"personifying" poems
we so easily pluck weeds from the garden
because the look unruly and don’t go with the tulips
but in life
we don’t segregate the suicidal, emotional, and unstable
because they are that way
from the steady breathers
we are a world of dandelions
with a rare tulip
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
The feel of a woman;
The longing I've missed its got me going crazy
Got me personifying different things as of lately
I remember her massaging my shoulders when I had a rough day
And my shoulder blades feel that same sensation every time I say
I remember your kiss given by your lips
And then the marks your left on my neck and shirt from your red lipstick
I just want to go back to the time where it was me and you but I can't live in the past
I wish you would come back to me, i wonder if I just ask
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
girlworm, you grab a wrist like you've known modesty in the shyness of a bare feeling gripped tight on the one offering it
tightrope fingers falling into the spaces of unspoken territory, slipping into familiar qualms like the worn lipsticks that fits the grooves of my lips like an object of my affection
knowing the contour of what i'm never aware of
anxieties creep like an overgrown lawn
these fears personifying into antsy women invading my kitchen telling me that there's not enough ventilation and the stove is on leaking gas into the baby lungs of a young smoker
and when i begin to argue they give both a look of sympathy and disgust as they say "oh child you drown so easily"
so i sit chewing my nails as i count the birds outside flying back and forth from their post as if they can't remember where they're going towards or if there's something that could possibly pull them elsewhere
my mind swirls in the smoothie of a plastic cup that sticks to the coffee table, the rings of different bottles painting circles for me to memorize again
my paradise sits with the roughness of his knuckles and the ambiguity of eyes that could know everything and i would set fire to the stars inside because of the jealousy that grows from pretty things being smoldered under skin
when i begin to lose my person, pale and shivering i go towards it
empty stomached and ready to be buried in the clothes of her
that i can imagine becoming the consistency of yogurt in my lap
kissing back my tremors as i lift up her hair from curious shoulders
dry-heaving the importance of the cheeks that feel warmer as they settle on hands that are brought together as if in deep prayer and i know i will collect myself again one day
girlworm, you're a swarm in my chest and i am me
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 11:50 PM UTC
Silent swing on the tree,
half-broken,
creeking as the wind blows
Doesn't really look like much.
They're talking of tearing it down.
If only they saw...
Yes, it is abandoned,
and has no significance
neither to me nor to the world,
but that is its significance
A singular, physical unit abandonment
in its prime manifestive form.
Unhidden, unmasked,
painfully present for everyone to see.
How many more of them exist?
Nowadays, they just tear them down
or put a pretty facade on
It's hidden,
but it's still present,
just covered up.
I guess we're just modernizing the world,
personifying it,
to be more human.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
“I have something for you to remember me by,” said Tim.
He held a little foam Hippo – the lone play animal supplied by the loonybin to patients in need.
It was brand new – just as every Hippo looked – and I wondered why he’d chosen something seemingly impersonal in comparison to his other, odd gifts.
However, what he did next made his hippo – my hippo – absolutely ideal. To people like Tim and I, that is.
For, to my astonishment, he casually took the toy in his hands, twisted, and ripped it cleanly in two.
He ripped off its head, which he gave to me, whilst he kept the body.
I will never get rid of that mutilated, foam hippo head. For he understood what no one else had ever come near.
In this way – perhaps – Tim and I became synonyms. Synonyms for what ignorant perceptions would later christen ****** or merely, crazy (the latter - coined by those who remain too depressingly colloquial to invent unfounded diagnoses).
These epithets, catalyzed post personifying such societal taboos as Tim or I committed, follow me still, and have yet to disperse.
A criticaster disaster, personified.
Yes; in this way – Tim and I became synonymously insane.
•
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 7:22 AM UTC
Little figures of purple and of blue
The uniforms cannot hide different places: different faces
Starting friendships, rivalries and thunder races
Personifying love, and energy, and whatever is true
Like the sun, illuminating, burning bright
They move at the speed of light
We are unable to fit them in one flat form
Or to keep them lukewarm.
Even with the uniforms.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:02 AM UTC
Hans was outside himself. Perched on the edge of a daydream, he looked below, distantly aware of his bustling dinner table. How casually they live, Hans thought; with what feigned clarity they can connect and understand. There were his brothers and sisters; his aunts, uncles, cousins and ah—there was his father. Look at him personifying repugnance, locks of hair falling clumsily on his tattered shirt. Look at him! (Hans could yell only in silence.) Look there and see him cloyingly preparing his knife to hunt, to tear, to slice yet another hunk of meat for his own gluttony. With what excitement—what vivid, forbidden ecstasy Hans would take his father’s knife and turn the hunter into the hunted.
Somewhere in the cluttered abyss there was a sound followed by a warming light. Hans was entranced. And again, a gentle thunder followed by a thread of heat connecting for a moment earth and sky, father, family, and son.
It was goodness and caring, it was a mother’s voice. It was this graceful fluttering in the medium of time that awoke a primitive yearning in Hans, grabbed his throat and stared him lustily in the eyes. What could it be? Hans wondered aloud, what could it be that she desires, for he already knew that he had to be the one to deliver any object she longed for, to slay any beast that tormented her—it had to be him, to be Hans, to be her son.
Please, she said; can someone please pour me a glass of water. Oh how Hans was enraged to find that this whim had not been made solely of a son. It was his right to quench his mother’s thirst; it was his place within the natural order to satisfy her needs. What cruelty and ice! Hans said, but also felt; and in an instant returned to himself below, tumbling violently from the high canopy of his trance to the sight of his father’s filthy hand reaching for the water jug.
In base impulse, Hans jabbed at the jug, forcibly pushing aside the carnal hand. Upon contact, Hans felt an overwhelming calm, an absolute peace. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the handle, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. At once he was joyous, he was spent; he was adrenalized and gloriously dominant. He would be the one to tend to the maternal flower, supplying water for a thirst that he prayed would always be there.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 1:39 PM UTC
Never from streets
So I don’t know what it’s like
To fight for every bite
To **** for my steals
To sell dope for hope
Naw I’m not tryin to be mockery
I’m just starting to realize that democracy
Is just plain Hypocrisy
See I’ve never been a fan of the man
White, Black, any of them
I’m so caught up being an individual
That I’ve become delusional
How can one day we’re all about supportin’ each other
And then the next
We’re all vexed
in each other’s faces
Throwing out words about different races and old time cases
Can’t we just erase this?
Times are changing
But what about our foundation
Under the words of our Nation
And all things by His creation
Have we forgotten about that?
I feel like I can’t connect to my neighbor
So honoring them doesn’t fit my favor
To my left to the right
By day by night
I feel like I don’t know ****
About this:
The Election
Personifying my Perfection
Finding a Connection
To myself to us
Can Obama STOP the drama?
Can they end all this trauma?
Of young girls being ***** out of their virginity
All these little boys out here actin’ all hard
Because they forgot about unity
Wishes
Broken dishes
Fame
Not getting’ paid
600 Billion Dollars?
All to support the white collar
Shit…they must be mad ballers
Sittin all high livin fly
Not even worrying about how they gon get by
Half of ‘em don’t even have to try
I want to reach out and hold my brother
Let me be his cover
Thru the brush fires, quakes, shakes, and floods
Not one blood
Our bloods
Coming together in a place of Brotherhood
Shaking every other’s hand
Construct a band
Of Solidity
Of Strength
Of Loyalty
And With this
We cannot foil
And the black oil
Bleeding into our conscious streams
Will find a way to cease
If we increase
Our bond
I just want to be United
And be in different States
I just want to be One Nation, under God, Indivisible
Having the Liberty
To give and have Justice
For all.
God Bless.…I guess…
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 12:15 AM UTC
My cheeks against the breast of the willing to embrace my cold fingers, are clammy with perspiration the hot air thirsts for. Every racing pulse amplified out of sound into vibration is a symphony of racing music into braille for our living hearts. Our pleasure met with caution, pacing each stroke, is personifying true dependence seizing our moment. My weight featherless, embracing welcoming arms intertwining, delights our insecure minds with assured acts of permission. Every motion increasing steamy exhales, scented ecstasy defuses from my love origin. My walls collapse with silent ripples, and constant oral doings, is an awesome relief. My eyes again meet disbelievingly upon the mounting passenger arisen from my open heaven. Every ****** of passion intensifies building stronger yearnings for grasping this entire ****** I am exploding inside and rippling out, every wave a breath on my lips. My shoulder is met with shoulder lying in silent breath's fouled with the presence of two lovers.
Mar 9, 2010
Mar 9, 2010 at 11:43 AM UTC
Do your hands move like the flame of a fire
Twitching and itching to possibly inquire
About the state that your mind has fled
About a fascination with being dead
Does your chest open up like a cave
Dripping cold, like a still-living grave
Can you shout inside and hear the echo
Is it your own voice telling you to let go
Do your legs hold you hostage from sleep
Do they move so your thoughts don't get deep
Or are they moving to make noise with the sheets
So your ears and midnight silence will never meet
Is your face more of a house but not a home
Something seeming foreign to what you've known
A room in which you sleep but isn't yours
Impossible to tell the ceiling from the floor
Does your heartbeat jump to conclusions just like mine
Or is it calm and slow and steady all the time
Does it leap into your head and cause a scene
Or is it glued to the cavern's walls without a dream
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
[ Poet’s Note : This is the second of two poems personifying Truth ]
NATURE OF TRUTH : Part Two
Truth shot point blank through
the centre of her forehead
blood spurting, soiling fine furs of
humanoids at play with slick lies
and shallow Hansard words
trying to acupuncture Truth
Blood that stains and weeps and
weeps
blood that runs and will not hide
Truth collapsing in a heap in a corner
rise up again !
pulled firmly by the hair with wide
open fingers
Truth rise and rise and rise
dance with Courage
find amethysts in hard hearts of fear
cradle them to Moon for blessing
connect with fluffy clouds where little
girls see God
Truth ! be washed by midnight rain
plait yourself softly with invisible links
where choralists sing falsettos in
unbroken voices
Truth then waltzes with Love
women with baby curls taste
hot bread
Truth springs up again and again
She rises from oceans and
mountains forever and ever
Right here !
©GhairoDanielsPoetryandSong1990
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 6:23 AM UTC
How amazingly beautiful is the star brilliance of your amazing dark skin, regal skin color, for women it goes more than anything in the world, it decorates them as the most valuable decoration in the world, more expensive and more luxurious than it is in the world, this amazing color poetizes and praises their divine beauty. How sweet and gentle is its color, how beautifully it glitters in the light showing all indescribable beauty, all these beautiful overflows of skin tones are so beautiful as the brilliance of millions of diamonds, so beautiful, it is cosmically beautiful, it is extraterrestrial beauty, higher aesthetics, as if priceless painting or through It is a beautiful sculpture personifying sensual femininity. You are perfect no doubt, you are a beautiful flower of love, an eternal flame of magical passion. In your figure so much hot playful cat's grace of a lioness, like a dance, as an unforgettable melody of love, a relationship with you is the most romantic movie in the world.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 12:53 AM UTC
You were beautiful from afar
Reflecting a variety of hues
Attracting with swirls and swiggles
Personifying some pattern of character
You pulled me in
Allowing my heart to pump
Letting me admire you
Giving your lovely essence to me
You then opened up to me
Horrifying to me
Destroying your cover
Burning down my love
You were ugly up close
Terrifying under your mask
Juxtaposing to what you seemed
Lying to pull me in
You attract the gullible
Acting all pretty and nice
Dancing with their joy for you
Swallowing them
You then betray them
Abandoning your fake
Backstabbing their beliefs
Entrapping them in lostness
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC
Take me down to the river's edge,
To pray and clear the monster's from my head,
To watch the water slide against the shore,
Personifying the real world:
Disorientated reflections,
Burdens like the pebbles that drag along the riverbed,
Carried by the undulating current beneath the waves
Like a pulse beneath transparent skin,
All slowly but surely heading towards the ocean,
A wide open space
Freedom.
Throw me into the river,
Watch me as I drift away,
Let me reach the ocean
So I can have that freedom too.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel like the human race is a reflection of the night sky.
Our street lights acting as constellations to consciousness
connecting the dots between our worlds,
colours making love at midnight.
Stream lights mimicking the rays of the sun.
Our screams personifying the echoes of meteors
and our whispers as faint as shooting stars.
Nov 30, 2022
Nov 30, 2022 at 5:04 PM UTC
Peel away the anger
Like musty wallpaper,
Strip off the bitterness
And the hurt
And the heavy hearts
And the good things too
Like the joy,
Clear away happiness
And unhear laughter,
Tear off everything
Right and wrong,
Cleanse the emotion,
Pull apart every last shred
Of humanity
And you're left with
A soul, picking its way
Across the universe,
Star by star,
Dust from dust,
At once stripped of humanity
And personifying it.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC
And I swallow metaphoric medication
Until they burn down my throat
And similes are like cereal for breakfast
With which I refuse to partake
My words bleed out
Personifying my grief
Hyperbole is too big a mass I can explain
It would take years to finish
Would roses choked in thorns be a symbol of oppression
Or a nature of destruction in beauty
Take me to the emergency room
I'm sick of this language I speak
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC
A seed broke through the sky
springs up in my altar
and inside the coffin
personifying my numb skin
with the fluid still rolling deep
skyrocketing the clock hands
and winding the old spring toy
into unwanted motion
orbiting around the arms
of a poor grandmother,
needling the old hammer struck nails
into the thick ledge gliding down
like paper planes that I made
racing like pigeons on the tree tracks
taking note of the honking of the cars
and vehicles whose breath is taken in
by our already blood-filled, puffed lungs,
the clogged drains are unblocked
to let my friendship sail on the waves
of the boat with my hands on seek,
the tired soles of the shoes are worn out
sending a letter everyday now and then
whilst sitting in the mirror of colours.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 10:19 AM UTC
Step by step, breathe by breathe
It's all okay not a thing in sight
me, my thoughts, and my longing
"what hey say does not matter"
That's what people tell me.
Days. they go on. As do I.
Keep down the urge. I will not cry.
The perfect girl with a great big smile.
Skinny waist. Long hair. Ones to love.
How is it fair?
The words pierce my ears like a raging sweet song.
i am not what you say, I promise.
I am good.
Climbing the ladders, scaling the walls.
Drinking the poison...
i see him...
He screams the words known so well.
hits hard like a........
To late I'm gone.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
No shame
in personifying vice
all they can ever do is judge
If maybe
you are not where you are supposed to be
just maybe
life has deprived you from your dreams
The sun is shinning
but you cannot embrace her love
your hopes are fading
you have lost your will to fight
But
somehow Magically
Even if you are completely lost
You find a reason
You
"keep on keeping on"
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
i swear to god our second-hand smoke
came to life that night,
yes. i am personifying the fumes
that crawled in your lungs and back out again.
"power couple." ha
my mouth is a loaded gun, i've always had ****** aim.
is that why i've spent so long
trying to avoid bullets?
is it why i began gently touching objects
that were the same shade as your eyes?
maybe the bark we carved into,
the coffee we sipped in our best months
the places we met became cathedrals and
every love letter was an obituary,
i kept sipping the sunrise until i was fully convinced
i didn't love you anymore
i self identified with the dust
collected on your top shelf,
you loved books but what about me?
maybe that's all i was,
forgotten particles you choked on from
time to time
just maybe, we were, the mantra between
dark and light. you told me
i smelled good, like "home,"
really it was just the sting of cigarettes
and maybe i got too wasted
off early mornings
to remember we were just the mountain of issues
god swept under the rug,
the half-finished mixtape
with your initials as the title, you've
never heard
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC
where there's a flame..fire, someone is bound to get burnt
to the girl:
personifying fire as you, my flame.
you started a fire and you left it in the heart of a person, you left the fire in me, you left it , you left it and you left it in a room filled with papers, papers filled with words, words written for you.
I don't know how this works anymore, do you let someone in, do you allow them to be apart of you and leave with parts of you?
is it okay to just walk away from someone, without so much as a goodbye or an explanation as to why?
this may not have been your intention, but did i not mention that my heart has been torn? did i not vow to love you ? did you not promise to keep my heart safe as i promised to do with yours?
as i said, this night may not have been your intention but it's right before eleven and i am staring at the moon wondering if you are too? ******** ..I'm not..this is poetry..I'm sitting in this dark corner with this fire lit and i am crying over you.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
This padded snow is seeping in.
My breath is hard and rash.
This girl has made a fool of me,
the fight was just a flash.
A glint of silver is what I see,
I move on intuition.
Perhaps I can get her to agree,
surrender as admonition.
But incendiary eyes,
are what comprise,
her unmitigated fury.
Her weapon whips,
through air and sky,
personifying her jury.
She missteps, and I imply,
gently, with my compound's eye,
the meaning of my words.
Iron chafes the ground of grass.
Her body shifts with fluent ease.
Reverent speed I can't surpass.
Her saber, bringing death's disease.
But...
She contemplates all that I've said.
My eyes are locked on savory skies.
Life and death are on a thread.
Her maxim's pact she can't defy.
My steadied hand can take the risk,
with no regard for identity,
of moving blades, as I am frisked.
Another piece of my weaponry.
Assassins grace will carry through.
Perhaps to be my remedy.
Her hidden blade makes its debut.
Restoring lost integrity.
Silence permeates rotten skies, as snow flakes hit the earth.
My limbs are feeling ragged, my breathing is overt.
Calamity is added, by the blush she can't desert.
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 9:31 PM UTC