"rupi" poems
Women of the ROK [South Korea]
unite to protest the rash of digital camera
up-skirting, hidden toilet cams & dressing
room holes by an avant-garde subculture
whose sole aim is to redefine beauty from
the bottom up; tearing down the old order
of mere very pretty faces for the surprise
the unseen; online ******* poets who wax
romantically; over South Korean women
who wear the shortest skirts of any westernized
Asian country; therefore, where the average woman
is expected to be above average, what could be
better than a possible *** or period stain; [ ],
Rupi Koar laid the foundation [her soiled garments
stinking of Canadian Desi BO; dreaming wistfully
of the blossoming cherry-trees in the hidden grove,
streams of crystalline blood threading through
the golden grass; (dead as if she was [Sleeping
Beauty (on the toilet)]) & w/ healthy [or unhealthy]
doses of Baudelaire, Swinburne, Poe, Sade & Wilde;
this new school of poets celebrating female underwear
& bottoms & beyond; what could future generations
make of various Internet pseudo-intellectual movements
all coalescing into a monolithic computer culture driven
by the embarrassment & shame of its female members
& their ***** backsides & underwear; essentially odes on
her laundry basket, odes on her farts, odes on her leavings,
odes on her mother's droppings & leavings,
& her grandmothers' mothers leavings;
South Korean women are the original race,
their intestine driven by pure lust
[a South Korean woman's soul is in her belly]
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 12:53 AM UTC
I tremble at the thought of
falling in love with a
tiny part of someone
and mistaking it
for the whole
-rupi kaur
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
So That Others May Live
My son and I go down to the beach today
And lay claim to a small square of sand
Where we ***** a blue plantation of shade
Inside a red umbrella city founded by dermatologists.
Slow cooking like a pair of pork chops basted in SPF 30
He reads a Jack Reacher novel, myself the LA Times
Occasionally, he looks up from his book and shares a passage:
How about I show you the inside of an ambulance?
The girlfriend his from Kentucky has never been to the beach
She is ensconced in the best chair eating watermelon
Reading poetry by Rupi Kaur god bless her
She should have the best seat if she’s reading poetry.
People form Iowa and Minnesota you know the ones
In the parcel of sand between us and the ocean
Have lain towels and blankets far too near the tide line and
Come noon we enjoy their Midwestern diaspora to higher ground.
We body surf in waves that are bigger than they look
He wears the right fin and I wear the left
I bounce off the bottom and get my *** sand papered
Then tumble into him like a forgotten dollar bill in a wash machine.
In the parking lot laughing and spitting salt water
I pour a bucket of sand out of my wetsuit onto the hot asphalt
And realize it will never be this way again and it won’t
The lines in his face a perfect nautical map of the future.
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 12:31 AM UTC
It's like Rupi Kaur says,
"You should have known."
You should have seen me
as a candle,
you should have felt
me as a flame.
You should have never
tried to hold me,
should have never
changed my name.
I was never merely embers,
I was always made
for pain.
He sees me as a candle
soft and light and
smelling sweet.
Or he sees me as
a wild fire and he
marvels at my heat.
He's the wind and so
he tests me
and I
burn out or I rage.
He's the wind and so
I need him,
to clear away the haze.
He can quench the
flicking candle,
he can feed the
blazing flare.
He can touch me
without burning -
I can't breathe without
his air.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 9:49 AM UTC
{Stay i whispered, as you shut the door behind you.}
-rupi kaur
All I ever wanted was for him to stay,
stay and never leave, I
believe that we were toxic for each other. When i whispered
into the night. Walking away as
if it were the only thing you
knew how to do. “Shut
up and listen to me when I talk to you.” The
anger that poured out of my mouth, as if an open door.
But you did go, and you left me behind.
I never thought I’d hate someone, the way I hate you.
I never wanted to stay
with her, all the pain that i
caused her. The way she whispered
in the night. As
if a warning. “You
never loved me.” The last words I heard before I shut
it all out. I needed to escape the
one thing that was good for me. I put up a door
and left it locked. I left you behind,
I will never stop loving you.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 7:47 PM UTC
Saffo, antica maestra e disperata
portatrice d'amore,
Saffo di viole incoronata e altera
rendimi sciolta e in volo poi che accolga
la tua grande parentesi nel cuore.
Le mie notti deserte io le conosco
già dai tuoi grandi, morbidi giacigli
ove amore avventava alle tue labbra
mirra e miele. Anche io non sono sazia
come tu fosti ma mi aggiro eterna
dentro anime aperte ad ogni lutto.
Anche io ** l'amor mio che mi disdegna,
Saffo mia grande e inutile maestra
perché mi lasci e impoverisci il seno
delle tue offerte? Giacerò infeconda
anche stanotte e intorno a me i costanti
fedelissimi aspetti
di cupido apriranno dentro l'ali
rapidissimi inviti cui rifuggo
rimpiangendo e scoperta e innamorata.
Saffo rendimi pura e innominata
Come le parole, ove non cada
lacrima e tempo, ove non misuri
religione i suoi passi, ch'io non crolli
come crollasti tu dalle tue rupi...
1.1k
The friendship isn't glitter and gold
It's not fairytale happiness
Not all the time
Wasn't built on a happy-ever-after foundation
It's real and genuine
It's two-peas-in-a-pod
It's all confessions about crushes
Confessions about first loves
Confessions about almost loves
And broken unions and never-was ones
Our soul-baring crying over the phone
Crosslegged, seated on the floor of a Barnes&Noble
Temporary residents of the poetry aisle
Readings of Rupi Kaur, Lang Leav, and the classic poets
Literature bonding
Bonding through the smell of books
Hours long conversations
Our friendship evolves, shifts, and strengthens through the seasons
And I expect..
The malleability will change and harden overtime
Harden like steel, solidify like obsidian stone.
Our friendship is weathered storms
Hurricane hearts turned
Temperate climates
A calm sea
A blue cloudless sky
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
rupi kaur writes that loving with the knowledge that you are not good enough is selfish,
and to that i say let me be selfish,
just this once.
i have suffocated my joy and buried my despair for too many men.
please let me try to show this one
how much he means to me.
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 9:07 AM UTC
Accept that you deserve more
Than painful love
Life is moving
And the healthiest thing
For your heart is
To move with it❤️
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 4:30 AM UTC
I giggle in pride writing the obvious, the ******
Kindergarten feelings
I feel sad, mad, happy, sappy.
Rhymezone, songs, and great works stealings
Roses are red violets are fine,
My poetry could be written by a child as young as nine
Punctuation is still a mystery?
Ironically, I teach Shakespeare!
I will say, love poems and alcohol do not make good bedfellows
Sophomoric mumblings about a sunset's yellow
I take solace knowing even Rupi wrote bad poetry sometimes.
Yup, I compared myself to Rupi. Also, F**K this last line.
Sep 29, 2019
Sep 29, 2019 at 2:13 PM UTC
“most importantly love
like it's the only thing you know
at the end of the day
all this means nothing
this page
where you're sitting
your degree
your job
your money
nothing even matters
except love and human connection
who you loved
and how deeply you loved them
how you touched the people around you
and how much you gave them”
― Rupi Kaur
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
{You may not have been my first love, but you were the love that made all the other loves irrelevant.}
- rupi kaur
When I think of you,
I get this overwhelming feeling in my chest. May-
be you feel it too. I am not
crazy, for I have
searched for something like this. My
third attempt, and here you are. First,
we must “get to know each other”, my love.
I hear what you’re saying, but
I cannot love
you, it is not possible. Were
you really that dumb? To think the
handsome boy would love
you? What ever you felt, that
was not real. See, I made
you. I made you love all
that there was to see. The
other guys that chased after you? The others
would have been a better choice. Loves
a funny thing, it’s really just irrelevant.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 7:49 PM UTC
Our knees
pried open
by cousins
and uncles
and men
our bodies touched
by all the wrong people
that even in a bed full of safety
we are afraid
- Rupi Kaur
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
It's a shame these are a “writer's diet”
I have always dreamt of being a well-known author
Being on the New York's best seller
Even directing my own movie based on one of my books
To release a book of poems
That is just as effective as Rupi Kaur
I don’t smoke anything
But
I do drink black coffee
Like right now
Its 4:17 in the morning
And I’m up writing about you
Well us
To be completely honest
Most nights I can't sleep because the wheels of my brain are too preoccupied
On coming up with ideas to do for you
Spending most nights up making you bookmarks with yarn as tassels
Writing poem that are completely inspired
By the way you curve your lip when you smile
Or the ways your eyes light up when you’re about to laugh
The small grin that appears when I make the dumbest jokes
The way you cover me when I’m being to scandalous
Poems dedicated to the way
You make my heart compete in a race
And oftentimes win
The way you hug me so tightly when we were at your place in Alamogordo the morning before you left
The time you told me about the time you ran over that tall curb while leaving Walmart
Poems that are dedicated
To the fact that we get the same order at sonic
Or that we both thoroughly enjoy the perks of being a wallflower
Black coffee and cigarettes
Are for the greats
All I need
Is black coffee and you
And I can write a whole book of poems in a month.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 4:27 AM UTC
honey
you looked
like honey
sweet
i wanted to eat
-but you were sticky
*insert poorly drawn photo of *******
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 2:46 PM UTC
Rupi Kaur is so entirely correct.
I'm not sure if writing is healing me or destroying me either.
I get to say what I want, what I think.
But from this writing comes those sleepless nights
From this writing comes those silent screams in my brain
From this writing comes a roaring, a deep, deep set roaring
From this writing comes these bags under my eyes
From this writing comes so much of my effort, my brainpower, my time
From this writing comes her
From this writing comes thinking, which is to be alive
From this writing is maturity
From this writing is growth
And I'm not sure if this writing is creating me or destroying me.
:;,
,;:
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 7:09 PM UTC
Life’s been a little tormenting recently
She keeps chewing me into tiny morsels
Chewed meat getting stuck between sharp canines
Then she has this immoral habit of spitting me out , hard
Meat flying through air to splatter on the concrete
Combined with the dirt
Camouflaged in the brown
Rupi told me my skin is the color flowers grow in she forgot to mention how cold it gets being unrecognized
She lied
Just like all he hims ,
They all have some demons
First he chooses metamphatomine , cuts his palms open and pours in orange juice , he yells to and throws very scary words at me , my therapist said I experience abuse
I don’t know if I believe her or if I’m in denial
Maybe I am I don’t feel the connections sparking
My nerves in my cerebrum feel like they’re missing a circuit or maybe a current
The second him is electricity he fuels everything he is power , or that’s what I believe him to be, maybe he’s just a weak dark colored boy who was never taught how to love
Maybe his demon is himself
He self sabotages because he doesn’t realize that love can be kind , he only knows how to destroy
“Belief” its been hard
Connecting with the him that has no flaws the him that watches everything and hurls tests only to my capability
These tests are beginning to strip me of my smile I don’t know what’s wrong
I promise I’m trying to dig
I just feel sad
I feel like water
I want to burst and flow and I want to shimmer on shards of mint green plants , I want them to praise me , I need to praise him
I want to cover my hair
But MY DEMONS are pulling at my follicles like threads of a old T-shirt making me believe it’s pain it’s not pain I know that
It’s beauty to be given the steps on how to be happy
Prayer ?
How can I be so ungrateful for all the blessings you have given me
How can I complain so much when people are being tested to work
Why can’t I talk to you?
What is wrong with me ??
I need to connect I need to talk
I need to make a friend of you
Please find me , I am drowning I am water , I am calling unto you .
Save me , I want to breath contentment I want to spread contentment , instead of disappearing with the fossils I want flowers to grow out of my eyes
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
Rupi Kaur once wrote
"Your absence is a missing limb"
and there are sharks,
again,
around my bleeding heart.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 5:42 PM UTC
rita lee cantou que mulher é bicho estranho
todo mês sangra.
adélia prato lançou Bagagem.
rupi kaur escreveu sobre amor
e dor em seu corpo.
ijeoma umebinyuo criou versos que ainda não li,
mas que ouvi dizer vão desabrochar lindas
rosas dentro de mim.
àquelas mulheres que inspiram e respiram:
vocês são cada gota do gole de água que
preciso beber pra seguir vivendo.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 8:18 PM UTC
i envy the winds who still witness you
-rupi kaur, the sun and her flowers
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 9:48 PM UTC
i will laugh with you
at rupi kaur poems
but i write them
about you
Apr 27, 2021
Apr 27, 2021 at 10:24 PM UTC
some people think
writing a sentence
and hitting enter
a hundred times
is poetry
but poetry is
that on-the-edge-of -your-seat rollercoaster ride
that only goes up,
that ending tied up all pretty with a bow,
that washes you with a wave of emotions,
the crumple of paper and the smell of ink
that hits your nose as you sit on your bed,
dreaming so hard you can see the stars in your eyes.
No, poetry doesn't just scratch the surface,
with simple, shallow words,
poetry makes you feel emotions
you didn't' know existed.
Apr 8, 2022
Apr 8, 2022 at 6:53 PM UTC