"scepticism" poems
Who am I? Who am I?
A question I always find myself asking and yet I have no idea why.
Almost as if I expect the answer to fall right out of the sky.
But seriously, do you know who I am?
I pretend that I don't give a ****
When really it's an act; a sham.
Feeling like you do not fit.
Honestly it feels like pure ****
I don't fit into society's giant puzzle.
If my opinion is outside the majority, well let me put it this way, if I were a dog they would force upon me a muzzle.
Freedom of expression.
Really? I think they mean repression.
Do this! Do that!
She's too thin! He's too fat!
He must go here! Now put her there!
All we seem to receive are your endless commands.
Expected to follow at clicking of your fingers or the clapping of your hands.
Did you ever stop to think that maybe we have other plans?
Have you turned me into some kind of drone?
Is my mind no longer my own?
Are my individual and unique thoughts not allowed to be known?
Somehow this hierarchy needs to be overthrown.
We need to let our shining personalities be shown.
Celebrate Individualism!
Let us express, share and have optimism!
And even scepticism!
Being ourselves is a basic human right!
Thank you and good night!
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
When I see the news stories
And read the vile comments
I’m reminded of my own
And how for him it’s past tense
But for me and for them
It’s every day
We live with that pain and that shame and that
Way of surviving
Like no one ever ripped out your heart
Like your dignity wasn’t stripped from you
Disbelieved in court
Ridiculed on Facebook
And ******* about in bars
‘This tortures him too’
‘He’s always been fine with me’
That’s what we hear when we try to seek
Validation from those who know our abusers
scepticism and the audacity to accuse us
Of being dramatic, of lying, exaggeration
Well tell me where is the dramatisation
In the fact that in my story when he was done
He wrote ‘No’ on my wall in permanent marker
To reminded him that next time ‘No’ is the answer
Like he should need reminding when he heard it from me
But I am a woman, was a girl
So you see
What I do doesn’t matter
Which sadly is proved
When today we read of Sarah Everard in the news
Mar 13, 2021
Mar 13, 2021 at 9:28 AM UTC
Enjoy every day and make each moment last.
Don’t bring into the future, the bad stuff from the past
They say what doesn’t **** you, will only make you strong.
Sometimes admit defeat, accept you may be wrong.
Don’t fill your life with scepticism and always casting doubt
Just go and enjoy yourself, that’s what it’s all about.
Yes there are the times when we are feeling really ****
Inside there is so much anger, that person you want to hit.
That doesn’t mean you do it and let your anger out.
The way you always wanted to, just let it go and shout.
There are better ways of dealing with things.
Talking is always a good start.
It’s so much easier to be honest, when it’s coming from the heart.
Within each and every person is the bit we hold so dear.
The bit of us we never show, that’s hidden because of fear.
Well don’t you think it’s about time we open up and let them in
Enjoy the time we have together, let the journey now begin
If we end up getting hurt, it’s not about the pain.
It’s how we get back on our feet and start all over again.
What’s in the past is gone, don’t hold that feeling of hate
All it does is drag you down, on your shoulders it bears a weight.
Tell them how you feel, get it out and clear the air.
Your loved ones are the people who matter and for them you will always care.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
The corner street awaits with pride
Raise the palm and wave me hello
As the eyes melt reveal your heart
The smile is the manipulating trap
A stance you gaze magnifies my life
Stay in the zone oozing not snoozing
Disengaged in bases of sinking shells
Float on the wavy stretchy topography
Claim my proponent inside the rigid iris
The splash of the canvas sprays attraction
Alternate the kaleidoscope fluid flashes
A slash, smashing my scepticism cynism
Untitled spiking depths and radiant flames
Erode past the sizzling chargrilled grins
It's in my eyes, my very soul sits and shines
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
‘Pro Rege, Pro Patria,’ you tell me with wistful smile creasing sad eyes.
I squint up with narrowed lids,
Trying to push scepticism aside as my sight traces the words carved into the stone.
‘Pro Rege, Pro Patria.’
I can barely contain my scoffing.
But I do, because as ridiculous as I find it that we are claiming these men
actually died for
Something,
I would never dream of disrespecting them.
In fact, in my eyes,
They are the kings,
The noblemen,
The deities.
They deserve
More
Than the riches of their wildest imaginings.
They deserve
A family,
A beating heart,
A silver-lined
Life.
They are worth more
Than a fancy inscription
On a grey headstone.
And some didn’t even get that.
Consider this, though:
What use is a fancy inscription when you’re a pile of bones under the ground?
We can only hope that there is a
Heaven.
That they are living like
Kings.
That their divine lives are
Silver-lined.
That they can’t see how little has changed,
Because that is, I think, the saddest thing of all.
I look up again,
At the clouds sweeping across the sky.
It was then that I thought:
Just as
The clouds keep moving,
The Earth keeps turning.
And
Just as
The Earth keeps turning,
Humans will never stop fighting.
That’s why
I can’t help but scorn those words.
‘Pro Rege, Pro Patria,’ you tell me with wistful smile creasing sad eyes.
And that’s why I cry:
Because I know better.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
You don't like me.
You like the idea of me.
You like the idea
That someone who is
Suicidally depressed
Can make you
Extraordinarily happy.
You like the idea
That my deep
Cynicism and scepticism
Can fuel your
Overjoyed optimism.
You like the idea
That I'm the
Wonderful, beautiful
Intelligent, nerdy girl
You thought I was.
I am nothing.
I am empty.
I am not an idea.
Ideas are dangerous
Exciting, giggly.
They fill the idealist
With roaring delight.
Such a fantasy
Couldn't be real but in
The mind of a
Surrealist, Idealist
Socialist, Capitalist
Fascist.
I am not an idea.
Ideas are fun.
I am not an idea.
Ideas get things done.
I am not an idea.
Ideas are good.
Ideas aren't real.
I am real.
I wish I was only
Your idea of me.
I wish I wasn't real.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
"I can't read you my poetry,"
I say completely astonished:
"That's what confident people do,"
I hear myself say to an empty room.
("Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, the second one is looking for it")
Should I start to feel ashamed?
Because when people tell me I'm not confident now,
I want to scream that they're to blame,
And not for my so called "lack of self-confidence", only for their lies:
Because, I can be very confident sometimes,
I just probably won't tell you about it,
I don't want you to know,
If you thought I was so sure of myself, then that would make me low.
(I'm not speaking to myself though,
I'm simply conversing with people that you don't know are there,
And that's okay because,
I only do it noticeably when I'm alone.
They may not be real, but they exist to me,
Even more so than you and I.)
And yes, I know, that I have my moments;
I know what that feels like;
To question yourself and be convinced that
You're doing everything wrong,
I've had way too many times to recount to you,
But I also know, many occasions where I've secretly taken control back,
Where deep down, I know that I am kind of okay,
And I don't appreciate you questioning that,
Unless that's what I'm purposely trying to make you do.
-And maybe I'm slowly starting to ascertain, or wonder
That it's actually a bit manipulative,
And the fact I do it to make myself feel better
Is kind of messed up,
But honestly? It didn't seem like that when I did it,
I thought it was natural to be self-protective.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 3:39 AM UTC
The inviting face of a happy ever-after...a bubble of light fairy colours and shades.
The chasm is broken by a burning sting from a brewing *** of disbelief...”It could never happen.”
To sadly sit through reality, paging through fantasy pages and drawing the outline of each character as though they would appear before your sights, is a thieve to the present blessings.
It is a frilly beginning to the rest of nothing.
The simple gesture of a warm dashing smile creeps into the lonely heart and formulates hard to believe possibilities.
Slowly and surely the brewing *** of self-image disputes threads a thick rope of scepticism and doubt that some dreams will never come true.
The rope gets stronger each day...it hangs over dreams and unhurriedly forms a loose noose in case everything crumbles.
Yet it seems all, if not, most dreams have crumbled...yet the hope that tomorrow might bring gold keeps blood flowing, pumping life to the musty heart.
Process the “what-ifs”, birthing the idea of eternal bliss. Sadly the assured bliss isn’t tangible at the moment.
We share laughter and thoughts, a bit of this and that...playing peak-ah-boo in each other’s minds.
Yet it isn’t enough to warrant further communication. Or perhaps there shouldn’t be further communication.
The cover might be appealing but the content could very well be unexciting.
Muddled in the passing years...a change in ages each year, you endlessly look forward to your treasures.
Perhaps the eyes should remain shut and instead search with the heart, or maybe the mouth should remain quiet, allowing the soul to speak.
Well...the skies held our conversation and in the clouds it shall remain.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
my own importance is swallowed like a pill,
by the resonance of his voice,
vocabulary ****** dry and replaced with a sheen of the need to
stay so unbearably quiet.
i always want to waltz in open spaces,
feel the air rushing past my arms as i spin,
but walking into a house so white and so cold,
i feel like i have ignored the welcome mat at the door.
it's his alleged presence,
or maybe it's just my own scepticism acquiring the patina of caution.
i walk with soft slow steps as if not to wake the dead in the garden,
cut short the swirl of my movements,
replace air vents in cartilage joints with rocks or plaster.
am i even supposed to feel like a person in my own right?
i wish someone would drop a pin for me to assess the quiet,
but there is a soft small current of people feeling at home,
or the quiet and the cautious mixing in like a cavity in a set of white teeth.
when i step back out into the sun,
my lungs grow fuller with oxygen, the leaves appear greener and the sky is more vibrant.
i do not feel his eyes on me as much; or the weight of being contained.
perhaps he just wanted me to go home.
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 6:07 PM UTC
Say yes to life
He was in the hospital tubes and oxygen mask
his heart had stopped but the good people had got it going again
Raindrops ran down the window matching his scepticism
he closed his eyes what's the point.
When he opened his eyes again sunlight danced on the window,
he asked wanted to go home, she smiled, doctors smiled
their patient was getting better.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 7:36 AM UTC
Times turn for that night on the town
All week at work and now it’s time to be found
This way or that way a few shots at the bar,
A pint or two now just settle the nerves
Skin on skin if it’s Sonny or Cher
A night back at mine for I don’t really care
You’re a desperate case of loving if that’s what you want
Anywhere will do if you drink from that font
Hello, from the ***** side of drinking
Hello, just what had you been thinking
Had enough, of this desperate kind of torture
Time to change, to a newer type of nature
A new you well that’s what you’re thinking
Giving up on highs and the ugly side of sinking
A road of new signs, travel now to somewhere
That new name, taken out of fresh air
Let’s build this man, another to mix with the yes I cans
Married with that job, no different from you and me man
You’re a desperate case of loving if that’s what you want
Anywhere will do if you drink from that font
Hello, from the ***** side of drinking
Hello, just what had you been thinking
Had enough, of this desperate kind of torture
Time to change, to a newer type of nature
So, this is me, fresh new eyes to a world of cynicism
The choices I once now made open to your scepticism
Times move on so let’s forget the mistakes I made
I was young and open to most things I’m afraid
There’s no next time so lets just try it now
You’re along time dead, just give it all a go
Its goodbye from me as I take my final bow,
Easy tiger.
JJB
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 9:32 AM UTC
When you fixate on the petal of a flower,
Time moves off beat in waves of an hour,
Time bent,
And money spent.
All to impress someone who impresses you without trying.
You send me flying.
A scepticism
Proves all old mysticism.
You wear on top dark,
And your bottom light, like a shark.
I'm the wader in the dangerous tide,
And if I said you weren't worth it I lied.
You remind me of the sweet smell of baking cookies.
Remember getting treated like one of the rookies?
Ever since we met my knees grow weak,
I'm afraid my feelings have sprung a leak.
Something harder?
There is nothing, I'd barter.
For the affection I hold,
Must be met by you also, I am told.
So I must earn it, take the time to bond and learn,
Only then can the chemistry between us burn.
I don't feel desperate toward you,
Not at ease, the butterflies in my stomach still make me feel blue.
But it's OK, because in your eyes something has me go red,
While most of it is in my heart, not head,
I still feel a great interest here,
There is something special I don't yet know, dear.
Many adore you, as would more with the chance,
But rather than having them all the opportunity with you to dance,
I shall offer myself first,
Hoping that in matters of this love I am not cursed.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
**I drink to you perfect stranger
You who ignored the danger
I drink to you son of another
You who took time to bother
About hapless misfits like me
Clueless sods that still believed
In the fictional good of humanity
In your moment of supreme grace
You freed me from my scepticism
So we became joined at the heart
And sealed our fates in perpetuity
For to have a mission is to perish
And be interred in some parish
A sentimental plaque the epitaph
To the vanquished dead and gone
By the ungrateful living here now**
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
I feel you don't see things as I do
I try to understand, cut off, tru-
ly there must be a way to get rid
of scepticism, instead of looking
at the differences, noticing the
mutual ideas, shared, conveniently
without a reason.
Even if we can't, can't we just discuss,
I guess you think less of me,
lacking a certain level of mutual respect.
Respect on levels I enjoy more than hiking
I guess it's just my craving for liking
and being liked
mutually.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
pearl feathers you refuse to call white
scared it would mean something if you did
scared your scepticism will cup cold palms
around your warming neck and squeeze
what little belief you have out of you
a corpse will always be a corpse
but the soul of a wanderer will wander
into the wind and sky and I
and you too if you just let him
so let him
let him be the breeze
that forces you to stop counting
the number of days that have passed
since he last hugged you
let him be your buoy that
serves ground in an ocean
that knows of no stillness
let him be
the flickering light
the white butterfly
the fallen feather
he will be forever with us
let him be
Jul 25, 2020
Jul 25, 2020 at 5:57 PM UTC
I spend lonely nights wishing time would stand still, waiting in anticipation to once again feel, the warmth and tenderness of your loving caress
Days so long, nights so much more, I cant believe how far I am from the times of before, there was a world of so much but always there we were, on our own path with nothing to deter,
Storms did rage and the journey of salvation begun, out of caring arms reach, out on a limb we were strung, no fables written so myths were to be made, but in the line of fire, along lifes great highwire, the responsibility and burden of modern life was played
And so I lost you to the clutches of the abyss of uncertainty, so many parts of the structure of experience transformed into a grey of normality, I turned as I climbed to see no shadow just a vacant void of realism, I can feel its presence and it fuels the scepticism
Where and why you have gone come of no surprise, no great revelation, life has a nasty habit of just ticking by, all forms of growing up are now passed as you pass into lifes great complication
I embrace each day as I look forward to the next, getting older and learning how to survive are not written in some secret text, the world around continues as you continue to evolve, the conundrums and connotations, the mysteries and diversions, they become problems that on their own they tend to solve,
For me and my life there has always been just the one plan, of conformity, regularity, normality and uniformity, I have never been a great fan, that rock of marble I shall carve, the lines and the contours, forged from my own bare hands, the story unfolds as I travel the lands, no fear , for each imposing year, just as always intrepid anticipation does await, my existence has no time to hesitate, full on , headstrong, and no deviation, my life will not be moulded by lifes great expectation, I am me this is how it shall forever be
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
Channels I long refused to explore, suspicious
of authenticity prospects, auspicious contacts,
using the web of a poisonous spider, to comply
with society, posting illusions, tweeting whims.
Social circles to flaunt an image, attempting to say
something unheard, as I, unable to scent the body
humours of connecting minds, build a fortress erecting
firewalls of scepticism for a glimpsing human touch,
disguising
in a suit knitted with closeness pretence threads,
between persons separated by oceans, mountains
so high climbers suffocate at their summit, so far
from the ground they are as virtual as this acquaintance.
An encounter with the unknown, for all I know is we both
artfully pen realities to undress the masked and imagine
a nascent bond inspiring these words, out of my mind
and onto the keyboard, just as your words unexpectedly
slithered out of the screen and straight into me.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 1:56 AM UTC
This world
This land
This place
This home
This the reason to explore
To experience
This day
This week
This year
Keeping me trapped
A prisoner to negative prosperity
My smile
My laughter
My optimism
Scarred
Scorched
Abused by scepticism
Life through the bottom of an endless glass
Life through a haze , a green crumbling daze
Life of pestilence, of fears and fevers
Life intravenous
The dream, dissipated
Reality on a screen,
Manipulatively encapsulated
The patience, the resilience,
Exhausted, exasperated
Today
This hour
This minute
This second
The troubles, the trials,
The injustice of humanity,
It all could be
So easily terminated
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 12:05 PM UTC
You infect my mind!
With delusional paper thin cuts; sculpting through my cerebral cortex!
Planting silent patient seeds...
That grow to sow the cosmic slides in my shadow self; blows them away.
Like cobwebs laying in water...
Saturation and dissolve!
Soon to be none existent; tethered to irrelevant findings.
Transfixed, bathing in smouldering gazes!
You move me into...
A bliss, of another kind!
Hunger filled!
Carnal bites smother into my soul; where you sleep!
In mist, with light and compassion...
You spin right through!
How do you? Chew aways through my muscle memory.
Calculate for me what is and isn't...
Set in motion access marks; trigger into my scar tissue!
Moisturise and soothe my livid deformities!
Renew for eleven...new life!
Kindly you offer!
When sky's are too stain filled with rust; alone with scepticism!
Your rain cleanses all, and over me...
To soften this old armour!
Wait for me; a place within you that I can travel.
Stand aware there!
To prize open my third eye; and reach euphoria!
Oh, so easily...you can!
In silence you creep!
Fill and exfoliate the covers of clouds; that perpetrate the view!
Come and shine through my first set of eyes...
Fragile, but still strong!
My focus surrounds your frozen form; despite the debris!
Scattered embers, unearthed from background night terrors...
Sidelines of your smile!
Hypnotise the ground I tread on; balance trades for vertigo this time.
I really I don't mind.
Glassy eyed, you slumber awake!
Inside the beautiful'est the truth lays dormant; like bitter nitroglycerine!
The collected calm notions of your movements...
So dark yet divine!
Luminous insanity for self poring; medicating my saturation.
Cleverly, can I hide in there too? Safe in the currents of you...
Seek splice and solace.
In your butchered sanctuary!
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC
I recall those days, living in the state of being someone who still suffers in my own direction, assuming that falling in love just equates the emotions that flare up in our heart when you glance into their eyes or hear their voice.
I presume being in love is just about convincing them you are still in love with them just like yesterday and the day before yesterday.
Until I have gone far, and found you.
The debate about fear lodged in my head, I perceived that my feelings were not enough to carry us further.
Sometimes my mind wanders on its own, it takes me to the time I have never sailed,
Showing me a big picture where you have fallen deeply in love with her whom you now recognize as someone who disappointed you,
Watching you invest all your life and death in her hands just to keep her — and you fail and fall.
I don’t know how many pages of the scenario have ended until we traverse in the same chapter. Two figures who never genuinely know who has ever made our hearts crushed and trapped us into a sense of being at an inch with death.
But it tells me you put your hope in me, and so do I.
I put hope in myself if I could draw the figure out of your fragile heart until love traps us on the same roof.
I might have to stop assuming, maybe you are my next lesson.
I’m sorry, I have never recovered from putting my hopes in what is present.
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 11:30 PM UTC