"replacements" poems
In our world technological,
Here's how to talk to gadgets digital,
"Now, listen up, keyboard and router,
Not to mention dysfunctional mouser...
Are you listening to me carefully?
(I am talking to them, but silently),
I do have replacements for each of thee,
I see a future ahead of you three,
Tossed into the gaping jaws of a bin,
off to the council tip, repository of sin,
Did you hear that? Listening in,
Stop trying to do my head in!"
Now they're behaving dutifully,
Technology responding beautifully,
"I'm warning each one of thee,
No more messing around with me!"
Yes, how to talk to technology!
(But make sure you do it silently!)
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
I know we've never been "together."
I know you said to move on.
I tried to be fine with wading this weather,
But the love in my heart still tells me it's wrong.
Now, I'm not saying I'm resentful,
But you did treat me like I was special.
Lately has been so uneventful.
And I'm starting to think this isn't a game...
I get a little jealous when you look at other girls.
I know we're not together, but... You are my whole world.
I get a little jealous when you talk about them too.
It's because we're not together, but...
You told me that you liked me... You told me that you do.
Now, I'm not trying to be weird, but call me, I'd give you my time.
Actually, I'd give you everything, cuz I just want you to be mine.
When I got too lonely, I'd just stare at your photos--
Soundless replacements for you, who knows.
You said I'm obsessive—come on now, don't play.
You like it when I'm open, you preferred me this way.
You said we'd be great together, don't think I forgot.
I cherish every sweet thing you said, so my heart doesn't rot.
Now I've deleted all of your things, cuz I can't bear to see your face.
My prized possessions... I should've given you space.
Why wouldn't you make me yours, like you wanted to?
Now we're apart, now we'll both just be blue.
And now I regret this—now I really do.
True, I'm a little weird, but we're both crazy.
I know what you're afraid of; I know it isn't me.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 10:52 PM UTC
I guess I just expected
Something else
It happens every year,
I get excited
Hopeful
Giddy
That maybe
This year will be
Different.
Maybe I'll find an awesome friend
Who does my nails
And answers calls at two am
Like Nicole did
Before she moved to California
Or she could be like Kayla
Who would be silly with me in
Drama class
And use chocolate sauce for blood
In our Black and White movie
Before her dad died in combat
And she went to bury him in
Some foreign country
Where cell phones
Don't count
Or a boyfriend like Louis
That I could see a future with
Sitting listening to Relient K
In a college dorm
With a million years to spare
Before he left for London
But the girl in front of me
In English
Pops her gum for the boy
In the next desk
And could poke my eye out
With her fake straightened hair.
The girl in my drama class
Cakes on her mask and
Participates in pageant after pageant
And calls her anorexia
A diet
And I heard the rumor
That the boy I thought was cute
In chemistry
Was caught ********* his
Girlfriend
Under her desk in
Español Dos.
I didn't think my standards were too high to meet.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
It's me,
the bench
The one who
let you nestle
your scraped knee
atop my wooden boards
The bench
that watched your parents
interlock their lips
from prom to
the sound of bells
those wedding bells
The bench
who would adorn
your family
the bench
who would mourn
your family
I have almost
withered away now
time is almost over now
But replacements are fine
I see a badge on this new bench
"Dedicated to you and your family."
I am happy now
I can die in piece now
I am the bench
and I loved you so
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 2:47 PM UTC
I couldn't care less about
"Inspirational Quotes"
I don't need to be told that
the present is a gift
or what the best thing about
rock bottom is
or that only I can stop forest fires.
If I was to write one myself,
it would have less to do with
landing in the stars,
and more to do with
how much better you could see them
if you had the eyes of an octopus.
See,
Octopi have such phenomenal eyes.
The spectrum of color they see
makes our own look like
the ****** box of crayons
you get at a kids restaurant.
Whereas an octopuses,
would be the beautiful,
64 Crayola pack
I always wanted as a kid.
If I ever went blind,
I think I'd get octopus eye replacements.
And yeah,
I'd probably look weird because
they'd be too big for my head
but can you imagine how
strange and incredible
it would be?
And it wouldn't matter how I look because
how I see things
is more important to me
than how I'm seen.
If there was even the
slightest chance,
of seeing though the
eyes of an octopus,
that's reason enough to be alive.
And if I could take your life
or your perspective,
and change it even a bit,
that's reason enough too.
So look through the
eyes of an octopus.
Can you imagine the stars?
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC
i write about you
but you do not exist
or maybe you do;
maybe you do and i'm just talking to myself
maybe you're just another part of me that i hate so much
i have to talk to you,
i have to
punish you
because i know i shouldn't like the way it feels-
and i don't; but i keep coming back for more anyway
i amend: i know i shouldn't be addicted to this hatred
you tear me open and pull at my frayed edges
so that i split apart and lose my functionality - and i let you
then i let you thread me back together once more
you build my body with thicker wool each time, hoping that
one day
i'll be warmer, and harder to unravel
and you sew my edges with fragile promises of a better future
as breakable as the metal pin that bends between your crafty fingers
the materials started off so colourful at first, like rainbows
maybe that's why i'm so queer
though over time you started toning down my personality.
as my depression embroidered me, my sexuality dulled
purple and black and white and grey
you manipulate my patterns.
some nights i sleep through, others i don't sleep at all
and some nights my strings are stretched so taut across the nightmares
that one small pull will undo me
i am ripped apart then made into patchwork;
there are white seams over my arms
you call me a work in progress, damaged goods
to be fixed, to be mended:
you can't afford replacements
that doesn't stop you from looking
wishing you could upgrade me into something more,
something better
and every time i fall apart again
i'm left itching with apologies
but never to you; i never say sorry for hurting you
my only regrets are to those who become collateral damage.
i do not apologise to you
because you are me, and i am you
you are a part of me
and i hate you as much as i hate myself.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
in the cloister, we had coffee
talking something about the soul
today in the cold but sunlit court
with a good girlfriend of mine
is when it struck me:
a pretty Christian girl kind of day
before me, a butterfly kind of day
winging the dark fantasies away
start obeying and getting good habits
would have stayed had i any money
to get the rest of my college degree
kind of day
filling your heart with my replacements
to match my false interpretations
of your expectations of me
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 6:22 PM UTC
You were one of the first to teach me about value.
You helped me gain independence, little by little.
I shared my desires with you and you helped me to fulfill them.
Sometimes I needed just that little bit more and there you were,
Ready to pitch in and help out.
I remember a smile breaking onto my face with the very glimpse of you,
Your shining face gleaming at me from afar.
Sometimes those you thought were your friends would just toss you away,
But not me, not ever.
I cherish you for everything you are worth and then some.
You have always been unique, different than all the rest I would come across.
You have your own look.
Yes, you may look similar to others in one way,
But with a quick flip you are shining again like only you can.
Time may tarnish your gleam, but no matter how rugged you get you will always be of worth.
Special childhood moments come back to me now.
Holding you in my sweaty little palm, I would fill with excitement
Knowing you were about to deliver to me the sweetness of my dreams.
All I needed was you and maybe a few more of your friends.
And off we’d go to spend a Saturday afternoon in delightful company.
Seniors would push you away, unwanted, undervalued.
They would take one quick glance to see if they recognized you.
Then they would pass you on to a youngster,
As if they had far too much of you to care for more.
But not me, I would swoop you up and run off, delighted.
Now you are to be no more. No replacements.
You will be allowed to discolour and erode with age as so many of your ancestors have done.
But to me, you will always be the highly valued shining copper penny
Who taught me to count, to value goals and how to use money to attain some of them.
And most importantly, how to take the first steps towards my independence.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
My entire childhood contained in a Disney princess gift bag
Torn and overflowing
A relic from one of my replacements
I don't know their names
Her do-overs
New children cancel out
Old mistakes
She sends me photos, report cards, awards
Proof that I existed
In a time before I crumbled
Before she trampled me
I wonder if she terrifies them
There is a Mother construct in my mind
Born of tender moments witnessed
Of hallmark cards
Imperfect but striving
Maybe she loves them
Some way she couldn't love me
A constant reminder of the man she threw away
A life that brings shame
Locking away the proof
The photos
The same place she kept her heart
We've both moved on, now
But I don't mourn her
The loveless ruthless mother
I mourn the construct I imagined
That I never knew her tenderness
Never heard those words
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
a scream of fusses in rustic reflections -- off again, forcing trust is a silent revolution for us. no blades with this parade; grasp hot coals without blinking and YES i am on top of the world. NO i can't feel a thing. Was it the destruction of senses that bordered our hesitance? Blank pages won't fade away with this operation. only collect dust. And i remembered to close this mouth. Eye contact at a minimum. Contradictions lead to continuous disagreement. i feel it even when your voice reverberates though this mind of mine, no real sounds, piles of old junk mail and fast food wrappers left to dye in the open sunlight. weren't we prepared for a battle? Fists up, intellect down. We have reports of a beast-infected stand-still. Plots to **** I keep my sketches in my pockets, next to packets of mild sauce and cigarette butts. Mistaken for less dangerous, but let's face the music while it still plays for us. Limited is what we have become. Pushing thoughts like empty strollers over bridges and ignoring the collision and the crowds that keep forming. oblivious, but not really... considering we chose this catastrophe. Drawing lines over famous portraits, orchestrating every moment. No regrets, no remorse. Broken bones and stolen show times. As we disguise our characters and dress them under fine white linen, we count the lines. we count the circles. we prepare for the unbroken. replacements are cheaper and easier to find. hollow, determined, violent. place fingertips on pointed objects and close those heavy eyelids. this is the ending. this is the awakening. this is what you wanted.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
Capillaries are the river's replacements
In the basement
of these globes
are roads
life has yet to probe
pave
or scathe
wraiths roam
at gloam
with forlorn
echos etched into morning dew
Their worldly remains
lost in-between
Osiris' domain
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 11:20 AM UTC
Fire. Replacements.
Issues? Productivity.
Decision in order, severe
Raising questions
Consumer, retailer, associates
Market based.
Will not reveal
Range for their role
Earn, risk, deflating, left behind
Probably thinking they don’t have a future there
Do these questions offend you?
Hourly workers, open positions.
We have and continue to control what’s next
Stiff competition, corporate struggle
Watchdogs fail
Demoralized
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 7:48 PM UTC
Seems like everyone's
looking for replacements,
the lost and left
huddled together
seeking their placement,
anAtomys standing static
but the field is magnetic,
bonds are bound for
the making and we
take it with ease
not questioning if
we're faking it,
and in fact instead
of friends we're
lining up
potential enemies.
Is it all just
overfamiliarity?
Is the attraction just distraction?
Force filled friendship
or true connection?
Full of heart
or cardiac arrested development
trying to drown
out the loneliness and rejection?
And if so how long will it last?
How strong is the net cast?
Is it holding us together
Or are we just caught up?
Deferring inevitable dejection,
only a matter of time
before detection and
we're exposed for
the fraudulents we are?
Or have soul mates been found?
Lovers been crowned ,
best friends and brothers
who will always be round?
Better things coming together
replacing what's broken?
Truth lying in the unspoken.
Filling vacant places
like liquid frozen.
All In good Time?
But can you Trust in time
when it ultimately brings
atrophy and erosion?
Or Will these laws
be undone by devotion?
Logic replaced with emotion?
Possibly...
But enough philosophy
my replacement bus is here.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
Rampant, bold uncertainty; at times it grows unchecked.
A fearful twinge too often spreads, surpassing all holds kept.
The bars affixed to life you've grasped, once linear and true
Now seem to veer so far from straight, away from all you knew.
What's to do when what you dreamed distorts and changes shape?
Nightmares born from vivid roads bisecting checkpoint's gate.
Stages sought now can't be reached, but detours linger there.
Sadly pointing, often though toward distant, lone despair.
Reluctantly, an awkward press results from giving in.
Ignorance, or lack of choice compels minds to begin.
Unwanted course, embarked upon, bears pressing weight, deforming.
Contorting souls which once had known the warmth of 'morrow's morning.
Expected glare from dawn's first light was ne'er a surprise.
Hated trials through distant lands create some darkened skies.
Reactions learned are useless then, accustomed as you are.
Anticipated outcomes are like flies within a jar.
Choked free of air, they surely die, but more then take their place.
It's these replacements, newly born, one tries to hold with grace.
Seeping through the cracks in hands that have no strength to hold.
Should you have used that jar at all? Why has this life grown cold?
Perhaps a high regard was due to that you took for granted.
Or maybe something just turned up, and shook the feet you'd planted.
Regardless, here you stand unsure, so lonesome is this fight.
Who's to know? What's now to come? Just tell me. Is this right?
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 6:59 AM UTC
Beautiful soul
The carrier of hardships
You are the spawn
Of proud ancestry
The source of awe
The muse for my desire
Your dark skin
Is my heart's awakening
Yet you are not for me
You are not for me
You are not for me
Distance remains a consistent
Impediment to my sacrilege
Travesty of a face of empathy
Sadly I'm less than eyes can see
Yet more beneath is left to greet
My ears hear psalms mourning me
Tears leak upon my pale cheeks
Speeches are given casually
Venom spews through the loose
Vortexes of speaker-box booths
The black hole that once controlled
My inner intuitions and sold soul
The owner being you in truth
Sweetly scented lullabies shoo
Away doubtful tunes in bloom
The replacements are couth sleuths
Meetings seldom meet fruition
Meat meets my mouth in suspicion
Meaning I'm once again a victim
Meandering through prisms
Restaurant owners are slower
To greet me at the doorway
Knowing fulfillment of my order
Won't require a table for more
Not for the kind of man who
Stands and is hardly understood
Also seemingly oblivious to who
Is true and reluctant to face proof
That you are not for me
You are not for me
You are not for me
Beautiful girl
You are the grains
Beautiful girlfriend
You are the coastline
Beautiful woman
You are the ocean
Beautiful wife
You are the Earth in whole
Yet you are not for me
You are not for me
You are not for me
The tremors
The whispers
The night terrors
The torch bearers
The dark caresser
The static selector
The burnt dresser
The hell blesser
The black lipstick wearer
You are for me.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
Screaming at the moon during cloudless nights has become
the only form of
therapy that works anymore.
I'm waiting for
the night it will invite me to curl up in its craters and whisper every
childhood fear
you brought up into conversation when I told you
my memories could be used to show how words
can be sharper than the
broken bottles
your mother lusted. Sleepless nights are sobering my head and
my voice box is starting to suffer more than
the Mona Lisa, but you never liked art that didn't hand you
its meaning with open arms and
a pat on the back. I wish time did more than rust
the only things with
something of value, but
junkyards aren't good replacements for falling stars and
forgotten chunks of metal remind me too much of
the way you loved with a steel heart and
icy touch. You claimed I could find
refuge in between your
ribs, but every
cell in your body is frozen solid and I never found comfort in the way ice sculptures morbidly melt in the presence of the sun with
crossed arms and
a closed mind. I'm sorry
my walls have grown taller than your pride, but i hoped i would be something more than a quest filled with
ships meant to sink. Consequently, maps have grown to be
sly creatures, and the
darts i'm throwing at the world all end up on your
roof without a scratch. I wanted to be more than your
fading scar, and I hope you'll look at your arms
one morning and realize they could be touching mine, and until you do, i'm just stuck here with nothing but a stomach full of
conscience and
mouth full of words i'll only scream to the sky.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
You want to replace me?
fine
I can replace you too
Just watch
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 10:36 AM UTC
How many times must i say "I aint ****
Before people will listen
Yes I can trEAT you right but its hard to talk while were kissing
How bout right after we do our sinning and I'm resting in your bed
Instead of climbing on my face , put a scalpel to my head
Maybe if you see my thoughts you'd better understand my visions
Baby just don't look at my heart its in a bad place cause bad decisions
I had to lock it away and so its chained up in the basement
But it still hangs posters of past lovers and all of their replacements
I didn't ask for this but I wouldn't change it cause I know I ain't ****
I know I'll be nothing more than a failure and its fine cause I'm cool with it.
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 9:38 PM UTC
My light eyes only see the dark
immune to clear blue skies,
indifferent to a bright spark,
and the bloodshot lines in the white
reveal my own confessing script,
the things I couldn’t say that I write,
I couldn’t walk away so I tripped.
You’ve broken me into small parts
reflections of which I no longer resemble,
I’ve looked for replacements in cars, boats and go carts,
but there’s no use to try and reassemble.
If you have my mind, my heart and soul,
tell me what does that leave over for me?
You know I showed you my scars but hid my mole,
but I still don’t know exactly what you see.
Because it starts where it will end
and finishes with infinity,
the primary colours were made to blend
but I’m lacking all creativity.
Your blank stare is elusive as the wind,
sometimes I question if it’s even there
but then I think I catch sight of a grin.
And while I’m drowning in your eyes,
trying to catch the ocean in a glass,
I’ve underestimated the size
and forgot the impact of the last.
I’ve been plagued with a sickness
one that’s lacking any small remedy,
poetic justice sees complete bliss
always inevitably evolve into tragedy.
My eyes are shrivelled, lacking tears
something had to overflow the canal,
still the boat floats and it steers
avoiding reasoning and all rationale.
Because it starts where it will end
and finishes with infinity,
and I’m too beat to pretend,
that I wouldn’t ’t rather be lost at sea.
Life, life has always been too long
but it seems forever with you is too short.
While I reflect on the choices I made that were wrong,
I’m told it’s now too late to abort.
Life, life has always been too long
but I only started living when I found you.
Because it starts where it will end
and finishes with infinity,
you’re word was broken, it could never bend,
but it seems I’m the only one that’s still fighting.
Because it starts where it will end
and finishes with infinity,
there’s nothing in this world we can’t mend,
but I think it’s time that I stop investing.
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 1:20 PM UTC
Shoeboxes in the upstairs prove
when veins were tight and hair was
that shining, gleaming, streamin,’
flaxen, waxen stuff of the 70s.
You would laugh if you could see
him in a toupee, shoulders broadened
against the end of a night shift, billy club
swinging steady by his side;
She, beautiful like Grace Kelly,
with high definition cheek bones,
her smile Rainbow Bright enough
to call the curtains down
and leave them that way forever.
But red velvet shrouds over them still;
His shoulders curve under tax forms and
knee replacements, cancer spots on his bladder and nose.
She plays with the extra turkey skin on her neck,
frowns at the grooves around her mouth.
The audience sees more than we want to.
They fade from unblemished black and white
into garish Technicolor,
Twenty-nine years
of dinner, ***** dishes left in the sink,
root canals, cat food cans,
******* stickers, laundry to fold, that milk
might be a week old.
They go on and I love them
for the death of romance,
for the things they've folded away in shoeboxes
for me to find.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:55 AM UTC
He's the yo-yo man
He reels the girls in
Throws them back out
Then yanks them right back in
He's got one for each hand
He's the yo-yo man
Soon a string breaks
And the girl goes a-flying
Until she hits the floor
But he don't break a sweat
He don't bat an eye
Because he's got replacements
He's the yo-yo man
All his toys are cheap
And easily breakable
He's the yo-yo man
He's a little out dated
A little bit quirky
And the tricks get old real fast
He's the yo-yo man
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
*Your eyes shift like
clockwork forcing
December into
it's rightful rank.
Frostbite bursting
from jaws of
Sagittarius, iron
staining your
crow -feathered
muzzle. I
plucked Sirius
off the face of the
sinking sky while
weaving his
starlit fangs into
steal wolf teeth
for replacements.
You swallowed
an oath of loyalty
for alunakira
so I will build
and reach into
that heart of
vintage glass,
drag the dog of
war from the
sunset stomach
you own~
and do as Lupus
told me too.
I will construct
symphonies of
tiger -lily
dusks & dawns
to raise the
dead poetry in
basilisk heart.
Lycan, I'll
withdraw the
ashes of
Avalaone just
to get the
Gears working
again in your
a u b u r n
e y e s*
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
People ask me what it feels like to have no control
I tell them, it feels like freedom of the mind
It feels like the suffering never happened, the pain never scarred
And soaring through skies is possible, oh
I wish I could go back, store all the love that you gave me
and put it in a bottle, your love at full throttle
Whenever I need dosing
I could drink your love and smile
Knowing things will be okay,
That life will be okay
Seasons change and smiles fade
As I got older, I felt that I grew colder
And I, now all I do, is try to find replacements of feelings
With substances of nature and not
I wish I could go back, store all the love that you gave me
and put it in a bottle, your love at full throttle
Whenever I need dosing
I could drink your love and smile
Knowing things will be okay,
That life will be okay
Oh innocence, bring me back to the world?
I've lost all control and I'm starting to feel the tole
Oh innocence, can we please make a truce?
I, promise you won't slip through my fingers
Won't dissolve in my veins
I will be sane
I wish I could go back, store all the love that you gave me
and put it in a bottle, your love at full throttle
But I know, that it's all up to me, if I want to be free
I must, spread my wings and put down the bottle
Put down the love, it's decayed anyway
The only thing left is water droplets stuck on the side
It's all on me now
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
A wreck between the brittle pages, highlights surrounding the worst of me, all you can see
Page by page you skip, context clues hidden in the blur of the pages you flip, repeat
Written in secret code, you cannot decipher the honesty, writhing between ink you cannot see
Another chapter, another phase, whisked away in a horrid haze
Another typewriter that runs out of ink, no replacements to use, tear at the pages you continue to abuse
Asphyxiate sleeping while attempting to read the ****** breath caught in lungs, the bell has been rung
The ending nears, silence never ceases, look past everything, you're gone, deceased
Recall the heavy breaths resting between each paragraph, neglected, the mood you reflected
I reside on the dusty shelf, burned down in the fire, arson your burning desire
Crumple every inch, frayed beyond repair, you have no care
Leave the words to writhe in place, a mess to forget, a person to regret
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 3:18 PM UTC