"paralleled" poems
we caught eyes
in this convenience store
but
not because i fancied you.
i was piercing you
with my gaze
lips pursed, ready to spew
all of the hatred that swelled within me.
you were air and I was a balloon
but
you didn't expect something so hard
from someone so "soft"
because since i was a child
i was taught to speak only when spoken to
to do what men expect you to do
to find comfort in getting someone to fall in love with you
but i will not settle with
being defined by someone else,
not even you.
ive spent far too long holding my tongue
because that's what they expect women to do
they expect you to stay silent while they undress you
not just with their bodies
but with their words, falling like dominoes, spreading until the last one falls
but when will the last one fall?
when will I feel comfortable walking home by myself?
when will my clothes no longer be a form of consent?
when will the lines be paralleled?
when will birth no longer be punishment?
and when that day comes
when a boy tells my daughter what she should and shouldn't do,
his words like howling winds, destroying everything in their path,
she will have been made of stone.
and when he compares her to other girls, she will know wholeheartedly that she is a beautious being
and not because someone told her so.
so, here we are in this convenience store.
and i no longer hold my tongue.
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 11:53 PM UTC
How to lose someone,
in the instant.
Through the paralleled tunnels of a second,
To feel something, ever bending within the palms of your hand.
I caught hold of you,
somewhere in another dimension.
But here you stay lingering upon my realities
Keeping me compromised.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC
Once I dipt into the future far as human eye could see,
And I saw the Chief Forecaster, dead as any one can be--
Dead and ****** and shut in Hades as a liar from his birth,
With a record of unreason seldome paralleled on earth.
While I looked he reared him solemnly, that incandescent youth,
From the coals that he'd preferred to the advantages of truth.
He cast his eyes about him and above him; then he wrote
On a slab of thin asbestos what I venture here to quote--
For I read it in the rose-light of the everlasting glow:
"Cloudy; variable winds, with local showers; cooler; snow."
2.5k
Feet in the slippers being ready to dance
The orchestra begins for the Red Dancing Slippers to advance
As the curtain goes up, the applause from the audience being the chance
The Red dancing slippers performed a production of “Inspiration written in the sunshine”
It required dramatic moves and low slow dancing soothes
But the Little Red slippers had a surprise
The Little Red Slippers were joined by the Gold Slippers in a number together
The number was music detailing a King and Queen in powerful roles of anarchy conquest
The Red and Gold Slippers paralleled in the air and demonstrated a fall of the empire
Yet as the Red and Gold Slippers performed on
Appreciation for the arts from the audience applause for the Red and Gold Slippers on stage in where they belonged
It also created a remembered masterpiece
The audience was simply treated to a musical dancing feast
Dancing beyond anyone’s expectations
All you had to do was use your imagination
The Little Red Dancing Slippers who never loss a beat
It’s the Little Red Dancing Slippers with a stage meant for dancing feet.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
He who expends his days a wanderer,
Is not aware of his gift,
Though he may hunger,
and steal into the wicked alleys
where the spirits of evil men dwell,
He lives and sees the world in a view,
one that is unimaginable,
as he sings lowly as he walks through the end of night,
He has no possessions that are worth possessing,
Such that another wanderer may wish for his own,
None except his life,
One of seeing the world from the outside,
As he is starving from within.
I gave him some money, and offered him my seat.
And society's eye upon me
as if I am naive,
but I wish them to hold their assumptions,
for I believed this man, even his lies.
I could sense his sincerity,
as distinguished from the typical
**** beggars that would scold
anyone's failure of compliance.
And though he solicited me until the last moment,
I knew that my advice may settle in,
and for he to use his supreme vantage point
of a Sufferer of the City, one without another,
I asked this man, who convinced me of his
desire to be a writer, to document his days.
And to educate himself, this 30-year-old, black, amputee,
Torn between drugs and gangs, and a better life
that is unattainable.
I asked him to be infallible in his refusal of
Those evils which will deteriorate his soul,
For its royalty will be paralleled not to material wealth,
but to any base behavior, or noble virtue.
and if he stutters in his gait, to channel such self destruction into
a productive means to write about his sufferings.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
Hallucinations in life"s desert accompanied with my unquenchable thirst
Lacerations fade to scars to prove luck"s point that it wasn"t near the worst
Temptations conspire with times inevitable push as we all learn we"re cursed
Plantations wear us down as we are all slaves until our souls have traversed
Fascinations are shared before we hitch a ride on the grim reaper"s dark hurst
Elations are defiled like a child"s smile transformed after the last bubble"s burst
Cremations are compiled as ashes drift away off cliffs and are forever dispersed
Vibrations guide us through the universe so please join me as we dive head first
Take my hand my friend and lets go be free
No need to worry about having any eyes to see
trust me as our souls dance in the wandering sea
And accompany me through this glorious eternity
We are Universally linked paralleled to every degree
Soul searching for the destination that they call journey
Brave souls are blessed with this human shell as a test
A life materially possessed leads to a lonely empty nest
So don't waste time depressed on this short epic quest
You"ll forget all the rest when our souls have coalesced
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 6:16 PM UTC
Madly-
I am missing you:
As surely as the meadow covets the soft embrace
of morning dew;
as sure as the sky slowly awakens its canvas
to the suns soft stroke of salmon pinks
and crimson reds, light magenta's, oranges,
amber's, and pale silk Persian blues.
In these moments of absence, I am,
in more than one way,
completely enraptured by the thought of you.
Your loveliness, your smile, your kiss,
your magnificently adorned brown bluish green speckled eyes,
undulate in my thoughts brightly like moonlit folds
of surf crashing into the core of me:
slowly soaking through the sandy shores
of my equally undulant, brisk, and fluttering heart.
Then, as an off shore breeze crosses tenderly about
my waist and fingertips, seductively enveloping me,
I am reminded of how closely we laid:
Tangled beneath our blanket of fervor,
side by side, with a mutual breath of passion
as excitement cascaded through our paralleled sensoriums
and quickly translated into a fiery touch of the lips,
as a fervid scratch of the hips,
and finally into a shared exhale of relief
as if to whisper to one another “come closer, be mine.”
Still, even as these grains of memories feather effortlessly
down into my thoughts like the sands of an endless hourglass
encased with the echo of your inviting voice
enchanting me with sweet nothings,
I am left with a yearning for your physical presence.
I want you here.
Time inches along and as I slowly lie my head down to sleep,
hands clasped shut between pillow and ear,
I am, in my thoughts again, reminded of your ubiquity,
of your enamoring effect on me,
of how no matter the distance nor the time between,
baby you are here, captivating my thoughts
-madly.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
The pool of rain shadowed the sun, dancing with a tepid demeanor. City lights' glamour reduced the light of the sun—melancholy was evident on her face, accompanied by the distinguished incorporeal's breath of air. The late-afternoon tea and dried-out smoke of snowy November.
It turned into night; the sun was still blatantly drowning in the pool of light, where a small trickle of its shadows tantalized the mockery arrayed in her face. Followed by the sickness in her stomach, pinching herself as she naively believed he loved her for all she is.
After all, he was the one who called her a goddess and even paralleled her in the universe in which Aphrodite takes part. Surprisingly and naively, still believed conspicuous lies. It scarred her. A mountain that cannot be climbed; a river where blood flows continuously; a garden full of thorns. The face of a fool.
The glamour wore off when he saw her on stage, where all of his queens and muses were. He wasn't even paying attention to her, and yet she was the only one who performed on stage—she rose and fell; she sang and moved like a goddess, surprising and naively believing he could take back her youth.
He watched her rise.
He watched her fall.
He watched her lose her life.
She hopelessly believed, with her skin and bones, that he'd choose her this time. He didn't.
Mar 9, 2024
Mar 9, 2024 at 3:28 PM UTC
Where do I have to go to escape you?
We are done with school so I don't have to see you,
Yet I still see you in the social media.
I've tried to read to clear my mind
But there you are, paralleled in every story.
When I listen to music to quiet my thoughts,
Each song is about how I feel for you.
What do I need to do to be done with you
The way you are clearly done and over me?
I've gone, I've gone away.
I don't like the cold,
A beach boy by nature.
I've gone away, so far from me.
Up into the mountains,
Reaching up for the snow.
And I've gone, I've gone from you,
Left my surfing behind,
To give snowboarding a try.
In hopes that maybe getting this far away,
Up to where the air is clear,
Will help me clear my head of you.
The thing is...
I don't really want it to.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 3:05 AM UTC
She frolicked through trouble, and dandled with mischief. Alison Wonderland; everything I wished I was and so much more. Ever emanating her doe-eyed façade; proclaiming our jests mere “mischief.”
Yet, an unspoken verdict (Foretaste? Conception? Notion?) had cloaked the truth: wickedness rippled beneath our parade.
I nuzzled her contours; my peripheral eye – nailed to her profile, her blueprints, her chassis. I stalked her mirage – dancing with vapor.
She glissaded about, no fool to my truth, varnishing my mantle.
I belonged to Alison: perpetually at her side. Our couplet became a “we.” So, We regretted nothing. We veered for the pyre: caroming(skimming?) those embers alit with vice.
She narrated my mental seminar. Discarding my dogmas to uphold her own; and thus, my mind was hers.
My mind was her mind.
Alison made heads turn, and mouths water, as we sidled – hand in hand – down the street. She was my Christmas morning: each colloquium – giftwrapped with finesse. She personified paradise, she illustrated utopia. Hatching our Carnival; netting us, enamored, sidling the Carousal. We’d skim, we’d sail, her halo – my fossil. Her lips, her eyes, her hands… they echoed the innocence of a child. Niave, innocent, and giftwrapped in wonder.
Little Miss Wonderland: my very own fairytale. She was mine alone; she was mine to keep.
Did I want her, or did I want to be her?
Alison Wonderland.
Her aura – so celestial – paralleled my prose. When she banished my husk – Maple Thatcher – I cackled good riddance… And I grew a new personality to accommodate her own.
For, without Ali – devoid of our we – I doubted the very existence of me.
On my composition, she bestowed rhythm. She gave tune to my silence; her chimes, her cadence. My ink was her song – fusing a symphony. A symphony of Alison: the melody to solidify our tryst.
My mind was her mind.
And yet… somehow, I missed a carriage – or two – aboard her train of thought. For, the same felon spiting my existence, was the angel I loved to life. Gladly, I huffed, and I puffed, and I blew Maple down.
Fused against Alison, I needed none of Maple.
Carnival infatuations…
Alison Wonderland.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
There's a secret sorrow
Summoned in pockets of his lost love
for roses and yellow speckled daffodils
The last night she cried he asked her
To fight for a blue moon
Bruised with ashes of failed stars
Caught in methods of paralleled insanity
She whispered things
Long strings of infinity
Phrased into meanings
That made his soft hands cringe
Before yesterday the universe was basic
A long attempt to run the saviors to a purpose
But his last breath
One that edged its way into a sprint
Caught the corner of her world on a purple heart
The end of the hero.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
the ocean is alive, her heart beats in the echoing crash against the basalt slabs
the ocean is a creature,
she lives in the daylight
soaking up the sun
she hunts at night, to fill her belly
and sleeps when she's full
the ocean dresses in greens and greys and blues and blacks
she's always changing clothes
the ocean gives and takes away
life, homes, and joy
the ocean is more powerful than man can fathom
with her mighty swells and crashing waves
the rumbles of the tempest and the chaos in her depths
the ocean is alive, and her heart is hard
the ocean is a creature, a beautiful one
do not underestimate her
the ocean is green and gray and blue and black
and she will swallow you up
the ocean gives and takes away
but she rarely shows mercy
the ocean is sister to mother earth
and paralleled in power
the ocean is a force
and she will not be tamed
you have met the ocean, now
but you still do not know her
swim in her depths and meet her creatures
but don't be the one to fill her belly
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 3:26 AM UTC
What is an American?
Is it decided by the timber of our voice,
the strength in our limbs,
the blood in our veins,
or the color of our skin?
Tell me,
for I do not understand,
unfold your thesis,
inundate my mind with statistics,
be it quantum blood measures,
origin or sociological constructs of the creature in question.
Tell me,
what it is to be an American?
This umbrella term,
I just do not understand,
is it to be a thief?
A country founded on stolen land,
and stolen labor,
sage bushed bills,
backed by gilded structures and systems of debate and seizure,
is being an American drowning in leisure?
What does this term mean?
I find myself confused,
it is difficult to quantify the qualitative,
and breath life into lifeless chiseled forms,
found in squares and plazas throughout,
a country split by hard wired ferocity,
quicksand laden dividing lines,
the vocal deciding what it is to be,
and what it isn't.
*Careful lad,
there is such a thing as too much,
too much individuality,
so put up your hair,
put away the paint,
put away that sign,
sheath your weapon,
old boy,
this isn't your fight,
and besides,
what can you do with a toy?*
I don't know what America is,
land of the free,
where is that?
I see only industry,
a dying morality,
drowned in ethics,
a protestant-core built on overt inequality.
What does it mean to be an American?
I can't tell you what it means to you,
only what it means to me,
and so I say dust off the document upon which this term was built,
and realize that the past is not what you should use,
just as anything else of import,
use judgement,
agency,
the ability to choose,
uphold the freedom that suffocates in the back of your mind,
to the flame inside your chest,
to the weakness in your legs,
down against the sole of your shoes.
America is a country founded on rebellion,
a little man,
underdog all grown up,
and now he's the one throwing punches,
a story paralleled by Davidic tales,
and though he may not be perfect,
and is often reviled,
I love him still,
his rough edges,
for we are still part of the experiment,
ongoing,
the American dream.
Though the gates may be weighed down,
the hinges rusted,
a country of sojourners,
soon a country of minorities,
cultural pluralism,
though flawed,
I like it better this way,
a techni-colored mirage of what once was,
and if we must meet our end,
so be it,
guide me home,
for is it not true that all roads eventually wind home?
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
If I worship more than arch angel but don’t love
I have nothing
If I give all I have to the poor, but don’t love
I have nothing
If I have faith which moves mountains,but don’t love
I have nothing
If I give gold in alms as big as Ohad but don’t love
I have nothing
If I die circumambulating the Kaaba, but don’t love
I have nothing
If I die fighting in the holy war, but don’t love
I have nothing
If I die and buried in the tomb of prophet but don’t love
I have nothing
If I get land larger than Solomon’s Kingdom,but don’t love
I have nothing
If I receive God’s healing power like Christ but don’t love
I have nothing
If I am given un paralleled patience like Ayub but don’t love
I have nothing
If make sacrifice like Ismael and Hussain but don’t love
I have nothing
If I am given the kingdom of whole world, but don’t love
I have nothing
No matter what I have done, no matter what will I do
Without wings of love, I cannot soar in the kingdom of God
Vincent Boykin I admire your courage in writing about Love in a serious relationship with the spiritual. It's shows your heart and that you understand Love. Love is usually just some word in the cosmos. Love bonds everything in good. Love. Super Poem! It's how I took it. It made my day. Thank you.
Demelia Denton An amazing poem Matloob .... Enchanting ...beautifully worded
Michele Vizzotti-White I like the fast pace of it, but it still is rich in thought/words
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
Naive
Like flowers in a hurricane
we let sparks fly with such
atomic energy
encompassing the existence
of a connection unexpected
relentless
but for certain realities...
This truth will be the dream
in our universe
paralleled.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
it is up to this date
that I no longer create
an image, an experience
I will never forget
the taste the smell
the way you inhale and exhale
will never be changed
between your lips, into my thighs
later we move up to my sleeves
breathing me in and out
it is that I no longer locate
the images I used to create
you complete the process
of you inside me
crawling up to my spine
into my mouth
I taste you, and you taste me
it is up to this date
that I no longer locate
the depth of your hold
the sweetness of you being bold
and the taste of you
oh, so blind
how come
heaven hasn’t come
hell hasn’t seen
that you and I
will forever be on the seam
hunger for the taste
longing for the smell
here in my tongue
I’ll forever remember
that up to this date
I’ll never state
that you, were once
paralleled my fate
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 7:16 AM UTC
Drum up the emoticons of Tweeners
Lost between the couch cushions
Smoking on Cush,
Listening to lines of lying lions.
No soul,
Symbols twisted into idols
Non-paralleled,
Prophets for profit
Refusal to obey convention
Convection will guarantee a feature flight
To where?
I don't know.
Nowhere near never, never land
The fall will forever fragment followers
Peons of lies, hope, and mirrors
Cause is not lost, for change
Moons tide motions for…
The ebb of conscious thought, drowning the flow of seceded freedoms.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 10:52 AM UTC
The night has confided in me its secrets,
Revealing my paralleled selves.
We are all privileged, being depressed or anxious is hypocrisy itself
So
I've sat and thought ,
Time affirms knowledge
Though i am not my awarness,
I feel wired to a hidden intelligence,
Unfamiliar images, imagination,
Everything is a lesson,
Unlearn it to reach the destination
Gratitude brings bliss and peace of mind
do not underestimate the advantage of being ALIVE
Words Of Harfouchism
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 11:26 PM UTC
I break precarious, upon your precious word:
The voiceless reason, dying goes unheard,
My heedless passions lying yet unfurled;
My thoughts, in none of yours paralleled-
I break; I break precarious, at one word.
Jun 7, 2010
Jun 7, 2010 at 12:49 PM UTC
Now, my heart is open, but it knows what its missing;
now, the heart is wounded by its own desire;
but it is its own desire that opens the door which was locked.
There is no avoidance like a heart full of fear;
so, that fear was taken place by a love that can fix me.
How can I doubt it?
Why do I need to resist it?
Why should it be forced?
Why should it be pushed?
The reality is that none of this has to happen,
you are already there.
You cleared the void that was so annoying.
You were able to transform a heart of fear,
into a heart of love.
So, only the one can do this work to someone.
There is a distance, but it is not as wide as the void;
The void is now closed with one in my heart;
all others are in support and merge into my being.
The only void there is remain in the mind,
but I am at peace with you, even in distance.
Love is what brings us closer, no matter the distance;
why worry about what will happen
when what happened is already transparent?
I do not have to resist, push, force, anymore;
no, I can see through the glass our reflection;
the reflection of minds that are meant for many things;
the reflection to heal those who have been where we were.
You are beautiful and the best rendition of me;
there is no avoidance of your soul;
because I set myself free to allow you into my heart.
You will see when our paralleled hearts
reconnect from the healing hearts of doubt and disbelief.
No more avoidance within myself;
only love can fill the void, and the person is happy to see me.
When I see your face, it will not be sour frowns;
or doubts of love, or force of angels;
it will be an angel seen through me;
living in love through my heart,
finally allowing you into my life, and out of avoidance.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 3:47 PM UTC
I will read you like i read a dictionary
I promise I wont abuse you,
because I grasp the knowledge you possess
I promise to use every page
because every page of you is important
I promise to keep you around forever
because you are timeless
I promise to never be selfish with you
because everyone should see your beauty
you girl,
you are an un paralleled dictionary
in a library full of books
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
I met two strangers on the internet, it was a casual encounter.
One threw tirades of capital letters that punctured my screen,
ricocheted off my eyes,
and bounced back through to the second.
One saw the other as "illiturate", which he had no shame admitting.
The other fired back a passionate counter-argument.
So zealous he was in asserting his qualifications,
he didn't even stop for breath. Or to punctuate.
I find it rather prickling that one who could afford a laptop
won't purchase a dictionary instead.
The duel pressed on, 2 a.m.
****** words and harsh assumptions.
One's heart sank, the other's I.Q. paralleled.
We build these walls up so high between us,
and pretend we can't hear the neighbors
who have built their walls pressed against ours.
This is a problem, oh we have so many of those.
Let's make one more and build them up higher
in hopes that the overbearing altitude caves in on us...
I know that my problem is much more dismal than yours--
Just look at how small the opening to my cell is!
The sky looks gray from down here.
We all imprison ourselves into our own self-pitying ignorance
and call it shelter.
We are so unique and different and beautiful
because we are humans.
Humans who know ugly words, and do ugly things
when our originality is challenged.
And even when it's not challenged
because no one dares to admit
that we all plug into the same electrical grid.
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 5:56 PM UTC
in a time of need,
I was desperate for answers.
you looked like a long term one
only to be a cancer.
chances are, if my head was on right
the *** wouldn't have been so bad and you wouldn't have felt as tight
the psychological abuse I endured
only paralleled by the apologies and *** that you managed to keep me sure
yet how unsure was I. naive to love.
accustomed to hurt & pain.. my heart crying face down in a rug
no pillows where I slept, the floor was good enough
I sacrificed **** near my life for you; wasn't enough
looks only go so far; if this was a race, I'm the hare & you're the tortoise.. but you have a car
self sufficient and overly dependent; my nights alone, staying up wondering who you're laid up with
time and time again, I'm praying that I'm all you need; you see me bleeding and you give me a ******* bandaid like that'll put it to an end
came to find out you were already 8 weeks pregnant by my cousin, the same day you reassured me I was the one you're in love with
hope you're happy with him; not to mention he's already got a wife and two other children
in the time since I last saw you, I did some self-reflection & even figured that I should call you
no, to hell with you, I'm better than that
then you text me at 3 AM? no I'm better than that
you miss me? no you miss what I did for you
you couldn't stand to breathe in my space when all I ever did was live for you
in a time of need,
I was desperate for answers
you looked like a long term one
only to be a cancer.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
That rush,
my heart pumping,
fear birthing excitement.
A needle
filled with dreams of bliss
complete relief for a slice of your life.
The taboo nature,
intentionally inflicting harm on oneself
paralleled by intentionally inflicting happiness on oneself.
A spoon,
a lighter,
a cotton swab.
So unsure of myself,
my heart rate accelerates,
my hair stands at attention,
the rubber haults circulation,
I search for a stream,
my brown medicine turns crimson,
the pressure of my thumb,
I remove the dam blocking my river and.
My eyes roll.
My body goes numb.
Seretonin overload.
I float back,
and fall into my bliss.
Hours of ecstasy.
I will always be a prisoner to
that rush.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 6:23 PM UTC