"personify" poems
1.) You have the most loving heart. Your warmth, your gentle touch that you personify without words. Melts the supports of my heart
2.) Eyes of deep blue, that ensnare me and leave me thoughtless. How they change into everglade greens, and mystical greys. They're beautiful
3.) Few laughs may be as pure as your quiet giggle. The mere sound gives me goosebumps and a funny feeling in my stomach. You're so freakin' adorable
4.)The curves of a semi-circle aren't nearly as perfect as yours. You've worked alot for the perfect body. I simply need to ask... How can you make something that's something that is already perfect better?
5.) Spontaneous, unexpected and surprising. You keep me on my feet, keep me entertained and make me enjoy every second with you. Who knows what I am to expect?!
6.) Once upon a time, there lived to fluffy bunnies, they decided to leave their little hole and go out on an adventure. A wolf came along and bit of the rabbits head and it bled to death Its so dark, and it leaves you wondering what to think. I love your dark side. It both terrifies and intrigues me
7.) You're so intellectual. I love some of the things you say and more importantly write! You have an amazing capacity for knowledge and wisdom and you use it well. It baffles me, some of the connections you make in your essays and assignments
8.) My love you illustrate a maturity that surpasses your years. Pertaining to your ability to be responsible and reliable if and when - not that I ever am - clearly am not able to be. I think you're the one looking after me. I'm the older one, who just happens to have an 8yr old inside them~
9.) You smell amazing, but no. Seriously, you are in every way, shape or form. The most amazing, star studded, picture perfect, superbly sensational girl. I could ever have met. Yes, let the alliteration flow
10.) Because you're you, and you are mine
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 2:16 AM UTC
Puissant piquant and predatory
And observant from afar
He looks down on your slumber
Like a door that's left ajar
Plying with his manly vice
A reckless male visage
A rogue of masculine device
Seeks entrance to your mind
He saunters with a swagger
A macho savvy moxie
To personify virility's incarnate
His dream zone's metier
He sifts your ****** entourage
In search of sprawls recumbence
To tantalize climactic fervor
With lambent photic scenes
Grasping at your revelries
He spies the wanton lust
With swanky strut appealing
Your primal urge to sate
He leaves undone resistance
With innate resilience seized
The lavish wayward implications
Of unrequited livid deeds
Like passion's lurid lecheries
An insatiable torrid sooth
You wrestle with his adamance
Your carnal ecstasies revealed
You pounce on his exsertion
You splay your agile form
wriggling like a supple nymph
You accept his blatant storm
You writhe in your abandon
In a euphoric supplication
His machismo ****** enveloping
Your wildest latent needs
With no regrets or reticence
you awaken from this dream
To find yourself alone again
Like it had never been
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
Anxiety is not a feeling
As some of you may believe
You wouldn't be alone
Because plenty of people place it in the same category as
Sad, angry, elated
But one of these things is not like the others.
You see, anxiety is everything and nothing
All at the same time.
Anxiety is when no matter how spacious the room is
It seems to be getting smaller
Until you can see every intricate detail on every wall
Each corner touches your skin
And flattens your chest
As it rises and falls
Your breath is getting short until it stops
And then you become as functional as a corpse
After all, isn't that what you are?
Anxiety is
When your love stands over top of you
Watching your diaphragm as it rapidly pulsates
Wishing he could hold your hands as they sweat profusely
Wanting to breathe life into your convulsing body
But instead, he cannot even grasp the concept
Of why you are not alright.
Anxiety is
Accepting that your reality is not truly real at all
And deciding to realize that people wish they could fix you
But understanding that they don't know what to do
And you don't either.
Anxiety is
Learning from all the
You're blowing things out of proportion's
And
You put to much pressure on yourself's
When you begin to have these panic attacks
In which you feel like death in imminent
Over trivial things.
Anxiety is
Being with people who love you
And still getting bursts of loneliness
That ignite and explode inside your pores and underneath your skin
The blood flowing silently through your veins reminds you
That you are all alone.
