"predisposed" poems
Visibly wholesome with internal infractions
Humans predisposed to fatal attractions
Remain cautious & constantly selective
In a world where hearts are pure but minds are deceptive
The mind screams lust while the heart craves affection
The root of true beauty lies within imperfection
For every blossoming rose, is at least a single thorn
& every heavenly angel has a deeply hidden horn
Thus a man's flaws aren't defined as his impurities
It's the illusion of perfection that equate to his insecurities
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
To have an epiphany. To realize ‘wow, this is it.’
To see that not everyone has the same heart as you do. As humans, regardless of whether christian, Muslim, Jew or any other religion, we are predisposed to believe the idea that we should treat others the way we want to be treated and that by norms, if we are kind, we should expect kindness in return. But no one actually talks about how rarely, if ever, that happens. In life there is always a garden and a gardener but people haven’t learned yet to take turns and balance out that compliment. A gardener takes care of a garden for decades until one day, they turn frail and die. And the garden will either be tended to by another gardener or will wither away. The world is so full of harsh realities that are hidden. To say that there are only a few genuine people is completely and utterly wrong. For every person there are only a few genuine people. That is correct, so in that sense, yes there are only a few genuine people but in the world there are many of them. These genuine people become involved in a persons life one day and their intentions are undeniably pure. They give and give and give, and that’s the reason that every person only gets a few genuine people; no one realizes who the genuine people are around them, or if they do then they simply dont care enough to think, this person has only tried for me for so long, and I feel warmth in my heart because no one else tried like that.
-c.j.m
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 5:55 AM UTC
The real subjectivity of life is overwhelming;
Prospective consumes our frontal cortex
But there is no escape from this vacuum seal.
We see the faces of our own delight,
The know how of the here and now,
But we are too blind to look past our own perspectives.
Even when we fathom the hearts of others,
Our understandings are predisposed to our own Identity.
Objectivity is a fleeting notion of reality, of truth
and its as though the ground we hold so dearly
Is constantly fleeing from our grasp.
Today we call this individualism,
a disconnect between one's self and society.
But I so selfishly and foolishly believe
that this chasm stems from being lied to so often.
Am I lying to myself or am I being lied to I do no know,
but it is important to understand that it does not matter
that nothing matters, because everything exists in my field of view.
The only question remains: am I correct
Or has the devil made me a fool?
But this does not confirm nihilism
only hints at its initial potential.
Yet there are common truths that are irrefutable
no matter who you are, real or not:
The reality is the here and now,
No matter what ghosts or demons there may be.
They affect the consciousness constantly
indifferently to whether or not they are fraudulent or true.
And my experiences are true, the emotions are radical,
and even if everyone I know is a figment and interpretation,
they still hold a grasp onto my withering heart.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC
I've been watching you from the nightstand,
Eyes closed,
But hearing, feeling
Each rat tremor on top of cheap carpet
Covered in cat **** and ***** stains.
You have been sleeping too long,
Eyelids turning to flakes of skin,
Feeding your floorboard friends.
I have seen your fingers curl into messy knots of
Purple thumbprints and veins reaching
For the ceiling and roof.
You left me plugged into the wall,
And I have inched closer to my own death
With each misses phone call and text,
My predisposed convulsions.
I just wanted you to know
Your mother called today
To ask for the new street address,
The landlord says the rent is 8 days late,
But your boyfriend is ill concerned with your state of health,
In fact,
He left the state
And bought a new haircut and identity.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
The world is too uncertain for us to be sure of anything. Personally I don't think there is an absolute truth. There I said it. Take me away Nietzsche, I'm with you on this one. We are all so different, all so set apart in our unique, frail and wicked mortality. To have one single frame of existence is debilitating. If this difference is so telling of our humanity then why the hell do we have truth? To what purpose? To contain and unite us despite our individuality? Suppose the truth is given this way: A newborn and a goat are expected to survive with just a small patch of grass. Which of the two gets more chance of survival and existential fulfillment? How can that be when those two are apples and oranges? Their circumstances are so opposite. How is life supposed to be fair to the newborn? I am not saying that life is fair because hell it is far from it. But do we accept that unfair principle or make our lives a little better? Will his happiness be on that grass as well? Of course not. So he looks for new ways to be happy. He has his own truth.
To this end, I have questioned everything from my faith, to myself, to people, to science even. Life grows along with time and so are our realities. This is why these past few months I've been contradicting myself to the point of thinking I've gone mad. But the fact is I've grown from these experiences of letting my two polar opposites meet. It is honestly scary when these inner voices start jabbing at you like pointed needles.I am a walking contradiction and my mind is a maze of paradoxes and questions with no answers. Eventually, I got used to this mentally exhausting activity. When something entirely different from what I believe be it an opinion, an idea, or a controversy) speaks up in my face I've learned to accept them not as the truth but as possibilities that could very well be right or wrong. I will never be always right.
People are so used to the concept of certainty that we have altogether ignored the existence of possibility. Or the gray area to which simply no one end exists. I realized that we are all predisposed to find answers, to hang on to some sort of explanation to a world so phenomenally ungraspable. It is to the detriment of our open mindedness enough for us to fabricate truths which may very well be coverups for the all too universal fear of the unknown. We are afraid of floating in the ambiguous nature of our lives that we'd rather correct this with assumptions.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
I wish to get this out in the open,
I wish to clarify something
I must confess something to those who care about my writing:
My sense of humour is... well...
If you know me in person, you know my sense of humour
or what could be errantly said
to be a sense of humour.
I draw heavily upon:
facetiousness, mythic interpretation, sarcasm, satire, excessive formality, irony, wordplay,
a somewhat predisposed tendency towards not taking most things entirely seriously
even and almost especially when I am 'supposed to',
resorting to profanity on rare occasions,
and quite simply and succinctly a ****** up world perspective*
amassed over many years of living in this society
and from living with my late, similarly minded, brutally honest alcoholic Father,
in this society, nonetheless,
who in fact was at least *quite ******* directly* responsible for my aforementioned errant sense of humour.
If you knew him, you might say that I'm a "chip off the ol' block" in some ways,
but I know I'm quite ******* deviant from it in others.
So, to those of you who simply know of my existence via this digital outlet/public-sketchpad for my new-found passion of writing down every ******* thing I think it worthwhile to ponder again later, or perhaps even share with similarly minded, or at least accepting people; I wish to convey my deepest and most sincere pity, not in that it is anything that was your doing, just in that you can't possibly know my sense of humour and tasteless applications of irony and satire, and as such; I've probably offended some people.
However, for some anomalous reason,
some of you seem to like this stuff
So I'm going to keep it up.
If you read this: thank you,
but if you did not, then **** you;
however, if you didn't initially read this but were later directed to it by me or by some other personage,
fictional or real,
or for some other reason happened across it,
I rescind the aforementioned **** you" in light of conveying my deepest and most sincere
"Thank you for putting up with my weird-ass ********
I appreciate anyone who finds any value in my works.
I also appreciate the improbable nature of anyone liking my brain-vomit.
I love creating and I love sharing my creations,
so when that all works out,
I'm ******* fit as a fiddle;
Giddy as a schoolgirl on Prozac;
Happier than a young necrophiliac who achieves his boyhood ambition of becoming coroner.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 7:02 PM UTC
Looking forward at what my life could be there is something so poignant about this quote. There is a recurring sensation I experience in life, that we are all forever lying in some way. A white lie. A huge suppression of the truth so that the lie that is told, is told so habitually, that it is the truth. Lies that mean nothing to those you tell them to, serves to anger ourselves . Twisting the truth, torturing what is true until it squeals out a lie. Though I am an honest person I lie constantly. About what dreams mean, about my future, about my fears. I analyse my dreams generously, I talk about my future optimistically and stifle my fears quickly. I am predisposed to hide to be human, but what I have found is that hiding the truth in the convenience of a lie is not a full life. When life delivers to you a fragment of time where you are in a blissful ecstasy, you see the stupidity of protecting yourself in an armour of lies. Having stripped down to your natural form you can feel your skin breathe. Film is more than an art-form to me, it lies about details, places and names, but if it finds truth in these lies I am naked again.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
nobody likes the full name.
the class is known simply as "Cell."
stephen king is just as lazy with his titles.
that fool fears blood.
i was listening to rain washing out the gutters
when our teacher called on me,
asking me to explain in my own words:
"How is molecular transportation so highly organized?"
i posited that organelles are not organized.
they are only civilized:
self-governed by apoptosis and a blueprint of proximal culture,
their manuals inefficient, but honed for cooperation through trial and error.
"I'm predisposed to disagree," he said with a tangible glee.
knowing we all adore his berating honesty.
his question stuck with me.
perhaps because i was working
for the office of sustainability
becoming regularly incapacitated
by the shame and exhaustion of preaching.
leading an uprising through the power of teaching.
i decided the only organized transportation
is an axial conduit to the electorate's war,
always social and hierarchal
because that's what culture is for.
at 19 i was loaded up with a sticky elixir
to be protected from being called a *****
i will never forget how I spotted lightly for three days
-stopped for one week-
and then for two straight months, it was a downpour.
we are only tearing apart the bitty ants
and there is still blood on our hands.
i believe blood looks best on our hands.
but we were taught to meticulously detach
and to prepare our matching bargains
beneath the atmosphere's volatile dance.
poison is in the body and the air
ready to be bottled and batched.
even when i find my friends
whole and happy in France,
my key stays clotted in the latch.
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 5:13 PM UTC
I was dead all along
Predisposed to be a waste of wheezing breaths
I am the **** of the earth
Growing from ***** roots
I will always be the mutt,
the *******
the runt.
Never will I reach heaven,
And never will I be at the top;
The cream of the crop.
I was born this way.
I am an addict.
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 12:29 PM UTC
I felt like I cried too much just then, with my head in your lap and my cheeks stinging with salty tears.
I want to die today, but I can't bring you with me.
I can't bring you with me in the bleak narrow curvings of my soul absent doubt.
I hate hating myself so much.
When I look in the mirror I judge from predisposed and painted self doubt.
I trim my frame with unrealistic absurdities that make matters worse by setting them self up for failure to begin with.
I do not think one should continue to prevent them self from cutting off their own airflow to preserve another being's feelings.
Though the act of suicide is selfish, and abstaining from the act to keep others from blaming themselves is in fact selfless; however perpetual self loathing is almost as demanding a lifetime of guilt that comes out of wishing you could have done something to help.
I sit on the inside looking out. And more of the time I am perched in there, I am looking around, from within.
Disolving the interior and remembering the good old walls.
What happened to those willful walls and forgiving storage areas? Nothing is ever good enough; like a mingy white room-once coated twice, but over time has been repainted in folding colors, creating a texture that was not meant to gain, nor pleases as a result.
I want all of the excuses and laziness and hastiness to melt away and the chaos that sits with darkness at the corners of everything, to fall away as toxic as they are, and I want to sit outside of myself and watch in praise and humble patience.
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 1:21 AM UTC
Some folks would tell you that a Demon
lived in all of us
A ****** is a thief
Some public defenders isn’t smarter than his or her clients
One is not required to serve as a juror: on every case
With that in mind:
To create a mental trend is easier.
A train to the plane
isn't insane
however, it’s would be really shocking to
find a hockey player who is tame:
A Police officer with all his fear and anger
A cook without a kitchen:
Is like tango without jingo
A philosophy without any gaps
The new breakfast drink debut
Ice coffee in the morning
Mocha latte' all day
Please don’t interfere with what work
for us throughout the day
I am a woman that follows the warmth
unlike a
tree that wouldn’t blossom
Was it worthless creation?
You can eat tree bark
While the lark
Build its lowly nest
On the ground
A philosophy without any gaps
a client who relapse
We all have a way of asking each other
How are you feeling?
Sometimes, we just have to pretend and
Say
I am feeling fine today,
just for pete sake:
or the long chit- chat conversation
Society
Has force us into a predisposed panic situation
I usually take myself
away from the jaws of distress
And allowed my body to de-tress
So that I can allowed the poetess within
To take hold of the wheel
while I whisper a soft pray
“restore to thee my own,
Once again, I demand the throne”
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:03 PM UTC
Controversially different in every single way
And these things that used to be merely extensions
Are moreover intertwined
Into what now is only so called life
So now really are we living or was it
At some point what we saw as life just
Simply changed or perhaps taken away
Yet we stay
Set in motion
Not even realizing what has came
And what is yet to come
Predisposed
To being perplexed
Preoccupied with insecurities
Addicted
To just the feeling of motivation
Being sickened by acting on it
Diseased by overnight success and lies about happiness
So
I do not wonder why
Some people have just simply
Turned around
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 8:58 PM UTC
we shall not love you
the people cry
we shall not worship
or adore you
and the Gods of Olympus sigh
and though famine punish
and surplus grant
the people do not let up their chant.
Old Zeus grown weary through graying age
as young as the day his father, slayed
yet older in mind and wiser still
has had enough of humanities fill.
And thunderbolts he throws from his clouded sky
and below the people cry
"We shall not go quietly into the night!"
"We deny you and so we'll fight!"
And Aphrodite, her beauty now common place
a million mimicry's in plastic-made face
paints war paint on cheek and brow
and shouts with a dangerous frown
"Raise your blades at me with dread!"
"With Eos rise you'll all be dead!"
But plain Athena stays her hand
and looks down on the rabid band
with helmet and spear, in moonbeams clad
she shakes her head, expression sad
"Leave them be, my sister,"
"Do not let rise your anger."
But fair villain Beauty ran
and clutched at another man
"Ares!" cried the Goddess, "Act for me!"
and bloodthirsty God, he got to his feet
and with chariot of fire and wheels of bones
and Discord and Malice singing their songs
he rushed to do the bidding
to a conflict that needed winning.
But Apollo's chariot drew close
and blocked his path with the sun
"No, Brother, do not go."
"This is not a war to be won."
And below Demeter drew back her hand
and crops and rivers dried to sand
and Persephone never rose from her tomb
to usher new life from springtimes womb
and Hades fickle laugh with Hermes nervous snicker
Artemis let wane the moon and stars flicker.
And darkness shut out a world malcontented
left in darkness as the people lamented
and Eos stayed abed for years at a time
Prometheus fires wouldn't burn, the cities were slime
and those that once were men
were transformed once then again...
and from the darkness there rose
things with sightless eyes, creatures predisposed
to live in blackness and filth by Fates three
and banished were they to the depth of the sea.
And there they live still, in the Challenger Deep
and further below even more of them sleep
the creatures that once molested the God's door
the myth, if that, of monsters called Noctor.
Apr 10, 2010
Apr 10, 2010 at 5:24 PM UTC
Picture you and me, alone in our blue GT, as we ride out
towards the ends of our suns looking for peace and prosperity.
The winds we make seal our tracks closed
and their fiery chill keeps all actions predisposed.
Our hair sways free as your hand takes mine,
my feet on the pedals and yours to the leather hide.
I wish this now could be our infinity
and that our hearts should be together for now and eternity.
The stars swirl above us as we swerve into darkness,
drunk on our emotions and feeling more than endorphins.
You say you love me and I say it back too,
there's no one on earth I'd rather be with than you.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
The sky splits tearing paper limbs from their comfortable contortion
making known the predisposed discontent and conjuring discord to serve a new generation.
Flooded veins pouring out of open wounds,
never to dry up until soaked entirely through
the constant patter of stagnant repression crafting static regression,
drown in cheap memory
repulsive harmony
forced contention
may it all return seeking revenge on a lifeless fragment
a fraction of the initial structure.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
If I was put here for a reason,
then why do I hate being here?
My five Okay Days are always followed
by before-bed breakdowns and I think
Life, itself, is misleading.
If things are meant to be,
then why do they never work out for some?
Why do people commit suicide and
die miserable?
If that is "meant to be".
If that is meant to be then I have been
being for a long time, now.
I can have half of my heart collapse into
predisposed, depressed ruins and quit
being able to balance on my feet,
and I will be characterized by "low self esteem".
This is not low self esteem.
This is a lifestyle,
a product of eighteen years too early and eighteen years too late,
a brain too involved to ever break through, and
life is too long.
My originality finds loopholes in your positivity.
Soon it will be 30 years too early and 30 years too late,
and my life will have never had actual life to it.
If I was meant to be,
then I was meant to be miserable.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC
this world is cruel
and relentless and doesn't
care whether you're emotionally
Stable or not
Humans grow into bitterness
And regret like there's is a
Predisposed mould of nostalgia
Waiting for us all at 65
I don't want that.
I want you to resent growing up and I want you to resent becoming mature.
there are only beasts in the form of emotions that wait for you there,
emotions so tampered and recycled
that they have convinced
the world that god
doesn't exist
and that
hearts made of concrete are
better than hearts
made of unforgiving love
they only want to lie to you
because they don't want you to feel
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
We are trapped by our predisposed characteristics
Seemingly inescapable,
but little did you know it is nothing more than a facade,
Like an arrow that tells you where to go,
But your instincts tell you not to follow
the choice is always yours,
now choose the right course.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
Some call it weakness.
But to me, it is all strength,
The rush motivates in me
A threatening power engulfing
Every ounce of fragility.
Like dancing on shards of broken glass,
Like prancing across hot coals and flames,
A simple game of who can outlast,
Yet dangerous, this playing with fire and pain.
The poison stings
As it hurls and flings
Its sharp jagged wings
Against my throat.
Some call it weakness.
But to me, it is pure energy,
Pouring into every pore on my body,
Filling my orifices, filling my cavities,
Exciting every nerve ending.
Lightening shoots from my eyes
As I glance indifferently at the world around,
It's always like this at first, everything disappears
I'm just waiting to be filled with the thunder and storm clouds.
The liquid burns
As it froths and churns
And settles into the cistern
That is my chest.
Some call it weakness.
But to me, it's a release,
With my judgment altered I forget not to care,
Suddenly I possess all these liberated emotions
That nobody knew were there.
Maniacal laughter as I'm screaming inside,
Filled to the brim with this fluid fervor,
Everything is honey, finally feeling something,
Participating in living life, not just an observer.
The spirit flows
And the feeling grows
And it only goes to show
That sometimes those
Who seem predisposed
To glow...
Are froze.
Dec 6, 2010
Dec 6, 2010 at 11:50 AM UTC
Molecules drift asunder, chasing shorelines
The taste for the oceanic boundless cast aside
Predisposed to march forward in time
Individual existence becomes a product of your mind
You couldn't recognize yourself when you saw me
Or that you are every word of every book on your shelf
Fixed on the fractured shells of its body
The mosaic never sees itself
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
Constantly averting controversy,
Hurting from unnerving problems.
Not the worst thing I've unearthed inside,
The birth of mind-disturbing strife attacks my life, so I
Turn the knife and end the plight, cause
That's the kind of fright that strikes the right delight I see in sight.
In darkest night, sin harkens.
Vibrant demons mark their silent dealings with violence.
Screaming stops my lungs, no breathing,
Retreating feelings try to stop the gun from ringing,
But the voice inside my head that's pleading
Remains important and so appeasing.
Like a fiend I resort to that deemed purport,
A pristine contortion of me and distortion,
A means for war, hence demons worsen.
Cursed, I've seen adverse **********
Burned, at least the urn was worth it.
Dreams are but a sea of urges,
Waves of hurt; a ****** circus.
Earth was keen to be so perfect,
But dirt, it seems, reversed its purpose,
Purged of peace by scheming serpents.
Words convene to verse excursions
Terse, obscene, and birth diversion.
Learn to breathe when yearn disperses,
Purely seek to preserve incursion.
When earnest deeds immerse subservience,
Evil creeds are sure to surface,
But thoughts serene will soothe the burdens.
Heaps of greed control these words,
Though, predisposed in certain versions.
Weeds they grow in fields of ferns, and,
No one seems to know the urgence.
Flowing streams bring treacherous currents,
Twists and turns that reap insurgence.
Since discernment keeps deterrents,
Court the beast with immense observance,
Or disease will curse life's brief occurrence.
Treat the deepest ravine of courage
With leniency so peace emerges.
Dreams are but a grieving circus,
That creep beneath your bleeding surface,
Seizing leagues of zealous verbiage,
Leaving hurt to skirt loves purpose, return concernment;
Submerge the cures for feeling worthless.
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 2:28 PM UTC
I am Monster:
rough hewn spent and jaded
a loaded revolver
the dark harbour
an improper conduct sponsor
the acerbated and saturated
sympathy and empathy terminated
smarter, harder and sharper
sense of honour departed
a cloned armoured martyr
an existence where love has faded
or simply overused and left degraded.
I am Monster:
shaped by unfortunate events
a life of sharpened steel
etched with the scent of malcontent
chaotic defiance and suicidal descent
the rise of the paragon of zeal
masked in the stench of the surreal
lurking in shadows dark
that leaves its presence felt
like a silent tsunami watermark.
That voice in my head
speaking in tongues
his tasteless insipid breath
fills my lungs
the only respite
is prescribed medication
and meditation dictates;
navigate the monster
and his origin appellation
will have to wait.
The sorrow I borrow
and the chaos I bring
like liquid will eventually
rescind like the pulse of a wasp sting
the poison will dissipate
and then evaporate
in the predisposed
wrath of tomorrow.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC
the often
predisposed
waiting times
bear more answers
than any time
spent thinking
too hard
about things,
and why
they are
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 11:44 PM UTC
Disgust wrapped in disgust wrapped in disgust
Fill me up to the brim, I'm a weak paper cup.
I crumple over my predisposed disorders,
Folding against deeply etched wrinkles.
Let my sickness drip through pinprick holes,
And I am wholly incomplete, excreting my soul.
-SLuR
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 2:33 PM UTC