"relearn" poems
Follow the kick-drum of the heart
to the point where it’s heard loudest.
Spend ten thousand hours on the lungs:
Read the textbook on what fills us.
Dedicate a white board
to what makes us collapse.
Hold the bell lightly
to differentiate your own pulse from another’s.
Then drink, and dance, and pray,
to relearn that they’re the same.
Oct 22, 2017
Oct 22, 2017 at 9:35 PM UTC
I truly believe that one of the reasons that the US is despised and condemned world wide is because of such views on such characteristics as: honesty, integrity, independence(this includes not thinking in a collective mindset which we do as a culture, everything is apple or windows, pepsi or cola, republican or democrat, people need to think for themselves stop claiming and just be), persistence, determination, morale, empathy, tradition/heritage, learning, chivalry, discernment, and humility.
Instead of utilizing and perfecting these people of this nation and similar one's have become: prideful, dependent, drive-less, imprudent/unwise, insulting, ignorant(willfully so), objective, biased, crude, mediocre, and surface oriented.
In turn we have neglected the responsibilities we have of ourselves. This has resulted in physical, mental, and spiritual capacity regression on a mass scale. Most people have no idea what they are consuming in their daily dietary intake(I mean really know what all the ingredients are and what they do whether positive or negative). Most citizens have also become, literally and according to the United Nations Education Scientific and Cultural Organization, mentally incapable and completely inane as compared to even 15yrs ago. We have forgotten how to have a community to the point that neighbors don't know each other anymore. We have exchanged the truly important things in life like knowledge and wisdom for wealth and appearance. We have completely forgotten how to survive without the aid of water treatment, electricity, and useless objects. One of the worst of all things we have stopped doing, is being involved with our government; instead, we have put our trust in them without oversight, and this is why we have been losing our liberties. I believe, just like Benjamin Franklin stated, that any individual who sacrifices even one liberty for safety/security... deserves to have all of their liberties eradicated.
In conclusion, it is time to return our societies to ourselves. We need to relearn the truly important things in life and start living with ourselves, each other, and nature as we must to thrive. It is on us as a people to repair what generations before us, and our generations are doing; lest, I am afraid, our children and grandchildren will inherit the same ideals and expand upon them until we regress to the point that insolence, ignorance, and imprudence is the common norm... we have already begun to accept these. Open your eyes to the truth, at first it will be painful and difficult, but than you will be set free. WE THE PEOPLE ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR OUR FUTURES AND CHILDREN'S FUTURES.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:18 AM UTC
Can we start over?
Can we be strangers again?
Let me introduce myself
We can laugh and talk
And relearn what we already know
And come up with new inside jokes
And create new memories
And give each other
A second chance.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
I sit here, at the edge of my bed
Stooped over my feet for these long minutes
As I make butterfly knots of the laces
Pulling loops, in and out
Dust rises as the cords relearn their ductility
My tugging leaves friction burns on my hands
My combat boots have missed my feet
I wish the same could be said in reverse
But though I luxuriate in the sheer strength of them
Their weight does not lend my legs vitality
For they do not belong to me
My combat boots are yours
I rise and take my first step
The heavy sound makes me turn my head in search
Though I know I will not find you
As I find my stride, my feet swing easier
And I feel the impact against my ribs
Where once combat boots had broken them
I walk on, meeting soldiers on the way
I see their boots dragging them onward, downward
You are calling them to you
My feet pull me towards the chasm
And death, where you await me
Your smile a broken promise of forever
I yearn to break into a run
I know not which direction; escape or reunion
But still my boots weigh on my steps
And I cannot fly, for flying is escape
If I wanted to flee from you
I would not be wearing combat boots
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
When I was young,
fairy tails filled my head.
And I could be a lost boy,
Fighting captain hook.
I was never the princess.
When I was young,
Playing was all I did,
but I climbed up trees,
and splashed in streams,
never touching Barbie dolls.
I was a boy back then.
It wasn’t till I grew,
that I became a lost boy.
Was it when the boys stop playing with me?
Was that when I broke inside?
Lost in a world,
In a world not made for lost boys.
So I let them put makeup on me.
I let them buy me dresses.
I pretend to fancy other boys.
Lost my true self,
But hints of him were there.
He was smart and
He was brave,
He was imbedded within her.
But as he grew,
She saw him,
She heard him calling her.
Save me, find me.
We are a lost boy.
I am a lost boy,
but its not pirates I’m fighting.
I’m fighting to be just a boy.
One who is a boy,
No matter what they say.
I am a lost boy.
One who is reclaiming what they took.
Reclaiming my body.
I must relearn to be a boy.
Just a boy.
This lost boy cut his hair,
hides his *******
He stands tall and proud.
Because he knows,
He is a boy.
I am a boy.
It doesn’t matter what you say.
I know what I am.
So I will return from Neverland,
And wave goodbye to my lost boy
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 7:16 AM UTC
The plan was
(Perfect)
To grow up,
(Ideal)
Find love,
(Dreamy)
Settle down,
(Hopeful)
Have kids,
(Heartwarming)
Grow old,
(Long-term)
Still love,
(Perfect)
Die happy.
But life happens and
Plans become
(Unexpected)
Survive,
(Guarded)
Rebuild,
(Solitary)
Relearn,
(Stressful)
Reconstruct,
(Sacrificing)
Revitalize,
(Inspiring)
Thrive,
(Satisfying)
Live.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
breathing underwater has become a learned activity
those that you know but you never grasp fully
and if you do not hold it properly
it will
s
l
i
p
from your grasp,
t
u
m
b
l
i
n
g
back to the arid land
that is my chest.
***
everyday I relearn the art
of breathing underwater
some days are more successful than others
others I drown in my relentless tears
others still, I succumb to the numbness in my leaded limbs
following blindly the static in my vision
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
Trill of beak into birch. Dawn spooks
the graveyard into silence. A heart
hardens at God’s withered finger reaching
but not reached for. I trim the hedges
and the whir of weed-eater disturbs
a nest of yellow jackets into tornado,
dust devil, of translucent wings and sting.
I walk among the dead three times a week.
I am learning their language. They relearn
the mundanity of white noise above
and quietly forget, quietly forgive.
This hill is the crest on a wave of coffins,
each one a boat through the world below.
Submerged in a bloodshot morning
I listen to a woodpecker in its throes
of building a home out of the depths of bark.
In the chill, the soft fog rolling, it pecks
and it knocks. The doors to these lives
long closed, I hush. I do not believe God
will visit these grounds to reclaim his clay:
I plant flowers in it between the plots,
each name engraved of marble a blank stare.
The flash of red flushes from budding branches
and I return to work. No one answers.
I relearn the dead’s language, their silence,
relearn every day how to repair stillness.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
All I know is monsters
All I see is a cold world that gets darker as the *** stir's
The future blurs to a point its so obscure it's not yours
Can't seem to stop words from causing me to go backwards
Maybe I need to go back and relearn like toddlers in diapers
There's no cures
All the fibers of my being are withering away like dead flowers
Retreating like cowards
The more I try the worse I fail, a living hell, crunch the numbers
I've done the math, a chalk board full of blunders
Nightmares occurring with my eyes wide shut
It's more then a rut
A candidate to win? Nope, I have a losing ballot
No safety blanket and no bright colors on my pallet
Hollow and cryptic
Revisit the past like I'm stuck to it with a rivet
This isn't just unfortunate it's inadequate
Chew off my arm to be free or just cannibalistic
Can I even resist it?
This dark army that I have enlisted
For to long happy never even existed
And you wonder why I tend go ballistic...
Man, *** this $hit!
©2018
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 12:39 AM UTC
there will come a day
when father time will grow
jealous of us and
the fireflies will
turn off their glow
when the diamonds
wont seem so precious
and all the joys
of this world will
seem foolish and low
and i will have to
let you go
dear mama
sometimes i make you laugh
just to hear the joys
youve stopped showing
on your face
to breath your
attempts to cough up
your worries and drown
in my love
to watch you unfold
at the ends and
sease to be held in
at your seams
there will come a day
when everything
i have ever said to you
will flutter off like a thousand
butterflies in a storm
and my actions
will weigh heavier
than the 98 pounds
they've made of me
dear mama
i know i wont be able
to hold your stare
for as long youve held
my hand but im hoping
the seconds i've been given
havent already carved
a gourge in your daylight
since you recieved
me in place of a son
instead of building
a doll house of regrets
i vow to keep the
reality of your name true
wont glorify the time
you tried to spill
yourself in the wind
with the barrel of a
police issued gloc
because the shock
of your babies moving away
too much of a trigger
bet i let the ringing
of unfired suicide rounds
bounce off every new york city
sidewalk slab i've chased
in an attempt to
run from myself
when i left you
know that i held
the crotchet needles
you made my baby blanket
with in my chest
had the day
of your second stroke
in my heart
and the only way
i could release them was to
shed my skin under the chin
of a brooklyn boarding house
so dont frown at the anatomy
of a new york city skyline
just know it offered
the shoulders i needed
at that moment
when father time
grew jealous of us
and the fireflies turned
off their glow
i grew a light of my own
dear mama
something happened
between me watching you
relearn how to walk
around the same time
i learned to
double knot my tennis shoes
when everyone assumed
my ignorance was bliss
and let the brilliance
in your bones become
as black as night
without ever noticing
i was afraid of the dark
what have these years
done to us?
to make me bloom
in the bright of day
while baking the stalk
that is you
i cant stand to watch
you wither
wont you shine too
dear mama
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
You were the greatest neuronal reorganization to ever happen,
of course I don't know who I am anymore.
What was plastic seems changed to stone in a gargoyle brain and beneath a microscope the shimmering glia spell out your name over and over in little green lights, fossilizing the neurons that say:
Him.
The earth has an edge. Nobody wants to fall off.
So call me Homer, because the gods themselves could not convince me my situation's a sphere there's far too much fear in this flattened plane that understands only primitive desires and just wants you near.
Everyone knows the romanced brain could be mistaken for a ******* addict's.
But perhaps if you look more closely into my eyes you will see my irises have turned stormy, that cyclones of energy are becoming patterns that scribble and scribble arcane suggestions for a new cartography. A new story. A new being.
Supplies needed:
One strong pencil.
Enough oxytocin to unlearn an addiction.
Enough optimism to overcome an affliction, my diction is code for the way you kissed me and it underlines every sentence like the way a voice rises when asking a question.
I have so many questions.
And even though the notion of who I will be when I am not you terrifies me, like Cathy and Heathcliff I will not be doomed to roam the moors, already I know there's endlessly more, and with or without you the best is yet to come. Just as they say. No, I don't know what's in store. But I think that's okay.
Turn golden, Grey Matter, light up 'til you burn.
Reboot.
Restart.
Rewire.
Relearn.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
One month from today could be
your birthday.
In one month we could meet each other
for the first time.
Maybe in one month
I will be on all fours like an animal
and I’ll scream you into the world
and you’ll stop being just a dream.
You are a product of me,
within me.
You are mine
You are not mine
You will always be mine.
Through ripened flesh
and viscera you will unfold,
purple and milky,
bursting through a darkness,
limbs released into your father’s arms,
squeezed and wrinkled,
bright with pain,
having to relearn what it means
to be alive.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 10:45 AM UTC
can we start over?
can we be strangers again?
let me introduce myself
we can laugh and talk
and relearn what we already know
and come up with new inside jokes
and create new memories
and give each other
another chance
((mg))
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
As you study zoology further you will come to relearn that veins bring blood back to the lungs,
Across the kingdom animalia & a few others including Aves & Reptilia, Mammalia & Chordata,
From lungs the re-oxygenated blood is re-pumped around the body by our rhythmic heartbeats.
In my body it's a bit different I guess, yes it's different!
Your name has crept up my veins and I just feel your Kreepy name sounding with every heartbeat.
:)
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 6:24 AM UTC
Can we start all over again?
Let me introduce myself.
We can laugh and talk,
We can fall into desperate curiosity of one another
Again
Relearn what we already know
And give each other
a second chance.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
I want to say something about cursive writing (this might seem random).
I’ve seen articles saying that cursive writing is a “dead art,” that computers have destined it for oblivion and questioning whether cursive writing should be taught in schools now-a-days.
But if you plan to go to college - relearn it and practice it, because you’ll need it.
Random hot fact. The first time you have to handwrite a multiple-question essay test - where each answer requires five hundred to a thousand words (a written page) - handwriting, in block letters, is unsustainable.
Your hand will literally cramp up - dog, you’ll suffer, your essays will suffer and so will your grade.
Writing in cursive is faster than block lettering and with a little practice, it’s effortless.
My sister told me this once, and this morning, as I watched other students, one third of the way into our essay test, grimacing and flexing their aching hands - I just smiled to myself.
Yeah, you can thank me later.
Dec 21, 2022
Dec 21, 2022 at 11:36 AM UTC
.you want to relearn the schoolyard? are you sure you want to relearn the schoolyard?! sure... we can relearn the schoolyard... i have a theory though, and it goes along the lines of... you know those pedophile(s)? i have a theory... they're not exactly into smoking, or drinking... like... their female counterpart... i actually think women are afraid of young boys... for what young boys are, per se... well, given Muhammad, hyper-inflated interest in literacy... that covers the whole: illiterate prior, married to an older woman, not drinking, not smoking?! so what's your outlet?! to be an object of what... "subjects"... or to be a "subject" of what... objectifies... case in point, the nuance is interchangeable in the metaphor quadratic of wording... and no... not really... i find it hardly necessary to concern myself with making the sort if accuracy to give a metric unit basis of a centi-, or otherwise, etc.
it's sheryl crow
for fuck's sake...
it's not
katty perry...
that debut:
was... pristine..
seminal...
sure... my feet stink...
what? what's wrong
with Cheryl Crow?!
you better be *******
with me for serious,
otherwise
i switch to: unhinged...
a change?
***** won a ******* grammy!
sure... she married
a glorious child of
the two pedals...
who faked Paris having faked
a tourism ploy of France...
it's still Sheryl Crow though!
a trucker's daydream
of perfect head,
incubated by a mouth
of an 18 year old boy...
no... i like Alanis...
when... whatever that was that came
from a woman's mouth was...
deemed, fun...
now?
n'ah... not really.
all i really want... that sort of **** was
fun...
now? i'm becoming more and more
bemused by the fragrance of my
socks, worn, second day to count
thoroughly...
hand in my pocket...
right through you...
so... BIG daddy gonna come around
to save this teenage girl's cherry ***
the kind of daddy that could never
have a beer with me?
like i'm feeling that:
while using my right hands when typing
feels like i'm using my left hand,
and vice versa?!
no! i'm not having it!
Cheryl Crow... &...
Chrissie Hynde!
no... don't give me the *******
zig-zag argument suggesting
i'm about to see something
"better", via an X, cross-eyed...
blurry, like some reverse Freudian
fetish off Ariel, the mermaid,
blurry, under the water...
Disney princesses my ***
head over feet...
now... that's a song.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
and when I were to return home
would you recognize the thing before you
long ago much confidence held
but now the years have eroded me down my friend
not that I am saying it is a bad thing
I rather like it if you ask
but I know you see a skeleton
an echo of a joyous soul past
I may look worn thin but really I swear...
I like myself
I just cannot open up the way I used to
and I cannot say or do the things I used to
so when you ask what is wrong
the reply would be nothing
but that I am not the same one I was six years ago
so learn to relearn me
and accept that if a friend in me you truly do find
that you will accept this phenomenon
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC
Dark sheets
Of night
Cover the sky
Preparing
The world for sleep
Pray
On the lord our souls to keep
Prey
On the lower, sold the sheep
To beasts
Lost shepherd
Of the weak
Heard the herd
Is preferred rare
We’re a rarity
In despair
The air answers all my prayers
Silently
Whispers to me
.just, don‘t fall asleep.
It always speaks
Quietly
Morse code
Cold remorse
It wont ****
But instead instills
A breeze that peaks
Over the window sill
I stand still
Feel the chills
It fills the ceil
Creates a seal…
The wind stays
To make me stay
Awake
It captured fate
Encapsulates
Then decapitates
What’s ahead
The future… evaporates
I gave away
Tomorrow’s day
Just to stay
Up
I Reached the skies
Left the life
And can’t relearn
How to return
To sleep…
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 2:26 PM UTC
Hello, old friend. How much has changed in the past six years? A lot. Yet here I am again. Heartbroken. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to spill my heart back out to you.
To the question as to if I moved on: yes. With the help of family and friends, I got through those dark days. There are losses that are far more heartbreaking than that of losing a lover. In two years, feeling as though I could not go on, I did. I learned resilience.
I learned to love me. I set new goals for myself. I stepped away from the things that weren’t building me up. I learned to push through every set back, every heartache, every disappointment. I focused on work and raising the kids the best way I know. I made new friends. I learned to enjoy being alone. And then eventually, I learned to love again. It was not easy. The walls around my heart were made of titanium after all. There were struggles and nights of self resentment for being so difficult to love. But it happened.
This time though, it was different. You see I am older now, my expectations have grown with me and this love, this new, exciting love was growing with me too. He was there while I was juggling work and motherhood, and I with him while reaching his dreams. We grew together. He was patient while we navigated a somewhat LDR relationship. He was in every sense of the word my partner.
How wonderful it was to be with someone who enjoyed all the same things. We shared dreams, goals, and aspirations. We encouraged, supported, and worked with each other to reach them. How different it was to be building a life with someone. And I said to myself: this is what I went through all that pain for; this is why good things fell apart. This was the better that came for it… UNTIL IT WASN'T.
It is amazing what the human heart and mind can handle isn’t it? How after three years of talking to someone every minute of everyday you can just stop. How someone who you shared a life with, all the goals and plans and dreams can just stop.
So here we are again. Six years later. The same, but different. I am trying to relearn resilience.
Dec 8, 2024
Dec 8, 2024 at 6:48 AM UTC
i.
I am a short, stout girl in the corner of the room
my arms were much smaller last June
I search for reasons not to relapse in shadows like corpses
they're all dead, anyway
because my roommate is obsessed with the gym
because my best friend is obsessed with fad diets
even though I have at least fifty pounds on both of them.
ii.
I am forcing myself to use recovery speech
because it gets me through therapy more effectively
"fat is not a feeling"
my mind scoffs as I speak
every word copied and pasted from someone else's recovery blog
but my recovery is not avocados and yoga mats and veganism
it is complicated
it is painful.
iii.
I am the small, queer girl in the pew at church
so nervous as the skin around my nails begin to bleed
the scar on my middle finger says **** you"
to American evangelicalism
and yet my lips still sing the loudest
the product of the "moral right"
how lovely it is to pretend to belong.
iv.
I am acting like my body knows what it is doing
as I reach for the hands of my most recent lover
I drop hints to my Republican parents
church members
best friend
but still,
I am struggling.
v.
I am trying to undo the codification of bulimia
from the fibers of my bones
I relearn daily
spun like wool through the continuum
of someone else's broken body
I become a success story
for some
but for others
I am still fat.
vi.
I want my eating disorder
my abuse
my queerness
to look normal
to be typical
some say
assimilation is liberation
so why do I still feel
chained and bound?
why am I still
unfinished?
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
A balloon cast astray by the wavering hand of a child
Who wishes to know the latex orb filled with helium can fly
But in the moment of segregation between the tips of his small fingers and the floating object's delicate string
He discovers regret for the first time in his short life
The feeling that will haunt him far past his young years and into adulthood
Yet, it's only in these latter years of his life
That he'll also discover he is envious of his abilities as a boy
For he could let go then, easier than ever
And today, he is forced to grasp his wife's bony fingers with a wrinkled hand of his own
As today, the only delicate strings in life are the wires and tubes that travel through her
In this moment he realizes he must travel back in time
To relearn how to release his balloon
As he wishes for nothing more than to let her fly in peace
But he doesn't possess the strength to watch her float away
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
We're all on the path
to self discovery
whether we're aware of it or not
Each day
brings forth
new lessons, new teachers, new light
It's up to us whether we
learn our lessons and pass our tests
and
It's up to us whether
we relearn the same lesson
again and again and again
disillusioned and hopeless
Alas!
there is no need to search anymore
for the "Guru"
the all knowing, all wise teacher of teachers
Every person, rock, tree and sea
that you see and pass by
has within them the knowledge
that you seek
You too, young, lost soul, are a Guru
blindly following your own path
influencing all that you encounter
teaching others
with open ears and eyes
all they need to know
about themselves,
the universe,
life,
unaware or not
A teacher you are
A Guru.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 6:27 PM UTC
I dislike referring to it as my accident,
'Cause of so many reasons and losses,
I just can't stop resenting the accident.
I lost my memory & I'm still fighting,
'Cause I first had to relearn speaking,
I retrain my legs – train for balancing.
The brain injuries even made me forget how to swim,
I miss swimming elegantly for long time stretches,
It's not something anyone would usually forget.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 7:45 AM UTC