hopelessness
As if no one hears your pleas
The moment of darkness
When you scream without a sound
The moment of infinite sadness
As if your heart no longer pounds
The moment of numbness
Believing it was just a dream
The moment of painfulness
Realizing what you've seen
The moment of regretfulness
Wishing you had them back
The moment of forgetfulness
Trying to get your life on track
The moment of humblness
Begging for His love
The moment of hope
When you feel strength from above
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
I’m wrenched awake with a swaying hangover, the kind that rumbles in the back of your throat until mid-afternoon. I know that I’m late without turning my head but the only movement is the whir of the box fan in the window and the sinewy muscle of my calves twitching near the end of the bed.
It’s hard to wake up when the world outside the door has been in this way, insistent in it’s painfulness, and part of me wants to succumb to the quiet hum of this bedroom, disappear into the sheets and pretend for a moment that I never met Jordan Whitaker.
A scalding shower and a thermos of lukewarm coffee later, the sun seems way too cheery for the way my insides feel and I want to scowl at it. I swallow the bile for a moment to toss a ‘good morning’ to the old woman dragging her walking cane to the end of the driveway.
She used to drop by with cookies from time to time, but it’s been a while. I can see the toll of age and defeat on her cheeks like a fragment of my future and I have to turn away from it, towards the blinding sun mocking me quietly.
“You done yet?”
I hear his voice before I see him, taunting me in the way only a man in a position of superiority can. Archie is filthy with the kind of grease that doesn’t wash off, and all of my tricks to keep unwanted hands away, even a stubborn and unyielding androgyny, has not deterred him yet. I spit at the sidewalk before his foot lands in stride next to me, and he jerks a bit but keeps pace.
“You know, I’ve got someone on the inside of the courtroom today. Maybe you scratch my back, I scratch yours, that kind of thing?”
These words are accompanied by a haphazard set of teeth leering in some semblance of a smile. The smell alone is enough to make me want to start sprinting, but I keep my tone and pace level.
“I’m not telling you again, Archie. My leads are my own. I’ll get in there just fine.”
“Oh, the bitch’s feeling feisty today, I see!”
I watch a bead of sweat collect between his eyes as he watches me, like a pockmark. “You’re kidding yourself if you think they’ll let you anywhere near the trial with the stunt you pulled last week.
You should stop taking me for granted, you know!”
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
*** slave perplexed slave
or maybe just a slave
a *** slave is the best slave
or at least that's what they think
from narcotics to ******
and so on the edge or brink of death
she has no heroine
she lays there quiet on the floor
welcoming numb unconsciousness
before she wakes to the sobriety
of a new day of painfulness
questioning her beliefs
and fearing the time that's left
asking, begging, doing her best
there's a dark hole in her chest
so alone and so very lost
it crushed her heart and damnation is the cost
this *** slave is a hexed slave
never to care again
this next slave was fixed a slave
and now she's locked in
her mind is set on fear
a terror of the dark
she shuts out the sound
though angels sing
the song of healing
hark.
oh
but this slave is a jinxed slave
bad luck is all she has
and she becomes the hexed slave
to wait for time to pass
or maybe not a slave at all
if she could only last
even when shes on the brink
it hurts too much her past
flashbacks and nightmares
to give her chills and raise her hairs
absentmindedly thinking
its just not fair
that mom and dad are never there
to help her calm and keep her safe
now all she does is wait.
this jinxed slave is perplexed
though also bored and vexed
why do they pay so little attention
she feels as though shes hexed
even though shes a former slave
she does not feel so ex'd
'cause if the wrong remember her
she might as well be dead.
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 12:49 PM UTC
In this world we are living;
Leaving without any goodbyes is really painful,
Being forgotten in times of sadness is more painful,
But you know what is the most painful?
Not knowing the name of someone you love dearly with whole of your heart.
That is the most painful matter I have ever experienced.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 7:19 AM UTC
I met a stranger,
who loved me like how
She loves the painfulness of poetry.
I met a stranger,
who loved me like how
She loves the bitterness of coffee.
I met a stranger,
who loved me like how
She loves the wildness of the sea.
I met a stranger,
who loved my flaws, my
dark sides, my all.
She was once my unknown zone,
But now, she's my home.
Sep 3, 2021
Sep 3, 2021 at 9:57 AM UTC
Every pain you sigh.
Every tear you cry.
I wish I could take away your pain inside.
If I could replace you.
I surely would.
I just hate seeing you hurting.
Every hurt you feel.
Every ache that ills you.
I wish I could take them all for you.
It's killng me just to know that a good person.
Has been affected this deep.
My love for you is too steep.
I just wish during your painfulness.
It was passed from you to me.
You is the better part of me.
I just wish sometimes it was me.
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 9:17 PM UTC