Anxiety is
Relating each and every thing you do
To how you are not adequate
And how you must take charge of everything.
It influences the things that tell you
"Make yourself throw up"
And
"Skip that meal today."
Most times, you shoe it away with every particle of strength that you have
Other times, you are not so lucky.
Anxiety is hard to personify
But it is.
And as I muster up the courage in my soul
And the hope in my being
I realize that those things need not be stored
Because I use them every day as I fight this battle.
We are all waging wars
Mine just happens to be against
This thing that is so intricately woven into the chemistry of who I am.
It is a part of me
But it is not all of me
And my voice is louder than this sickness.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
As you lay next to me I can’t help but think of you.
You lay sleeping, and I close my eyes and envision you taking me.
To the place that only the weight of your body on mine can bring.
Your hands moving across mine, light as feathers
Your breath on my neck, slowly become more rapid.
The look of love in your eyes,
A look you couldn’t hide with all the will power of your being.
I want to spin with you, lose control, devour the moment.
I crave to make you writhe, twitch, grasp the sheets,
To arc your head back and gasp for air.
Have you lose all barriers and be truly free.
As you lay sleeping, I envision reckless motion
Feelings words can not personify.
Anytime I look in the mirror I see the reality of myself
A reality once only could manifest, yet now is actuality.
My own image brings up feelings of imperfection,
A figure that I am not comfortable with,
Self-esteem that I can not seem to find with out you.
You are my world, my sun, my universe.
My every thought orbits around you
My mind races at the thought of you
Despite all the time that has elapsed
I long for you, I beg of you to wake up
To say balderdash to rest, REM, and energy
And expel it all unto me.
I want you to take all that I am; consume me.
Fore when we connect I am completed
As you lay sleeping, you toss and turn
Growing ever closer too me
Were your eyes open I could tell you
Tell you to take me in any way imaginable.
Not out of primeval hormones,
But for a cluster of fireworks in a darkened sky.
A lustrous swaying of beings that few experience in a lifetime,
But with you it is constant, predictable in a joyous sense.
I am broken, though the patches I’ve created hold to me well,
My mind can not help but regress to old patterns and vices.
At times I wonder if the feeling is mutual
If when we intertwine my experience is the same as yours.
Are there fireworks, or just the "great value" ****** any girl could give you.
Your love is undeniable, however, your anatomy has a satisfaction guaranteed
Though still I wonder about the fireworks
When your inside me do you feel flesh or do you feel alive - the most alive you’ve ever felt.
Does your mind forget, just for that moment, that anything else in the world exists
Just for that moment, are their fireworks?
Because my world changes in those heated moments
It is the only time I feel beautiful.
I worry that because I have changed I can not satisfy you.
Your former mates eclipse me,
You’ve been with those who are beautiful by textbook standards.
You’ve been intertwined with those who I feel I do not compare.
I want to make you feel the way you make me feel
I don’t want you to just *** I want you to have an ******
To feel that explosion of love and satisfaction.
I want to know that the fireworks are not duds.
Because, I would do anything to make you feel beautiful.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 5:47 AM UTC
The broken glass lies on the floor
in front of me.
It has shattered into many pieces,
just as my spirit has done so
many times before.
I have struggled for a long time
to find my place in this world,
but, one thing I have never questioned,
is my identity.
Beneath the surface,
God has bestowed upon me the
greatest beauty of all – my heart.
Not in its physical form,
but, in its spiritual one,
is what defines my identity.
Simply known as character,
it is how one is seen
leading their life,
each and every day.
With pride, my identity
can shine onto others,
as an example of how
a heart can be so loving,
so caring, so understanding,
so compassionate, so kind.
All of these traits are
what comprise my identity.
Forever, I will personify these traits,
like one who proudly wears
a badge of courage;
a badge to show that
I have weathered the
toughest of battles,
and have come out
stronger than ever .
Along the way,
with each challenge presented,
not once has my identity faltered.
As I pick up the pieces
of the broken glass,
I place them all together
on the surface in front of me.
The cracked glass outline
reminds me of my many failures;
however, I look past the
fissures that are apparent on the surface,
and see my identity staring back at me.
It is complete, and reflective,
not fragmented and dull.
Even though certain facets
of my life remain unclear to me now,
my identity is something
that I am most certain of.
With pride, I carry it with
me every day; with honor,
I display it courageously.
Vicki A. Zinn
March 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
i once dated a boy who found it "adorable" that i know how to change my headlights
fill my radiator
change the oil
and notice every stopsign as i'm halfway through it
he dumped me via text
before that
there was a boy who loved my lack of first person capitalization
my over-use of metaphores and similies
the way i personify the night
and practice preforming poetry in the shower
he took off into the sunset with my journal in his shoulder-sack
and somewhere in between
i stopped asking myself what it means
threw up my hands
and learned to enjoy the ride
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
Spectacular view of the stars and their constellation,
Conveying astral messages to the mankind.
Astounding vision of the moon amidst darkness,
Giving a ray of hope for those who are in the dark,
Telling them to spread the light of wisdom,
Personify the beauty of the universe.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 9:12 AM UTC
It has found me again !
Here it is right in front of me,
Smiling ironicly at me,
Snuggling up to me and won’t let go !
Telling me how much he missed me
How much he missed my mood and my attitude.
My longtime friend !
I don’t even know if I should objectify « It » or personify « him »
I though we will never see each other again
I though I won’t have to deal with him again
People often say you can’t control things that are out of your reach
You don’t have any power on certain things
I have defeated him once. Am I able to do it again this time ?
Am I weak or am I just giving up ?
Letting him invade me !
Invade my space, my privacy, my inner peace and my mood !
Do I have the strength to be in a perpetual figth with It !
I want to chase him for good
Get him out of my mind and out of my soul
Bury him deep in a place unknown,
Where the lost souls wander around and never return
Somewhere he cant never escape from
Go away ****** Depression !
Go bother someone else in some place else !
I have let down my guards for a while
But that does not mean the old me has return
I am stronger than you think
I have come to tolerate my old self !
Forgiving her and accepting her mistakes
When it comes to you, there is no room for forgiveness and pity
I have come to thrive all of my old demons !
You will not be the exception ! You will not be the black sheep !
You really love to see me suffer and shut myself out from what is around
Those days are long gone and you will be the very next
Goodbye Depression, I really did not and will never miss you.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
Humanisation
Might as well jam a mans face
On an Ocelot
Personify it
Happy like Humanity
Ocelot the bloke
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
they say god is perfect.
that holds true for me, too.
no concept contains me in totality.
Stirner wrestled with the undefinable:
an indefatigable Unique,
anarchic,
lacking category.
Camus perhaps said it best,
"i rebel, therefore i exist."
i strive to personify resistance.
i find the answers
in harmony with Counterparts,
defining *The Difference
Between Hell
and Home*:
"i am what i am
and i am an outcast."
an outlaw,
a nobody
akin to Nietzsche,
returning infinitely—
stretched like so many grains of sand
on time's flat surface, orbiting
eternally around the creative Nothing
at half-past 3:00 in the morning.
a singularity,
deconstructing
Derrida's Différance.
a nomad on the margins,
wandering aimlessly,
roaming perpetually
with Deleuze and Foucault,
an astronaut arranged
along the endless frontiers
of an ever-expanding cosmos.
Vonnegut recognized
the periphery affords
a radical view
to the few who choose
to embrace that which cannot be Known.
a zero-sum game
between Death and me,
staving off manic-depressive ennui
if only momentarily.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC
i could spend my life in utter awkwardness
watching my brothers smoke and my sisters cry
aunties smiling and prolonging straightforwardness
my ***** cousins won’t ever say hi
i could spend my life sitting at the corner writing poems
about these drap people who refuse to stay in their homes
the kids would play hide and seek
the mannequins with heads up until it’s too awkward to not speak
skinny waists, blackened eyes, and porcelain faces
daru desi banging loud; turning us deaf
high heels; no flats no laces
horrible is the food beautifully prepared by the chef
(who, by the way, thinks we're unbelievably uncivilised)
i see them drenched in forgettum juice
they’re deep in drunken oblivion, you see
it’s incredible - when they say ‘let loose’
’cause their eyes pry when you let yourself free
the ladies enjoy their liberation;
those poor oppressed dearies
no more doting on their husbands in juxtaposed veneration
they give a grave attempt to personify their reveries
the men enjoy pelvic thrusting
they’re sly crooks who love lusting
i guess i’ll be alright;
for a mere few minutes, if i’m out of sight
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
that's it again
the artistry of the curling hell
the mark of what was destroyed
and for some reason used as a metaphor for life
I look in the mirror and I see long, lean, noble
like a greek god, or goddess, someone gender ambiguous
with hair framing my face and jawlines ever reaching up
my body is beautiful and I shouldn't destroy it
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
like whitman,
there is this strange dark attraction to
standing somewhere leaning against the wall
with my hood up as I watch the stars become clouded
and that warm friendly scent fills my clothes where no one wants to go
it's like a forest, a forest of embraces and thistles
something tragic and suave and slenderly beautiful
the workers in the yard light up daily
just like my sister when she's hanging out
always happy
or my grandfather on his patio with the parrot on his shoulder.
he lets her drink coffee sometimes,
and lets me drink in the air of his breath mingled with ash always.
I am the rolled tobacco, just ready to be lit, inhaled, and blown away
flammable, quick to go,
filtered, my body a slim cylinder,
the heat at the end catching the eye of children
I want to be united with that which I personify,
unhealthy, but **** cool looking.
It wouldn't surprise anyone-
where there's smoke, there's fire, they say;
maybe that's why I've always wanted a cigarette.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
You confuse karate with love.
You punch, kick, and block.
You master the form,
Practice and practice.
You remember the creed.
Karate is not love.
You don’t kickstart the heart,
You can’t block love out,
Or punch it into submission.
I confuse love with poetry.
I read, write, and dream.
I master the edict of the pen,
Recite and recite.
I remember the sonnets.
Poetry is not love.
You don’t stanza the heart,
You can’t make a metaphor out of love,
Or personify it into breathing.
When will we learn?
When will you stop kicking Cupid?
When will I stop serenading him?
When will we stop this silly interpretation of love?
I don’t know,
But I’ll stop if you stop too.
Jan 10, 2020
Jan 10, 2020 at 9:50 AM UTC
As the sparkling stars in the sky,
Your the shining light of my eye.
As the golden dew on the grass,
Your the prettiest flower in my heart.
As the lonesome moon that dwells the night,
Your the single light that glorifies my might.
For you are in me, for the days I were in you;
And now as you are, indeed my everything.
The smile behind my tears,
The laugh behind my cheers.
How could I personify words to match your love,
For amma, no one on earth is as lovely as you.
- Silence
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 6:17 AM UTC
Susi sees angels here and there
magical creatures are everywhere
I canny see them, I try and look twice
I kind of regret it, it must be nice
but I think
Why should I personify
my sense of wonder,
sense of wonder
I laugh beneath the starlit sky
with my sense of wonder
sense of wonder
Ewan sees reason in everything
knows you can measure pieces of string
and he is my brother I love and respect
and proof of the other we've never found yet
but I think
Why should I categorize
my sense of wonder
sense of wonder
I laugh beneath the starlit skies
with my sense of wonder
sense of wonder
And I salute you, one and all
who've seen the light, who've heard the call
I'll not dispute what you have seen
I'm just not certain what you mean
Susi's a human, as sweet as can be
and magic or not she's amazing to me
and whether we're born here blessed or alone
I hope that her angels will see her home
but still think
Why should I personify my sense of wonder
sense of wonder
I laugh beneath the starlit sky
with my sense of wonder
sense of wonder
sense of wonder
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 9:36 AM UTC
It is out of habit for a poet to personify the oceans. Write about how the waves kisses the shore each time the moon tried to pull it away; and then remind yourself how when hot meets cold, they're disaster-bound. Playing pretend was a habit of yours. After all, it was a form of survival- where you get the change in your pockets.
You were fascinated by how the conch seemed to speak in waves no matter how far away you were from the ocean, as if it never depended its beauty in the place it finds itself. Its emptiness allowed itself to echo its surroundings. And if you'd uncover what was buried, you'd think it be a chest- an empty one that will finally be tipped full.
When you mimicked the sound of the ocean, it couldn't lull me to sleep. It kept me awake every night for fear that I'd drown; see, your promises came like waves, with nothing in between. You gave your words away like the weight you had been carrying in you; and I almost thought you had spat your heart out in the process of cleaning your guts. There is so many things you poured out, and I guess I managed to save some- sorrow.
When it stopped, you spoke in hushed tones and it sounded like canon shots in a distance. They say you are a product of your surroundings and you are filling yourself with everything you can find laying around, stacked so precariously high like a game of Jenga- the thrill was in watching it topple and fall. These pieces never belonged to you and you still have nothing to give when you are growing close resemblance to a shrapnel shell. When you are at war with yourself, there is no refuge: dig a foxhole until it blows over and that'd be your grave. How do you hide from yourself? Scream when you listen to the conch again- it's the sound of war.
Break your habits before they break you; times like this, I wish you were an empty shell.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
I understand why we personify Life,
We live;
But why personify Death,
We die.
Attributing Pride to Death
Is senseless;
It's the last thing on the island.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
There are only so many poems to write about heartbreak
only so many ways to say "I love you and I hate you"
Only so many ways to personify the Night and hold her accountable
for the thoughts she shoves down one's throat, fear-dripping and cold
There are only so many ways to reach out in metaphors
desperately grabbing at any emotions their words might stir
There are only so many poems to write about being a stupid kid
with a mixed-up head and a heaving heart
with a cynical mind and a disappointed shout
and only so many ways to cry it out
Only so many half-smoked cigarettes and sweet perfumes
Only so much room for oxygen tanks and desperate goodbyes
It's getting crowded here with heavy clothes and defeatist tones
But there are so many of these murky nights
and only so many ways to get by
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 5:43 AM UTC
I love you.
Three words no wider than four letters long
That carry the whole weight of the universe.
Words we utter to each other so often,
Bystanders would consider them disingenuous.
But, baby, I mean every syllable.
When I look into your eyes,
When I watch you watching me,
My breath catches
And my heart feels oversized.
I try so hard to personify my love for you
In kisses, hugs, tugs, and strokes,
But kisses and hugs are created by candy makers
And tugs and strokes are done by artists.
Both of which, I most certainly am not.
However, I strive to convey my feelings for you,
Because I am sure of few things but this:
I am madly,
Ferociously,
Unbelievably,
Relentlessly,
Incandescently,
Everlastingly
In love with you.
I love you with a love that has never been given
From any other woman to a man.
I love you with an immortal love
That is once-in-a-lifetime
And can never be repeated.
Our love is holy,
Unconditional.
I. LOVE. YOU.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
I can see the man in the moon tonight
I could never see a face in the craters before
I just simply thought it was something people invented
In an attempt to personify what we don’t have a connection to
A giant face in the sky is more comforting on a cold night
More comforting then a reflective rock
Maybe I was right and so there isn’t really a face
Maybe I just need to see that face tonight
That face to tell me goodnight and that I can try again tomorrow
My room’s vacancy pools into a dense silence
Like an estate open house or thrift store:
Evidence of people once being here
Without those people still being there
A small lamp braves the dark of my room
Daring to edge its toes into the dark water around
I tell it to just jump on in
The water’s nicer once you adjust to it
My hands ***** out into my empty bed sheets
There is a silver lining in here somewhere, there must me
Maybe it’s just too dark for me to see it
I guess I’ll wait until the morning
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 10:36 PM UTC
Blue ink was no friend
Blue ink was the most boring plan
For the trees and hills Suzy ran
When Mama came with a stick in her hand
For months and years Suzy despaired
This forced acquaintance she wished to be spared
This Hulk of a character Mama'd personify
This waste of time, she knew not why
I just wanna be free, Suzy lamented
An uproarious laughter, with which she was greeted
Why do you act all so tormented, said this voice
Without blue ink, you will be mistreated
How do you carve a path of your own
How do you enforce a right you wouldn't have known
How do you right a wrong you don't condone
How do you condone life when left alone
To the books and pages Suzy ran
Devouring much material in the given span
In a solid colour, she saw a world of wonder
In its simple strokes, there was no more to be coaxed
In happiness and despair, Suzy was elevated
In health and sickness, she knew to be liberated
In company and solitude, Suzy was educated
In wealth and poverty, she knew she had profited
Blue ink had granted her the highest of privileges
For to live well, is to live with choice
A coveted privilege, with which we rejoice
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 10:17 AM UTC
Every maiden should severe their wrist
to taste the blood of supremacy that obscure
by the darkened green of connecting veins
like a circled labyrinth that blended with lies—
and hiding the things that they should know.
The reason why they are still living with fear;
fear of touching the grayish blade of the sword
fear of seeing Hades or the gloomy underworld
fear of wearing metallic suit from head to toe
fear of showing braveness and fight like a girl.
Are they afraid to die and meet the hell?
the hell— what's the comparison and contrast
of their living world from the underworld?
I, Athene, the Goddess of Intelligence
can able to answer it with my ruthless words;
nothing—there's no difference between the two
due of their world that filled with darkness too.
So you, mortal, listen to the words of wisdom
it's not bad to taste the red liquid of the art
in your personify that pumped by your heart
telling you to craft it into phrases in your skin
so that you'll know the importance of the pain.
Stand up, use your voice and rule your city
girls are not just girls, would you believe me?
if you don't trust me then learn how I fight
for a resplendent city that named after me
feminism is not a bad thing, young lady—
it's your voice to have freedom and equality.
I''ll end this message with a simple question
would you mind to stick with my footmark
or you'll just go and follow the wrong path?
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 11:14 AM UTC
the butterflies in my stomach
still haven’t died as the seasons changed
from the first time I realized
we were home
until now.
I can still feel
the fluttering below my ribcage;
I can see the frost on
my tongue.
I never meant to ****
the nature in you by
filling your veins with
what I breathe out,
I never meant to personify
the coldness of winter
like this
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
A feather has been placed on the breast of Mother Nature only to be blown away by the winds she created,
crafted out of good intentions and placed onto the wings of irreplaceable mystic holding super powered
beings that claim the ability which mere mortals only dream to obtain.
Spreading for all to see, each climate of generously sparing and over populated monstrosities
unable to be reached by force in calves and thighs,
these which i object to call by given proper letters haunt me in conventional senses.
Ugly, foul, wretched, I personify my adjectives as ammunition for these paper dwelling drawings
that seem so fascinating to common folk. Fly my mother told me, fly.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
Behind the eyes
staring? waking?
what arises?
I can't see back there! I have a blind spot
It is easy to see once removed,
the eyes will turn around
peer back into the sockets
there it is.
what what is it really?
a creature? a stain?
How to personify sadness
Alone, but not lonely?
Lonely, but not alone?
Lonely and Alone?
the connotations, the denotations
words
our expression, yet our captor
confining us to our expressions
tangled up in the clichés, the expressions, the common, the banal
how to escape
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC