"petrifying" poems
I've never gone anywhere
without seeing crows.
In fields and malls,
classrooms and bathrooms,
they're never missing.
Sometimes they'll come right up
and those moments are petrifying
because there aren't any breadcrumbs
but the bits of fears on shoulders.
When they land before you,
you can feel a massive pressure
on your chest, trapping you
and catching your breath.
I know other people see them too.
I've seen people cursed
with crows always hovering,
whispering in their ears,
pecking at their insecurities,
and screeching self doubt.
Mine is never far behind me
and he'll never leave.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
My hand and gripped hair
The threats?
"I CAN rip you out, I just CHOOSE not to."
Is is fear, despair, madness, loathe?
The answer is empty of meaning.
What is known would be ignored,
as all said seems true,
but fake.
Boundlessly vain.
silly,
worthless;
doubtful.
What am I looking for in this effort?
I know.
I see.
I hear.
I believe.
One thought twigs into another.
I even wonder if the ocean can breathe.
Breathe life into me.
Aliens don't exist,
but nightmares and demons do?
A problem,
unwanted.
A result,
unwanted.
An answer,
only a lie,
....
unwanted, unwanted, oh so unwanted.
I scream inside,
and every inner glass is shattered.
I yell,
"Notice of Insanity Uprising!"
They yell back,
"That's Life."
Upon those words I numb my mind,
I release my grip.
I let go of everything.
MY face: gone
MY body: gone
MY hope: gone gone gone
Anything and everything that was me leaves,
and my body becomes a cadaver.
Drifting side to side,
in and out.
It's more calm now though.
My mind is no longer driving me crazy.
For we have reached our destination.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
I turned lesser men to stone, snakes nipping idly at my dress:
I am monster, living incarceration of a profane affair.
I turned sacristy into brothel, my beauty was perverted to despair.
I am monster, grotesque face topped by a hissing nest.
As you approached, and I felt a grim shiver in my chest;
I glowered my petrifying glare,
But you were given hiding-cape', sword, winged sandals to wear,
And mirrored shield my powers to arrest.
My mask of potent shame was made:
Lips blood red and eyes of smoldering coal,
Around my face writhing serpents twist and roll.
I saw my eyes in your hand, I wailed a last serenade.
Gasping in the instant before – everything went stone cold.
I am weapon, crafting you a garden of entombed souls.
1Hades’ cap of invisibility
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 5:01 PM UTC
It's telling looking through
the window’s eyes ;
a room with a paling grey glass view
befogs the clouds reign inside the storm
Often feeling misbegotten regret
for the unfiltered passing glimpses,
whetstone honed and splayed ;
raw hues of a latent life exposed
There's an uncertain hidden shame
in the unheard truth
starving out in the cold;
dwelling in a petrifying silence
of a common hunger
the lonely do ache
Merciless hunger pangs
manifest and shake
with an unrelenting bitter taste ;
loneliness grapples and grips
like a silent earth quake
rattling a rib caged heart — writhing
as Autumn bares the trees
A jagged ambiguous fault line
ripples through the hollow echo ;
a bolt of lightning caught in a bottle
strikes — silently contained
swallowing the unspoken words
in a greater good
This broken merry-go-round
keeps turning round and round;
the great mandala spinning on
like a worn out hamster-wheel
without a conscious trace
of going anywhere out there
The place you come from
is gone when you leave it —
even if you really never
feel you were from anywhere
but a thousand unmarked mileposts
from out here somewhere adrift;
a pilgrimage towards understanding
why sometimes I don’t know
if I know who I am — or could have been —
waiting on a threadbare prayer
One-day the winds of change
will shapeshift — bye and bye ...
"When the light that's lost within us
reaches the sky"
Jesse Stillwater
November 2018
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 2:16 PM UTC
I-AM-NOT-A-DOG.
Today,
I cut loose from your leash of degrading comments.
My ears have learned to ignore your whistles
and the only thing I am going to fetch
is my dignity.
We all have cracks.
People’s words creep into our most foreign parts
And bother us like gnats in our food.
However,
At a young age my mom welded me by hand.
Sealed off every corner so
Your undignified vernacular wouldn’t disturb my peace.
Your mother must’ve had deleterious effects on you.
She told you that love can only be found through intertwining genitals.
I have iron fists and your forcefulness will not supersede my strength to protect what I own.
Let me tell you sir,
Obeying men is an archaic practice
And I wasn’t born yesterday.
I endure life with fortitude even with the threat of your loaded fist 2 inches from my face.
Your catcalls sting like the hearts of mother’s who have lost their daughter’s to the streets.
I hold my mace like a loaded gun walking in the petrifying night.
Apparently big butts lie, they give you the impression that you can squeeze, but back off the anatomy.
Remember that all women embody beauty and grace, not for you, but for themselves.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
Medusa's juicer
Used to confuse her -
The instructions
She said
Were obtuse.
By the snakes for hair
round my petrifying face
I swear that
This juicer's no use.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
C'mon! Spank me like the naughty little girl I am!
**** ME! **** ME! Stop being a man!
See this? Right here? My tight little hole?
Put it right there, baby! Homosexuality makes you whole!
Put this on your tongue, this seed of pomegranate.
Have a little fun! Let loose your granite!
Ice shavings and ice cream, my sweet little angel,
Come closer, come closer, let me study your angels,
Put your **** in my mouth. I'll **** you off.
*** in my mouth, and let yourself loft.
I'm not one for chains and whips,
But I'm more than up for shafts and tips!
*********** sliding in; so sweet;
Pound me harder with your big, strong meat.
The good'ol in-out in-out ~ The rhythm of life.
The dullness of cream ~ the glint of a knife.
Petrifying pangs of pleasure; cross a prostate ~ pouring,
Sweetly like ~honey~suckle~ Alluring
Breathe, my darling, like music, like a breeze.
Like the blood in my ears; like the wind in the trees.
In the closet, we are allowed but seven minutes.
But that is not enough! By the time its up, I won't be finished.
So for now, my darling, put your lips on my cheek.
And allow me one, little, innocent peak.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
It's the Grim Reaper
It's the Boogie Man
It's the wolf in the closet
It's the monster under the bed
It's the phantom that's chasing you in your dreams
It's the madman who dances delightfully in your brain matter
It's the poison in your coffee
Paralyzing
Petrifying and penetrating
A flesh eating
Bone chomping
Soul *******
Grave robbing Ghoul
Right within the halls of your head
Grotesque and greedy, it is
Gloom everywhere
An anxiety production line
Breeding anguish
Bleeding you out
Windpipe choking
Werewolf watching
Witches brewing
It's dreadful and dooming
It's horror at every corner
It's a newspaper dripping in disaster
It's a future forecasting fatalities
Your obituary in every new edition
BUT IT'S NOT REAL
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
Those who are held back by depression are often viewed as 'miserable' or 'negative', but people really do not understand the fragile nature that these sufferers must face. It is an unconditionally delicate misconception, one of which that encourages society to hold such a stereotypical perception it can ultimately tip the scales and cause unfaltering chaos on the body, the mind and the soul. We are left to pick up the pieces of ourselves from the stone-like words that people throw at us, the icy glances when they see that we're trying to hold back stale tears that we were unable to release the night before and instead faced a daunting and relentless course of insomnia, the cold shoulder when we are desperate to breathe and release the demons that cloud our heads and our judgements in order to feel free again. It is unnerving to think that we must wander through life as shadows whilst others dance in the carefree sunlight of their ignorance. They are blinded by the sun rays of misunderstanding or lack of interest, they are educated but do not put their knowledge and understanding to the test and instead flee when the school bell of fear and commitment resonates through the hallowed halls of our hearts, our arteries, veins, capillaries, blood cells.
It is a tragic and petrifying truth, one of which breaks me a little more inside as each day passes.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
Bellowing trumpets call the palace to order and servants,
Dressed from head to toe in exquisite lace,
Promptly wave their lush palmetto leaves while the Pharaoh
Ambles domineeringly down the marble corridor.
Though the floor rattles at the cries of enemy soldiers
Penetrating the once impregnable palace walls,
The mighty Cleopatra, exuberant in both beauty and intelligence,
Maintains a powerful, dignified forbearance.
Immune to cowardly apprehension petrifying those surrounding her,
The Pharaoh relies on only her brooding heart to guide her.
Though her once opulent eyes scorch in melancholy,
They look onward toward the cynosure of her existence.
Clad in dense armor, Mark Antony clasps his sword resiliently,
Pacing nervously back and forth throughout his room
At the thought of the danger soon to overtake him.
His breath hangs heavy on the seaside air.
Antony’s complexion brightens at the sight of alluring lover,
And he releases his guard, opening his arms as she approaches.
Shouting erupts from the neighboring corridor
Though neither he nor Cleopatra discern the enveloping chaos.
As Roman soldiers zealously round the corner and overtake the lovers,
Waving their weapons high in hopes of slaughter,
The couple’s lips merge together as one,
Producing an everlasting bond that no sword could sever.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
I have always been the umbrella type:
Cloudy, with a chance of dying.
Water is petrifying—
When it rains, I listen to sad music and enjoy the view
Hoping I never have to venture out to you
Because I have no idea where you’ll flood into
And then I’ll have to peel away my dress you seeped right through
And nakedness is frightening and sitting in the shower
--shivering--
is not very inviting.
In fact, it’s very unpleasant when you’re by nature private
And have a hundred empty places to keep quiet
Covered and compliant.
Getting wet is terrible when you’ve spent forever piecing together
A paper-mache umbrella to cover
Your cracks.
Storms are not my style, I’m still trying to dry
From the tears I was born crying.
I was born cloudy with a chance of dying
Cloudy with a chance of never even trying
And when you’re born with a heavy heart
the last thing you need is to get
drenched.
Wringing yourself out is just a defense
It’s common sense--
--to never lose sight of the shore
SO, this is why I hide from the downpour
Under dusty cotton covers
And don’t ever even wonder
What it would be like
To be dragged in your wake
It’s not like I’m safe from you anyway.
I wasn’t built on stilts
I’m not a flood-proof gate,
I’m a rusty fire-escape that only reaches halfway
down
And I don’t want you waiting at the bottom and begging me to jump but of course you are,
You always are
But even though I know you’d catch me
You are scary and I’d rather jump to concrete because at least it looks like solid ground
And when I go down, I comfort myself with the 100 percent chance that at least
I won’t drown.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
When i first saw you, i saw your soal in your eyes.
A soal that took my breath away.
When i first held your hand, i held safety.
The touch that takes away all thoughts.
When i first heard you say "i love you", i was afraid.
True love is petrifying.
As i lay here in my own self hate, remeniscing on what we used to have, i feel empty.
I wish you would scare me.
I wish i wasn't fearless.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
They never mentioned
That the smell of aftershave
And toothpaste
Would be triggering.
Forgot to say I was destined
To be what twisted men crave -
My skinny waist,
His slithering.
Cannot sleep on a waterbed.
Fear that the waves will move
Unsteadily,
Irregularly.
Threw away purple bedspread.
Prayed its absence would improve
Sleeping,
Dreaming
I recognize his twins
At work, the store, and on the street.
Unable to breathe.
Petrifying.
Their crooked grins
Calloused hands, tight grips, yellow teeth
Calls me 'sweetie'
Triggering.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 12:27 AM UTC
I always swear work doesn’t affect me.
Trauma?! HA! Never.
And for the most part I am ok.
But suddenly I realized as I counted every single calorie; every single bite… scrubbed every surface and washed my hands far too many times..
The fear of gaining weight; of relying on everyone else to care for me…
Just might be coming from the living people whose bodies are actively rotting. Flesh and fluids dripping off the sides of my stretcher.
My ambulance regularly becoming a biohazard until I’ve scrubbed every inch.
Listening to the sounds of weeping patients on their way to the ER for the 5th time this month because no body cares about them.
It’s not death that scares me. Not loss of limbs or sight that worries me. It’s not having anyone who wants to love me. Not having anyone willing to speak for me when I am broken. It’s the idea my mind can be pristinely sharp but my body defeated and needing someone. But no body cares.
That possibility is petrifying.
-ARI
Mar 22, 2023
Mar 22, 2023 at 11:56 AM UTC
A friend of mine asks,
“Why do you only ever write about romance lately?”
Well, the answer is quite simple, really. It is because I have tasted it.
I tasted it when my eyes first drank the light from his grace when he stood tall above me
His saturnine windows called out to me behind flesh curtains whenever he spoke, ever asking me to join him in his ecstasy
He, from a distance, darted towards me and pressed our sides together—letting myself melt in the velveteen touch of fabric skin
There was a shower of momentary light that night but only his radiance did I bask in.
