"resistant" poems
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
My stiff arms hit the metal of the door as I force it open, against
the chilled fist of wind, pounding hard upon the glass
windows and then equally upon my face and forearms. It had to be
below 50 degrees, but I had hoped that the cold could help me
feel again. Feel something. Unfortunately,
this ice only froze my fingers, leaving
my body as numb as my mind.
Later, as I rid my machine of the cloth concealment, protecting
the scars laced into my skin. The water boils as I
examine my life-lines, these battle scars, in the mirror and
can only cringe in thought of the disappointment drowning
the faces of those I care about most: their eyes
drooping down with the weight of eyebrows, creased
diagonally, half shock and the other half burning
discontentment. They purse their lips and stab my eyes
with their daggers, when I chuckle nervously.
I shake my head of these thoughts from my speculation and
step into the steam, hoping the heat could help me
feel again. However, the fire does not scorch my
body, nor incinerate the emptiness, it only slides
down the marble sculpture my body feels to be
(equivalent to the concrete barrier that builds behind my eyes)
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
I am not the master of my writing
-
my writing masters me,
seizing me when the seizure is a sure thing,
it dictates to its enslaved scribe
what it desires this utensil to reveal and expel -
the contraries
who having battled to a ****** draw leaves the battlefield trembling with indecent indecision; the optimal conditions for its macrobiotic invasion of my brain stem;
the she-muse offers me two choices:
she wants a poem writ forthwith
on the lyrical expression
of depression and refusal is
non optional
so I fantasize escape and that becomes
her property as well;
evidence against me to be used at my trials,
the one where there is no statue of liberty
from the limitations of prior bad acts;
I offer the she-muse two choices:
give me a cabin with WiFi
and self-enforcement of solitary confinement and
tie me up with the rope remainders of broken bonds,
bonds that tied me up worse
when they were broken
and the peaceful withering
that won’t disrupt disturb nobody
from a distance
my other choice is to bury me
forthwith next to my parents
and shutter my constant tearing eyes which are drop-resistant
muse says that’s no choice
I own your voice stilled or not,
will bill your soul’s account for
denial of poetic services
weep; i don’t want the noises that curse this troubled
bodyship don’t want recollections good or bad
the muse-bitch cackles with insanity of delight
for she accepts this writ as partial payment
on her commission, whispers I love your
lyrical expressions of depression
that ****** recognition algorithms
alert me that seizing time is nigh
there is no on/off switch for one like you:
father son and holy ghost
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
A duo as diverse as can be found anywhere
but, once we were together, full of stories to share
Laughter and hardship made us both who we are
And now, to find those two people, is like roping a star
Baseball and cub scouts, standing in as your dad
These were some of the best times that I ever had
I wait for the doorbell, hoping that's where you'll stand
And that the burdens developed are gone with your hand
Two hard headed old mules,
As stubborn as the other
We've lost years of our past
And missed times as a brother
Two hard headed old mules
Growing old with regret
Both resistant to change
And ..what we'll never get
We'd stand with each other in times all gone by
We don't know how to fix this, but, someone should try
We're both so much older and wiser by now
This needs to be fixed up, but neither knows how
Years of missed laughter and growing as friends
Is extended each day, and we should make ammends
Our lives are much different, that much we know
But, we still sons and both brothers, with time left to go
Two hard headed old mules,
As stubborn as the other
We've lost years of our past
And missed times as a brother
Two hard headed old mules
Growing old with regret
Both resistant to change
And...what we'll never get
I wait for the doorbell, and know it's not you
I'm not sure if I found you, just what I would do
The sins of the father, should be put to rest
For our years full of laughter were some of the best
Fishing, and talking, sharing each others dreams
Have been wiped from our minds, at least that's how it seems
We'll always be brothers, right now just in name
We're just stubborn old mules, still playing the game
Two hard headed old mules,
As stubborn as the other
We've lost years of our past
And missed times as a brother
Two hard headed old mules
Growing old with regret
Both resistant to change
And... we're not done yet!!
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 7:13 PM UTC
Paper. Pen.
Let's write out our feelings.
"I'm having a rough time."
Cell phone
Online recipes.
I should cook that soon.
Hotel websites.
Free breakfast? Eh I'm vegan now so just fruit.
Swimming pool? I'm sure it'll be busy
Fitness center. Leo wants to run in the morning.
Booked. Could be a good night.
Paper. Pen.
Right. Writing.
"I can tell journaling is helpful
because I'm resistant to doing it."
Text messages.
Leo thinks they were too mean to me.
I think I deserve it.
I love you.
Paper. Pen.
Hm. I should write some poetry.
Photos.
Wow look at how my face has changed, let's make a collage.
Oo what else.
Body pictures.
Pre-surgery picture.
Damm I've really sculpted up.
Reconsiders feeling gross physically.
Arguable.
Paper. Pen.
How easy it is to ignore you.
How easy it is to ignore myself
And not listen to my feelings.
May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 10:58 PM UTC
Today,
I wake with a fire,
burning through the gallows in this heart of mine,
searing the cavity within, and thus
churning the blood into a vile silver mercury,
throbbing through the aorta, veins, and
into the legs, arms, hands
and finally the mind,
into a madness
--and in madness a confession--
I yearn.
I yearn, so much and so much more,
than just a gaze,
than just a kind greeting,
than an accidental touch.
But I am
a beast and no more, eating, sleeping and watching,
as be it societal acceptance,
a self resistant machine,
that renders me a master of
the art of acting indifferent at your gaze.
Blame me not, my love, for this act is to ward off
the seductive aphrodisiac of which vibrant colors glows in ecstasy,
(being anything but)
in which I believe love to be.
So leave it at that, and nothing more,
thoughts of unrequited love
and thoughts never to become actions.
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 1:16 AM UTC
I.
So long are the thoughts of someone so beautiful
pulled in by a vision of body and mind so young
chasing inspiration to steal the gaze of a woman
like a fire that burns so to a heart seated in passion
and even harder to fight the warmth of attraction,
yet a gentlemen waits until he is given the pleasure.
II.
In a moment, one can see his eyes filled with pleasure
given a glow whilst reflecting something beautiful.
She never shies away from the design of his attraction,
hard to build a foundation on a ground yet so young.
Yet there is no limit, even one such as age, to limit passion,
rarely does time measure wisdom between a girl or a woman.
III.
His pheromones work magic to his beating heart for a woman.
She seeks to be the resting of his desires that fulfill his pleasure.
There is a slow creeping thought that feelings are merely passion,
and there is little but a burning lust rather than something beautiful.
Harder are the connections with the ones who venture young,
but an old soul has the experiences that altered fates attraction
IV.
There are those who walk away from such an attraction
Envisioning a different path with an older woman
Seeing little to gain mentally from a person fairly young
Never realizing that her mind was always his pleasure
Not just intellect, but thoughts that were oh so beautiful,
With words that reflect such a bright heart of passion.
V.
No matter resistances or distances, their connection is their passion.
They write to impress one another, flirting to increase the attraction.
Displaying their hearts for each other in writings so beautiful,
many poems composed for and because of, a certain woman.
Never by touch but a pen evoking feelings with written pleasure,
sharing in a cryptic way the hidden feeling from when young.
VI.
Still one cannot find the power to resistant a flower, young.
Merely looking for a fuel to fire our deepest passion,
never forgetting the strength of giving pleasure.
Baring his shyness to show complicated attraction,
in the pursuit of a hope that she is no ordinary woman.
Like hoping on a sunrise, but knowing it will be beautiful.
VII.
Intricate is the passion in the face of his attraction.
So too is the zeal of the wanting young woman.
Still the greatest pleasure is that she is beautiful.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
Looking at you as you lay asleep,
unsure of whether to smile or weep,
for my heart you will always keep,
for you are my shepherd and I am your sheep.
I will follow you until my feet run red,
and I will hold onto you until I am dead,
to leave you fills my heart with dread,
for you are the cure for the cancer in my head.
Your heart is like gold,
resistant to mold,
the cure that I need,
and am lucky enough to receive,
with all the love that you bleed,
to grant me my reprieve.
Words cannot fathom what you have done,
letting me live, as if I am someone.
Someone who deserves the love that you present,
when you are the one who deserves to be content.
So now that I am healed, alive and well,
I will cut out my heart and present it to you,
please do not mind the smell...
for it has been molded for as long as I can tell.
If you continue to scrub it clean,
for you and only you,
my heart will gleam.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
Encephalon is the flagitious syndicate target
To imprison the saintly and resistant population
In the research agenda which is classified
We are selected guinea pigs in a nightmare
To the unethical secret operations
Unknown to many, is the silent suffering
Of isolated victims living amongst the community
Satellite surveillance includes electromagnetic harassment
That burning, thought stealing, control of limbs feeling
I was done by the hoary Navy's sonar
Poor dolphins washed up Cornwall's beach(1)
After sonar echoed in my right lughole
Mind control technology has evolved
The community are recruited by false propaganda
Thats the local police, council, library, not restricted to neighbours
Old style Cointelpro is in play
Discredited, slanders, and victim blaming
Who can we share with but other targets
Nobody asked which human is for "use" in trials?
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 10:37 AM UTC
She was like the iron pyrite
The teacher asked them to examine, and describe;
Cold, dense and prickly,
Difficult to love.
Given the right light
And a gentle handling,
Oh, how she'd sparkle,
But in that place, expectations and sensory overload
rendered her lumpen, and resistant.
Removed from her books and her inner world - all she needed -
And placed in a maelstrom,
She was bewildered and forlorn.
Un-cooperative, they called her,
And the teachers loved the other gems instead,
Pretty little nuggets; Ruby, Jasper, Jade.
Two years of discouragement and dislike
And even the tentative sparkles had darkened.
The other gems enjoyed each other
And moved away from her magnetic pull,
sensing difference.
No outright meanness, not yet,
But hints were brewing, whispers had started
And she wandered alone, in the playground,
Talking to the seagulls, and singing to herself.
The teachers only wanted conformity
And called her parents to voice concern
about her lack of friends.
Had they asked her, allowed her to have a say
She would have told them it didn't matter
But they were determined that it did, to them, if not to her,
And her parents were added to the burden of people
Worried and disappointed, watching.
She knew now, she was different, she had always known but never minded,
Now it was a problem. She didn't fit,
Like that scratchy purple uniform, around her chubby waist
Food didn't judge, dislike or condemn.
That life ended, and a new struggle, in a new school, began.
This was harder; the meanness was apparent now,
Difference wasn't tolerated
And someone wandering alone was a target.
She found a place to hide, behind a staircase, with a book,
But they found her, removed her and patrolled her only refuge
Forcing her to submit to the torture.
Every day was a war zone,
So she found another way, and embraced ill-health, stealthily
Spraying deodorant directly into her own face
induced asthma attacks; and not all those ear infections were real,
She was an accomplished actress.
She got through it, millions do.
She found her own place, her own friends in her own time.
Among Onyx, Jet and Tigers Eye
Her darkness didn't mark her out as different,
And all that fake illness
Was great prep for theatre,
Where she was able to return to her inner world,
And no-one cared if you feigned madness
Or embraced the real thing.
Difference was celebrated,
The whispers now, were that she had a great stage presence,
And a talent to be nurtured,
Not a difference to be despised.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:35 AM UTC
Once upon a time...
You & I lived lives divided
Until by fate we were united
When we first lit the fire
Once upon a time
I would watch you from a distance
Desired you, but stayed resistant
To the Urges that would cloud my mind
with Wickedness, persistent
Your perfect fairy wings
Fluttered lightly in the wind
And though I did the best I could
My thoughts were wrought with sin
And I desired you like mad
For the Angel that I had
Left me burning despicably
With wretched flames within
And You
were so
Inviting.
Your Body
Ripe
for the Taking.
Guarded you were
Behind Gates of the Dragon
Yet I watched you intently
Plotting my Ransom
Waiting on the right moment to strike
To steal you away from your
Protected Life
And to take you back with me
Into my Cell
In the dark and abysmal cave where I dwell
To teach you the ways
Us Creatures gain pleasure
To make you my Slave
And to ransack your Treasures
And then came the day
That you broke away
From the Chains
That held you to where you were safe
I saw you
And watched you
and Stalked you
Intently
While you were out searching the world
Innocently
And then,
When you were finally in reach
And we were Alone
I snatched you away
from the flowers and reeds
And stole you back with me
into my home
A cold and depressing
Dungeon of Stone
Your protector was gone
And you were all mine
When we were alone
Lost somewhere in time
And to my shock, and utter surprise
You became the flame that lit up my eyes
And slowly but surely as days slipped by
I became yours more than you became mine
And then, you escaped
or did I let you get away?
You emerged from my cave
Beautiful, unscathed
I just couldn't bring myself
to be one you hate
When your love is so sweet
I just couldn't betray it
But then, I thought
of you out in the world
Alone
On your own
My sweet pixie girl
And I couldn't
JUST COULDN'T
Handle the thought
of a Monster like me
Dragging you through the mud
Coveting you
the way that I do
But most of All
Tasting your Love
Staying put was so much harder than
trying to be your Guardian
and Rescue you
and Shelter you
from any more Hate or Abuse
And now I see my sins
Led me out of the darkness within
Into the sunshine of your life -
Where I found the Source of Light
I needed to keep me alive
And I feel like I owe you my life
And now you're free from my Prison
but I guess, so am I, in essence
In the end, the Fairy
Showed the Goblin,
He longed to be a Prince.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
a magician never reveals their
tricks to the joker is what you’d
told you that sunday night last
september as you had sloppily
crashed into a river and made
both of our cold bones shiver.
we both knew this was not a
typical drive down the road
because you had broken the
moral code and would soon
be toad while i lay with still
bones and a frantic call home
on a stretcher in the back of
an ambulance with hands
holding my body together
as you asked the police to
give you a moment so you
could have a breather and
a smoke or two because
you knew you were through.
they asked if you wanted to
leave me alone and head
down to the police station
and you just shrugged like
this was not your creation
because your court costs
were more expensive than
the knowledge of my pain
and i wished I had caught
that last sunday night train
instead of drinking with you
in the rain and making fog
against the window pane.
i was told not to move as
i waited for the helicopter
and you were pushed up
against the side of a cop
car and cuffed with angry
resistant will and the tears
spilled down hard and fast
from your pretty little face
because for once i would
not save your ****** ***
and get you out of this gory
mess that had turned your
sunday best into a disgrace
and made my bones buckle
and cry out for some rest
for they had been pressed
and strained under the now
drowned window pane with
blood creating a vivid stain.
your head ducked down as
you were pushed into the back
of the car and you glanced up
to see my motionless mangled
body watching from afar.
how’s that for a date night?
you laughed as the tube
down my throat made me
cough and the police officer
gave you a stern look before
slamming the door on your
smirking face so hard that
the car shook like my body
did with hollow echoing sobs
that made my eyes run like the
river that had made both of us
shiver as you had claimed that
the joker would always deliver
even if the magician would not
reveal their spells for the joker
had his own secret way to hell.
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
Often, on quiet days, I wade through forest paths to the outer most regions of town. Close to the brink of wilderness where the humming sounds of cars and popping noises of God knows what can still be observed. Yet, the pure land surrounding has been blessed to be untouched and unblemished. Here, I retreat. I circle the bend and climb a hill until I reach an isolated plateau of nature reserve. Where natural phenomenon rise and cease in incessant and lullabic oscillation. As if to unplug my mental cords and to store away my worry, fear, concepts and systems. I reach a haven of unity. Although I own no land for myself, out here I can't help but feel this lost land of paradise is fully mine. However, I would like to do away with the notion of possession and self and here I can get closer to doing so. As if I were a small, beautiful water droplet being plucked from that cruel water resistant surface and to glide gracefully back into an encompassing body of water where the temperature is the state of my mind. And on occasion I notice another solemn being, clearly human, stumbling down the same path I had managed to carve and from atop the raised plateau, I can watch them. They circle and turn back, but I can't help but wonder if they feel the same as I do. And sometimes I think to approach them slowly and calmly and inquire about philosophical concepts. But I wish not to disturb what is so beautifully held in the essence of the silent forest. I would wonder what knowledge or truths these men and women had attained during this life and if it were to resonate with my own. Or possibly to share. In the town and at the refill station I dare not to inquire about such trivial matters but instead I nod my head or note the weather. But I cannot help but imagine and sometimes even feel that there is something deep within us and the space and entities surrounding us that is ineffable and profound. Yet it seems that it is lost in the thicket of ideas, concepts, and biased reality just like the sunlight in a dense, cold, unlit forest. And I have convinced myself that if we could clear even enough of the baggage we carry as entrapped souls that we could create a more beautiful, serene, and harmonious state of unity and achieve transcendent heights of being right here and now.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
Outcast
I’m not trying to be distant
but my name is unknown
and happiness I disown
My presence is nonexistent
this loneliness is persistent.
Nothing is worse than being alone
To living I have become resistant.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
In last night’s episode, a feeling washed over me
Lonely and alone, I broke down
And within those few moments of emotional inertia
I wept for everything and everyone;
For Prince and Bowie and all the others
For the planet
For my loved ones
and all of their problems I can’t solve
But not for myself, I wouldn’t allow it
I deny myself everything I need;
A person to love and be loved by
A shoulder to cry on
Permission to be weak
Help when it’s needed
A part of me died
and I reflected on how trivial it is
always making things difficult for yourself
Questioned why my life is so hard
As if it’s all some joke everyone is in on
They’re laughing and rooting against me
while I fall back down each time I get back up
Does anyone understand what it’s like in my shoes?
How can they when I don’t let anyone in?
Hell, I don’t even understand my own weary soul
So star crossed and aimless
and pulled in every direction
Searching….searching….unable to find solace
Looking for home in people and places and things
Put a noose around my heart,
hung it for all to see
There is no love for one so smart and strong
There is no place for one so resistant to belong
There is no hope, or so it seems
Impatiently waiting for someone to prove me wrong
To cut these ties
To free me from myself
To make me feel alive
Because **** it, I’m just like a beautiful flower
I thrive in the right environment
I will flourish and bloom
and grow into the best version of myself
Stable, no insecurity
My fruits will nurture you in return
I will love you like you’ve never been loved before
Baby, the brightest diamonds and pearls are made over time
The future’s gonna be good to me
Chin up, buttercup -
with death comes new life
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC
You turn around,
You call my name
But I no longer believe the same;
There's paper stacked upon your window pane.
The clocks are worn,
My boots are torn,
They've come some way since they were born
And things that shine often do not conform.
A whisper here
Is a thunder there,
A glass of wine to lay it bare;
Don't tell me silence dwells behind that stare.
You don't run fast
Because you must;
It's fine to break out from your crust
And build a smile that's free from all your lust.
We're far apart
But all the same;
Forget the shapes and forms and blame
And you will see we walk down the same lane.
I walk through eyes
So close and distant
Depending on how long the instant;
Some grow warm while others grow resistant.
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 3:46 AM UTC
From a child's eyes
To a child's heart.
Impressions lasting
First one's the start.
Young and innocent
Even more pure.
The smile to a bad day
Sometimes the cure.
An empty vessel
To fill and to mold.
A respectable child
Does as they're told.
Taught right from wrong
Morals are planted.
Posture is straight
Not crooked and slanted.
Religion is introduced
Traditions hallowed out.
Expectations set
No time to doubt.
Captured over time
In the parent's planned future.
Trust earned and lost
Disappointments need suture.
What happens when that child
No longer hears praise?
Repeated in their head
"This is not how you were raised."
When conflict of interest
And what's stood for changes.
When a child's soul is not
Resistant to the turning of ages.
Product of their environment
It's not just what's taught.
It's every lie and hardship
That they've ever bought.
The bruises the tears
For some the neglect.
Do they become the examples
We all forget?
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
stay
fight
cataclysm
summary
resistant
eyebrow
crackle
dinner
fishhook
blunt
tribute
margarine
widow
****
scar
glory
elephant
planet
swallow
forget
blanket
fear
smooth
black
vent
curvy
translation
smooth
warrant
concussion
fluid
red
airway
postmark
testament
carpet
denial
flex
touch
real
married
armchair
sink
ebb
soft
touché
foam
stone
float
torn
away
see
tremor
marrow
bright
side
god
deep
hurry
inject
wither
moon
noun
full
stop
wild
year
done
everyone
enough
disco
skin
same
dream
chest
roses
proof
tacit
dire
soul
posit
wide
shy
city
run
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
Dear life,
Let these closings of long battles
And roads of new exploration be my new path for a new serene normalcy.
May these paths lead to answers,
Answers of who I am.
It's been so long since I've been the real me it hurts to a pain staking degree.
Trying to remember what once was me.
Nothings normal, all I once knew is now forgotten and gone.
You cannot expect to accomplish a new road in life, without having the knowledge of how to overcome its new and demanding challenges. Simply its obstacles are to great to exceed without knowledge. And even scarier to face. Not knowing the unknowing being thrown to survive in the Lions den.
As a writer I write, my thoughts, feelings and dreams.
I feel like a caged animal
At a zoo, behind glass
Looking at my once life
Now held captive
From this disease.
I miss my old life, I progressed so far.
Able to challenge my strength of mind,body and soul
Each and every day.
Now that is gone.
Grateful yes I am
Sad and ****** off?
You better bet.
Although grateful, I am not in good standing with the life I lead now.
I never asked for this change, I loved my then life and only pleaded for the healthiest body. So I may be the best I could be in all strengths from muscular to mental.
I would love to see the old me and old life I once had.
I would apologize with all my might for whatever I did for it to stop accepting me.
Then maybe I would learn how to live this new resistant relationship I am in.
It's hard to accept that your own body is fighting its every move and with its every move it is literally chipping a little by little of your life and freedom away.
All you can do is wonder why and watch it pay severe tolls each day.
If I cannot return to the past then please may my future be at a level of any normalcy that my present future lacks.
For the sake of my mind and all who are a very important part of it.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
Sometimes I imagine sitting under our dining table wanting to chop my hair off, days and nights oppressed, yet not to run the rat race. Partly because I was too resistant to be happy, but with the first monsoon showers, I almost collapsed inside my oversized grey T-shirt that began to turn white, infinite gaps inside mind channels, I sat and watched strange men winning Wimbledon. I stopped writing one thousand words a day, themes and perspectives slipped into a closed brown diary, and I always worried what if someone finds it and reads it aloud in the public sphere in Prague, right in front of David Cherry’s rotating Kafka, how miserable he died thinking he was worthless, how miserable it would be to listen to voices that came beneath my dining table. I talk to a shy Kafka, every day, under our dining table, today he shaved my head.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 4:48 AM UTC
**Scattered Thunderstorms
The radar shows a band of multi-green storms,
Parallel running to the East Coast,
Stretching from So. Florida to Falmouth, Rhode Island.
Path-dependent, the edges skirt my present location,
Instrumented, but not weather resistant,
Water teases, invites me to a head clearing session.
Breezy gusts of overcast, caramel salty bay waters,
(weirdly calm),
Spray sprites whisper, scattered thunderstorms, starboard side
I am the only boat out, especially,
The only one going for sure aimlessly,
Radar non-discriminatory, stupidity legal,
So fools like me go out alone.
Scattered Thunderstorms,
Unavoidable, summer's favored annoyance of choice.
The melancholic platelets budding off my bone's marrow,
Forming wondrous clots of sadness,
Running strong in the currents of my veins,
Downtempo'd, there is no relief for
Inside of my radar scanned brain, the scattered thunderstorms,
Have arrived much earlier today.
What sourced this elegiac distich,
Too many poets, fully disclosing their downbeat, aroma of defeat?
The world is in a **** mood, not one of us, got nothing
Good to say, seems that love storms ripping hearts
With no trace of mercy, the radio has elected nonstop
Taylor Swift and Jonas Bro's
Just to make the point!
It is so easy to feel ******
When the sun is unshining, elegant distich, **** me.
Thinking back, getting a good idea,
Found some long necked Corona overlooked,
Turn on the tv, pretend I'm a real cowboy,
And for god's sake, shut down poetry,
Good Bye Poetry, for the rest of the day
Value you more than me, but you've worn me down
My blood streams your anguished distress,
I cannot survive these scattered revolver-repeating
Anguish-Cries-For-Relief from the Thunderstorms,
That now having reached, breached,
That now, having infected my heart which started
This day brow beaten,
First poem of the day, already shell-shellacked,
Now, I must shut me, batten me, down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The average lifespan of a platelet is normally just 5 to 9 days. Platelets are a natural source of growth factors. They circulate in the blood of mammals and are involved in hemostasis, leading to the formation of blood clots.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
You find love in a beer and a body part
You find love in ******* In pretending. In power.
You find you feel powerless. You find yourself scared.
You run
Taking with you your end of the tin can telephone we made together
My fingers hold tight. Wrapped around the cylinder like a grenade
I wont let it explode
"I'm sorry" you whisper. "This isn't what I want"
Your head turned, doubt flashes like lightening
Electric across your face.
Then stop running, I shout.
"This is the only way"
Your oblivion. Your fears. Your ignorance.
They cloud your ability to hear
And suddenly you aren't receiving
And so I run to you
Grab your resistant wrists with my fists and plead
Press my excuses into your skin and beg that you stay and absorb them
With a cloth and some bitter spit, you wipe my words away.
The truth gone
Only your notions of what it means to be loved remain.
But I could have.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
*
In poetry I unload to explode
To break free from all the dynamite
I usually kept hidden
My passive nature makes me resistant
to its pollutants.
Sometimes they’re more like landmines
Awaiting for someone
Who stomp the wrong buttons
Then detonate
And explode between my shouts
And cries.*
*In all honestly
No matter how resistant I am to become resilient
my core is too vulnerable to crumble
By a simple backslash of toxic tongues
And suddenly I fall in my knees to simply walk away
No battle is worth an effort
When you know it’s just pride
Battling himself.
*
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC