"reversible" poems
(read forward, then backward, line by line)
I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 7:48 PM UTC
" That's just me "
You’ll hear her say
" I am lesser than beautiful "
I refuse to believe that
I am of worth
What exactly am I?
A courageous soul who is unapologetically herself
Well, the truth is
I look in the mirror to only see
My reflections disappoint
No longer can I say that
My beauty radiates from within
now read from bottom to top
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 4:22 AM UTC
Imaginary friend,
indefinite existence of events,
hoping to be reversible.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 7:48 AM UTC
A widespread condition
related to nutrition
is lactose intolerance
that is in essence
the inability to digest and assimilate
the milk sugar-lactose-the substrate
that is acted upon by lactase-
the specific enzyme
over a period of time.
This may happen suddenly
and generally
at any age most unexpectedly.
Lactose intolerance
is caused by the absence
of the enzyme lactase
that breaks down lactose
to the simple sugars-
glucose and galactose.
The condition may be
secondary, congenital,
or developmental.
Secondary lactose intolerance
invariably has its occurrence
related to a gastrointestinal infection
and its disappearance
is linked to the causative factor’s correction.
This type of intolerance-
(certainly a nuisance)
is reversible
if we are a bit careful.
Congenital lactose intolerance,
an inherited form of intolerance,
is a rare genetic abnormality
that one can unearth
soon after an infant’s birth.
This need not cause any fear
as it lasts only half a year.
Developmental lactose intolerance
also known as primary intolerance
is one wherein the enzyme synthesis
is progressively less
during childhood
and this persists into adulthood.
Gita Ashok
24/10/2011, 2 pm
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 4:58 AM UTC
Dissociation:
noun
the disconnection or separation of something from something else or
the state of being disconnected.
CHEMISTRY
the splitting of a molecule into smaller molecules, atoms, or ions,
especially by a reversible process.
PSYCHIATRY
separation of normally related mental processes, resulting in one group functioning independently from the rest, leading in extreme cases to disorders such as multiple personality.
Dissociation is not trendy.
It’s not just depression or starring into space.
It’s so much more
It’s crawling away form reality and making
a home in your head.
Losing contact with your body.
Dissociation is not knowing who you are.
Dissociation is watching yourself in third person.
Dissociation is feeling so scared that you’d rather loose
yourself entirely then live in the present.
Dissociation is not always multiple personalities
but sometimes no personality.
It’s losing time.
It’s not recognizing those you love.
It’s having little to no memory of
anything that happened after the fifth grade.
its knowing faces but not exactly sure where
from.
It’s a defense mechanism.
It’s writing your name on the back of your hand to not
completely lose all of you.
It’s wearing a rubber band to snap yourself back
because you have taught yourself to know
when you are losing yourself
It’s getting help,
because you know in your very few
lucid moments that this is not normal.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 9:37 AM UTC
This is a poem for my little sister,
Sunday
Who carries emotional battle wounds
From a mother who left her for heroine.
Who hoards food because she's
Afraid
Bullied for being overweight
Light hearted and Jolly
Just to be judged by me
Rejected
By the time I understood I was
Too late
"You're really going to wea- let's go out!"
You needed love
But even I hadnt fully accepted you
Your baby blue eyes pooling became MY
Priority
I can't fix your mom abandoning you
Nor can I make up for the years you didn't know our father
I'll never be able to take back the cruel things I said
That weakened your knees and killed your temporary happiness
I should've been a good role model
But I hated that you became dad's little girl too
I was selfish and blind
Time is not reversible
But each day forward is an opportunity to make your life happier
I love you-
Words you should hear everyday
A twelve year old who never fails to inspire me
My Sunshine
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
I love you my child
I don't know how to help you anymore
You continue to die your slow death
It's painful for us both
To watch you killing yourself with no way to stop
To see you so all alone
Living your life from hell
Watching you living with demons
I curse the devil and his minions
To watch you convice yourself to give up and die
It kills me inside
I love you child
I've always loved you and always will
I don't think you're long for this earth
The slow mental and physical deterioration
has accelerated
The doctors give you one short year
I cry for the hurt in your heart
I cry for the torture in your soul
I cry for the pain in your unhealthy body
I cry because you think I don't love you
Don't give up and die my little one
I physically ache for loving and losing you
Living a life I would never have chosen for you
I love you my child
Please see a glimpse of the light in my soul
Let it guide you to peace
Non reversible is your disease
I'm tormented with the fear of losing you
I can't watch anymore
I can't see you do this to yourself
Don't die my sweet little girl
Don't leave me behind
My love for you is insurmountable
Your love for yourself is long gone
Let's love eachother for the time you have left
I love you more than theses mere words express
I love you more than my own life
Don't cry little one for I am here
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
*A river flowing against its course
As if to floss
Its rare peculiar uncanny ingenuity
A notable case study of ambiguity.
An estranged lover unceremoniously
Literally butchering his offspring mercilessly
In cold blood
For having been dragged through the mud.
The undercurrents of change overriding
Entrenched seemingly myopic tendencies which aren’t binding
Causing irrevocably reversible state of affairs
Care not to be caught in the crosshairs.
A hopelessly optimistic romantic
Head over heel in love with the mystique
Aura of eccentricity effortlessly effused by
Her, she indeed worth a try.
Myriad circumstantial conundrums
That is cause of the inevitable humdrum
So characteristic of life
Answers a trifle few and the lackluster enthusiasm rife.*
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 2:21 AM UTC
i can't stop it.
an addiction. i'm an addict.
no self discipline, no control
my hands, my fingers keep returning
and returning on
my chapped lips
it began last week. cold day,
caught a cold. breathing through my mouth.
sick and dry
dry lips.
there's an itch on my finger, i began to touch
my chapped lips
i thought it was a one time thing,
something reversible, something stoppable.
i was wrong, i was dumb, i was so wrong.
when my fingers stopped retaliating the blood,
it, the addiction, turned my teeth onto warriors
on the scrimmage on
my chapped lips
one night, i stopped
in the morning it was worse.
a wound hasn't healed, and another
on top of it. skin and flesh, on a rotating schedule
i'm scared but i don't stop. i'm scared
but my body just turned its back on
my chapped lips.
nothing has changed. blood and wound
scar and then wound,
i haven't stopped. and now i'm not scared.
i thought, i'm good at healing.
so, my chapped lips
will stay. scars may come,
but it's just my lips.
nothing good
has ever touched
my chapped lips.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC
Another Anniversary,
Where I find myself
Alone...
I think upon the memories
We shared when we
Were one...
A once important part of me,
I lost when you
were gone...
Another anniversary,
I dream I'm in
Your arms...
To turn the clock
Reversible,
To feel that touch again...
A love I won't allow
To leave,
I'm yours until the end....
I curl up and I
Try to sleep,
Upon my empty bed...
I cry and grasp upon
The key,
And hear the words you said...
"I know our life isn't the best,
But you're the one for me.
And one day when We've
Gotten free "
"I'll buy you a ring..."
Aug 12, 2023
Aug 12, 2023 at 1:01 AM UTC
i hate myself/
and thats why/
im not living inside of my body/
im living inside my brain/
my heart is cold and hard because/
you never touch me with kindness/
you always hold my fragile body with hostility/
my weak body drapes pathetically over your arm/
i melt/
you always charm me and thats why/
i’m crying/
you lied to me/
im stuck wondering who killed me only to find that/
im looking in a mirror/
covered in blood/
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 10:15 PM UTC
My age is such a disrespect to how old my soul is
I've been 16 for 6 months now and I have learned so much
But really,
the lessons That can only be learned through experience;
Those started 3 years ago
In 3 years I learned just about enough to be set for the rest of my life
That makes me sad
I've always been different you know
Open minded
Non judgmental
Free spirited
Wild hearted
Rebellious
I thought about things in a different way
My intellect is and has always been one withholding infinite depth; at 13 years of age it was greater then my ability to differentiate from what was, what wasn't, and what could've been
I was definitely way to independent for my own good
I don't think that being a 13 year old made up of all those things was good for me
But I guess there's not much I can do about that considering the fact that all of that is left in the unfortunately non changeable and non reversible thing called "the past"
I've felt way to much pain
I've been treated way to poorly
I've been used way to much
I've been taken for granted
Touched in unpleasant ways and wiped clean of confidence, trust, and security
There once was a time were I was able to feel
You know that type of feel you only obtain once in your life
And then I experienced my first heartbreak; it was as if I died for the first time
I remember the feeling as if it was still living in me
I found myself dried out of tears sitting on the floor staring at millions of tiny broken grey shards of glass .. I realized that I was staring at everything I was that had now been ripped from me; all of my many colors and my perfectly whole self was broken and grey lieing in the floor without life
it felt as if a knife was stabbing right through my chest and my loungs were filling with blood
slowly I was bleeding out
everything that I was; my innocence, the love I had yet to give was draining from my soul & hopelessness took over me for I did not know how to make it stop
2years later
Many deaths later
Here I am
Empty
You might think:
"she's only 16 how could she be stuck in such a hopeless dark whole? How could her loungs be filled with such thick smoke composed of intoxicating and fatal desolation"
Truth is that's exactly how I torture myself every second of my dam life;
With that same question
How could I have let my past **** me and shape me into what it wanted me to be?
I should of fought for myself
People keep telling me to fight but I'm not really sure if there is anyone left to fight for.
16, Beautiful, Damaged
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 7:50 PM UTC
His eyes were galaxies reflected in the vortexes of her heart
Shimmering nothings she loved to be lost and found in
Whenever he gazed upon a horizon or tabletop or cup of tea
She could almost see
What he saw set off the foreshocks in her own soul
Capricorn kaleidoscopes and faerie fliers
Of flaking eternities and sauntering demises
Eyes brimming with the untold fantasy of the pinned butterfly
He could see over the folds of Time
(carpet smothering bodies of resistance)
Second hands writhing from the slither of reversible realities
Eyes dripping smoke from the burning within him
He had a beauty no one could envy
For he was the eighth wonder
That he managed to survive in this world
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
.
(Sippy cups are for toddlers, designed to let them sip but a little sip at a time, and when it falls, the disaster is lessened.)
totally by accident is this dedicated to TL Sipple, whose introspection offers comfort to more than many.
~~~~~~~~~
*who among us has not begun the
journey's poetic, by first examining the
mirror that reflects organs internal,
flipping the reversible glass over,
for all you exposed,
it's the curse, the birthing natural,*
of the first poem
*all your life, streams bustling, streams drying, drought dying,
leaves windy flying up, but final poisoned by gravity,
come to rest and crunched under your footfalls,
but of this did you write, scrivened or scribed?
no
our first child is of our ***** where real borning does occur.
the rest too, but now, and soon thereafter,
put aside the me, and write of he and she,
the first love, always the second child,
for this the nature of the soul and ermine robe,
you elected, when you first self-selected*
I am a poet, therefore I hit send,
*and the diecast, is the first of many hot rods
piercing, invading, calling out to you,
poet,
"set me free, set me free"
then when walking in September,
the leaves un-glistening, cracking and *****
like an old person who cannot care for them self
then you lift your pen, point to the sky or to the earth,
no matter which, for both are loco parents in loco,
and the truest hardest journey begins,
looking outside in, with eyes colored by
global truths
then and only then the real journey begins,
a differing agony to be learned,
to see as others see,
to write as others have before you and me,
and in doing so, this testing travail,
will earn you, could earn you, a time grade of
pass/fail
you are the only judge in this show,
the only contestant,
what grade will you assign yourself,
what standards will you set,
until you ask,
who are the poets time idolizes?*
american idol, throw away your sippy cup, and drink from the river, from the sea, drink deep, until sated,
then begin your foolishness
readied, all over again
poet to please invisible gods,
that all can see
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
no such thing as abstinence
just one sip and then that's it
drink from the bottle
sell your soul
and smile
just have a taste
they tell me
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
I'd rather drown.
I've never been one for fire,
but
I'll let you light me up
my guard is down
but
my blinds are shut
I'm starting to realize
I don't know what I want
I need a new outlet
because
I'm hurting
I'm spinning
like the heat waves trickling across
so black
tar
like
burning
I'm
Flames
and
Ashes
Bits of dust across a beaten path that has seen
Better days
see
I'm starving to
decay
I'm starting to
burn,
bones
brittle
O'
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 5:35 PM UTC
I really hate you,
I swear, you're gonna be the last person in my life
I just want to punch you, really hard
'cause the bad memories are all that I'm thinking about
It's good to hear,
that this will be the end of us.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
blood.
I hate the
color it has.
such a strange
part of us.
it's only a natural
element of our being.
Roses represent an
love and romance.
I do not believe in
the hatred of our world.
love is
for us,
a beacon of hope.
Death is
scary.
Why must blood be red?
Why must the rose be red?
pain.
Red is the color of love and
agony.
Love is
warm.
Pain is
cold.
Blood is
red symbol of despair.
A rose, a
gift of love.
a true
gentleman carries a rose
for his love
"though it rots
it will not die"
I look into
the mirror
blood covers
the thorns on a rose.
Love is
freedom from the chains of torment.
nothing hurts more than
pains of heartbreak.
feel these
from a bleeding heart.
sorrow
or enduring the torture of
loneliness.
I dealt with
little of this.
I knew
the truth in love.
Lies are only
the thorns of a rose.
See beauty in
myself.
I hate
looking at the ****** rose.
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 6:47 AM UTC
You would say life is how you make it,
but I dont agree.
Sometimes you can try your hardest
and still feel on a ground,
not able to get up, not able to see.
There are times,
when I dont see light.
Sometimes, just one sparkle would be enough.
Thats what makes me hold on.
Life is not always bad but often it is.
I guess what makes it good is the feeling.
Being important, being pretty, being active.
Being enough and still be you.
I remember times when I didnt think of
not being enough.
I was a kid who didnt have a reason to feel that way.
But as I was growing up,
all the things around me,
make me feel like giving up,
on everything I want to be.
I dont know, is it reversible?
I always try my hardest in everything I do.
I try to be the best student,
the best friend,
the best girlfriend.
But all I feel like is fail because
everytime I turn around,
some things just disappear.
Why they cannot just be good I ask.
Why?
Oct 3, 2021
Oct 3, 2021 at 2:17 PM UTC
#ElNido
I found no water dripping from my hairtips
As I had that face-to-face look to my fave jeans.
Lost as when I did the transferring of feet,
I thought that departure was quite a break of heart.
The open window has sent me a bright invitation,
Sun's glaring but I never saw her fine reflection.
I felt the Air strolls through my skin
The taste of the floral serum enveloped by the sachet.
I had poured myself with the aquifer's liquor,
The remembrance of the search was over my psyche.
I could still feel the pain that excites my upper muscles
As I tried pushing and pulling to break the ground level.
Cuddling the old reversible jeans, he says I'm Free to Go,
I crowned my soul with an inner bliss and whispered to the Air.
My eyes were shut for a moment, but I was an alliance with them -
Of them whose not emptied yet ** revitalizes my potential**.
One boasts that the Light was completed,
The other has kept me envy his softening skills.
I never thought that there's still hope for dull flying-tips
But they simply say, "It's not the end of bad hair days."
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
when no man pursues
the truth,
the idea which contains all true ideas, aha
ideas are ideas, roses roses, names names
all true
evil ideas are in the set of true ideas as
sure as pi is in the set of true numbers,
i think
When the wicked rule the people mourn,
I think
How are all ideas equalible?
How is any idea equalible quant wise re
(long turbulent selah, lts)
questing
help, this is a talking point.
(lts)
okeh. for the future, I see.
we can make these faster with ideas pouring
into words flowing from gentled
untame-ible tongues,
----- untame-able is not
----- untame-ible, this may be an object
----- ifier lesson
-tension that re
l-eases
silent
darts, bullets(silent kind), missles, hymns'n'such
pointy grippy handles for cud
chawn story points upon
which any true story
idea must stand.
in spiritarian.
addinph
unitem
spirit and image of your father.
ohmygawd
Ambush
Clam slam shut, swoohoosh
pop
The infer
(implication layer upon layer,
thicker and thicker
naquering laquering query, could be dem pearl-ly gates,
early version o' Feynman's reversible tristatic NAND gates,
which work on ideas harnessed...)
see, there's the rub. one wee tetrahedral
trypointy foursidy sort of pearl maker
with words made
conversation
verses
versus insane unsane saners saved
by grace unmazing ungnostic
mumbling glosalialy
knot knox nor any o'them
puritans detected the
leaven in the game,
the periment
let out the
box,
"a republic, if you can keep it." unsaid went,
we cast all our cares to the gyre giver
guiding the great gulf river of pro
sperity providing us
our perspicacity.
Would that one might see one day,
the outcome of our American
experiment in leaven
in forming idle words mit ganz alte wahrheit
in dem Erste Zepto Planck Sec
just now. The idea that won was thought.
Good think you think.
We shall see.
Call your truth true.
Stand under knowing good and evil,
both, how and why, then chose,
knowing, my side won.
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 11:36 PM UTC
Only yesterday that your glass blew
The flame was burning untouchable
The disk spinning fast, un-reversible
No home in a town so inhospitable
A world where questions are daft
Drafted to unravel an inbuilt psyche
I stand out in the jungle countryside
Strumming listening to “wild world”
Each rhythm a wavy walk on a path
Steps and strolls always sidetracked
The poppy field faded in sheen redness
When it turned cold and bled sourness
It was me who was left by the riverside
I sat by the bank and dreamed away
Then viewed my mirrored reflection
Melted in indecisions and intricacies
Extreme ongoing cognition appraisals
Silenced in the sound of the stillness
The flash of the grassed field called me
Embraced me as I paraded on the verge
A resolving embrace of a stab erased
I plead not to be understood or wanted
For these riffles are fixated on our heads
Bolted in our thoughts, wants and desires
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 9:30 AM UTC
They're not undoable
but they are reversible
if you stop and realize
that braille on your skin
meant for the blind
cannot be read
by those who cannot feel
shouting at deaf ears
will only rob you
of your voice
and drown out anyone
who cares
There is no way
to take away
inflicted pain with more
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC