"quitting" poems
If I had an inch I'd give you a mile
If you were a frown I'd give you a thousand smiles
I'd give you the world if you asked
But all I want you to have is my heart
I'll write you a song if that's what you want
Then tear it all up if you don't
I'll show you my mind and give you my heart
Just promise you won't rip it apart
I want to know how you are
I want to know your heart and soul
Your voice is a work of art
I wish you could be mine to hold
I never could move on from your eyes
They'd haunt me wherever I go
Quitting isn't always so bad
When giving up on the impossible
Honestly I'd be crazy not to love you
Although the effect seems the same either way
I have dreams of spending forever with you
I wonder if you'd want to stay?
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 2:32 PM UTC
nobody gets the cancer twice.
(a blues guitar riff)
blood in the stool
ain’t nobody’s fool,
whent to high school
did not graduate,
but know it wasn’t no thing I ate
scale greets me friendly like,
long lost buddy from yesterday morn,
‘let get right down to it,
let’s see how much less of you borne
leftover alive from the prior day’
spirit spit blood from my gums,
got me a woman, she’s way over town,
woman said I’m brushing with
too hard a brush, alright, alright,
make no fuss, she’s good to me
nobody’s fool whent to school,
though I did not graduate,
a mean riff is better than a
slow moving woman blues cry,
got the strings to do my screaming
doctor is a fan, name is Jimmy,
played music like last time round,
Jimmy-jamming, dancing in the waiting room,
“that cancer got kick, it’s gonna get ya,
think I told ya that about hunner times before”
‘nobody gets the cancer twice,’
an old wives tale for unlucky po’ somofabitches,
do you some tests, tell ya the specifics,
right now, lay, lay down them new tracks,
no quitting time less the good lord comes a-calling’
blues guitar makes a man
cry shiver scream and shake,
progressions licks and tricks,
so you can’t tell what’s making
a grownup man cry and laugh louder
bring me my medicine
bring me my guitar
all I know is how it makes me feel,
oh baby once a night it’s true,
nobody gets the cancer twice
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
You’re all alone,
Sometimes getting messages,
Sometimes not
To go on Tinder dates
And so sometimes you go.
Some go real ****
I mean it’s Tinder, dah.
But latest one goes kinda well,
And so you go with it,
You wanna settle down.
The only thing
He’s a proper *******
You read on Instagram about.
So you pretend to be a fuckgirl,
No feelings sticking out.
The exes really sense it,
You’re with another guy.
Especially, a full moon
Does something real strange,
They start to really feel that.
The exes either come in packs,
Or they don’t come at all.
They see you’re sort of happy,
So it becomes their master plan -
To ******* ruin it all.
They text, they call,
They start remembering
The nicest **** you’ve done.
They try to reach that special spot,
They’ve reached then shattered many times.
But once for all, this time for 'real'
You have decided: "I'm ******* quitting it",
"This time feelings will be nowhere near it".
So you just keep on seeing the *******
You've met on Tinder.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 7:02 AM UTC
Option quitting, done, tired.
No hopelessness only acceptance.
What is, continues and will not be stopped.
This thing is not of myself, and all of myself.
This is why it is accepted.
Fighting is futile and been exhausted.
One cannot expect that a person would be able
to tolerate such constant change of
disposition as an ebb and flow
of the most extreme
waters and of
energy.
These, are forever and they fight
against the self and become the self.
They only put forth little effort, that is all that's needed.
It is strong.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
Felt like quitting writing poems then nice lady
posted words at me that kicked me in my tail
and made me stop being sad. She messaged
me that I should use more punctuation and
look things up when I see that red line under words
I don't know how to spell good she said capitalize
my I and first word of sentence thank her for that
and makes sense. I will be good at writing before
to long she said but I can't get sad cause somebody said
things I don't like about my writing and I gotta practice hard.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
Once again I can’t sleep
Death’s scythe grasps me
And the voices, the people
Inside my head they creep
They lurk in dark corners
Of the room, and my mind
I hide under disorders
From their malevolent bind
I know I can’t hide, for they see me when I’m there
Running is pointless, they’re with me everywhere.
Quitting is sole escape, from pain and sorrow;
The life once mine, is one I daily borrow.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
I tried sleeping it off, but I often found myself stuck in a dream transitioning to a nightmare.
I tried not sleeping at all, but even the smallest occurences brought you to my eyes.
I tried writing, but even the purest words were tainted by your memory.
I tried loving again, but once a house collapses there is no room where there are no rooms.
I tried everything I could think of to cure the ailment I once thought you were brought upon to expel.
I tried everything until I finally tried everything.
I truly am sorry I couldn't fight it any longer, but the days were too long, and the thoughts were too plenty.
Please think not of it as my quitting, but as your winning.
For this day forward, my beloved, I shall feel no pain.
Goodnight to you for the last, My Last, and may your life be the sweetest dream I forever hoped for you.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
Through portico of my elegant house you stalk
With your wild furies, disturbing garlands of fruit
And the fabulous lutes and peacocks, rending the net
Of all decorum which holds the whirlwind back.
Now, rich order of walls is fallen; rooks croak
Above the appalling ruin; in bleak light
Of your stormy eye, magic takes flight
Like a daunted witch, quitting castle when real days break.
Fractured pillars frame prospects of rock;
While you stand heroic in coat and tie, I sit
Composed in Grecian tunic and psyche-knot,
Rooted to your black look, the play turned tragic:
Which such blight wrought on our bankrupt estate,
What ceremony of words can patch the havoc?
6.7k
I get laughed at,
I get ignored,
I often feel trapped,
and keep my thoughts stored.
People can be cruel and very mean,
but no matter what,
I follow my dreams
Life has waves,
I know that.
But I stand brave,
and just take the crap.
I may feel exhausted and totally creamed,
but no matter what,
I follow my dreams.
I know what I want,
and I won't stop trying.
Quitting? I can't,
for now I'm flying.
It's impossible, it seems,
but no matter what,
I follow my dreams...
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
Uhh..,I'm just gonna **** around on this one, lights, camera, action nigga..yoo,Young Ston, of course it's still gone be dat real **** Day trill spit..Yeah That unbelievable **** dawg..my ***** you should already know Dat tho dawg..
Let's go..(Uhh2)..(Yeah2)..
(Lights, Camera, Action3),we filming , we back Yeah, we back man..(Yeah2)..(Lights, Camera, Action3)..Yeah we filming,..yeah we back in business again..Yeah we back man...(Uhh2)..(Yeah2)..(Light Camera Action2)
Yeah ***** we back to filming , no acting..This is a true story yeah a documentary of a young ***** that was broke once, but used his mind to get up outta the struggle...Yeah Young Ston,..Uhh let's get it cracking..(Lights Camera Action*2)..Lights Camera Action *****
Let's get it..Let's go..Let the cameras roll & dont stop filming at all,..Lights ,Camera, Action dawg..Uhh OFTR we ready for whatever, ***** we building an empire, & a palace to relax , smoke & Trap at my ***** let's get back to business, Yeah..(Lights, camera, action..*3)..ain't no stopping, no quitting.. **** all of them doubters ***** they even more disappointed & mad now shit..they shoulda stayed on they hustle instead of waisting time being on my **** dawg.. Ayo.., I came outta no where so prepared like the attack on Pearl Harbor, blasting wisdom nigga..fuck the system ***** its very curropted..
They don't give a **** about us ****** They just want us trapped & blindfolded, but OFTR we breaking free from all of this corruption,..Uhh..
(Lights, Camera, Action*3)
Forget listening to these other ****** music they wack to me, they with the gay agenda, They hypnotizing & brainwashing the youth mane..so forget worshipping those faggets, they ******* **** & bending over just to get a check,...Only Jesus gets my praise..Aye man..
OFTR, no we ain't kissing nobody *** **** the white man, he's Satan, **** a major deal, I don't need that, Naw nigga..I'm bossing myself, forget Bossing around my ***** we all bosses man, I'm helping my ****** out that's tryna get wealthy, my ***** ain't nothing selfish about OFTR, all we ever do is help the people, **** being a celebrity ***** OFTR we all leaders my ***** let's get back to the action..Yeah..Yeah..Aye..Uhh
(Lights, Camera, Action..*3)..nigga get to filming..aye
Only Real ****** get the privilege to **** wit me, I only hang wit (The Family*2)..is my security yo my ***** if you don't like me then stay from round my way..& if you talk bad about my team then you are attempting to get hurt mane, just stay away Cuhz, you dealing wit real gangsters man, no movie, but you can call this The Rise of The ****** Disciple, Imma young ***** that made his own way Yeah..
