"portrayed" poems
I’ve now grown and I turned out alright
But one day I came to realize
That this was not a smooth flight
And the scary things that I saw
Is the reason why I held on to my seat so tight
Now here are the few things
That made me hate this horrible, terrible ride
The fact once you realize
that your parents are sometimes never right.
To see that they are flawed beings, with broken wings and ****** mistakes.
To realize the truths and the smiles they fake,
Growing up to see only the image portrayed- was only for your sake.
They hide the tears and shower us with laughters
They told us joyful stories and happily ever afters,
But just as soon as i grow
Only now that I understand they were telling their own dreams,
That had slipped right out their fingers
So ask me what’s the saddest part growing up?
To see the hollow sadness from the two people,
who once i thought was happiest.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 11:42 AM UTC
"but why me?"
i asked him.
"out of all the girls
who are the elegant roses
or bright sunflowers,
graceful tulips,
or lovely orchids,
why pick me,
a lone, little daisy?"
he laughed,
"well then:
oopsy daisy,
then you must be
the best mistake
i have ever made.
for through
your white petals
and cheery yellow center,
innocence and beauty
is portrayed."
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 7:17 AM UTC
Do you believe in love at first sight?
It's a concept that's often portrayed in movies and stories.
But maybe it's one of those things you have to experience
to truly understand what it is.
Let me tell you a story...
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
Well before you know anything else about him,
I'm so happy right now, with my eyes filled upto brim,
Well yeah, it's about a special friend of mine,
Call him a friend, a daddy or a birdie, all are fine.
He's a down to Earth person, with no time to even show it!
Yet people call my birdie, insensitive!
I don't know what do they want to say,
And why as negative they want him to be portrayed.
He's not weird, just unique,
He's not being selective,just doing something for himself for the first time,
You can't call him Selfish.
He's not you, He's not me,
He's better support than us, you'll see!
He's an awesome person, with his awesomeness obscure,
That doesn't make him insecure!
He's no good around people you say,
But in reality, He's the same around all..
He's not fake, expressions he doesn't feel like he doesn't know how to make.
He's just too good the way he reacts,
'cause there's just one way he acts,
That's same,
And no adjective I know,
Could complete his name...
I call him a dad as of yet,
So that such an independent person of humanity,
I don't forget.
**Dad, Please stay
Stay my
Dad **
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
The children of the Ghetto
Always in the news
They living in the ghetto
But didn't get to choose
Now they got nothing to lose
And everything to prove
So many people look down
On the children in the ghetto
But if only they knew
The trouble they go threw
But they living their cozy little life
In a suburban town where the crimes are few
But see the children of the ghetto
Didn't get to choose
The children of the ghetto
have nothing to lose
Born at the bottom
So it's easy to see why they feel defeat
Some didn't get to eat
The only escape they have is sleep
The children of the ghetto
Always in the news
Where they only portrayed negatively
So they got everything to prove
Because one can only wonder how the world could be so cruel
The children of the ghetto have creativity
Because in their minds they turned the ghetto into a castle
The children of the ghetto have to be strong
So they are ready for battle
The children of the ghetto
Didn't get to choose
They know what defeat feels like
But they don't like to lose
The children of the ghetto
Don't want your pity
No...
They just going to take over your city
The ones that are always in the news
That has nothing to lose
And everything to prove
They going to take over your city
You can only hold people in oppression for so long
But no matter how much you hold them down
They'll rise up
So rise up children of the Ghetto
Because you have everything to prove...
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 1:35 AM UTC
I cried at the breakfast table this morning
my father carefully explained,
"wives must be submissive to their husbands"
"housecleaning is the domain of the woman"
"God created woman because man asked for a partner"
This past semester I wrote two papers
One, a fire and brimstone sermon
I quoted Anais Nin
sending the creators of sexist commercials to eternal suffering
**** them!" I said. "May they burn in hell."
For the women they portrayed were doormats
Misconceptions
Monsters
The other, the role of women in the 1920s,
No longer confined to the kitchen
they dropped ballots with their new freedom
they wore short dresses and short tresses
fingers wrapped around cigs
they quoted Wilde instead of Alcott
they danced until their feet hurt
I read of Anais Nin's "new woman,"
her partnership, not submission to man,
I craved a room of my own, neigh demanded it
For sheep stayed in the kitchen,
The Woolf had a study.
I read poetry
Sexton,
Plath,
I wept for their starved, depressed selves
caged, suffocating inside the clasped hands of a man.
Loved like rib-cage jails.
Adrienne Rich made me angry,
her daughter-in-law
forever trying to fit into a box
she was always too big for, spilling
at the edges, her shaved
legs like "white mammoth tusks"
I was finally
happy with my womanhood.
****** ****** ***** ********
they are mine.
******* free to move unrestrained,
jiggling under my shirt.
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
they are mine.
mine.
I am not ashamed of what I am
because there is no shame.
I am woman,
I am girl,
I am lady.
I am a creature
with a voice
a mind.
a creature who endured much abuse,
continue to endure.
I am woman
and I don't have to be wife or mother
unless I want to be.
I was not created for man;
I was created for the same reason he was,
to serve the same great purpose on this tiny blue dot.
I am not rib.
I am ****** ****** ***** ********
******* free, unrestrained,
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
I am a per.
I am a wo.
I am a hu.
Man and son need to back down,
collaborate not dominate,
speak not command,
for when less are forced into silence,
the maddening scream
hidden inside skin and bones and muscle-meat
becomes song.
this world of car horns and tire screeches
crying and wailing from raw throats
angry protests of indignation
could use a little music.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
Psychedelic Rose
Hallucinogenic eugenics
False beauty
Portrayed poorly
Because it’s unreal
Yet
The feelings pursue me
Persecution
Prosecution
Against this prostitution of emotions
I sell myself cheap
$20.00
The price for my soul
Sold
To the mass
Extinction of reality
Who’s to say this bouquet
Of roses
Can’t arise before
My death?
I decorate
The interior
To design a mind
That’s perfected
In the opinions
Of those who know
No better
Drama setter
Setting the décor
For the setting
Letting the encore
Bring life
In the form
Of more roses
Atrocious Notoriety
From unwanted fame
Or
A poor poet
Starving artist
Projected as a failure
In this motion picture
Called life.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 3:58 PM UTC
A fashion designer has defended models who were labelled as "gaunt and unwell" on Facebook.
Andrea Moore's I AM range is sold at Farmers, and an image from its current campaign was posted on that company's Facebook page on Friday.
The picture features Chiara and Norina Gasteiger, who are twins represented by Clyne Model Management. Farmers customers did not react well to the now-deleted post.
"They so look gaunt and unwell. I'm really disappointed," Newshub says Anna Webster commented.
"You cannot look at these girls with their bones sticking out and believe that they are a good role model for a family store," Jo Austwick wrote.
"I have enough trouble with body image arguments with my daughters without these images being depicted. They do not look healthy."
Moore said the imagery had never been intended to cause offence, and that she felt for the Gasteiger twins, who have worked with the brand for three years.
"The twins are actually healthy, fun models who are busy university students... We love working with them because of their sense of self-worth and uniqueness as twins," she said.
"We have been in touch with the models and they were most upset by the whole thing. Fortunately, they have received a lot of support from their peers.
"The campaign was about preppy grunge, print with an edge. [It was not] about promoting unhealthy body types [or] anything else," Moore added.
Farmers posted the following statement on Facebook after deleting the I AM image:
"Dear valued Farmers customers! We appreciate you taking the time to send us your comments and concerns on a recent post for I AM. Please know it is not taken lightly and we in no way mean to promote an image for women in NZ to follow that could be regarded as unhealthy.
"We understand that no two bodies are the same and we always seek to show a range of body types throughout all our advertising. These images were supplied by the brand Andrea Moore as part of a wider campaign and were published by us. We will endeavour going forward to work closely with all our partners to ensure an appropriate image is portrayed.
"Thank you once again for your valued feedback."
Clyne Model Management have been approached for comment.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/one-shoulder-formal-dresses
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
*finding this morning
awareness of loss
the obituary entry
this physical sense..
those lesser deaths
portrayed as loss
fill electronic news..
Approaching loss
or loss Approaching..?
loss seems woven
into our fabric..
our morning Nutrition:
approaching is longing
to locate disclosures
of buried light
under the garments
we wear...*
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
On days like today
weary I lay,
The delicate flower
is how I am portrayed,
I pray & I pray the rain & wind does not blow me away
I brace myself as I sway with roots gripping the grains.
I grip & I fight in hope of a better tomorrow & today
As I feel as I am just along for the ride,
I start to lose faith through hours of the day.
the clusters of ghastly dark clouds begin to separate,
& The rays beaming through the clouds are breathtaking.
With light & warmth I begin to bloom,
& so do the emotions that were gloom.
When I was in doubt my feelings became frayed,
My experiences helped me blossom from The Delicate Flower I was portrayed.
{RP}
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 6:11 PM UTC
heads turn
and minds churn
as the old white knuckle
brings life to the board
facilitation (and procreation!)
become heavenly fit
for the
paradigm day
jitter men
and podium seniors
sit cocked
in the back row
front runners
bust a brain box
(their lines frayed
and edges portrayed)
truth makers tread
the center stage
(with a new and improved
product portfolio)
an evolution
of human spirit
mobilized
in apparent
perfect form
sound bites
and titillating calls
echo from
the main hall
a wise man
cringes
on a poorly
timed exchange
mind sets moving
quid pro quo
intuitions
and convictions
viewpoints
and revelations
all fun
and fundamental
(or so they say)
depth charts
and zodiac principles
speak to the masses
abbreviations
refreshers
and timeless
lifelines
*we’d like a peak
inside of you*
a glimpse
of your point of view
the turks and talking heads
speak of
grand design
and inclusion
class complete
(interpreted at the 7th sneeze)
please check those thoughts
and insights
the final answers
are coming
(satiric)
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 1:54 PM UTC
every letter in my poems
has been carved from the contents inside my heart
with every dancing lines and singing words
exposed sorrows
every lyrics portrayed loneliness
akin to the approaching rain
rain that has been hiding from the sky
that will come out when the sky cannot hold the weight anymore
yes
this is just a piece of paper that i use
to be written with my bleeding pen and make the blood as an ink
blood that came from my heart
i wish you will know that you are the reason
why i write these ****** letters
you are the reason why these poems has been crying
you are the reason why there are teardrops on my poems
teardrops that i use to erase this loneliness
but i didn't expect that these papers will be broken
to the point that you cannot see the line anymore
the line that says
"i love you"
©IGMS
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 3:31 AM UTC
Sometimes you are caught
Between the intersections
Of you and your reflection
Wondering, about the reality
So much happens between
Exchanges with your reflection
Mirroring what you want to see
And what reality actually is
Try to touch the portrayed image
Segregate the inner reality
And the outer façade for the world
Mirror what you really are
And your reflection will embrace you
Given the clarity, that shatters
The reflection of a reflection
Thus blossoms the image from the heart
Mirror will be glistening with pride
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
(an ekphrastic poem based on the painting Nighthawks by Edward Hopper)
Four
solemn faces,
doused in gold,
like moths to flame,
seek warmth from the cold.
Darkness leers, but harsh light shields
these lonely creatures from their feelings untold.
One
diner desolate,
a waiter old,
and three weary visitors
are portrayed. The scene unfolds.
Most eat under the sunlight, unlike
these nighthawks who flocked from their households.
Some
loneliness darkens
hearts like blindfolds;
nighthawks’ hearts aren’t exceptions.
The woman red and bold,
the man in shadows, and another
man with a cigarette in his hold
are
isolated together.
They are controlled
and defined by solitude.
They don’t belong. No mold
fits them. They only have a
diner, each other, and lonesome souls unconsoled.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 1:33 AM UTC
I'm crawling through the pain
Dragged through the darkness of a thousand hurtful lies
I ask for some comfort but The Lord has no eyes
The devil he is there and he offers me a ride
He tells me his story and how people spread there lies
Portrayed as the villain for what people don't know why.
He said live life to the fullest tomorrow you will die
Don't be a victim to a society that only know themselves
be who you want to be but remember
The devil never lies!
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 2:48 AM UTC
Hallucinogenic eugenics
False beauty
Portrayed poorly
Because its unreal
Yet
The feelings pursue me
Persecution
Prosecution
Against this prostitution of emotions
I sell myself cheap
$15.00
Is the price for my soul
Sold
To the mass
Extinction of reality
Whose to say this bouquet
Of roses
Cant arise before
My death
I decorate
The interior
To design a mind
That’s perfected
In the opinions
Of those who know
No better
Drama setter
Setting the décor
For the setting
Letting the encore
Bring life
In the form
Of more roses
Atrocious Notoriety
From unwanted fame
Or
A poor poet
Starving artist
Projected as a failure
In this motion picture
Called life
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 6:08 PM UTC
Caucasian cadaver in the windless woods.
Carelessly hanging from a tree.
Colorless face looking down.
Carrion yet to be seen.
Creation of an evil man.
Displaying his departed art.
Completed, his compelling plan.
Of helping death do its part.
Few colors, fewer sounds.
White skin contrasts the black dress.
Faded yellow floating all around.
Splatters of red fill the rest.
A frightful figure that overwhelms.
Above the confused and thorny trails.
All the shallow know themselves.
At the sight of this female.
Breathless before being dangled.
Dead before being displayed.
Beautiful body, cold and mangled.
Death magnificently portrayed.
Multiple stab wounds in your back.
Added to the smell of war.
Mind immersed in barren black.
Gnawed eyes to watch and adore.
Dripping, dim and dreadful.
The portrait he wanted to smear.
Your future as empty as your words.
Your hollowness shown clear.
You don't know what you're missing.
Elders still die, the young still grow.
The leaves below are hissing.
At the corpse of a girl I used to know.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC
The question regarding the question relies on what the question really is.
If the question implied is a question directed outwardly, then it may be misinterpreted as a question to oneself internally.
Otherwise, a question explicitly directed inwardly is critical to deciphering the question that one will address outwardly.
If an indirect question is questioned through the user, then the question itself becomes a metaphysical question to choose from.
In the event a question is said through alternate means, consider the quantitative/qualitative state of the question at the time being; as it may be resolved by asking the question in a subconscious level indeed.
Superficial means tends to seek fundamental questions to the reality of the state one naturally possesses.
In the case where the unconscious decides the opportune event to question the conscious reality, one must interpret the means in examination of the intrapersonal mentality.
If the question is imposed through correlative thought and subliminal expression, then the question itself is related to a parallel conscious state intertwined with the unconscious state of mind of progression.
If the question is relative in combination to the solutions mentioned above becoming apparent, then one has means to ask the question without questioning the question itself in disparate.
Otherwise, the question continues to perplex the question through the continuation of irrelevant questions that one will have thought; creating a treacherous belief so concurrent one could not have fought.
Therefore, is the reality of the question portrayed to the reality you live in or the reality of others? As this poem was conclusive to subtly evoke thought in the questions we construct.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
I needed to feel her next to me..The pumping of those warm veins and the beating of her exhausted heart. I felt this emptiness, this unsettling chaos in the cracks and holes of my being..It sat ever so restlessly on the brink of death and insanity, whispering taunting words into the tired positive side of my mind causing each piece of my heart to break further and further, deeper and deeper into insanity. I wasn't so sure of how much longer I could sit here with a synthetic smile on this bruised, rough face, just waiting for someone else to find me and rip me from the fists of insanity and put me back together again, someone who could resemble strength in every sense of the word and would know every aspect of the worth in my being..In my mind, I had told myself so many times that none could ever love me the way she had portrayed, the way she had done..and eventually my gullable heart began to believe it. There wasn't anyone else, how could there be when we are destined to only one true love? With each kiss and intricate touch, I felt this shock of aliveness and beauty, a feeling I never wished to forget, never dreamed to have lost..Somehow I found myself in that same cold, dark room wondering where she had went, wondering how could I have lived like this so long..keeping it comfortable not letting all of her in...I gave up so much for a love so strong, but I pushed her away and she began to wear thin. I broke her heart for what broke mine, not purposely, but in a way that not even my mind or heart was realizing...For all it was worth, I entrusted this broken heart to her, hoping she'd know exactly the remedy needed to mend what's been torn apart..and she did. Oh, honey believe me..she did. SHE was the remedy and I was the patient..When she left, she was my demise and I was her mourn.
When she gave up, when she walked away not daring to look back, she was afraid I'd see the tears in her eyes and grow weaker to the sound of her footsteps on the cold hard ground, gradually fading into the rain and fog. It broke my heart to watch her leave, she didn't want to, but it was for the best...and each night she tells me.."I'll see you again someday, my love..maybe not tomorrow, or today..but someday." and in that moment my heart cries, for a love that died..and I will never be the same.
Until she's home in these weakened arms, strengthening every aspect and complexity of my being, I will forever be naked, stripped of all sense and feeling...Until the day my love returns, I will stay home and wait for her.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
~
The Giraffe Cries
Dancing on a thread of silk - taut of pain,
balanced deep within the fear…
Swaying to the side in calculated energy,
breathing as the sweat begins to pour
Toeing the line with blinders on
only to face the evil waiting - miles above my last breath
Shambles become my life’s dreams,
as fifty or so exit the compact car below- all doors ajar
Pointing skyward with gloved fingers and flowered bonnets
they gasp - splashing red paint of severed smiles
and floating eyebrows, merely decorations placed by hand
and contractual obligations
The rings add up to three - yet left alone I find is me,
teetering of lost imagination and breath taking nuances,
blanketing the sawdust creations
of worries portrayed in a gallery of netted promises
It is calling now for my end - free falling with wings to spare,
a calliope whistles its crescendo beneath a tent
pitched and heaved in frustration,
riding the rail lines of someone else’s thoughts
Not worth the price of admission - I wave
as I exit this cotton candy dream world in search of the nightmares slowly unfolding
along platform bridges of age
and destined footpaths
The train departs…the giraffe cries
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
the hunter and the hunted
the drunken victims
that never last
more than a single evening
how can we break our ties to the past
when all of this reactivity
is only based on circumstance
when lucifer broke the eternal name
he gave a piece of light to his twin flame
she danced upon our streets
covered in his shame
her face never to be
completely portrayed again
in its limitless heat and wonder
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 10:37 PM UTC
Dancing on a thread of silk - taut of pain,
balanced deep within the fear…
Swaying to the side in calculated energy,
breathing as the sweat begins to pour
Toeing the line with blinders on
only to face the evil waiting - miles above my last breath
Shambles become my life’s dreams,
as fifty or so exit the compact car below- all doors ajar
Pointing skyward with gloved fingers and flowered bonnets
they gasp - splashing red paint of severed smiles
and floating eyebrows, merely decorations placed by hand
and contractual obligations
The rings add up to three - yet left alone I find is me,
teetering of lost imagination and breath taking nuances,
blanketing the sawdust creations
of worries portrayed in a gallery of netted promises
It is calling now for my end - free falling with wings to spare,
a calliope whistles its crescendo beneath a tent
pitched and heaved in frustration,
riding the rail lines of someone else’s thoughts
Not worth the price of admission - I wave
as I exit this cotton candy dream world in search of the nightmares slowly unfolding
along platform bridges of age
and destined footpaths
The train departs…the giraffe cries
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
Love is portrayed as such a beautiful thing that many want
Not all get it, and those who do are "lucky"
People trip and tumble over one another
Clawing and reaching for this thing called "love"
Thinking it will help them
They don't understand that it comes with more than their told
It's not just cuddles on rainy days, and kisses that seem surreal
It's being up a 3 am wondering if you good enough for them
Watching them at their worst and not being able to do anything
It's holding them and telling them that
"It will all be okay..."
When you yourself don't even know if it will
Love isn't just all of the good things, it's the bad things too
I guess that's why people fall out of love
Yet despite all of that, some come back to love again
It just might be worth it all
The heartbreak, joy, fear, and surprise
It all might be worth it
If I can simply have you in my arms
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC