"rewrote" poems
Clash. Zap. Thunderclap.
Orbitals charged with electricity collide - feels like crossing the streams
let's - smash atoms like Adam and Eve,
pierce fiercely with particles blown white hot from my accelerator
Insatiable
Like trying to fill up a black hole, so i accelerate her
excite her, ignite her, my touch lights her on fire
combust.
a cloud of ecstasy like Co2 rises higher
I've got my eyes on your ions
take a picture it'll last longer?
snap a photo digitize her
particles turned pixels tilt their head skyward
transcendant enlightenment, released it inside her
E=mc^2 , i can please you at the speed of light
we just rewrote the big bang theory and this time we got it right
opposites attract and charged sparks fly
we might not touch but ion be ****** if we don't try
I'm a ****** intellectual
I love your body AND your mind.
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 2:13 PM UTC
Even the longest journey Begins with a single step
Tendulkar has waited patiently to be a part of winning the world cup
The master has some incredible records to his credit
No cricketer in the modern era can compare with him for merit
Yesterday nearly 120o million Indian glued to the television sets
Irrespective Of caste, colour, creed, religion or sects
Dhoni and Co rewrote history after twenty eight years
From the faces of Indian cricketers rolled joyous tears
Cricket brought All the cricketing countries Unbelievably together
The western Coach Gary Kirsten and Co were responsible For the Eastern thriller
The great sport became the emotional healer and the gap filler
And the greatest ever crowd puller
Tendulkar has carried the Nation’s burden for nearly twenty four years
So His team mates carried him on their broad shoulders
Even Tendulkar could not help shedding his emotional tears
It was really a great Moment for the entire nation to celebratewith cheers
Apr 3, 2011
Apr 3, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
our conversations are all in blue.
i try not to mind it,
like i try not to mind the hair falling out of my scalp.
you're just busy being unattached to me.
i make excuses for you as easy as i double text.
they flood my head like mantras,
but not the kind that make you feel calm or loved.
it's more like telling yourself you won't throw up after the twisty roads up the mountain.
but i want to see the view with you.
so i keep sending you blue paragraphs filled with 'sorry's and 'i love you's.
you send the same grey 'i love you, too's.
and we call it communication.
i'm the driver and the passenger
the carsick kid trying not to throw up and the toddler asking over and over if we're there yet.
but i want to see the view with you.
would it hurt to send a grey paragraph? or ask me,
in your best whine,
if we are at the top yet?
throw up in my lap. drive me crazy.
ask me for the aux cord and i'll give it to you.
i'm done listening to this album on repeat.
i want to hold your hand without worrying if your fingers are numb and you just don't want to hurt my feelings.
this car needs more you.
and i don't mean the you dressed in grey half messages that you probably rewrote three times.
i need the you that talked about faking our deaths together
like it was the only part of life worth living.
wearing that laugh you always say is too loud,
but really it sounds like music.
i like my music loud and angry.
and ****** at your parents for being expired versions of themselves, always expecting you to be organic.
i need that you like i need a vice.
because that's who i want to see the view with.
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 3:13 AM UTC
The envelope was red, white and blue just like the flag
Betsy Ross spent days with bleeding fingers over so many
years ago. It was addressed to me from an unknown sender.
I was giggly, jumpy. Who would write to me? I wasn’t important.
Just a seventh grade nobody stuck in a sparkly purple wheelchair.
Mom said I could join. She secretly wanted her outcast
of a daughter to have a sense of normalcy during her
last fading moments of childhood. I just wanted to have
fun. I wasn’t ready to accept that I was different. I knew
that I was. The stares told me so but I didn’t want to be.
The letter said that I could represent my fine country
as America’s National Teenager. Me? All I had to do was show
my ability by competing in a scholarship pageant. You know,
a beauty pageant except it wasn’t being called so because adults
are trying to be sensitive to teenager’s feelings because we’re
more likely to be sensitive, emotional and prone to disruptive
and potentially harmful outbursts. The perks of being a wallflower.
Teenagers, we know this. We’re also not stupid. I and every
other girl who would participate knew this pageant
was nothing more than a beauty pageant; a popularity
contest. That didn’t keep us from dreaming of becoming
rich and famous, stop the crying fits, hormones from raging
or acting like drama wasn’t our life’s goal and college major.
Four days in Southern Idaho and an eight-hour drive
to and from gave me plenty of time to practice my talent,
an essay. Even then, I knew I had no real physical attributes.
Instead, I shoved my fears aside and wrote, rewrote and polished
my essay on America until my parents, teachers, and friends
repeatedly had to tell me “that’s enough already. You’ll do great.”
I made friends, told stories, laughed until snot came out my nose
and answered the ever cautious “What happened to make you look
that way?” I had the time of my life. I knew I wasn’t going to win
because let’s face it, I’m not pretty enough. And just as predicted,
I left with “Most Inspirational” and cried ugly tears when I
didn’t come home as America’s National Teenager. Looking back,
I was a real American teenager. I don't need a pageant to tell me so.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 9:15 PM UTC
January 19, 2017
The sword of Damocles hangs tense in the American night as a nation steels itself,
My friends stick to their guns, my enemies do the same, and there's all these children who don't know which side of a border they'll end up on when the dust settles, there's all these trees down south who never asked to feel the weight of bodies on their branches, there's all these people talking in circles and there's nothing but doom on the television,
Dr. King, I think of you this night, three days following the holiday they pinned to your corpse like a participation ribbon, I think of what they've done to you,
Dr. King, they murdered you, they dissolved you in bleach, they rewrote your history and their mouths defile you to this day
Dr. King, I want you to know there are parts of you that cannot be stripped away,
Two hundred fifty thousand raised voices, five hundred thousand raised hands,
Countless bodies in the street, countless jail sentences, countless tears shed in pursuit of a dream
Dr. King, they tried to tell me your dream was of peace, but it's always been about freedom
Dr. King, I know you would understand what must be done in the pursuit of freedom
Dr. King, you knew that nonviolence could only work until they came for your blood
Dr. King, you knew one day you'd have to strike back but they never gave you the chance
Dr. King, they come for the blood of your brothers and sisters today
Dr. King, they put words in your corpses mouth and teach it to dance,
Dr. King, they will claim you no longer
Dr. King, your chains will be broken,
Dr. King, one day, you will be free at last,
Glory glory, hallelujah, free at last
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC
the girl has her face removed
and replaced with a plastic advertisement
for bubble gum
chew on my head she says
with a slick smile
and as she fades down an alley
she is whistling an old
Broadway showtunes
she is reinventing herself from
inside a box of cereal
trips are for hippies
there are gypsy's hanging round her door
selling tickets to the dinner theatre
of her self inflicted dreams
the actors are picketing out front
for better lines
she took the best ones and rewrote them
to resemble the life and times
of sherlock holmes
she disrobes her masked face
and with a cautious shy smile
envelops him with her presence
her planned nature crafted to perfection
without second thought
without hesitation eats him alive from the inside
still hungry she mingles in the crowd
so she can steal their french fries
and **** on their soda's
she's celebrated
and cheered as she mounts the stage
her left handed shuffling fingers
grasping the fundamentals of her mind
but a weak grip on reality's slippery skin
leads one the rabbit hole
to delusions publicly lived
standing in the worlds shadow
talking to yourself
laugh louder than the one next to you
lest they think you weak minded
and the small sounds at your ear
is your free will escaping
she lay down at the end of her day
and with Aesop's fables wished herself
away from this
dinner theatre of the mad
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 5:11 AM UTC
I sat there like a museum of moments,
a mosaic of emotions
as she dissected my personas
and did an autopsy of my past.
Memories climbed my spine
from the forgotten attics in my heart
with every question, she asked.
But my tongue was a drought
and my voice box was a rust box,
as the child in me
was bullied into quietude.
My edgy, messy and raw memories
molded my perception,
rewrote my interpretation
and deepened my experience.
There was underlying vengeance
as the layers of fabricated scabs were scrapped
to disclose the deeply entrenched, tender emotional scars.
As the present, struck a cord
my limbs would turn into cement
as the echo would bring me back
to the endless street of time
and I would be dragged
through open wounds within me.
The pain would seep in the nooks
and crannies of my soul.
At every jibe and remark
one more part of my flesh
would be chiseled away.
The sky would join in my sorrow
as the clouds gathered like sheep
summoned by a shepherd
and then we would begin to weep
our unresolved issues
onto tissues.
I revisited the bathrooms
that became sanctuary in high school
with its gossip soaked walls
and tear-stained countertops.
I dream of the people
that have lost their way in my memory;
a fabrication of nostalgia.
But the tranquility of waves,
can’t even erase the memories of their wrongdoings.
My past engraved itself
into my muscle memory
ingrained its teachings
and matured my sensibility.
The dim shadows that would creep
And the blues that I would pour
are becoming budding flowers in my chest.
Weaving from the same web
I was entangled in
building from the same sorrows
I was drowning in.
I began connecting,
understanding its stem
stitching my memories.
I write for my younger self
who felt silenced and erased by the world.
I shape all the tainted pieces of memories
into art and paint shades of my past
as each is soaked in a memory.
I craft subconscious relief,
breathing memories
into 6 alphabets
that were strung into paragraphs,
beginnings and end.
I reached out to corners
to bring out
sunrises and sunsets
and reignite dying embers
as I de-spell the damage that silently reverterbrates through generation.
I find home in my skin
and love myself, whole;
Shadows, crevice and all.
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 8:34 AM UTC
I stand here
Outside
My Brother’s Bar
Reflecting on
All the great
Things the people
Who graced this
Old bar
Did in their lives
Three men I admire
For their visions
And lack of acceptance
And apathy
Those who rewrote
The American Dream
Who didn’t succumb to
Mass, popular, opinions
As Thoreau said:
“majority rules
with power
not right
or fairness”
I came here
In high school
Now, I am,
on my own will
as they were,
—overmen
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
"You won’t affect me,
I’m in control”
The words that stoked the embers
Long ago-
laziness, my wife
****** it all over
and ambition, my father
abandoned his son
the dogma rewrote itself
before my brother, conviction
was convicted of capriciousness
-my family was lost
Death is a powerful thing
it’s transcendence, one could say
and when the future dies
the present is lost in disarray
to think so lightly of the end
is foolish, arrogant, in fact
If a ******* wishes to die,
does he curse the world or the ones that fed him to it?
there is a lot of hate going around
hate that can’t be absolved simply by love
this ******* is hell spawn
It takes will to overcome fear
not courage or bravery
vanity words for a vain republic
getting plastered on screens worldwide
yeah that’s it… overcoming fear
Becoming it
What more can money buy?
A new life? A new dream?
A reset button?
Unlikely
A simple barter on the divine sale
ideals don’t come without risks
the higher the horse, the longer the fall
but that’s not the case at all
the highest one here gets to buy **** IT ALL
the ultimate get out of jail free card
But I’ve already gotten way off track
Either way,
you won’t affect me
I’m in control.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
You stepped in my soundtrack
Bought out the baton
You laughed at my lyrics
Rewrote verses wrong
You chewed on my chorus
And spat it back out
Cracking my key notes
And muting my loud
You revised my rhythm
Swallowed my rhyme scheme
You mashed up the melody
Now I want a new theme
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
Joseph's father loved him best as the child of his old age, and the dreams he told to the other family members,were the words of a sage,behold here comes the dreamer,his brothers all said, every time that joseph drew near,as the younger brother ,he made each one tremble inside from fear, so they plotted how to **** him, and take away his many colored coat, but fate refused to let him die, and the story of it all, was rewrote,catch that dreamer, before he gets away, sharing dreams and inspiration, each and every day, behold here comes the dreamer, such a mocking and smirking sound, but joseph foretold in advance, that to him, they would sooner or later,bow down, behold here comes the dreamer, are they talking about me or you? behold here comes the dreamer , remember that ABRAHAM LINCOLN was a historic dreamer and history maker too
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
Sky spits ***** flecks of
conversation onto swift
lips and the tooth knife
draws blood from grin
in the evening that is
probably too cold or
maybe just right.
I climbed the warehouse
wall in my head while
you watched my eyes
move up and over and
around and down back
to your denim jacket for
the sixth or seventh time
that evening and then up
to meet eyes with spots
from fluorescent lights.
I told you a story and then
we rewrote it for just a few
minutes in several different
locales with varying degrees
of passion and curiosity while
lessening the distance of feet
and hips and gaze to try to
feel something new and same.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 4:38 AM UTC
to my delight,
for I was only six months away
from letting her know
my dreams and desires,
she asked me
out of the blue
to lunch with her
sit-down, not buffet;
as she proffered
the offer her eyes
kind of sparkled
and she tilted her head
to the left, touched
her hair... now this
was unexpected a tad urgent
as I rewrote
the novel-erased all my fears.
She touched my forearm gently
and I saw
sparkles and fireworks
and candlelit dinners
as all that
would utter from
my mouth agape
over and over again
was hells yes....hells yes
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 9:57 PM UTC
...I love you... [deleted, never sent]
Is there anything I can do to help fix it? [deleted, never sent]
...Please don't run away... [deleted, never sent]
Maybe I should get back with my ex?... what do you think?... [Stopped at get back with, never even finish writing, deleted, never sent]
...You know things wont be the same right?... [deleted, never sent]
Remember the day with the pillow fort, Yea, That was the day I promised myself I would save you.... Look how that turned out. [Thought about sending, deleted, never sent]
I will always be here for you... Please remember that... [deleted, rewrote, and sent]
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
There once was a shadow who thought he was a man,
He made his empty bed in a shame of familiars,
For years if not an eternity he never did one single thing,
He contemplated creativity in all its smoke and mirrors,
His only credo was padding his unknowing, limp ego,
Got a gig, speaking before a throng of other shadows,
He rewrote the crook about his own insignificances, suddenly
Nothing's became every things, all was sorely well in the bleak
Under toes. Shadowman had found his stage, had rearranged
Chaos and insignificance to the point of no enlightenments,
No regrets. What a sage!
Shadowman aped, traced, spewed in studied literature,
Experienced, faith, trust, fidelity, danced numbers,
In a cellophane pack with all the added extras included,
Found that reflecting words only got in his narcissistic way,
Left the California sun for the New York lowlands
Of the east, that only shine after the hurricane's
Deluge. Shadowman has reams of flesh plastered
On a mall of wallowing sites only Shadowmen frequent,
Modern is the moly man who makes his own myth.
Shadowman has traveled to the great southern climes
Where hotels of shade tell tales of locals and enlightenment is in a drug
Called something South American or other? A drug so smug it is a plug
For his dun holy soul. Shadowman is only a silhouette of himself.
He freely gives seminars to the lame, chained to themselves freely,
Where all the vain echoes are chambered, embodied, entombed.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
Each day is given to me.
I take it,
the meds smooth it,
the collision impact tween
car and life,
a different kind of hangover,
is "written off,"
through irony delicious,
by writing.
it is not strange,
it is not unusual,
that clarity obtained,
afforded, by the
unexpected.
I am stained,
a stained glass window,
the early light coming through,
illuminated and repairs,
enlightens and softens,
renews, both me and
the floor's cold stone slabs,
where my knees
touch the ground,
confirm to me
I am well,
alive.
I do not run.
there is
no compulsion,
no need,
for the direction is
clearer now,
the signs point forward,
this way,
exit the roundabout smoothly,
on my way to my centre.
Words i wrote in a way that someone majestically rewrote for Me - such a pleasure
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
My sweetest pain
It feels like deja- vu, yet I am the writer this time around
I have set the stage, everything is on cue
I decided how this will end, I planned it all
Right to the time the dagger hits my heart
I choose to relive the pain
Because its my sweetest pain
The pain was so intense, I was submerged in it
So I rewrote the script, so that I would feel it again
Only this time i will not be numbed by the shock
This time I will make sure that it doesn't break me
I am prepared to sacrifice everything
Just to taste my sweetest pain
Again
Do you think its coincidence that the life span is the same
Or that the offspring is the same ages in both productions
The only way to perfect it, is to rehearse it
That way I control when the dagger strikes
That way I can taste my sweetest pain
Again
The scripts are identical in so many ways
I smile at how well I planned it, this is my Oscar moment
All the actors are in place, cameras ready to roll
As I strike the dagger
I smile as I feel my sweetest pain
Again!
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
Educational hangover
You rewrote my internal story
Switched around the dialogue
Kept my life anything but boring
Educational hangover
You got me drunk on knowledge
Faded on grades
Homework stacked
Books for days
Jul 8, 2021
Jul 8, 2021 at 3:23 AM UTC
She said;
Once I heal from all these chemical burns
I'll exude forgiveness
You'll be impressed by my emotional stability
And my lack of vulnerability
I'll be such a gentle *****
You lose sight of when our roles switched
I have another dimension to my soul now
All the knives are out of my throat now
All the stories are rewrote now
It's impossible to detect the dishonesty in my voice
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 4:12 PM UTC
'Coz it's hard to see
The one who made these heartbeats
Having his own
Made by another
Inside your own system
Pain, painful that pain
Makes you bow to the ground
And cry tears in vain
The first above else
Sweetest among sweet
Extreme above realest
Was just the least to think
I thought I'd stand a chance
A shot to make a change
Of what was left behind
Before these pages came
I could've rewrote
My stupidiest mistakes
And make new moments
Saving thy heart from these aches
But it's just so amazing
How our story was told
Words written in ink
Won't undo even a hundred fold
We've been in fragments
Shattered and torn
And kept crawling back
To where we're from
That has been so long
Didn't know you were gone
To fit with another piece
And our pattern was ceased
Even if it's so hard
I won't ever ask
Just for my sweetest first
To have what he deserves
What we did has been done
What's been there has been left
These pages will continue
And so I must too
I'll wait for the day
For another piece to come
To fill these empty sheets
And make this story book complete
For that someone dated back in the year 2010
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
give me love: not later, not tomorrow, not yesterday but today
i'm tired of hiding away to revise myself for you
there is no revising left,this is it
this is the conclusion
i know dear you liked the intro a whole lot more
im sorry, ive been chain smoking
constant painful inhales, to feel less drownings of anxiety
let my blood fill with toxins of alcoholic infatuations
another girl; kissing cheek and staring into pale blue eyes
the pale blue eyes i got stuck in for six months
on a break for revising, isolation from everyone
i changed
i changed
i changed
i faked happiness because i was not allowed to be sad
i changed
i changed
i changed
i got rid of the addictions all on my own
i changed
i changed
i changed
i am doing what makes me happy to impress you
i revised it for you, i rewrote myself for you
i changed
i changed
i changed
but i did not revise enough, so you found a new one
my size
my height
my hair color
my eyes
my ******* name; the same name
and you took her
and left me here
with my revisions
giving love, later, tomorrow, yesterday, and today to her
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 4:49 PM UTC
Someone wrote a biography of a man. Said he liked to write poetry and spend time in nature. But there are many things its readers will never know about. The streams of thought, the analysis, confusion, the Sadness, sprinkles of joy, the Transcension. A strange man he was..sweetly strange, but strangely bitter. At odds with the halves of himself..or perhaps thirds. But who will know? Someone wrote a biography of a man, but didn't say he was crazy. Or that he had a sharp mathematical mind and tried to add up the components of life to find it wasn't an equation in the first place. It was omitted that he was not merely a man, but of some other kind, often missing his home and his people, though he didn't know who they were. They didn't say when he became deaf, that he still played his favorite songs because he could feel them all the same and see them in colors. And no one knew that he refused to write in pen, but pencil only because one day his work would be rubbed away by the sands of time, just like his body. Someone wrote a biography of a man, but there was no account of what he did on a beautiful day, like the time he sat by a stream pondering his life and rewrote the biography of a man.
Sep 20, 2010
Sep 20, 2010 at 8:11 PM UTC
Remember how I said that I would write you into something perfect
so that you would stop walking out on me?
So I rewrote you by bending the lines of
STAY
Problem is
People change
And I found you stretching into
HEART BREAK
and
HIT AND RUN
And me trying to find anything better than
“Please don’t leave me”
That’s when I learned to write you into
AGAIN
And
TOMORROW
Then I figured the math of
FOREVER
Is 2xtoo long
When you factor in the absolute power of
ME
Turns out
Father
Sound too much like
Forever
And
DAD
Is something neither of us ever really
HAD
And the
Past
Is something we are both running from
Now
MAN
Is the thing I am most scared of becoming
I find myself begging my reflection to stop me from it
That’s when I learned to write myself into
FORGIVE
And how to factor myself into the equation of
ENDLESS
My name was the first word I ever learned to say
It has 8 letters in it
Sideways it is ∞
May 23, 2011
May 23, 2011 at 1:30 AM UTC
The sunset smeared itself across the sky,
a crime scene of color—
red bleeding into orange,
violets bruising the edges.
I stood there, guilty of wanting to call you,
to say,
"Do you see this too? Do you feel it?
Or has the world stopped being beautiful for you
since I became the ghost you refuse to name?"
For a moment,
the colors burned so bright
I almost forgot the sound of your silence—
the way you folded your love into sharp corners,
how you rewrote me as the villain in a story
we never agreed to tell.
Almost.
But then the shadows stretched long,
like they always do,
and I remembered how you used to say
the sky looked like an apology before it turned black.
I laughed, because tonight it did—
looked like you.
A burst of brightness trying to outrun the dark,
fading before it ever stood a chance.
I almost forgot you hate me.
Almost forgave you for it, too.
But sunsets only linger for a breath,
and some things—
like your name in my mouth—
are harder to let go of
than light.
Dec 27, 2024
Dec 27, 2024 at 1:48 PM UTC
If I rewrote the story and somehow are paths
did not cross.
In temptations fire.
We would only know the cold of others.
Freezing in the silent agony unable
to speak.
The statue remains its meaning erased.
As into others we will seek.
The emotions we no longer share.
Alone I am now inthe isolation of many blank
stares.
The jokes are but a wall built to conceal.
All that I am.
That I could never reveal.
Use the substances to keep you numb.
And let the voices take you to another place.
Beyond the madness there lies
beauthy in pain.
And always truth.
Destruction breeds art.
I light up in a room of vacant stares
and empty lives.
To blind in addiction to know the other does exist.
In this den like some scene from a ***** parlor from the west.
Ashes hit the floor along with my pride.
This battle im losing with devilish glee.
All but nothing is left.
so in the shadows I confide.
Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 9:04 PM UTC