"regan" poems
The touch of your skin
Holding me close
Pulling me in
The color of love
The color of disaster
The color of pain
The color of life
But in reality the color is blank
For those to fill in
A different meaning to each and every person
Who learns their color on their own
You brought the color of green
A mix of yellow and blue
Yellow is the happiness
And blue is the emotions
Of sadness and despair
In a blank canvas world
You bring me saturation.
© Regan
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 11:32 PM UTC
Dancing
Intoxication
Blurring of emotions
Head’s pounding
Strangers falling in and out of unrealistic love.
Caught your eye.
The stench of cologne
The rush of everything
The slowness of you looking at me
Our eyes meet as you slowly make your way towards me
Shaking hands, goofy smiles
Music flooding our thoughts
Making it easier to confess to you
How much I want you
But I can’t
The music drowns out everything
Leaving it with just you and me
Holding you close but keeping my distance.
© Regan
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
161 to 180 of 3251 Poets
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Margaret Kaufman
Photo, Brownie Troop, St. Louis, 1949
Deborah Warren
Marginalia
Regan Huff
Occurrence on Washburn Avenue
Anne Marie Macari
From the Plane
Gerald Fleming
There are no poems by this poet on our website.
Sebastian Matthews
Barbershop Quartet, East Village Grille
Charles Harper Webb
The Animals are Leaving
Zozan Hawez
Self-Portrait
Jose Angel Araguz
Gloves
Russell Libby (1956–2012)
Applied Geometry
Robert Haight
How Is It That the Snow
Early October Snow
Dan Lechay
Ghost Villanelle
James P. Lenfestey
Daughter
Robert Hedin (b. 1949)
The Old Liberators
My Mother's Hats
John Maloney
After Work
Kaelum Poulson
The Crow
Stuart Kestenbaum
Prayer for the Dead
Emmett Tenorio Melendez
My name came from . . .
Gary Dop
Father, Child, Water
On Swearing
Berwyn Moore
Driving to Camp Lend-A-Hand
«78910»
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
Not that anyone cares
Kelsey cut class again.
Probably out getting high
With her new stupid friends.
Not that anyone cares
But Kelsey likes to break glass.
She writes on the walls
And she’s waiting for the crash.
Not that anyone cares
But Kelsey snuck out her window,
Out to smash mailboxes
And let herself go.
Not that anyone cares
But Kelsey doesn't do well in school
She’s not perfect like them.
No straight A’s for this girl.
Not that anyone cares
No one listens to her, she’s not even there.
So go for it kid get drunk.
Life isn’t fair.
Not that anyone cares
But she’s always on the run.
Stop saying she’s like them
Her life has barely even begun.
Not that anyone cares,
But Kelsey is all alone.
She’s completely her own person.
Not even close to Regan’s clone.
Not that anyone cares,
But Kelsey cries every night.
She has terrible dreams
And just existing is a fight.
And not that you’ll listen
But she hates her life
And you can’t fix her with words.
So don’t waste your time.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
Cold, salty droplets
They’re always showing up
I can’t control them.
© Regan
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
When I was little,
I thought the world was on my side.
Now that I’m older, I’ve realized
It’s me against the world.
Society is going to try,
To tempt me, to hurt me, to destroy me.
And so far I’ve tried ignoring it.
But now, I know it’s out to get me.
As a child, the world would hold me close,
And told me it would keep me safe.
The world has opened my eyes,
Drowned me, and made me realize
I can only trust myself.
It’s alright, I’m okay.
Or I’m not, maybe I’m insane.
Maybe the world is just the world,
And I just can’t accept it.
Maybe I’m searching for a deeper meaning
To my pain.
© Regan
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC
A blue morning on the 46a to Stillorgan.
I get emotional gliding past the little orange town house. I've passed it every day for two years but this time it feels different.
I can smell your walls and furniture.
Can taste the breakfast you'd surprise me with after a long night of dancing and love making.
Can feel your head on my shoulder as you hold me at the kitchen counter.
You kiss my stomach.
On our last morning, you had driven me to college. Me, eating nutella and banana toast and you watching the roads too carefully. You had just gotten your license. Fionn Regan played softly.
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 9:12 AM UTC
The look of your eyes when you look at the stars reflects so much hope. When you grab my hand and pull me closer it feels perfect, as if the stars were aligned in that moment. When you hold my hand and guide me to god-knows where, I feel needed.
The touch.
The smell.
The adrenaline rushing through our heads.
And the moment is gone. I've woken up, from a fantasy that only occurs in my head.
Gasp of morning air flows through my lungs as reality hits again.
And I know it is only a fantasy my mind wanders to every so often.
© Regan
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
I will not listen
Never look into it
Neither touch nor feel
Cause I refuse to understand it
But this tiny little world
Build on catastrophically stupidity
Some call it civilization
I still call it cannibalism
In some short time span about 100 years
All creatures living right now will be gone
Horses dogs snakes birth fish humans
666.999.666.999. in a big pile of death
Blood and honor or democracy
Say it real loud to Vladimir Putin
Because both Regan and ****** is dead
And the people only want to swallow it
And there will never be a day
To remember in a thousand years
Not a dollar or currency of the People’s Republic of China left
Kim Jong-Il never did have anything to say
Humanity is nothing but a wild primate
Violence just got more sophisticated
More grim and stupid in every way
And all of this I refuse to understand it.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 8:58 AM UTC
I don’t really like myself,
It’s true I don’t.
I don’t stand out.
I’m not any sort-of special.
I’m normal.
I don’t have a quality
that makes me stand out.
I change my hair color,
I wear makeup,
And I change who I am.
I try on clothes that make me cry,
because my body isn’t perfect.
I pick out new foundations,
To cover my flaws better.
I give into others,
To make them happy.
I have lost myself, and have found myself.
Still, through all I’ve gone through,
I still don’t like myself.
I feel undeserving of anything,
Useless, worthless, and terrible.
I’m sorry self, you shouldn’t be treated this way.
© Regan
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 9:58 PM UTC
I always forget
Just how heavy
Water really is
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
As I am from Kentucky,
Does it even matter to me?
Only my future children
Will care where I’m from.
Soon forgotten of me.
Just as ancestors before..
I will just be a speck in what’s to come
Unimportance.
I’m meaningless
What difference do I make?
In a world we’re babies are born constantly
And immortality undiscovered
Legends before me, will soon be forgotten
Is life even worth it?
Does my existence matter?
What is the point of this...?
To those who really know me
Will only be the ones to miss me
When it is my time
To leave.
© Regan
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 11:13 PM UTC
Driving through an untouched place,
The modern era has kept it’s distance,
Mother-nature has taken over.
We arrive to a grassy area,
Only the trees to provide shade,
We strike a match.
We walk aware of the beauty around us,
We walk in an unmodernized place,
No shops, buildings, and factories.
The urban areas have purpose,
But sometimes, just sometimes,
Rural feels more like home.
© Regan
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 11:16 AM UTC
Fix this emotion
Many things cause this pain
It sneaks up on me.
© Regan
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC
You can't just
say deep things
Deep things come
naturally
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
I stood on the edge
Watching the water
As I was approached
By a family “friend”
He said
“Can’t you swim?”
I replied with
“No, I have never tried”
He grabbed my hair
And was about to
Push me in
And said
“Drown”
I fought the water
I fought for life
I would never let
That man be right
I flipped my legs
And swatted the water
Until drowning
Wasn’t the matter
The man looked at me
With disbelief
That a little girl
Could teach Herself
not to stand for
Death itself.
© Regan
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
A young girl—
Out too late—
Running through a quiet urban city
searching for the sounds
That have been playing in her head
The radio gives her no help—
Those songs aren’t what she’s looking for
She craves and older more mature sound
The sound that only the dark night possesses
She can almost feel the sound,
It’s strength is almost feeding into her
She takes the bait
And makes her way to the old pub
She’s amazed by the Saxophone
And the blues lifting the air
She lets them fill her mind
And numb her surroundings
“Oh, sounds, why haven’t we met before?”
She cries out.
But the sounds keep playing
And drowning out her thoughts.
She now knows where she belongs.
© Regan
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 4:27 PM UTC
Take one slow breath.
Breathe through your nose.
You are overreacting, it's just change.
"You don't understand!"
I am leaving everything and everyone I've ever known.
The streets I've walked.
The bruises I've gotten from your hands.
The broken-heart you've given me.
I can't just breathe.
Not even a breath.
You see, you've lived everywhere, almost as if you've never had a home.
This has been my only home,
the only place I can tell you the streets like the back of my hand.
You can't forget your hometown, unless you've never had one.
The people.
The small bakery on the corner.
The library across the street.
Those are some of the things I will never forget. Don't tell me to take a breath,
when you have never been through this.
You hypocrite.
© Regan
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
Picture me in a crowd, looking for you.
Picture me in a dress, sitting by you.
Picture me in the grass, holding hands with you.
Picture me in your arms, loving you.
Picture me shocked, looking at you.
Picture me sad, not because of you.
Picture me in a gown, marrying you.
Picture me yours, that’s all I want from you.
Picture you, loving me.
Picture you, holding me.
Picture you, with me.
Picture you without me,
Picture me without you.
Just picture me.
© Regan
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 9:40 PM UTC
The burning sand sliding in between your toes.
The breeze making you feel weightless.
The salty-smell filling the air.
Seagulls flying above.
Once touching the refreshing sand in the ocean,
You’ve become it.
© Regan
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
Say I’m only yours
And please be honest, baby.
Don’t play with my heart.
© Regan
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 8:31 PM UTC
Holding together my thoughts
Keeping them where they should be.
As my messy, disorganized mind causes chaos,
My small twisted friends,
Keep my mind going,
While pushing my thoughts further.
They’re small and lost easily,
But once they’re gone,
The train of thought is off it’s tracks.
The wild thinking of
Stress and worry,
Come back to where
They had left before.
Thank you my steel wire helpers,
I would be a mess without you.
Thank you for organizing my thoughts,
Thank you my paper clips.
© Regan
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 9:55 AM UTC
Drugs! Heartbreak! Pain!
Stay away from our families
Parents who cover and sugarcoat our lives
Not letting us know about true suffer
Such as homeless, disease, death, love.
Our exposure to terrible things is limited
To make our childhood a little more bearable
Keeping us Little Ones away from the “monsters”
And the
“Bad guys”
But aren’t telling us that they’re just like you and me.
Our exposure is limited to what the world
Truly is.
© Regan
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 9:25 PM UTC
Can you fix me?
Why do I have these feelings
For something I can’t find in myself.
Am I truly broken?
Why do I feel like I’m running off of a battery that has run out of energy?
What am I missing?
My screws are unscrewed,
My bolts are missing.
I guess I am just broken.
And I don’t feel as if I have
Enough hope to keep going.
Maybe someone will find my missing bolts and give me new batteries.
© Regan
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
Bright.
Noticeable.
Lights.
Laying in the hospital bed being pushed around by screaming doctors. The IV rushing fluids into my bloodstream. The fuzziness of the lights as I slightly open my eyes.
Fast.
Running.
Doctors.
Am I dying? I definitely am dying. No I can't, I'm too young to die! I can't die.
But I can.
I'm old enough to die.
I can't choose when I die.
The operating room is cold, and smells like it's too clean. The anesthesia slowly drowns me in a sleep like stage.
Am I dying?
I am living through the thought of dying.
The ventilator is keeping me from dying.
The anesthesia has caused me to die.
I'm not waking up.
I'm not alive.
I am dead.
© Regan
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 11:10 AM UTC