"resented" poems
Of ones heart with shadows lurking to take over spite is made precious to be felt exciting while it is in fact trecious, but a sleeping terror awakens at times as well, thus a rampage is made amongst it,
A thrill wandering down your spine when you wrong someone and see them tremble through your actions a cold shiver followed by spite
Choosing a carefree life, yet unable to hide the fact that no spark would be able to illuminate whats in your dark, where angels fear to tread, only to explore this loitering abyss within you for some time,
All this blood lust must bring you to insanity, make you a lunatic,
But let it happen, in this emotionless shell it's what feels majestic,
The storm raging inside, waiting to feed on this caused chaos,
Evil and vile, heartless not carrying a smile while mercilessly continuing this riot of a resented soul waiting, longing for destruction
Feeling alike to be burning up, priceless about this act of cruelty until the wanted realisation drives its way into your soul and you question yourself what you have done, or why you have done it for anyway,
But the time will come again for sure, so be ready for it to arrive
When the sleeping terror awakens for another dance
~ Umi
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 7:34 AM UTC
Tell me why it seems like the walls are closing in
Tell me why my hopes they're stretched far and thin
Tell me why my dreams still struggle in this fight
Tell me why every time I draw air but it feels so tight.
Tell me why in this turmoil my heart does wallow
Tell me why lifes' lessons by the heapfuls I choke to swallow
Tell me why I'm somewhat free but then again I am not
Tell me why I really do have but I haven't really got.
Tell me why I try to sleep many a restless night
Tell me why I am so afraid of many a fearful fright
Tell me why I still feel the way I have felt before
Tell me why I ask many questions which leaves me broken and sore.
Tell me why so much emotions run amok within me
Tell me why I look yet I do not really see
Tell me why despondence is back; it's here to haunt
Tell me why such uncertainties always beckons to taunt.
Tell me why I want more but I am quite contented
Tell me why I have to accept the path I've very much resented
Tell me why I already know but I still keep on asking
Tell me why it seems like the reasons are in every way lacking.
Tell me why I feel so happy but in fact I am so sad
Tell me why it all seems unfair but I have to be glad
Tell me why I found love in the most unfortunate circumstance
Tell me why to a mournful tune I am stuck in dance.
Tell me why my heart feels engorged but I can't release it all
Tell me why I am so scared but I would still want to fall
Tell me why I feel you close when you're farther than far
Tell me why it seems incredulous that we share the same star.
Tell me why I long to give you more when I can't this instant
Tell me why I can feel better but I seem so resistant
Tell me why sometimes I look up and curse at my luck
Tell me why I refuse to focus on courage that I really should pluck.
Tell me why I lay in bed dreaming of a place far away
Tell me why I find myself moping more and more each day
Tell me why I chose to be naive and in fate I do give trust
Tell me why time and time again it just gets ground to dust.
Tell me why I feel so beaten and weak when I should be strong
Tell me why I am so familiar in a place I don't belong
Tell me why I have to live with a mask on my face
Tell me why I feel like a marionette strung up by lace.
Tell me why I dug deep when these words make me cry
Tell me why the tears still trickle when my eyes are dry
Tell me why I share this when I know you would feel bad
Tell me why I would even spout the words that make you sad.
Tell me why these painful wounds I didn't choose to lick
Tell me why I didn't let them heal but instead I would pick
Tell me why I feel as though I am quite addicted
Tell me why it seems like I enjoy the dark I've inflicted.
Tell me why sometimes I question, the things you see in me
Tell me why you've said it many times but I don't really see
Tell me why I haven't drifted far when I should've a while ago
The reason is you; because you have chosen to love me.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
To my mortal enemy,
All lies and delusions you have carried so far are all but for nothing,
Deceiving you took from me what was a part of my fading heart once.
You are the only one I will never forgive, not until the night has been swallowed by the abyss and the sun is no longer rising in this hell.
What was the purpose of your selfish doing ? Was it greed or lust ?
Purified from all emotions but fury, I will let this fire rampage forever
The soul resented by life, creeps around in the somber fields,
Can you see it ? Of course your ignorant eyes haven't grasped the single truth yet, you cannot see anything, so keep wandering blindly,
Aimless and with displeasure we shall meet in the distorted dark,
I got even rid of the love in my chest, so that I may awaken as who I am now..if by chance I were to forgive you, could I be myself again ?
No! I don't want you to rest in your deepest sleep, I will show you the same nightmares until your dried tears turn into elusive blood.
George your amusement and be ruined, someday you will repay,
So be as it may, my courtesy must remain, I offer you my darkest passion, until you reveal that sweet soul of yours that dies.
Hey, are you watching ?
Yours truly,
Pure Furies
~ Umi
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 6:28 AM UTC
Standing on the edge to a sea of pure lunacy this lily blooms,
Her scars, she wishes them not to fade but to shed more blood,
Corrupted by the world around her, which took what she held dear, The only wish to seek revenge she blooms while sympathising with fury and hatred thicker than the spreading of the darkness of night,
A murderous intent, likely energetic enough to break through the ground to get what her desires tell her she needs so dearly,
Getting rid of everything, the love within her hurting chest, so she'd eventually awaken as this distorted image of what was once pure,
Her enemies shall try to escape while observing their dying moments,
Laughing at them whilst watching how they are ruined in seconds,
Throbbing in the dark, the figure of hatred wriggles in moonlight,
Lonely the soul resented by life, keeps up her riot for once more,
In bloodlust and vengence for her own reflection cast on the water,
Deep within her, a crying, broken, yet flickering light calls for help,
If forgiveness could be served, her wounds would heal and she would be able to be herself again, free without any grief or sorrow,
Maybe then, she will even be able to feel love again.
~ Umi
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
A caress,
A captivating touch,
A smile gone.
Unmissed
But not resented.
What remains?
The burden
Or the freedom?
That I no longer wish
For such affection.
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 10:01 AM UTC
I'm unassured with the words I think,
slipping, skipping days, I sink.
I lost my mind in my head's black,
and died in the depth trying to get it back.
Maybe I'm a resented presence;
pressed upon malnourished intentions.
I can't find the point anymore;
I can't brim the dark anymore,
and if I submerge below my purpose,
what am I even fighting for?
--------------------------------------
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 12:24 AM UTC
This is something I might share with you-
to feel close to you ; we are sapiosexual like that.
And we may talk and share and talk and share
before I feel the goodbye approach like the late train,
Expected, tinged with my hope
that tonight you may fall desperately in love with me.
And we would talk into the night and you wouldn't care about getting up the next day
simply because you wanted to grasp moments where we were connected.
That night we could have sweated under covers on the phone
As we sweated under covers when i gave you something to stay for,
Your own selfish desires, you id.
Just as you did when you sent me home after your release
and after times when you didn't, but never looked me in the eye
to tell me with your looks that you loved me.
Oh I resented you for it; honey
just want me like I want you.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 12:39 PM UTC
Read the palm of my hand,
Analyse the lines and see that it maps a highway with no destination
You became a long highway with high speeds and good music but as the driver, I knew it were to go nowhere
But as the passenger, you anticipated us to go everywhere
And for that I’m sorry
You became a best friend that I resented
And I became the best friend that you had to learn to resent
Long car talks became our lingo and daily messages was our travel snack that we would crunch like a pass time
But as you found another, our cars collided
Inertia was met by fastening seatbelts and an accident we both denied had occurred
And it's not that I’m jealous or realised I love you
But I am now met with suburbia,
With corners and cafe small talk,
Stop signs and round a bouts,
And I am to know that I can no longer rely on you like a country road but instead give way to another
I wish all the best for you
I know you once looked at my hands as a destination for yours
And honestly, sometimes I wish it were
But instead, they are creased maps leading to the nowhere for you
And everywhere for someone else
Although, I really hope you enjoyed the trip home
Jul 9, 2021
Jul 9, 2021 at 7:53 AM UTC
is it love
or the parasite ?
my pilot bulk
aims for relief
it pursues this via
your romantic correction
in public arena
a library stair
(i never prior encountered you)
one step as foreigner
the approach
and upon a swift internal pendulum
i make witless incisions
hurried mended sentences
directed stuns
invasive
i demand the compromise
of your company
hastily push at boundaries and
you're not so accommodating
but
on a further occasion
same building
we exchange a battering of conversation
that
then
matures
into barter-like use of language
despite my harassments
a civil cultivation is unearthed
tongue within this intelligence effort i lessen
loosen my demanding appearance
disregard my dignity
a skin suit about the ankles
you're open in a vein of similarity
you flesh out your own controls
we've progressed quickly
there's an aped conduct
and flashing attitudes
this time we share table space
a nearby café
we have become quite unmanned
repeated meet ups
upon humours we adjust small habits
and shake on perceptions where we overlap
it becomes
more an overlay of rationalities
than resented promises
fast time passes and
i move into your living space
i pick a wildflower
and put it in the tiny vase on your dining table
we agree on its colour
we agree on a book to make our bible material
we agree on the pitch of the tinnitus we share
the clothes i am to wear
i switch to your diet
and you cease taking medications
we sleep on your lawn like children
and bring down the night sky for comfort
during the day we wear our sleep
like a lubrication for our chores
and go about our productivity
in genuine partnership
yet
i feel we're just out of reach
of some dark harm
we are an excellent sample pair
it is all vital
we grow stronger the more we quiz it
recycling our **********
refine our agreements
await further impulses
and come closer to plug
so..
do we please love
or simply indulge a parasite ?
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 10:28 PM UTC
Arrow upon arrow the stricken heart endured,
Strife and doom its woeful dream ensured.
Vile phantoms of creed with deception en route
Intended to thwart, unveil their wicked fruit.
Satan had withered our spirit's joy and flame,
And gathered an earthly militia; among those to blame.
A maze he encrypted, the heir's light yet unseen,
All prospects stolen, great efforts wiped clean.
Creative their mind twilight art they presented,
The Sphere's evil hosts all reflected and resented.
Lost was all hearing, faith and sight,
Misplaced sense of wonder and good sense in flight.
"I worship nothing!" His heir once preferred,
Such was the spirit in high degrees deterred.
"Paragons of justice, will I ever get to see
The day my misfortunes cease to be?
They shadow, entrap and starve my soul
Of love and joy and all control!
So tired I am, and tired I shall stay
If purpose here is merely to convey
No purpose at all, except for one:
To enslave the soul, casting punishment for fun.
My simple wish, then, is simply to impart
An end to this misery and to my sanctioned heart."
His despairing heir put in motion so
An idea most frightening, its telling shall forego...
Immerse in their demise, allow for stricken grief,
Then foresee the King's love and His graciousness in fleet.
He gathered around, with love He replaced
Satan and his minions conspiring in space;
The King broke off the heir's chains with great might,
He enlightened our spirit, who had not known the light.
The heir's desperate cries reached The King's vibrations,
He released the heir and nullified all limitations.
Profound divine wisdom our heir now espies;
Seeing The King's glory and the through destroyer's lies.
Great wisdom and revelation now fill this mended heart,
But it's a tale best left for another form of art...
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, dreaming is my official drug;}
some wound some abuse came to an ache a demand
things I wont suppose an understand
ought for them to ****
brought to me bruised with arms no one to fill
why does it make me mad
quickly to the rush if your eyes I hand
corner stances of broken promises landing to your palm
scratches I seem to beg my lips to kiss to calm
I hate to admit it but
I got it bad to that devilish sword
whispers of magic into my mind taste of words
cutting my limbs in crap
drowning my heavens in a trap
cause maybe then I dream
on the moment unpast unseen
think your feels would come to me
horror of a real I disbelieve
or not come to the sleeping nights I don't need
or not embrace the lots adore me in free
fly my stars to a miraculous scene
so resented so loved
yet so hard to redeem
-------ravenfeels
Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 4:13 PM UTC
Dear Mom,
As I write this letter to you, I hope you realize how much you have hurt me. And that all you are doing is making things worse. I can't seem to say these words you face to face nor will you let me.
I'm sorry that I'm not the perfect 5 year old again. I'm 17 I make mistakes. I don't know what the hell I'm doing most of the time, but I will never admit to your face. But that shouldn't be your reason for your actions.
I don't want anything to do with you anymore. You have made life more of a hell these past few years then you probably ever will. But the drama needed to stop. But you didn't seem to realize this. I hope this isn't breaking your heart but you already broke mine. As I sit here I'm not crying, and I hope you aren't either. But honestly, everything I'm saying I have tried to tell you before. But you don't listen. I hope this letter would suffice for you, because you aren't getting anything more from me. I am done with you. I am done with everything you so call "have to offer". I tried having a relationship with you, you see how well that worked. You haven't seemed to show me you deserve another chance. I have always resented you for moving away from me. Always have and probably always will. But that isn't the only reason. As a mother your duties are to take care of me. I am your child. I come first before anyone and everyone, including yourself. This might be harsh but its the real world. Time for both of us to live in reality. This is something you struggled with, this and making my life a living hell. But that isn't just it, you seemed to use me as a pawn or a spy for my dad, which i never seemed to understand why. You just ditching me to go hangout with your friends isn't okay either. You will always be my Birth Giver, but you really didn't deserve the title Mom. I can't keep going down this road that I have been going down. It really has been enough. I'm done shedding tears for you, done stressing, and done sacrificing my life. Maybe in the future when I don't need to be dependent on you. But right now I don't need you in my life. You are basically destroying everything I have tried to build and re-build in the past four years. Many of my friend relationships have been destroyed because I took all my emotions to them at the age of 12. What normal kids has these emotions? I bottled them up and expressed them at the worst times possible. That is what happens when your the kid of ill mother who strains every part of you. I'm sorry if this isn't something you wanted to hear. But this is what I need say. I wish you the best in life and all your health issues. I will always love you, but right now this is the best thing I can offer.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 8:11 PM UTC
Outer beauty is about 33% of the total package.
Unfortunately, it is the first thing people notice.
An obvious statement by me, a man.
From my perspective; maybe not so unique.
A woman's physical "perfection" may not be as desirable as one might imagine.
Physical Perfection can be intimidating, by men & women.
Physical Perfection can be resented, even though admired.
Physical Perfection can also attract some "unwanted" attention.
Physical Perfection can bring on mental frustration,
while dealing with the perverted assortment of attention.
Having said so, I am curious to know the personality of a physically perfect girl.
As, I can not get close enough to say anything more than Hi as we pass in the mall.
But, my physical self can not keep her attention, even for a minute.
The competition for her attention would be too great.
My cautious and shy personality would be left behind.
She would be whisked away from me.
Most likely by a younger more physically perfect guy.
I would prefer, the girl next door type.
She looks cute and is quite nice.
When she does her magic. She transforms into a very pretty and even **** girl.
Even with glasses and slightly crooked teeth.
Her most endearing qualities though is not physical perfection.
Rather, her beaming smile, sparkling eyes, self-confidence
outgoing personality and...
her get it done attitude.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
I was eight,
My cousin was eighteen.
He called his mother Mom
"When will I be old enough,"
I asked
"to call my mama Mom?"
Mom seemed a privilege
to be earned with age.
Eight year olds had to say
"mama" or "mommy"
I experimented with Mom
such a deliciously Western term.
I addressed birthday cards to Mom
and mother's day cards to Mom
She didn't seem to mind
so I started calling mama Mom
But the novelty wore off
and I got sick of Mom and of mom
And I wanted nothing to do with mom
so I wouldn't even call her Mom
She was Alia.
I called her by her first name
because I resented Mom and mom for loving me.
I called her Alia
She called me Daughter
a forceful reminder of the umbilical cord.
Then I went away to university,
over the Atlantic Ocean
a 14 hour plane ride away.
And I wouldn't call at all.
I wouldn't call to call her "mama" or "mommy" or Mom or even Alia.
But she would call
And she would call me Daughter
or "habibti" or "my sunshine."
And I didn't want to hear it.
I was eighteen
and I didn't need Mom.
I was gone eight months
and I didn't miss Mom
I didn't miss the Middle East
I didn't want to be home
I think She hated me for a while.
Then I was back in Toronto
University got hard
And I got tired
And I couldn't sleep
And friends proved false
And I got fat.
So I called Alia
And she stayed on skype with me, singing
Arabic Nursery Rhymes
until she saw I was asleep
And Mom watched me sleep.
But "mommy"
kept the laptop on all night
In case I woke up scared
and needed to call out for her
from across the Atlantic.
And "mama"
is at home
waiting for me
with a hug
And I just want to go back
and do it over
so I could take back every day
that I didn't call her
mommy.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 3:54 PM UTC
I once drew lots to find the spot
Where I would raise my shining throne
No lofty palace was fated mine
For I am king of gloom and bone
Deep in the earth was my dominion
No light to ever grace my eyes
In darkness stale I would be reigning
While brothers ruled the seas and skies
I didn't want this morbid kingdom
Resented my netherwordly throne
But soon I found I had great power
For all must fall to gloom and bone
Their shades will float across my river
Echoes of what can no longer be
None escapes the world of Hades
For even kings must kneel to me
All men of Zeus must heed my calling
Death will take them to my throne
And Poseidon's waves will swallow many
Mortals to meet their gloom and bone
No god can claim as much as I
My kingdom can only grow with time
For I never return what I've acquired
And every soul is one day mine
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 6:39 PM UTC
It’s been years.
I thought time would wash
over the muddled traces
But it has only left a resentment to the words.
The sense of longing
never quite leaves my chest.
So I pickup the painful memories scattered
here and there.
even though the features I knew so well are fading,
I can’t help but search for your figure.
Your eyes.
At the bus stop, on the street, in the corners of bookstores,
even though I know I won’t see you.
It’s fine though, because when the moon shines through my bedroom window,
you haunt every part of me.
And the words I resented are so clear.
If only I had spoken these three words.. would things have been the same?
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 4:15 AM UTC
This is something
She cannot hide.
Love lost.
Time spent.
The rhymes of the heart spoken.
Two souls fought
To save themselves.
But were they lost
Along the way?
Scars seem healed.
Nothing but paint to cover.
Promises broken.
Trust shattered.
Left to bleed.
A tangle of fear,
Of muffled calls
And dying hope.
She couldn't sink far enough
Into the ground.
Crack
Crack
Goes the heart.
It's all he can hear.
Resented is the reaction.
He coats it
With lies.
He can hear nothing.
Nothing at all.
She's forced to sleep
With screams and cries,
For this is something
She cannot hide...
She believed.
He lied.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
I hate to say this, but I miss you
On days when I’m angry at you
I recount every memory of you
I miss you on the saddest days and even the most delightful ones
I hate to say this, but I love you
I’ve loved your fairly flaws and even resented myself for loving you
I loved you from the very beginning, I bet I’d do till the end
I love you like molt to holes
I guess, I love every curve of you
Permit me to say this, but I hate you
I hate the way you make me smile
How you get to my skin
I hate how your voice brightens up my day
I hate the ease I feel when talking to you in distress
I hate how I feel when you call me nick names
Gosh! I love them all!
I guess, I called for a white lie
I miss you as my person
I miss the fact that it was just the two of us
I hate I have to share you…
Not you, but the concept of you
I guess I hate myself more for harboring these thoughts I do
But in the end, all these conflicting emotions…
I just miss you.
@Bellah
Jan 13, 2024
Jan 13, 2024 at 3:12 AM UTC
We drink. We love. We drink to pretend we have love. We fake love to feel loved. We know very well what we are doing. We have no idea what we are doing. We gather in groups. We push outsiders out. We know very well what we are doing. We can’t get a hold of what we are doing. We hate each other. We hate ourselves. We hate outsiders. We love our lives. We very well might hate our lives. Stockholm. We drink. We love. We **** ourselves.
We slosh through days. We get sloshed through days. We could be certain that we love the way we slosh through sloshy days and pretend that we have it under control. We have it under control. Do we have it under control? In thirty years there will be a phenomenon. We will all drop dead. We will all drop dead and we will think back to this time when we hated how much we loved our lives because we loved the very lives that allowed us to hate each other and wish we were the outsiders. We push away the outsiders. We are killing ourselves.
Then there are those who are unaware. There are those who might be naïve enough to think this is how the rest of our lives will play out. There are those who believe that the rest of their lives will consist of sloshing through sloshy days and pretending they aren’t killing themselves. And then there are those who very well might have the lives that allow them to slosh through, living and dying because we are killing ourselves. Peter Pans. They will not make it to thirty years before dropping dead. It won’t be a phenomenon at all. They will **** themselves. The outsiders will live on.
We do not know what love is because love is sloshy. Love is sloshy because our minds are sloshed. We pretend that what we feel is love. We pretend that these people are our friends and our lovers and they watch us **** ourselves and they **** themselves and we are all dying together. We are dying for love. We are dying to live. So we slosh through our sloshy days seriously not giving a **** that we are dying. Seriously giving too many ***** about what others think. Seriously ******* around. ******* around is serious business. ******* each other. ******* up. ******* ******* ******* We are killing our plans. We are killing ourselves.
We know very well what we are doing. Except the few that have no idea what they are doing. We live in the moment and pretend not to notice that in thirty years we will all drop dead and the outsiders will live on and love because we kept them out. We kept them out and saved their lives. They resented us because we ***** up and ***** around and ***** each other but we never ***** them and it saved their lives. We resent them because they live. We pretend we do not resent them because we think they don’t live. They don’t live like we do.
We pretend to love our lives. We love our lives. We think we love our lives. We do not know what love is because we are ******* We do not know what love is because all we do is ***** We do not know what love is because we are dying and we know very well that we aren’t well, so we hurt each other and pretend that it is the outsiders we hate. Pretend that we don’t envy them because they aren’t dying.
Some will get by. Some have plans and money and parents to put their screws back where they belong, so that their bookshelf can hold up the book of their life that was written for them. They will live on and slosh through their lives and make money and make babies and make fake substance. They will get married and get jobs and get divorced and get depressed. But they will be rich. Their lives will not be rich. They will be rich but they will lack richness. These people will have everything. These people will have nothing. I will have nothing. But I will have everything. If I do not **** myself the way that we are killing ourselves.
Why does time ***** us over? Everything is changing. Everything is staying the same. People are sloshing by with their sloshy minds. It will remain this way. The way it has remained this way for as long as we can remember it remaining this way. We have terrible memories. We have wonderful memories. We have these memories and then we have some memories that we cannot remember. We will get by. We will get out. We do not want to get out. We do not have a choice. Do we have a choice? I need to get out.
We do not want to leave the lives we hate but love because we are sloshing through and pretending we are rich. We are not rich. We are salty. We are salty and messy but we are happy. Are we happy? I am happy. Sometimes I am happy. Sometimes I slosh through my sloshy life and wish it were over. I never want it to end. I am the some that are naïve enough to have hoped this would last forever. We are the Peter Pans. If we never grow old we can never drop dead and blame it on the time when we hated that we loved this sloshy exclusive mayhem that we call life. I survived my youth, I will get out. I do not want to get out. I hate the love I pretend to love because I hate that I love it so much. Stockholm.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
Everyday I saw them flying
Heard them screaming
Cursed their noisy presence
Resented the danger they presented to my wards
The baby fish that I was charged with
One tourist commented that
"Kingfishers sure are beautiful birds"
I agreed solemnly (out loud) but privately I didn't agree at all
Didn't see any beauty in their white and grey feathers
Didn't hear it in their coarse shrieks
Then today
I was taken aback by a strange shape flapping and struggling above the water
It was one of them, one of the kingfishers
Somehow he had snagged his wing on a fish hook and was dangling helplessly
I saw blood and torn flesh, my approach simply made him more frantic
I tried to pull the hook out but it was viciously intertwined with the creature
My hand brushed incredibly soft and downy feathers
His eyes were wide with panic, his thin, powerful beak open in bleak desperation
I put my hand out to lift him
His black claws put pressure on my hand, relieved pressure from the fishing line
and allowed me to extract the lethal hook from his ruffled, ravaged wing
He flew, he was scared of me,
he fell back to the water
I was ready to save him but he was swept out of sight
I stood there thinking
How terrible for a creature of the sky to die in the water
How scared he must be to be surrounded by the wrong kind of blue
Sinking instead of soaring
Then I saw a kingfisher suddenly fly up behind me
It might have been the same one but I'm not sure
Logic tells me that it must have been him
But my heart remains sad
and tells me no
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
I woke up to my neighbors belting out an off-key tune. I tried to cover my aching ears with my pillow, but their discordant voices echoed in my head, so I finally got out of bed.
I stared at the unfinished painting I had worked on the night before. In just a few seconds, my stomach dropped. Even in its incomplete state, there was a sense of impending doom looming outside my door—hideous, and that was my first thought this morning.
Shadows ran through the waves of my curls—spiraling endlessly—as my fingers gently brushed away the exhaustion from last night. For the second time, I turned to look at the unfinished painting restlessly sitting at the end of my bed. If it had eyes, it would definitely not meet my somber, dark brown gaze. It would fear me, for I would cut it into pieces. I would let it bleed until it was no longer breathing.
It would forever be cherished as a beast—unfinished, freshly cut like a lemon. When poured into a deep wound, its acidity would seize the skin, leaving nothing but unfortunate agony.
I drank two liters of fresh lemonade, but nothing happened. It didn’t cut me into pieces. I was still unfinished.
And so I avoided its beastly eyes. Even an unfinished canvas resented my sorrowful presence. I sliced another lemon and added a teaspoon of sugar, hoping today would be different.
Nov 3, 2024
Nov 3, 2024 at 5:08 AM UTC
My vision was blurred
And your voice was only a distant echo.
I tried to reply, but my words were slurred
So all you heard was a garbled mess.
You said that I was "too difficult"
As my throat clenched, holding back *****
You turned, claiming it wasn't my fault,
But as I stumbled after you, I knew it was.
My mind was slow, fuzzy, as I tried to recall
All the times you carried me home.
All the times I was too far gone to walk steadily.
And I realized suddenly that I'd been a burden.
That you resented me for those times I needed you.
But I also remembered how hurtful you were,
How you tormented me, controlled me.
I cried myself to sleep all alone that night.
I woke up with a headache, still sick about losing you.
But I gathered myself and thought for a long while.
I may have been a burden, but you were an instigator.
You never gave me the love I deserved for loving you.
I can let you go now, for
I believe the end of us was your fault, your mistake;
I was only under the influence of heartbreak.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
I thought, "holy **** man, look at yourself". The only change I ever witnessed for 3 years was the scrapings left ringing out on the bar rail. Always reaching out to a pocket for god and finding nothing. "I guess you can't refund the drinks, right?" She didn't laugh. I watched my circle get smaller, tired of the antics and my drinking became the **** of a joke. I watched my circle get smaller, my vision blurred like the future lining with a black viginette and with every drink I watched the bartender familiarize. Another? tap tap an empty bottle uses its manners and mine, with a painted smile. Until close she would become my therapist, and the salary was almost the same for the two after I left. After close the cooks offered sympathetic invites and lackluster conversations at the strip club next door. They laughed and drank and like ***** hawks watched their prey scale a poll like the fire they were fighting was inside. I saw no spark, no love given, no love received. I found it hard to love, when hating myself was the only thing I loved to feel. The grease stained fries were tickling the back of my throat on the last night I went. I found myself puking next to a coke head doing key bumps and I asked through hiccups "does the smell back here not bother you?" he said "what smell?". I wiped my mouth and stumbled home somehow. I kicked broken pieces of pavement and scoffed at the curb-sides hugging garbage. I realized through the streetlights that my shadow wasn't the only darkness following me at night. Out of cigarettes and out of my mind I resented this city for having so many bridges. The screaming trucks below gave some sort of comfort with my feet tangling with the breeze. The stretching hands from out-of-place highway trees grabbed at me and I felt the world rotating. The night that changed me, a three am crosswalk flashed its hand at me, but I kept walking.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
after years of being told how good my body was
i went through puberty.
after years of being asked how much time i spent at the gym
i grew hips
and disconcerting looks from grown men who thought my fifteen year old thighs were too thick to be sexualized.
after years of wearing sundresses
and being applauded for being the first girl in my grade to grow *****
my metabolism slowed down
and i was made to feel like a cowbell in the least practical sense of the word.
i was thirteen and hunched over a porcelain toilet bowl when i told my friend i had purged and she called me gross as if it wasn't because of feeling "gross" that i was there to begin with.
and i'd grown used to my good-gened friends with their tiny waists and size 32 jeans telling me they wanted to join a gym in hopes i'd run along and lose some weight.
because when i was 13 and weighed little enough to turn heads i felt empty while looking whole.
and when you're fat you can't have an eating disorder, because illness can be seen so how good of a job my ana was doing depended solely on how faint i felt by midday.
in a world where nobody buys magazines it's easy to pretend we don't care for skinny bodies anymore, but when every smartphone is linked to an instagram page and every newsfeed is filled with "slim thick baddies" you can't help but wonder.
if i were to feel physically full why am i so empty?
i cheated myself.
she probably went and cheated on me because my body wasn't slim-thick enough to eat.
and it's easy to say this doesn't apply to me when you see the pictures on the beach but you don't see me scrolling through pinterest at 2 in the morning looking at "How To Lose 10 kgs in 3 Days" posts.
if i were so lucky i'd be a success story and could probably post before and after pictures of my body but you can not hear the ache in my belly screaming at me that it'd rather just be cut off.
when i was fourteen i could no longer wear shorts in public because grown men with wives would turn and watch my thighs clip-clap together as i walked with my dad.
i was asking for it.
i resented summer and the fact that i'd run out of clean pairs of jeans to sweat in.
but if i dare love myself, what then? do i apologise to the girlfriends of the boys who visit me for coffee? do i drink coke light with my whiskey? do i start writing poetry?
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
He is an unpopular character this old man
Who sits and draw cartoon character
in memories of the dearly departed.
He said that he felt like crying,
but he wasn’t going to cry
Because if he did,
he might not like the taste of his tears
Those loose cells in the tears
is mostly of his mother and father.
He resented them for not aborting him
He wishes that he was never was born.
Due to the facts that all his life he was scorned
He was in and out of intuition
Always in a state of confusion
Month too months he never saw the sun
He never felt the rain upon his face,
Only long session with the nurses and the
Physiatrist who thought of him as a disgrace
He recalled taking the train for the first time at age fifteen
And that didn’t turn out as expected,
He wets his pant, so he sat in his seat and slaps his head furiously
He was spanked by the nuns, ridiculed by Sister Margaret the head hunter,
Got a huge ****** thermometer roughly up his **** by a big black dude
Suffered daily due to his severe autism behaviors
He is an unpopular character this old man
Who sits and draw cartoon character
of all his childhood abusers:
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 8:52 AM UTC