"rereading" poems
Sep 15
2 0 15
your poem read,
awoken by lightening flashes of
morning notifications arriving,
postmarked from
"I liked it"
but it does not
end there,
continues,
to a new ending
who and why,
who and why,
did this one find
their own
worthy in it
that was writ unknowingly
just for them
and
you look them up,
guessing
who and why,
rereading your hand's work,
which verse was it,
was it for a blessing or a
curse,
that touched them,
that made them
touch
you
each "like,"
a work in itself
re examined,
re searched,
re imagined
in the
light of
who they are
and
why they are
liking words I wrote
a single poem
bring hours of imagination,
each "like"
individually gift wrapped,
each human liking rapt,
each imagine a rapture,
each "like"
a new poem
about the who and why
each name a disguise to unravel,
each name a title
of a new different,
imagined poem,
who and why,
we
like
each other
~~~
6:53am
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 7:01 AM UTC
ken not the
vive la différence!
entre les deux,
these two bed and head chambers,
for all poets are seducers,
regardless of *** race, creed or color
when first we employ our working, yeoman vocabulary,
we plain start,
to relate but not to regale,
the whom we are,
hoping our moments unique,
will breach the boundaries
of our collective commonality connectivity,
and find human receptivity
thus, the seduction of self commences
though every possible combination of words has somewhere been inscribed and committed, we ****** ourselves
(the seduction of poetry)
with potions of notions that we are and always be our
first, and now soon forever,
yours as well
of course, we are, it's true,
our very own first admirer & lover,
having conquered the hillock of self,
see the universe expanding and the
****** need to conceive
and prowess to please
beyond the beyond with
the poetry of seduction
do not want your body, heart or soul,
commitment, allegiance, vows,
sacred or profane,
all such in vain
crave your everything,
not even a legal nine-tenths satisfactory
dare not call me arrogant or presumptive,
gaze upon the mirror that cannot lie,
rereading thy words assemblage,
and deny to lie to yourself
want you, you want me,
my adoration,
we want to be in
a poem together,
lovers at the molecular level
where words dissected into letters, then again,
into guttural sounds where a simple outcry is an elegy,
a love poem, a wound, a denouement, a preface, a tear,
a welling, a heaving, a sigh, an exhalation, all,
an entrance to where the need for words
is long since past
the sin and crown of seduction completed,
unanimously
now breathe out
and then,
breathe in
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC
to more than I can be...
a sad isolated man,
throes of an agonizing,
stretched by her for painful
revengeful gain,
kissed with pointless avarice, divorce.
children deeming
him alienating, his faulty
insensitive sensitivities,
to easy blame
little do they know of the
piercing lowliness, the looniness of
nights he listened to sad-eyed singers,
and his late-of-mid of night scribbled scripts,
where he
off loaded the agonies of a midlife
disaster, not entirely of his-own
sown making,
but still his to bear and bare alone...
some accidents happens for unintentional,
unintended intentional new seasons appear,
stumbled, tumbled, fumbled his way onto
this H~oly P~lace, where someone might listen
to his explanations, expiations, excoriations
of his all too common tragedy, and said:
this broken human, he's got his reasons,
read his overly long treatises, his entreaties,
to those that prowl, rowing, in this corner
of the silence of the internet, where only the
trolls, the cold, the easier to-be-meaner oft thrive,
and found none of that, but an oasis of sheltering,
embracing comforting, those who actually admitted
his writings could be loved, and perhaps the writer
himself, was
deserving
of a second chance, a verbal embrace. a rereading forgiveness,
a pat
on his natback, a sympathetic sensory intaking,
and perhaps-this debt, eternal, that put the
for and the fore in a new baby born, named -
new forever
came into existence
the very same
e
that begins those conjoined words
***e~ternally grateful
"and now I sleep in peace when the day is done"
but the night time
is still the
write time
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 11:42 AM UTC
old school rap,
you always tried to tell me and i couldn't listen until you were gone.
sunny open window naked romping music
moving forward from your empty body music
pale skin but not as pale as yours
was.
when i met this new
person
, he said
it's time for new songs
something to mark this page with
but i just keep rereading your obituary
Jan 11, 2012
Jan 11, 2012 at 3:40 AM UTC
Is a million memories ...
Like your favourite Beatles track,
Like breakfast coffee in a Turin bar,
Like the old friends that never grow old,
Like your favourite Italian pasta in Rome,
Like summer swims in warm sea with cold rain,
Like the aria which sends shivers down your spine,
Like the magical taste of Gaja Barberesco for lunch,
Like coming home to a smiling face after a long trip,
Like your child buying you dinner for the first time,
Like how beautiful she was on your wedding day,
Like your first date movie being on TV again,
Like capturing a moment in a photograph,
Like rereading your favourite book,
Like watching Casablanca again,
Like publishing your first book,
Like living every moment...
... And a million more to come.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 8:35 AM UTC
*for Joe A., who wishes me that
"may your best days be in love's sight"
your kindness in words,
over the top,
unduly undue
"my best days"
très charmant,
mais aujourd'hui
students surpass
the teachers,
cause
sad, bad and life
tag trending
and we~me,
are simply
Sunday~done
with those
nowadays,
grandpa's tools
outdated, shelved,
in their final
resting place,
blades dulled,
the technology
of his verbiage,
rusted by old age
the reads diminishing,
his touch, antiquated,
his best days, resting on top of
the ocean internet waves
his summertime buddies,
sand sun grass and sea air perfumes,
singing, awe we got ya,
cosy and comforted,
awaiting you in your chair,
overlooking our truest
sheltered applause
my best words
turned inwards,
collecting recollections,
rereading my solaces,
and content that
my body,
still stirs,
when joined by
Barry White and Lionel,
forgot like me,
yet happy, in bed
with us
so you see,
Joe,
you are half right,
the right half
*on my bare chest,
blonde tresses,
blanket, keeping me warm,
easy like a Sunday morning
so turns come and go,
no more down the slide,
running to the back of the line,
up and down again and again
time of the tool and die maker,
to cut loose,
learn by crafting daily,
and not from the books*
***Ooh, that's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning
That's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning^***
write for me, write for her,
for with her,
in love's sight,
life is
easy like Sunday morning,
and
that's why I'm easy,
like Sunday morning
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
I still you as the last page
The previous chapter
Even after...
I still go back to read it
Maybe its because its Christmas
Maybe because its the Philippines
But each time i recall
The more faster i forget
I keep rereading, i just keep forgetting
I don't know why i brought it up
Maybe this will be the last melancholy song
My broken heart will be able to play
Each word a note
Each sentence a string of notes
Strung to form a melody; A joyful sad one
It's Christmas and the Philippines
Love fills the air, its infectious
Saddening as its uplifting
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 6:43 AM UTC
The time has come for me to let go. I must close these chapters if I have hope of ever feeling whole again. I will never forget and I will always love, but the time has come. Leaving these chapters open will only haunt me. Time will not change a **** thing and I need to accept that. I find it strange that as I close these chapters, I am opening a chapter that I thought I had closed forever. Silence is painful though and hope is a dangerous thing. This old chapter has been reopened and added to over the past month. These chapters I am closing hold some of my most precious memories and I will carry them with me always. I just cannot keep rereading and waiting for more to be written. It won't. I have one more planned visit...after that I do not know when or if I will be back. If my presence is desired and it is made known to me, I will make every attempt, but it won't be and so I probably won't be either. My love is for always, as is my friendship.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 12:43 AM UTC
"Rereading her texts doesn't bring her back from the dead."
And I'm dead anyways. So read my texts all you want.
Somebody pick a fight with me. Set this all ablaze and watch the photos burn.
No.
I can't do that. I will not give the world the satisfaction of being right about me. That I'm this monster...
Rereading her texts doesn't bring her back from the dead.
But she's not dead.
So let me rephrase:
Rereading her texts... doesn't bring her back.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 3:51 AM UTC
I am a writer, yet often the little daily goal box to "write something" remains unchecked.
I am a photographer, but my camera has dust on it and my uploading sites are sparsely filled.
I am an academic, yet for the most part I find myself only studying what is given to me while the material I've collected remains halfway read.
I am a reader, but I keep rereading the same books and they don't get opened every night.
I am a loner, but I have those I love and those who love me.
I am quiet, but I must speak 80,000 words a day.
I am a horse owner, but the leather of my saddle creaks and groans with disuse.
I am a fan, but episodes are left unwatched.
I am young, but I do not have much energy.
I am in love, but I do not get to see her but once every few months.
I am in a long distance relationship, but I'm not much good at setting up Skype dates or leaving her messages on Facebook.
I am a performer, but I have not touched a stage in over a year.
I am a gamer, but I only play one game.
I am a dork, but I smoke cigarettes and drink black coffee.
I am a nerd, but I was never much into comics and I do not wear glasses.
I am mentally ill, but I talk to therapists as though I am upbeat and I am not behind on my schoolwork.
I am a musician, but I cannot play an instrument though I've tried many times.
I am a blogger, but I've let many die and I do not network well.
I am of the computer generation, but I could not explain how a computer works.
I am a daughter, but for many years I hated my parents.
I am a sister, but I have to remind myself to speak to my siblings.
I am a friend, but I prefer to keep to myself and I don't always have the right thing to say.
I am American, but I don't know much about politics and I don't like apple pie.
I am a vegetarian, but I have to eat fish sometimes.
I am gay, but I don't know exactly how to explain so that other people who have questions understand.
I am a student, but sometimes I don't feel like I'm much good at "critical thinking."
I am sad, but I smile.
I am an optimist, but I am cynical sometimes.
I am guarded, but I spill myself.
I am myself, but I don't know who I am.
I am not much good at being the things I am.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
I reread the same books over and over
And I don't care how many reasons you have to hate the series
These books are like people
Sure, they have flaws
But I love them for everything they are
I see their beauty, not their mistakes
I will always love them
Because they were my escape
When everything was crumbling
They were my friends
When people weren't
And rereading them
Reminds me
Of how beautiful it was
To escape
I don't care if you hate them
Just like people, if you don't like them, leave them alone
No on is forcing you to associate yourself with them
You don't need to go around spreading news about their flaws
Because you have many of your own
My emotions
Are connected to those books
Because they saved my life
So leave them alone
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 11:59 AM UTC
Combinatrax. Anything of this persuasion is considered ageless beyond the matrix. Beyond time displacement, space and spaceships beyond the reach of human contemplation.
I battled evil spirits when temperatures were frigid with no mittens crossed wooden bridges over rivers just so these words can be delivered.
Combinatrax. Anything of this persuasion is considered ageless beyond the matrix beyond time displacement beyond the oasis for nothing is complete without every piece.
who's receptive to this message? The tree of life provided me the weapon inside the zodiac divided in sections, categorizing five elements if i wrote this backwards you will still understand my penmanship *****
Lets show them what I see, the letter C, the sea of tranquility, Yemeja proof read this read for me.
Pardon me but i must beacon your attention for more then 10 seconds, this effective mass burial method is so well measured. She calls it the ocean.
I started the trends must I show you again? Normal configurations are dismembered and disconnected self execution methods occur after dawn but before breakfast.
Blood red moon.
Lilith said death is the adjustment to her mood.
Timeless writes rereading keeps you updated destroying frustration **** your favorite this is not a statement but a vibration for those are who are lost but made it..
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
People say I'm "in"sane
but if losing myself
in what makes me happy
and drinking exactly 3/4
cup of coffee
every morning
and only stepping on the white
of zebra-crossings
for luck
and always having
my music volume
up to the maximum
and spending my saturdays
reading
and my nights
rereading
and my mornings pretending
that my life is a musical
and having extra happy days
when birds
replace my alarmclock
if all these things are what make you call me
"in"sane
I would never want you to even consider
calling me "out"sane.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
laugh at me
You are normal
Popular psyche exam
You forget me so easily
Oh
How the mighty have fallen
If I use that trite expression
Would you still listen to
Jazz and shooting stars
Slipping through the
confines of your eyelids
I was the master Now the Slave
Once a biochemist-
Now blind children divine the future with my finger-bones
Where is the peace i deserve?
How dare this life pour itself out upon me!
I have spent too much time inside this mind
Trying to understand your question marks
Rereading your sentences-learning to read between lines
I am a young god or a soul
I am an aged demon full of electrons
Draw the line here
I am a poet to snakes
Dreaming of becoming a bird
Birds dreaming of mouthfuls of insects
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 6:34 AM UTC
Trying to write poetry again after months and months
is
like
rereading all my Shel Silverstein poem books
&
attempting to create a time machine to go back
to
my
good old days
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
Its 2 am, I’m crying so hard I can’t breathe
I don’t want to remember the way you held me
After too long apart
I know that nothing is real anymore
It’s all just pretending
I’m pretending to be functional
And you’re pretending you won’t get tired of my unintentional games
This coffee is pretending it can wipe the sleep
from the back corners of my insomniac brain
In my mind’s eye I keep rereading your snapchat
You have yet to open my sarcastic reply
I have to be sarcastic in my replies to you
I’m afraid if I’m real
You will see how you can break me
Snap the last whole piece left in the cavern of my chest
I don’t want to be broken anymore
Its 2 am, I’m learning how to breathe through the pain
Of being alive when everything in me rebels against it
I’m learning how to live with the sound of my heart beat
In every moment, even though all I want is a bit of peace
Quiet, in the way I never want to be with you again
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
Receding back to my usual corner
only passing time til I'm introduced to my coroner
attempting to inject fine knowledge into semantic memory
when a sudden wave of parinoier washes over the scenery
Unfortunately having drank all this coffee
with enough caffeine to **** the energizer bunny
my parched throat compels a leathery thirst
so I take another sip and act as the hearse
but as I'm throwing the soiled cup away
the coffee didn't quite go the way
...I had planed
As I begin coughing out loud in quiet public spaces
a disastrous look comes from their squinted little faces
as if they've been trapped and caged liked vermin
too long is some building deemed antiquarian
attempting assertion over upcoming coercions
I must admit I'm rather enjoying this
disrupting there gathering of information
with my uncontrolled vocal insertions
but enough with my cynical social actions
I must return to my work with which I have no passion
and because I've become bored with rereading these lines
I must retire to my higher cognitive confines
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
I wanna get really drunk and tell you all the things I'm too afraid to tell you sober,
and I want you to call me drunk and whisper my name and tell me that you've been in love with me all along but we both know how stubborn i am and how proud you are and we both know that you deleted my phone number a long time ago and you're not planning on calling it any time soon but that's okay,
I'm okay.
I'm fine without you, no matter how much my heart burns and my head aches of your absence and how I find relief in my own puddle of tears, mixed with blood, bled only for you.
You were my sunshine when i wanted rain, and my star when I wanted clouds and I guess I was just the skip of your heartbeat, and just a mere breath taken away,
I still think about kissing you all the time, but it seems to hurt much more now as my hopes turned to cigarette butts and you being mine turned to dust.
I guess you were just the fog polluting the air, and I found it hard to breathe around you, you were the summer rain nobody wanted but I liked summer rains, they washed all my pain away, while the sun was still shining.
Maybe I was just the dirt on your shoes, you cleaned me over and over again, making me disappear and I always came back on rainy days where you accidentally step into a puddle of mud and I'm once again stuck on your shoes.
The frickle of sparkle in your eyes has me thinking and everytime I look myself in the mirror and focus on my dull eyes, all I see is you.
I wonder what kind of thoughts cross your mind every time you lay your eyes on me, and it's so wrong of me to be satisfied with the smile of pity on your face everytime you see me.
And i keep rereading all the sad poems I ever wrote you and it made me realize how much I was in love with you and how that unrequited love is slowly dying and fading away, the wind taking all the dust and broken pieces you left of me and making them sink into the sea.
Maybe this is your way of showing your power, the control you have over me, to brag to your friends about the pathetic girl who is in love with you and sees you through different eyes and finds you eternally fascinating.
And as i look through the window pane of my dad's car while we‘re driving through town, i see you in my own reflection and I see you on the sidewalk holding some other's girl hand and I see you in the moon and all the stars and rushing cars and I can't help it but you're my every thought, you have possesed me and I don't think I'm gonna survive this storm and I'm not even sure that I want to.
You're the fire and flame and I'm just a melted candle under your stare.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
i did what they told me to.
i sat down,
closed my eyes,
and breathed.
in,
out,
slowly,
repeat.
in this silence,
i felt the weight of That days,
all Those days,
on my chest and shoulders.
i played music,
like you said.
half opened eyes and tears rolling filled the acoustics in my bedroom.
i breathed,
as if it wasn't already hard enough.
i heard and felt my heart breaking over and over,
slower and slower with every breath.
it made me want to stop breathing at all.
if this is what you call "helping me",
i don't want it.
the silence rings in my ears.
i can see myself reading and rereading headlines and texts.
the denial i felt,
the emptiness i felt.
oceans of sadness and grief washed over me, i wanted this to be my end too.
i wanted to stay in bed for as long as i could,
i wanted to drown in my bedsheets and muffled sobs.
i did what they told me to,
to breathe.
i don't want to anymore.
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 11:55 PM UTC
I follow rainbow gutter rivers back to my empty downtown apartment.
When I was young, I looked up at these buildings in awe.
Shiny glass towers full of giants,
staring down at me, ant-like and enamored.
You looked beautiful in your wedding dress,
they said.
A decade spent selling disposable garbage to the masses,
rereading Ogilvy on Advertising and wearing uncomfortable shoes.
Today I’m one of those giants.
Do you still throw darts at my picture?
Do you ever think about me,
at all?
A thousand miles away, a little girl asks her mother,
to make her a cherry pie for her birthday.
She knows it’s my favorite.
If we have cherry pie, maybe he’ll come to my party,
she says.
Seven drinks later, I told my dad I was miserable.
A hollow shell of anything I’d ever planned to be.
He didn’t believe me.
After all, I had never let him down,
before.
The last time we saw one another, we ate dinner on the floor.
You smelled like you’d been on fire.
A week later, I found a strand of your hair in my bed,
and sighed.
It was nearly sunrise when I arrived,
leaving a trail of clothes all along my floor.
Lying in bed, I thought about how long ago yesterday was.
All those slow summer mornings,
and three-day goodbyes.
I stare down at the streets below,
as innocent wide-eyed dreamers shuffle their feet on cold sidewalks.
Somewhere a young boy leaves home for the first and last time,
and I think about how beautiful you still look,
in photographs.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
I’m my own assassin.
Whether it’s rereading texts that I know destroy me, or purposely looking through social media that I know will negatively affect me.
I don’t know why I enjoy making myself suffer.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
<>
*“rootless in shallows of momentary mayhem
and no matter the change in horizon,
there is always some thing to be found
that could remind me
of the worst ways I have ever been.”*
from “Harlequin Days of Fecund Fervor” by Victoria
<>
rereading these your words, upset forces me to break a recent vow,
my own writing banished, now faceless in the ranks
of just another poet, busted in rank, chose my own
decommissioning but then your momentary mayhem
plea, fecund you, your third harlequin, states construct!
stay the constriction, the recalling of our worst worsts,
for there is always something to be found, recalled,
that the horizon’s only constant is constant change,
especially the worst worsts
I am colored by your treats, your word plums ripe even
out of season, and the mayhem is mine only mine,
robbed you for it is I, rootless, given up my planting, then
the cobblestones of old new york, trip me up, saying
even old things such as you, have a prime yet to come,
stones fecund seeding, predicting I am not done, just undone,
and fetuses within this dying body, may yet be carried to term,
may yet, maybe, may be, but may be caesarean stillborn
rambling this, mostly musty unclear, so summarizations a
sensible thing, a pardon requested for clarity is a sometime thing.
rare are the days that the terracotta colored soil
darkens my fingernails,
it is dried blood from my scratching deep beneath the skin’s topsoil,
but nothing grows that’s whole, warped are the word fruits.
my soup is hot water with salt, a tasty dish apropos for one
whose growths are rootless in the shallow, infertile dirt of stones
that reside in the shallows of a garden of mine own
fecund may-hem of the grey fall sky autopsy turvy
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC
Rereading conversations
Remembering the past
You love him
You hate to say it
I'm your metaphorical God
You're depressed
You want to go home
You want to leave the town
You already left
You have to come back
Life is rough
Living as a misfit
No one will understand
Understand your depression
Unless they have felt it
Sadness for no reason
Feeling like a freak
Like a misfit
Because of the way you feel
Yet you have to appologize
For the things they did
They need to apologize to you
For being an ignerent ****
Expecting you to be happy
When all you want to do is cry
You thought you left this town
Tear soaked bed
Makeup smuged pillows
Terrible memories
Terrible mistakes
Terrible guilt
You thought you left it all behind
But you didn't
You have to be the stronger person
Even though you're
Breaking at the seams
You aren't apologizing anymore
For their ignorance
They won't understand
Just wanting to sleep
Cry
Cut
Tear the skin off of their body
The awkwardness
The innocent watching
You hate yourself
And your feelings
You want to go back to where you came from
Leave this town
Leave it a mystery if your coming back
Ever
Or never
You're still stuck
With the tear soaked bed
And makeup smuged pillows
You don't know if you can handle it
I'm here
I'm going to help you
Help you through those terrible nights
That, that I promise you will happen
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
Hurricanes and foghorns mixing up a ranch on the outskirts of Nowhere
The candlemaker doesn't seem to mind
Reading and rereading collapsing tomes
Cluttered desks, but all is calm inside.
Twisted in corruption, knobbly fingers shaking
Here's a man we'd call wizened.
He's seen all sides of the foreground.
There's a path around his house where nothing grows
His soles made it
Silent and statuesque he trod
Quiet and calm in his solitude
He fears nothing but unrest.
Cryptic script mars the mahogany dresser
A source of comfort, pride
Mystery of bygone days of the infinite October
When the sleepy sun would kiss the earth goodnight
When the dust would catch the light
A gift to the eyes as they lay themselves to rest.
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 5:05 PM UTC
This should not happen.
I shouldn't be thinking of you.
I shouldn't be looking forward to that day
I will meet you once again.
This should not happen
I shouldn't be here lying awake
At 1:48
Rereading all your messages.
This should not happen.
I should be able to leash upon these emotions.
But they are starting to break free
Against my wishes.
This should not happen.
Haven't I learned my lesson?
Haven't I felt the repercussions
That I brought upon myself before?
This should not happen.
I shouldn't be feeling this way.
I shouldn't be building castles
That one day are going to break.
This should not happen.
But I also tire of holding
Everything inside me
So should I just let things be?
This should not happen.
Not when I will be vulnerable again.
Not when I will be miserable again
Once things don't work out.
I shouldn't let this happen.
I really shouldn't.
But I can't help it.
Oh God I can't help it.
I can't help it anymore.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC