"restricts" poems
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
Go **** yourself.
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
I don't follow.
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
You can't generalize like that.
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
All conflict in the world cannot be attributed to a single root.
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
That requires the assumption that, basically, all human values are the same.
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
That is very naive of you.
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
That is because communication and language are the only means of expression and different words acquire very different meanings not only from culture to culture but even profession to profession.
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
That's why the government is investing in that new fibre internet.
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
Well of course, all human values are essentially the same.
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
It's actually a lack of technological progression that restricts us from contacting aliens.
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
Religious conflict is far more complicated than that.
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
Go to Hell.
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
Yes
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
No
Did you know the root of all conflict in the world is miscommunication?
What do you mean?
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:50 AM UTC
I have a lisp
It is lovers lips caught in the spasm of a kiss
I have a lisp
that restricts what I'm capable of saying
praying that I don't pass it onto my kids
but there's restrictions on scripture as well.
I have a lisp
It is a gentle twist in words I can't complete
I'll meet many who notices the obviousness of it.
I can't synthesise similar sounds subtly
to induce a feeling of happiness or sadness,
I've been driven half to madness by the flaw.
This is why my voice is within my writing,
it is the lightning without the thunder,
unheard to ears but the same power exists.
I can't give a speech openly, or sing to soothe my soul,
all because I have a lisp.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 11:15 PM UTC
You can tell a lot about
A person by the ones he admires.
Another telling factor is
The people whom he inspires.
Donald Trump, for example,
Praises Putin, a leader who
Has jailed dissenters, squashed human rights,
And done away with opponents, too.
After a questionable referendum,
Which restricts in many ways
Civil rights, the leader of Turkey,
Erdoğan, received Trump's praise.
Duterte of the Philippines--
Authoritarian and leading official--
Has had thousands of people killed
In a manner blatantly extrajudicial.
So that's his way of solving the problem
Of drugs in the Philippines is it?
And guess who wants the blood-thirsty,
Despotic leader to come for a visit?
And then there's the leader of North Korea,
Kim Jong Un. Only a rookie
Would say that the mad, unhinged and murderous
Leader was a "pretty smart cookie."
Trump's had business ties with three
Of the above countries. There's no mistaking.
But does this mean that a Trump Tower
In Pyongyang is in the making?
-by Bob B (5-3-17)
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 9:57 AM UTC
"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation"
Fighting the blanket of oppression
Within and without themselves
The metaphorical blanket holding them
To a goal that is not of themselves
Tied to be someone they are not,
Trying to fill the wrong size shoes
Life planned out by superiors
Blinded by tinted glasses of lie and
False truths put on by others preceding
This suffocating blanket restricts and constricts
And holds the victim to one forced idea
Like blinders on a horse
Or a blindfold on a magician
Only a narrow, yet clear path is provided
A leap of faith must be taken to discover 'self'
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
It closes
The surrounding darkness is somehow contracting
Though it was always equally lacking in light, the walls approach on the edges of your vision.
The jagged edges that hold a promise of riches never yielded their prize.
They fall and crush, snapping your vertebrae without thought.
Pinned to the damp floor, your skeletal remains give up their fight.
It has won.
Not daggers, no, far less civilised, far more brutal shards pierce roughly through your chest.
The sound of your screams is replaced with silence
The battle is over.
Yet still the blows crash against your skull, the pounding on the inside of your head starts to break out.
Perspectives reverse
Not dark, sunrise, not rocks, a quilt, not screams, but beeps.
A day begins
It
Was
All
In
Your
Head
Does that make it alright?
Do you feel better for that truth?
Your mind tricked you, is that what you want?
Which restricts more, a prison of rock or thoughts?
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
I'm glad you're my friend
A shoulder to lean
A crutch to stand
A dwelling of respite
And the dawn's first break of light
I hope to give as much as I take
Laugh with you and cherish
To face what comes side by side
To be silent comfortably on those long car rides
I can never be angry at you
No matter my efforts
A smile from you is all it takes
A cure to my recurrent mental aches
In an unfulfilled life, your company is contentful
But
Like a poisonous nightshade blossoms
The fruit of friendship ferments
Forms into an intoxicating sweet wine
Drunk from it, my mind is realigned
I don't want to be friends with you
"Friend" is such an evil word
It brings so much yet restricts all I care for
A false comfort when one longs for more
So perhaps I must go
To some distant desolate escape
To myself, I must be true
I have to save myself from my love for you
I hate that you're my friend
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 12:10 PM UTC
Like swimming in molasses
trying to ascend
hoping to begin
to get where I want to be
Swimming in molasses,
can’t get there from here
as a robot in first gear
trying to go with the flow
Swimming in molasses
waiting for the gooey
mass to warm
for me to find my way
Swimming in molasses,
Grandma’s Gold Standard all natural kind
dark, black-brown viscid glue
that holds and restricts
I’m swimming in molasses
deliberate, lethargic,
lagging, leaden, swirling toward
the promise that awaits me
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
*I have been studying how I may compare
This prison where I live unto the world;
And for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.*
-Shakespeare, Richard II, Act V.I
The world I fathom rhetorically orbits
around the whirr of a dust-peppered
triad of turbine limbs
inbreeding infinitely as electricity's
treaty permits
into a smorgasbord whirl of
processed plastic white
A remedial sun I compose
to counter outside's oven bulb
in the world I do not fathom
Heat's ****** of humidity
is not lost on me
with no canonized sense
even to establish it with
And even my own remedial sun
restricts a reality-knighting touch
with its ozone cage pried open
in unseen haste - a victim
of college's fugitive waltz
encased in the jazz fusion dance hall
of the world I cannot fathom
Is there a dual left-footed
interpretive dance of a carbon dimension
outside of reality's steaming kitchen
to fathom me?
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
wonderful wall of sound
poly rhythms weave and dance
moves the trajectory of motion
vibrations of the earth
water meets the sky
don't listen, just hear
what business of celebration
sacramental liquid sunshine
and the kiss of the Goddess
how many forms can you take?
a whisper into infinity
and the void whispered back
calling me forth and changing, healing
growing and building new paths
rebuilding the constructs of self
collective visions of love
give up on belief itself
all is relative
beware of absolutes
belief restricts us from accepting all things as they are
the black hole mirror- the moon of narcissus
pointing toward another centre
come sit by the fire instead
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
the shards of my shattered blood line
piercing into my lungs
tearing it open
letting me bleed my sadness out.
i bleed slowly;
i bleed,
i bleed.
your vibrant persona is too much for me to handle,
it feels choking at times.
but nonetheless i am attracted
like a moth to a flame.
i know it is dangerous,
i know it will only end in my execution,
but i go in anyway
orchestrating my own death.
i plummet into your aura,
i take it in.
and a small part of me believes
that you even had the smallest inch of care for me.
but you don't.
it's someone else it always is.
it's always the 'it's not you it's me' crap;
or the 'i don't feel the same' torture.
nonetheless it breaks me,
and i break in silence.
the saddest part is i thought i had a chance with you.
joker.
what a joke.
it can't happen,
it will never happen.
and that is all there is for me.
there is no yes or inbetween.
it is always no,
a resounding no.
but it's not your fault.
i know i am an ogre,
a monster with two minuscule eyes,
with my pores oozing acid,
and my mouth spewing fire.
my fiery temper restricts all suitors,
i know i cannot be tamed.
maybe that is why.
i am boundless and limitless and that may be intimidating.
but
but i am human,
and every human has that one boundary and
that one
limitation.
that was meant to be you,
meant to be you for me.
but you have someone else,
someone prettier and better.
so be happy, because that's all i want;
but for now,
i bleed slowly;
i bleed,
i bleed.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 4:51 AM UTC
Only 160 characters allowed.
It's a shame.
That limit restricts my emotions so much.
I can only type I miss you 20 times.
ImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyou
But even if I could write it an infinite number if times
It wouldn't be enough
Repost if you miss someone badly. Or if you just really like the repost button.
Please comment! I love to read any thoughts you have on my poetry or poetry itself as an art! :)
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
To leave you is to love you,
isn't that the hard truth.
As I walk outside your doorway,
taking with me all my youth.
We will grow old someday,
and think of one another,
but I choose to walk away,
rather than to smother.
When we meet again,
on a day far from here,
will we be like two lovebirds,
holding one another dear.
Or will you leave and find a man,
who can satisfy your needs,
or will you follow the plan,
and help plant loves seeds.
Love is like a plant,
fighting for that sun,
but the sun can dry it out,
shooting it like a gun.
But if we can shield ourselves,
from the overbearing shots,
we may outgrow these restrictive pots,
and hopefully connect the dots.
Let our leaves touch so softly,
like your gentle hands,
I hope that our grasp will depict,
our growth across the lands,
as they reach past the soil which restricts,
and breaking through the vines which conflicts,
we will meet once again,
connected by this natural chain.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
I heard a frog ribbit
And decided to **** it
That's when I filled it
With my drill bit
And it turned into a dead prince
I regretfully winced
My hands I rinsed
And moved on
There's a mass grave in my backyard
Like an *******
I never thought it would go this far
It's a hassle
This giant hole
From acting cold
It's filled with princes and thieves alike
In this pit there is no light
No wrong or right
Only useless fights
And sleepless nights
As the bodies start stacking
My suitcase I start packing
But ambition to leave I'm lacking
So it's the wall I'm smacking
As the hole behind me gets bigger
My finger is on the trigger
Shooting at the deceased
Like they have a zombie disease
That restricts righteous release
This grave is swallowing my house
Yet I just keep wallowing around
Muting the surrounding sounds
That remind me of hell hounds
Barking from below
Regret they bestow
When they could've been golden retrievers
Instead they flung their molten cleaver
Their searing liquid knife
Causes my insipid strife
When the droplets stab holes in my skin
And then start burning me from within
Their weapon may not be solid
It doesn't matter what you call it
It hurts me all the same
So I try to forget their name
I dug my own grave
Now I must lie in it
But when everybody lies
That doesn't seem like such a big deal
When in this world it's hard to tell what's real
Especially the emotions people make me feel
When I have things they're looking to steal
So I **** them in my mind
But they take pieces of me
I'm running out of time
Which definitely isn't free
It's the main commodity
They seek to take off of me
That's why I must bitterly bury them
But my conscience continues to carry them
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 4:50 AM UTC
1
At night, liquid moonlight,
********** pools of delight
in his front yard garden,
he watches in silence
with his girl on his side
for long moments, like a
caged beast still wild at heart,
badly wanting
to break the bars
that restricts.
His hands involuntarily
caress her soft supple curves,
culminating the explorations
with a blood tasting kiss,
poetry to him is making love
the beast quickly leaves
his whole being becomes
soft like hot wax and starts to flow,
she receives his music through
his dancing fingers that speak
to her a refined language of love
then,
a
symphony
rains...
rocked in a wave of pleasure
she sobs softly like the whisper of silk
he rushes towards her deep center
beyond the soft folds that yields
twists and in to her drains his wishes
she is full of love,
enough to drown him in to its vortex.
she bites him hard on his lips,
like a big cat, she draws blood
love in it's expressed cruelty wears a masquerade
he enjoys the topsy-turvy delight.
2
Morning dawns hurriedly in the planet of the apes,
he wears his mask, regular before daybreak
observing all necessary rituals, dance
he has become ready for his daily grind
a hack, a hatchet man, a **** sometimes a crook
without even a wee bit of consciousness or conscience
his hatchet is his flute, he plays on as he walks.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
I wonder if people feel the same,
questioning, pondering,
not knowing in nature,
I wonder if the masses as they walk the streets,
tiny ants carrying a thousand times they're defeat,
see the light refract and carry back,
images form and recollect,
cellulose film with a story to tell,
I wonder if the girl that gives me the smile,
had depth in wondering the same,
had she known the butterflies that ran through my skin,
a feeling of jumping from a formidable cliff,
not for hate, degradation, abhorrence, malevolence or animosity,
but just the opposite,
to show the love we carry
in the arms of adoration,
hydraulic hearts
pumping fidelity, fondness, and friendship,
fueled by breaths of fresh air,
in that smile we shared,
I wonder if the ones who hate,
can also love,
does the man covered in mud,
slopped in filth, mayhem and blithe,
lye by choice,
or is it easier said than done,
would a good man cover himself in blood,
if honest true and to the point,
so I'll sit on this bench,
birds chirp as the children play,
dogs off leashes,
running amuck,
but who can place blame,
as being put on a leash,
restricts our breath,
causing no smile,
not to breath our fresh air,
to pump our hearts,
giving us love,
so I lastly wonder,
had I had the nerves,
to just say hi,
would you have stopped
or just said good bye,
will I be the man I wish,
or am I the man in filth?
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 6:41 PM UTC
I wonder if you remember
The smiles we shared
As we laughed at each other
Across the room
I wonder if you might recall
Our eyes locking hard
Past hundreds of swift bodies
Rushing by us
I hope that I leave impression
On your crystal soul
When shivers run down my spine
When I see you
I ponder over thoughts of you
As I do schoolwork
Or during cold, sleepless nights
In the silence
I believe at times we connect
A psychic pathway
Opening similar doors
Into our hearts
I'm afraid to commune with you
In fear that you don't
Return the sharp sensation
Of uneasy love
There- I said it, that blazing word
That causes troubles
If true feelings are not shared
Or rejected
Four letters that shine as moonlight,
Resound deep within,
And sing of what things could be
Or what they are.
It's strange- the feelings I hold close
Remain unspoken
By fear and timidity
That restricts me.
I don't want to make it awkward
Between us, I hope
That we can become friends
Somehow, someday.
I wonder if you remember
The sparks between our
Frozen fingers as I slipped
And you caught me
You assuredly don't realize
The effect you have
On me whenever I see
Your striking eyes
I wonder if you remember
Where our chemistry
First started, or where I thought
Allure began.
I wonder if you felt far
Before I realized
Who you were, and I became
Intrigued by you.
I vaguely remember you there
At that first concert
Where you played the high trumpet
With the joined schools
You express yourself through music,
Come to think of it,
As do I. I wonder how we
Are so alike.
You tumble through my emotions.
You're present in all
I ever think about now.
I think of you.
I wonder if you remember
Our eyes, both dark blue
Locking as we sat down in
The cages called chairs
I wonder if you feel the same
Feelings as I do
Or if I'm stepping into
Problems, not love
I wonder if you will ever
Know the way I am
Consumed by you in ev'ry
Helpless daydream
I wonder if we will ever
Amount to something
Together, or remain our
Separation.
Those words which I dread to ever
Share with someone now
Are slipping through my fingers---
I love you.
© 3/1/13
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 8:43 PM UTC
Mulberry lane was well lit in the dark,
I want to walk on, I want to travel,
So I wander a fair bit to the park,
So that I can let my thoughts unravel.
And in the dead of night, my thoughts did come,
Eager for the beat of my thoughts, here in,
In the form of a tune that I can hum,
And play upon my face a ghastly grin.
The sound in my head shall never be born,
So why do I wander in the dark night?
Suppose it stops me from being forlorn,
Also the darkness restricts my eyesight.
So I can hear music that keeps me sane,
It’s all in my head, on Mulberry lane.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
I want cosmic love
Keep your conservative nine to five love
That mechanical love that feels so cold against my skin
The kind love that restricts the breathing of first chances
The kind of love that shouts heartache from the first verse
The kind of love that goes day to day without passion
Keep your black love that swims in a sea of uncertainty
That pulls me drowning into an abysmal depression
The kind of love that feels like talons ripping into my heart
I want cosmic love
The kind of love that fills the empty spaces of space
I want love that swells in kaleidoscopic swirls
Of purple, blue, green, red, orange, and yellow
Glowing neon beneath a black-light kind of love
I want love born from a binary star going supernova
Exploding far across the Milky Way
I want love that sings the songs of the galaxy
With the beauty of nebulae streaking across the skies
I want your cosmic love
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 10:58 AM UTC
As the redness of the skies envelops life
As the day stands on the brink of dying
As existence knows that, it is time to retire
I know that it is time to step into my world.
The shutters of shops go rattling down,
The chirps of birds cease, with them heading off to the nests of comfort
The honking of cars grows louder, as the desires to go back home increase
But I am restless, dying to go, in a world away from where I live.
That world houses my being, my real self, the real “me”
I am in control there; no one restricts my expressions,
No one perturbs me with hypocritical rules, ideals and regulations,
But for the wind, which comes in sometimes, to blow in those moral handcuffs-
Which are weak, but they hurt.
But once I stop that wind of limitations, I sprout wings…
To fly away with their help, and attain freedom!
Freedom from what I am forced to do, freedom from what I am forced to think.
The day has died, but I am alive, liberty at my disposal!
You might say that my world is nothing but a virtual game,
Made just by the cards of my imagination
And sure, this world falls apart as soon as daylight enters my bedroom window,
This light blinds me; it shouts at me, that my other self is short lived, as good as dead.
But though my spirit comes alive only in the dark, hidden from all,
Though my inner self lightens up, but not for long,
I am happy that I have the courage to at least release my true expressions,
I am happy that my day awakens, quenching all my needs…
As the night goes on.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 10:38 AM UTC
We are asking questions
In the ambit of falsity
Where we hear an echo
From the walls
That restricts us to venture
Into the world beyond
Leaving us with unanswered questions
Some replies from a trajectory
Not aligned to us
Creating a conflict
And warring minds
Cannot be at peace
Until we scale the challenges
Created by us
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC
Why?
Because I care...
I care when I shouldn't.
I care when it kills me.
I care when you don't care about me...
That's it...
...you don't care.
You never have, nor shall you ever.
Whose the you?
This cruel world.
Who restricts our passion,
restricts the truth...
dignity...
goodness...
meekness...
kindness...
joy...
love..
peace...
gentleness...
happiness...
so in the end,
wouldn't you be sad too?
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
I will take my time as I unravel the binds
That you laced around your figure,
My fingers handling the intricate knots with care,
And I will be attentive to every truss,
Making sure I get each one undone.
Slowly, you will disentangle from the
Untidiness that restricts and I will witness
The birth of your galaxies as you finally
Take a step out of your restraints.
You are my work of art,
My beautiful silhouette of an angel that
Was trapped far too long by the weight
Of the world that you encompassed.
I knew all along what lay beneath the cocoon
That you sheltered yourself in and,
As you take your first step with no hindrances,
I watch as you blossom into radiant colors,
Abstract light that brightens your face
And reveals your true essence.
I know in that moment,
That you are the most stunning butterfly
I have ever come across and
Every knot untied
Was worth it.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
When I was still a first-year I did some research
Just as a science project
I looked into the danger of wildfires
I discovered that in some national parks
Fires are intentionally set
Just to clear out underbrush which restricts the growth of the older trees
It makes perfect sense
But addressing the concept baffled me
Setting a fire on purpose could help preserve the life of a stronger entity
As long as the fire is contained
So all those little arguments that seem like wildfires
Might not be so bad
Maybe they are to clear out the so called "underbrush"
The minor things that restrict the growth of the stronger entity, that is our relationship
Shouldn't the stronger entity come first?
As long as our arguments are contained,
I believe they can help us to grow
Because I read somewhere that fires are intentionally set
For a better purpose
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
My depression is a figure
made of smoke.
It wraps itself around me
and suffocates me.
But I can't grasp it.
I only claw at my skin
as I try to make it release its grip.
It fogs my mind
until there is nothing left.
It filters through my being
until I'm left feeling empty.
It covers me like a blanket at night,
but this blanket doesn't comfort me.
It restricts me
and replays everything
I've done wrong.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 12:08 PM UTC
The snowball effect,
Connects four snowflakes,
A ballerinas tiptoes evades footsteps
On the game board,
A perfect pirouette.
The overtures prologue,
Mother tongues twisted in specific syllables,
To emphasise the divide in culture,
the closeness of nature.
The bubble in a spirit level bursts
And disrupts the axis of the world as we know it.
An Easter egg made of woven hope.
Sweet and septic,
A dangerous connection.
There's electricity in the thunder clouds,
A storms reform,
No prisoners in the matterhorns scorn.
But we must climb to reach the pinnacle of desire,
and grab the bull by its horns.
Torn between the torqiunet,
That restricts our true colours,
The blood seeps through like the Matadors tools.
Only fools would make light of those we share the earth with,
Ma whirlwind changes the landscape,
It can never be the same.
Underneath the terrain,
A lesson remains,
Statuesque,
In the mystery of history's gifts.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 7:57 PM UTC