"practically" poems
Your smile is sunshine
Like actual physical sunshine
Life
Energy
It’s practically beaming off your face in rays
Making my heart warm
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
I feel the need to apologise for the way that I am.
I have no control, as if I was a computer programme.
I’m sorry that the slightest thing can shift my mood,
I’m sorry I can be impulsive and have a bad attitude.
This inappropriate anger is not intentional
and I swear to god
I know it’s unacceptable.
My friendships are a rollercoaster,
it’s practically bipolar.
One second I’m all lovey dovey
and the other second it will be as if you were never my buddy.
This is who I am and I hate it.
I’m sorry I’m like this,
I’m sorry I see no bliss.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
I whatsapped you through my nokia
And is it your existence I crave?
Or does my mind order
What is beyond the border
Unseen like the little light bulps in the sky
I whatsapped you through my nokia
And is it your fingertips I need?
Spending minutes on
Semantic and hours on our news feed
And high lights of our day
See my days are all the same
I ask myself questions and I find answers
In the shape of instant messages
Vibrating through my phone;
And as if it’s exhaling some deadly poison
It rings and rings and rings and rings and rings and rings and stops…
I whatsapped you through my nokia
Asking you
“you there?”
But you never answered
Because your iphone cannot show any whatsapp notifications
Coming from hopeless thinkers trying to figure out the typed mysteries of life….
Because your blackberry
Is too black to turn into a satisfactory vision
Of what your future should be;
Because your android
Is practically messy
And willingly complex
Like meteor showers hitting your phone
Every time the truth vibrates
In the shape of unanswered questions
For the answers are there…
But our phones are so smart they hide it;
I wahtsapped you through my nokia
Asking myself
Is my nokia a primitive technology?
A shameful scar on the scale of science
Like syringes ******* all the blood from the unstoppable sweet rush of statistical knowledge
I whatsapped you through my nokia…and all this comes out
Is it me being silly, or us being shallow?
Please do not whatsapp me the answer
For am tired of green screens
And boxed spaces
I need clean streams
Of fine faces
And eyes that glimmer
Rather than phones that shiver…
I shall remind my phone
To remind me
That I don’t need it anymore…
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
Depression is hard to understand. The dictionary naively refers to it as, "feelings of severe despondency and dejection." But what does the dictionary know about depression? I think depression is more complicated than that. But I don't quite know what that consists of. I've been trying to figure it out for months now, and I just can't seem to understand. I don't know what depression is, but I can tell you what it's not.
Depression is not polite. Depression doesn't knock before he barges in. He just lets himself in, unannounced and unexpected, and leaves me gasping for what little air is left in the room.
Depression isn't clean. He doesn't tidy up after he makes a mess. He comes into my life like a hurricane, and leaves me to pick up the crumbled pieces of my rubbled life.
Depression isn't moral. He steals my happiness and kills my spirit. He doesn't abide by any common rules or laws, he makes his own rules and I have to play by them.
Depression isn't popular. The only "friends" he has are his victims. He drags me away from everyone who used to love me, and leaves me isolated in a cold, dark place.
Depression isn't respectful. He claws his way into the lives of so many genuine people and drives them to the brink of insanity. He has no regard for my thoughts or my feelings, stomping all over me until there's nothing decent left to salvage.
Depression isn't creative. He tells you everything as it is and makes you see all of the terrible things poisoning the world. He doesn't sugarcoat the truth, no matter how much it hurts, and he helped me clearly see even my smallest of flaws.
Depression isn't nice. He calls me ugly and tells me I'm worthless. The words he whispers ring in my ears: **** yourself, **** yourself, **** yourself."
It's hard to define depression. It doesn't fit into a small box. I've practically driven myself crazy trying to figure out what it is and why this is happening to me. I don't understand depression, and no matter how hard I try to define it, I always fall short. I don't know if depression can ever be defined. While I try aimlessly to define the undefinable, depression ruthlessly takes advantage of me. I can try as much as I'd like, but I don't define depression, depression defines me.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 7:05 PM UTC
i've tricked them once again
i made them believe that everything was fine.
******* I'm good,
even after all this time.
i'm too good at lying to myself,
I'm too good at pushing away the pain.
and even tricking myself
into believing I'm okay.
you're telling me to breathe
but my throat keeps closing.
you tell me to sleep,
but every night is darkness without dreams.
how am i supposed to write,
without spilling blood on the page.
but this is my job now,
and i need a decent grade.
like forcing a bird to sing for food,
you're wringing me out.
my mind dripping to the floor,
i can't create beautiful things anymore.
i'm writing everything over again.
repeating
repeating
repeating myself.
what do you want me to say?
that everything will be okay?
you want me to make my own light,
give myself a nicholas sparks ending.
because now I'm exposed,
I'm standing in front of you all.
and you can practically see the blood
dripping down my wrists.
with the world standing behind me,
its hard to keep my focus.
"make it pretty" she says,
"don't let them see you're already dead."
i can't turn tears to holy water,
or my own blood into wine.
i can't create beauty,
staring Darkness in the eyes.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
Give you everything I am,
Let you in
Practically give myself to you
dragged it out for just over a year
and you choose to tell me now
Good ******* job you ****
**** you
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 4:46 AM UTC
I practically tell you
How I feel
Without
Exactly telling you
I say goodnight
You say no
You don't let me go
You carry on talking to me
You don't want to end it there
Twenty minutes later
You say okay
I better let you go now
Goodnight
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 6:28 AM UTC
You lose your mind,
You lose all function of your body
To the point where
A little bit of ***
Escapes,
Your mind is well and truly ******
Like, hard.
You're shaking,
Quivering,
Practically electrified,
The world seems meaningless
Until you experience
The one thing you have
Been waiting for
For so long.
I am fangirling like a school kid right now,
And the mess of a poem you have just read?
Yeah,
That mess represents the state I am in right now.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 1:21 PM UTC
I came only to watch one person eyes open and peeled.
The Blonde Bombshell was her name and O, what power did she wield!
One look and the explosion of her beauty could soften any heart of steel.
I knew nothing of softball besides the name,
but the blonde pitcher inspired me to change my game.
As I watched she seemed nervous on the softball mound.
Her first few pitches practically never left the ground.
The game continued and she pitched better in each inning.
Each throw as beautiful as she was and secured her team in winning.
She looked more confident as she began to smile.
Sending each batter back to the bench crying like a child.
As I prepared to leave I waved my farewell.
To a blonde beauty who looked and pitched exceptionally and gracefully well.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 10:23 PM UTC
It’s weird how one vaguely remembers important days,
Like a friend’s birthday.
But I’ll remember one day,
And no, it wasn’t my friend’s birthday,
But actually, it was mother’s day.
I’ll always remember it,
Because you said you were cooking for your mom
And I remember thinking:
“What a gentleman!”
I’ll remember it because you were at church that day,
And I laughed because the idea of you being at church,
Made me believe for a while that you were actually a “Good boy”- a gentleman.
Most of all though,
I’ll remember that day,
Because you practically asked me If I liked you.
I remember saying to myself: “He’s a genius!”
Because you twisted it up,
But to be frank, I would have done the same thing too.
Instead of saying : “Do you like me ?” – (like a normal being);
You asked : “Is there a boy that you currently like?”
I also remember thinking ,
“How awkward”
Because my feelings for you were as clear as the sea,
But here you are asking, if I liked you.
I’ll remember that day, because I imagined how misty the smoke would look as it forced its way out of your lungs,
After a deep inhalation of the one you called: “Marie”
I’ll remember creating scenes in the desert of my mind
Of how it would feel to meet you for the first time –
if you’d hug me and smile,
Like a gentle man.
I’ll remember that day because I kept wondering:
“What if our first encounter was bad? “
“What if he doesn’t like what he sees?” –
I remember laughing because thought it was funny.
I’ll remember thinking that I should stop building feelings for you so fast.
I’ll remember it because I made my imaginations get the better of me –
I imagined us in the place where my only use for that place is to sleep.
I’ll remember that day because trying to get you off my mind failed once more-
Because when I fell asleep you were at the forefront of my mind
And when I woke up,
You still were.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
Theres this guy named David Bojay.. hes like one of my closetest friends.. not many people know his story or what he has gone through but he opened up to me and told me everything.. i didnt know how to react or what to say.. everything he told me , you would never think he would go through because of how chill, funny, polite he is.. Once he told me , i worried about him and i thought differently about him because he was a great friend and i didnt want anything to happen to him..
if only you guys knew how great this guy is , you would understand why im writing this.. me and him have gone through practically the same **** hes like my twin but come from different familys.. honestly consider him my brother. i try not to stay to distant from him but lately weve been busy and weve been really distant.. his story is my story.. god brought us together for a reason , maybe he is the one that is leading back to the right path because before i was ****** up in the mind and i was a trouble maker.. lately ive been chilling with him and lately ive just been quiet and acting better.. all thanks to my bestfriend David Bojay.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
Humid day, thirst kills,
watermelon woman was generous,
she gladly offered much,
till i get fully satisfied, for practically nothing.
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 11:29 AM UTC
*transported back into those walls
running down the basement hall
i locked the door so i could hide
and reaching for a 45
with practically no voice at all
i sang along and prayed
to drown you out
does the soul regenerate?
what part of me did you take?
your verbal threats would make me gasp
no one could hear when I called out
record player winding ‘round
i tried to yell
but couldn’t shout
yet something you did cultivate
a plan you helped to propagate
for each and every time i ran
like a builder in a gym
i’d sing a song and sing again
strengthening the chords within
empowering my voice
©2016janetaylor
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 6:46 AM UTC
Clicketyclick —
sickly screens,
shooting
sixty
picture-frames
per second
Tickety ticktock, rapid-fire
photon cannons,
ripping holes
through our
faces
rectangles,
riddled with anxiety ridden
read scripts
the resultant
retinal scarring
Wicketywicked, weary eyes,
dripping with serrated pixels
triple dotted,
typing-awareness indicators
create silly suspenses,
inducing temporal
dramas,
emotional
micro-traumas
every second a slice
through my,
now practically nonexistent,
patience
Am I a server,
or am I a servant?
Eyes, sunken, with
withered skin
I'm waiting for my fix
Ding-ding
Bloop!
Pinggg
Here comes the dopamine! —
—Clicketyclick
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
Only when efforts are taken
Defeats can be easily broken
When mind suffers from fear
It opens the gate for tear
By indulging in self-pity
We may blunder in duty
When we are too much afraid
We lose even from God aid
God wants us to be brave
Then only He can save
Boldly enter into the bout
Let hope finely sprout out
Just by making up mind
A way one can surely find
Honest efforts fetch glory
Hard-work brings victory
Never think pessimistically
Ponder over practically
It is very easy to soon retreat
But, success refuses its treat
Courageous steps achieve
So a bold plan, try to weave
mvvenkataraman
SEARCH mvvenkataraman IN GOOGLE OR YAHOO
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 12:10 PM UTC
He strides up to my desk, beaming
like I'm the winning lotto
ticket he wants to rub off in his truck--
"Well, aren't you as cute as a button."
Puke creeps up my throat while
his creased eyes clearly try to
conjure the image of my naked
**** I thought I cleverly disguised
by a collared grandma blouse.
"Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?"
Heart racing from the effort to keep
my mouth shut and my cheeks
pale, I see other people
whisper, widen their eyes
at his use of "cutie" and "dearest"
while he winks repeatedly--
apparently a Morse code for
I'd-do-you-baby.
I practically feel the slime
slipping down my outsides,
but I give him a smile.
-because I have to-
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 6:06 PM UTC
we always want to re-invent ourselves when we feel
rejected, unwanted, left to the side.
we dye our hair or cut our hair or style our hair
so differently, so drastically, so unrecognizable.
we pack on make-up or strip our make-up
or pierce our faces, belly buttons, get tattoos, choose a permanent mark
to remind us of something solid;
something that represents
self-sufficiency or this too shall pass,
because we know we are gonna feel
rejected, unwanted, left to the side again
(and again, and again).
we buy new clothes, give away old ones to our friends,
new shoes, new bags, new look.
and we’re always picking up new vices, new habits, new addictions.
cigarettes, alcohol, razors,
all the late night reckless binges on wine, narcotics, food, cutting ourselves.
sometimes we pick up healthy ones too,
like running, swimming, dancing, yoga, meditating, resetting sleep patterns, taking vitamins, treating ourselves to the spa, eating regularly, getting out of the house to see friends.
we either avoid intimacy at all costs because we can’t fathom
the concept of trust anymore
or we dive into it with practically anyone, just to feel something real
because we are so ******* lonely,
but we never really feel anything real at all.
we make resolutions, goals, plans for our next relationships
so that they won’t follow the same patterns as our last crumbling ones
(they usually still do).
some of us change what we like, what we want, what we need
to impress people so that they
fall in love with us and will never leave us.
we begin disregarding ourselves for another person,
or disregarding everyone else for ourselves,
both because we don’t want to get hurt again.
and then somewhere, somehow after weeks, months, maybe even years of
the full fledged wavering of
destruction meeting recovering meeting ignorance meeting shyness meeting loneliness meeting accepting meeting fear,
we start to see the intricacies of the pattern much clearer -
we make all of these sudden changes because
we just want to feel better,
we just want to be better;
that’s all.
it’s taking charge, which is healthy.
it’s also making fact and point that we need to change to deserve love,
which is unhealthy.
all of it is like learning algebra for the first time,
some of us take a bit longer to understand it all; the formulas, the variables, the balance.
and once we understand the formula, the variables and the balance,
then we can welcome back the beautiful,
real version
of ourselves we’ve been trying to
cover up.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
You and I are two parallel lines.
Practically speaking, we can never meet.
Theoretically, we do at infinity.
Where is infinity?
How do you get there?
How can you stay there?
My love,
my infinity is where the heart is
where no one can take things away from us.
We cannot reach within our own hearts.
We only know they beat inside us
while belonging to someone else.
Mine is yours,
and so I will not lose it.
You will never lose it.
If one day yours, too, became mine,
we would no longer be parallel lines.
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 8:39 AM UTC
Do you want to know what depression looks like?
Let me tell you.
It is not the story of the the skinny girl who will not consume calories and then the prince charming comes into the picture and sleeps with her in the most innocent sense to protect her. It does not involve him kissing her scars and saying they are beautiful.
No, in reality it is you by yourself. Alone. Sad. Scared.
Your body is painted in blood and you are crying so hard you practically throw up.
It is grotesque scars and cuts that you can not make up an excuse for because the cat does not cut that deep.
It is demons and blackness and fear.
It is the lonely nights that consume you.
It is you.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
Late night conversations about sweet nothings,
I feel as though he is just -something,
Something so goofy and unique,
I smile from ear to ear as he speaks,
I stay up almost the entire night and day,
It would be easier if he were to be next to me and stay,
He says we practically read each others' minds -telepathy,
I can go on and on about his sympathy,
We make funny faces all the time,
He is what I call -a dime,
Not a dime's worth nor it's size,
It's quirkiness and shine,
And to end this poem is hard - just in a few lines,
His eyes and smile fill the room with light,
There is not one thing I regret from these,
-These sleepless nights.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
i was born all naturally
formed in a lax factory
im actually
a hack with ******* in my nose, practically,
every day, haphazardly
stumbling home, half asleep
i cant tell whats happening
vision begins blackening
im whack like kriss kross
crack like rick ross
major brown boy to houston
be like, "yes, we have liftoff"
dont like me when i'm ****** off
cause ***** i'm bruce banner
or maybe i'm bruce wayne
either way, i got mad manners
tearing down walls like berlin
preaching like its a sermon
potential begins to burgeon
i'll cut you up like a surgeon
killing in place of coercion
so you better lower the curtain
my head and my body are hurtin
so tell me how quick does the world spin?
i'm taddling on ya, you can call me a toddler
but the snitchin n' **** is somethin im never fond of
and i never grow up, cause i'm the neverland smuggler
peter pan turns into one of my best customers
i never grew into my head, im not cocky
never had the eye of the tiger, im not rocky
growing up i never got in fights or caused a lotta ****
but presently im screaming **** the world", i've got a bone to pick
i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
you hold me captive, keep me trapped in your facets of laws
looks of repulsion are what cause me to brandish my claws
constant compulsions reminiscent of prodigal flaws
i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
see im a goblin shark i'll sink in my nautical jaws
im not a joker im a jester with lesser facades
wrought with insomnia cause drugs are american gods
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
Asleep alone
I got the light scare
Of a nightmare
With my plight there
Which wouldn't fight fair
Awake awaits
Chirping is all I hear
Dragging life into focus
Getting the lens clear
To see things are hopeless
My aches and pains
Are my body's refrain
To remind me of existence
Despite my mental resistance
I am lucid
I take my shoelace
And loop it
To run a new race
Timidly trembling
The violence in my dreams
Matches the silence and screams
That defile us and our team
Making the nightmares real
And the pain I can feel
So it's love I steal
A devil's deal
Hell unsealed
I can hear the vultures chirping
Or maybe they're just burping
Out the demons I ignored
My forgiveness they implored
To meet a silent scorn
Like a muted tribal horn
Banishing them to another realm
With my ostracism at the helm
Until the lonely are overwhelmed
And I see the error of my ways
Once I'm part of this chaotic haze
Practically paralyzed
I am lost
In this game
I've met the boss
He and I the same
He is a voice
Chirping in my ear
Saying I have no choice
I should give in to fear
And just drink beer
Until the end is here
Carelessly comatose
The birds that once sang beautifully
Now retreat dutifully
When they see my thoughtless anger
Turn me into a ruthless stranger
Creating danger
For those living righteously
They start fighting me
Trying to enlighten me
Which is only exciting me
Because I lack the sight to see
What the world could be
If we could harmonize
Like the birds
Not using argent lies
But soothing words
Yet there is no tax exemption
For my reluctant redemption
So my mind invented
No incentive
Soul slaughtered
The tear jerking
Birds chirping
Constantly remind me
Inside my sleep they find me
Thrusting me into a life unwinding
Through my window the sun is blinding
When I start to fear my brother
After seeing mirrors in others
Reflecting my attitude
Of ingratitude
I had a nasty nightmare
Of Camp Crystal Lake
Filled with misfit flakes
Paying for their mistakes
With pain and suffering
As deep as a submarine
Being torn apart
For every decision
Hiding their heart
To avoid incisions
And once all these losers are slain
The birds chirping start a new day
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 4:14 AM UTC
I have a blue blanket, it looks corduroy but it's synthetic polynesian cotton.
Considered by some to be polyester. After the ninth year of ownership I started
Telling house guests it had always been mine; but secretly knowing it came from my
Ex Kristina who left it with some of her other things in 2005 in my grand deluxe Evanston
Apartment. In like some really awesome way, I could fold the corners together to see little blocks
Of the Universe form cubes in the fourth dimension and gain a better understanding of my own
Little black shmata. Top drawer, white dresser, in the back with the leftover girlfriend underwear between
My first ever stuffed animal dog/rabbit.
Amazing how these thinned and frayed azure threads had held so many midnight conversations Together- maybe fifteen other girls had nuzzled with Kristina's blanket. Last year the guilt set in. You Watch a girlfriend, say, ratchet through your room naked for something soft to put over her to listen to
Some half-stanza from the new Yeats critical and that, do-I-tell-her feeling comes over you. Blue Polyester really had a way with women. My last serious crush, the one of six months, the one from the place that was close to where I worked six days a week, would you believe, she had not interest in that heap of thread, under my pillows spying on us sleep for twenty-four long weeks.
"Drop in the bucket" the sixty-year-olds say. I say, bring me my ******* fourth dimension blocks and cubes ************ I want to visit the existential, I want to experience the hoo-ra and Ga-Ga those kids throw around on Milwaukee waiting for $150 NBA slippers.
Wednesday is my day for telling the truth.
2:00p.m. sitting in the front of her alizarin El Dorado.
"I have something I have to tell you," I said, my mouth practically filled with marbles as I barely could Utter the words: it's not going to work out.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:51 AM UTC
She doesn't sleep
Let alone eat
She's starved
She's living hour by hour with a cup of coffee in her hand
Tired and deprived of 'liesure time'
You won't hear from her
She's not dead
But it's practically the same
Why is she doing this?
You know the girl that people made fun of?
You know the girl who's dad broke her heart before any boy could?
You know that girl .
She wants to prove everyone wrong
She wants more
Never satisfied
She wants it all
She wants to be happy.
So she does it for her self
She studies all night long
She studies until 6 a.m before the exam ,
Grabs the biggest cup of coffee
Then goes to the one place she hates
All because she wants to be happy.
At the end of the day,
We hurt ourselves,
because we want to be happy .
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC