"researched" poems
Tonight I missed a shot with nostalgia because of myself.
I've become such a slave to my phone that the flashing colours in the sky could not,
would not bother me.
Everything except for the device shining in my palms was blocked out like a voice I didn't want to hear in the first place,
Except I DID want to hear it.
I want know about everything that is happening around me without burying my face so deeply into Google to find the answers I'm searching for.
Nothing ever happens to me because I'm too busy in the comfort of my own home,
upon my own couch,
on my own phone worrying about the next Facebook status
and whether or not it will be entertaining
or in need of a dose of an opinion that is my own.
I recognize that I have my own personal "cell"-mate that will follow me wherever I go as long as I don't forget it on my kitchen counter.
I am shackled to my cellphone.
It takes me in handcuffs daily,
arresting me at my own free will.
A policemen of such small character,
yet so many brains.
And I already know my rights.
I already know my rights because I've researched them enough times with my mobile text book to have them memorized.
You have the right to post a status, anything you say can and will be taken out of context.
You have a right to an opinion, if you do not have an opinion one will be appointed to you by your desire to impress those whom share a friendship with you.
I am a servant to technology.
It's as though it is a part of my anatomy.
If it's not one item of electronics it's another and it has my full undivided attention.
As connected as we are, we have all become disconnected.
No one talks anymore.
Word of mouth has become word of texting.
Important pieces of information are shared via the internet because it's easier to get it out there all at once instead of saying it multiple times.
I sadly succumb to every chime I am beckoned with as it demands I answer whomever has interupted the surfing
and scrolling
and sharing
and liking
and commenting
and posting...
I put my phone down in disbelief.
Now tell me, "What's on your mind?"
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
I still remember that magnolia,
We found it walking down the street.
It was as beautiful as that day
And it hadn't even bloomed yet.
I still remember it
I remember the walk through the city.
Without a care,
As if we owned it,
In some ways, I think we did.
I still remember
I remember the looks we got,
You could tell what everyone thought-
That we were the sweetest couple
They'd seen in ages.
And we didn't bother to correct them,
It'd be too hard
And it'd break their hearts.
I still remember
I still remember that magnolia,
It was hanging off a branch-
I'd never seen a flower like it,
But you hadn't either.
So you grabbed it, and I kept it.
I still remember it
I remember how the sun was hot
My shoes were all wrong for that walk.
You wore a white t-shirt,
And I wore a tank top.
You paid and I told jokes.
We asked questions,
Almost as if we'd never met.
I can even name the song you played
On your iPod filled with albums.
I still remember
I remember how I tried not to cry
When we said our final goodbye.
We hugged more times than I can count.
And we smiled so we wouldn't fall apart.
I still remember
I still remember that magnolia,
It bloomed the very next day.
It filled my room with a magical scent,
It opened until it was larger than my face.
I researched until I discovered
That it was called magnolia.
I still remember it
And now it's years later,
Maybe two or three-
It's hard to keep track.
But magnolia is my favorite flower
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
I like cussin’
I even researched the word.
It ain’t cussin’
There’s an R that is not heard.
We’re talking of cursing,
The taking of God’s name in vain,
Back when it was blasphemy.
Those days will never come again.
It ain’t the same way
Like it was back in those times
When spitting on the sidewalk
Was a jailing crime
And black people had to walk
Down in the gutter.
There were words back then that
Decent folks didn’t utter.
Well, I ain’t religious.
I don’t go to any church at all.
It ain’t that I am evil;
I’m not riding for some fall.
But there are times
Like when you hammer your thumb
That saying “Oh fudge!”
Sounds just plain old **** dumb.
I am not sending
Anything or anyone here to hell.
It’s just helps
To say hell or **** or fuckaduck
When you have to yell.
A shuckydern don’t fit the bill like
A shouted ****
When you are ****** off, raving
Ready to spit.
I totally understand
That some words have a place.
Calling people ********
Can be seen as a huge disgrace.
But I still insist
That many times in a conversation
The word *******
Just fits the momentary occasion.
So, scoff if you will.
I’ll try to play by your nicey-nice rules,
But there are people
What are nothing but ******* fools.
I do hope you pardon
My not liking any more pleasant words
When someone says
The dumbest **** I have ever heard
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
To relate,
to imagine something similar
to what is being shown,
to imagine what it might be like.
A metaphorical meaning is like
being a shadow
that tries to relate to a star.
A poem with metaphorical meaning
is written with more effort, research, and a deeper understanding
of language.
I have written more metaphorical
poems than average poetry.
I work harder on metaphorical
meaning than I would with basic techniques. I love a challenge
so that's why you see more metaphorical poems
written by me.
I have researched many languages
and meanings to words,
my techniques for writing
reflect my efforts.
I am a writer who writes with imagery and metaphor so often that
I am known to be an eccentric writer.
It's an exotic way of expression.
It helps my readers
to relate to what I am thinking.
Also, it is how my brain sees
the world.
I was not born with language
like most people are,
I am an autistic person.
I don't have a natural language
in my mind, I have learned how
to express myself through writing because of my handicap.
I am not perfect but
I try to improve myself
by learning and practice.
I am still learning not to criticize myself too much. I am never a good judge so I try not to think about it
too much. I analyze everything so
I think it's good for me to try
not to analyze my writing
as often as possible.
I end up changing my work
until it turns into something completely different than
it started out if I do.
I want people to see the effort
and time I give my poetry,
so I do my best to show it.
I am always happy to do
something new and challenging.
My grammar and spelling
has improved because
I am willing to take feedback.
I love it when people are honest
and tell me if I made a mistake because I can learn from
the mistake.
To grow and develop you need
a plan and a place to go
when you need space.
I have learned this and
I believe that is what helps me
to improve.
Metaphorically speaking,
I am like a leaf I change with the seasons and I am willing to grow
within a tight space.
I love being with other
leafs like myself.
That's why I join communities
like this one.
Thank you, Hello Poetry.
© 2018 By Amanda Shelton
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
Here’s the bouquet you say you deserve
After all that you’ve been through
Here are some flowers
Symbolic of whatever
I couldn’t care less
It’s on the table next to the dinner that you said I never cook
Off center is a hallmark card about how I don’t love you enough
But should
We are stagnant like holy water
Which is stage three in the second half of a relationship
according to Knapp’s Model
I did the math and researched the reasons why we don’t work anymore
Here is the math
Sometimes
I is less than or equal to U
Not that
I could or ever should be greater than U
|But I want our equality to not be a battle to maintain|
We don’t need each other anymore
I don’t need you like I don’t need teeth in my *******
And you don’t need me
Like an extra head on your shoulder hanging so heavy
So here are your flowers
Here is your dinner
Here is you apology letter to the both of us
For how long it took for me
To tell you to go
It’s simple math
It’s 20 minutes over dinner in silence
+3 bags I’ve packed for you
+1 20 minute drive to your friend’s house
It’s the remainder of me
When the fractions don’t fit
And I want to be whole
This is me becoming whole
The square root of dying to an over-exaggerator
Maybe you deserve flowers
I deserve to deal with life in whole numbers
I’ve fallen from your fractions
Been rounding out my edges
And I’m almost done
Now go
And leave me to the simple math of being alone
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 4:16 PM UTC
The other day
When I said that your face reminds me of a rhinoceros
I wasn't saying that you look like a bulky box
Or that your skin looks grey
I was really trying to say that
You make me feel like there are a hundred
5 ton mammals stampeding across my heart
And sometimes when I look at you
I can't even breathe
Because all the weight of wanting this
Crushes my lungs til my chest burns like an African desert
Consequently most rhinos are found in Africa
And I researched all of this in the hopes that
Maybe you would understand
You see the thing is I am not good with emotions
And I know as much about love as I know about quantum physics
And I don't even know what quantum physics is about
Or what it means for that matter
I've been trying to read all the romance novels that I could find
I've been trying to watch all the rom-coms I can torrent
Hell I even watched Valentine's Day thrice
But I still don't know what to do when I'm with you
I am unsure and clumsy and petrified
So much so that I can't even work up the courage
To hold your hand
I'm trying, I really am
It's just so **** difficult
When falling in love feels more like
Jumping out of a helicopter
A hundred thousand feet up
Without a parachute on
One day I will be able
To directly say what I really mean
Without metaphors involving animals
That only I understand
But for now let me just say
Your face reminds me of a rhinoceros
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 7:02 AM UTC
I am not a *****
Labelled by the past racist ****
I'm not black
That is a color and mostly
Associated with magic and evil
I am not a *****
***** meaning black in Spanish
Applying to the same
As the three lines above
I am not not African American
I have never seen nor been to Africa
Africans don't claim us
Nor do they reap like us
They had there time in slavery
But never like us so called Blacks
Along with the Indians and Mexicans
So i ve thoroughly researched
And my roots trace back
To being a descendant of kings and queens
A Hebrew
Ya see Hollywood knows the truth
It is a secret that's long needing
To be unsealed
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
Crows of brooklyn
payphone goddess
Shakespeare:
old skinny
repeating thin silver words
beneath a sea shell
stolen by a 7 year old girl
in a red rag dress
from the burning contemporary
bookstore
tossing sweat thru
irrelevant back spine tunnel streets
featherless skulls
spitting sour chinese gin
from chimney blow hole
of their decaying dead thieving Fox
revolting death
to mother blessing decay
red blue green white
Fox yellow brown fur
swirling entwined like
melting crayons
on a stone militia crafted bench
researched developed by young Hispanic America Freedom wanderers
too hot
too cold to undress and ****
swirling together like cigar french ashes with
tongue hued wine
feverish coffee
thick as the bulging pregnant belly mother
giving
taking birth to a child
tossed carelessly into the Great Lakes
sipping on bad spoiled milk
digesting salt
hard boiled swan eggs
eating purity
chewing skunk
coughing industrial chemical gasoline
*********** AIDS NYC bright non-existent lights
non-existent Allah
howling North Korea Communist war hymns
sing great religious protest
gunky toe nail'd feet
waltzing in the stomach of medieval
ballrooms chandelier not casted by
infinite diamonds
but by Jewish slaves
Islamic skins
Christian leather
Catholic molested brains children bones
deceased Langston Hughes
hung by Hughes spine and pupil
the size of texas
mass of the ****** female lips and knees
wearing color blind dress
shoes unfound
skin feet walking on rain drizzling beach
washed up skeleton sting ray
the skin unwrapped
like a christmas gift
Santa is starvation
licking the shoe polished long toes
of Death
riding the Downtown artificial lights
artificial scientist crafted classical
elevator time consuming Death songs
Jesus,
waking up,
to his body dry,
like that of Winter's rose and lips.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
I'm here to spread the news that.
Despite its bad reputation with people
Back surgery works like a charm.
When I was 23, I injured my back lifting weights
I began to have chronic back pain
I researched what was the best thing for back pain
And yoga came to the top
At age 28, I began 8 years of yoga
That I practiced every day
My back pain was reduced until my age of 35
When yoga eventually failed
I moved in to physical therapy
That worked into my late 40s
I was rear ended in a car accident,
With the car entirely totaled.
That was the beginning of the end.
Nothing "alternative" worked anymore
I felt like there were razorblades in my groin
I would fall for no apparent reason
And then could not stand back up
I went to my doctor about it
He said if I got a MRI, that surgery would be the next step
Since surgery has such a bad reputation
I skipped the MRI
I was riding horses at the time
One day, I went to get a horse in the pasture
I kept falling and could not stand
I thought it was due to the mud.
I had to crawl through the mud and horse ****
To get back to the barn.
I thought once I was on concrete
That I could stand
But I couldn't
The stable manager helped me
To the office.
I rested for half and hour
And then drove home.
We were watching TV
In our downstairs family room
I went to go upstairs
And in the middle of the stairs
My legs stopped working
We drove to the ER
I had an emergency MRI
It showed that my disc was entirely extruded
And surrounding my spinal cord.
I went for emergency back surgery.
The procedure was called a microdiscectomy
They just took the gel
Away from my spinal cord
And within 2 hours of surgery
I could walk again.
I noted how easy it was to walk.
After a few weeks of just weird stuff
Like lightning bolts down my legs,
My back entirely healed Within 6 weeks
And that was the end of 27 years
Of back pain.
I often tell young people that
I had an extruded disc that
Was older than they are!!
It's been 5 years now and my back is cured.
If back surgery did not have
Such a bad reputation,
I could have saved myself a lot of pain
Microdiscectomy has a 95% cure for referred pain
In my case, it had a 30% cure rate for back pain
I am in the lucky 30%
Back surgery does work
And every year
There are more advances.
I went to my surgeon
And gave him a present
And a big hug of thanks.
Spread the word!
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
February 23, 2019:
Freddie Mercury tells Mary Austin
“I think I’m bisexual”.
And my heart beats like mad
Because no one else has connected to
A secret like this before
No one else notices
The drum beats of my chest
This isn’t even one of the three times
Tears fall
Unhindered
Pt. 1:
He tells his band
His family
That he has it
It’s an ending that is known to the world
But in the moment
Aids is not life-shattering
Because of the sun that filled his soul
And it fills theirs
As they promise
To break a hole in the sky
Pt. 2:
His hand rests gently upon
Jim Hutton’s
It’s accepted
His arms wrap around
His father
And his father’s wrap around him
It’s accepted
Pt. 3:
The opening bars
To chords
That only hours ago
I’d deemed my favorite
Begin to play and his life
And its end are played out with it
I’m glad he got his happy ending
Through drops of water
I tell my dad
That this is it
(Unbidden) Pt. 3:
I researched immediately after the dream-like
To see if that’s all it was
A dream
I try to explain
But my mother is stuck on the
Anti
To something she didn’t even know
Graced my reveries
I push down doubts
Doubts that have filled the both of us
Him and I
That still linger
But
It’s a moment of light projected into
My soul
A moment so gold-coated
That a vision of the same words almost
Leave my lips
And fill the comfortable silence
Of my dad’s car
They don’t
But unfazed I vow
To remember
Golden
Silver
Bronzed
Freddie Mercury
When they do.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 8:40 PM UTC
I used to live alone before I knew you
so
of the mundane tragedies endlessly writ
repeat rinse repeat
repeat
how awfully awful
is the complaining without cessation
of busted everything;
recall the the doctor’s office sign
"no cure for the broken heart here"
so when I hear a Buckley sing
the words of the Cohen, High Priest of Songs,
I, a broken hallelujah,
smile with recognition
though the true cure is
yet still forever being researched
patience is a patient within me,
for my muses and their endless,
poking aching whispers of write, write, write, right,
they are the company I keep,
they are the company that sweeps me up
I, a broken hallelujah
they are not the desired flesh, true,
that affirms confirms and denies me
denying my needy frailties
but for now,
mine company to keep,
so when we do meet and
you greet me with a
tell me about your previous lovers
as you humanly must
will recite my poems from
from before I knew you
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC
I learned more about you in a Tattoo shop than I should have
I was talking to an artist named Adam
when he mentioned a goblin shark
and how even in 2014
we have only researched 1% of the bottom of the ocean
and until then I would have never compared you to a sea floor
but it seems that is just what you are : undiscoverable
deep
dark
dangerous
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
*In a world, somewhere beyond the senses of human
a woman fell in love with a man,
he could be me too.In no way she could see
all(every one )of me, or I her; yet we know each other
in our magnificent ignorance of universe, that
makes things work for us in this world we live.
A sea of bubbles, each universe is copy of some other
as a lost pair in parallel universes, if researched enough
I would have found there are millions of she and I, exist
in numerous universes, doing things in all
permutations and combinations, I am sure.
If I take me as a Romeo, I can't happily court tragedy,
remember in some of these worlds where a different
law of physics works(a different Newton existed, apple didn't fall)
our love could become a super success, Shakespeare there
would have been forced to write a different classic.
In some other world a different tragedy might have occurred
I am not one , but multitudes, in planets of different universes,
I am the past, the present and the future awaited, I am the same cat
Schrodinger has donated his name and made famous
that made life and death suspects
I am the 'atman'- the essence absolute, in human beings
that yearns deeply to merge in the absolute consciousness 'brahmam'
about what the Indian sages of yore spoke in 'Upanishads'
millenniums before quantum mechanics saw the light of the day.
Brahmam, the absolute, non-duel in unmanifested part of the universe, beyond knowing
by a cryptic play becomes matter and manifests before us, bit by bit
Higgs boson, please catch the cosmic slight of hand red handed.*
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
I got soul and I am a soldier.
I got soul, and I AM a soldier.
The world, is full of soldiers, some no older;
than ten, learning to use the pen.
Others, grow colder, killing with their swords again.
In the end, regardless of your reasons or weapons,
it would be treason for me to treat these soldiers like peasants.
The feudal lords send us to die on distant shores as though we were ****** bought and sent to supply their wars and satisfy their demands for more,
blood lust.
Human being does not mean mindless killing machine.
The next time a war scene, plays out in the news,
and you hear the same rhapsody about third world violence and blues;
take a moment of silence, to question,
if it was you,
would you take a different direction or stand up to fight for you and your section?
Soldiers come in all ages, shapes, and complexions.
Some use words for weapons, trading carnage for college;
that's why I don't drop bombs, I drop knowledge, and I don't quote psalms, I pay homage,
to the earthly soldiers of humanity fighting the insanity of a planet where they die in wars fueled by greed, fear, and vanity.
Men, women, and children around the globe rally to the banners of Love, Happiness, and Hope,
trying to cope, with the ropes tightening around their throats.
So they turn to the Pope, or the Shah, or the President, or the King,
all draped in their righteous bling,
blissfully ignoring, the mystery,
as to why history's greatest soldiers were common folks who just kept pushing forward.
Jesus, Muhammad, and anyone who survived a nuclear bombing.
Gandhi, King, and the few whites that stood against African-American lynching.
Galileo, Newton, and those that researched in secret to avoid persecution.
Wellington, Eisenhower, and those that died fighting tyranny in the darkest hours.
The true power, of the soldiers of Man, comes when we take a stand fighting for something we demand. Our grand,
struggles and revolutions are led by those fighting for solutions,
by those that may become political executions.
So to those that question me,
I state emphatically,
yes indeed,
no matter race, gender, or creed,
I stand with all the other souls that are soldiers of humanity,
fighting to save our sanity.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 1:34 PM UTC
Poor little Donny.
Long ago all he had
Was his overlarge, pumpkin-shaped head,
His tiny baby hands,
And a small loan of a million dollars.
He struck out for himself,
With only that million dollars to his name.
And he became a success...
And then went bankrupt,
And then found success again,
And then bankruptcy,
And finally more success.
He bought himself a wife,
Made himself a daughter he wants to date,
And put in a run for president.
Now he stands atop a pedestal,
Spewing forth hate-filled words,
Xenophobic and mono-syllabic.
His white washed fans, bowing before their Fuhrer.
Our best and brightest spend their days decrying his actions,
Our true leaders point out his massive ineptitudes,
Our comedians creating thoroughly researched,
20 minute rants about this tiny-handed, pumpkin man.
The other leaders of the world stand baffled by Donny's popularity.
But still his stands behind his podium,
With his red hat,
Waving his baby hands and blubbering about his
"Great brain. The best brain."
And the
"Fantastic wall. The great wall. A Trump wall."
And so the question becomes,
What will this tyrannical child do
When his presidential aspirations are destroyed?
For he lacks the support of any minority group,
Any women's group,
And any level-headed person.
The answer is simple:
He will sue, or at least threaten to do so.
He will rant and rave like the lunatic that he is.
His racist followers will do the same.
But their blabbering will be lost in the words of the intelligent.
Or at least we hope that will be the outcome.
Why, oh why, little handed Donny,
Must you spew such hatred and xenophobia?
Why can you not return to your tower of gold,
With your expensed wife, and bobble sized pumpkin head?
Please leave us be.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
Using the 1% of those who got out of
the violent act of poverty
at the expense of billionaires
and taxpayer payed subsidies
Yes, they use the most pretentious
of our few escapees
they become a mouthpiece
to deny the facts researched
by actual experts
Truth is
what is powerful
There's no escape
from the ruler's messages
There's no escape from miseducation
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
I've learned all teachers of life taught me
I have always walked a strictest lin
Did all those who are my equals said to
And might I say did them better more so fine
But before my soul decided another lesson
To be born to free to be the captain of my soul
Way over time I researched few things sublime
And listenened to this very own soul of mine
Who gave any the right to instruct their way
Upon my soul since it became myself long ago
Its time I let go and its time I flew to feelings new
Its time I listened to my souls experience to know
Time I undressed time I confessed its simplytime
That I took over inmy own souls fields of clover true
Well over time I ignored their oh so holy advice
Loved life more hell to heaven all things old and new
Time for a time I knew moments so fine ever sublime
Time I undressed confessed and by passed this mess
Well over time I loved more this soul of mine
And with a likwise thinker spent time and flew
(( I'VE NEVER BEEN TO ME ))
terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 8:46 PM UTC
Promise to nominate a judge
Who will reverse previous decisions.
Relish the opportunity
To fan the flames of people's divisions.
Refuse to provide the senators
With all of the documents that they need
To allow for careful, researched judgment.
Your nominee will be guaranteed.
Be sure the person you nominate
Will have your back if things get hairy.
Agreeing that you're above the law
Is absolutely necessary.
Let ideology be
The key factor for stacking the Court.
Your starry-eyed supporters will
Give you their undying support.
Train your nominee to behave
Just like you when at a hearing.
Your base will consequently find
The person even more endearing.
If any dirt might come up,
Limit the background investigation
To make it essentially a sham.
And lie without reservation.
Persuade Republicans in Congress
To sycophantly do your bidding.
You scratch their backs; they'll scratch yours.
Works like a charm. I'm not kidding!
Belittle dissenters. People who don't
Support you, you humiliate.
Stick to this plan, for that's how you
Are going to make this country great.
-by Bob B (10-5-18)
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 8:35 AM UTC
There's too much prose in this world,
Sermons are more than service
Money is more than mind
Polemics dominate over resolution
Truth crumbles under loads of lies.
While millions go without food
Poverty is researched
Sustainability is analyzed
Cost of survival is determined
By people living in luxury!
Baffled I turn to poetry,
To seek symmetry
In this dichotomous world!
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
A teacher’s words:
“Why didn’t you listen?
Listen more and pay more attention!”
The sound of laughter,
From your comrades
And the smile that twitches your lips.
Oh boy, you’re enjoying this,
I can tell you are
From that suppressed smirk upon your face.
You’ve been waiting
And waiting for this opportunity.
Ever since that day
I had to correct your teaching
Of faulty sign language.
You’ve done it,
Leaping at it like a starving vulture.
Why didn’t I listen?
You know full well why.
You see these blue moulds
And these little machines
Hanging by each ear?
I pointed them out to you
And told you
That I am deaf
When we first met a few months ago.
You tell me to listen more
And to pay more attention
I do not choose
When I can and can’t hear.
Nor do I choose
What I want and do not want to hear.
You sit here,
Calling yourself a supporter of deaf awareness
And you founded
The British Sign Language club.
You try to teach people sign language,
And to raise awareness and knowledge
Of deafness and Deaf culture
.Yet, you sit here
And scream at me,
Telling me to listen more
Instead of not listening.
Why call yourself a supporter
If you barely understand the disability?
You yell at me for not listening
But I am deaf
And you have researched it
And even tried to raise awareness.
Why are you a learning support assistant
If you abuse your position
And never understand disabilities?
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
I am asking you to be kind to me.
Let me remember.
Let me dream.
For however many months,
Don't let it fade.
I've read articles, I've researched for years
The mind, the logistics of memory.
I did it out of love.
I've explored it with the singular focus of a dying man
Scouring old books for evidence
Of the Fountain of Youth.
What can I do?
A certain perfume
Worn
To jog the brain and keep a memory in tact.
A gesture or a way to breathe
That brings you back to a lost moment,
A song or maybe
Just the deliberate reconstruction
By the detail
Of a beloved face in the air before you
Although you know it isn't there.
You can train your mind
To conjure ghosts.
And I have done so with mine, over years,
Even when it turns the talent on me viciously.
Am I toying with insanity
Inviting it in?
Perhaps.
Memories are gossamer, fragile,
Like paper so thin and pale and delicate
That you can see right through
And one touch of your fingers,
Even the lightest,
Powders them to silky dust.
I've sought relentlessly
Every trick and association,
Every scientific shortcut
To keep my treasured moments close.
I've touched, willfully, every detail of every second I can recall
Touched the smallest lines and angles and
The little places where the illusion wears thin
Unable to hold the potency of reality
Only its reflection.
I have made myself touch every single moment
That I know it would be easier to leave alone-
Memories are not meant to be so scrutinized.
The price of keeping them is the uncomfortable proximity
To something good which is long past
And the peculiar grief that it will never come again.
But there are things
There are people
In this world
Simply too important, too essential
To let go of.
There are memories
Worth the unsettling work of holding them.
There are moments
I would rather die than not relive.
Please,
I know you are more extraordinary than math equations and good grades
And pages and pages of poetry.
I know that with all of our hidden corners
And how little we know about our minds
You must have a way, you must have a gift for me,
You must have a chance to keep this close.
I am asking you to be what you are.
I am asking you to let me remember.
I am asking you to send me dreams and smiles
And to never let those blue eyes fade to the sepia of old memories
But to keep the vibrance that stops my heart
Alive in my head.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 1:55 PM UTC
There is science to a broken heart
When the heart strings that connect the valves of your soul collapse
When the veins are full and heavy with the weight of let downs and false promises
When your bones ache the same as a near fatal injury
Know that it is not a phantom pain
Not an empty longing
For a temporary someone
You mistook as permanence
The ghosts of their skin forever
haunting with their former touch
The pain of a ruptured spirit
Is equal to that of being hit by a truck
Going full speed down the highway
Lights off
No warning signs
Is equal to the pain associated with The inability to forget
You place a do not enter sign around your heart
Next to the caution tape
Marked on your skin
The science to a broken heart
Can not be found
In an anatomical enclyopedia
But it's existence
Is not to be questioned
Heartbreak has been researched
Enscribed by historys greatest
For fitzgerald felt the blows to his being
From love that thrashed with winds and currents
A hurricane
Often the subject of their own experiments,
Writers are the scientists who study broken hearts
Words used as algorythms
Attempting to respond to
Questions we might never get an answer to
We're often left wondering
And often time its suffice
Because if we were to know why
Why the sun aches for the moon When the moon only has love for the stars
Why the theory of newton and gravity
Will never account for humans falling
Why storms are named after people
If we knew
We might not expose ourself to said research
We like the unknowingness
That science has yet to offer a conclusion to
The unknowingness that is often synonymous
With love.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
I'm in recovery from crossing paths
With a psychopath.
I don't use the word lightly.
He had just been released from prison
For ****** against his 7 year old daughter
Fortunately, he is far away.
2000 miles away.
Fortunately this interaction
was email, only.
Fortunately I was not harmed
Fortunately, I was not stalked
Fortunately, I was not kidnapped
Fortunately, I was not *****
I researched Ted Bundy
how he would wear a fake cast
And use crutches to lure women to him.
Psychopaths always have charisma and charm
In the beginning, anyway.
They are experts in fooling people.
I didn't do anything wrong.
I was merely fooled.
And it won't happen a second time.
I realize that I am far too "nice"
I am one who would have helped Ted Bundy
Get his briefcase, and help him
put it into his car.
Not anymore. Id rather be safe than sorry.
It's not a requirement to help people out.
I'd rather be paranoid
Than to allow any other psychopath
Into my life.
No more "Minnesota Nice"
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
i am her
predictor of the future
meticulous as a clock,
and as complicated too.
alone with my thoughts
you can faintly hear ticking
as i process what's to come.
affected by the past,
evidence and data shows
my next possible steps.
creator of a five year plan
to leave this town for fog,
ocean,
and small bookstores.
my skin is dry as i waste time
planning on how to save it.
i've researched career options,
tuition, moving, housing costs
for the best way to leave
the best way to live
in unfamiliar streets with unfamiliar faces
and have enough to pay for my coffee
you are him
predictor of the present
carer for the now, the what is
uplifted and bold
and impulsive as hell
i worry for your health
and for your broken seat belt
you worry for mine
and how my heart hurts
but my future couldn't keep you down,
and what we had slipped through my fingers like water
and for two people who could never really be
we tried so god **** hard.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 12:42 AM UTC