I be thuggin everyday, I go gangsta on these beats, I be gangsta in these streets, Imma real nigga,Imma Poet, Imma legend, Yeah I'm more than a rapper ***** I'm the Streets Preacher, Yeah mane..(OK*3)..cool,..Let's do it..Uhh..
(Lights, Camera, Action3)..we filming, Yeah (lights, camera, action3)..nigga we back, Yeah ***** we back in business man, Yeah we back to filming again, Yeah we back , nigga,Yeah we back in business man..(Yeah ***** we back*3)..in business again..Aye..
lights , camera, action..yeah (Lights, Camera*2)..action..Lights , Camera, Action..
/(Lights, Camera2)..action../2
(Yeah ***** we back*3)..in business..
Young Ston OFTR
(Yeah nigga3)..(Yeah2)..Uhh
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
When Man, expell’d from Eden’s bowers,
A moment linger’d near the gate,
Each scene recall’d the vanish’d hours,
And bade him curse his future fate.
But, wandering on through distant climes,
He learnt to bear his load of grief;
Just gave a sigh to other times,
And found in busier scenes relief.
Thus, Lady! will it be with me,
And I must view thy charms no more;
For, while I linger near to thee,
I sigh for all I knew before.
In flight I shall be surely wise,
Escaping from temptation’s snare:
I cannot view my Paradise
Without the wish of dwelling there.
5.3k
I wish that I could fly
I wish that I could lie
I wish that I could cry
I wish that you would tell me why
I wish that we could dance
I wish we'd followed through the glance
I wish we would take the chance
I wish that we had romance
I wish that I could sing these words
From across the room
And as soon as you hear my voice
Your camera would focus and zoom
I also wish that you were the one
I really wish we could have fun
I really need to know if you're done
Do you know where I'm coming from?
Because this heartache is killing
And I'm not willing
To stay through a sitting
Of a show that I'll end up quitting
And one last thing
I wish I was alive
I wish we could survive
I wish you could revive
I wish I wasn't a ghost
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 3:30 AM UTC
she's still coming-of-age,
like those bad films with those bad boys
trying to tell her secrets that aren't really secrets;
to lips that only turn out tricks.
they all don't dare forget her
because, when she leaves,
she's never gone too long.
she doesn't have time for quitting--
she's a dreamer with an "ever after" in sight.
she's a winner, she's a sinner.
get too close and, you won't regret her,
until she's left you for dead,
lying half-conscious;
gasping for more in the a.m.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 5:07 PM UTC
In the vast corners of the room was a telephone that read broken. Poets are really deep because they can turn nothing into something. To me, the telephone meant that us as our generation have broken communication. We get rid of our problems over text like ending a relationship or quitting a job.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
I'm giving up the rat race
gonna quit my job
Gonna go live off the land
an organic enviro-snob
Gonna grow my own potatoes
carrots, peas and beans
Live off fruits and vegetable
eat lots of salad greens
My food will taste like proper food
not of wax or pesticides
And every day I will receive
a big thanks from my insides
I'll generate my power
form a windmill or two
then hydro bill and services
I'll say good bye to you
For work I'll tend my garden,
chop down trees for fire-wood
I'll be getting so much exercise
I'll never have felt so good
To relax I'll keep on writing
poems such as this
telling of the good life
sharing all my bliss
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 4:06 PM UTC
Lift it to your lips
& let what falls adrift in the form of ash
dissolve in the wind
as dried bone thrashing,
bashing against dust & grit.
Pull; take a long hit.
Dregs to be kept until last in the bottom
of your broken lungs,
taken as deep as breaths:
to rattle against your teeth.
"O", takes the lewd shape
of your chapped mouth as you break free
from your caged-in chest,
skeletons left sat, to wallow
as ashen bones & yellow teeth.
Hold your knuckled joints
against tenderest flesh of your upper lip
& sniff, as if a try to void
all signs of violent backslides
to clandestine nicotine meetings.
Flick blanked eyes to lit but
dying embers ground between sole & soil,
& morosely swear never
another, not one more; after
this next one, this last one, never.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 5:35 AM UTC
We use video games
To make video gains
Until the screen goes black
And reality attacks
We lose all our progress
In the deletion process
As we level up we devolve
Around the TV we revolve
The more experience we gain
The more moments we lose
Our memories forever stained
When this is what we choose
Our life inside a hard drive
Our life becomes a hard lie
We revel in being unwise
Rage quitting life
We enjoy strife
And avoid pesky light
When we live in the dark
With consumerist plights
We are all marks
Video games balance in a zone
Between game and art
The frustration starts
When art is confused for games
And games mistook for art
People take things to heart
And spitefully spew viper venom
If this is where games send them
Then why do we play?
We have no other way
To feel accomplishment
In a society that worships competition
Video games become the second edition
Of a life filled with loss
On our pixelated cross
We are murdered millions of times
Reminiscent of the millions of lies
That make us losers in the real world
Video games become our shiny pearl
The computer displays defeat
When our lives aren't complete
Because we need someone to beat
Not realizing our lives are conquered
By frivolous topics we've pondered
Our meaningless life squandered
And hope comes in the form of new releases
While inside our faulty headset is in pieces
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
Do you ever write something
So good
That you feel like you've peaked
As a writer?
And everything from then on
Is a question in your head?
Maybe you should never
Pick up a pencil again
Because your writing career
Has already been wrapped up
Tightly with a bow
Maybe you planned to be a poet
Get a proper creative writing degree
And forever make a living
Off the rhythm of words
But every idea now
Seems like a steaming pile of ****
Compared to your last masterpiece
So it just sits
Rotting in your brain
Until you stink
With a lack of genuine creativity
Maybe you've written so much
That your rhymes
Begin to sound tired
And overused
But if you don't rhyme
It sounds as if you've gotten lazy
So no matter what you put down
The effort doesn't show
Maybe writing about the ordinary
Seems boring
But writing the extraordinary
Has already been done
And every option in between
Seems like a cheap plagiarism
Maybe your standards got too high
And people expect more from you
So every ounce of energy you have
Is wasted on doubting yourself
Until you're too exhausted
To write at all
Maybe you dreamt too big
Maybe quitting while you're ahead
Sounds better than actually trying
Maybe the emptiness you feel
When you don't write
Is worth not risking failure
Maybe saying goodbye
To your dreams now
Will be easier
Than a downward spiral
From the inability
To write something better than before
Or maybe
You're just overthinking it.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 12:49 PM UTC
I've quit the killing-
another addiction
my convictions
are open bare.
forgetting what its like,
to deal with stress and the like
without nicotines merciful smile
perfect timing i would say
now that math makes up my days
and work the latter of my nights
i've no form for this urge
that pulls inside
rung out like a sponge
wanting water.
elixir of toxins
heath risks
and iron lungs
chained and yet
so free.
how long can i resist your cough?
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
This life **** man…
It’s exhausting..
I don't think anyone
has any idea
how tired I’ve been.
So let me explain...
I'm tired
..I’m tired..
******* I'm tired...
I'm ******* tired.
Tired of life.
Tired of crying.
Tired of whining.
Tired of trying.
Tired of trying to try
only to fail
to keep trying.
Tired of feeling like
the only reason I'm alive
is to try and avoid dying.
Tired of being the only one
that thinks I don't deserve
the talents that I have
that I constantly keep denying.
Tired of thinking that even if
I were to show my talents
then you people
would think I'm lying.
Tired of keeping everyone else
motivated accidentally,
when I can barely stay inspired
I'M TIRED..
…
Tired of thinking I dream too big
because everyone else
is thinking smaller.
Tired of being different
than anyone else that I'm around
and feeling I don't belong here.
Tired of all my goals
being too big for most to grasp
because my thoughts
are always broader.
Tired of my own dreams
always being out of reach
and making me feel alone and awkward.
Tired of being annoyed and peeved
and on the edge at any little thing
that makes me bothered.
Bothered at the fact
that I'm tired of being tired
and can't stop my thoughts
from wandering.
Tired of losing sleep
over trying to catch some rest
and can't seem to catch my breath
or take a break
even if it's offered.
*I'm ******* tired.*
Tired of not being on top
and feeling like quitting.
Tired of everyone always
Seein me dry my eyes.
Tired of feeling like
I'm a walking relapse.
*I'm ******* tired.*
Tired of working my *** off
non-stop,
and drowning in pity.
Tired feeling like all I do
is complain and whine.
Tired of thinking negative
when I know I don't need that.
******* tired.*
Tired of having four ******* items
in three different pawn shops
in two different cities
and one ******* thing on my mind
with zero positive feedback.
******* tired..*
Tired of people thinking
that I'm thinking
that I'm ******* special
even though I know
I'm not the only one
that's lost in doubt
or stressed the **** out
in life.
Tired of venting into
these notes in my phone
like it's my only revival.
But it seems to be the only way
that I can confess and unwind and
get this stress out my mind though..
So thank you for letting me lay down
these lyrics that I’m writing
So I can finally
put these thoughts to sleep
and actually rest them in peace
to expire
so I can stop being tired.
… Peace ✌🏽
Aug 5, 2022
Aug 5, 2022 at 4:49 AM UTC
My hands still ache –
I’m convinced it’s my atoms splitting
No one asked me how I got addicted –
They said the focus was on quitting
But I’m here in the present
So I must have a had a past
It’s too bad “Where’d you come from”
Is a question never asked.
I went through hell to get here
So it should matter where I’m from
I tell them “it should matter what I’ve seen…
It should matter what I’ve done.”
He then responded like a father and began his sentence, “Son…
It’s the shock, not the trauma, that makes the body the numb.”
He said, “The thing you search is silence.”
“And yet you let your monsters drum.”
You start to figure things out. You know --
When you’re locked up all that time.
But you learn not from what you’re taught,
Instead, you learn from what you find.
And I found mine in the written word,
I found it in a rhyme.
Numbers always helped me think, so I looked for something to count
And as I pondered that man’s words, the room’s only light went out.
So I counted the only thing that I could feel aside from air,
And his seven words made sense, as I counted the one thing
That in the dark was always there.
I’m my own favorite number, so I began counting,
“One…”
But this time I didn’t count to two.
And the monsters didn’t drum.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t rely on someone else
For the first time, in the dark, I counted on myself.
I then knew why “Where’d you come from” was never asked --
Both they and I lived in the present; we couldn’t act upon the past.
It doesn’t matter where you came from, or even why you’re here.
For your past dictates your penance, but the present is your frontier.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 1:21 PM UTC
"Move" they say
and put martingale on with a neigh
Thai pony in Chiang Mai
A green patch of grass
was what your heart desires
would yourself like a chew of truss?
In the forest with no name
on hard concrete without an aim
swimming with the tuk-tuk wave
"Where am I?"
you ask with side-patched eye
"My knees are soft like a microwaved pie"
But all you ever get
is a whip on the back
from the oddity with some leather strap
"Why are you so hesitant
while all the other stallions are competent
don't you know the creatures in the carriage are very important?"
"How important are the vultures in the world I don't know
but I know that I won't say no
if you borrow a thread of my hair for a violin bow
and play their funeral march with it to and fro"
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
Silver screen athletes
quitting soccer teams
to join homophobic friends
(redneck quasi outdoors-men)
who just want to **** animals
angst must be vented
lest it boil inside
and form a much darker concoction.
I beat the horse
'till I couldn't get it wrong
even then
the faceless desks of power
endorse eugenics,
pharmaceuticals,
and high profile lawyers
sentencing me to a life's term
teaching Sophocles
to an uninterested fifteen year old
too busy stroking a Ritalin limp ****
to star censored ladies on Vegas stripper cards.
And he said "Watch your language"
when I said "What the ****
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 3:10 PM UTC
Nights pass and I pick away at my skin.
Supine in this hallowed hollow of unwashed bedsheets and detritus
Spending my time, the most precious currency to date, trudging through virtual stacks of head shots of those I've known or half-known.
A healthy reminder that you are alone.
You are behind.
You ****** up early, kid.
You are behind in some sense, even if half the acquaintances pleasant or otherwise in your class are working jobs not much better than yours.
What I really hate is seeing joy.
Seeing these people and their ****** happiness, it's great.
Really strengthens the misanthropic beast I've been feeding all week
And it feels good, anger
Especially when the only other things I'm used to feeling are
worried or
bored
So its nice to indulge, I guess
I don't have to look for something to fuel my complaints, my bitter unwarranted jealousy –
that's an annoying component –
the awareness –
this would all be much more enjoyable if I didn't notice these things about myself
but noticing is a habit I've nourished
for years far exceeding
the time spent with a cigarette between my fingers
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
I smoke smack
Black isnt bad
But brown is better
Just let it bubble and boil
On that hot tin foil
Cause the pain is never far
When your stuck on tar
And there is no doubt
That quitting's a bout
So if you can't do that...
Just don't ever run out
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 7:29 PM UTC