"romanticizes" poems
Oakes-photo, hypocrisy and flagrant mirky plateau. Brimming celestial warrants overcrowding public housing systems. North-South lights, sell costly iPhone Apps; and then there are Social Societies of non-verbal delight. Password protected non-profitable and over-costly educations of no reward or biblical synonyms. Catastrophizing hash-tag dot.com. Weary party going poster children with glowing anemone guts, fruity looped cantlings, ravenous scattered supper clubbed coughing up ******* on their strange and central affairs unit. Overcome the candisation and sugary affairs of any of the ***** and pops that erstwhile matter less and less. We are speaking of nomenclatures that don't arise. Promises and by which confession aloof romanticizes every Tom dicking Mary that carries the theory of sustainable energy, prussian blue, and irregular browsing.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:46 AM UTC
Life is beautiful
they tell the
generation born of
depression and
anxiety.
Life is beautiful
with higher percentages
of suicide than
highschool
drop outs
Life is beautiful
to the “me” generation
called self centered
because of
selfies
Life is beautiful
to the highest
price of living
in American
history
Life is beautiful
to the generation
that romanticizes
death.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
scars are a blighted currency.
we speak in overstatements,
blood capsules and parlor tricks
translated villainy romanticizes eras of naturalism
our fate
in the balance of underwhelming prose
and i think i would know
cradled curses
baby i was born this way
you've got to catch up
puking emperors exemplify judgment lapses
and solidify an irreconcilable clash
the study of clinical lycanthropy
is just a step above and beyond the underwhelming
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
Vacancies left by death
are realized in life.
We wander across worlds
over time, dismissing the old
but there are some worlds
which we do not leave behind
and its the collection of these speckles
that make us realize the symphonies
camouflaged under the monotone of mundane.
Its these speckles that intoxicate us into nostalgia
and dejavu .
and yet its that one speckle that covers our eye
a rising sun that romanticizes the sky
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC
I listen as he romanticizes cheating,
contorting it into “forbidden love”.
Let me real-life your fantasy.
For it would be a fallacy to judge
when I too, romanticize everything.
Dec 4, 2021
Dec 4, 2021 at 9:46 PM UTC
The sunset throws the people into silhouette,
The rolling hills into sharp relief against themselves.
It romanticizes the world,
Like for once there is such a thing as freedom.
Age watches the clock and the calendar at end of day,
Youth watches the setting sun.
Dreams can be so fleeting after all,
And time so indelicate.
Long live the youth in a world of disarray.
Long live dreams in a world of age.
Age searches for the meaning of life,
Youth finds life in the meaning,
Why else would we run away for but a single day?
The sunset paints brown grass gold.
Time paints gold moments brown.
The ocean sits behind the trees
But long ago it sat in the pockmarked sky
And fell,
Like sand to the bottom of the hourglass,
The House of Usher.
Long live that aging ocean,
Long live that youth in the sky,
Bright blue-white pinprick footprints
Left behind in existential black.
Long live the never ending sky,
The forever ending sea.
Naught but a memory of a dream now,
Petals of light catch on rivers of roads,
And we remember it like pirates do the ocean -
Free, formidable, fierce, forever.
Age throws memory into silhouette,
Light shines photographs into spots of glare.
Youth romanticizes the world,
Like once upon a time,
We were free.
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC
Sadness gathers in bruises along your hipbones
and in aches of metatarsals
when you're dancing alone at the bar, stumbling
over your feet, reeling into counters.
You greet 10 o'clock with the night's fifth drink,
searing the back of your esophagus--strong.
The spinning world around you romanticizes
loneliness. There's nothing captivating
about swollen cheek bones and shaking knees
from the futile retracing of weary footsteps
in search of people and hope you've lost.
Misery crawls outside where radius meets ulna,
not for a party, but a bar fight,
full of drunkenness and hatred.
Pent up emotions carve flesh along your arms.
Emptiness pulverizes your ribcage,
plucked light guitar strings, your nerves cave
till you puke it all into an unwelcoming bathroom sink.
Despite all 206 bones,
you're never together in heart.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
*One who longs too much
who romanticizes too often
who dreams impossible dreams*
yet
when faced with reality
retreats to the dark corner
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
We've become a generation where-
suicide is glamorous-
self harm becomes a game of hide and seek
and eating disorders become a competition.
But nobody talks about the friends, and lovers who get left behind-
when things go too far.
The people who shudder at gun shots in movies,
and the people who can't walk past rope in a hardware store;
without choking up.
The people left with nothing more than memories.
Stuck remembering birthdays- and death days of people who left us too soon.
Friends and lovers, who were helpless in their efforts to change the situation for the better.
Those who are left behind, look for someone to blame-
ourselves, the world, society-
but in reality we will never know who to blame-
or if we could have even made a **** difference.
Our generation romanticizes pain and suffering-
"where it's all fun and games until someone gets hurt."
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
If I would have been in place of Shakespeare,
All my sonnets would have been about you.
My fantasies would fantasize about you.
I would have composed ballads and free verses,
On the letter sheets of my heart,
I would have written with a sparkling quill,
drenched in my emotions.
If I would have been in place of O.Henry,
All my short stories would have been about you,
About how we met and how I fell.
I would have penned novels and dramas,
On the sacred pages of my skin,
I would have written with a sparkling quill,
drenched in my emotions.
But, well, I'm nothing more than an
An ordinary girl who is in love with an ordinary guy,
Who takes her to extraordinary places.
An ordinary guy who holds her hand out of nowhere,
An ordinary guy who romanticizes every stare.
An ordinary guy who looks at her with love in his eyes,
An ordinary guy who is ready for her, to live and to die.
An ordinary guy who asks her " Can I kiss you? ",
An ordinary guy who makes dreams come true.
An ordinary guy who makes stars sing,
An ordinary guy who makes flower rings.
An ordinary guy who left himself for her,
An ordinary guy who painted her with love colour.
An ordinary guy who looks at her like she's the only one,
An ordinary guy who makes the beats of her heart run.
An ordinary guy who sings love songs,
An ordinary guy who makes right out of wrong.
An ordinary guy who makes her write,
An ordinary guy who encourages her to fight.
An ordinary guy who calls her life,
An ordinary guy who wants to make her his wife.
I'm nothing but an ordinary girl,
who is deeply and madly in love
with this ordinary guy.
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 5:27 AM UTC
How is it,
I feel more alone,
Alongside others each day,
Than I did,
Continuously in solitude?
People exhaust my heart.
Alone it idealizes,
Interactions,
Romanticizes,
Human nature.
Reality,
Weighs heavy,
And disappoints.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
I'm not one of those people who believes that everyone is beautiful.
I see too much evil and hate in them to be able to classify everyone as being even foundationally kind, much less beautiful. Once darkness is seen in a personality, its appearance becomes altered.
Character is that thing that most poetry romanticizes. Because there are poets who will tell you that beauty is in the contents of your soul, and it's all about the little things you do like write notes on the back of photographs or dip fries in milkshakes.
And sometimes those people are right, but sometimes they're wrong too.
The character you have isn't all good. You must know to some degree that you're composed of much more than just the sappy Disney qualities you've built up in your head. There's a reality to everything. As much as the spark in you that gives you meaning in your life is a foundation to your complexity, you're also formed by doubts, punches thrown at walls, tears that fell for no real reason.
See, those things, no matter what anyone says: They are not beautiful. They're terrifying, they're productions of awful situations and people and mentalities and monsters that can destroy you, and can destroy all the romanticized habits that makes you different and charming.
This is how we get the evil and hateful people.
The spark goes out in them, they get lost in all the doubts and dark thoughts, and all they want to is to feel the beauty again, but they can't. That's the irony -- they want something that they've rejected by going through so much ****
They need to search through themselves and find the drive again, to get past all the awful things and inner demons. They need to go through old Christmas cards, and draw smiley faces on bathroom stalls. They need to exercise the ability to stop blaming, and resenting. Or else they'll become someone else's reason to lose the spark -- like a disease of desperation. Maybe it won't fix everything to try, not for a long time if the feelings are so strong and bleak, but I know from personal experience that the beauty will come back to everything slowly, even to yourself.
I'm not one of those people who believes that everyone is beautiful. I see too much evil and hate in them to be able to classify everyone as being even foundationally kind, much less beautiful. But the ones who look like they're too far gone, that they're helpless and don't even want help, they want it the most. They're not helpless, or too far gone. They can feel the beauty in themselves again, they just need to see it other things too. And when they do, maybe everyone will be beautiful.
And maybe they'll be kind to one another.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
All my shirts have bloodstains,
I don’t suppose that’s good.
At night I’d never kneel and pray,
But I applaud people who do.
To write nowdays takes effort,
An effort I don’t have.
Nothing in my life romanticizes,
My pen goes through collapse.
It’s rare for me to produce a thing,
For things require production.
I will sit and stare and waste my days,
I fret over my diction.
My poems are fading.
My life is not.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
Is this a metamorphosis of words?
That shift the paradigms of worlds?
Letters chasing the horizon?
****** for a raison?
Does the beam deviate request?
And then romanticizes the quest?
But yet, be it as it may seem,
Sacred be the question.
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 3:05 PM UTC