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Rahul Luthra Jul 2018
I'm just a simple person, just like the rest
Well, not entirely simple, but nonetheless
It's like society and the media just say what they want
To create new forms of discriminations, that will forever haunt
As if the already existing ones weren't bad enough
They must make sure that you feel flawed,
and make your life tough
I'm just another person; I removed the word simple
People nowadays even get trashed for having a dimple
"HA, it's just a deformity on your face!"
Well, I hope you trip and fall on your own shoelace :)
I'm just another person, with a not-so-great vision
I need glasses, so that I don't squint at the television
It makes my life easier, but the media has made it tough
Their influences and the consequential societal mentality,
has made my childhood rough
Beauty is said to be in the eyes of the beholder
Yet friendship is considered beauty,
when it gives you a shoulder
To cry on, is what I meant
Not literally
I mean it could
Just didn't want to be misunderstood
Why are glasses objectified,
like in The Princess Diaries
Is it not considered dignified
to not want your eyes to get all fiery?
Trust me, I'm just another person;
who needs the help of glasses
Media's interpretation has ruined this too,
to profit their theatrical farces
This is not an appraisal piece
for the object that makes us see well
This is a shoutout to those,
who feel pressurized by this societal shell
To define beauty may be complex,
but it should not be controlled by someone's interest
You're beautiful the way you are,
to have you the world is truly blessed
spysgrandson Sep 2012
I was...

encased in a silver humming tube
shooting through blue sky and soft clouds

the attendant (my daughter’s age) stood
thin knuckles gripping the seat in front of me
whiter than clouds zipping past the window
her doe eyes transfixed on the men
praying with each shallow breath
they would ask nothing of her

some spoke English, some gibberish
waving their razors in ominous dance
slicing the air that carried their words

a pilot at their feet,
a thin red trail, a single line
the only biography he had
written on the cabin carpet
between the cockpit and
where they stood
barking at us, punctuating their orders with prayer and praise
to some God I did not know

“Al lah, A lah…”
more threatening chants
“Allah, Al lah”
more—a shrill scream interrupted this dream
as one yanked an attendant to his side—more venomous words
flying at us like poisoned arrows
(but all of us too frozen to move as these flew through pressurized air)
“please” the only word she uttered before she froze
eternally in the arms of her ****** assassin

the lump in my throat fell, I leaned forward and others did too
(I never saw, but surely they did)
trying to think through the hateful haze
to younger days
how to disarm an assailant—they had to teach me that
I had to remember that—we did that for our beret
but I couldn’t reach back
not further than that morning
when I said good bye to my son

still (“Al lah, Ah lah”—ripping anger from their guts)
I thought, I can do something

the attendant beside me, tears now flowing from lost eyes
(whose smooth blond hair now even looked like my daughter’s)
backed up, her trembling hand brushing my shoulder
(did I think, the last human touch for her, for me?)
my hands grabbed her fingers and I squeezed them gently
(just as I had my own child when I left her side at the altar—
did I say the same words, “Be happy, you deserve it...I love you”)
she looked at me, raindrop tears now instead of fears
we smiled faintly as I pulled her to my seat and rose to my feet

outside the windows
gray square stones now filled the air
blocking the morning sky
where are the clouds I thought…
but only for a second
we are…going to…

I did not feel the cabin floor as I moved towards the miscreant crew
between me and the cockpit door
I was young, light and agile again, sailing at them
their words no longer calling for their god
but now they spoke in direct command,
nothing of some promised land, but
we will…what?
Could I have laughed at the irony…
or we will what?

another now with me, no older than my son
(and looked like he as well)
headed down the aisle
towards men now racing to meet us
four against two
but somehow I knew we would never meet

the lump was in my throat again, my clenched fists relaxed
my own teary eyes turned to the windows, away from the maddening screams
and between endless glass, steel, and stone
I got a glimpse of pure blue sky
last night CNN had a special about 9/11--reminded me of this narrative written on the 5th or 6th anniversary of the event
There is a rising beneath
The shape of cresting wave peaks
Where light shines through and down
Into the rushes, cupped in the hands
Anemonae— between the bubbles and the air pockets
And pressurized space stained black and white and blue
This is the land of the deep, the deathly still
Where only the brave light of pyrosomes
Wan— cast upon the inkblots that pool in human hearts
Can fill with air the lungs that breathe
And float, and buoyed and bobbing,
Teach us to feel the warmth of sun again
So let it be known I combed the ocean floor
I paid in sleepless solo night sojourns
I sought the sacred in sands, tectonic rifts,
And elemental Pelagaic bits
Dark bits that, cupped in the hands—
Stronger now— squeezed— burst to stars
Prompt: The abyssal zone or abyssopelagic zone is a layer of the pelagic zone of the ocean. "Abyss" derives from the Greek word ἄβυσσος, meaning bottomless. At depths of 4,000 to 6,000 metres (13,000 to 20,000 ft), this zone remains in perpetual darkness.
Ash Jun 2019
They have pressurized girls into feeling beautiful always.
"Chin up, makeup on, be poised and smile your best even on the bad days."
In a world where being pretty is all there is.
Dare to be different, dare to take that risk.
Be more than merely beautiful.
Be kind, be compassionate, be helpful, and respectful.
Be sensitive, be brave, be shy, be tough.
Don't think that just being beautiful is enough.
Be a rebel, be a fighter, break all the rules, don't give a ****.
Be manly, be girly, be all you can.
Be the ******* fire, be passionate, be a dreamer.
Be weird, go crazy, choose love, be a lover.
Be the fierce hurricane if you want to.
A gentle, slow and soft drizzle works too.
Don't feel restrained or constricted ever.
Go wild, live your life like you've never.
I hope you see that there are things beyond beautiful too.
And one of them darling, is you.
Tee Hee Jan 2015
Did you just ask me out?
Tryin' to ply me with flowers!
Well nice try, Mister Aquaman,
But get some super powers.

A girl like me can't risk it,
I ain't no downtown baby!
Your devotion and a dollar, sir,
Would buy me a coffee, maybe.

You know it's true, this ****'s too fine,
For your sweaty meat hooks there;
It's something else you'll have to grip,
Don't feel the need to share.

Well there's my flight, my throne in the sky;
I look down in safety as the peasants roll by,
I know they'd like to spin a slice of my pie,
But this pie in the sky is priced too **** high!

Back on my island, beach volleyball season.
Which color bikini? Somethin' right for some breezin'
Or just playin' naked, I don't need no **** reason!
My big ******* out for some major crowd pleasin'!

Well that was sure fun, a day in the sun!
I didn't forget you, Mr. Pop Gun;
You would have loved it, this tan honey bun,
But you ain't been swimmin'; you're dry as a nun.

Before I forget you, just thought you should know:
This *****'s so fly, it's pressurized, yo
And though upon you this hot wind won't blow,
You can ask "Would she love me?" An emphatic no.
Lol, sorry guys, I am just too hot for you. I try to be up front about this sort of thing so I don't break any hearts, tee hee! Don't let your unworthiness stop you from rating my poem highly, though! I have been known to do favors for my fanfriends!*

*If they're as hot as an Austrian masseur LOL!
You cain't go back
to yesterday's dawn
by adding another verse
to an old song

When time was by my side
we galloped through the years
Now the time shows and slows
and disappears

"Where has time flown ?"
is but an insult to youthful plea
protagonist to the old
and just echoes in me

While love was delegated ,
regulated , copulated . . .
it became sedimentated ,
heated , then pressurized

It became cold marble
entombed in ways
that now are just
Catrina Sparrow Dec 2012
the clouds are breaking
and sweetly
and just enough to let ribbons of sunlight splash down on our faces

let's play today
let's fill the car with gas
and beer
and horseshoes
and disappear for a few hours on end
further south
on the lake shore
let's run rampant today
kick off our shoes and paddle over the cracking pavement barefoot
at full speed
and full of laughter
let's jump in the puddles
and build in the mud
and dance in the wild flowers like we used to
before we learned that others may be watching

let's fly a kite
unfathomably high
upwards enough to tap-dance through the rings of saturn
and scoop us up some treasures-
astrological costume jewelry just waiting to be adorned
let's sing like we aren't afraid
snap our way to center stage
and bathe in sweltering limelight for the world to hear
we'll sing away all our blues
and the rest of the world's blues too
let's jump off the high cliffs
in our steam pressed sunday best
to show at least ourselves
we're all we've got to impress
and as we're weightless and pressurized
beneath the surface of a glossy green lake
let the buttons
and cufflinks
and pearl earrings fall away
so we can see ourselves some clean way

let's forget
let us never remember being scared
and lonely
and lost
at cumbersome crossroads of the past
let's rebuild ourselves from scratch
press stardust and dirt
from the ground up
to make us new
and real
and something we can finally feel proud of
let's be magic
light in the dark
and love to the lost
we can heal hearts
we can hold hands
we can be friends
and be happy

let's play today
i wrote this on may 27, 2011.
i feel like it applies, with the new year on approach.
Mikaila Jun 2014
I never want to be second best to a man because I am not one ever again. It BOTHERS me. It keeps me up nights. It's... humiliating. It stokes a rage in me that I don't like- it's ugly, and hot, and pressurized, and it never seems to lessen, only grow. I am so good at being silent, at being nice, at being a good sport. But I've been getting worse at it for years. As I've begun to realize just how much I've lost to men because they think they're better than me, because everyone thinks they're better than me, because sometimes I even think they must be better than me. I've started to lose my grip on that quiet, humble girl who doesn't fight for what she loses. I sit up at 1:30 in the morning and sometimes I can't stop stewing over the fact that some men think they can unclothe me with their eyes and I'll secretly like it, that everyone on the ****** earth assumes that I will want a man, marry a man, that I'm LOOKING constantly for a ******* MAN. Is that what straight girls do? I didn't think so... But as I look around, really look, the world makes it seem as though every ******* thing is centered upon finding and keeping a man. And I don't want one. And I resent having to explain that day in and day out to everybody I ever meet, and even to people who have known me for years and KNOW how I feel about the subject. And no, nothing set this off- this is how it is all the time. I am just disgusted sometimes, that if I don't shout constantly (obnoxiously) people will slide me into my designated spot in the world- a white picket fence with a hubby and 2.5 kids and a small adhd medication habit- and I will be LOST to that. Obliterated by what is expected of me. I'm not doing it. I will never do it. I don't want a man. I don't want to BE a man. I don't want to marry a man. Honestly, on days when I truly allow myself to think about this subject in depth, I don't even want to LOOK at a ******* man. I don't want to know that because my hair is long and my waist happens to be 20 inches, men find me attractive. That my long eyelashes and high heels make it oh-so-hard-to-believe I'm not straight, and that much more disappointing if, in fact, they ever do believe me on the subject. I don't want to look up by accident and see a guy leering at my ***. I don't want my sarcastic remarks taken as flirting. I don't want to ever hear the phrase "You're too pretty to be a lesbian." again. I'm not gay because I'm angry at men. I'm angry at men because I'm a woman. Being gay happens to slide the binary into focus even more. Masculinity is valued. Femininity is insulting. There are classes on it. And I understand that not all men are *******, but honestly... all men take from me. They do. I'm sorry if that offends you, or if that makes it hard to view the world the way you do, but hey, it offends me. Offense is not an order of change. It's how you feel. And I am deeply offended that men win over me. I'm offended that it's a contest, and I'm offended that I am ill equipped to compete. I'm offended that women seem to see having a boyfriend as an achievement, as something you earn and flaunt and show off to other girls and boast of, when I was hardly able to hold hands with the girl I loved in high school, in fear that her family would find out. I'm offended that she couldn't be proud to be with me the way she'd be proud to bring a boy home and plunk him down at the dinner table on Thanksgiving- "Look, Ma, I got one!" I will always be offended. I don't expect anything to be done about it. But I do sit up nights and think about it. I do. It bothers me that men are worth more than I am- and for what? What are they really that I am not? The answer is very simple and utterly infuriating in its pointlessness: They are men.
This would be the rant that ended up on facebook this morning... And this would be the comment I left below it:
(I swear to god, do NOT comment on here and try to begin a debate about individuals and how men are all different people and blanket statements are unfair and- no. I happen to have a brain. I do know this. I'm talking big picture, large scale, the gender that rules the earth and has since the dawn of time, and the things I've lost because of the culture that has grown out of that. And so help me, if you try to start an argument about how I'm actually the one victimizing people, I will lose my mind. It is my right to be offended, and if you are offended by my offense, that is your right. And we both have our lovely emotional rights, and we needn't talk about it. Okay? Okay.)
Kathy Z Jun 2013
I never really believed in the concept called soulmates.
Sure, I could say that I believed in true love.
But to say both are the same,
would be a lie to my ears.

But you-
were different, somehow, entirely.
The moment I met you, there was a frantic beating to my heart,
the muscle that had stayed dormant, hibernating for years.
Sometime around then, the exact time I still don't know,
I accepted that ideal of near foolishness,
awkwardly holding it like a hot ember,
crackling with the fading glow of silver fireflies.

And it seemed like you knew too,
spluttering and grinning while food was stuck to your face,
three years ago.

...And I wonder, if we were both born sixty years from now,
across the far continent, would we know?

"Do you believe in the afterlife?" I asked you, one day-
You thought deeply for a moment; clutching twisted pieces of grass to your hands.
No, you replied finally. It seems to be something created in this life for wishful thinking.
You, were always optimistic.
Even in a less than fifty percent rating, you just waved it off with a grin.
So that answer, surprised me,
to the bowels of my heart.

If the heart was a maze, there would be tunnels in mine,
which were too dark even to see with a melted torch.
But yours-
was the exact white, to my black.
It was so light-
that a person would not see,
but shield their eyes instead,
from that burning ray.

Happiness is so frightening,
because there's always a withering darkness,
wavering nearby to take over.

"You have leukemia."
the doctor told you professionally,
the moment those words were said,
you looked gently surprised,
but almost completely detached, as if you knew it all
"Okay." You said those words with a smile
that only I knew was shaky.
"I'm scared."
"Don't leave me."
"Will I die?"
You, who'd been strong for me through everything,
broke down crying for the second time.
In that pressurized space,
it was as if
my conjecture of despair had been confirmed.
during such times, what was I to do?

And sometimes, I would wake up crying. I didn't know anymore weather I was sad or not-
it was too dim to remember.
Because I wished that dreams were reality, and this reality was a dream,
maybe that was the reason.
But it wasn't because I was sad, I think.
When you return from a happy dream to a desperate reality,
there's a chasm that you have to step across,
one that you can't cross without shedding tears.

All your fears became reality.
Your hair started falling out,
You couldn't hold back vomiting, even in front of me.
I cursed how powerless I was.

Finally, you broke down.
"I want to die." that voice that I loved was a mere whisper, quiet against the rustle of hospital bed sheets.
"You don't really want that." Foolishly, I took it as a joke.
You screamed.
"I know the truth! I'm not going to get better! I'm tired of you being so optimistic! I'm just tired of it all!
I never want to see you again!"
Those words stung me, straight into a dark circus of my mind.
And the world, which I thought was perfect as long as you were there, broke down.
"I love you!" That was the first time.
"I love you." The second.
I loved you.
I loved you.
I loved you.
And that emotion hurt, so much.

And I thought, what we needed the most, was to believe that there was hope,
somewhere in the world.
"Let's go to Australia."
And you, who held back for everything,
broke down crying, for the third and final time.

And little by little, I planned our wonderful trip to Australia.
And after everything was set..
I didn't want to cry.
I refused to look at the darkness.
And pretending that it was not there,
was enough to keep me propelling forward.

And on the train, we shared a cake,
because it was your birthday.
And we laughed for the first time in a while,
hoping that that moment could go on for eternity.
"It's like a be here with you." You murmered against my shoulder.
"It's not a dream. We'll be together forever."
Forever, however, is endless,
spiraling along with the stars of the galaxy,
and I listened to your voice as we dozed off.

"Did you know that I read a book about aborigines? It said something about how the world is perfect and doesn't lack anything.
After I read it, I thought if there was such a thing like heaven, it might already be in this world.
It's kind of hard to explain..
We don't know what heaven is because we don't have enough understanding.
I mean, people lose each other, even when alive.
It's definitely not easy to find someone after death.
but, you can always search for me.
No matter how many times you lose me.
That's why I'm doing okay."

I wonder why I hoped that that train would go on forever,
without ever reaching a destination.
"Please keep looking for me. I'll always be here."
And a cool pair of lips brushed against my forehead,
sealing that pact.

Suddenly, blood started dripping from your nose,
landing on the cold train station floor,
spots of red and ruby.
You started coughing, hacking.
I ran, as far as my legs would take me.
When I got back-
you were collapsed.
On the floor.
Shouting shapeless words, I ran to your side.
And in that moment, I remember thinking-
Why? Why us?!

And I kept telling myself, over and over again,
not to cry. I felt like if I cried, even the tiniest hope, would crumble to pieces.
And even though I knew from the beginning that there was no hope,
I could not come to grips with it.
i was in the darkness all along.
I was filled with resentment, and remorse.
I cried the whole time

You can come in now.
The voice of the nurse was monotone. How many times has she had to do this before?
When I saw you, I thought-
that person in white,
surrounded by plastic,
that person who's dying,
is that really you?
was that real?

But I understood,
that it was real.
There seemed to be a faint film over everything,
surrounded by sandwich wrap.
It was ridiclous.
At that moment, I felt hatred towards everything.
I even felt resentment towards you,
who would leave me.
"Please..please don't hate me."
You shook your head, looking too dry for tears.
"I love you." That was the third and final time.  
"Forever and always."

"Ah..where are you? I can't see.." You groped blindly with your hand, eyes half-closed.
I clutched it tightly to my side.
"I'm here, I'm here!"
"Good." Your eyes closed at that, sliding shut with a gentle click.
I screamed at the top of my lungs, but could not make a sound.
At that time, I wondered.
Who was hurting more?
The ashes scattered in the wind, flying away along the current lines.
And in that moment I realized..
I was born one week after you.
I had never lived in a world where you weren't there.

It's ten years later.
Can you still see me?
Those precious people that we talk about,
we have to take care not to lose them in this vast world of ours.
And another precious person,
who I love almost as dearly as you,
has not taken the place that you so carefully inhabited,
but has stretched out my heart,
making room
for more.

*Thank you for everything.
Inspired by the novel-Socrates in Love.
Jonny Angel Feb 2014
I was encapsulated,
orbiting endlessly
through circadian-days
blending into starless-nights

I wanted
to see the rings,
to feel the sacred-dust
on my face &
left the comforts,
only to be locked out,
forever wandering
in the asteroid belt.
verdnt Jun 2013
I wrote this a few months ago on a flight across the country. Not my best, but it healed me a bit

Thinking about you doesn't get any easier and even at 30,000 feet in the air the feeling you left with me somehow manages to suffocate me, through twenty different layers of clouds and pressurized cabins. The lady sitting next to me has a sad look in her eyes. Maybe she is suffering through some kind of heartbreak herself, just like me. She orders her coffee black. I want to reach out to her and hold her hand, but it's probably too cold, and she might **** away from my touch, the same way you did that day when you left. She smells like cheap perfume and the lies of lovers she has tried too hard to forget.
I wonder about jumping right out this plane right now. I wonder if I'd land with a *splat
and if a nice young man would arrive with a broom and pan, sweep me up, and discard me into the nearest trash can, like they do in the carnivals. Would I regret it the moment my feet left the edge of the plane? Would I get the same feeling in my stomach on the way down as I did when we were together? I think I'd only jump if I were holding your hand.
I wrote “I miss you” in a too big sharpie across the front of my notebook on Tuesday. Colored it in blue because there’s not enough green to feel much else when you're not around. Two hours to go and my entire life is falling down around me. (Leave me be leave me be leave me be.) I want to be the space that water fills between your toes and hidden among the things that keeps your rusty heart beating. But I can't be the oil that makes your wheels keep spinning. At best I'm the hot hot steam that keeps your hands from burning and bleeding. You don't want me and you never fell in love with me. You fell in love with words I learned to recite and looks I knew when to give and this carcinogenic smile.
Apologies don't sound as true as they should and I never really say what I mean. I'm just as ****** up as you. And these are words carved into walls of abandoned asylums and painted on canvases with blood in lieu of paint and this is the only way I know how to say that I know what you're going through and what you've been through and how sorry I am that I can't be everything you expected of me.
ryan pemberton Jun 2013
my head is a skin tied
wobble minded and
stench ridden.
it bleeds diarrhea.

an ache not of throbbing
but like, pressurized
wet tissue membraned
balloon stuff.

could pop
any time.
will pop.
just a matter of

seven thousand days now
I've been lugging this
bubbling froth-tank.
this neck ornament.
this ***** machine CPU.
and all it does is
complain about
Meagan Moore Jan 2014
grit sand conglomerate binds
friction holding - heel steady
navy lace snags
upon brick dipped in night
save for - street lamps poignantly
establishing form to
lips seeking
to traverse the topography of your structure
tongue craving - salivary essence about mine

my curls remember being dragged
- then –
pressed firmly against the brick
on vertical groove and red clay
your pelvic bone
ground deep – pressurized
into dust against my own

Serotonin, oxytocin fuse
Blown -  
Neural patina – thick
Pompeii to Vesuvius
Carbon filament lattice
Clings - to
ancient couple
in ashen grave

Compressed densely

Perchance time will compress this grit
creating friction under sole.
grit sand conglomerate binds
friction holding my heel steady
i snag the back of the navy lace and reinforced zipper against the brick dipped in night
save for what the street lamp would poignantly establish form to
lips seeking to traverse the topography of your structure
tongue craving your salivary essence about mine
my curls remember being dragged across, and then pressed firmly against the brick
snagging on their vertical groove and red clay
your pelvic bone ground deep - pressurized into dust against my own
seratonin and oxytocin blew as if from my palm like a handful of pixie stick dust
every acceptable neural region coated thick as if Pompeii were subdued again
the couple cuddling in the ashen grave nestles about my conscious
the delicate filaments of carbon clinging about their frame compressed densely
time perchance will compress this grit creating friction under sole
Elizz Jul 2018
The promises you made
Above my grave
Seeped through the soil
The sky flared
Outlining your heart
Your tears fell to rest
On my skeletal tongue
Satisfying my dusted trachea
Morbid Moons
Dancing throughout
The Lilac sky
You've been here too long
And I believed every promise
That you sowed in my ribcage
So take what's left
Of my pressurized heart
Take your Lilac dipped lies
Tie them off
Sell them to another lover
Before morrow ends
Take my pen
Cast it out to sea
If only so it will bleed
All of the truths
That you  never confessed to me
And I to you
Because isn't that what's best?
Sugar coated lies
With honeyed eyes
And frayed rays of sunshine
Goodbye lovely
I'll see you another morrow
Once Apollo rises
And once Ra sets
After Luna shimmers in the sky
I'll wish you away
From the base of my grave
Beth C Jan 2013
Time comes in waves,
is measured in pulses of light and dark.
Not true light, mind, but this is how I imagine it--
the tightness and then the sigh as some pressurized valve loosens.
I have never seen true light,
but the sands whisper of it longingly
as they tell their tales of something rare and precious.
I envy them their fluid existence,
swept up in a sea of that which is greater than themselves.
I am a solitary being, tough and hardened,
built to endure rather than enjoy.
This is something I wrote as a part of a group writing exercise a few months ago. We were given an animal and told to write something from its perspective. As an aside, I know nothing about mussels, so this is a pretty loose interpretation of the prompt.
Fire breathing gorgons
Consume radical liquids
Fall into poetry repetition
Also sprach Zanabanana
Centered and pressurized
Back-up pushes against

Antibiotic shortage
Carefully planned
Lower intestinal numbness
Head in the clouds
*** on the ground
I'm right
It hurts.
Elioinai Aug 2016
Love explodes like little paint tubes
pressurized inside my heart
color shoots
and streaks
across all these walls and chambers
dripping down through all my veins
a rainbow stretched from chest to feet
C S Cizek Dec 2014
Gunmetal Christmas socks pulled
past the calf like go-getter high school
girls "rocking" rainbow ******* below
the belt loops. I never went a day
without seeing short shorts and socks
replacing pant legs with a gap at the knee
to breathe. Downplay X-mas with black
jeans thinning 'bove the knees. I guess
it's payback for all the surly Santas
paid per nervous child lapdance
that got ******* out of $1.50
because I walked away.
For all the St. Nicks breathing pressurized
bourbon on little kids' wishlists.
Thread through a burgundy belt frayed
by the buckle teeth. And I'm sure this is really
burgundy, probably the only burgundy I never
questioned much, unless the manufacturer's
lying to me. Unless it's really a flexible case
for wild circuits and tiny open mics in bars
going on 'round the clock. Not just Tuesdays.
Fiber optics around my waist transmitting
telephone transmissions and cybernetic ****
monitoring my hips and what my **** does.
And my thoughts; they're ******* taking
my thoughts. Precious poetry lines lost
to the scarcity of pens in my car, when I'll
shave next, whether or not I want a burr grinder,
if I'll break glasses at work and have to drink
the glitters like iced tea from the hardwood floor.
Maybe I'll cut my gums. Maybe my tongue'll
become a chandelier butterfly and carry
me to Coudersport or Elmira or Nowhere
to watch pregnant teenagers push flat-tire
shopping carts ******-shaking in the newborn
section. Their babies are spitting up Gerber plans
Mom has never considered. Baby's just a rock rolling
down the birth canal that may someday end up
a boulder in a state park.
Sydney Victoria Mar 2013
Cities Dot The World Below Me,
Their Lights Reflecting Off Translucent Smog,
The Trees Wave To Me In My Flight,
As Mountains And Canyons Bellow From My Sound,
I Am In The Middle Of The Sky,
Just A Couple Thousand Feet Away From The Stars,
If Only These Wings Could Take Me A Bit Higher,
Then That--Would Be Flight,
Miles Pass By In Seconds Below My Lifted Body,
As My Eyes Hold Millions Of People Imbetween Weary Glances,
Pressurized Air Fills My Earthenware Like Lungs,
As My Ears Pop With Unsatisfying Pain,
Is This How Airborn Embers Feel?
And As I Fade Into The Impending Night,
My Reflection Disappears In The Atmosphere's Haze,
Graceful As The Clouds Underneath Me
This Was Just A Quick Poem I Wrote 30,000 Feet Above The Ground
Sahara Niamh Feb 2014
My life goes crust to core.


my skin my voice my hair, I.
My crust. hard and rugged, rivers flowing,
valleys blooming.
My people and love and life walk here.
And sometimes earthquakes rock me and volcanoes spew my magma.

what is in your mantle

swirling and pushing and molding my crust.
inside i am
liable to errupt.
the minerals here closer
to what i really am.

and your core?

in nature:
inhuman, immortal and intangible

in being:
I Dont Know What It Is.

The Globe,
am floating out in space.
ChawzzyScript Feb 2013
So here, I've left you this dead bird, on your bed,
Don't say I never gave you anything.

Well you haven't cleaned out my litter box in a week!
So I just used your shower.

Neuter! what does neuter mean?
Is this some new savory, tender chicken sausage perhaps?

I don't know you!, stop looking at me!, I don't like you! Get off of my couch!
What is it with you letting your friends come over to my house!

Whistle, whistle, hear boy, hear boy, c'mon boy........
I'm not a dog you know; I'm not coming!.........I'm not....
Oh did I just hear the delicate air escaping a pressurized can of tuna........coming!!!

No...not interested in the ball of yarn, because I don't feel like playing that's why....
I'm just going to stay in this window sill all day; leave me alone!

A bath!?......ha......seriously?'ve got to be kidding me,
I do a **** fine job of licking myself on the constant thank you very much!

Well it's 10:00 o'clock in the morning, what do you expect!
I'm taking my mid morning NAP! .....***** off!

Yes....I chewed, clawed, scratched, and slobbered on those loafers of yours,
I was bored.

Psssssst.....psssssst....Hey...hey buddy, .......yeah you, reading this ****** poetry,
Hey listen, you got some catnip I can score?

Melanie Mazza Jan 2013
I get very nostalgic on airplanes.

The air thick with anticipated reunions
or unknown adventures,
but then chilled and pressurized.

I want to drink the moment in-
wring it out and pour it over ice
like the free Diet Coke of the beverage service

poured into my small plastic cup
set delicately on the tray table,
awaiting my apparently minor thirst.

I bring my lips to the rim,
the same way I brought them to yours
only with a bit more forethought
and intention.

Away- I watch the rain flicker by the window
as I mirror the excitement of the child before me
preparing for Santa's visit.

But my sleigh drops me down a chimney
already warm with memory;
the very same the stork delivered me to
before I left again for the sky.

But on Earth, I let the arms of my watch hold me.
Now rejecting their embraces and spinning back the hands,
the life crammed into those seconds falls away

into the blankness outside the window.
enough gray for our motion
to hide in.

But the familiar popping in our ears
and crunch of our vacuum-sealed snacks
remind us that we may always have
another place to be.
poetrylover17 May 2013

Life is just strange. Now you may disagree,

But maybe by the end of this poem, you'll see it how i see...
Its true that you can never be right, without doing wrong.
Somehow you don't realize what you have, until its gone.
'Hello' is never very far from 'Goodbye'.
The happiest and funniest memories can make you cry.
There's a little bit of good in everything that's bad.
You cant be really happy unless you were depressed and sad.
You may have a sweet tooth but cannot live without spice.
When you're burdened or pressurized,good always comes with a surprise.
The fear could be greater than the danger itself.
A new 'day' begins, when at night the clock strikes '12'.
A few days after a new hair cut, you feel it was better before.
When your enemy has what you have, you don't like what you had anymore.
The prettiest rainbow appears after a horrible storm.
Only when you're bored, life seems real long.
Life is just strange. I'm sure you have agreed.
So the next time it offers you lemons and bitter-guards,
Just know that its preparing you for something sweet...
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2015
21 hours ago
received the message below,
from a fellow poet, here,
now somewhat, more disappeared,
resting in the shady quietude of
Elliot's servers

a mere 21 hours ago,
a thunderbolt telegram
of virtual dots and dashes,
well received

whose name
you have forgotten,
even if you knew it back when
I shan't knowingly now reveal...

perhaps if you were
one of the
multiyear variates,  
still here, still seeking
to the
equations of the
human formulation,
one of the veterans of the
early word wars,
when the line between fellow poet
and human being was full of
invitational openings,
tween those dots and dashes,
we all eagerly entered those places,
crossing over into
those human openings,
making poets into friends,
if you webbed here back then,
you may have known her too...

21 hours ago -

"there's a reason
I got to know you,
even though that might
sound silly.
In a way,
you saved me
two summers ago..."

this message,
teaches me to remember
the power of words
be careful what you
you just might save a

didn't not ken, well enough
the pressurized curve of her bend,
though read all her private journals,
her thesis academic,
her private ascetic analysis
and poems that milked & masked
the angst of a life
really real hard

tried anyway,
two years of messages

could not feign
the pain
unintentionally recovered
while looking for
clues to myself,
this purported savior

all I recall is
a woman near her ends
woman near no means
but knowing the meaning of
the power drink meaning of
"just going on"
that was dug deep in between,
and how we traded poems
for each other,
and I called her,


but from now on and within,
when I see a message
time stamped
21 hours ago
I'll be
better ready
for the
explosions of myself
21 hours ago
"However long I don't talk - for whatever stupid reason I never have the courage to talk to others when I am lost in my life-- I still think of you and I hope you know that. I still think there's a reason I got to know you, even though that might sound silly. In a way you saved me two summers ago..."
Zaynub Jan 2015
in school
we learned about hydraulic fracturing
when they would send pressurized chemicals into the earth
until the earth began to “frack”

well that’s what i felt like
when your words rained down upon me so hard
my brain began to crack
Nicole Hammond Dec 2015
i'm taking comfort in jet lag
i'm thinking of the catharsis in a glance
i'm measuring stages of grief
in atmospheres traversed
i'm changing my name to stale blood
i'm hurdling 27,006 feet above where you are
i'm wondering if emotions can become
i'm wondering if anyone knows
i'm wondering how everyone here can
just not know
how they can not break down entirely
when they hear someone running to
catch a flight
i'm choking on pressurized air
and promises
death decided i shouldn't keep
i'm breaking sound barriers
trying to find
the last octave you could speak
i'm crying at the sight of sewing needles
i'm sleeping in your bed
i'm dreaming of breaking the teeth
that took your mouth for granted
i'm pressing flowers from your funeral
in a book that promised eternal life
i'm cursing your death certificate
i'm still waiting for a curtain call
i never wanted to write this poem, especially for you.
Theresa Marie Jul 2016
Made love to the puddles
Formed by imaginary friends
Imaginary rain clouded minds
Imaginary people
Imaginary boundaries
Keeping ones heart away
Bursting at the seams

Water pours into a glass
A pessimistic stream
Filled to the brim
But claims a half empty life
Uncovering skeletons
Digging up a half buried knife

A body a waterfall
Pressurized, cascading
A river of consciousness
Floodgates, brainwaves
High tide, kisses the shore
Like clasping clammy hands
Nervous souls
Too afraid to try
Too afraid to dive
Not afraid to die
Sienna Luna Jan 2017
Life is so hard sometimes.

It pulls, taking the table cloth
along with it.
It strengthens, taking the tide
along with it.
It chides
talking the moon
out of its misery
wishing it were daybreak
but when day arrives,
the moon wishes it were night.
Round and round we go
on this roller coaster called life.
Hanging on is so difficult
with responsibilities tugging
at the mainframe
about to crumble apart like
break pads crumbling under
the weight of it all.
A pressurized catapult or
catalog explaining the width
it takes to squeeze through
the trash chute without
crushing anything of importance.
Holding our breath
as the bumps become clear
afraid of the coaster
slipping off the tracks
and plummeting into
the frigid unknown.
Luck is only heresy
in this world of uncertainty.
But cars can be fixed,
jobs can be taken,
and bodies can be satisfied
in ways unheard of in reality.

Life is so hard sometimes.

But looking at it with new eyes,
with a combative, stubborn grip
on the cold steel handle,
a roller coaster can be both exhausting and exhilarating

if you know what to look for.
Paul Rousseau Jul 2012
The bags beneath my eyes have been efficiently packed
And are stored in a pressurized cabin
“The weather is fair”
Said the captain of the craft
“We’ll be leaving according to schedule”
2:30 AM and my mind will take off
a dependence I consider immeasurable
Julia Rose Aug 2013
I spent too long drowning
under the weight of your devotion
breathing in your pressurized air
and counting the days
on the underside of my arm.
For you,
I tweaked myself, freaked myself
out by my willingness to fold.
And after everything,
it was you who walked away.
Lo Infusino Oct 2012
As the vivid heat of Illinois
the profuse breathing forest
and crowded meadows,

smug evenings
insect symphonies.

As pressurized homes
oblivious life
cushioned in air artificially chilled,

one thousand Julys
forever in transit
traverse golden cloud ceilings
above so many absent walls

until savage nights
visit for the sake of vacant freeways,
and neon blooms
shadows, brake lights, and flickering darkness
Dawn King Dec 2015
it’s the sensations
that are most satisfying
an almost painful pressurized dance
between throat and chest
the way the process is felt
in the finite muscles and glands
that take their own actions
about the mouth and
interplay between the desmosome & basal
layers just beneath the eyes
yet the single most intriguing
part of the process
is the temperature of the fluid
and how it caresses each topical segment
of derma on it’s own path to the earth
Sometimes Starr Sep 2017
I need to calm. DOWN

Twitching in a pressurized position, I
make jerks and curses towards the sky
My future home. Both tantalizes, and does not tantalize
Because I do it to myself!
And then, because it's they who pressurized.

So I turn on "Just" by Radiohead, a flickered frame
Picked of some random day. And I think,
There must be
Some deeper force at play.

I walk around the house with a rabid mouth!
I talk to myself and let the frothing bubbles boil over
Into insane rambling and I try to pick little poems out.

But just listen to me now...

When the hissing and spitting of my organs is over
I have natural smooth
When my skin catches wind,
And momentum can soothe.

But I feel as asphyxiated by attacks of smoke
Smacked by each wave, unable to cope
See my future home approach in flights
And I welcome home the dreams
That stress me out
Some nights.
Ellyn k Thaiden Sep 2013
It's been a long day
I whisper and sigh
Every moment full of anxiety
Full of me wanting to cry

I tell people I'm fine
I hand them my lies
Nearly perfected the art
Of my disguise

I'm over wheeled
By normal teen events
But some not so normal
Some are more permanent

Like the scars on the skin
My emotional trauma within
The past we don't talk about
A taboo of sins

It's been canned and pressurized
Packed tightly inside
All the secrets I hold
All the secrets I hide

There is a storm raging
All around my mind
The calm is on the outside
The storm harder to find

— The End —