Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Shadow Dragon Aug 2018
You left me in the dark
just for me to know
I was in the shadow too.

After all I'm not surprised
I recognize
you must carry on.

Now that the thunder starts
I might let you know
that you could have done better.

I said things I shouldn't
and didn't say other things
that I should have.

I don't know if I feel relieved
or sad in a way that makes me
go to the heartbreak hotel.
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
It is out of the heart’s cavernous longing and furious search
for love, significance, acceptance, approval, identity, security,
freedom, belonging, innocence, intimacy and transcendence—
out of its primordial memory of what was lost to us in the Garden—
that we begin to ***** idols for ourselves.

Unconsciously we hope they might restore to us a taste of paradise,
taking away our fear and shame and isolation.
We yearn to go back but, alas, we cannot get in from there.
We ache to connect to beauty, to be desired by it as much as we desire it,
and Jesus is the only door by which we may enter.
He is the Beauty, and all the rest are simply there like pealing bells
to arouse our hearts to Him and tell us that He is coming for us.

Still, as if we haven’t quite yet heard and believed the message, we keep
aimlessly trying to forge a false righteousness through our false gods.
When they are lost or the dreams of them unrealized we are devastated,
for the shadows, echoes and reflections we had supposed would finally
make us feel good about ourselves have been exposed as frauds,
and once again we are left to feel naked but without fig leaves to cover us.

It is at these precise moments, when the bottom of our false hope falls out,
that we are best prepared to encounter Christ in His intimate
fullness and most apt to recognize at last that He alone is
everything we have been so desperately wanting.
It is our boiling point, where the unbearable weight
of failed expectation so crashes in on us that we are finally
begging God to lift our idols off of us and deliver us from them,
pleading with Him to come and capture us,
crying out to Him to possess us fully.
~~~
abecedarian Jan 2015
Masters of the Universe,
tender me thy resignation,
if but for
a day,
a millennia,
no matter how measured,
any being,
you, purported supreme
or otherwise,
are tired in ways
hard to comprehend

tender me
thy responsibilities and dilemmas,
have studied your resignations,
solutions that provide no resolution...


I can do better.

Why?

not obligated by parenthood,
rules of randomness superimposed,
all I got is human kindness
the eyesight that
colors kindness,
tolerates no injustice,
milky white light,
no longer recognize

"there for the grace of God
go you and I"

have no name,
but if you need one for me,
call me
<human>
Val Graz Jul 2018
Mommy I'm sorry I manipulate you for,
The alcohol I feel I love more,
And Daddy I'm sorry I pretend I'm naive,
About all of my bad deeds,
I tried so hard to stay dry,
But the rain it pours inside,
I'm drowning in my own self,
I'm suffocating with my mental health,
And I try, I try so hard,
To be who you care for,
The girl who laughs just cause she can,
Who asks for hugs before bed,
But I'm not her anymore,
And I'll never be moving forward,
But really I'm just someone,
Who feels way too much at once,
I cry at night when I'm all alone,
Dancing with my demons on my own,

Please don't hate me, I couldn't survive,
I do that enough for myself, and I can no longer hide,
That I don't have a problem with substances,
That I can recognize when I've had enough of them,

I'm so tired of pretending it's under control,
This feeling of alcohol that sings in my soul,
The cough syrup that makes my shaky thoughts,
Become shaky feet, legs, and hands,
I'd rather feel physically ill,
Than continue to be mentally unwell,
So I will continue to veer off the tracks,
And spin out of control, it's just a fact,
I have no sense of when to stop,
Please don't make me stop,
It's so hard to be in my own head,
Every day it's like a death,
I die a bit, a piece of me fades away,
And I'm sorry to inform you, to say,
I'm not okay, I'm just not alright,
With myself I will continue to fight,

Please don't hate me, I couldn't survive,
I do that enough for myself, and I can no longer hide,
That I don't have a problem with substances,
That I can recognize when I've had enough of them.
Nobody Oct 2017
That's right baby, come on over here.
Close enough so I can smell you,
long for me, touch my hair.
Put your hands on me,
I got you right where I want you.
Always grossly staring at me,
with those googly eyes.
I ******* despise
your sick pervy eyes.
Oh don’t act so surprised,
What you don’t recognize me
with my disguise?
It’s too late for you anyways.
You didn't even notice
I slashed open your vein.
Now It’s your turn to be tortured for days.
I’m gonna ******* open
with your own blade.
Flay you alive, now I get to play.
Slowly rip out your intestines to burn,
make you shriek as I pick open your brain.
  Nail you through your **** to the wall,
as you whimper ‘please **** me’.
Staple your lips closed
to quiet your screams.
Cut at your heart, pick out your eyes.
Laugh as you suffer,
while you try and weep.
Now you're wishing to god,
you never laid your ******* eyes on me.
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
It is out of the heart’s cavernous longing and furious search
for love, significance, acceptance, approval, identity, security,
freedom, belonging, innocence, intimacy and transcendence—
out of its primordial memory of what was lost to us in the Garden—
that we begin to ***** idols for ourselves.

Unconsciously we hope they might restore to us a taste of paradise,
taking away our fear and shame and isolation.
We yearn to go back but, alas, we cannot get in from there.
We ache to connect to beauty, to be desired by it as much as we desire it,
and Jesus is the only door by which we may enter.
He is the Beauty, and all the rest are simply there like pealing bells
to arouse our hearts to Him and tell us that He is coming for us.

Still, as if we haven’t quite yet heard and believed the message, we keep
aimlessly trying to forge a false righteousness through our false gods.
When they are lost or the dreams of them unrealized we are devastated,
for the shadows, echoes and reflections we had supposed would finally
make us feel good about ourselves have been exposed as frauds,
and once again we are left to feel naked but without fig leaves to cover us.

It is at these precise moments, when the bottom of our false hope falls out,
that we are best prepared to encounter Christ in His intimate fullness
and most apt to recognize at last that He alone is everything
we have been so desperately wanting.
It is our boiling point, where the unbearable weight
of failed expectation so crashes in on us that we are finally
begging God to lift our idols off of us and deliver us from them,
pleading with Him to come and capture us,
crying out to Him to possess us fully.
~~~
the other day
I occupied a chair
at a sidewalk café
watching the vanity fair of the quotidian
float by in quickly changing apparitions

an endless flow of different ages, nations, fashions,
skin colors, miens, ****** expressions, postures & gaits
kept passing through  my field of vision

it made me wonder why
some people get so furious
when they  just hear about
    not even meet
    the ‘others’ different from themselves
that they start dropping  bombs and shooting rockets

I think they rather should be curious
and eager to discover
how the immense variety of humankind
can help expand a locally grown mind

and recognize
that we are all of the same kind
Mike T Minehan Nov 2012
Whatever you do, keep smiling.
Be nice to everyone and stand up for your rights.
There are many paths to the top of the mountain
but few of them are on the map.
Keep running, never give up,
and watch out for the seriously weird.
Avoid psychopaths, if you can recognize them,
be polite to witches and warlocks, eschew cannibals,
beware of the hippopotamus in heat,
don’t drink the second bottle when dancing the Funky Chicken,
and only massage someone without
pimples or hairy legs.
Never give up and keep smiling.
It's a hard life, it's a beautiful world, life's a *****,
it's great to be alive, life is nasty, brutish and short,
don’t give up and keep smiling.
Everyone is a guru but ignorance is everywhere,
and don't mix hallucinogens with depressants.
If someone tells you that they're honest,
treat them with the greatest suspicion.
Live to the limits, we're only alive once,
and that's just as well, because
imagine if people you didn't like were immortal.
Keep smiling, never give up,
always hawk to windward,
and never leave your underpants or ******* behind.
Everyone's equal but only the strong survive,
especially when they take from the weak
because what you seize is what you get.
The meek shall inherit the earth,
but the earth that they inherit will be of
poor quality with no mineral deposits.
Party lots, work hard, never give up, and keep smiling.
Don't work so hard you don't enjoy yourself,
remember that the bird is on the wing,
then it falls off its perch and becomes
a miserable pile of feathers and feet.
The fast lane is the best lane
but it's very smooth and slippery
and there are no road rules.
Watch out for lawyers. Seriously.
They put the devil in the details
while their hand is in your wallet.
Everything comes to you if only you can wait,
but this takes too long.
Clean your teeth, obey authority,
except for arrogant *******,
and don't forget that love and pleasure are
most important, despite what anybody else says.
When you panic, other people will panic,
which is good, because
in this confusion, you can make your escape.

Mike T Minehan
King Panda Sep 2015
the only flowers I
recognize are
tulips
denver-bred
blooming
fire
red
yellow
orange
photochemistry
defined by
valentine
bouquet
quite
atypical
yet
beautiful

wax-coating
iridescent
rain
mirror
ferti­lized
stamen
kiss me
bad
you
are the
only
species
that can
survive in my
backyard

I think I
love
you
tinhearts Jul 2018
Written as questions in kindness
Never any animosity
Just wondering inspired in genuine Finesse
Why all this need for universal popularity ?

Why do you need recognition from people to pump up your EGO
When you are perfectly capable of doing it yourself
Now days “self”rules demanding such attention
What good is It if you gain the whole world and lose your soul

Social media is a force field of flattery
Likes loves and followers celebrated when more is accomplished
I think it’s  disgusting and unflattering
To think you put your self worth according to the numbers you watch add up to impoverished

Sadly this whole world is an avatar
Hiding behind a phone or computer so long they don’t recognize their pets anymore
Starving for some real attention because even the kids are on devices with games of war
How do families expect to get to know each other with text messages being their main source of communication

Poets are pompous needing extra recognition
Scarcely do they realize it’s all vanity
Bragging about publications for impressing exhibition
The Bible has said every word with powerful rhapsody

Where oh where is a humble writer
“The lovely and delicately bred”
No need for a public fanfare
At least in the Bible you know every word is in-breathed

No questioning the authority
Perplexing yet light lit lines
I’m a peculiar type of believing in honesty
Loving the poem or letting it lye

Truth be known I’m not a big poetry fan
It flows and I write what I must
Sincerely saddened at the starving hearts speaking of a suicide plan
Believing God’s Will being written within us

My purpose is to be where I can share the mysteries
“We have become orphans, fatherless our mothers are like widows.”
None of it is about me
Love ~being an unknown entity  unpopularily

Always search for open windows
Search for refreshment in every breeze
Don’t allow popularity to guide your soul
Any light you see grab hold and find its virginity inwardly

“Woe is me! I am fainting before murderers”
*
tinhearts~©️
Jordan Rowan Apr 2016
I woke up to a country song
Mother's favorite song to sing  
And when the mailman came down the road so long
She cried out "Let freedom ring"

My sweetheart grabbed my arm
And she told me she wouldn't let go
But when the mailman handed me a bullet-storm
I told them I had to go

I left home a week from then
Still too nervous to even think
I wondered if I would die and never see them again
But I drowned it all in a thousand drinks

I killed my first man on a Monday
And by Tuesday it was up to nine
I had my thoughts but I had nothing to say
They told me their lives were mine

I got shot in the chest
And I saw the end of the road
But as I stared through blood to the sunset west
I heard the choir bells explode

I came home somebody else
I knew they wouldn't recognize me
But I stayed kind and tried to keep to myself
And my sweetheart stayed with me

She's still here with me
And now we're both at the end of the road
When I close my eyes, I still see misery
But when I open them, I am home
zebra Aug 2018
im a self describing a self
a face on a liquid surface
a plasticity
a brain
a three pound infinity
always remodeling itself
and making new copies

a copy
of
a copy
of
a copy

a massive  accumulation of copies
each a slight distortion
from it's original eminence
a history of minute alterations
all subtle deceptions

my so-called reality
a memory
of
a memory
of
a memory
a repetition pouring the self out
self corrupting the self
until it is somebody else

a fibbing shifty double-dealing soft machine
trying to remain intact
it's signature
a disjunctured awareness

my cells talk **** about each other
i'm more microbes than human
every synaptic light of the divine casting a shadowed past
a devil to the true origin
a mangled remembering
my pillar of reality
spirit from matter
not the other way around

i no longer recognize myself
am i human
or perhaps a robot
an alien
a walk in
that left the original inhabitant
disembodied
to wander perplexed in a netherworld
lost and crying

or, just a bad copy
of
a copy
of
a copy
of
a co

py

of

a

a

co
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Obsessing over pregnant thoughts of the life I’d longed to live
Looking for blue patches in the rain.
Now through eyes of newborn hope,
I wait until I see you once again.

You’ve been the life I’ve longed for, though not knowing what it was,
Assured always that someday you would come,
but afraid that I wouldn’t recognize
the voice, the face, the touch.

Now I hold onto you, jealously guarding these days that are us.
Looking through your eyes and seeing myself,
finding joy hiding inside,
loving the person of you.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
karin naude Jun 2013
we all collect pain, desire, love, wounds, questions ect
it makes us unique, insane and human
our every action dictated by our subconscious
constantly reminding the awake mind, you don't rule
i realized today how me, my collection is
most women collect wedding and baby pics
i collect mommy and me moments
something i long for so deep its indescribable
unconditional protection
always knowing "i" got backup
unconditional love
no matter how messed up "i' get
she keep the lights on, so that i can find home
unconditional existence
no matter what i will always be here for you
always real and true in action and presence
always real no double standard

i stopped taking my anti-depression medicine
it allowed me to live life with muffled screams
never giving outlet to my wordless emotions
so raw, i lack the vocabulary to express
so raw, i don't recognize it
so raw, i struggle each day to keep it together
madyson shaye Sep 2018
I pull into my driveway and my neighbor is standing in
front of his door wearing a wife beater and basketball shorts
that go to his mid calf with his bare feet shoved into
slides that are too small and he's owned since 2005
nearly every part of him is large, except he's 5'7:
his beer belly protrudes from his ribbed cotton shirt
his his ego escapes from his messy house
(his door is wide open, all the cold air is escaping)
he watches me park
his woman (I have to set this picture, there is no better term)
stands up straight at right
underneath his eyebrow
and glares at me in unison
I let my hand trace the chair sitting
on my front porch for a few seconds
and wonder why I’ve never sat here before
residue rain falls from the outside banister
and I feel as at home as I’ve ever felt in this
stupid little god forsaken ******* studio
my neighbors are still watching me and
I realize it’s because they don’t recognize me
because I'm really never here
with the hair on my arms all standing up in unison
I unlock my door and step inside
drop my money and count my keys
my knees are rusty, I feel small
there’s only so many times you can do this
and only so many times I can too
Ted Jun 2018
When I was 10, I had a hamster.
Its whole world was in my room,
It's life in the hands of a child.

My whole world was on 10 acres of land,
In the hands of two grown children.
Their hands as reckless as mine.

How does something grow within a cage.
Does freedom have a place in it's mind.
How to acquire the thoughts of freedom,
Of peace.
Will the captured know when the cage door is gone, with nothing holding it in.
How will it even recognize grass underfoot,
A world beyond 10 acres,
and the hamster wheel gone.
Robin Lemmen Aug 2018
You are a stranger to me
With a body I know too well
Eyes I recognize so empty
And a laugh that once
Filled up my spaces
Dates become more significant
When you are not there to
Acknowledge them with me
You are like snow
But instead I am the one falling
And you were gone before
I ever even had a chance
To capture your beauty
My ghostly winter lover
w y n n e Oct 2016
17
if it ever gets too hard, i want you to cry. cry so hard that your tears will form seas. cry so hard that your wails will echo throughout the mountains. cry, not because you want to be heard but because you want to hear yourself. stop only when you feel empty enough. empty enough that when you look at the mirror, you no longer recognize the face blankly staring back at you. then wipe away the tears, tell yourself, "ang panget mo umiyak gago ka, di bagay sayo" then smile and flips hair
Next page