I tasted it in the heart of the stone city where usurpers of old stood on polished stone
The Bulwark’s adobe reach embraced our reverie as memories from sleep stories become reality
He, in the confines of that venerable fortress, made me vulnerable for I was secure in his arms
His fingers are in between my own like woven mithril unbreakable lest he broke its bond himself
It is in this kingdom of carven stone and handmade walls that he sang of ardor with a dragon’s petrifying gaze.
I tasted it in yuletide storms where men and women waged war with happiness and grief
When the armies of pain and suffering fell at our clasped hands and cheeks red from amorous verve you said you were to journey home
But you did not let go of my grasp
With me you remained and in your arms I stayed
As the bitter winds of bigoted mouths blew, as the fire from damnation is declared by self-righteous souls, we stood fast in the storm.
I tasted it when he said our love he could no longer endure
There we sat, on a tarnished vehicle, as the last of our love gave into rust
What is frightening to me peeked from his saturnine eyes and he closed his curtains shut for the downpour of despondency was to come
We flooded our façades and the rivers quaked our emotional integrity
He held my hand for one final chance before we ripped our wrappings forever apart and he kissed me tender
Our lips made love—like the first they ever met in weathered heat—for the last time.
I tasted it when I told him “Just do so, when your appetite roars to love me again,” and until now I am waiting.
So, why do I ever only write about romance lately?
Well, the reason is quite complicated, really. But–but it is because I’ve tasted it.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 2:00 PM UTC
Those eyes.
Those angry, angry eyes.
Those angry eyes are the last thing I see before I sleep.
Inspiring the thought that is there for only just a moment,
and then slips into my subconscious,
Low beneath the surface where it will stay buried and withdrawn
and it is this:
You will always be this way
and I will always have to live with it.
It’s that thing I hate about you and love about you at the same time.
You’re full of passion, you’re zoned in a moment, you let your knobs turn to 11.
Emphatic, impassioned, ****** energy
floats in the spaces between atoms in the world around you.
But when you turn to anger…
I see a madman, with fire in his belly and hate in his heart.
The same man who storms into the flames
and barn burning antics consume his mind.
The switch is on and it won’t turn off,
it is single-handedly the most petrifying disposition you have.
and I know you will always be this way
and I will have to live with it.
and every night as I go to bed,
I hope to God I don’t see
Those angry, angry eyes.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 1:29 PM UTC
*Blue eyes on a clear day.
Bluer when the sun hits just right.
I've seen her eyes the bluest when the kid in the red shirt showed up.
Her eyes locked and practically green.
A color on her I've never seen.
Like the seasons changed, so did her eyes.
Eyes so far from the blue skies that once drew me to her.
Jealously struck.
She became a monster.
Green eyed distraught.
I might have lost her.*
**Green eyed distraught when it's pouring outside and your sky tells no secrets.
Your petrifying skies that force me on my hands and knees until they bleed screaming
"SKY, WHY DOES HE THINK MY EYES ARE GREEN?"
Seemingly colorblind after he struck me with his lightning,
radiating me with yellows, blues, and pinks
and I'm sorry that I'm still dead and cold after everything.
He wore the wrong color.
Shirts as red as the passion he had only for blood.
As red as the stop signs that I will not let keep me from moving forward.
Deciding to run some place warmer.
Writing you a letter on a purple piece of paper.
Where the sun hits just right.
Signing it, "Sincerely, Your Darling Little Monster."**
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
Some would say the heart is the most precious ***** in the body
But I disagree, see for me it’s my mind
It’s hunger for reason must be fed
It’s thirst for information must be quenched and this precious vulnerability must be protected
Solitaire exercises of discipline strengthen these walls with lessons so essential their very nutrients must be extracted from the most sacred of confines
Locks, rusted with petrifying shadows of blame
Contempt fills these boxes that if released arbitrarily could prove to be terminal
Preparation has skilled me of such treachery but no YOU attacked the heart
An ***** most would say is the most precious because it can cloud reason and influence the ********* that is the human brain
Turning pain into tranquil contempt
Removing logic from the vital equation of understanding into a dismal acceptance of average
Well I’m here to tell you though your best efforts, your attempts at my emotional demise have proven to be futile
I stand before you wise to your woes spun effortlessly weaving a pictured filled with promise and no action
My heart, although damaged will learn from this strife and beat stronger and better than ever before.
It shall not ache nor bleed for you, but it thanks you for your time….and this lesson.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
Is there a chance for us to undo the past?
To correct our mistakes
To retract all the wrong doings
To take back everything
Is there someone, somehow, who can help me heal the pain?
Would there be anyone out there willing to take me in?
Who can be by side and mend me?
A living soul, who'll be there to catch me.
I'm scared. Yes, I am scared.
No, I am not. I'm terrified.
I'm extremely, terribly, gravely, terrified.
And it's terrifying that, I feel terrified.
I am nervous.
I am frightened.
I am horrified.
No, I am petrified.
But you know what the scariest thing of 'em all?
The most petrifying, horrifying thing?
Is that I am shaky and rattled—
But my body feels like sassy and comfy.
I'm getting used of doing unsuitable things
Feeling cozy and warm—
Relax and composed
It feels like having my second skin—
Oh, I know. I know —
I think — just a thought
That maybe, just maybe...
I need saving — help me.
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 12:25 AM UTC
I never wished for my feathers
To catch fire
Unsure of who made me
This way
Losing my brilliance was never
My desire
My finale was
Excruciating
Someone once told me
That fire heals wounds
"To cauterize is to
Stop the bleeding"
This new discovery
Completely consumed.
Becoming anew
Was intriguing
The time then came
For the heat and the haze
These moments both petrifying
And exhilarating
I touched the dark
Before I embarked
Forming from embers while I
Remembered
I am reborn
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
I’m in a vicious state of mind,
no siren calls to stem the putrid inferno
burning my mind to charcoal,
petrifying it to unblemished obsidian.
Words of love don’t reach me,
silly human endearments bore me,
touch me and I’ll slice your hands off.
It’s not good, they tell me.
But I will build my armory.
Until this warped, traitorous world
can be wrenched, twisted, hammered
back into hinges,
that I have complete control of.
Silence...
Finally
Testament of a panzer maiden
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
The world around me: Day after day it looks the same.
I hear the noise of the workers drilling in the basement
and watch people doing their business.
Here or anywhere other, it's the same.
Sometimes I think I am trapped. Trapped in former decisions;
decisions which always tend to reveal their full impact later.
I think about the mistakes I made and regret - what futile task
as past always stays past, petrifying words yelled and unspoken.
I'm not ungrateful - given my past suffering.
I'm not moaning - given freedom from my former pain.
I'm not unhappy - given that I was already happier tough.
I'm not doing nothing - given that it may look different to you.
Finally I got rid of this **** anxiety, which haunted me
from my first days at school to my last job,
these devastating thoughts of having to be better than everyone,
of being more, of deserving more
they just ate away at my soul
tearing myself apart
before hyenas did
their part.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 3:11 AM UTC
Riding in an airplane,
Is one of the most terrifying,
Yet most beautiful things,
I have ever experienced.
There is something about the
Rumble beneath my legs,
Of the engine's purr.
Something about the lurch into the air,
That moment when you're
Neither on the ground
Nor truly flying.
Beautifying and petrifying.
And when turbulence is hit,
In the tiny Beech1900D,
The continuous jump, jump, jump,
Of my stomach,
Like an unending roller coaster
Only going down hill,
Lets me dance with death,
If only for a moment,
Before our wheels screech,
Against hot, angry tar,
And I can kiss the ground,
Once more
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC
I swim along the river
The current magnificent
Full of life
Eternal
His momentum, petrifying
His water, pure yet clouded
Omniscient
Strong
I'm pulled along, fighting and resisting questions and distractions
The net comes
I stand still
The river moves past me
All around me, within me
Yet gone forever
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
He created us as imperfect beings
But He exhibits various rules
To 'perfect' us or else we suffer
He threatens us with these morbid actions
Because we are intended to be perfect
Perfect in His eyes
And yet He created us as imperfect beings
He evokes us how imperfect we are
He generates excuses that it's only human nature
But we're still to arrive at this petrifying region
For being created imperfect by Him
Unless we track these rules to perfection
And yet He created us as imperfect beings
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC