"pressuring" poems
Sometimes I wonder
About all these screens
Reality captured and controlled
Designed and refined
Groomed to an idealistic state of too good to be true
Making it a bit too easy to day dream
Sometimes I wonder
About all those moments
Those times so clearly photographed
With a piercing sting behind the camera
Fantasy proposing the changes that can't be made
For those moments that you can't forget
Sometimes I wonder
About all I haven't seen
Billions upon billions of molecular possibilities
Shown through animals, forests, seas, circumstances
All going on beyond the length of my perceptions
Giving me a yearning for more than before
But...
Sometimes I know
Despite all the anxieties of self perception
The hindsight consumption pressuring pointlessly
And the necessary humility in a world that is small itself
That there's a lot I can do to find contentment in life
And plenty of time to do it
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
An imaginary but desirable sense of control
Created by the bully in my head
Screaming at me, pressuring me, hurting me
Encapsulating my mind as a second meninges.
Impossible to separate my true thoughts
From what it tells me,
My conscious mind is tied to a cinder block
And left to drown in its enticingly rough waves.
My physical being constantly changing with the tide
Unpredictable but regular,
Shallow but deep.
****** into its infinite black hole,
I am left feeling disgusted and ashamed
Of all that is me.
No longer am I able to decide the way in which
My needs are met-if in fact they are met.
As though I have DID, I am constantly bouncing
From alter to alter
Body to body.
Blinded from looking directly into its sun,
I am warmed and comforted by its rays
While reassured that my doubts are unwarranted.
If ever defied, it scolds and whips me,
Like a master to his slave,
A father to his child.
The welts and cuts, gratefully rip into my
Skin, muscle and bone –
Punishment for my wrongdoings and self.
I, immediately silenced
Remove myself from society,
Restricting contact, nourishment and emotions
To nil.
It is not until someone notices
The beginnings of an eternal invisibility,
That I am released and
Able to breathe in
The salty air of life.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 9:29 PM UTC
Life is different from the visions of stories.
Built on over coming obstacles, finding love, and glory.
There is a difference between life and death, one you sleep, one you wake, and most take for granted each breath.
Pure evil lives among us, ****** women, selling drugs to our children.
Sending them to school within that community occupied by villains.
There are among them, pressuring them, and they will break, with no back bone these days, soon the youth will be fake.
What is the point? God whom built this place flourished with beauty and green, and we slowly yet rapidly with a pace ruining it with cement, bricks, and machines.
Why does one man takes a stand? There is one man, and he is kind, but he has no support.No one in behind.Can you hear the cries?? War rages on in a world who claims to be civilized.
War is primitive, so we have no need to bring bloodshed.Tell me another lie, as I rest in my bed, looking in sky, counting stars with one eye, is the only joy I can get, when all around me, those I've known too the ones I have gotten know continue to die. Truly a world with great potential, but those masked faces, killin the idea of the though of life, isn't coincidental.With words corrupted to project the opposite, The ungrateful, the not nice.
The soon to be forgotten.
we looking at the beginning of a fallen to be torn apart by greed, selfishness, planting an abundance, unfruitfully amount of seeds.Harmful deeds, and decision made for those who have no voice, what choice do we have, if our right was never made, and we fight for freedom in which we never had, in the times of dark or light.
By: Emmanuel jv Hernamdez
1-2-12
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
Whiteness a ghost
Ghosts with dissociative disorders
Can’t touch each other
Justify genocide
Wreck less organized
Silence
In between nuclear explosions
But I’m bumping Oliver lake louder
Yelling whiteness is a dissociative disorder
That was forced to happen
Still pressuring
Forcing
I thought we danced away
These dissociative ghosts already
Telling us to turn it down
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 9:20 PM UTC
We were born into a world of shallow minds and deep disturbances of young millennials mimicking mindless mimes because we were told to stay in line but be yourself but follow me but think "originality."
A generation full of copycatting individuals with monotone mindsets mulling over social ladders and trends dictated by invisible monarchs of industry inviting and spoon feeding insecurities masked as improvements.
A generation spending more time pretending not to care than on passions stifled by our peer pressuring playmates who are all prescribed Vyvanse, Adderall, Ritalin for their incurable imaginations deemed "learning disabilities."
A generation of temporary friendships because no one can connect with each other but we can connect to the internet and chat with strangers and share thoughts, photos, and secrets to a virtual audience that loses interest in an entanglement of wires forming a noose around our sincerity.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
I'm weathered and weary from shapes of greed
Their colors mislead me
I am naive
But I know eyes that taste
Without seeing
Now you know me, don't you?
But you are just waiting.
I am tired of this misinterpreted concept
I am tired of our tangled body's, this act between two that is only about you.
I'm tired of not being able to dance freely in fear of needy hands and sharp teeth
Pressuring possessiveness
Climb into your soul and off of my body
See that I am a creature of uninterrupted freedom
I will not answer to your hollow eyes
Your misconstrued ideas of love constructed by a society that forgot to feel
That forgot to see
That forgot that you are you and I am me
I will not answer to your hollow eyes
You are not welcome here.
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 7:45 PM UTC
An everyday masquerade
Where each person dons
A different façade,
Yet are all the same
Because it's all
A feigned version
Of the real,
True being inside.
A sea of faces,
Pressuring you,
To be alike;
You have to be
One of a kind,
Yet those who are
Are outcasted in
Everyday life.
So all wear the
Same mask,
Masking the flaws,
The rawness of it all;
Because of the
Social biases.
A place where
No one can be their
Honest self is
"Society".
A society,
Which in definition
Is a community
Of peoples,
Is no longer so.
There are only
One type of person,
Which all souls
Take host in.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
Forgiveness, to forgive (for me)
Is essentially subtle- to a fault,
Beautifully it's practiced,
Yet inherently mistaught:
To ask of anything more
From the person you've done wrong
Is blatantly selfish, at its core
Pressuring them along.
Unless exactly, specific and honestly, you reiterate once more.
All the reasons which you petition forgiveness
And what you're sorry for:
To draw conclusions, assumptions and things, without the facts in place-
Was to right out start off in
an Unreasonable head space.
Furthermore, my tone of voice
And the disrespect it achieved
Is not what you- Alena, not at all
From me; should've ever recieved.
Lastly, explicitly I have to say;
I'm sorry for my aggressive words.
And the fact I reacted that way is
absurd
A retort- as a minuet or two, voice note
Deserved the block- and what you wrote.
*I'm sorry about this- discrepancy
I actually enjoyed you working with me.
I'll leave this here for you to find, &
Hope these words were worth your time.
When you read, know these are sincere; my apologies- true.
Not just mere pretty, fluffy words for you.*
Poetry's something I, almost know, you appreciate~ so heres an apologistic-free vers hyphenate.
Nov 21, 2023
Nov 21, 2023 at 5:56 AM UTC
I can see it in the way you look at me
And sense it in the way
You try to comfort me
The longing that you hold
And words left untold
I know your body from
Being compelled, caught up in a moment
I know your lips from
Alcohol taking over the the blood in our veins
And still I see the negative, caught up with strains
Your feelings pressuring me
Questioning my own idea
Of why I find warmth in solitude
And struggle accepting the idea of something new
If it was with anyone, it would be you
I let you give it all up
Leaving it to die-
Leaving you thinking it was all you
With thoughts of you clouding my dreams
You were always unsure where you stood
When the truth is you were always too good
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC
How can I fall out of favor
With your
Soulful need
For me
And my own selfish need for you
I mean
Tomorrow night
I may be with something more productive
(Like my thoughts and dreams)
But there is a destructive
Force inside of these
Pressuring this unforgivable union
Of sorts
I mean
Monogamy is ********
Right up there with altruism
Right?
But then there is you and I.
Is it just the two of us,
That can defy the laws of
Rational reason, logic aside?
yes, I feel as though it must…be
so here is my ode
to a bottle of ’03 Bordeaux.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 6:18 PM UTC
o darling oh wohw ohhh dar-ling oh wohw wohw wohw dahrrr-leeeing some gunman walked into the mall
who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for I said Sarah Palin with my cross-hair target I shot Gabby Giffords who saw her fall? I said gun laws people with my little eye I saw her fall who caught her blood? I said Daniel Hernandez who placed pressure to her wound with my finger caught her blood who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll make the shroud? I said Cochise County ranchers pressuring for tougher Mexican border laws I'll make the shroud with my thread and needle who'll interpret what she stood for? I said Tea Party constituents with my pick and shovel I’ll dig her grave who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll be the minister? I said Washington lobbyists with my little book I’ll be the minister who'll be the clerk? I said the media if it's not in the dark I'll be the clerk who'll carry the link I said Twitter I'll fetch it in a minute I'll carry the link who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll be chief mourner? I said American people I mourn for my love I’ll be chief mourner who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll carry the consequence? I said destitute lost their homes to Wall Street banks if it's not through the night I'll carry the moment who'll bear the sadness? We said the world both man and woman We'll bear sadness who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll sing a psalm? I said the poet as she sat on a bush I'll sing a psalm who'll toll the bell? I said factory worker because I can pull I'll toll the bell for all people of the land fell a-sighing a-sobbing when they heard the bell toll for poor Gabby Giffords. who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for some gunman walked into the mall 9 mm Glock in his hand shot a bullet through her head 13 wounded 6 dead including little 9 year old girl Christina-Taylor Green who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for
marching bands make me cry i don’t know why they’re so dazzling beautiful fun playing their instruments marching in uniformed unison they melt my heart eyes wet with sadness joy who shot Gabby Giffords? some gunman walked into the mall
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 2:19 AM UTC
Lips as red as rose, skin as white as snow, body as still as stone. Yet this was not the fairy tales that I had been raised to believe in. This had no happily ever after.
The heavy weight of the melancholy anguish fell awkwardly on my shoulders. I was barely old enough to even understand what sorrow was, let alone what to do when every person I had ever admired was now helplessly crumbled in the solid white room. Unthankful walls stared bleakly down at us, as they were numb to these feelings by now. It was a hospital, after all. They had seen their fair share of the dead.
Something strong, pressuring, and overwhelming continued to force itself into my chest, burrowing itself deeper and deeper. Nothing had ever felt like that, as if it was eating me until I was nothing myself. When I glanced around to my family, I could see that it had them too. Consuming them in this helpless, dark pressure, the kind you only pretend to escape. Drying them of the good memories and replacing them with pain and despair. Squeezing them until tears fell from their eyes so much I had almost forgotten what they looked like without them.
A voice beckoned me to the side of the bed. The smile that had filled my childhood was replaced with broken eyes and a grin that I knew was a lie. I wanted nothing more but to crawl into her arms and cry until everything stopped hurting so much, but I was too afraid. For in my mother’s eyes I saw she wanted more than anything to do the same.
Dad’s arm came around me and held me tight, he needed it as well. It was terrifying, to be able to compare my parents to how I looked after a nightmare. They were kids again, frightened, and desperate, and alone. All they wanted was a hug and smile and someone to tell them it would be okay, that the terror was nothing but a dream. Sadly, we would never wake up this time.
The nurse came around with a camera, and I knew then that this was the last time we would see him. I glanced down at the perfect little face I realized I would miss for the rest of my life. With the pressure eating my heart, I said inside goodbye to the little boy I had dreamed to know. His body, small and teaming with untapped potential and dead life, was an image I would never be able to forget. Yet he never even got the chance to see his big sister’s face. Maybe it was better that way, never seeing what he lost as we saw him. Things were going to be different now, without him. Things would never be the same. A nurse started to count.
And in a broken photograph, I smiled.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
i can't stand all the lying society does
and all the while they do it just because
the words they say just to fit in
little do they know my patience is wearing thin
i think that they're all egotistical,
their stupidity has become a ritual
maybe if they opened their eyes
they to would be surprised
they got so caught up in life
yet their actions were in strife
balling my fist as they attack my flaws
that's fine by me because i can fight my own brawls
because i realize they have people pressuring them
and all the while just to fit in.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
There once was a great beast, now but a myth, who sat atop Mr. Atlas’s throne. So the story goes, the beast had become so heavy, and such a burden on Mr. Atlas, that he enlisted some folks to tame it. ****** that beast could fight back. He fought for ages, centuries, eons, a near-bloody-eternity to stay on top of his throne. He would not be defeated, until the world stopped turning up on old Mr. Atlas’s back. After fighting back on and on, pressuring the tamers for years on end, the gargantuan beast was slowly getting tired. Energy seeped out of his body. But he kept fighting. He kept fighting until he didn’t see the point anymore, and he fought some more.
To this very moment, the beast is still fighting up there on old Mr. Atlas’s back.
The beast, our voice, our final bastion of worldly balance, should very well be tamed by now. The idea of submitting to our tamers is a very unpopular one, though popular at the same time among some. But they are the tamers, and we are the beasts, fighting back to little avail but not giving up on the mission, though thoroughly futile.
Folks, it’s time for us to submit to those who are taming us. As awful, as cowardly, as utterly asinine as this sounds to most of you, we just cannot go on if we continue to fight back.
Those in charge have ****** it up so thoroughly that we must live life through simplistic principles. We can’t afford to **** around with “the man” anymore. It simply will not work. We have to find our happiness. We have to enjoy the little things, little victories, little comforts, little joys, little hardships, and big souls with big aspirations on the little scale that we are left with. As we enjoy these things, we in turn do not submit to those above us. In fact, those above us hate that we are content. Our contentment is their pain, and if they feel pain, then they stop taming us and they themselves become the ones who are tamed, subdued by their own (now) unsuccessful attempts to tame us.
So we have to find comfort in the uncomfortable, and joy in the hardships of life, and accept that we cannot change a thing unless we are content with the conditions that these folks have presented us with.
Comfort and contentment is everything, and it is what tames the tamers of the beast.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC
perhaps it was the water
the touch of pressuring drops
and unspoken words
the larynx blocked
perhaps by water
and hands pressing skin
perhaps moist hands
and air
triggered her tears
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
You and your Greek hair
slanting on the table and
smiling:
Trolius and Cressida in the morning.
Could you imagine? With coffee mugs
and grape leaves in their hair? Cressida
with a loaf of bread, standing over an
aroused Troilus, "Stop pressuring me,
Sweet Honey-Greek!" While the crowd
laughed and clapped,
this is all a misunderstanding.
Stop pressuring me, sweet Honey-Greek.
Christmas tree lights weaved in and out of your eyes
and I was reminded that I once
gave up on you.
Your mind turned up as sprigs throughout the summer.
Sprigs of Honey-Greek and sprigs of you:
on land, under my window,
behind the basketball court.
And I thought I chopped them all up.
Cressida built a blanket fort
and Trolius thought it was a
reason to sprout.
There were sprigs of Honey-Greek underwater;
and then I gave up. How can you think with all that stuff on top of you?
You can’t even breathe. You’re not even breathing.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
As true as the sky is blue,
A best friend is always there for you.
From dreaming of dragons in a dizzy daze,
To standing together in scary school hallways.
Jessica the daring, Stephanie the brain,
They are two links in a chain.
Jess is ready to jump at the drop of a hat,
While Stephanie would prefer to pet a cat.
Steph's test is an ace,
While Jess's is a slight disgrace.
They say opposites attract,
The two were made for each other, and that's a fact.
However, a problem has breached this affinity,
There's a new boy in Jess's vicinity.
She has fallen head over heels,
For his bad boy disposition and decked out wheels.
Steph is not too fond of this new addition,
She's finding loneliness is her new condition.
Jess is too busy and cancels plans,
Steph worries and begins to wring her hands.
An attempt to capture Jess's attention,
Jess has yet to mention,
Steph has boldly dyed her hair,
But Jess just doesn't care.
Lips pressed against Blaine's,
Jess's head is in the rain.
Her judgement has gone cloudy,
With Blaine, she's beginning to act rowdy.
Every day they go farther and farther,
Blaine is pressuring her even harder.
Blaine has gotten into her head,
And hungrily leads her to his bed.
Now Steph stands alone in the halls,
And Jess stopped answering her calls.
It's been months now since they've conversed,
Steph's heart is about to burst.
Bad boy Blaine is not so great,
For Jess's sensative mental state.
They have begun to yell and fight,
Steph notices and thinks it's not quite right.
Steph tries to help; Jess tells her to stay out of it,
But there are signs that she's been hit.
She comes to school with bruises black and blue,
Steph knows this is nothing new.
Everything's beginning to fall apart,
Blaine has shattered her fragile heart.
In tears, Jess has a confession,
Her life is now ruled by guilt and depression.
After weeks of sobbing and crying,
Jess decides she should be trying.
She hesitantly picks up the phone,
And calls Steph at home.
Jess tells Steph her regrets about Blaine,
About her letting him inside her brain.
She gave him everything,
He toyed with her heart like a cat with string.
Jess and Steph now see eye to eye,
Now that Jess and Blaine have said goodbye.
They are once again two links in a chain,
They help each other through the pain.
After all, what are friends for,
Than to be there when knocking on each other's door?
A best friend is always there for you,
That's as true as the sky is blue.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
I want you to scar my back
leave wounds deeper than
the ones they gave me back
In high school
Bite me in places where
she could only kiss me
because she couldn’t
handle what was underneath
I want to feel the crushing
weight of you pressuring my skin
to touch my bones
every place where you and I meet
There’s a moon begging the sun
For a solar eclipse
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 12:03 PM UTC
The throbbing, consuming see
Filling and emptying, bear.
Rushing-- riptide -- ravaging, flea!
It does not dry,
It does not sate,
It serves not to berate
The pushing, pressuring sea
Cleaning and dirtying, bare.
Calming. Candor. Caressing, Be.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
I was…
Alone.
Alone in a large, large place.
Larger than I ever could’ve imagined.
Larger than, even maybe, outer space.
Looking around at all the terrible sight,
The looming darkness that stole my
Breath away…
In the midst of night.
My mind was in a haze,
And myself in a daze.
All these eyes staring at me,
Pressuring me,
Their looks...
Soft, hard, objectifying.
Melancholy, wise, forceful.
Forceful, forceful, forceful.
All these eyes, straining their visions
Just to look at me
Just to stare
Pressure.
There is no way to go.
Pressure.
No way to get away.
Pressure.
From the pressure of a million eyes.
Pressure.
Alone, in this world,
I was.
Alone, in this world,
I am.
For days and days,
These straining eyes
Stared at me.
For years and years,
These straining eyes
Pressured me.
Those eyes…
Awaited my every move.
Like I was a chess piece
In their game.
Throwing me around
Without a second thought.
Throwing me around
Without a second thought.
It felt like a waterfall.
Pouring down on me,
Pressure…
Pouring down on me.
I drown.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
Wide-eyed, piercing contemplation…newborn.
Meeting my gaze, reading my thoughts…you want nothing.
Depth
Focused, deliberate…toddler.
Intently pressuring us to submit…you want what you want!
Concentrated
Fun-loving, cute…8-year old.
Extrovert, star…you know what you want!
Gregarious
Willful, unyielding…pre-teen.
Confusion, puberty…you do what you want!
Inflexible
Solo, driving…teen-ager.
Wandering, searching…you’re not sure what you want.
Rootless
Gone, missing…young adult.
Unknown, mystery…I don’t know what you want.
Mourning
Renewed, home…NOW.
Unlimited, enthusiastic…we’re creating what we want.
Love
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
Muddy Muddy Monday
Cold air
Cold glare
Lurking on a window that shields our felt insecurity
Summertime we all come to
We all come together then unravel apart
I am a man for a short bit then I quit
And retire
Retire to regimented round the clock lonesome longing of money and a schedule, scheduled schooling of sorrow
Growing up I,
I'm utterly useless
I’m painfully plain
This become the real repetition
The depiction and depression in the U.S. Of A
It's simple
And simply it's dull and sad it's melancholy at its finest
And this carnivorous cancer grows calculatedly sneaking steadily and processing with prowess
And Lexus lingers after Lexus near our neighborhood of suburban sadness,
Sorrowful slumps stuck in sand
Succumbing to ******* the life out of myself muddling through murky days
And this depressive digression into normal no-thing-ness that does not know nothing
But private school privilege pressuring me till I press my heart and it pops
Mundane money Monday murdering my mind mother and might
Monday each day
Becoming Monday
My mothering Monday
My absent adolescence
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
I sink
deeper and slower
into emerald
and turquoise so dark
it's almost black
the water claiming me
finally, as it should
pressuring my lungs to collapse
under the lightest weight
engulfed in deep blue
love
Feb 12, 2020
Feb 12, 2020 at 11:48 AM UTC
Take off your robe and wig
And quit being a Judge
The person you are judging
Is at the peak of his battles
His guns are running out of bullets
He's losing it already
Your words and actions are missiles
You could be on his team,
Instead of aiming at him
Stop pressuring him
You are taking camouflage off his face
You have no idea what he's going through
The least you could do is let him be.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 8:38 AM UTC
"Come on page, where do the words fit?"
In the puzzle that is my brain, i ask as at
The table i sit
My hairs have split, like cheap ****** Remy
But then again maybe my idea bulb isn't lit.
"Come along pen, why can't you write?"
We've been up with this piece since last night
I ask myself again, this is really starting to frighten me, i know i might be pressuring myself too much,
But that's where the best moments come from, in the clutch.
"Come on heart, where's your spark? You usually flutter in the act of creating art!"
But alas no wings flapping, and no adrenaline rushing like a spotted chameleon
Just stone faced cynicism like a gremlin
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC