"resetting" poems
we always want to re-invent ourselves when we feel
rejected, unwanted, left to the side.
we dye our hair or cut our hair or style our hair
so differently, so drastically, so unrecognizable.
we pack on make-up or strip our make-up
or pierce our faces, belly buttons, get tattoos, choose a permanent mark
to remind us of something solid;
something that represents
self-sufficiency or this too shall pass,
because we know we are gonna feel
rejected, unwanted, left to the side again
(and again, and again).
we buy new clothes, give away old ones to our friends,
new shoes, new bags, new look.
and we’re always picking up new vices, new habits, new addictions.
cigarettes, alcohol, razors,
all the late night reckless binges on wine, narcotics, food, cutting ourselves.
sometimes we pick up healthy ones too,
like running, swimming, dancing, yoga, meditating, resetting sleep patterns, taking vitamins, treating ourselves to the spa, eating regularly, getting out of the house to see friends.
we either avoid intimacy at all costs because we can’t fathom
the concept of trust anymore
or we dive into it with practically anyone, just to feel something real
because we are so ******* lonely,
but we never really feel anything real at all.
we make resolutions, goals, plans for our next relationships
so that they won’t follow the same patterns as our last crumbling ones
(they usually still do).
some of us change what we like, what we want, what we need
to impress people so that they
fall in love with us and will never leave us.
we begin disregarding ourselves for another person,
or disregarding everyone else for ourselves,
both because we don’t want to get hurt again.
and then somewhere, somehow after weeks, months, maybe even years of
the full fledged wavering of
destruction meeting recovering meeting ignorance meeting shyness meeting loneliness meeting accepting meeting fear,
we start to see the intricacies of the pattern much clearer -
we make all of these sudden changes because
we just want to feel better,
we just want to be better;
that’s all.
it’s taking charge, which is healthy.
it’s also making fact and point that we need to change to deserve love,
which is unhealthy.
all of it is like learning algebra for the first time,
some of us take a bit longer to understand it all; the formulas, the variables, the balance.
and once we understand the formula, the variables and the balance,
then we can welcome back the beautiful,
real version
of ourselves we’ve been trying to
cover up.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
A moment frozen in time;
Sublime and reclining
Speckled clouds in the sky.
A moment to reflect on
My minds eye divining
My mood weaves the meadows
in which I do graze,
Breeze on my face,
The echo
of natures innocence resounding.
What is this place?
Why is it so hard to reach?
Still to my bones.
So aware
so aware of it all.
This altered conscious hears my plea.
**A warm, deep breath
for my soul,
resetting life's toll on me.**
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
He was an alchemist,
Turning my lead tears to gold,
Because to him I was beautiful
To him I was worth more.
He was a metalsmith,
Fixing my broken copper wings
With tarnished feathers
Because to him, I could still fly.
He was a clockmaker
Resetting my fragmented cogs and beating pendulum
Spending hours and hours
Because to him I was fixable.
But I am a just broken clockwork angel
With lead tears, broken wings, and severed insides
Rusted away by time and life
And no amount of mending can save me
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
A singular urge is a first,
reach out and stretch to grasp what's ahead.
Craving the crest of a wave,
we're high on the day as it's made.
Each is a slave where emotions are led,
fixed with impatient aches when we age.
Hard to remember which intentions were sent,
resetting said objectives of late.
Targets in sight from the white of your eye, these short lived events curl up in death.
Less than a wisp as it fades into air,
rolling along to reclaim what we shared.
Jun 20, 2021
Jun 20, 2021 at 12:33 PM UTC
Walking alone in the darkness
My world looks so different from yours
No one notices
No one takes my hand
Somebody please
Just notice my pain
I just want to reset
Want to return to my happy days
I want to reset
Just help me reset
I'm just stuck in this lonely darkness
Floating around, hopeless
Someone tell me why I'm lonely
Why is only my world stopping?
Walking with someone in the dark
is better than walking alone in the light
So please just offer your hand
One hand is enough to help
Help me go back to the beautiful days
I want to reset
Just help me reset
I need a hand of warmth
But why isn't anyone there?
All I get is weird looks
Don't we all deserve the help we need?
We can all breathe.....
Isn't it the same?
I pray for a society
Where we get the help we need
Without the discrimination
We all deserve that hand of warmth.
I just want to go back to those fun days
Just help me reset
Reset my whole life
Finally, I can breathe....
I actually have a reason to live,
Your smile that is very warm
Finds me before disappearing
In the darkness your smile
Shines brightly into my gloomy heart
I can finally reset
Reset my life
Into the light I come
My new life awaits
I'll be sure to give
A hand of warmth
To that person
Who needs help resetting
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 6:39 PM UTC
You know how Emily said Hope is a thing with wings?
Well mine is nosediving and I can't believe how much it stings.
Despair it grips my soul,
And all I hear is screams.
They always echo on repeat and swallow up my dreams.
I used to love your arms around me.
Now they are suffocating.
I used to believe in one and only-
Now it just feels lonely.
I used to imagine a white wedding,
Now that thinking is steady resetting.
I used to do anything just to see you smile,
Now I know I haven't made you happy in a long while.
I used to believe in magic. Now it's all just noise.
Once the static passes, it's the silence that destroys.
I used to be a hopeless romantic-
Now I am only just hopeless.
Aug 23, 2022
Aug 23, 2022 at 7:48 PM UTC
***An earthquake passes
Beneath my toes
An unsettling notion
Is left in my heart
As thoughts of concern
Race by like 2 ton trucks
An empty freight train
May shake a small town
However the frenzied freight truck
Shakes my nerve
Serving up appetite for destruction
Watching with watchful eye
Seeing itty bitty houses fall to the ground
Like a house of cards being blown over
Once the appetite is fulfilled
My notions will be settled
Once and for all
Justice, Peace at last
Resetting happiness
To the beginning of
A brand new day
Where love settles in the hills
Looking over the tip top of the mound
You notice the sun shining
Brightly***
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 6:39 AM UTC
First see new photo, or else won't make sense.
Word is out
Animal kingdom on red alert,
No animus allowed near the chair,
Tween human and animal.
Good eats, good writes to be had,
Near that ye old adirondacke chair,
Where scribbles float in
L'air du temps,
Ripe for the plucking.
Arrived in the night dark,
Twelve eyes grinning, sheepish,
Wasn't tho no sheep, just a veritable
**** deer herd munching the shrubs,
Who when head lighted, indifferently said,
Yo ******* it is September, remember,
Get the fk off our lawn!
Argh.
Morning.
Coffee-armed. Tablet shotguned,
Went to write in the fall sun,
When to my shock n' awe,
A gaggle of geese, awaiting.
And I mean a good-god-damn giggling-gaggle, no sht!
Probably resetting, resettling, looking for forgiveness,
For ******** all over the hard scrabbled grass.
Well no atonement boys, Yom Kippur notwithstanding,
I ain't the forgiving type!
No, no poet!
We stand before you on the Jewish Judgement Day,
Decorously waiting, in a row,
Before the throne, tho honking a little rudely,
Impatient for inscribing in Natalino's
Hall of Fame, Book of Life for the coming year.
Harrumph.
Well, in that case,
(Ego melting secretly inside),
Here is a poem just for you.
Fly south safe,
Inscribed and sealed you will be,
In both the Book of Life and Prosperity,
But only if you, stay off my grass in perpetuity!
Done and off they flew,
Me smiling, proud of my new fame,
Until I found their presents
Under my flip flops.
******* deer.
******* rabbits.
******* geese.
I wish they were not such
Poetry fanatics.
Ok.
Forgiven.
10:11am Yom Kippur morning.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
It has been many moons since these translucent eyes set forth the bellowing cries of a whispered hymn. The cries of those long since forgotten, briefly heard, myopic, blind to the background sound of our nestled unruly world. The white noise that paints the landscape continually resetting itself in a desperate attempt to regain its foothold in our lives. It is this fight for free reign that forever brings me here. Brings me to each infinitesimal moment in life where we as the white noise fight for dominance over our subconscious realm.
Leery of what we experience with our senses and what we experience with the extensions of. Touching everything with our nothing making sure that the existence that we live is not just a state of mind but an actuality. We are self-altruistic, in this i am sure, for we care about the well being of ourselves. No state of mind left behind this is our status quo. Let it be that no mirror binds you to your own failures nor to those that look onto from a distance. Let you be your own shadow let your own shadow not be a former representation of what is but what's to come. Let your shadow be effectively that of which you strive. Let the shovels of ill will be fated to bury themselves hand in hand with those that foster it. Stand firm in your position overcome only by the mountains of your own design.
These peaks scream out echoes of your hate and shame not for you, nay. Not for I, nay. but for those that challenge what you stand for because the earth beneath our feet stands for everyone. stands stained with bloodied tears that rained down from our glorified manufactured heaven. This epoch marks the second coming of our custom, individualized, patent-pending, rights reserved, copyrighted Christ; our self-proclaimed god. self-proclaimed because we are the gods we seek, we ignore, and we pray for. the effervescent pool of life reads no running so we segue our way on this Segway to take advantage of the loopholes we ourselves placed as if only to cheat our fabricated reality because rebellion is refreshing and different but only when no one else is looking.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
I've been fighting with temptation in everyday that I'm
faced with
Resetting my mind
all of my hopes and my dreams
onto the re--placement
Of every loss
And the suicidal thoughts of me
Losing / Control
Still engaged in my mind, I'm inclined
while
Maintaining the goal
of walking down that straight and
narrow road of Life
Because I have a date with Destiny in spite of what is ailing me
in-
Sight
While all the while?
Through the dark of night
I'm forced to fight with many
different things,
With no self-esteem trying to figure out
who to believe
And who to trust and on whom
can I call?
Soul is uncontent to balance the fence
Slowly committed to fall
All while seeing the steady fall
Of my many brethrens called
For the same purpose and the work that was meant for us all
But still my soul fell slowly down
De-pression's Well
Totally left to figure out how to
make it out
Wondering how I slipped and fell?
Fallen waist deep
Lost
within the clutches of grief
With seemingly no way of me finding
an answer,
And no way of me holding my Peace
So as a means of release?
I'm now speaking my Peace
Releasing for this reason having the means
of picking up the
Spiritual Pieces
And putting it all back together using it for what it's worth
Visualizing the Holy theme giving birth to revive my hopes and
Dreams
But these dreams are not seen through the eyes of surprise
But only seen through the joyfulness of watching our spirits
Rise
Riiising out of the ashes where the
fearfulness is cruel and savage,
Out of the madness where the hopelessness is the rule of sadness
Escaping the Pain
No longer bond under heavy
Locks and Chains
No more wounds to be healed
No wounds to seal
No bandages with
-Stains-
May 8, 2022
May 8, 2022 at 12:27 AM UTC
Words wandered to express your charm
Poem could not portray your smile
Sonnet sauntered resetting the rhyme to your tune
Acrostics acquired feelings to fill out your name.
Free verse flied away fluttering it's words
Knowing it's about you. About you.
Ineffable beautiful soul.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 4:26 AM UTC
I'm not a poet.
But if I were, i'd probably be a nocturnal one and i'd write about how on most nights my tongue is a tombstone, my throat a grave filled with regret,
and my voice is each grunt and whine I give my timed reflection as I avoid every mirror because I can't stand looking at myself...i'd tell...
I'd tell people that my depression is an ocean. Within it's waves, high and low...slowly but surely blanketing over me...dragging any broken
and lost pieces of my happiness back into itself, resetting the sand that is my skin so tomorrow you can't see the holes that were there.
Yeah.
I'm not a poet.
But maybe if I were, i'd write a song about her. It would tell a story about how on days when the sun blinks and everything around me is grey; and the
world is stained with my fears...she. is. the honey-warm scent after a summer rain, an evening primose before the tempest, and the quiet cerulean air in an earthquake...
she's...every hue of a pacific sunset.
I'd sing about how she was the moments between each tide that kept me warm; how she was the sun that fed the daisies in my throat reminding me
that life is possible.
I'm no poet.
But if I were then this paper would be the towel I dried my heart with, the words would be all the unspoken dreams of my insomnia, and the pen was the
blade used to cut this heart so I could bleed my everything to you...I swear. If I were a poet, i'd whisper every vowel i've been given that completes me
into stardust. Sprinkled into the cosmos to someday create a world where the ocean never raged. A world where there were just enough clouds and no
earthquakes...then again...where's the poetry in that?
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
i pay you back for your lack of attention with well aimed selfies at other men
snapchat carrying them faithfully across the pixelated airways
no evidence for you to find.
in the end, i resent everyone i love
for every opportunity that i stayed silent about what i really wanted
i resent them for my own flaws.
my quietness, my need to please.
i make myself a dog, and they pet my ego
just enough to keep me from leaving.
the curse of a fat stomach,
arms,
thighs,
attributes of a fat ***
they can keep me in my place because i do not believe i am deserving
i've been taught that well,
but instagram makes me brave.
there are other girls like me
i stand on the foundation of the horror and humiliation they endure
in the hope of a better future
less fuckboys
less degradation
more equality
for my
fat
***
how much longer will i believe i have to put up with less than what i deserve
because i am lucky someone wants to **** me at all?
i don't think it will be long.
decades of socialization taught me to beg for every scrap
from a table laid for girls much thinner than i
but the tables are turning
resetting
rearranging
the playing field
is changing
fat is okay
fat is pretty
fat is normal
fat is just like anyone else
i just want to be treated
like everyone
else.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
Today I saw the sky
Drowning in the rain
I saw the world's negligence
And felt our worlds pain
We as a species
Disconnected from our earth
Comfort found from possession
Instead of family by the hearth
I saw our world crying
From the pain we have caused
The Forrest stripped to nothing
The northern ice now thawed
And as we turn a carless eye
To our world and our mother
Neglecting all we've been given
Provided for like no other
All in life we need..
Was not created by man
We have simply forgotten
How to live off of the land
One day rapture will come
Not biblical but for sure
And mother nature will abandon us..
Like our species has done her.
Our world is dying..
And resetting..
Is the cure.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC
Van Gogh lost an ear
And ****** was born
Something tells me history
Will repeat itself
Is repeating
Roots to grow
Roots to pull up
Like the near future
My star-clock keeps resetting
Connect the dots
I don't believe in accidents
And I'm the most sane I'll ever get
Call it what you will
In the waves and on the ground
Is where I find myself
And yet that's where
The enemy lies
Or say they tell me
Another truth turned on its head
The weight of my decisions
You can't handle
Yet it's not your heart
Frozen to the mantle
In the clouds
Eyes peer down
A ***** on a mechanical bull
A cup transformed into a robot
They sure have eyes everywhere
Turning big sister into a threat
And if we're all headed underground
Why the mixed bait of suicide and peace
Danger or sleep
And if it all happens for good reason
Why the dependency on TV skies
Hearts or eyes
Read the diagram of a head
If it makes you sleep sounder in bed
But the anatomy of a mind
Will put your concrete beliefs in double-bind
Roots to grow
Roots to pull up
The future is here
Our star-clock keeps resetting
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 1:06 AM UTC
The air burns where I sleep;
you trudge in almost-snow.
The resetting of alarm clocks
let the wind slip
through your dreamcatcher.
And my sunset is all
the colours of your fall.
I write a poem;
you will awaken six hours
and countless miles later
in the cold
while I burn.
The ink lies between
the segments of the universe;
unreachable,
incomprehensible
in the fire
while you shiver.
What is it to miss
someone?
I do not know.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
caffeine crutch
restless midnight rush
memorize words to pinpoint precision
leaning on a coffee cup
fuel for cognitive ignition
unproductive nocturnal emission
of restless sighs
and tears from tired eyes
mesmerized
hypnotized
out of mind
passing time
dreary dreamer
2am alpha wave fighter
front line gunner
of disappointment in the making
time wasting
consciousness fading
daylight breaking
clock resetting
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
there's such a strange feeling brought in by sunday mornings.
it's as if you can feel the calender resetting,
a groggy haze of transition between one row of boxes and numbers
and the next.
the dates themselves adding line-breaks on type-writers,
molding the ever-changing scripts of our lives.
the day gets claimed for resting and resetting -
we recharge with early beers and late lunches
followed by a hefty dose of sweat-pants.
at least 'round here,
"sunday's best" has never been anything classy.
it's paint-stained denim, muddy boots, and over sized thrift store sweaters.
we don't own church shoes or pressed slacks,
because we've never needed ornate buildings to silently give thanks in.
we need the wind,
and the wild,
and the dirt.
we set out with the intention of getting lost,
for the simple joy of the instant that we find ourselves resurfacing on the face of the map.
we give thanks any time that there's nothing between us and the sky
and our wind-chapped faces are covered in smiles and sun.
desert dwellers need the sun.
we greet her daily,
wildly and emphatically as the frozen layers of earth.
sundays are for defrosting.
we bake beneath grandma's home-made quilts,
and in the arms of good love;
thawing enough to ensure growth without cracking our foundations.
"sunday's best" is just a good place to be.
it's a refreshing state of mind in an augmented pace of time,
where we slow down,
and step back just enough to see what really matters
and what never has.
and when the alarm clock howls like a rabid beast come monday morning,
we'll rise reflective and refreshed;
strengthened up to continue driving forth towards the lives we're living for.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 11:37 AM UTC
In rooms of stiff air, hold tight to your collapsing lungs
running out in the blissful, swirling air resetting your lids and taking to dancing
if you're still running, you're the lucky one
because we all tiptoe on the wrinkle between reality and fantasy
peeking over the cusp of brilliance
fearful of the flying dance on the open swirling air
diving into an unspoken fate
of landing indefinitely on either side of reality and fantasy
but did we miss the opportunity
to paint it all simultaneously exactly how we saw it
viewing each life as an absolute timeline, disregarding the space beyond zero and infinity is where we fault
using the transcendental space to paint your skies and life is where we make change
determining the merge from one life to another is subjective
so paint your new life today
dive into your excellence
fight for the dance on the open air under the grinning sun
make sense not of these words but of the blending of your next masterpiece
who are you today, if not who you want to be right now?
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
Repelling
Relations
Resetting
Rotations
Regretting
Compassions
Embedded
Sensations
Suppressing
Emotions
Forgetting
Formation
Settling
Stagnation
Corrupting
Narration
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 11:43 AM UTC
screams of systematic repetition
tuned to the key of C
rejuvenating the pulse
of the pulp on the floor
I found the time space continuum
on my back porch swing
stepping toward the screeching sirens
revealing the past scene by scene
Timing the sun in wrist-watch format
the liabilities not mine
the doormat said "welcome"
you catch my eyes glaring,
hastily waiting for your tears to run
your feet follow in suspended motion
Gunning for the hallway laundry chute
only to find the triggers on safety
the notion alone is enough
resetting the sun dials
with steady hands of anxiety
attacking the knobs at their fastens
My subtle brutality breaks
as
I awake on the kitchen floor
while the screeching of the sirens pull me in
Jun 30, 2011
Jun 30, 2011 at 9:16 AM UTC
A pace of life.
A metronome is set.
To rush with a crowd.
Or walk alone.
Or in-between.
Resetting the metronome.
There is too much verbal
Hate in this world.
Which results in physical
Hate in this world.
Cause and affect.
The ripple affects afterwards.
With doings that cannot
Physically be undone.
After the fact.
Everyone knows this.
But the people who
Live these damaged lives
Would never wish
It upon anyone.
When everyone knows
The inevitable outcome
Of war is peace.
(or extinction)
Everyone should be intelligent
Enough to never start any.
Every person carries their own
Legacy of lies and
Possible untruths.
To live with unknowing possibilities.
Some structures are ceaselessly
Being formed with needless
Complexities
To barrier communication and
Understanding.
It’s still great to be alive, don’t forget to breathe (air).
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
Supine and enamored in cotton sheets.
Motionless, with vessels dilated at the time.
The filtered light makes it’s journey.
Warmed by the hour, warned by the noise.
A voiceless yawn, a reflex, and then stretch.
A conscious gasp followed by flaccidity.
Yet the day before, perpetuates
the morning after.
Evenings always seem to foretell
the prior hours of our working days.
If the day moves, without faults
we speak in a elated way.
When a hinderance appears
and untimely tragedy commits.
The liquid labor may be your vice
to secure then admit vulnerability.
Nothing more are the stumbles
that only gather footing
and stand against
the door opening
to traffic, streets garnered
with endless glows
within our restless minds
finding exits to resetting the past
and just returning home
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 3:26 AM UTC
If I gave you the light
Would you guard it
Hold it tight
Would you carry it in the middle of the dark
Hold it to continue the spark
If I gave you the time
Would you waste it
Within your mind
Meaningless thoughts of the day
Wistfully thrown away in the midst of the fray
If I gave you devotion
Would you leave it
For in a vaster ocean
For a quotient of a far greater value
To bask in the light of another hue
If I gave you divine
Would you receive it
Will you eventually find
Actions were purely awkward sustainment
In the path of a broken perfectionist attainment
If I gave you pride
Would you destroy it
All worthiness inside
Resetting in bottles of placid shame
Until remnants of memories can barely be claimed
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC