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"reliant" poems
I rolled out of bed to start my day, but the power was off my all electric home, as still as a grave. No coffee, or toast. The refrigerator not cold, the freezer started dripping the contents soon to spoil. No computer, no cell phone service! I began sweating profusely, no air conditioning to cool me. Not even a TV Emergency Broadcast Alert, to release this uneasy feeling of topsy-turvy . I drove into town seeking a pay phone, with not a single one to be found, gone the way of the dinosaurs, extinct now too I assumed. My old truck had no computer chips, most cars did and were dead in their tracks. I needed gas but the gas station pumps electric computer driven, all DOA to boot. The Nations electric grid had crashed, blacked out, stone cold dead everywhere. All heavenly satellites blacked out, expired. Everything computer related (and that is about everything), had ceased to function as had the electronic reliant world we had created.   The street throngs of dazed people walked around like zombies, clutching blacked out dead computer devices, knowing not what to do. Not even talking, forgotten I guess how to do that too. As dependently defectively programmed as the useless devices in their hands. In a panic I did awake finding that this scary dream world was indeed all fake, a nightmare of fearful unconscious thinking. My electric clock was still churning, It's music alarm blaring, birds outside still singing, my cell phone started ringing, it was merely another Robot call, Welcoming me back to the 21 century.
0
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC
Dinosaurs and Devices
I rolled out of bed to start my day, but the power was off my all electric home, as still as a grave. No coffee, or toast. The refrigerator not cold, the freezer started dripping the contents soon to spoil. No computer, no cell phone service! I began sweating profusely, no air conditioning to cool me. Not even a TV Emergency Broadcast Alert, to release this uneasy feeling of topsy-turvy . I drove into town seeking a pay phone, with not a single one to be found, gone the way of the dinosaurs, extinct now too I assumed. My old truck had no computer chips, most cars did and were dead in their tracks. I needed gas but the gas station pumps electric computer driven, all DOA to boot. The Nations electric grid had crashed, blacked out, stone cold dead everywhere. All heavenly satellites blacked out, expired. Everything computer related (and that is about everything), had ceased to function as had the electronic reliant world we had created.   The street throngs of dazed people walked around like zombies, clutching blacked out dead computer devices, knowing not what to do. Not even talking, forgotten I guess how to do that too. As dependently defectively programmed as the useless devices in their hands. In a panic I did awake finding that this scary dream world was indeed all fake, a nightmare of fearful unconscious thinking. My electric clock was still churning, It's music alarm blaring, birds outside still singing, my cell phone started ringing, it was merely another Robot call, Welcoming me back to the 21 century.
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44
Light train chugging, working to outrun Over exerting, pulling along your freight Sand is running out under the diminishing sun Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions Weaving between sleeping rocky giants Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens Borne of light your cargo load of tenants Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply As you power your way through Defying seconds, before the last rays should die Against odds, delivering what is due Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices Nook and crannies that willed me blind Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance Through scenic views fraught with treachery Furiously working to keep your cadence Hopeful of unloading the load you carry What lies dormant in that cargo of yours? What sleeps easy within those boxcars? What stokes the fire to diligently run your course? What promises you bear, travelling near and far? Bales of hope and crates of strength Supplies of kindness and self-worth Reside within your immense length Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss Blaring your whistle as you race on by Propelling forward, horizon up ahead There it is...in all its tenebrous glory Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
0
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
Light Train (II)
Light train chugging, working to outrun Over exerting, pulling along your freight Sand is running out under the diminishing sun Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions Weaving between sleeping rocky giants Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens Borne of light your cargo load of tenants Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply As you power your way through Defying seconds, before the last rays should die Against odds, delivering what is due Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices Nook and crannies that willed me blind Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance Through scenic views fraught with treachery Furiously working to keep your cadence Hopeful of unloading the load you carry What lies dormant in that cargo of yours? What sleeps easy within those boxcars? What stokes the fire to diligently run your course? What promises you bear, travelling near and far? Bales of hope and crates of strength Supplies of kindness and self-worth Reside within your immense length Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss Blaring your whistle as you race on by Propelling forward, horizon up ahead There it is...in all its tenebrous glory Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
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40
How reliant have I become on you my Internet provider.
0
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 9:49 AM UTC
Double Meanings
Isabel met an enormous bear, Isabel, Isabel, didn't care; The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous, The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous. The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you, How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you! Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry. Isabel didn't scream or scurry. She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up, Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up. Once in a night as black as pitch Isabel met a wicked old witch. the witch's face was cross and wrinkled, The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled. ** ** Isabel! the old witch crowed, I'll turn you into an ugly toad! Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry, Isabel didn't scream or scurry, She showed no rage and she showed no rancor, But she turned the witch into milk and drank her. Isabel met a hideous giant, Isabel continued self reliant. The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid, He had one eye in the middle of his forhead. Good morning, Isabel, the giant said, I'll grind your bones to make my bread. Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry, Isabel didn't scream or scurry. She nibled the zwieback that she always fed off, And when it was gone, she cut the giant's head off. Isabel met a troublesome doctor, He punched and he poked till he really shocked her. The doctor's talk was of coughs and chills And the doctor's satchel bulged with pills. The doctor said unto Isabel, Swallow this, it will make you well. Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry, Isabel didn't scream or scurry. She took those pills from the pill concocter, And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.
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6.6k
Adventures Of Isabel
Isabel met an enormous bear, Isabel, Isabel, didn't care; The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous, The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous. The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you, How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you! Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry. Isabel didn't scream or scurry. She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up, Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up. Once in a night as black as pitch Isabel met a wicked old witch. the witch's face was cross and wrinkled, The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled. ** ** Isabel! the old witch crowed, I'll turn you into an ugly toad! Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry, Isabel didn't scream or scurry, She showed no rage and she showed no rancor, But she turned the witch into milk and drank her. Isabel met a hideous giant, Isabel continued self reliant. The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid, He had one eye in the middle of his forhead. Good morning, Isabel, the giant said, I'll grind your bones to make my bread. Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry, Isabel didn't scream or scurry. She nibled the zwieback that she always fed off, And when it was gone, she cut the giant's head off. Isabel met a troublesome doctor, He punched and he poked till he really shocked her. The doctor's talk was of coughs and chills And the doctor's satchel bulged with pills. The doctor said unto Isabel, Swallow this, it will make you well. Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry, Isabel didn't scream or scurry. She took those pills from the pill concocter, And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.
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40
Happenstance to the melancholic gives leave the sin of pride. Inbound reconnaissance tells not the bearer of influence. Squeamish at first: a foreshadowing of calamitous bonding. A space between the mark of corporeal and the ethereal; a stringent hiatus That which rattles the concrete foundation of morality is scarcely a malleable recourse. Regret stains the unfounded soul: an enigma of ephemeral perforations. A separation of the unmitigated humanities; misandry topples the writhing snake. Impact; a cleansing of the maker's flaws integrated solemnly. Complacency arrests the administration of the abhorred; unbridled is the autonomy of a guru.   Ambivalent giftedness burdens the reliant and haughty. A flick of the tongue brings forth the cinema mortem. Castaway: alone to wade in the sea of obscenities. A temporal causality allows no mourning to abscond. Negligence is not the enemy, but indulgent wrath. Hesitant: a stroke of qualia begets the end of a maiden.
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Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
The Horseless Jockey
Freedom At Kannyakumari “The destiny of India is molded in her class-rooms” Kothari had no confusion; no vision on the fusion- of the East and the West, as Swami Vivekananda’s vision, “The comingling of the East and the West will dawn a new Era”. As tissue culture, transplantation or cloning we Indians imbibe the Western Culture; or as G.M cotton or brinjals,or tomato Indians are produced, transmuted destroying the very indigenous genus for material growth. Ayurveda is preserved not in Sanskrit but in English letters, now ! Followers of Lord Maccaulay as obedient servants, by experiments,bring up Indians only in blood and colour- in every other respects-Europeans (using imperialist - capitalist media); poor sycophants ,for a visa, the Indians: now , turn to the West for light, leaving the bright light under the Urn; cry for a way of progress, safety and food; and beg:once self reliant nations as cells of a body No retrospection or introspection, only putrefaction, hence , no resurrection. On August 15th ,at Kannyakumari beach , beside me, a bare body of a woman(my sister?) lay asleep; I witnessed at the starry cold mid-night: the surging sea spitting frothing snow upon the black rocky ******* protruded, greasy, mossy. bare but fair , ever young at the feet of Bharat-matha. Wet in the salty breeze , from the foul smell of death, I walked and walked searching shelter, but no room for a single son with meagre wealth. The tourism net -workers with the thirst of mosquitoes hummed around me with highly rented room offer- source of tourism exploitation- I bargained, till, morning red balloon rose up in the Eastern horizon cleaving the vapours of the sea, when , thousand tongues chanted Gayathri; then , the locals thronged around the woman on the shore; somebody among them, staring blear eyed as the police jeep and the ambulance arrived , bewailed “O! Gayathri, my darling, O! Gayathri…” Unsoothed. The chanting and the yelling dissolved in the breeze that passed by the Vivekananda rock, afar, south
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Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC
Freedom to Think
Freedom At Kannyakumari “The destiny of India is molded in her class-rooms” Kothari had no confusion; no vision on the fusion- of the East and the West, as Swami Vivekananda’s vision, “The comingling of the East and the West will dawn a new Era”. As tissue culture, transplantation or cloning we Indians imbibe the Western Culture; or as G.M cotton or brinjals,or tomato Indians are produced, transmuted destroying the very indigenous genus for material growth. Ayurveda is preserved not in Sanskrit but in English letters, now ! Followers of Lord Maccaulay as obedient servants, by experiments,bring up Indians only in blood and colour- in every other respects-Europeans (using imperialist - capitalist media); poor sycophants ,for a visa, the Indians: now , turn to the West for light, leaving the bright light under the Urn; cry for a way of progress, safety and food; and beg:once self reliant nations as cells of a body No retrospection or introspection, only putrefaction, hence , no resurrection. On August 15th ,at Kannyakumari beach , beside me, a bare body of a woman(my sister?) lay asleep; I witnessed at the starry cold mid-night: the surging sea spitting frothing snow upon the black rocky ******* protruded, greasy, mossy. bare but fair , ever young at the feet of Bharat-matha. Wet in the salty breeze , from the foul smell of death, I walked and walked searching shelter, but no room for a single son with meagre wealth. The tourism net -workers with the thirst of mosquitoes hummed around me with highly rented room offer- source of tourism exploitation- I bargained, till, morning red balloon rose up in the Eastern horizon cleaving the vapours of the sea, when , thousand tongues chanted Gayathri; then , the locals thronged around the woman on the shore; somebody among them, staring blear eyed as the police jeep and the ambulance arrived , bewailed “O! Gayathri, my darling, O! Gayathri…” Unsoothed. The chanting and the yelling dissolved in the breeze that passed by the Vivekananda rock, afar, south
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44
Having a friendship with you was emotionally taxing. Some days you were awesome and on most,you were shitty. I'd wake up not knowing which you I'd get that day. You have messed me up more than anyone else,and what made it worse was you never even noticed . You might disagree but,when someone tells you you've hurt them,you dont get to justify it or decide that you didn't. It was rainbows and butterflies and shii in the beginning but as time went on,it got real. You weren't there when my whole life was falling apart,on days I woke up hoping to die. You were never that friend I could rely on for emotional support..I'm just gonna assume it's because you're such a happy person so you have no patience for such?Don't know but ya. I told you our friendship was slowly dying but you refused to believe it. While you were busy with your awesome life,I was learning how to not be so reliant on you,how to go back to life without you,how to fall out of love with you (because i never really got over you) but anyway,I'm over all that. All the effort I put into our friendship, I'm gonna put into myself. Oh and,nice move not putting up a fight,how easily you let me go shows me how much I meant to you. Anyway ,bye.
0
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 10:38 AM UTC
Letter to my ex best friend
I remember you. Sweet, seventeen you brand new scruffy beard and black gym shorts kissing me on the couch when my parents weren't home. Sweet, seventeen you with those same bright eyes and citric smile that stung the taste buds on my tongue. Sweet, seventeen you drowned in sheer dumb luck and cheap Captain Morgan (or whatever ***** it is you like to drink.) Sweet, seventeen you with callused hands, dirt stuck in the worry lines and nails bit down to the bone. Sweet, seventeen you pushing my hair out of my face with those same ***** hands, same reliant arms, same crooked-tooth smile. Sweet, seventeen you with scared knuckles and a bare chest just begging someone with the same youth and vibrancy to kiss it until the leather wore out until the venom was ****** so you could stay sweet, seventeen you forever.
0
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 6:13 PM UTC
Sweet Seventeen
You laid me down gently, Just as gentle as i wanted. You reassured me of my uncertainty. You made sure i was okay. There was that cold tightness in my chest, That sank right through me until I could feel it in my spine. As this feeling has once left me scared and shaken, I made my decision. Than you made your first move, And all the colors i have ever seen lit up my mind. And a fire lit in my stomach and the flames moved up my spine. Until you reached my neck and arranged a small kiss. Your lips extinguished my fire and left my bones bare. Hold on for dear life, I felt something adjust inside me. And that was not as suggestion for the actions at hand. But something happened in my soul That left me forever thirsting for your touch. Not in the desirous way i had before, But as though the atoms of my heart, And every particle that made up the pathetically helpless being i call myself, Needed you. They would not be the same without you, i am stuck on you. Addicted to you. And every moment without you feels like sudden death, A draw of my logical mind and these particles of my being. Its absolutely absurd how reliant i am on you. Well i have no other way to put it, But in the least poetic and mysterious way possible, I guess that's what happens when you take a lonely girl's virginity. They become addicted.
0
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
Addict
I got handles that can handle any problem If they the problem I can solve em I bench boys like I do at the gym Sorry boys All I do is win Call it 1988 Cause I'm bringing the heat Like #33 You wont forget me But unlike triple threat Call me self reliant I'm a one man team Call me Kobe Bryant Like 2 Three-peat Just like the Lakers I'm taking over your town 33 winning streak 16 championships The press always giving me Full court press I wouldn't call this chemistry Its magic like Johnson I feel like Jrue Holiday, Underrated But I feel like this our year, Toronto Raptors I got handles that can handle any problem If they the problem I'm they the problem
0
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 6:12 PM UTC
Underrated
~ i am a preamble, seeking to evolve ~ ~ my every emotion, thought and deed, cascades, consequence ~ ~ your every touch forever impacts, in cascading consequence ~ ~ we are all sacred, equal in our worth, may we each, behave so ~ ~ paradoxically ~ ~ our security is rooted in our acceptance, of insecurity ~ ~ our cyclical attractions, and repulsions ~ ~ are the forces which bind us ~ ~ while i don’t understand all the motivations ~ ~ or all the machinations ~ ~ of the forces applied, to divide, conquer and control ~ ~ i deem they are parasitic, and thus ~ ~ reliant upon our cooperation, to survive ~ ~ when i haven’t worked myself out in perfect coherence ~ ~ i’m in no position to pass judgments upon any other ~ ~ in absence of fraud, deception or manipulation ~ ~ embracing sovereignty and free will ~ ~ i vow ~ ~ to wage peace, cooperation, creativity and love ~ ~ to seize opportunity to nurture ~ ~ our garden planet ~ ~ as a humbled gardener ~ ~ there is no spoon ~ ~ it was only an illusion ~ ~ there are no sheep ~ ~ just tactics to divide, and distract ~ ~ we are only ~ ~ children and parents ~ ~ friends and lovers ~ ~ sisters and brothers ~ ~ cosmic conscious explorers ~ ~ shaping our reality ~ ~ nurturing OUR Garden ~ ~ namaste ~
0
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 2:15 PM UTC
~ declaration, of interdependence ~
I have a dream! I have a dream, To the racial discriminators, said Martin Luther King, I have a dream! I have a dream! To the evil-creating economists, I warn and ring. Globe witness hunger, inequality poverty and unemployment The world turns out to be bitter, To all of you, I write this letter. To create a world relieved from these and turn better. I am a mad aspiring economist, a fool, Searching for the right tool, You turned the world with full of mess, People are left with nothing less. To the world, you gave theories, Pushed us into a vicious cycle of injuries, About your theories, you boasted, It has created a few ruling and bloated. Most of you worked as economic hitmen, Turned victim laymen to fighting gunmen. To the realities, your theory is distant, Served no solution to the dying peasants, To the few, we remain a psychological slave and servants, Tuned our lives to a depended migrant. With your development lecture, You have killed the entire nature, In the name of ventures, corporates turned vulture, Hunted and looted our generations’ future. We lived a self-reliant community, You killed us with imposed liability, Our lives are now placed in intensive casualty, The word that remains imagination still is equality. We lost our humanity and identity, In your eyes, we are just a market and commodity, Your play with scarcity, was a mere futility, We finally became a society, filled with atrocity. Your useless lectures of development, Put us under frightening & irrecoverable unemployment, For a few, you got us into a deep-rooted enslavement, So, now for you instead, we make a replacement. To my questions, you neglected and ran, In your eyes, I am foolish stupid common man, To you short-sighted range, I say I will bring in a change! Today, I may remain lower and mere viewer, A day will come, where you will stand to answer, Writing a new rule, I would seize your beloved positions, This will be my lifetime mission and ambition. I say with all my limited experience, I will put a test to all your conscience, Are you just a fat-big corporate’s hand? With people will you always stand? I am not an economist, I am neither an egotist, I proclaim! I proclaim! I am a revolutionary economist, I know you will fit me a label, I am sure I will be an economic rebel, A rebellious economist. I dream a world without huge inequalities, I dream a world free from imposed liabilities, I dream a world without poverty and disparities, I finally dream for becoming an economist with no ambiguities.
0
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 7:43 AM UTC
A letter to the ****** economists- I have a dream
I have a dream! I have a dream, To the racial discriminators, said Martin Luther King, I have a dream! I have a dream! To the evil-creating economists, I warn and ring. Globe witness hunger, inequality poverty and unemployment The world turns out to be bitter, To all of you, I write this letter. To create a world relieved from these and turn better. I am a mad aspiring economist, a fool, Searching for the right tool, You turned the world with full of mess, People are left with nothing less. To the world, you gave theories, Pushed us into a vicious cycle of injuries, About your theories, you boasted, It has created a few ruling and bloated. Most of you worked as economic hitmen, Turned victim laymen to fighting gunmen. To the realities, your theory is distant, Served no solution to the dying peasants, To the few, we remain a psychological slave and servants, Tuned our lives to a depended migrant. With your development lecture, You have killed the entire nature, In the name of ventures, corporates turned vulture, Hunted and looted our generations’ future. We lived a self-reliant community, You killed us with imposed liability, Our lives are now placed in intensive casualty, The word that remains imagination still is equality. We lost our humanity and identity, In your eyes, we are just a market and commodity, Your play with scarcity, was a mere futility, We finally became a society, filled with atrocity. Your useless lectures of development, Put us under frightening & irrecoverable unemployment, For a few, you got us into a deep-rooted enslavement, So, now for you instead, we make a replacement. To my questions, you neglected and ran, In your eyes, I am foolish stupid common man, To you short-sighted range, I say I will bring in a change! Today, I may remain lower and mere viewer, A day will come, where you will stand to answer, Writing a new rule, I would seize your beloved positions, This will be my lifetime mission and ambition. I say with all my limited experience, I will put a test to all your conscience, Are you just a fat-big corporate’s hand? With people will you always stand? I am not an economist, I am neither an egotist, I proclaim! I proclaim! I am a revolutionary economist, I know you will fit me a label, I am sure I will be an economic rebel, A rebellious economist. I dream a world without huge inequalities, I dream a world free from imposed liabilities, I dream a world without poverty and disparities, I finally dream for becoming an economist with no ambiguities.
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61
The most common magic trick I've ever seen is making a 100mm stick disappear. It is the oldest trick in the book. Everyone knows how it’s done but everyone is always never tired of being the audience to it. Maybe it’s because the audience is always invited to take part in the act. The trick is always done by a stressed magician, The trick mocked by kids trying to imitate the 100mm disappearing stick trick. They hide under the pretence of being stressed. They disgrace the world class performers that had practiced the routine so much throughout their lives. Never quitting And Always over rehearsing. The performers would always keep practicing until it becomes its second nature like breathing. Until it becomes like a habit, Until they become too passionate to the routine on perfecting the make-believe act. That they are too obsessed to  realized they had become addicted to it. They had become too reliant over it and that they can't live without it. Even on their last breath they would attempt to show its final performance and draw its strength from it. The most common magic trick I've ever seen involves a 100mm stick disappearing. The trick is like every other disappearing magic act. First the object is lit on fire with a light, Second the smoker kisses the object and takes a deep inhale praying the performance would go well. Third you get distracted by the smokes given off in the exhale And ...ta da. While the Smoke rises It is estimated 14 minutes of the magician's life disappearing. However the audience is too focused on the main act of the 100mm stick disappearing to notice.
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Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC
Smokers
The most common magic trick I've ever seen is making a 100mm stick disappear. It is the oldest trick in the book. Everyone knows how it’s done but everyone is always never tired of being the audience to it. Maybe it’s because the audience is always invited to take part in the act. The trick is always done by a stressed magician, The trick mocked by kids trying to imitate the 100mm disappearing stick trick. They hide under the pretence of being stressed. They disgrace the world class performers that had practiced the routine so much throughout their lives. Never quitting And Always over rehearsing. The performers would always keep practicing until it becomes its second nature like breathing. Until it becomes like a habit, Until they become too passionate to the routine on perfecting the make-believe act. That they are too obsessed to  realized they had become addicted to it. They had become too reliant over it and that they can't live without it. Even on their last breath they would attempt to show its final performance and draw its strength from it. The most common magic trick I've ever seen involves a 100mm stick disappearing. The trick is like every other disappearing magic act. First the object is lit on fire with a light, Second the smoker kisses the object and takes a deep inhale praying the performance would go well. Third you get distracted by the smokes given off in the exhale And ...ta da. While the Smoke rises It is estimated 14 minutes of the magician's life disappearing. However the audience is too focused on the main act of the 100mm stick disappearing to notice.
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27
You sicken me. That wasn't even a real compliment. She said you did a job well That a monkey could do just as well. You are pathetic. Don't get that disgusting Gleam In your eye Just because of a positive acknowledgement. You are like a puppy Whose master called it a good boy For finding a stick in an empty yard. You are reliant. Desperate. Pathetic. You don't deserve anything.
0
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
on receiving compliments in the workplace
Reality shifting in a way we could get to if the world were just a bit flatter when the truth of the moon is reliant upon the sun where everything with matter cyclically scatters surrounded by faces, he sits lives lonely some waiting in an empty room she's knows no one will come I've been outdone, he traveled faster than you you've been outrun, she did better than I could do its the way that time is spun like wind on J's cling clang clatter where complacency is hung next to apron strings as a happily ever after At least the ones that needed me had the quiet decency of fair warning that they signaled the cubs to eat away everything the wolves couldn't use to play with me
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Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
Like a wolf with it's cub
the boonies where you are in the outback, and the middle of nowhere, but y'all like callin' it "God's Country" because it's a place which is tended by God where businessmen have yet to overrun and ravage to fell forests,and clear acres of land for cozy developments and it's a place where you are dangerously closer to the wild elements and are self-reliant comfortably near to the natural free of the 'pressures' who could encroach upon your space and freedoms wow
0
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
outdoorsman
so fixated on the idea of a father, just lately; he's got a firm clasp on his own mouth to stop himself from spilling, wishing he could grip hard enough to leave bruises without thinking "look at me, becoming him" pathetic, is what it is shuts himself down with bitter thoughts and cruelty. how ridiculous to look at mother's new boyfriend— who she isn't even official with yet, who she's only known for maybe four months— and silently wish, more than wonder "will i be calling you dad one day?" his own dad, such a disappointment that sometimes it gives him headaches, trying to figure out who's more of a violent failure: himself, or his father. he has an ego the size of the moon that compensates for his overwhelming insecurities and hides his vulnerabilities; but he can't escape his own self-loathing when there's no one to put on a show for and since he grew up spending most of his days alone and self-reliant loneliness has been the best father he could ever ask for
0
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 2:36 AM UTC
daddy issues
Quest along the beaten path - Rite of Passage; Cheerfully pay toll - Your Fair Share of sacrifice. In return, Earn Falsehoods, hollow&unholy; Silhouettes of acceptance Virtual applause Manufactured smiles, Which guide like tracks, Revealing shortcuts to sunlight Passing predators' dens ... Lustful leeches Latch on with thirst, Flesh swells Veins burst- A familiar love ... Still travelling In figure 8s - Hypnotic lemniscates, An infinite conflict- Self-reliant cannibal Indulges in Structured insanity.
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Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC
Untitled
I've never felt more than half an hour: Insomnia trickles down until the black-tar-ridden-sap oozes onto My partially open eyes. And, to say I've never been in love. Emotions rise up and retreat- A constant heaving of the battered Chest- saving us from finding out How frightening life is. Murmuring our sordid laments to Lady Death, Beneath the murky glow of hotel room bed sheets And fluorescent dollar store night lights, Too vacant to summon anything more than a whimper From our submissive minds. Nothing ends, here. One upon another, words flow effortlessly Out of our cavernous mouths, Clogging our chests with empty syllables until We forget why we ever tried to do something more Than care. Depression can be felt anywhere- The air slowly seeps from the hissing Caracas of a worn out tire, Or the lungs of anyone Still enough to remember. Mindlessly chanting Hail Mary's, We taunt time with our penchant for immortality And hospital lobby greeting cards, Until Aphrodite descends to sell her soul To the highest bidder. Mother, I have killed the world With a time bomb that will never detonate: Ceaselessly ticking on and on- A reliant backdrop for something Too harsh to exist in silence. Our hearts have fallen from our sleeves And into films, romance novels, And 3am cooking infomercials. Land of the living: The walking dead, The too-afraid-to-tell-you-how-I-really-feel, The product of a broken people Who traded silence For a language full of mixed intention. Children of the night, Blindly parade around before noon, Trying to buy redemption At a corner store market For half the price Of the pulpit. Afraid of hearing the latent echo of Our own pulsing hearts, We fill our lives with white noise And intimacy, too stagnant To exist without our 3am spirituals. Anxiously arranging our feeble lives Around minutes and hours- Slaves to false agendas, We battle the dark, secretly, until soon We lose sight of the purpose And get caught up in the motion Of a world too drugged out on Redemption That we forget our own names.
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Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
3am spiritual of an insomniac:
I've never felt more than half an hour: Insomnia trickles down until the black-tar-ridden-sap oozes onto My partially open eyes. And, to say I've never been in love. Emotions rise up and retreat- A constant heaving of the battered Chest- saving us from finding out How frightening life is. Murmuring our sordid laments to Lady Death, Beneath the murky glow of hotel room bed sheets And fluorescent dollar store night lights, Too vacant to summon anything more than a whimper From our submissive minds. Nothing ends, here. One upon another, words flow effortlessly Out of our cavernous mouths, Clogging our chests with empty syllables until We forget why we ever tried to do something more Than care. Depression can be felt anywhere- The air slowly seeps from the hissing Caracas of a worn out tire, Or the lungs of anyone Still enough to remember. Mindlessly chanting Hail Mary's, We taunt time with our penchant for immortality And hospital lobby greeting cards, Until Aphrodite descends to sell her soul To the highest bidder. Mother, I have killed the world With a time bomb that will never detonate: Ceaselessly ticking on and on- A reliant backdrop for something Too harsh to exist in silence. Our hearts have fallen from our sleeves And into films, romance novels, And 3am cooking infomercials. Land of the living: The walking dead, The too-afraid-to-tell-you-how-I-really-feel, The product of a broken people Who traded silence For a language full of mixed intention. Children of the night, Blindly parade around before noon, Trying to buy redemption At a corner store market For half the price Of the pulpit. Afraid of hearing the latent echo of Our own pulsing hearts, We fill our lives with white noise And intimacy, too stagnant To exist without our 3am spirituals. Anxiously arranging our feeble lives Around minutes and hours- Slaves to false agendas, We battle the dark, secretly, until soon We lose sight of the purpose And get caught up in the motion Of a world too drugged out on Redemption That we forget our own names.
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*I am a high-maintenance client. I am a sad scared little girl. I am an angry rebellious teenager. I am a self-reliant woman with above average intelligence. I am sad and small. I am overbearing and demanding. I am questioning and untrusting. I am sarcastic and amusing. I am outgoing and reserved. I am determined and strong but also fearful and weak. I am honest but withholding. I am compassionate and giving and yet also hard and cold. I am stubborn and willful. I hide behind the facade of a woman I want to be. I feel nothing and too much at the same time. I am the life of the party but never really present. I am beautiful crystal on the outside but shards of broken glass on the inside. I will endure a hurricane to take away someone else’s pain and turmoil and yet I cannot seem to do the same for myself.* I am the product of a man who wanted me in controlling and abusive ways.
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Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
I am
Dear Gawd......I wanna be Pope.. I never ride backwards on train or bus, I never profane, blaspheme or cuss, I'm limpid, riven of diaphanous stuff never been given, to a female **** I'm penitent, contrite – shriven of sin, compliant, reliant, I'm bendy n thin. not quite castrato, gives good vibrato to choirboys mullato with bellybutton fluff.
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Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 2:19 PM UTC
"- Dear Gawd, I wanna be Pope -"
The odds were against them As it was their fate on a cliff, that dangled. It was the desire for passion & the need to unite. Cause, she was the devil and he was an angel. . The world had mistaken their odd identities. For they were one since time unknown. Her's was the rhythm to his symphonies. His breath, her kiss, his sin, her moan. . I could hardly say some more. Theirs was the truest of alliance For both were truly in love It was each other they were thoroughly reliant. Upon.
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Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 12:15 PM UTC
She's the devil, he's an angel.